The Axeman's Jazz

He reached for her, his eyes suddenly soft with desire.
    “Not now, Alex. Are you crazy? Let’s get out of here.”
    “Okay.” He waved her ahead of him.
    “Uh-uh. Women and children last.”
    Alex stood still. “This guy could still be here.”
    “Let’s go.”
    He moved toward her again. “Getting scared? Are you finally getting a little nervous? Do you want my arms around you?”
    “Alex, this is no time for kidding around.”
    “Take my hand.”
    “I’ll just follow you.”
    He shrugged, but turned on the flashlight and started down the path. After a few moments, he reached back for her. “Come on; take my hand.”
    “I’m okay. Really.”
    “But I’m scared.”
    “Oh, give me a break. You’re a guy with a Harley.”
    He laughed again. “I’ve never met a woman like you.”
    As soon as they were off the path, in the area that would have been a yard if one had been planted, he stopped and reached for her, hands high, catching her shoulders.
    Too close to the neck for comfort.
    “I want you.”
    She shook him off. “This isn’t the time for that.”
    “Feel my cock.”
    “No!” But she sneaked a look and what she saw made her palms sweat. It was graphically obvious that this was a man on whom the sight of strangled chickens had had a strong erotic effect. She was planning what to say, what calming, non-threatening tack to take, when suddenly his breath was in her face, his arms going around her. She struggled and his arms tightened. She kicked his shin.
    “Whoa!” he hollered, but hung on. She broke from his grasp.
    “Don’t even think about it, Alex. I’m almost as big as you are and in much better shape.”
    “Run. Let me chase you.”
    Her scalp prickled. She strove for control. “Could I ask you a question? What’s so exciting about a bunch of dead chickens?”
    “It isn’t the chickens. It’s you.”
    “Well, listen, I have a headache.”
    “I guess I read the situation wrong.”
    “I said no. How do you get clearer than that?”
    He shrugged. “I thought you meant yes.”
    Struggling to keep her cool, she said, “Now we each know what the other meant. I think we should go, don’t you?”
    “We have to clean up.”
    As they worked, they listened to an oldies radio station (chosen by Alex) and even danced a little. It all seemed so normal and friendly that she started to relax. There was something offbeat about Alex’s sexuality, that was for sure, but at least he didn’t seem to be a rapist. He probably wasn’t lying—he probably really had misread the situation, though if you asked her, he hadn’t done any reading at all, simply acted on impulse. That didn’t make him all that different from lots of other men.
    As she hung up her dishcloth, she felt his arms once again go around her waist, his lips brush her neck. “For Christ’s sake, Alex, enough’s enough!”
    His arms tightened. “You’re so sexy when you’re trying not to be.”
    She smashed an elbow into his ribs, broke his grip, and stepped out of range. He lunged, but again she stepped away.
    “You crazy bastard!”
    “You like it rough, don’t you? I can tell when a woman does.”
    She didn’t like the confined way she felt here. Her scalp was prickling again, and she was uncomfortably aware that he stood between her and her backpack. She started circling, hoping to get it, momentarily playing his game. He circled with her, obviously enjoying it.
    She grabbed the pack and ran for the door. He caught her there, but she shook him off and made for the hog. He was close behind her, caught her quickly. He tackled her at the waist, bringing her down on top of him, rolling her over, holding her down, kissing her.
    “Get off of me, you asshole, or I swear to God I’ll knee you in the balls.”
    Thinking about it later, she wondered why she gave him the warning, why she didn’t just knee him, and thought that even then she hadn’t been really terrified, hadn’t yet been convinced he wasn’t just playing a game—a perverse, dangerous, almost unbelievably stupid game, but not rape.
    “Don’t call me an asshole. I really hate it when people call me an asshole.” He rolled off her, and the second she was free she was on her feet and walking.
    “Thanks for a fascinating evening, Alex.”
    “Where do you think you’re going?”
    “I’m hitchhiking home. It’s safer.”
    “Come on. I can’t leave you here.”
    “Goddammit,” she called over her shoulder, “I could have you arrested