Date: Tue, 14 Apr 2009 08:07:25 -0700 (PDT) From: Matt Surname Subject: Sheila the Fugitive 01 Author's Note: Despite the change of title, this is a direct continuation of the Sheila the Babysitter story. The changed title and reset numerical sequence reflects the story now being written in the third-person perspective, as the former way is far too limited for the scope it has taken. For those who miss it being written from Sheila's perspective, know I mourn the change, too. The reason for the long delay is right after the fifth chapter was submitted, my computer suffered a near-fatal crash (I'm praying it's only near-fatal). The time between submitted chapters will likely be a bit longer than before, as I have to use another's computer, while mine is hopefully being salvaged. For the fans of this story, I profoundly thank you for your kind words and heartfelt interest. The story is not only for all of you, but it breathes and has grown because of you. I hope you enjoy, and a very special thank you to the great people at Nifty Erotic Stories Archives, who none of this would be possible without. My eternal gratitude to you, Nifty! Warning: If you are not of legal age (dependant on your region, most often 18 years or older), then please respect the law and do not read this story. Laws may often seem unfair, but more often than not, there's a valid and sound reason behind them. Thank you. The following story includes pedophilia and adult-minor sex, among other sexually-related themes. If any of these things disturb or offend you, this story is not for you. Disclaimers: All characters in this story are completely fictional, and are solely the offspring of my own imagination. For the record, I neither encourage, suggest, or practice pedophilia. In the story I might end up misrepresenting, and occasionally even bending, various facts. If this offends die-hard statistics-rules-lawyers out there, sorry, but if fiction was meant to adhere to exact statistics and situations, then it wouldn't be called fiction, would it? Copyright Information: This story is solely the property of the author. It may be viewed and downloaded for personal enjoyment, or sent to a friend. However, if it is desired to be re-posted on a personal website, or the characters used in another author's stories, then please first contact the author for permission. Copyright 2009 Dark Horse. All rights reserved. Story Codes: bM, bG, bi, ped, rom, 1st, oral, mast, con Sheila the Fugitive 01 by Dark Horse "Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead." ~ Benjamin Franklin (1706 - 1790) Just above Sheila Donnelly's blonde head, bullets ricocheted off the steel I-beam, causing the beautiful sixteen-year-old to duck down with a curse. Crouching next to her, twelve-year-old Jesse Anderson's eyes went wide, half-hidden by the short boy's shaggy mop of brown hair. From deeper within the partially-built office tower, a trio of M-16 assault rifles sprayed their lethal load across the stack of steel girders, which the young duo hid behind for cover. The hammering roar of the automatic weapons were even louder than the whumping of the nearby helicopter, which hovered in the night sky a watchful distance from the skeletal-framed building. "Has the FBI gone nuts?" Jesse exclaimed, over the whine of bullets ricocheting away into the summer night. Sheila shook her head, making her long blonde hair ripple across her shoulders. "I don't think it's the FBI this time, squirt." "Aw shit! You mean it's those bastards again?" the boy asked, unable to hide a note of fear. Nodding, Sheila felt a knot of dread tighten in her own guts. The twelve-year-old cursed vehemently. "So what do we do, Sheila? We're trapped up here!" Glancing around, the babysitter-turned-fugitive didn't have an answer for him. The building wasn't much more than an open framework of red I-beams, shaky wooden planks for flooring, and piles of construction supplies. From the fifteenth floor they were on, the nighttime city lights glowing around them looked almost artful. By contrast, the flaring muzzle flashes of the three assault rifles were as stark, as the deadliness of the bullets they spat. A sudden soft squawk came from the palm-sized hand radio, tucked inside Sheila's light jacket. "Foxtrot is in position," a woman's cold voice echoed from the radio. "I've got a bead on the targets." The assault rifles instantly fell silent. A man's deep, monotonic voice came over the radio a moment later. "Take them, Foxtrot." Sheila and Jesse traded a fear-filled glance. The slender sixteen-year-old seized the boy's wrist, hauling them up in a desperate bolt towards the building's side behind them. No sooner had they started running, than a sniper's bullet plowed through the wooden planks they'd just vacated. The short boy made no complaints, being all but dragged by the teenager's longer-legged sprint. Halfway