Stalker

Author's Notes: Alright. Before y'all get around to reading this story, I do have a few notes I have to make. The first one is the mandatory disclaimer: This is an original story. All of the characters and locations in this story are original, and similarities to any other characters or places, real or imagined, are purely coincidental. So don't sue me.

Forewarned is forearmed (as I'm so fond of saying): this chapter is over 15 pages long (single-spaced!) for a grand total of more than 10,000 words. For all you writing aficionados out there, that's roughly a fifth of a standard novel. (Yeah, I got a little carried away.) What I'm trying to say is that this is long. I know I haven't written in a very long while, but those familiar with my works will also probably know that I'm big on character development and background and context and all that good stuff, so this isn't exactly mindless sex. Far from it, it's a story about brooding obsession and a dangerous descent into the darkness. While there is some pretty hot stuff about 2/3 of the way through the chapter, I don't exactly get right down into it. Also, I get a little judgmental and preachy at some points in the very beginning. Hopefully that doesn't bother anyone much.

Furthermore, I am a guy, in case that wasn't obvious, so I don't actually have as much of an insight as I'd like to into the inner workings of the female mind. But that being said (as always), I gave it my best shot. If you liked this chapter, please review, and if you didn't... well, constructive criticism. Anyway, I'll waste no more of your time. Read on and enjoy!

Stalker
Chapter One: The Rose and The Lotus

Central High School, Avalon, Continental United States
3/8/10, Present Day
Early Morning

On the outside, Central High School was a public high school much like any other that you'd ever care to see. Perhaps a bit cleaner and shinier, perhaps larger and better located, with more modern buildings and a smaller student body, but much like any other nonetheless. Of course, while Central High might have seemed out of place among all the countless other public high schools of the nation, it blended into Avalon seamlessly.

Avalon, aptly named for the isle of Arthurian legend, was the richest suburb of the city, well removed from the slums, the crime, and the rif-raff that lurked deeper within the urban landscape. While graffiti and tire-fires were the norm only a dozen miles away, Avalon's buildings sparkled clean and stood tall, free from the blemishes of paint and soot, an almost offensive cleanliness to the urbanites who surrounded the community and could see this “paradise” only from afar. To those condemned to a daily life of violence and hardship, Avalon seemed a city on a hill.

It was therefore the greatest of irony that had Winthrop really sought a model of Christian charity, he would have been better served to search the festering inner city than the shining bubble that was Avalon. Those who know the ways of the free market also know that morality does not bring wealth. Avalon was built, a hundred years past, by merchants and businessmen who set up shop in the commercial districts of the city, selling the raw necessities at outrageous prices and building factories which payed their workers almost nothing. Through their ill-gotten gains, these so-called “Captains of Industry” had built their Avalon, its white walls merely compensations for the blackness of their consciences. In a hundred years, the Gilded Age of monopolies and magnates had ended but the free market had served the paupers no better – still crooked bankers and factory-owners reigned in Avalon while the dwellers of the city toiled below.

But our story is not about Avalon, or really even the de facto kings that used it as a throne. Our story is about Central High. Central High was created as four generations of ruthless capitalists used their money and power to attract mistresses and trophy wives. Some were airheads – ditsy bimbos who the monarchs of Avalon had bought for looks and bodies alone. Others were clever planners and malicious schemers, businesswomen to rival their husbands or gold-diggers to strip them of their fortunes. Almost universally, though, these women were extremely attractive – imported into Avalon for their long, blond hair and pretty blue eyes, their double-D breasts and shapely asses, their strong libidos and sexual ability. Their husbands often had little in the way of love for them, but saw and used them as expensive whores, thrusting into their shapely bodies night after night simply as a convenient way to sate male lusts. While not all of the merchants' women simply accepted their role as sex toys, they always at the very least viewed their station as a means to an end, and so a status quo was established in Avalon. As night after night of impersonal sex passed, many of the women found themselves with child, and so the population of Avalon grew. The children grew up to be like their parents; the boys overwhelming became the same ruthless, cunning, lusty businessmen their fathers were and the girls inherited their mother's looks and figures and (if they were particularly lucky) a measure of feminine shrewdness and dangerous intelligence, from whichever parent. Each parent then donated a measure or his or her own strong libido to their offspring which combined and multiplied, so that each child had a sex drive even stronger than his or her forebears.

And thus, a kind of microevolution and anthropic principle combined to make Avalon into a den of sin with shining while walls. The men became greedier and wealthier, the women prettier and shapelier, and their offspring filled the halls of Avalon's schools. Education, a major expense for the average family, was no great cost to the self-proclaimed titans of the suburb, so the public schools of Avalon came to rival even Beverly Hills, and private schooling became unnecessary. And thus, all children of Avalon were channeled through the various lesser education institutions before they finally came to Central High – the great gleaming high school that stood at Avalon's very center, and hence the name.

As it so happened, though, by some quirk of the State's gerrymandering, the Avalon school district extended ever so slightly beyond the limits of Avalon proper, into a less elite and favorable community nearby. Therefore, it so happened that a small number of students would live outside the shining walls of Avalon but be shuttled into them every morning and out every evening, unfamiliar with the suburb's wealth, or its depravity...

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Corin's head jerked up. For one heart-stopping second, he thought the teacher had called his name. Fortunately, he saw Mr. Manning looking at some totally different student, receiving some answer that Corin couldn't hear and didn't care about. It would have been most unusual for the teacher – or any teacher, for that matter, to call on Corin. This wasn't because they didn't like him; no, Corin had seen schools where the teachers radiated with honest scorn for their pupils. It was because Corin was so short, and so quiet. In every class, Corin sat at the back and kept his head down. He wasn't entirely sure how tall he was – probably around 5'6”, but his slim and non-imposing figure diminished even further as his head sunk down to his desk, which rendered him almost invisible among the other, taller, and upright students in the classes. Corin made a point of not being seen or heard under most circumstances – and luckily for him, when he kept his head down, his full head of light chestnut hair practically blended with the wood of the desk.

Realizing that his sudden motion might have attracted attention, Corin slouched back down until his neck and head were practically parallel with his shoulders, resting in his hands. It was a good thing, he reflected, that Mr. Manning hadn't called on him. Corin didn't like being called on. For the first few days of class, when the teachers had been learning names, they'd gone around the entire classroom. When they'd gotten to him, Corin had just shaken his head, never speaking, until most teachers simply gave up. He very much doubted that most of his teachers had ever even heard him speak at all – or most of the students, for that matter. Corin's past didn't much dispose him to speaking.

