Iceman Read Online Free PDF

papers. “Thirty seconds, I promise. You won't regret it. It's extremely important to YOU."
    “Tell me out here.” Tina shook her head. She'd had every manner of woman put the make on her or try to. Something in a certain-type woman, she suspected, gave off a feral scent. She'd been cruised in the most surprising ways and by the most unlikely persons.
    “Please,” breathy and hoarse in that sexy, somewhat kittenish whisper.
    “Okay, but HURRY,” leaving the door open on the passenger side as she slid in, checking out the woman. She was gorgeous, but with more makeup than Tina liked, and she'd piqued her curiosity.
    “Read this.” She handed a thick folder to Tina. “Pull the door to. You're not going to want anybody to see this."
    Tina ignored her. “Who are you, by the way?” Tina asked, looking at what appeared to be a bill of sale for an automobile. She didn't recognize any of the names. She was starting to look up at the woman and forming the words “What's this got to do with me?” when she heard a metallic noise there in the van behind her and sensed someone's presence. Someone sitting back in the darkness had moved behind her and she was turning to look when she was penetrated.
    She did not feel much pain at first, only her hair being pulled and twisted and the needlelike thing going in, and as soon as she felt something stabbing into her ear, she screamed but it was too late for screaming then as the awful sharp thing plunged all the way in and the blinding red-hot agonizing pain hammered her under without warning or preamble.

Vega, 1961
    T he first time they made it together was really not the first time at all. It was the first time in bed, together, both of them totally nude, nobody else in the house, a slow seduction-cum-rape scene. The first time had been years before. The first time he made her climb a tree with all the boys from the neighborhood standing underneath, the kids having coughed up a silver nickel each to “see London.” And she climbed innocently, sans underpants, showing the boys how well she could climb, but all of them laughing for reasons she would never fathom.
    The first time, then, had been a series of firsts. First the tree-climbing exhibition. The second first was Playing Doctor and Nurse, as he called some young interns in to lecture them on the finer points of female anatomy. This time it was necessary for him to have her hold the full skirt “over her head” as he gingerly probed and pushed and prodded the mysterious folds and lumps and oddities around and in “the hole."
    The next first time had been some sort of prepubescent folie a deux in which the two of them sprawled together in the deep weeds in back of the overgrown Colman place down the street, rubbings and gigglings and “messings,” as they called it.
    So this first time was the first SERIOUS time, and with their advanced ages being what they were, the traumatic event took on the ritualized trappings of an initiation. It would be the first of many such couplings through the years. Years of crushing abuse and punishment.
    It began innocently enough, with her slamming the front door downstairs and shouting “Mom?” as was her usual custom. “MOM?” No answer. “MOM? Hey. Mom? You home?” The sounds of the house. She throws her books onto the rump-sprung sofa. “Anybody home?"
    She runs up the stairs, taking the stairs two at a time until she reaches the first landing, and shooting up to the second floor without touching the banister, past the wainscoting and ornate carvings, and the hallway full of family paintings of dead strangers, and she opens her stepbrother's bedroom door and he is there in the bed, rubbing on himself.
    “Sorry,” she says, flinching, waiting for the shout, the blow, the stinging slap, waiting for him to come after her in his rage. “I didn't know you were home. I called out and I didn't think—"
    “That's okay,” he says in his most frighteningly quiet voice. “Uh, come