"Such as animal rights. In fact, I think he hates me for my views."
Joe tilted his head. He put his foot up on the Afghan-covered trunk that served as a coffee table. "Really? Hate? That’s a pretty strong emotion toward a daughter for a mere differing of opinion.”
Hannah glanced at her watch. It was 8:02. She wished the meal was ready. Regardless, she had to be out of here by 9:20 to get to the theater on time.
"Yes, really. He had a favorite student last year, a little boy with cancer who had gone into treatment at the children's center west town. Well, the same day the boy was admitted, there was the freeing of the animals at APD and then the bombing of the APD lab, remember?"
"Yes, I do."
"There was no connection. I mean the hospital is on one side of town, the lab on the other. But the boy died after a month, and my father suddenly blamed the animal activists. He said it was our fault because we don't want cancer cured. I tried to talk with him, to tell him I'd love for cancer to be cured but not at the peril of other living things. But he went on rampage. He said my mother dying was my fault
because of her emphysema. My grandfather dying of heart disease was the fault of me, or at least people like me. It all fell on my head."
"Were you in with the bombing?"
"No," said Hannah. "I do my work in a peaceful way. I mean, what if all the animals hadn't been released? They would have died in the bomb."
Joe's fingers found the top of Hannah's head and began to stroke. For a second, Hannah couldn't find her breath, but then she concentrated her efforts, and said, "My father writes me every so often, with all sorts of information he gets from an organization called 'Putting People First.' I just throw it away."
"Good for you," said Joe. "Want a drink?"
Hannah thought she should say yes, but doing so would take his hand from her hair.
"Well," Hannah began.
"No?"
She looked him in the eye. "Maybe in a minute," she said. And she knew the breathiness of her voice told him what she was thinking, what she was hoping.
And then Joe's lips were on her own.
Her body instinctively pressed into his. And the lust was as wonderful as she'd dreamed it would be.
S
he might have imagined it, but sometime during the lovemaking, Joe had laughed and called her a cheetah. Indeed, she felt she was one. Her blood raced like red-hot ice, her heart hammered like a native drum. She thought she heard the sound of distant chains rattling as he pawed and clawed her, probing her pussy with his lips and fingers. He growled with delight as he mounted her then, and caught her breasts in talon-fingers.
She felt she was flying, crashing, flying.
Holy shit!
"Holy shit" Joe had cried. And then he had crumpled onto her, spent and panting. Hannah held still, then bucked in the throes of her own orgasm. Moaning, then, she curled her face into him and licked the sweat from his neck.
Finally, Joe's face lifted from hers. His eyes were wide and bright and as cunning as a cat's. Hannah grit her teeth to pull her soul back into her body. Never had such sensations invaded her; never had she felt so like an animal in her passion.
And then Joe stood abruptly from the sofa, his limp, damp cock dangling, and smiled. "Now, for the question," he said.
"What question?" Hannah liked the sound of her voice. It was gritty with sex.
"A crow is a cat is a cow is a child."
"That's not a question," Hannah said. She sat up slowly, and saw then that she really had heard chains. Joe had chained one ankle to the leg of the sofa. She laughed slightly, confused but still willing, and touched the chain. "You beast," she said. "What's this?”
He said nothing.
“Okay, what’s this for?”
He said nothing.
“All right, okay. I think we’re done. You can let me go now. Though it was wonderful, honestly."
Joe said nothing, but his eyes narrowed, and he made a soft tsking sound.
Hannah’s sense of pleasure dried up immediately. Her smile faded. “Joe?”
He finally spoke. "I thought you'd figure with a psychology student there'd be a test before the night was over. Come on now, surely you knew."
“Joe, enough, really. Let me go now.”
Joe said nothing.
Hannah reached beneath her and tried to straighten the crumpled skirt. She scooted to the sofa's edge and planted the free foot on the floor. "Psychology or not, Joe, now, this is uncomfortable." She looked at her watch. It was a few minutes after nine. "And I’m afraid I don't have time to eat. I have to pick someone up at 9:30. Sorry."
"Scoot closer to the chain and you'll be all right. It won’t be so awkward. I really don't mean the test to take very long. Promise. Though how long it takes will be up to you."
He stared at her. There was no smile there. She stared back, whatever remnants of passion still in her freezing and crumbling in her chest like sharp fragments of ice.
"Joe," she said, her teacher voice pulling into place.
"Hannah.”
"Joe, I have to go. Unlock this damned chain now."
"No, Hannah. We're not done." He went out of the living room and brought back two jars. Inside one jar was a spider. In the other, a mouse.
"It's a study, Hannah, now you can appreciate that. You're of an academic family." Joe sat on the trunk in front of her, holding the jars.
"What study?"
"A crow is a cat."
"So?"
"So, really? I want you to choose which of these will live and which will die."
