Cocoon

Nita felt the snow under her feet; she heard it crunch as she sped from the gangster's upstate mansion. Richard had told her to flee, and that is exactly what she was doing. The blinding snow made it hard for her to get her bearings. The sound of the explosion, of the mansion going up, from The Spider's rigging of the building's gas line deafened her. The force of the blast hurled her to the ground. Debris, smoke, and heat washed over her. The cold, freezing snow was against her face. Nita prayed that Richard Wentworth, her fiancé and scourge of the underworld, The Spider, had made it out of the mansion as well. She got to her feet, dusted herself off, and tried to get her bearings.

She frowned when she realized the compass she carried had cracked its crystal and the suspension fluid for the needle had escaped, making the device useless. The driving snow made steering by the stars or the moon impossible. She trudged on, lost in thought. The snow under her feet collapsed into ice-cold, flesh-numbing water. She had strayed onto the river, and the ice had given way. Nita Van Sloan bobbed to the surface seeking a point of purchase. The rushing current caught her, carried her beneath the ice for a horrifying interval before spitting her out at a rapids,. Nita hit them with full force. She felt massive pain in her left leg that melded with the bone-numbing sting of the water. Nita thought of Richard. She wondered if he would ever figure out what had happened to her and if he would find love again. It became very dark, very cold, and very quiet.

**

Now that they were completely dry, he examined her clothes. No nametags but everything came from ritzy, exclusive boutiques in Manhattan or Paris. Even the frilly underwear bore prestigious labels. He gazed at her shivering, feverish form under the blankets. He folded back one end so that he could examine his handiwork at resetting and splinting her fractured tibia. The bone had broken the skin. Fortunately, it had not been too difficult to set, but who knew what sort of germs and contamination had gotten into the bone or her bloodstream while she was in the water? His finding her had been a remarkable fluke. Well, not really, he stroked the head of his German Shepherd. Duke's nose and ears had found her. There were so many unanswered questions. What was she doing so far out in the sticks? How did she end up in the river? Most importantly, who was she? He gazed at her face, still lovely despite her raging fever and the cascade of chestnut curls. He allowed himself a long peek under the covers at her fine, trim body. If he were still religious, he would have seen this all as some sort of test by the Almighty. He sighed and returned to his seat by her head. If she made it through the next several days...

**

Richard Wentworth, AKA The Spider, paced around the ruins of the mansion for as long as he could. His signaling whistles had gone unanswered. That meant that Nita was unable to respond; either she was unconscious or a captive. Had some of the villain's henchmen escaped? Had this escapee or group of escapees intercepted the fleeing Nita? He performed the mental calculation; he was positive that he had burned the crimson mark of the Spider into every forehead he had accounted for. No, no one was left alive either inside or outside the structure. The driving snow made finding Nita's tracks, let alone following them, an impossibility. Perhaps she made it to the rendezvous point? If not? Had she been caught up in the explosion? No, he would not let himself even consider the possibility. Nita Van Sloan was alive. Of that, he was sure. His resourceful fiancée had gotten out of an incredible variety of traps, snares, and imprisonments. His resourceful girl either made her escape on her own or contacted him to tell him where she was being held. He had to hold on to that hope. The sound of approaching sirens told him he had to flee this location and hightail it back to the city. With luck, perhaps Nita had already flagged a car headed towards New York City and would be waiting for him at the door of his apartment, holding a martini and wearing a negligee. The image brought a smile to his lips.

**

Nita could not explain the warmth. Her last memory had been of the bitter, biting, bone-hugging cold that made it painful to even attempt to breathe. Now there was warmth on all sides, top, bottom, right, left. It felt like! Her violet eyes flew open. She was in a bed in a strange cabin. She peeked under the sheets to confirm that she was nude. A stab of pain caused her to examine her left leg; she found the splint and the careful stitches. Her impact upon the rocks came back to her. The smell of frying bacon hung in the air, causing her empty stomach to rumble pointedly. She wanted to call out, "Richard!" but she might be in enemy hands. Silence was her best and only option. A handsome German Shepard entered the room, trailed by a devilishly handsome young man in dungarees and a flannel shirt. For a long moment, captive and captor stared at each other, assessing, analyzing, questioning. He broke the silence.