Corin had been born and lived much his life in the outer city, brought into the world with the same crop of chestnut hair and bright light brown eyes that he had to this very day. His hair and eyes weren't so much a blessing for his appearance as they were for his ability to hide – like the school desks, most of his father's apartments had been of a similar color, so his hair acted as camouflage. It helped to stay out of sight while living with his father.

Corin couldn't remember his mother very well. One day, when he was very young, she had just disappeared. Whether she had died or simply finally grown tired of his father, Corin couldn't say and didn't know. All he knew was that his custody and upbringing had been left to his father. As a result, Corin hadn't had much of a childhood
.
In retrospect, Corin decided he was very lucky that his father hadn't turned out to be abusive or simply cast him out onto the streets. That made his own personal sob story a little more bearable. Corin's father had seemed to accept a minimum level of responsibility over his son, but little beyond that. For sixteen years (Corin's age), Corin's father had fed and clothed and made sure he was prepared for school. Above that, though, the father seemed unable to so much as tolerate the presence of his son. Maybe it was that he resembled the mother he'd never known, or maybe it was that Corin was simply a burden that his father would have preferred not to bear, but Corin soon understood that he would be well served not to draw attention to himself. No sooner had Corin spoken his first words than his father had demanded quiet. Thus, Corin learned to hold his tongue while around his father.

For whatever reason, Corin and his father had moved around the city with startling frequency, sometimes two or three times a year. Corin wasn't entirely sure what his father did for a living (aside from that he worked for a big firm in the city) that forced them to move from apartment to apartment so much, but it certainly happened. Starting when Corin was about six, he and his father had moved once or twice a year. The first time this had happened, Corin's father had called for him – an incredibly rare occurrence – until he presented himself and said,

“Corin, we're moving.” The young boy didn't know what this meant.
“Moving?” One single word. He could almost see his father cringe.
“Yes.” The response almost a sigh. “We're moving to a new apartment. Tomorrow. Get all of your things into a suitcase. There's one on the table. Yours is the smaller one.”

In the future, the conversation hadn't gone past the first sentence.

“Corin! We're moving!” would ring out, and Corin fetched his suitcase from the table, and stuffed all of his worldly possessions – a few books and clothes – into the case. The next day, he would get into his father's car – a small green sedan with a white roof – and they would drive somewhere else in the city, which would be their new home. Though they never moved further than across the city (always to somewhere else on the outskirts), the story was always the same. Corin had little time to make new friends. He was often unwanted inside the apartment, but the streets were often positively dangerous for a boy as young as Corin, so he tended to stay inside. He would find a corner of the new apartment where his father was unlikely to see him and read or work. Eventually, his skin became very pale from the long hours away from the sun, though it had darkened ever so slightly in recent years. When he was younger, an observer would have had difficulty distinguishing Corin from an albino. Now the boy had a pleasant, ever-so-light tan – though his skin was still very light.

Corin had gone to many schools over the years, and the lessons he learned at home he applied to his studies. Keep your head down, try not to be noticed. Being addressed is bad. It had worked so far. Fortunately for him, Corin was very smart – or else, the hours of reading in a corner gave him the edge, so, he been able to get through school without speaking to anyone. There were some days when Corin didn't speak at all. After a while, Corin began to sit in his corner and read aloud very quietly, just to prove to himself that he remembered how. Over the years, he slowly tempered his voice, trying to eliminate the faint imperfections that he could hear. He sharpened it to a melodious chime, a secret power that only reached his ears. He spoke in a far rougher voice (often surprised) when he was forced to speak in school or to his father, feeling that his voice was something that he could call his own – something that belonged exclusively to him.

Corin's loneliness continued until he reached fourteen and the last move. One day, his father had come home, positively cheerful. Corin had never really seen his father happy before. This whistling, skipping figure of a parent told Corin that they were moving again. Puzzled, Corin had packed his bag and the next morning went out to meet his father by the car. The first inconsistency Corin noticed was the car was different – the old green sedan had been replaced with a newer, sleek black convertible. Corin had climbed inside and they're moved to a part of the city Corin had never been to before. A much larger apartment, with more rooms than Corin had ever seen, and a nice balcony – a balcony that had a view of Avalon, the richest part of the city. Corin realized that somehow, his father must have come into some money. Still, he didn't have the courage to ask how. Years of silence stilled his tongue.

This was the last time he and his father had moved. Corin didn't know what his father did now, but he seemed to have been promoted. He worked in Avalon – or near it, anyway, and hardly ever showed up at the apartment, even on weekends. Corin, therefore, had his run of the apartment, which was certainly a welcome change. If his father had come into quite a bit of money, though, Corin never reaped the benefits from it aside from the new apartment. When the school year started, he walked to his new high school. He was starting as a freshman at Central High School in Avalon. The students there immediately marked him as different. His clothes, which had never struck him as inadequate before, were worn and cheap compared to the designer jeans and shirts of the students there. He walked to school, many drove (or rather, were driven), some by their parents, others chauffeured. His books were bought second hand and his backpack was old, he didn't have an iPhone or a Blackberry... there were so many signs. Immediately, the other students marked him as a plebeian. Someone not to be associated with. So Corin didn't make many friends in high school either, he didn't speak much, and he kept his head down in class.

Most classes, anyway. He might keep his head down, but he payed attention. In most classes, Corin – if absolutely necessary – could answer a question if there was no shield of eager volunteers. This had worked for him for his entire Freshman year, and the first half of his Sophomore year. But there had been a flaw in the plan.

Corin payed attention in most classes, but not in Mr. Manning's first period math class. On the first day of the second semester of Mr. Manning's first period math class, Corin had tried to pay attention, but something else had drawn his gaze. As he concentrated on the teacher's arcane scribbles on the board, Corin had noticed something out of the corner of his eye: a splash of red off to his left! He swung his head and the splash came into focus: a beautiful head of short red-gold hair. Though he could only see the back of the girl's head, Corin could tell that she was special and extremely unlike most of the women at Central High. For a start, the overwhelming majority of students at the high school were caucasian and either blonde or brunette. She was – and remained – the only red-headed student he had ever seen at the school, probably with more than a few drops of Irish blood (though Corin couldn't say that for sure). Secondly, most of the students had tanned and unblemished skin. From the back of her neck, Corin could tell that this girl's skin was exceedingly pale, as his used to be. Furthermore, far from unblemished, her neck was covered with reddish brown freckles.