Hannah tossed her head. She pulled against the chain on her ankle. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Which?"
"I won't choose. Life is life."
"Then I'll kill them both. Hannah’s choice."
Hannah stretched her neck. This man, this beautiful man, was insane. She would not show her fear. She would not play his game.
Her jaw chattered.
"Your hand is not mine, Joe."
"Choose?" he asked.
"No."
Joe unscrewed the lid on the spider jar. He tapped the arachnid onto the floor and squashed it with his foot.
Hannah turned her face away.
"Your hands aren't mine" said Joe. "But your will is my command, like the old genie story. Therefore, what I do is your responsibility." Joe smashed the mouse jar on the edge of the trunk, sending glass fragments into Hannah's lap.
"Shit," mumbled Joe. "He isn't quite gone." She heard his heel drive down onto the floor. Hannah's stomach squeezed and turned over. She flipped the glass from her skirt.
Joe laughed.
"What's your point here?" Hannah managed. “Whatever it is, it’s rather pathetic.”
"It’s a study of convictions, of promises."
"Joe, listen to me, this is…."
"Let's try again."
Hannah looked up as Joe left the living room again. She could not bear to look at the floor. Joe came back with two more jars. In one was a mouse. In the other, paws folded and eyes popping, was a baby guinea pig.
“Oh, please no…”
Joe sat on the trunk. "Now," he said. "Mouse, or guinea pig? Which one’s life is more valuable? If you can't decide, then both lives are gone."
"Damn it, Joe! What kind of man are you?"
"That’s irrelevant. Choose."
"I won't choose. I can’t choose. This is insane."
"Hannah, come on now."
"I believe what I believe. This is so wrong!"
"Fine." Joe lifted both jars and at the same time, brought them down hard against the edge of the trunk. Hannah’s eyes snapped shut and her hands slapped over her ears.
“No no no, don’t do this!” she screamed. “Stop this!”
“Well, guinea pig’s gone, but damn, these mice are resilient,” said Joe. Hannah felt the thud as he stomped the mouse to death on the floor.
Hannah fought the cuff. She clawed at the sofa leg and shook it to break it. She then stood and tried to dive for Joe across the glass and dead animals, but Joe jumped back off the trunk beyond her reach. Hannah's trapped ankle tripped her and she fell on her face onto the trunk. She shoved herself back up and onto the sofa, fragments of glass now embedded in her palms.
“I’ve got money, Joe!” she cried. “Not much but you can have it. A couple thousand dollars in savings. Just stop what you’re doing. Let me go and it’s yours.”
“I can’t stop. The test isn’t over.”
“Of course it is! You wanted to make me scream with ecstasy, and then scream with horror. You accomplished that. Write your damn paper. And let me go!”
"The test isn’t over. When it is, you may go.” He stood and left the room again. Hannah pulled at the chain, bounced the sofa, trying to loosen it. She cried, she screamed for help.
Joe returned with a large birdcage. Inside, two parakeets fluttered, working to keep themselves on the wooden perch.
“No use screaming,” he said. “We have lots of loud parties here. Nobody thinks a thing of it.”
He sat the cage on the trunk, then took an extension cord from the top of the television and held it up. On one end was the plug; the other end was a raw and frayed. He plugged it into the wall and drew the raw end over to the trunk.
"Which one, Hannah? The green parakeet or the blue? I don't mean to sway you, but I'm partial to green."
Hannah held her fists up. They shook madly. "You shit! You inhumane fucker!”
"And you are a good test case, I have to tell you, Hannah. You're holding out better than I thought you would. Now, green or blue?"
"I can't!"
"All right," said Joe. He stuck the cord's end into the cage. The blue bird clenched its claws and dropped to the gravel at the bottom. Hannah dropped her face and covered her eyes. She could smell the smoke, the charred scent of feathers and flesh.
“This is insane this is insane this is insane! Stop it stop it!” Hot, furious, impotent tears coursed down her cheeks.
Then she heard Joe calling, " Timothy, come here, boy. Timothy, kitty, kitty, kitty."
Hannah's head jerked up. "Don't touch him!"
Timothy trotted up to the man and wrapped around his legs. Joe laughed and lifted the cat, then found the abandoned tote by the front door. "Here you go, my friend," Joe said. "We'll tuck you right in here."
"Joe, don't do this. Listen to me, are you listening, Joe?"
Joe eased the cat inside and shut the top. He came back to the trunk. "Nice boy, nice kitty," he said.
Hannah grappled again for the sofa leg. It came up an inch, but the chain would not slide over the sofa foot. "Goddamn you!" She yanked, yanked. The chain bit into her ankle, drawing a thin line of blood. "Goddamn you, stop, please!"
"Sit down, Hannah, this is the last test. Get a grip, Christ." He pushed her back. She fell against the sofa cushions with a grunt.