"You are awake, that is wonderful! The danger has passed!"

"Danger?"

"You've been feverish for nearly a week. Your body was fighting off pneumonia and an infection from your broken leg. It was touch and go for a while. Who are you?"

Her first name was information she felt she could share. "Nita," she replied softly, "Where am I? How did I get here? Why didn't you call an ambulance to take me to a hospital?"

The dark-haired young man grinned, "In reverse order. Back-to-back record-setting blizzards mean waiting until spring, before anyone or anything gets in or out of this cabin. I carried you here. Duke found you on the edge of the river."

Nita stroked the attractive dog appreciatively and said, "Who's a good boy?" The dog wagged his tail and licked Nita's hand.

"Another ten minutes out there I would have been carrying a corpse. Finally, you are in my cabin, which is by every metric in the middle of nowhere. How did you end up in the drink?"

"That's not important now. You set my leg?"

"Yes, and stitched you up. I had to drop out of medical school after three years for reasons I don't want to go into. It's not every day I get to apply what I learned. Say, I'll bet you are hungry. Would you like breakfast?"

"I thought you would never ask!"

"I'm Kirk Wessex by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Kirk. Where are my clothes?"

"Laundered and in a drawer."

"Can I have them back?"

"When you are better. There is a chance you will have a relapse and could get sick all over yourself again." He produced one of his spare flannel shirts. You can put this on. I'll help you hobble to the table. A bit, just a bit of movement will do you good."

Nita accepted the shirt. "Turn your back, please."

Kirk chuckled and faced away from the bed. As though he didn't already have every inch of Nita's anatomy memorized.

"You can turn around."

He faced Nita. Her violet eyes were striking. He had wondered what they would look like, open, alert, and flashing. They added an extra dimension to her beauty. This Nita, whoever she was, was easily the most gorgeous woman Kirk had ever encountered anywhere, real life, movies, Esquire magazine pin-ups!

"Before we eat, I need to use your restroom."

"Well, it's a composting toilet anyway. Now that you are conscious, I'll rig up a crutch for you as soon as possible. In the meantime, you are going to have to lean on me."

"Understood."

**

Richard Wentworth, the Spider, got the lay of the land. In the half-light of the deserted warehouse, he spied the back of a female head of chestnut hair. The woman was nude, tied to a wooden frame. The four men in the room were preparing to do the grossest thing possible to her. The hands of one of them went to his waist, loosened his belt, and opened his trousers. Wentworth's blood seethed! Some days, his quest for justice was most satisfying. He just hoped that he was not already too late; that this was the men's first foray into that which must not be mentioned. If that was Nita, he would practically whistle with delight as he burned the spider symbol into their foreheads.

He barged into the room, twin 45s blazing. The first man died with his trousers at half-mast. The second was too startled to fire back. The Spider's bullet caught him in the throat, and he collapsed into a gasping heap on the floor, bleeding profusely. The third got a shot off but fired wide. The Spider hit him in the gut. The force of the bullet's blow caused his unbalanced body to crumple. The fourth, in a not-quite-properly aimed shot, bounced a bullet off the Spider's ribs. The answering shot landed fully in his groin. He cried in pain as his lifeblood tinged the linoleum floor. Richard Wentworth smiled with deep satisfaction. He approached the bound woman.

It wasn't Nita! The woman's brown eyes lit up in appreciation. He tugged off her gag.

"Bless you, Spider. Those men were going to..."

"Those beasts were not men, woman."

She nodded in agreement.

"Where are your clothes?"

"Those bastards cut them off! That blouse was brand new and cost me a pretty penny!"

The Spider removed his black cape and placed it over the woman while he cut her bonds. Determining that, physically at least, the woman was unharmed, the Spider escorted her to the curb. The familiar sound of approaching sirens was his clue to hasten his departure.

"Another trail gone cold!" he stated to the vastness about him. "Nita has to be somewhere!"

He stated the last with far more conviction than he thought. If Nita truly was a prisoner of a foe, Wentworth was sure they would have made contact by now. A lock of hair, an article of clothing, a photograph of her bound to a table with the morning edition of the Herald-Tribune spread out over her chest; her captors would have communicated somehow! Their silence was telling and ominous. Still, Richard Wentworth did not want to concede the possibility of Nota's demise. "If she were dead. I would know that with absolute certainty! Nita is alive!"