to the building's edge, another high-powered rifle round nearly found Sheila. The shot was so close, the babysitter actually felt a faint tug, as the bullet passed through the trailing mass of her swinging blonde hair. Behind them, the M-16s began barking their death song again. With the end of the building coming up quickly, the boy's breathing laboured as much as the older girl's own. However, it wasn't so much from the strain of running full out, but rather the shared fear gripping their chests. Sheila felt another faint tug, this time on her jacket sleeve, as a bullet very nearly grazed her forearm. Jesse pointed ahead frantically. "The edge!" Being all too aware of the fact, Sheila didn't slow their panicked, headlong rush towards the open night air. "I know, Jesse, but ---" One of the bullets finally found their mark, punching through the back of the teenager's knapsack. Sheila screamed in sheering agony as the bullet struck home, before her world went black. Having reached the crude plank flooring's end, her impelled momentum carried her limp body off the building, still gripping her friend's wrist. Jesse cried out as Sheila's dead weight dragged him with her over the edge, to plummet helplessly towards the merciless ground fifteen storeys below. One week earlier . . . . While Carol Langdon was saying goodnight, and thanking Sheila Donnelly, further away in downtown Toronto, twelve-year-old Jesse Anderson was also giving his own thanks. By sucking the cock of a fifty-year-old accountant, inside a car parked in a dark alley. The homeless boy knelt across the passenger seat, his worn jeans and underwear down around his knees. Not visible from outside the car, his unkempt mass of longish brown hair bobbed up and down in the man's lap. One of the man's chubby hands rested on Jesse's head, while the other stroked and diddled the cute boy's hairless, circumcised three-inch boner. "Oh yeah," Bob Carthen moaned, his business suit's trousers pushed down to mid-thigh. "God kid, you're good." His mouth filled with the balding man's six-inch cock, the twelve-year-old slipped his hand underneath the man's hairy balls, to massage the sensitive skin there. Bob groaned even more soulfully, as a lustful quiver shuddered through his legs. "Oh fuck, Jesse! Just like that! I'm gonna cum soon!" Jesse redoubled his efforts, his hot mouth milking the man's straining erection for all he was worth. The boy was a natural cocksucker. Of the many men who'd felt his talented tongue, each still looked back on the experience fondly. A few like Bob, who were lucky to encounter Jesse more than once, loved to buy the lean, scruffy street kid a good meal. In return, the boy always showed his gratitude, in a manner both enjoyed. As Bob's moans deepened, his wide hips bucked up from the driver's seat, trying to pack more of his man-sausage into the child's mouth. Just when the accountant thought he couldn't take it anymore, his adolescent passenger plunged his mouth down sharply, engulfing the cock fully. Suddenly being deep-throated, Bob jerked back in his seat with a strangled gasp, his pulsating cock spewing its pent-up load. Despite choking a little on the hot cum squirting directly down his throat, Jesse continued sucking, making the man nearly pass out from the wracking ecstasy. He only stopped when Bob pleaded for him to do so. Lifted his cute face from the man's lap, the preteen used a finger to drag an errant dribble of semen back into his mouth. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," the plain-looking, overweight man gasped, panting like he'd just ran a marathon. "That was . . . wow! You're something else kid, let me tell you. Thank you!" "No prob, Bob," Jesse smiled, gently easing his small boner from the man's forgotten grip. Pulling his faded jeans back up, he also retrieved his ragged backpack from the backseat. "Oh," Bob stared at the adolescent's jutting erecting, as Jesse buttoned up his jeans. "Wait. Don't you want me to . . . uhm, help fix that for you?" "It's okay. We should get going, before anyone catches us. Especially the cops." Visibly wincing at the thought, the accountant quickly scrambled to do up his own pants. While the boy smoothed out his worn black t-shirt and put on his seatbelt, the car eased from the alley, and onto the thankfully empty side street. After going two blocks, Bob finally worked up the courage to ask, "Jesse? As tomorrow's Sunday, I was wondering if, well . . . . There's a new Chinese, all-you-can-eat buffet restaurant, and if you want to, maybe, tomorrow night . . . ." The twelve-year-old cocked his head. "You want to hook up again?" Blushing, the mature man nodded hopefully. Jesse smiled. "Sure. Should I give you a call, to figure out where to meet up, like tonight?" Bob nodded again. The fifty-year-old felt as giddy as a schoolboy, and actually pinched