Serial Separation by Dick C. Waters Page A

beds and the knots in the pine. However, it was
tough to close my eyes. I tried not to study Mercedes consuming the cold meal,
but she was like a painter’s canvas with many contrasts. It was hard to take it
all in.
    She made me feel uncomfortable from
the moment I met her. Now alone with her, I could study her more closely. What
I saw was a beautiful flower thriving for the sun of attention. She craved it,
and the more she received, the brighter she seemed to reflect the light.
    We didn’t talk, but I knew she knew
I was examining her. The way she ate her food was slow and deliberate, her red
nails hypnotizing. I expected she may have been uncomfortable, but I was glad
to have company. I think I would have given up driving in the storm earlier if
she hadn’t been with me.
    “Scott, you seem to be bothered by
something. Have I done something wrong?”
    “No, Mercy, you haven’t done anything
wrong. I was just thinking about the drive here. I would have stopped long ago
if you weren’t with me.”
    “I’ll have to admit I was very
nervous on that last stretch of road. It is hard to believe you were able to
get us here safely—but I’m glad you did.” She looked like she wanted to add
something more, so I kept quiet.
    “Do you think its fate that we’re
here together like this?”
    Her question caught me off guard. I
had to think quickly before answering. She added, “I make you uncomfortable,
don’t I?”
    I took a deep breath and looked
into her eyes, but I noticed her lips curl.
    “Yes.”
    She leaned back in her chair. I
wanted to ask her what she was thinking about, but decided against it.
    “Scott, I don’t think you should
feel uncomfortable. Since you gave me an honest answer, and we have some time
on our hands, I want to share some secrets with you.” She paused, adding,
“Don’t worry . . . you might even enjoy what you hear. Do you want to know, or
should I keep it to myself?”
    I used the last of my food to
evaluate the consequences. “Why don’t I get the fire started?”
    “That’s a great idea.”
     
    * *
*
     
    While I did my thing with the
fireplace, Mercedes turned on the TV and looked out the window at the storm.
“The snow is still coming down, and your car is just a big white lump.”
    I turned to her voice. She was
facing me, leaning with her hands behind her against the window sill. I wish I
had a camera to capture the striking pose, but my memory will never forget it.
One could have hours of conversation and not have said what she said in that
moment. I could feel my face flushing and turned to light the fire.
    “We might want to see if we can
hear a weather report on the TV.” It struck me that if we couldn’t get out of
here tomorrow; we didn’t have enough money for another night’s stay.
    She came over and spread the afghan
out beside the hearth, knelt beside me, and just watched the fire as it came
alive. Neither one of us said anything, but her question was still hanging out
there. It took a few minutes of patient attention to get it going, but soon we
heard snapping, the orange glow lighting up the room.
    “Scott . . . I found you attractive
from the moment I met you in Paddy’s office. I had done some research on the
earlier task force and learned about you and your involvement.”
    I glanced at her, and she seemed to
be welcoming the opportunity to get it out.
    “I had pictured what you would look
like, but when I first saw you I was shocked at how much more handsome you
were. During those first few moments, I decided to have you notice me. I could
tell you were looking at me, and I could see you trying to focus elsewhere. Would
you like me to stop?”
    Again, she was asking questions,
increasing my vulnerability.
    “No.”
    It was interesting getting her
impression of our meeting.
    “I know you saved your girlfriend’s
life from that other killer . . . what was his name?”
    “Jimmy. Jimmy Ballou.”
    I was now able to get the first log
on the fire, but I