He followed the shadows back to his limousine. Ram Singh, his Sikh companion's eyes met his imploringly. The Spider slowly and sadly shook his head.

"Wah, Sahib, my heart breaks for thee."

Richard Wentworth grunted in acknowledgement and settled himself in the rear seat of the limo that then pulled away from the curb.

**

The exertion from the brief walk from the bedroom to the composting toilet left Nita so weak that she needed Kirk to support her upright as she answered nature's call. A sudden spell of vertigo left her unable to tug at the toilet paper roll, so Kirk had to wipe her. "My God! I'm an infant!" she lamented before choking back tears. Kirk washed his hands, and Nita leaned on him all the way to the kitchen table. Once Kirk was sure she would not topple over. He set food before her.

The act of raising the fork full of scrambled eggs to her mouth took tremendous concentration. Her weakened body simply did not want to respond to her mind's commands. The food and the delicious coffee eventually had an effect. Nita was able to feed herself with much more ease after an interval of about a half-hour..

She pressed the napkin against her lips and stated with complete honesty and sincerity, "That is the best meal I have ever eaten."

Kirk smiled and said, "Thank you. But in a week or so, you will be so tired of my cooking that you will want to murder the chef."

Nita smiled at that. Kirk's eyes widened. That smile lit up the room like a Roman candle! It turned her luminous beauty incandescent! That smile did things to him. Kirk would do anything to see that smile again!

Nita noted the change in Kirk's countenance.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, Nita. Just admiring the view."

"I can appreciate that, Kirk. My ring should tell you, though, that I have a fiancé."

"And who would that be, Nita?"

This brought her up short. Mentioning Richard Wentworth's name could perhaps expose his secret identity as the Spider. Again, she could only risk sharing his first name.

"Richard. He lives in Manhattan."

"And what does this Richard do for a living and if he is in Manhattan why aren't you with him in a nice warm apartment? Why were you on your own in that frozen river instead of being with him?"

"I can't tell you that!"

"I didn't find a code book on your so I doubt you are a female spy or G-man. You can create a convincing fiction about yourself during your bath."

"Bath?"

"Yes, you have been delirious for nearly a week. You vomited up nearly all your fluids. That pungent stench hanging about is you!"

"Oh," said Nita, who then inhaled deeply, "OH!"

Kirk chuckled and said, "Just let me do everything."

Nita's legs mostly extended out from the very short tub, shoehorned into the minuscule bathroom. The coal-fired flames heated the water to a comfortable level. Nita felt extremely self-conscious as she soaked and Kirk gently washed her all over. His sponge chased the suds, removing the stickiness and stench she had built up from being bedridden for over a week. Kirk admired Nita's porcelain skin and astonishing figure. He focused on looking in her eyes as he soaped and sponged her magnificent, ample breasts. He was convinced that this woman was a misplaced model or ballerina. She had, even in her infirmity, an air of grace and style. From the cut, style, and source of her chic wardrobe, it was obvious that she lived well. She probably dates actors, elite neurosurgeons, or business tycoons in New York. Kirk thought. What chance does a guy like me have? Besides, she's spoken for. His eyes took in the impressive rock on the third finger of her left hand. There was not yet a matching wedding band, so perhaps, if the gods were in good humor, he had a chance! The eight feet of snow surrounding the cabin meant that they would be marooned here until at least April, if there was an early thaw. They would have plenty of time to get to know each other. Long months where he might be able to change her mind.

He hefted a safety razor with a fresh blade and deftly shaved her well-turned right leg and as much as he dared of her injured left leg. He did her underarms and even expertly washed her hair, reveling in every moment.

"I hate how helpless I am!" expressed Nita.

"You should be back to your old self in about a week or so, if you listen to the doctor's orders."

"You're not a licensed M. D!"

"I'm closest to one you are going to find in these woods."

They exchanged smiles. A shared moment passed.

"What were you doing this far from the city? Trust me, there is nothing around here of any note save ..." his voice trailed off.

"Kirk?"

"Are you tied to Benito Caglioni? Were you running from him?"