After admiring her beauty for a few moments, Corin decided to yank his attention back to the board, when the girl had had some opportunity to turn her head, and Corin saw her face. His jaw nearly dropped.

She had beautifully lucid, sparkling blue eyes, red lips and a lovely, picturesque smile that seemed both omnipresent and directed at the world in general that radiated optimism and warmth. Her prominent cheeks, with freckles clustered across them, seemed to amplify her kind features. Her entire face was covered with freckles which, in Corin's opinion, made her only more striking. From what he could see of her front, Corin decided that her breasts were quite small, probably about an A-cup (though he was no expert) as opposed to the abundance of bust that was common among Central High's girls. She was also extremely short, perhaps even less so than Corin himself, and of a light and lithe build. Her magnificent red hair only came down to her shoulders. She was, simply put, the antithesis of every other girl in the school. The typical Central High girl was tall, with long blonde hair and tanned and perfect skin and huge breasts. This girl was exactly the opposite.

The girl's face turned a little further and she whispered something to the girl next to her. Corin was close enough that he could hear snatches of what she said – nothing coherent, but to Corin her voice sounded like angelsong. As he listened and looked, something seemed to bend inside Corin... bend and snap. Corin had never had much in the way of desires or ambition. He had never seen anything – or anyone for that matter, that he wanted. That he needed. His body didn't know how to react. His stomach felt like it was turning over in his chest; his heart beat so fast he was afraid he might be dying. Corin's mouth began to water, as if she was really something he could simply gobble up.

Scared of the change that was coming over him, Corin tried to divert his gaze but it snapped back to her, as if drawn by some irresistible magnetic attraction. His mind rapidly realigned priorities. Math wasn't important. Who cared about math? This girl was the most important thing in the room, and he should focus on her, not the chalkboard. As he stared at this unknown goddess, Corin was dimly aware that hormones were flooding his brain, building and reinforcing pathways that solidified the image of the red-head in his mind. He only vaguely knew that he was experiencing a crush. For the first time in his life, he felt something powerful and real, an objective. Something to do.

Soon, Corin had surrendered the fight to look at the blackboard. His will to learn had never really had a chance – Corin had to resort to reading the book to learn the math later. From that day forward, Period 1 Math had been a solid 45 minutes of staring-at-the-girl time.

From snatches of conversation and times she had been called on in class, Corin was able to learn that this girl's name was Katherine Cooper, usually called Katie for short. Katie was only in Corin's math class. She was constantly smiling – not only in math class but also whenever Corin passed her in the hall. Katie usually wore her beautiful golden-red hair in a pony-tail but sometimes let it hang free, such as on the first day that Corin saw her. Many of her clothes were also red, to match her hair, Corin supposed, but the color was never quite right. What color was her hair? Rusty soil? Not quite. A dull red with the smallest overtone of gold that Corin had never seen duplicated.

Corin didn't know where she lived, but he knew where her locker was, what classes she was taking, and who her friends were (on sight, at least, he didn't know their names). Katie was extremely smart, though she seemed very modest. Her friends were often asking her for help. Importantly, (to Corin, at least) she didn't have a boyfriend. Not surprising. Most of the boys at the school seemed to prefer blondes, for some reason that utterly escaped Corin.

First period – Advanced Study of Katie -- was Corin's favorite subject. He was aware that his obsession with Katie was growing to dangerous levels, but he didn't mind. Corin made it a point to always sit behind and to one side of her, so he could see her beautiful face – so pale that were it not for her freckles, it might have been made of porcelain. After a few weeks, she became like a drug to Corin. On days she was late (and one nightmarish day she stayed home, sick) Corin felt as though the world had turned upside down, and had spent the rest of the day feeling depressed. Those days that she was present, first period passed in a happy blur.
Corin's head settled back down into his hands and resumed staring at the back of Katie's head, examining her pretty red-gold pony tail and freckled neck. Beautiful Katie. Cute Katie. Lovely Katie. Cute, lovely Katie...

The bell rang. Corin sighed, disappointed. It would be a whole day before he could see her for this long again. He gathered his things and allowed himself one last admiring glance as Katie stood and left the room chatting with her friends. Feeling just a bit down, Corin gave a dejected sigh and headed off to second period. The terrible thing was, his brain wanted her, wanted some kind of possession or control of her that Corin wasn't entirely sure he understood, much less could obtain. He knew he would never have whatever it was he wanted. He couldn't so much as say a word to her (or anyone else for that matter). He was just one man in a sea of people, and he was pathetic by comparison. Walking to school, with his worn clothes and second hand books. People here had private chauffeurs and thousands or millions of dollars. Corin couldn't compete. He sighed and walked to his next class, his head down just a little lower than usual...

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. As the last bell rang, Corin slipped out of his last class and gathered his things from his locker, fully ready to head home for the day. He followed the branching hallway and joined the tremendous swarm of students of like mind, all eager for a well deserved rest or else off to some other, more exciting activity. Corin, small as he was, darted and weaved through the horde and came out through the front doors of Central High, at the top of the stairs. Rather than head straight home, as he had intended, Corin stood still a moment at the top of the steps and surveyed the mass of humanity that surrounded him, flooding through the hall, down the steps, and gushing out the front gates of Central High as inevitably as a waterfall. It seemed fluid, uniform, identical... a formless blur.

Suddenly, there was the smallest glimmer of red among the gold and brown. It was Katie! Corin experienced the same sensation that he always did whenever he saw her – his eyes seemed to lock onto her and refused to divert their gaze. Someone shoved Corin from behind – he was holding up the line. Hardly thinking, he turned away from his planned route and made his way through the thinning crowd towards the only head of golden-red.

Corin didn't know why he followed her. He didn't think about it. He simply did, though it was difficult to maintain sight of her short and slim form in the mob that surrounded them both. Katie's hair and similar red jacket acted like a beacon in the night of lesser colors, and Corin followed it like a stranded sailor, as if his salvation depended on his ability to reach her.