himself, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Arriving at a Tim Hortons coffee shop, where Bob had dropped the boy off after their previous two trysts, they wished each other a goodnight, even though less than an hour remained before midnight. Waving goodbye to the departing car, Jesse hiked his well-worn backpack higher on a shoulder, and began walking across the empty parking lot to the coffee shop. Of the many, many men that the boy had been with, during the past year he'd lived on the streets, Bob was one of the better ones. While he might be old, going bald, overweight, and plain-looking, the accountant was also genuine. It was a nice change from many of the men he encountered. Smiling happily, the scruffy twelve-year-old entered the coffee shop. Where he was suddenly confronted by a butch-looking female manager, who was waiting just inside the doors. "What do you think you're doing?" the husky manager asked sharply, staring at the homeless kid with ill-disguised hostility. Aw shit, Jesse thought with a cringe. He'd forgotten about the last time at this particular Tim Hortons. "I-I've got money this time ---" "I don't care if you've got a million dollars," the mannish manager cut him off. "I banned you for a week for panhandling, and that means until Wednesday, you're not allowed in here. Or near the store itself. Understand?" "But ---" "Do you want to be banned permanently, or for that fact, be banned from every Tim Hortons in Toronto?" "No, ma'am," Jesse answered meekly, quickly backing out of the doors. As much as he wanted to tell the manager how unfair this was, he held his tongue. He couldn't afford to get banned forever from Tim Hortons. Not only were the coffee chain stores among the best spots to panhandle, but their washrooms were always open. As well, they were great for waiting out bad weather. Not like the shopping malls, where rent-a-cop bullies lived for the chance to boot him out on his ass, just because he was homeless. While Jesse moped across the parking lot to leave, a two-decade-old Chrysler Voyager was pulling into the drive-thru. At the wheel of the eggplant purple minivan, Sheila Donnelly spied the short boy in worn clothes, who at the moment looked as forlorn as a neglected puppy. Stopping in the drive-thru lane, the sixteen-year-old leaned slightly out her open window. "Hey, Oliver Twist," she called out. Startled, Jesse pointed a finger back at his chest questioningly. "Yeah, you," Sheila smiled. "What kind of sandwich did you want?" "Huh?" the street youth replied in surprise, and half-jogged to the idling minivan. "Why do you want to buy me a sandwich?" Brushing a long strand of blonde hair behind an ear, Sheila shrugged. "For one, you're lean enough to make a starving wolf pass you over as a meal. Second, I just feel like it. Simple as that." Although suspicion flashed through the boy's slate-grey eyes, half-obscured by his long brown forelocks, it vanished moments later with his grateful nod. Asking the beautiful stranger for a roast beef sandwich, he waited as she went through the drive-thru. Several minutes later the minivan emerge from the far side of the squat building, to return and park beside him, underneath one of the parking lot's security light poles. Climbing inside the passenger side, Jesse's eyes went wide. "Whoa." The purple minivan's interior looked akin to a church shrine. Religious paraphernalia was scattered everywhere, including a plastic Jesus statue atop the dashboard. "Just so you know," Sheila explained a bit hastily, "I'm just borrowing the van. Its owner is a former nun." "Oh," a relieved Jesse said, putting his backpack at his feet in the footwell. Living on the streets, he'd encounter more than his share of self-proclaimed preachers. "Well, it's, uh, very . . . nice?" "I would've gone with 'unique' myself," she grinned, handing him a wrapped sandwich, and started eating her own one. "So, why the long face?" He accepted the submarine-style roast beef sandwich with thanks. Even though he'd finished a large meal barely an hour ago, he immediately began wolfing the food down. No matter how much the twelve-year-old ate, he was always hungry. "It's nothing really," Jesse answered around chewing. "I kinda forgot I got banned from here till Wednesday. The crabby old manager was more than happy to remind me of it." "I see. I'm Sheila by the way." "Jesse." "So Jesse, how long have you've been on the streets, if you don't mind me asking?" "About a year, I guess. The winter was pretty hard, but now that it's summer again, it'll be a whole lot better." Looking at Sheila as he ate, illuminated by the overhead light coming in through the windshield, Jesse was glad the sandwich paper across his lap hid his boner. The slender sixteen-year-old's long blonde hair framed her beautiful face, her long-lashed eyes being an incredible shade of deep blue. Even dressed casually in jeans