DISCLAIMER: Anything could happen so Adults only.

WARNING: Strong stuff, trust me.

FEEDBACK: Is welcome. p.phair@comcast.net or you can visit my web site at http://www.phair1.com

## THE RETREAT

## By

## Phair

##

## Part 12

It was getting too dark to continue the search. The occupants of Sagamore Place were straggling back to meet up at the front steps as planned. Madame was already sitting in a large wooden rocker on the porch sipping ice tea. If she was worried, she hid it well.

"Hola," she called to the weary search party.

"Do you think you could've gotten off that fat ass of yours and helped us?" Ashton snarled.

"Somebody had to remain here incase he returned," she gave a smug smile as the group gathered. "It's a good thing I did because that's exactly what happened. Giuseppe came back more than an hour ago and he was in need of medical attention."

"Why didn't you call us?" Driscoll asked as she sat down with a thud and a groan on the bottom step.

"Oh, poor chere! You are so exhausted. I rang the bell to call you all in but nobody heard it, I guess," Madame sipped her tea with a smile.

"No way," Bailey whispered to Taylor. "I would've heard that damn bell in the next state. She told me if she ever rang it and I didn't come runnin' she'd turn me in for trying to escape."

Taylor nodded in agreement. The big cow bell's ding a ling echoed for miles around the lake. She was certain Madame was lying but not sure why the woman needed to lie.

"How hurt was the runt?" Redman asked before mopping the sweat from his brow with his shirt sleeve.

"Luckily, only a small bump on the head. He was shooting at a dear and the shotgun's kick knocked him over. I had my servant bring Giuseppe into town for treatment. He'll go straight home from there. So sad, he won't be able to finish my program. No masterpiece from him, I'm afraid," Madame shook her head and tisked.

"How did they go to town? What did your servant do, carry him?" Puanani shouted in frustration at the wasted time.

"Oh, I have a vehicle stored on the property. None of you were to know about it. I didn't want any of you tempted to leave me early. But, Giuseppe's health is worth revealing the secret." Madame stood and sighed, "I just wish he had written a little bit of something before he got himself hurt. Too bad for him to waste the chance of a lifetime."

Madame turned her back on the group and went inside the dilapidated house. Slowly, the tired writers followed her. They were silent as they filed inside Sagamore Place.

"Taylor, she's lying," Bailey took Taylor's hand and pulled her toward the shed. "Giuseppe finished the manuscript he left on his desk."

"Are you sure?" Taylor didn't want to question Bailey but she knew the woman's reading skills were limited.

"I can understand 'THE END' on the last page of book, Taylor," Bailey sounded annoyed.

"Sorry."

Bailey shrugged, "I'm sorry too. The end was just about the only thing I could read. I couldn't even understand the title."

"Bailey, when the summer is over, when you get released, I would really like to teach you to read," Taylor blushed slightly as she spoke.

Bailey stopped walking and put her hands on her hips, "I thought you were gonna get me pierced?"

Taylor turned to find Bailey with a sly grin, licking her lips, "Oh, I'm gonna do that too. You got no choice about a belly button ring. From me to you, with love."

The two women met half way and wrapped their arms around each other. It was such a grueling day they should have been completely exhausted. Instead, they could feel their strength growing with their passion. Bailey made the first move. Her hand slipped into Taylor's back pocket and began to kneed the cheek.

"Wanna go to my place?" Taylor breathed in Bailey's ear before nibbling the lobe.

"No time for that. I need you now. Let's go to the shed," Bailey murmured.

The pair stumbled the last few feet toward the shed. They never broke contact as they made their way along the overgrown path. When Bailey tried to push the door open, it wouldn't budge. The rusted padlock secured the door. Bailey bumped it with her shoulder again and only got the padlock to bang against the latch.

"Damn it!" She hissed. "Get a rock or something so we can break the lock."

"Wait," Taylor yanked Bailey behind her, away from the shed. "Look at that puddle."

Bailey saw the large, dark puddle on the ground next to the shed. She had stepped into it as she and Taylor groped their way along the path. Bailey was willing to ignore the soggy sneakers in her efforts to get laid. But, she was quick to realize it was more than dirty footwear that caused all the color to drain from Taylor's face. Bailey followed Taylor's line of site to her own feet. Even in the half light, she could see the white shoes had gone all red.

"Blood, it's blood. A whole lot of friggin' blood," Taylor almost gagged on the words.

"Shit, Taylor, what's going on here?" Bailey could feel her heart racing. "What should we do?"

"Well, screwing now would be tasteless," the thought ran through Taylor's head faster than she could stop it. "We should, we, we need to get help. That's the right thing to do. Let's get some help."

"Wait, wait," Bailey was breathing heavily, "who are we gonna get. With all that blood out here, I'm guessing Giuseppe's inside and dead. With a padlock on the door, then somebody else must have killed him. And, the somebody else would be one of the people in the house right now. If you go running in there for help, the killer might go after you."

"I'm sure it was Igor and Madame who killed him," Taylor started to lead the way to the house. "They didn't go out searching with us. Madame made up a lame story to explain Giuseppe's disappearance. We both know she lied about the manuscript. It definitely was them. Has to be them. I'm sure of it. So, we stay away from her and Igor and get one or two of the others to help. End of story."

"End of freedom, too," Bailey spoke softly.

"What are you talking about? Nobody will think you're involved. Besides, you've been with me the whole time," Taylor was annoyed with Bailey's obviously illogical conclusion.