Eventually, the crowd thinned, to the point that only a few sparse other students were between himself and Katie. Now that he could easily reach her – at any time, really, Corin began to think. Katie, wherever she was going, had turned in the same direction as Corin's house was anyway. This was just a bit on the creepy side, but honestly, what would he do instead? He felt ridiculous, true, he was following her bobbing ponytail like a mule would follow a carrot on a stick, but they were going in the same direction anyway. If he went somewhere else to avoid her, he would be going away from his home. There was really no reason not to follow her.

Corin crossed a street close on Katie's heels. His heart seemed to jump just a little as he saw her round the same corner he usually rounded – how was it he had never seen her on this path before? Did she take it every day? Corin rounded the same corner...

Out of nowhere, a fist appeared and its path intersected Corin's gut. If his heart had jumped before, it really jumped now – albeit with a different stimulus. The pain sent Corin to his knees, sprawling on the ground. A kick to his side sent him down even further, as he collapsed. The small boy's vision seemed to swim as he tried to prop himself back up.

“Oops. Sorry kid.” Malicious chuckles filled Corin's ears. He knew the voice well enough.
“I apologized to you. I think you ought to say sorry to me for getting in my way.” The same voice. As was his way, Corin said nothing. His silence bought him another swift kick to the side, and Corin fell back to the ground.
“I think you may have knocked the voice straight out of him, Vic. He's so small and puny I'm amazed that he can stand even without you whacking in the side every couple of seconds.” A different voice. More laughter.

Corin stayed down, and hoped that the posse would lose interest. His oppressor in this case was Victor (Vic to his friends) Hill, his surname apt in describing his size. Some people go through a bullying phase. Some people are bullies their entire lives. In primary school, bullies beat up kids smaller than themselves. In high school, bullies smoke and drink and get into knife fights. Victor Hill was in high school but had the brain of a primary schooler, so he compromised. He smoked and drank and got into knife fights and beat up kids smaller than himself.

There were no gangs in Avalon. Corin often wished there were, because then Victor might have joined one and would have too been busy to beat him up. Fortunately for Corin, Victor's cult of personality followed Victor everywhere and reveled in the pain he caused, but they didn't seem to think that beating Corin up was particularly interesting. Victor, driven by some perverse desire to impress his hangers-on, didn't seem think that tiny Corin was much of a challenge, and playing keep-away with Corin's backpack and possessions seemed to have lost their pizazz. Thus, Corin only had the ill fortune to run into Victor once every couple of weeks, and their encounters were relatively short.

Today was no different, and Corin breathed a sigh of relief as one of Victor's friends spoke.
“Hey, Vic, we're gonna be late if we keep wasting time with this midget. He's not getting up anyway. Let's go.”
“Yeah. Fine.” Victor moved away from Corin and Corin chanced to open one eye. Victor and company walked down the street and disappeared – mercifully in a different direction from the one Corin was going. Corin sighed again. Victor was unstable, to say the least. Next time, Corin might not be so lucky. You never knew when Victor might put a knife in your arm just to prove how tough he was. Rumor was that the huge hooligan always carried a blade. Still, Corin had seen worse bullies at his other schools.

“Hey, kid, you need some help?”
Corin looked up for the speaker. Standing above him was a tall boy with dark brown – almost black hair and eyes, wearing a black track jacket and matching dark pants. The boy reached down a hand and Corin took it, and the smaller boy felt himself lifted to his feet.

Corin whispered a barely audible thanks and dusted himself off.

“No need to thank me. He really must have knocked the wind out of you, huh? Are you hurt?”

Corin shook his head. He might be a little bruised and banged up, but he'd survive.

“That's good. Can't believe that bastard would try to beat you up in broad daylight in the middle of a public sidewalk. I wish he would try it on me sometime, I'd show him a thing or two. Doubt he fights fair, though. I'm Pryce, by the way. Pryce Benning.”

“Corin. Pleased to meet you.” The response was a bit more audible this time.

“Good to meet you too, Corin. Look, I wish I could chat, but I've got to dash. I'll talk to you later. Take care of yourself.” Corin bowed slightly to show his thanks again, and Pryce ran off in the direction Victor had gone, waving a brief goodbye.

Corin watched his benefactor disappear around another corner before continuing himself. He walked to the end of the street and crossed – rather than rounding the second corner that Pryce and Victor had taken, and continued towards his house a little faster than he'd been going before, jumping at small noises.

The fight with the bully had driven Katie from Corin's mind, at least temporarily. However, as he rounded the final turn before his home, Corin caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. The young boy stopped dead in his tracks. Had he imagined it? Had his scuffle with Victor taken its tole on his eyesight? Or it could it be that Katie was really so close by?

Corin had to know. To reach his father's apartment, Corin would have turned right; instead he took a left. Corin saw another glimpse of red, and followed it around another corner, and down a long, narrow street. With a choice between several turns on an empty sidewalk, Corin made a guess – and was rewarded.

He was standing at the end of a mid-length street lined with houses, and near the end of it, distant but unmistakable, was Katie. Corin was torn. There was the danger that if he tried to move down the street, Katie might see him and be suspicious. After a few moments of indecision, Corin ran towards Katie – as close as he dared without risking her hearing his footfalls, and ducked behind the wall of a nearby house. He cautiously peeked out from around his cover and watched Katie.

She had stopped in front of a large house, probably three stories high (two large lower stories and a smaller third one, probably an attic, on the third floor), with white paint and a few evenly spaced and large windows on each floor. The house had a small front yard and garden with numerous flowers and several small trees, as well as a garage off to the house's side. The front door was large, with a brick walkway running through the yard and into the street. Katie seemed to be rummaging around in the pockets of her jacket for something – something that she apparently did not find.

Katie turned to survey the street and Corin hurriedly ducked behind the wall and out of sight. As soon as he dared, Corin peaked back out. Corin saw that carefully, with the toe of her shoe, Katie was moving a brick from the walkway, only a few paces from the front door. After a moment, she had loosened it sufficiently and bent down and picked something up. Not the brick... something much smaller... something that glimmered in the light... a key! Katie took the key and unlocked her front door before replacing both it and the brick. She quickly went inside.