and a light grey vest, over a black t-shirt like his own, Jesse had trouble taking his eyes off her. "So, um, Sheila," the boy tried to ask casually. "I guess you're coming back from a date, huh?" Laughing, Sheila's fingers caught a sliver of roast beef that nearly escaped her lips. She swallowed before answering. "A date, in this van? I'd think it be hard for most people, to get hot and heavy with old Jesus here staring accusingly at them. I just finished babysitting, and was heading home to talk with a . . . friend." "It sounds like you don't like this friend that much." Sheila sighed. "She's more like my arch-nemesis, though I really shouldn't be so hard on her. I mean, Princess can be a stuck-up bitch at times --- Okay, all of the time, but none of us are perfect." "Princess?" Jesse cocked his head questioningly, polishing off the last of his sandwich. "It's my pet name for her," Sheila grinned, tightly rewrapping the unfinished half of her own sandwich, and took a sip of her coffee. "So, what about you, Jesse? Just finished getting off a date yourself?" Choking, the boy's cheeks turned crimson. "No," Jesse squeaked too quickly. "I mean, me, having a date? Yeah, right. Like any girl would go for . . . a bum." "I don't know about that," Sheila smiled, looking at her passenger from the corner of an eye. "I don't see anything wrong with bums. In fact, I like cute bums myself." Eyes dropping to his lap, he crumpled up the sandwich paper, muttering, "I mean the kind of bums who live in dumpsters." Shifting over to lean against Jesse's shoulder in the passenger seat, Sheila playfully toyed with his long forelocks. "Is there a law that says I can't like cute street bums, with cute bums to boot? I should warn you, when it comes to cute boys in Tim Horton parking lots near midnight, I tend to have a certain soft spot." She lowered her voice to a husky whisper. "A soft spot that's hot and wet, and oh so tight." A strangled sound escaped Jesse's throat. Then his grey eyes widened even further, as her fingertips trailed down the front of his shirt. The near-nymphomaniac's grin matched the hungry look in her deep blue eyes. Normally, Sheila wouldn't have tried something in public, even in a parking lot as currently empty as this one was. However, after earlier today going at it with six-year-old Kassie in the rec center's restroom stall, and later with the girl's family in the public whirlpool, she felt quite emboldened. "I noticed ever since you got into the van," Sheila continued in a naughty whisper, "you've been sporting a diamond-cutter in your jeans. I can tell, by the way your body's all tensed up. Not to mention, it's a little obvious. No doubt your boner's throbbing so hard, it feels like it could punch a hole in a wall. I'd feel totally miserable going home, if I left you suffering with a severe case of blue balls." Jesse tried to reply, but no words came out. Red-painted fingernails traced lower, running across the small bulge in his jeans. Her delicate fingers slipped beneath the hem of his black t-shirt, to fondly rub his smooth, lean stomach. At Sheila's whispered suggestion, Jesse quickly undid his pants, while she eased his shirt high enough to bare his midriff. Tugging his jean and underwear down a bit, his freed erection sprang up like a spring-loaded iron bar. All three inches of it. "Aww," Sheila cooed, gliding her thumb and index finger up and down its hairless, circumcised length. "It's sooo cute!" In spite of gasping from the teenager's loving touch, Jesse's voice still held a note a bitterness. "But it's so small, right?" "I don't think it's that small," she said honestly, kissing his cheek. Adding her middle finger to caressing his boyhood, her three digits ringed the fleshy shaft. With each stroke, she brushed the underside of his cock's purplish gland, which further intensified his moans. Coupled with his already-heightened state of arousal, the preteen was soon mewling in rapturous bliss. As she tenderly stroked the boy's straining boner, Sheila's hot breath whispered his ear. "Seeing as you're a guy, you probably don't know this, but a vagina does more than just make itself slippery. Because there's so many types of cocks, a pussy was made with that in mind. Whether it's a massive horse cock, or an adorably cute one like this puppy here, a pussy will adjust to everything. It's made to tightly grip any cock, so us girls can get pleasure out of it, no matter what the size we decide to take." Jesse was now writhing in ecstasy, completely at the teen's mercy. "And then," Sheila whispered throatily, jerking his little boyhood quicker, "there's how my own pussy loves to milk cocks. It grips them real tight, and can use its muscles on it, just like this." As her fingers squeezed and tugged his cock even more firmly, the boy squirmed and whimpered in desperation. "My greedy pussy loves milking cocks, just