Another small group of deer milled to her left, and she continued past them undetected as they snuffed for acorns. Her mood lifted further when Alex realized she had come upon a small, well-trodden path... for after all, a path had to lead somewhere! She wasn't lost, not really, she told herself happily.

Down and down she hiked, and slowly the great trees receded behind her, the undergrowth thickened, now peppered with assorted trees of less stature. Alex was grateful for the narrow path she walked, for her view was quite restricted now, and wading through the saplings and shrubbery would have been exhausting.

Suddenly, a gray, sloping roof wavered in the distance. Alex soon found herself emerging into the backyard of an old farmhouse. The aged building was drab and ramshackle, early 1900's or so, she guessed. Shielding the bright sun from her eyes with one hand, Alex scanned the area.

She started, catching a momentary flash at one of the windows. A pale old face, there for a second, then gone. A woman's face.

Somebody was home. Alex started forward uncertainly. The grass was thick and un-mowed yet this spring, and she moved through it slowly toward the back door.

The house had a wrap-around porch, and had once been painted white, but the original bright color was now chipped and peeling. Alex mounted the three steps and paused at the door, whose screening was hanging in disrepair.

She knocked loudly, feeling a little nervous about appearing out of nowhere on someone's private property. But it really was time to figure out just where the hell she was, and exactly how she was going to find her way back to her car and civilization.

Waiting for Eden ~*~*~*~*~*~.

Chapter 3.

The face in the mirror was pale and drawn, and the sky blue eyes gazing back were watery and red-rimmed. It simply would not do.

Andrea picked up a blusher brush and furiously applied some color to her cheeks. She followed her ministrations with several drops of Visine to each eye, blotting the corners carefully. She'd rather be caught dead than teary-eyed and fearful when Marcus returned.

Stepping back from the mirror, she viewed the full length of her curvy body. Clad in only a sheer black teddy, Andrea felt the familiar shimmer of pleasure she received from admiring her own flesh. She touched the apex of her slender thighs briefly, and felt her loins respond with a surge, her nipples hardening immediately, as they always did. But there was no time for such indulgence today.

Striding to the closet, she chose a simple silk robe that covered her nearly-naked limbs. She would placate Marcus with her body only if necessary. After all, it really wasn't her fault...

Andrea heard the key in the lock, and froze in the middle of the room, straightening her spine and composing herself. She ached for a cigarette, but Marcus did not allow smoking in the apartment.

He entered the large master bedroom, dropping his coat and suitcase on the couch. Marcus didn't look at her initially, so she had time to watch him, and assess his mood. He was a tall man, his body corded with wiry muscles obtained from years on the street, with darkly waving hair and eyes to match.

Marcus was an imposing man, and a handsome one, as beautiful as the devil was beautiful. Andrea observed the line of his jaw, and in those lines she could discern the tension and anger lingering there. She steeled herself.

Marcus turned slowly, and smiled. His manner was relaxed, and he slowly undid his tie with long fingers. His eyes were dark and hooded, and Andrea was not fooled by his casual air.

Refusing to let herself tremble, she turned and padded to the table, picking up her glass of wine. He was on her before the crystal reached her lips. The wine spewed across the carpet, the glass bouncing noiselessly into the corner.

"Marcus, I-" Her words were cut short by a sharp and stinging slap across the cheek and she would have fallen but for the hard fingers that gripped her forearm painfully. "It's not my fault!" she blurted, hating the way she winced and cowered when he raised his hand again.

Instead of striking her, Marcus shoved her backwards, but Andrea reflexively caught her balance. She rubbed her numbed cheek and glared at him.

"What happened, Andrea?" he demanded.

"The cleaning woman was there, she came a whole day early! How was I supposed to know she'd change her schedule, I...?"

"It's your screw-up, you dumb bitch," Marcus ground out slowly. "You were supposed to be in their apartment BEFORE the time I told you. Simple. That was the major rule, the ONLY thing you had to fucking do right. The only thing."

"But I can still get to it! I know it, there's time, I-"

"Bullshit. There are cops all over the place now. It's done."

Marcus advanced slowly, and Andrea took three steps backward until her legs came up against the edge of the bed, effectively halting her retreat. Marcus placed his hands on her shoulders and shoved her down forcefully. "Sit."

His hands moved to unzip his pants, freeing his turgid erection. "Now." Andrea drew a steeling breath, Marcus was always turned on by the power he held over her. She bent her head to do his bidding, squeezing eyes shut to keep any fear from showing, furious that she would have no chance to use her body to placate him. A simple blowjob would not be enough to stop what happened afterwards.

She felt his girth swelling in her mouth, and his hands roughly winding her hair into his fists, pulling her tighter, deeper, down over his burgeoning erection until she began to gag.