Corin could not even begin to fathom the value of the information he had just obtained. Not only had he discovered the location of Katie's house, he had also discovered a way to gain access to it. Yet somehow, all this precious information really gave him nothing. What should he do? Enter the house? And then do what? And if he was caught? It was absurd, really. He should just go home. Really, the most intriguing thing he had discovered was that her house was extremely close to his father's apartment. In fact, looking up, he could see his building (and practically, his apartment) from here! All there was between her house and his home was a park (directly next to her house) and two more residential streets on the other side of the park, with a commercial strip running parallel to them. That might not be much, but it was something. Corin set off for home, this time in earnest.

Corin's new and most recent home was on the sixth floor of an apartment building just outside the City of Avalon, about a twenty minute walk or so from Central High. Corin spent most of his time either inside his father's apartment or at school, as he had little to do in between. However, on his way back from school, Corin would always pause briefly at the apartment's mailbox and collect the post for the day. As he'd discovered, his father would rarely do it himself. There were sometimes a few things for his father, but there was almost never anything for Corin – and when spam was excluded, Corin had never really gotten anything useful.

Changes in your life can come in many forms. They can come in the form of a person, an opportunity, or a lucky break. They can be a business opportunity, a romance, or a new friendship. They can be twisted accidents, upheavals, or simply slow builds and decays. Few people, however, expect change to arrive in the mail, though as the medium of the most important of information, it usually is a powerful destroyer of the status quo.

When Corin opened the mail on that particular fateful afternoon, he found something that he wasn't expecting in with the usual junk mail. Typed on the envelope were the simply the words “Corin. 616 Half Town Towers.”. No postage. No return address. Just an envelope, much heavier than usual. Corin blinked and re-read the message several times. The letter was his, and clearly most unusual.

Corin went upstairs to his apartment and let himself in. It was vacant. He left the rest of the mail on the kitchen table for his father (whenever he got back – several days' mail had already accumulated) and took his single, solitary letter into his room. He had a strange feeling that this letter was much more important than the entire pile in the kitchen.

Slowly, deliberately, Corin broke the letter's seal and opened the envelope. He promptly dropped it in surprise, and green paper from inside the envelope scattered over his bedroom floor. Green paper. Paper with numbers and pictures – money. Lots of money. Quickly Corin scrambled around his room and collected the scattered bills until he had all of them. They were large denominations by the boy's standards, tens and twenties.

Corin took one twenty and held it up to the light, as he had learned at one of his previous schools. It bore the treasury watermark, and it felt like real money. As he positioned it right behind the light and looked at Andrew Jackson's face, the federal eagle on the left disappeared and a second copy of the President's head appeared on the right. It was a genuine bill – or a much cleverer counterfeit than Corin could imagine. But who would want to send him any money?
As he started to put the bills back into the envelope, Corin noticed there was a scap of small white paper in the front of the envelope, barely visible in the sea of green bills he took it out. A message! He removed the scrap. It bore six solitary words.

“Corin, this is for you. Sorry.” He read the last word again. Sorry. Who was sorry? For what? Corin turned the paper over and examined the previous side, then looked back at the front. The message was typed, so there was no handwriting for him to recognize. Corin set the scrap aside and looked again at the envelope. There was a lot of money inside. He took out the bills and began to count them, and then counted them a second time. There was no denying it.

There were one thousand dollars in the envelope. Who was sorry? And why were they so sorry that they sent him a thousand dollars? Corin pondered this, but he had no answer.

A long life in a number of crummy public schools and the particularly pretentious Central High had taught him the value of money. Money was power; money was something that could get you what you wanted. Victor could beat Corin up not because his muscles were bigger or because he was larger but because his family was rich, and so he could attack Corin without fear of retribution in Avalon. However, Victor couldn't beat up an even richer person, because their family was more powerful than his. Corin didn't have enough money to hold a candle to Victor or someone like him at Central High, but he had some (where he'd had none before) so now he had power. Now he just had to figure out how to use his money to get what he wanted.

But what did he want? The answer leaped unbidden into his mind. Katie. But how could he get her, a person, using money? His mind oppressively cracked down on this line of defeatist thinking. His desire for her, a terrible burning desire that he didn't understand, returned to him increased tenfold. And slowly, bits of a plan began to form in his mind.

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Victor Hill walked through the front door of The Pink Lotus, on time after all. Much like Central High itself, from the outside The Pink Lotus was utterly unremarkable – a large, wide, white-tan four-story building closer to a mansion than a house, but that was the norm in this part of Avalon. Shining white was the color of the town, and large was the way of the rich. An untrained observer could not have spotted much in the way of differences between The Pink Lotus and the next mansion over. Both had identical features: a large front and back yard, with an abundance of substantial well-kept greenery, meticulously clean white walls and luxurious windows on every floor, culminating in a characteristic sharply curved roof in the Mediterranean Rival style that made the sunlight simply seem to slide off the building.

A shrewder observer, however, could see past The Pink Lotus' blinding facade and pick out the barest of hints that showed that this was a very different building. The windows of the mansion, which should have been thrown happily open to absorb the dying light of the day, were closed and blocked by shades and blinds, so that no man on the street could see inside the building. The complex's driveway was filled with cars, but not of the owner: they came and went sporadically. And strangest of all, a great many different people visited The Pink Lotus regularly at various times of afternoon and night, entering through the front door of the titanic house, which for some reason always seemed to be unlocked.

Of course, this was because The Pink Lotus was not really a house at all. It was a place of business, and Victor Hill had walked in only a few minutes after its opening for the afternoon, his friends close on his heels.

Just inside the front door were a number of tables with one chair each and an assorted scattering of couches and other seating. An untrained observer might have guessed that this was a restaurant – of course, only if he had failed to notice the lack of silverware. Then again, it was a restaurant -- for appetites of sorts.

A single stand was positioned near the door; a beautiful Indian girl – an unusual sight in the overwhelmingly caucasian Arcadia – stood behind it. She was tall but young, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, with long dark hair and chocolate colored eyes, a shade or so darker than her light brown skin. She had a long delicate face which culminated in a slender neck and a chest of largish c-cup breasts, disguised by the light material of her red and pink gown, in line with the name of the establishment.

“Hello, Lona.”

Lonavanya (“Lona”) Lakshad looked up with a smile that she did not feel on the inside.