like a cow, to make them give it their creamy boy-milk. And it won't stop, not till it's gotten every . . . last . . . drop!" "Oh god," the twelve-year-old cried out, arcing his back. Jesse's whole body spasmed with the intensity of his orgasm. Sheila gasped as the three-inch boner in her fingers geysered, shooting a ropy stream of cum more than seven inches straight up. A second jet of adolescent sperm launched right behind it, followed by another powerful squirt, albeit with lesser force than the first two. Although Jesse's cock didn't spew a fourth pulse, more milky boy-cream continued to flow from its throbbing tip, adding to the already copious amount of cum covering the girl's hand. "Holy shit," Sheila exclaimed wide-eyed. "Your balls weren't blue. They had purple rage!" Slumping in the passenger seat, the short boy's chest heaved as he panted. Lifting her hand coated in cum, she started licking off the thick semen. "Mmm," Sheila purred. "Delicious! This would be great on a salad. Or better yet, gobbled up as it seeps from my pussy." Beside her, an exhausted Jesse smiled lopsidedly. "Thanks, Sheila." "You're quite well-cum," she giggled, scooping the remainder of the gooey cum from his exposed, hairless groin, and popped it in her mouth to savour. "Do you always cum like a fire hose?" "Most of the time, yeah." His grey eyes turned away. "I guess it's kinda freaky, huh? That I cum so much, from a tiny dick." "Hey now," Sheila said a bit sharply, bringing his eyes back to her. "Do you think I did a shitty handjob?" "What? No way! It was better than fucking awesome!" "Well then . . . ." The blonde sixteen-year-old suddenly parted her grey vest wider, and yanked up her black t-shirt, baring her braless tits. Jesse's jaw dropped in speechless amazement. Although her breasts weren't exactly eye-catching, not being much more than shallow bumps on her athletically-slender chest, her puffy pink nipples were another matter. Especially engorged as they were at the moment, her swollen, cone-like nipples and areolae looked almost like miniature tits poking from her breasts. Sheila raised a blonde eyebrow. "Seeing how I've basically got no tits, but freakishly-puffy nipples, does it affect how good I can make someone feel?" "N-no," Jesse stammered. Slowly, and more than a little reluctantly, she lowered her shirt back down. "Let me put it this way, Jesse. You know the old saying, it's not what you have, but how you use it? Take it from a girl, when I say there's no greater truth. A guy could have a horse cock, but be the worse excuse for a lover in the world. It's the same with what makes a man, too. Cock size isn't the measure of a man. It's the size of his heart. Understand?" Jesse nodded. Surprisingly, he did feel a little better about himself now. "I guess you're right, Sheila. Other people said the same thing, but it's easy for them, seeing how their cocks ---" The boy's face instantly turned crimson, and quickly looked away. Sheila affectionately rubbed his lean stomach. "Did I forget to mention I'm bisexual, too? It's nice having the best of both worlds, isn't it?" Seeing understanding in the teenager's eyes, the homeless boy nodded with relief. Never having the chance, nor the courage, to get to know a girl, he'd always feared they wouldn't understand his shared feelings for males and females. Then something out the windshield caught Jesse's attention. "Aw shit," he exclaimed in a panic, scrambling to do up his jeans. Sheila looked up to see the headlights of a car pulling into the parking lot. "Don't fret about it," she said calmly, taking a sip of coffee. "How can you say that?" the boy desperately fought with his zipper. "They'll see us and ---" "They won't see us, Jesse. The glare of the overhead light on the windshield prevents that. As well, it's just a car. They're not high enough to see anything below our shoulders. We could be naked from the waist-down, and they'd never know it." "Really?" He gusted a relieved sigh. "Fuck. I thought we were goners for sure. I almost had a heart attack!" "I've nearly had two of those myself today," Sheila laughed. "Anyways, we should get going, before someone thinks we're drug dealers and calls the cops on us." Starting up the eggplant purple minivan, once their seatbelts were secure, she eased out of the parking lot. "I'm heading for the area around the ROM, further downtown. Is there somewhere you want a lift to?" Jesse tried to keep the disappoint that they'd be separating soon from his voice. "Maybe at the museum, please? I've got a spot in one of the alleys, where I stay when I'm down there." "Ah," she nodded. "No doubt it's one of the more luxurious hotel-de-alleys, right?" "Yup," Jesse smiled, playing along. "Not just anyone can get a luxury cardboard room like mine. It's even got its own bathroom next door, though they call it Tim Hortons." "Do you go to that Tim