As he began to thrust into her throat even harder, she felt hot reflex tears begin to dribble down her cheeks, or perhaps it was mere humiliation. She tried to keep her noises to a minimum. If she gagged too loudly, he would thrust even harder.

Finally, his back arched and the muscles in his neck pulsed as he finished, holding her head in place until she had swallowed his hot seed. He then withdrew and turned his back to her, and Andrea wiped her mouth on the sleeve of the robe while he fastened his pants.

"I want a solution from you," Marcus demanded quietly. "You have ten minutes to think of a really good one. So good luck with that, dumbass." He moved to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Andrea relaxed, falling back across the bed when she heard the shower engage. She knew that anything she said would not be good enough for Marcus. She prayed his temper would dampen beneath the cascade of steaming hot water.

How had she gotten herself into this mess? Of course, if not for Marcus, she might still be walking the streets, her pimp beating on her every other night. Marcus only beat her up every once in a while really...

Having run away from an abusive step-father at the age of fourteen, Andrea found herself miserably combing the streets of New York City after her small wad of cash ran out, sleeping in shelters or under bridges, finding food if and where she could.

Prostitution was a natural progression, a step up in the world, actually. But it had been rough going, her johns foul-smelling and disgusting, not to mention the rottenness of the pimp who had gotten to her first. Being fucked nightly by her step-father might just have been preferable.

One rainy night in June, Marcus had picked her up along E 66th Street, and amazingly, they had spent the night simply talking. He told her he'd been watching her for weeks, and that he saw beneath her cheap, slutty clothes and heavy makeup to the fair-skinned loveliness that lay beneath. He told her she was destined for bigger and better things, if she would listen to and obey him.

Marcus was beautiful, his young body impossibly hard and sinewy, and Andrea had felt an incredible sense of lust that she had never before experienced. But Marcus hadn't slept with her, not until he had her under his control, hook, line, and sinker. As it turned out, he was a brutal lover, and cared not a whit whether she found her own pleasure in the act.

Once on the streets himself, Marcus had been a gang member, stealing, dealing, sometimes selling his own body for whatever deviant use would bring large sums of cash. But Marcus had a sharp mind to his advantage, and he had risen above the ranks of underground street crime to larger and more prosperous dealings.

As the money flowed in, Marcus made himself over completely, projecting himself as a college-educated businessman, with tailored suits and impeccable English. His sharp mind was constantly absorbing, turning, planning, and twisting new ideas into ingenious schemes. Marcus had larger fish to fry.

Why he had chosen her, a simple slut hooker, Andrea would never know. Why did she continue feeling grateful that he kept her, as mean and hurtful as he was? All she knew was that Marcus had been the man who cleaned her up, and given her the appropriate schooling to pass herself off as a credible secretary. She could not help but continue to love him.

Although she could never be a true lady, he taught her how to behave like one. And now, she was an instrumental part of his planning, using her when a sexy blond could gain more information than any man or dowdy woman could... only she had completely failed in this latest endeavor. God, sometimes she detested herself.

It was supposed to be a simple maneuver, and Marcus had fastidiously planned it, with the solid unmarked bills to follow from Brian Ridgeway when he had attained the key. But it hadn't happened that way. One glitch, a fucking cleaning woman in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the whole thing blew up.

At the time, Andrea thought it wouldn't matter, she was sure she could find the access code inside the apartment, she had been inside many times, and even knew the combination to the man's safe. She had screwed him aliterally and figuratively- to gain that knowledge.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, ten times worse than Marcus's semen had earlier. Andrea rose and retrieved her wine glass from the corner, cursing when she stepped in the wet remains of her first glass. It was white, at least it wouldn't stain.

As she poured, she realized that the shower had kicked off some time ago. She looked over her shoulder apprehensively. Marcus was in the doorway, and his long, lean body was naked. His penis was flaccid, but Andrea felt a glimmer of hope anyway.

She padded across the carpet, swaying her hips seductively. When she reached him, she dropped her robe, swirling a finger in the cool Chardonnay. She brushed her index finger across his nipple, and then ducked her head to suck upon it lightly for his pleasure.

He flicked her own bared nipple hard. "I'm not finished discussing the incident yet, Andrea," he murmured.

"Oww," she pouted up at him, still licking at that puckered male nub with the pointy tip of her pink tongue. "Ummm," she purred softly, "not now, baby. This tastes so good."

His hand shot out and encircled her neck. Andrea gagged, her eyes bulging under the pressure of his grip. Marcus removed the wine glass from her clenched fingers, and threw back his head, downing the remainder. "How many times did we go over what you needed to do?"

He released her, and she stumbled backwards. "You know what that means, Andrea." Humiliatingly, she could no longer control the quivering in her legs. Marcus saw her weakness and smiled. "Tell me what it means, Andrea."