“Ah, good afternoon Mr. Hill. Are all these gentlemen with you?” Lona's tone was musical and rich, but carried no accent of any kind.

“I dunno,” said Victor, smirking. “Are you boys?” A cry of affirmation came from the small gang that had followed Victor in. “Yeah, they're with me. Put them on my bill, my treat!” Another cry went up.

Lona's mind churned. Victor had brought half a dozen other people with him, probably as a display of his wealth and a status symbol as much as anything else. This was very, very good for her.

She – Lona Lakshad – was the proprietor and hostess of The Pink Lotus, and her family owned the building. Not all were rich in this suburb – though her family was well-off, she herself was not, and she had put the building to work. Such was the dream of Avalon – to feed off the rich in the hopes that one day, you yourself might join their ranks. Victor was an excellent host to feed off of – bloated with his own cash and blinded by his own stupidity.

“Excellent, Mr. Hill. I'll seat your friends in a moment. Would you like to see a menu or have you already made a selection?”

The gears in Victor's less-than-formidable mind turned clunkily. “Yeah, I'll see a menu.”

“Very good, sir. Emily! Emily!” After a moment, a pretty blond caucasian girl – a striking contrast to her Indian counterpart appeared. Emily was young, probably the same age as Lona, and of medium height and thin build. She had long, blond hair, which she allowed to fall behind her unchecked. Emily wore only a tight pink t-shirt with a deep neck, probably a size too small for her, that easily outline her respectable c-cup breasts and a pink g-string that showcased her shapely, womanly ass. She stood on a pair of thin – though not stiletto – high heels.

“Emily will be taking care you today, Mr. Hill” continued Lona matter-of-factly.

Emily bowed to Victor, affording him an excellent view of her breasts, before taking a menu from behind Lona's podium.

“Right this way, sir.” Emily continued in front of Victor, her heels and gait causing her to butt to wiggle seductively as she walking.

Lona briefly watched Emily take Victor to a couch in the far corner before looking back at Victor's six guests. As she ducked below the podium to collect the six menus for them, she allowed herself to wrinkle her nose and shudder in disgust: dumb, cruel, and greasy, the whole lot of them. Just her luck that Victor Hill was one of their best customers. She was glad she was just the hostess.

Emily led Victor to his couch, where the brute plopped down and opened the menu that Emily handed him. Emily did not leave, instead stood before him and waited with her legs planted slightly further apart than was absolutely necessary.

Victor flipped through for a minute or so before finally muttering, “Weird, I'm really just not in the mood.”

Emily smiled lightly. “Really? Why didn't you just say so. We can fix that.” Wrapping her legs gingerly around Victor's waist, Emily slid into the boy's lap, facing him. She shifted her weight onto him and the couch so she could lift herself up the smallest amount. Slowly and sensuously, Emily began to rub her hips and cunt, protected by nothing but her g-string, against Victor's lap, arching her back upward to give him a good view of her underboob and thin top. Almost immediately, she felt Victor's member harden through the fabric of his jeans, just beneath her own sex.

After a few more tantalizing movements of her waist, Emily looked up her customer, a naughty grin on her face. “In the mood now?”

“Yes,” murmured Victor. “Do you have anything new I could try?”

Emily gyrated her hips as she thought, sending shocks of pleasure through Victor. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Lona just opened up the pool out back to the clients... she says its safe now... you could try that.”

“Was never much of a swimmer.”

“Really?” Emily twisted herself from side to side, bringing Victor to full erection. “Well, we've got a few new rooms... since last you visited, we also got a new employee... Sarah, she's a feisty one, I guarantee you'll have lots of fun with her.”

“The small brunette? Nah. Give me a blonde.” Emily continued her lap-dance as she spoke, eliciting a small gasp from Victor, and a few more words in the tow. “Why can't I just have you?”

Emily smiled. “I'm flattered, but I have to stay out here and help the other customers. Although... if you like me, you might try Lily. I think she's on the last page on the menu.” Emily twisted herself around entirely, so she was no longer facing Victor, and bent over while continuing to massage his thighs with her body. Her change in position allowed Victor to retrieve his menu and flip to the last page, propping it against his attendant's back.

Near the bottom, the menu showed a picture of a young blond, similar to Emily – and if anything even more striking. “We've got plenty of light hair, but if you really like blondes, Lily's your girl,” purred Emily. “She's got nice big, natural D's for you and she absolutely loves to suck.”

Victor only considered for a second, and that was only because even heightened arousal could not dispel his natural slowness. “Sold. I'll take an hour with her.”

Emily stood and turned back to face him. “Very good choice, sir. She's second floor, room 204. I'll call up and let her know you're coming. I take it you know where the stairs are?”

As Victor got up to go meet Lily, Emily smirked at his retreating back. “An hour with Lily. Right.” Judging from the dampness she'd felt through his jeans, she doubted he would last five minutes. She shrugged. It was his money to throw away.

Victor ascended the winding flight of mansion steps – a fancy staircase hardly suitable for a brothel packed with high school girls. He found room 204 easily enough and opened the door.

Victor had been in pink rooms before. This was the pinkest. It had pink wall paper adorned with rosy-cheeked pink cupids, shocking pink carpeting, a pink ceiling, two pink dressers with pink lights with pink shades on top of them, and in the center of the room – a large pink-and-red poster bed, shaped like a heart, with pink-and-white covers and lace. Victor's eyes instinctively flicked to the one non-pink thing in the room – Lily.

Lily's photo hadn't done her justice. Victor frequented The Pink Lotus and had bought an hour with many girls, but Lily (if that was her real name) might well have been one of the hottest he'd ever seen, including those he'd seen on TV and in magazines. She was medium height and of light build with a young woman's attractive face, all vaguely reminiscent of Emily. Unlike Emily, however, Lily's hair couldn't have been blonder if it was bleached (and it might well have been), and rather than falling freely down her back, it spiraled down her and around her shoulders in long curls. As promised, she had very pleasing and luxurious D breasts – maybe 32D or larger – nicely round and culminating in well proportioned red nipples. She had a nice, large curvy ass – and, as Victor could see – a perfect, shaven pink pussy.

If Victor had been hard before, seeing Lily did nothing to curb his raging erection. She was wearing nothing other than the same style of heels Emily had had, giving Victor a view of her entire body. Above and beyond that, she was presently on the bed on all fours, ass to the wall, slowly impaling her sex on a long, bumpy, black dildo that was apparently fixed into the surface behind her.