Hortons a lot?" "Sometimes, I guess so. Why?" Sheila glanced sideways at him, from the corner of an eye. "Would you possibly be there, say, Tuesday night, somewhere around nine or nine-thirty?" It took the short boy several tries to find his voice. "I-I ---" he squeaked before swallowing hard. "I sure will be!" "Cool," she smiled, her long-lashed eyes giving him a lustful, half-hooded look. "It's a date then, cutie." Jesse's hammering heart threatened to leap out of his chest. When they reached the Royal Ontario Museum, both were hesitant to part ways. With one hand on the door handle, and his other gripping his backpack, Jesse gave her a brave smile. "Thanks for everything, Sheila. So . . . I'll catch you Tuesday night?" "Count on it, squirt." "Hey, I'm not that short! Am I?" Sheila grinned wolfishly. "I wasn't referring to your height." "Oh," he blushed, but with a grin. "Before I forget," she handed him the uneaten half of her sandwich, which he stuffed into his backpack with thanks. Then she undid her seatbelt to pull out her wallet, and removed a trio of twenty dollar bills to hold out to him. Jesse stared at the bills, as if they were bars of solid gold. "I-I can't take that!" "Yes you can. It won't buy you too many good meals, but at least you can get a few out of it." He shook his head, making his longish brown hair sway across his eyes. "I can't. It's too much." "Jesse, please. I won't be able to sleep tonight if you don't. Take it for my sake, okay?" Seeing she was serious, he reluctantly accepted the money, where it seemed to suddenly vanish from his hand. While he hadn't been to school for a year now, he'd learned other skills on the streets. While the skills weren't ones most people would approve of, especially the law, they were part of the simple fact about being homeless. When it came to moral principles and basic survival, the two were often incompatible. Thanking her profusely, Jesse was about to open the minivan's door, when Sheila sudden grabbed the front of shirt, and yanked him back. To give him a long, heartfelt kiss. When their lips eventually parted, both were a little flush. Sheila finally let go of his shirt. "I-I thought that might be a nice way to say goodnight." Jesse felt like he was dreamily floating on clouds. "So that's what a goodnight kiss is like?" "Uh-huh," she grinned with a wink. "Wait till you find out what my good morning kiss is like." The twelve-year-old could only stare dumbly, his mind reeling at mere thought. Chuckling softly, Sheila leaned over and gave him another kiss, although a reluctantly brief one. "You better get going, scamp, before I do something that'll get us both in trouble. Don't forget, Tuesday night, nine to nine-thirty. Sleep tight, okay, Jesse?" "I won't forget, I promise! Goodnight, Sheila, and thanks again for everything!" Climbing out, he reluctantly closed the passenger door. With a last wave, the minivan merged with the light midnight traffic, and was quickly gone from sight. Turning, the boy headed for his familiar alley, almost skipping. In three more days, he'd be seeing Sheila again! The girl who'd kissed him. Him! A homeless bum, who most people didn't even see walking past. His joy threatened to overwhelm him. Finally he couldn't contain it any longer, and had to shout it out. "I'm in love!" "That's great, kid," slurred a drunk curled up next to the museum, and rolled over to go back to sleep. "So tell it to someone who cares." His exuberance no less diminished, Jesse stuck out his tongue at the bum's back, and left for his cardboard box in the nearby alley. Meanwhile, Sheila was experiencing much of the same emotions as Jesse, as she drove the three city blocks back to the orphanage. It was also a little unsettling for her, realizing the depth of them for the young homeless boy. Over the years, she'd been with numerous males and females, both older and younger than herself. But she hadn't felt . . . this strongly about them. Except with Melody of course, but the two of them were sisters in all but blood. Even though she'd only met Jesse less than an hour ago, in a weird sense, she already felt as if she knew him. Even more bizarrely, it was in ways that she couldn't even explain to herself. She hadn't experienced anything like that, not since --- Gary. The realization stunned the teenager, and nearly caused her to run a red light. Shaking her head, Sheila tried to push the whole matter from her mind, if only for now. Driving was hazardous enough in Toronto, even this late at night, without being distracted. Especially by, inside her mind, her romantic side doing constant back flips that would shame an Olympic gymnast. Turning on the radio for the midnight news wasn't much help, having only recycled stories from earlier in the day. Such as the latest crime in the east end. More construction hindering traffic on the Gardner Expressway. And yet