Nita donned her best poker face. She had aided the Spider in eliminating the vicious crime lord, drug dealer, and human trafficker. Conventional law enforcement could not contain Caglioni. His tentacles of corruption squeezed and controlled the politicians, judges, and police forces at the state and city levels. He was almost literally untouchable -- until he crossed paths with the Spider! There was no way that Nita could allow herself to be tied to the events at the Caglioni mansion in any way.

"I've never heard of him," she lied.

A puzzled expression crossed Kirk's face. "How could that be, Nita? He was on so many newspapers' front pages. H. V. Keltenborn leads off with stories about him on his show all the time! You don't expect me to believe that you are that oblivious."

"Oh, that gangster. I've heard of him, but he didn't affect the circles I move in so I never give him much thought or attention."

"What circles do you move in, Nita?"

Instead of answering Kirk, Nita pretended to shiver and stated, "I'm cold! Is this bath over?"

Kirk's questioning look faded. He shrugged and pulled the plug. As the water drained away, he handed Nita a big, fluffy towel. She dried herself and her hair as best she could. Wrapped in the towel, Kirk supported her as she hobbled back to the bed. The short trip taxed her strength completely.

"Whew! That was a long walk!"

"When the splint comes off, you will be able to do rumba just as well as you did before."

Nita's hands rested on the splint. "Will it leave a scar?"

Now, what kind of doctor would I be if I allowed a permanent scar on such an exquisite limb?"

"Flatterer!"

"Sooth Sayer!"

Nita smiled wanly. "We will have to agree to disagree."

"Fine."

Nita mopped her brow. "I'm really tired. I have to rest a while."

"Sure thing, Nita. You are going to feel extremely washed out for the next few days at least. I'll wake you for an early dinner."

"You are a dear, Kirk."

Still wrapped in the towel, Nita tugged the covers up to her chin and was asleep almost instantaneously. Kirk watched her lovely slumber for a moment or two, noting the slow, steady rise and fall of the duvet.

His mind, too erotically charged to read. He turned the radio on at low volume. Walter Winchell was in his usual fine voice. "Dateline Upstate New York, authorities have concluded that the massive explosion that destroyed the mansion of the notoriously untouchable Benito Caglioni, which wiped out him and nearly his entire crew of subordinates, was the work of the equally notorious Spider. His calling card, a livid red spider brand, was found on the forehead of every corpse. New York State authorities as well as G. Edgar Hoover's G-men, are adamant that this act does not absolve the Spider of his many crimes. Indeed, the thinking is that Caglioni and the Spider had some sort of underworld kingpin spat. Fortunately, this time, no innocent civilians were caught in the crossfire. On to Dateline Berlin..."

Kirk stopped listening at this point. He recalled finding Nita on the bank of the river. He recalled undressing her, treating her leg, and putting her to bed. He recalled gathering up her clothes, which had begun to dry. There was a pungent scent that he had dismissed at the time but now came back with a startling intensity. Soot and smoke! Putting two and two together, Kirk concluded that his lovely houseguest was lying her ass off. She had been involved with Gaglioni up to her pretty little eyebrows. Was she his moll? Was he harboring a fugitive? Was she potentially dangerous? Whoever she was, she wasn't going anywhere through eight feet of snow. Kirk decided to let her sleep. He would have some serious questions for her when she awoke. He stood over the slumbering beauty, "Gorgeous one," he said softly, "You obviously have secrets. How far are you willing to go to keep them?" Yes, things would become very interesting when she opened her violet eyes again!