She saw that he was hard again, so fast this time! "You can't mark me up, Marcus! I... I have an appointment with..."

"Tell me what it means, Andrea," he repeated softly.

"I have to be punished," she whispered.

"Get on the bed." She moved woodenly now, knowing she had lost. "Lay back." She complied and he bent over her, his hands moving to stroke across her cheek and down her throat to her collar bone, almost tenderly. "I won't mark your face, darling," he murmured.

Andrea managed to smile at him, confused. She felt his fingers moving down across her belly and over her loins. "Spread your legs." She complied, her breathing increasing. Did he want her that way?

He bent closer, his lips touching her ear. His hot breath made her shiver, half in fear, and half in anticipation. If only - "Oh, Marcus," she breathed, "I want you too."

He rose slightly, and she recognized the look in his eye. The fear returned fully, swiftly. He reached down beside the bed to pull up a small lock box. Andrea began to cry audibly, brokenly, because she knew what kind of things he liked to do with the items in that box.

Marcus captured a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and squeezed, hard enough to make her squeal. "You want me. That's good, because you're going to get me, Andrea. I'll mark you up from the inside." After flicking open the box, he fell upon her. Andrea felt his hand clamp across her mouth, and her resultant cry was silenced.

Her knock went eerily unanswered. Alex walked to a grime-coated window that was sporting a large, unsightly crack. Cupping her hands around her eyes, she peered into the gloom. She slowly made out a country-style kitchen, with oak cupboards and a giant wooden table with claw-footed legs.

The flooring was hardwood, and there was an oak, preacher-style bench perched beside an old coal stove. The room was dark and uninhabited, and looked as if it had been that way for some time. Had she merely imagined the face in the window?

She knocked again, loudly this time, still peering into the kitchen. What a shame, she thought, for Alex could image the cozy room bustling with kids and grandmothers, with the little stove chugging out heat... and the scent of baking bread and cookies. She sighed. It was a simple, dumb dream she had known as a child. One she had never actually experienced.

Again, no one answered her persistent knocking. She scratched her neck, dislodging a clump of dried mud. Alex wondered what her friends would say if they could see her now. Filthy, bruised, and lost in the backwoods.

Two weeks ago, she had made the mistake of telling them about her plans for a woodsy excursion, and they had been immediately appalled, scorning her idea as melodramatic and crude.

"But I need to get the hell out of this city, Janine! I mean, I NEED to."

"Well, if that's the case, I know a perfect little spa in southern Virginia that would be much more.... dignified." Which, in Janine-vocabulary meant don't revert to such crass, blue collar instincts, ye daughter of a backwoods, small town school teacher.

Alex had thus been suitably cowed and repentant, at the time. Janine was a wealthy blond socialite who served as leader of their small, elite pack, and her blue-blooded opinion had, to Alex, always seemed tres importante. But somehow, despite such a blatant rejection, here she was, in the middle of bumfuck, as sweaty and rumpled as a football jock at summer practice, with not a whit of powder for his balls.

With a frown, she caught her lower lip in her teeth and made her way around to the front of the house. A beautiful little barn caught her eye as she gazed over the front grounds. The lower level was built solidly with saffron sandstone, and the upper level was constructed of long planks, once painted red, but now a weathered burgundy.

The little farm sported at least ten acres of pastured land, with some of the fencing made of dilapidated wood planks, and some merely strung with sagging wire. Alex couldn't see any animals, so she lifted her head and sniffed, seeking the delightful smell of warm furry horses or cows. Or at the very least, the wafting odor of manure. Yet there was nothing but the scent of pine.

Alex stepped off of the porch and glanced back at the house. It was not as large as she had first imagined, and was more likely built before the turn of the century, with a Victorian style trim, a rounded bump out, and a slate roof.

The roof was the only attribute that truly seemed to be in good repair, but the house had a certain charm that even years of neglect could not brush away. It was easy to imagine such a home cheerfully painted, with shutters hung, and smoke rising from a great brick chimney.

Turning back to the barn, Alex couldn't help the feeling of excited yearning that hummed through her limbs. Although she felt guilty about trespassing, it was not enough to stop her from swinging open the double barn doors and investigating. It was obvious that the place had been deserted for some time, so why not?

It took her several moments to adjust to the gloom, and she managed to resist the urge to fling all of the Dutch split doors open to air the place out. There appeared to be about ten stalls, and several storage areas, which were currently filled with junk. Old hoppers, an ancient-looking horse drawn plow, and piles of baskets littered every open space. Bales of straw had been broken into by an army of mice, and their fading yellow contents were strewn haphazardly about the aisle.

The stalls were complete with feeding bins, and there was a large concrete-floored area which had once housed steers, from the looks of it. A pre-50's John Deere model tractor was parked in the open area, looking pitifully unstartable.