another protest rally at city hall, for some obscure cause that most people didn't honestly care about. Yawning, Sheila drained the last of her coffee. It had been a long day. Not that she was complaining! Befriending Kassie O'Connell, and her father Ray and brother Alex, at the rec center. Witnessing Melody and Billy's first date, and hours later, as they gave their virginity to each other. Getting it on with Carol Langdon. Encountering Carol's sister, Helen Allard. Not to mention meeting Jesse. And the day wasn't even over yet. There was still the matter of meeting with Tammy Quinvare, or Princess, as Sheila preferred calling the twelve-year-old blonde-wannabe. Whatever the reason her nemesis wanted to meet, and in the bunker no less, the babysitter hoped it was a good one. Right afterwards, she planned to hit the shower, and head straight to bed. As proof of how tired she was, in spite of the fresh caffeine, even her overactive libido was trying to stifle yawns. Sheila suddenly let out a little laugh. Had it been just over twenty-four hours ago, that she'd had the feeling today would be monumental for her? It definitely had been that, that's for sure! Arriving home, she parked the minivan in the back lot. Grabbing her knapsack, she got out, but didn't head for the orphanage's back door. Instead she started for an adjacent building, with a sunken set of concrete steps leading down to a steel door, which was covered in graffiti like the surrounding walls. Retrieving one of the two keys hidden in the crumbling brick around the door frame, Sheila let herself inside the dark, abandoned basement, making sure to lock the door behind her. Unaware that she was being watched. Inside a dark sedan parked in the rear of the back lot, nineteen-year-old Levi Sarcowski lowered a pair of miniature binoculars. A grin crossed his skinny face, made more rat-like by his greased back black hair. The blonde jailbait going into the basement hadn't been expected. However, now there was the chance Levi could get the other blonde all to himself. The thought of all the vile things he could do to a twelve-year-old girl, made his cock twitch in the dark suit and long, black overcoat he had to wear. In the passenger seat beside him was a muscular, handsome man with neat brown hair, who Levi only knew as Jack. Also clad in a dark suit and black overcoat, the man continued sharpening a large, wicked-looking survival knife on a whetstone. The fact the knife was already razor sharp, and the guy had been doing it non-stop for two hours now, reinforced some of what Levi had heard about him. It wasn't reassuring being teamed up with a psychopath, who thought of himself as the new Jack the Ripper. Of course, getting paid a cool hundred-grand for this no-brainer of a job alone, was worth putting up with his creepy partner. Then there was the added bonus of likely getting a tight little girl, to do with whatever he wanted. He would've preferred a tight-holed little boy, but girls were okay, too. And this was only the start of bigger and better things for him. Yeah, Levi Sarcowski was no longer gutter trash. Now he was in the big leagues. Which unfortunately meant obeying his new boss's rules. "I'm going to call this in," Levi told his partner, pulling a palm-sized hand radio from inside his dark suit jacket. "Whatever," Jack said, gliding his large knife over the worn whetstone. "Do you want the newcomer?" the rat-faced teenager asked, trying to hide his hope. "Yeah," the ominous man nodded. "She'll put up more of a fight than the other one would. And she'll provide some nicer trophies for my collection." Levi shuddered, recalling some of the street rumours about Jack's . . . hobbies. Keeping his eyes on the basement doorway across the back lot, Levi brought the small radio to his thin lips. "Echo here," he reported. "We've got a newcomer. A blonde girl, fifteen or sixteen. Carrying a knapsack. Arrived and went straight inside. Advise." For several long moments the radio was silent. Then a man's deep voice finally answered, speaking in a monotonic deadpan that always sent an icy shiver through Levi's guts. He'd only met the voice's owner once in person, who was only known as Cerberus, and remembered how scared the man's presence alone had made him. "Copy Echo. Have the targets moved?" "Negative," Levi replied. "Continue as planned. Out." Slipping the hand radio back in his suit jacket, Levi drew his submachine gun from the black overcoat. Making sure the silencer was secured on the barrel, he racked the arming lever back sharply, priming the weapon. The Heckler and Kosh MP5 was a compact and durable submachine gun, used throughout the world. Although only firing 9mm pistol rounds, its high rate of fire made it more than lethal. Next to him, Jack readied his own identical submachine gun. Levi found himself grinning, in anticipation of what was to come.