**

The Spider carefully examined the map of the rugged Catskills Mountains of upstate New York. It was the most recent U. S. Geological Survey map. There was simply no more accurate map available. He studied the topography around the Caglioni manse. Also on his desk were all the recent weather reports from the United States National Weather Service. He read the reports diligently. The first of the back-to-back blizzards had begun as a torrential rain, swelling the local creeks and rivers almost to flood stage. Richard Wentworth's carefully constructed overlay revealed something that froze his blood. His instructing Nita to flee eastward and then dogleg to the rendezvous point was the worst possible advice he could have given her. Before she completed her eastward dodge, Nita would have encountered the ice just icing up river many yards from where it normally lay. The current here was always swift, and the ice could not have formed long enough to support the weight of an adult woman! Richard Wentworth gripped his fists in frustration. Nita wasn't in the hands of an enemy. She wasn't in Macau, having been swept off her feet by a rival millionaire. She wasn't hiding from him to teach Wentworth a lesson about taking her for granted. No! Any of those was preferable to what the maps, reports, and his careful overlay demonstrated. The ice-cold waters and the swift current had obviously carried Nita away to her doom. She would not even have had time to cry out as the numbing chill of the river shocked her system. Even now, her body was bobbing amidst the ice floes, working their way towards the Hudson River and, eventually, Manhattan. The cold temperature would keep her body submerged, preventing gases from decomposition from bringing it to the surface. With luck, her body was being held by the ice and would resurface with the spring thaw round about April. The Spider cursed himself. Nita was dead through his own incompetence! His desire to eliminate Caglioni and his nest of reprobates had clouded his mind. He had launched the raid with Nita acting as a confederate, without planning for every contingency. His improper planning had robbed him of the only woman he could ever love. "Nita!" he cried as he glanced up at a framed hand-colored portrait of her. "Please forgive me!" The unemotional man of steel resolve began sobbing like an infant. His grief carried him to his elaborate bar. Sipping the fine aged Irish Whiskey wasn't going to cut it. He wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and put himself in order. He would have to tell his men Nita's fate, of course, but that act was beyond him now. All he wanted was oblivion. He summoned Jenkins, his chauffeur. His orders were simple: "Take me to the cheapest seediest bar in all of New York City."

"Sure, boss, but why?"

"Obviously, Jenkins, I intend to get as drunk as I possibly can as fast as I possibly can!"

Jenkins turned to face his boss. He had never seen him like this before.

"Major, are you all right?"

"Just drive, Jenkins," was the only reply.

With a heavy sigh, the dedicated chauffeur placed the limousine in gear and pulled away from the curb.

**

Kirk made venison stew from the deer he had taken just a few hours before Duke had found Nita. He had kept the carcass in his chest freezer. Amazingly, his electric connection had managed to hang on through the one-two punches of the blizzards. It filled him with pride as he had done much of the wiring job himself. His legitimate line was tied into the mainline that carried power to both New York City and Buffalo via the Niagara Falls dynamos. His robust construction had proved itself the previous winter when an ice storm had taken down lines all over upper New York and Ontario. He sat warm and comfortably while the rest of the state froze. He could get by with kerosene and firewood alone, if he had to, but he wanted comforts for Nita, especially as she was going to be staying a while. In fact, things were going to get a lot cozier. He was done sleeping on the couch, for example. Not immediately, but as soon as she was healthy enough for a little intimate physical exertion, which was not more than a week away. He felt himself involuntarily stiffen. He had an inkling of what lengths Nita would go to protect her secrets. Was he a bad person for exploiting her this way? Perhaps, but he was lonely, horny, and motivated. And Nita was exquisitely beautiful. No way a guy like him, even if he had not been forced to drop out of medical school and had become a successful doctor in Manhattan's toniest neighborhoods, would he bag the kind of high-end tail that was the mysterious and ever so alluring Nita. "It's time the working man got to experience what those millionaire playboys and faggot Broadway actors get thrown at them every day!" He said softly and evenly. Nita sighed in her sleep. He added just a bit more seasoning to the pot.

**

Jenkins could conceive of why the major was acting this way. Richard Wentworth, man worth millions, had walked into the grimiest dive on the waterfront and tried to drink every sailor and merchant seaman in the place under the table. He had become belligerent and confrontational. Richard Wentworth, the epitome of restraint and cosmopolitan grace, had instigated a huge ballroom brawl! Jekins had managed to get him into the back of the limo just ahead of the arrival of the police. Jekins gazed at the morose figure in the backseat via the rear-view mirror. He was beside himself; Jenkins had seen Richard Wentworth at his worst and at his best. He had served under and beside him during the Great War. Jenkins had seen the same smoldering bodies, the same headless civilians, the same gas veterans; he had marched through hell with the major and had never seen him crack before. His hand had never so much as trembled, no matter how dire the circumstances. What could have caused him to react this way?

"Nita!" groaned Wentworth.