But Alex's excitement simply continued to grow. The barn was built for housing animals, and was still functional. Her young heart had dreamed of growing up in a place like this as a child. And as a teen, she mused; for the dream had survived... she had even started college enrolled in an Animal Science major. Her straight A's in high school and her mom's low income bracket had bought her a scholarship.

Horses were her first love, for she had begun riding at the age of nine, and was competing successfully by the age of twelve. Alex had gone through several horses during her teen years, always looking for a new challenge, the kind of animal who was a diamond in the rough, waiting for her to polish the edges.

Unable to afford a fancy animal, she had figured out how to turn a problem horse into a blue ribbon contender, and she was good at it, really good at it... but eventually, a second love soon intervened, in the form of her future husband.

Richard Winters was dark and handsome, and for a mere college student, he had projected a worldly image, which was coupled with the allure of money and class. It was something Alexandra had never before experienced.

He spoke several languages, and had traveled extensively with his parents, who were wealthy bankers out of Fredericksburg, Virginia. Alex had been completely, overwhelmingly enchanted, from first sight forward.

With a rueful smile, Alex remembered their third date. It had been their very first conversation about Alex's own career *goals'. Richard had laughed at her hopes, actually laughed out loud, and stunned her into horrified silence. Since that night she had looked at her big ideas in a whole new light.

"What do you want, Alex, to raise mules out in the hills of West Virginia? Ha! I can just see you slopping around in muck boots, shoveling horse patties for a living. Perhaps with ten kids trailing behind." He chuckled again. "You'll end up on food stamps for sure. I just don't see it, Alex, sorry but I don't."

"My grandmother lived on a farm, and it was-"

"The city is where it's at, Lex! I'm sorry but you can't make money living on a farm with animals. Horses are merely an indulgence for the wealthy. Your best bet is to switch your major. Like, immediately. Tomorrow."

"To what?" she had asked miserably, her face heating to a vigorous red glow. She was so damned embarrassed! Richard was two years older than she, and at the tip-top of his class. He was most definitely going somewhere. And Alex wanted desperately to be along for that ride.

She had changed her major to Business Accounting the following week. The classes were horribly boring to her, although she had always been fairly good at figures. But in the end, her grades hadn't mattered, for she had ended up dropping out of school soon after Richard's graduation ceremony.

She'd then followed him from Maryland to Delaware, where he had enrolled in Widener School of Law, desperately frightened that he'd find another woman if she stayed behind to finish without him, someone smarter, more chic, with all the money and class that she didn't have.

Anger buzzed around her ears like a nettled hornet, and she wheeled and stomped out of the dusky barn, slamming the double doors behind her with enough force to rattle the hinges and raise a cloud of dust. The irony of her story was that everything she had done and worked for thus far had been for nothing... absolutely nothing.

She didn't have a husband who loved her - or a career. Stinging tears of pity welled in her eyes, but before she could indulge herself, a fit of sneezing from the dusty straw overcame her. Half-blind, Alex stumbled away from the barn doors and along the decrepit, sagging fence.

After wiping her bleary eyes with a crumpled tissue, a blur of color in the distance caught her attention. Judas trees, she thought, squinting at the stunning series of shrubs and small trees that were blanketed in a hail of rose hued blossoms. She recognized them, for her Nana had once grown several of the pert redbuds in her little backyard in western Pennsylvania.

"They're holy trees, Alexandra, for they symbolize the rebirth of the Christ. To me, they're a reminder of his promise."

"They're so pretty!" Alexandra had responded with enthusiasm. "They look... happy."

Nana smiled and patted her head. "You're right. They are happy. Judas trees in flower mean that spring is here to stay."

Her Nana's words clear in her head as if uttered only yesterday, Alex moved toward the grove, with an aching sense of loneliness invading her core. Who was left for her to even love?

As she neared the flock of Judas trees, she realized that they were part of an old garden, bordered with walls of crumbling sandstone. Within its bounds, a riot of tulips and daffodils crowded merrily in every corner, with pockets of lavender and yellow-gold forsythia spattered throughout, with no rhyme or reason to their order. In its neglect, the garden had achieved an undisciplined loveliness that no careful human hand could ever have created.

But the garden's crowning glory was its redbud trees, healthy and alight with delicate pink blooms. Although the redbuds were obviously planted some time ago, they remained dense and shrub-like, as if loathe to rise above the carpeting of floral melee into the responsibility of tree-hood.

Alex knelt to pick up a worn sign that had toppled at the foot of a vibrantly-scented purple lilac bush. The board was worn smooth by years of wind and rain, but for the lightest imprint of a hand-carved word: EDEN.

Alex smiled tremulously, envisioning the gentle country woman who had once cultivated her own little piece of heaven with loving care, naming it in honor of the sacred grounds from the tale of Genesis.