"No, I mean when the police start the investigation the retreat will be shut down, cancelled. My work release will be over. I'll have to go back to prison for the last couple of months of my sentence."

Taylor stopped in her tracks. She hadn't thought that far ahead yet. Bailey was right. The cops would have to send her back to jail. Taylor felt her anger rise at the position she was being forced into.

"We can't keep this a secret for the next two months, Bailey. Regardless of how I feel about you, I'm not willing to risk my future so you get to finish up your sentence here instead of where you belong," Taylor would not face Bailey as she spoke.

"I wasn't asking you to do anything to help me. I know you better than to think you'd but yourself on the line for me," Bailey's voice trembled with her reply.

"Really? What's that suppose to mean?" Taylor turned on Bailey with a snarl.

"You're like every other 'do gooder' I've ever met. You say all the right things but there's nothing behind it. No actions, no risk, just a load of talk. Blah, blah, blah, bullshit!" Bailey vented before storming away from Taylor and off toward the lake.

"Well," Taylor was almost speechless, "fuck you too!"

* * *

"What a ghastly story? I can't believe you would tell me such a vile tale. You should be ashamed of yourself, young woman," Driscoll fanned herself with several sheets of blank typing paper.

Taylor went to the Jackson Room hoping to find Driscoll and Ashton together. Instead, she found Driscoll sleeping on the settee. Deciding telling somebody was better than telling nobody, Taylor recounted the situation surrounding the shed. Driscoll was clearly upset by the details but her disbelief stunned Taylor.

"Get out of my room at once. I'll hear no more of your crazy talk," Driscoll seemed a bit wild eyed.

"Look, we need to find the others and get in touch with the police somehow," Taylor drummed her fingers on a book sitting on the coffee table in front of her. "Where's Ashton?"

"Who?"

"Ashton Alexander. You know, the guy you've been hanging all over since the retreat started," Taylor glanced at the title of the book on the table, A SEVERED HEAD.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm a married woman. Now, what is it that you want? As you can see, I'm in the middle of a writing exercise," Driscoll waved the blank pages in front of Taylor.

"Oh no," Taylor's heart sank as she connected the room's author to the current occupant. "Driscoll, have you ever read Iris Murdoch's work or heard about her?"

"Of course, she's very popular and a lovely woman."

Taylor felt tears forming, "Driscoll, Iris Murdoch died in 1999. She had Alzheimer's."

"Don't be ridiculous, I saw her the other day. She's working on a new piece," Driscoll bit her lip as she tried to remember. "The title escapes me at the moment but it'll come to me."

"I should be getting back to work," Taylor stood as she spoke in a hushed voice. "Can I get you anything?"

"No dear, I'm fine," Driscoll smiled broadly. "But, if you see that strapping big, black man around, tell him I'm lonely."

Taylor nodded as walked out of the room. Tears trickled down her cheeks but she waited until she closed the door behind her before she dried them.

"Pathetic, isn't she?" Ashton was leaning against the door jam to his own, adjacent room. "Still, she's a great screw even if she's getting to be brainless! You know, the best part of the whole deal is, she can't remember enough to talk about our liaisons."

Taylor glared as the man laughed, "Don't you think we should get her to a doctor or a hospital. The earlier the diagnosis, the faster the treatment can start."

Ashton let out a full belly laugh, "Treatment? Fat load of good that'll do her. She'll still wind up in a home; a demented old moron sitting in her own filth waiting for some minimum wage teenager to come clean her bottom. Let the woman have a bit of fun before she's too lost in her own mind to enjoy life. And, leave what's in the shed alone. None of us want that kind of press, or need the police snooping around our lives, or to lose an opportunity to learn from Madame."

"You can't be serious? There's a man hurt or dead out there and you want me to ignore him," Taylor stepped closer to Ashton as she ground out the words.

"Ignore it until I finish my manuscript," Ashton directed. "I've got two chapters, maybe three to go. Keep your mouth shut until I'm done or I'll make sure your little girlfriend ends up worse off than old Giuseppe. And, trust me, Giuseppe is very dead."

"Are you trying to threaten me?" Taylor couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"No, I'm promising you that if you run your mouth, your prison bitch will be on the menu for every horny, black lesbian on her cell block. And I'll make sure they'll hurt her, badly. They'll mess her up so much you'll wish she was never born."

Ashton grinned when he finished. He gave Taylor a small slap on the cheek with a wink. He turned and went back into his room. The door slam accentuated the power behind his words.

Taylor trudged back to her room under the stairs. Her head was pounding. She was having trouble breathing. The burden of the day's events weighed heavily on her but the threat against Bailey was smothering. Taylor thought she might pass out if she didn't lay down soon.

"Are you okay?" Bailey was sitting on the floor in the far corner of the room. "You don't look so good."

"What are you doing here?" Taylor asked even though she was relieved to see Bailey safe.

"I've got nowhere else to go. Do you mind?" Bailey didn't know what she'd do if Taylor put her out.

"Come here," Taylor opened her arms wide and Bailey hurried into the embrace.

Taylor couldn't stop the tears.

"What's wrong, Taylor? Didn't you find somebody to help us?" Bailey cuddled closer in an effort to comfort her lover.

"Please, just lay down with me. My head is killing me. Please, I'm so afraid, please. Hold me, don't let me go," Taylor sobbed harder than she'd ever cried in her life.

"Never, I'll never let you go, I love you," Bailey promised before guiding Taylor to the narrow cot.

TBC

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