Lily looked up at Victor and smiled with glossy, pink lips, causing her hair to fall over he shoulders. “I heard you were coming.” She puffed up her lips, as if to pout and added a slight whine into her voice. “I was getting bored without you. I was afraid you might not come after all, and I wasn't having much fun on my own.” She gave a demonstrative buck of her sensuous hips, causing the dildo to penetrate her even more deeply.

Victor disrobed faster than he ever had in his life, barely pausing to even close the door. His jeans, shirt, shoes, socks, and boxers were on the floor in a flash, exposing his hard member.

Lily smiled again. “Ooh. I see Emily got you nice and hard for me. What a good girl. But it's not fair you have a head start on me. I'll have to catch up.” Lily began to slide herself back and forth, and the dildo in turn slid in and out of her, ripping through her exposed cunt.

Victor mounted the bed and got onto his knees, thrusting his cock level with Lily's mouth.

“I hear you like to suck?”

“And blow.” Lily puffed up her cheeks. “And kiss.” She moved her head forward and kissed the tip of Victor's tool. “And lick.” Shifting her weight onto her legs, Lily took the cock presented to her in one hand and began to lick the shaft, all the while fucking herself on the dildo behind her. Victor's member quivered expectantly and a burst of white sperm erupted, creaming lightly over Lily's face. She licked a little from the corner of her lips.

“Ooooh. So nice and big. And so sensitive! Well, we'll just have to make sure you have lots of cum to shoot, won't we?” Leaning in even further, but still impaling herself on false member behind her, Lily began to lightly tongue Victor's balls. Victor let out a sigh of sexual contentment as Lily's hot tongue gently washed over his equipment, supplemented by the steady, dirty sounds that told him that Lily was still pleasuring herself on the sex toy behind her.

After a few minutes of focused licking, Lily kissed each ball once and moved backwards, allowing the dildo to thrust into her and eliciting her own moan of pleasure. Allowing herself a few brief, powerful thrusts on plastic tool, she took each of Victor's balls in hand and began to gently massage them.

“These are big too! You're just a big, strong boy aren't you?” Lily lightly ran her thumbs over the testicles, feeling them. “And they're just bulging! I bet you've got lots of yummy cream in there, don't you? Well, we'll find out.”

Releasing his balls, Lily took Victor's shaft in hand and placed the end lightly on her outstretched tongue. After allowing it to quiver there for a moment while stroking the shaft with her hands, Lily closed her lips around the tip, experimentally sucking and blowing, teasing his erection even harder.

Lily unhooked the dildo from the wall and placed in up on the bed, allowing her to shift into sitting position while still gratifying her pussy on the black member, all the while continuing to service Victor's tool with her tongue and mouth. She soon released her client's cock, soaked with her warm saliva and its precum, and bent over Victor, swallowing the penis between her superb D-cup breasts. Squeezing her tits together with her hands, Lily began to buck steadily up and down – pleasuring both herself via the dildo beneath her and Victor via the pressure of her sweet breasts. As the springs of the bed allowed her to buck all the more vigorously, Lily moved herself down the shaft, so her breasts covered near Victor's balls, allowing her to teasingly lick the top of his cock with her tongue.

With the tremendous sensation of both Lily's tits and mouth servicing him, sexual pressure began to build in Victor's cock. As her huge, bouncing breasts and warm, moist tongue worked his shaft, Lily brought her hands around to Victor's balls, massaging them and enticing them to release their load. Victor's pleasure mounted and mounted, and with a yelp, he felt himself hit orgasm.

Lily backed away just in time, as white cum burst from the boy's cock, the bulk of it landing in Lily's open mouth but stragglers also flecking her blonde hair, big breasts, and pretty face. Lily opened wide, displaying Victor's load on her tongue, before closing her mouth and swallowing with a naughty smile. She looked hotter than ever – a man's cum strewn over her chest and face and a load of semen on its way down her throat.

Lily licked her pink, glossy lips, catching a bit more of Victor's semen. “Yummy. You know if we were being taped, that would have been the money shot.” She smiled.

“Good girl. I'm not done yet. I've got more. Get me hard again.” Victor placed his hand on her beautiful head and forced it back down to his cock. Lily obediently opened her mouth and retook his softening load. To get in a better position, Lily got back onto all fours and used one hand to prop herself up. Her other hand reached behind her and began to work the dildo that still possessed her cunt.

Victor nearly sprang hard again at the touch of her tongue, but Lily was determined to treat him better than that. Her cheeks swelled and shrank with the effort of pushed air as her lovely lips moved up and down his member, leaving a faint trial of pink, glossy lipstick as they went. As she worked his shaft once again, her tongue went to work inside, licking the underside of Victor's tool carefully. The combined sensation left Victor tingling, and in no time blood was rushing to his groin. Lily maintained a steady pace for the blowjob, each bob of her head corresponding to a lick of her tongue and thrust of the dildo into her own pussy. With each stroke of her head, movement of her jiggling tits, Victor got harder and harder, until his cock stood fully erect again.

As it stood fully, Victor pulled out of her mouth.

“Are you sure you don't want something more real than that stupid piece of plastic?”

With a dirty sucking noise, Lily pulled the dildo out of herself and threw it to the floor beside the bed, and turned around, parting her sex with two fingers. “However you want to take me.”

Her pussy was shaven and a pretty pink, an alluring look and smell that Victor had no willpower to resist. Placing his hands on her sides, Victor propped himself up and plunged into her waiting sex.

Lily's cunt was an experience. Soaked and stretched from her toying with the dildo, the blonde's entrance was not tight or resistive by any stretch of the imagination. However, as soon as Victor plunged into her, Lily's walls closed around his invading member. As he slowly began to slide back and forth and pump in and out of her, the walls seem to squeeze more, as if her body was determined to pleasure him as best as it could.

Victor hoisted her up from all fours and slid underneath her, forcing Lily into a reverse cowgirl. As Lily took the initiative and began to pound up and down, driving Victor deeper and deeper into her, Victor reached up and began to play with her wonderful breasts, groping and squeezing them and fingering the nipples. They were soft and fleshy, putty in Victor's hands and fun to play with. As he squeezed her tits, pleasure shot through Lily's body and she arched backwards, stimulation in both her chest and her pussy compelling her to greater levels of sexual performance.

