The light hair of Carl's forearm slowly moved off her lips as her suction ceased. Breathing became harder to do between her locking cage of ribs.

"Can you take me home now, Carl?"

Her fingers brushed her naked front and touched down to her lower stomach, where she could sense the poison inside her growing steadily like a cursed parasite. A cold sweat broke over. "I don't feel so well."

But he wasn't so willing. "I think you should rest here a little longer."

A shake of the head: "If what you said is true, I would like to go home now. Please."

Carl was silent for a moment, filling the car up with noxious tension. The fog thinned on the windows slowly and as it cleared, the moon and the silver wash of moonlight, were gone. And so was any hope of a god.

"Please, Carl."

The room felt suddenly colder now, and Carl felt cold around her too. He felt cold like a chilling spoon in a tub of ice. Perfectly molded but made of metal. His malice was in no way warm. He was rigid against her warm back, and he made her shiver like an air conditioner would. Like a refrigerator would. Like a hard, cold. . . robot.

"I don't think I'm pregnant," came the wishful thought. "I think everything is going to be okay. I think I'll just sleep here and my mind will be back to normal in the morning."

But there came no answer after the self-talk. Instead, as though to assure her that what she said could be changed, he pressed his pelvis and his hands against her and made a move that was all of a sudden morbid and intrusive--

"Get off of me!" She screamed, shooting upright to escape his act—but he yanked her toward him with the chains of his interlocking fingers that gripped her elbows. Her lover was suddenly a rapacious monster, as despicable as a leper and threatening as a kidnapper.