Lily, for her part, began to buck and whirl, gyrating her hips as she beat out a steady pace. Unlike the set rhythm of her incredible blowjobs, in straight sex she moved constantly faster and faster, increasing the friction between her core and his, sending waves of pleasure pounding through her and into him. Her hips pounded against Victor, her breasts jiggled freely as she did.

“Oh, Victor... cum in me, Victor...” she pleaded. “I want to feel your hot stuff in me. Please...”

Faster and faster they went, Victor pounding in and out of her. She was just so beautiful, hips wiggling as they gyrated, breasts jiggling to the beat of their lovemaking, back arched and faced turned upwards with an expression of bliss... flecks of his cum still in her hair and on her face. Victor started to feel pressure building once again, with each stroke into her he took he got closer and closer until...

“I'm cuming!” Victor exclaimed. Cum flowed out of him and into her pussy like a fire hose, rushing and rushing – it never seemed to end – her cunt filled and cum dripped out of it. Victor collapsed back onto the bed, exhausted and drained.

Minutes later, Victor stood reclothed and somewhat regenerated, ready to leave and go terrorize the neighborhood once again. As he went to leave he turned to look at Lily.

She was standing near the door in her pink heels, legs spread wide, with the black dildo back in her sex. She pushed her magnificent breasts together, with bits of his semen still visible on them, and licked a fleck of it off.

“Be back soon,” she said naughtily and winked.

Victor shut the door and descended the stairs. He had a new favorite girl.

Below, Emily glanced at a nearby clock. Just under half an hour. Apparently Lily liked to play with her food.

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“Birdwatching?” The shop keeper looked at the boy before him. The boy was small and thin, not very intimidating, probably pretty fast. And very quiet, hard to hear. Maybe the birdwatching type.

“Yes. Birdwatching.” Corin rasped a little bit, barely speaking audibly.

“Well, birdwatching doesn't require binoculars better than any others in most cases. There's a whole shelf of 7x and 8x pairs back there. You can pick out something you like.”

“I live in Half-Town Towers. Do you know where it is?”

“Sure.”

“There's a park nearby, maybe one or two blocks away. It's not very far. I want to be able to do birdwatching from my balcony, but I don't think that those little binoculars are powerful enough.”

“Hm...” The salesman scratched his chin. “Tell you what, kid. I've got this pair of 20x50mm binoculars. That's twenty times magnification, almost three times better than the little 7x's. They're pretty hefty and I'm not sure how good the resolution is, but the magnification might be high enough to let you bird-watch from your balcony. If it's not, you can return them and I'll give you store credit for something else. How's that?” The salesman took out a box, which had a picture of a big, black pair of binoculars on it. Usually long and wide.

Corin lifted the box. It was heavy – but these might be just what he was looking for.

“Okay. Sure. I'll take them.”

“$55.24.” Corin handed over the money and the old-style cash register gave a chime.

“Thank you,” Corin said softly.

“Oh no, thank you. And tell me how that birdwatching works out for you!” the storeowner shouted as Corin walked out the door.

Corin smiled to himself. Endorphins flooded his brain as he looked at the box of the powerful binoculars he had just purchased. He was one step closer to his goals. He could feel it.

“I'll go birdwatching.” He spoke to himself in his real voice, a beautiful musical tone that no one but himself ever heard.

He was sure he would be able to see his little birdy just fine.

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Author's Notes:

I realize that this might have been a bit confusing. As a brief recap (in case you needed a refresher – quite a few characters were introduced this chapter) we have, in rough order of their appearances:

Corin: The protagonist, a quiet young boy from the outer city, who recently moved near Avalon with his father and enrolled in Avalon's Central High two years ago, making him a Sophomore. Recently turned 16.

Katherine “Katie” Cooper: Object of Corin's affections. Short, thinly built, with red-gold hair, exceedingly pale skin, and freckles. Little known about her at this point.

Corin's Father: Works for a big firm in the city, disappears often, used to move frequently, single parent, neglectful father who didn't like to hear Corin speak. Little else known about him at this time.

Mr. Manning: The first period math teacher. Mentioned but not really seen.

Victor Hill: Lifelong bully, described as Corin's oppressor. Apparently comes from a rich family, big and dumb, and frequents the Pink Lotus. Often seen with a posse of a half-dozen or so friends.

Pryce Benning: Large Central High student with dark hair who helped Corin to his feet. Little known about him at this time.

Lonavanya (“Lona”) Lakshad: Proprietor of The Pink Lotus, owner and hostess. Young Indian girl, probably comes from a well-to-do family but not rich herself.

Emily: Another hostess at The Pink Lotus. Medium height, blond, thin.

Lily: A worker at The Pink Lotus. Similar to Emily – medium height, blond, thin (the norm in Avalon).

The Shopkeeper: Sold Corin a pair of 20x50mm binoculars with a generous offer of returning them for store-credit if they didn't work for his birdwatching. Definitely a merchant to know.

Hopefully that helped clear up any character confusion.

As an interesting note on the side, I had a few concerns about this chapter:
1)In the first few pages, I'm pretty sure I sounded too preachy and judgmental about the market and Avalon. Hopefully wasn't a turn-off for you, the reader. The story as a whole is also somewhat philosophical.
2)While writing descriptions of buildings, I realized that I don't actually know anything about building architecture. They are therefore probably pretty disorienting.
3)Descriptive paragraphs tended to be long-winded and occasionally incoherent.
4)I have a disturbing tendency to name my female character's names in the “y” sound – ie: Emily, Lily, Katie. Lona and the en passant mention of Sarah were the only exceptions.
5)I dropped names that people might not recognize – for example, Winthrop, writer of “A Model of Christian Charity” (also mentioning Puritans in a story like this might just be a bad idea in general).
6)I am probably portraying the suburb of Avalon in an unrealistic way, with unrealistic demographics (this might be okay, because it's not a real city).
Anyway, so I am aware of those problems and am working to fix them.

Think I've got other issues that I missed? Just want to praise me on my writing? Then please review. I have no idea how I'm doing if you don't give me any feedback.

That's it for the chapter. Hope you enjoyed it!
'Till next time.

-Chris