The blood froze in Jenkins's bones. That moan was not the moan of a bad breakup. Nita Van Sloan had not, as the gossip rags implied, bolted for Monaco with a mysterious debonaire Frenchman. No, that moan meant only one thing. Nita Van Sloan was not ever coming home again! Jenkins gasped. He pulled the car over to the shoulder and began weeping himself.

**

"This stew is marvelous!"

"Thank you."

"Is that veal?"

"Venison."

"Venison?"

"Deer! These woods are crawling with them."

"You have to give me the recipe!"

"To serve in your kitchen, which would be where, Nita?"

Nita blinked. "In the city."

"Not Buffalo?"

"No, I'm a New York City girl!"

Nita grinned in a way she hoped was endearing.

"Now, why would a city girl be involved with Benito Caglioni?"

Nita donned her best poker face.

"I wouldn't know," she returned softly, "I'm not the sort of city girl who would mix with his sort."

Kirk returned a poker face of his own.

"Then can you explain to me, Nita, how it is all over the news that Caglioni's cabin was blown up and your clothes smelled of smoke and ash when they began drying? His house is, or rather, was upriver from me. Don't you find that a remarkable coincidence?"

Nita's violet eyes flashed.

"Please! I can't tell you anything."

"Fine, if that is the way you want to play it. I will not ask a single prying question. We will be silent and sympatico until the April thaw. So long as we come to an agreement in other areas."

Nita looked at Kirk, felt her splint, and swallowed hard.

"Whatever do you mean, Kirk, dear?"

His eyes widened, and he smirked.

"Oh, I think you have a very good idea, Nita."

Nita pursed her lips.

"We barely know each other. I have a fiancé!"

"Who is your fiancé, Nita?"

"I can't tell you!"

"If you can't talk about him, then, effectively, he doesn't exist. We will be snowbound for months! We have plenty of time to get to know each other."

"You are no gentleman!" spat Nita hotly.

"I never claimed to be one."

"You are disgusting!"

"That's not a 'no, ' Nita."

"I will hate you with every fiber of my being."

"So long as you are willing in the ways I want, I couldn't care less if you were sticking pins into a voodoo doll of me all day."

"My fiancé will hunt you to the ends of the earth!"

"So? I'll die with a smile on my face."

Nita's face screwed up, "Oh, you... you!" she began weeping into her palms.

Kirk leaned back in his chair. What other options did the lovely stranger have? Sure, she'd be unwilling at first, but she would come around eventually.

**

It took the combined efforts of Jenkins the butler and Rham Singh to get Richard Wentworth to bed. He was belligerent and insulting. Every smidgen of the proper educated gentleman he was had been scrubbed from his psyche.

Jenkin and the huge Hindu were often at loggerheads, but they were united in their respect, admiration, and love for Richard Wentworth. Both men were inordinately fond of Nita Van Sloan as well. The very thought that they would never see her lovely, smiling face again was almost for either man to bear. Both men, hardened, experienced warriors, also knew that Wentworth needed Nita almost more than he needed oxygen. Without Nita as a counterbalance, he was likely to take even more insane risks. Both servants of the Spider wondered if the vigilante would launch himself on some suicidal quest to go out in a blaze of glory, just to be reunited with the woman he loved in the afterlife.

Rahm Singh held Wentworth prone against the bed while Jenkins applied the restraints. They would keep their boss from hurting himself, at least for tonight. They doused the light as they exited the sumptuous bedroom.

"The major is going to need us more than ever, you heathen."

"Yes, you son of a dog, but Sahib's heart is broken. We are mere men, subordinates; Misse Sahib is his sun, moon, and stars! Without her, all is darkness. Darkness is bad place to be."

The two men, mutual antagonists for so long, looked deeply into each other's eyes and saw their own emotions reflected back.

"If we can keep him alive until next week, he might rally, find purpose in his work of ridding the world of evildoers once more," stated Jenkins with more hope than he felt.

"It is as you say. We must be the sahib's strong arms."

The two men embraced for the first time and exchanged hugs.

**

The negotiations were intense but polite. It wasn't a question of capitulation on Nina's part; it was a matter of degree. Nita had considered every conceivable angle. Certainly, she could slit his throat as he slept, except her leg prevented stealth movement from the bed to the knife block on the counter by the sink. Supposing she did kill him. Duke was as dedicated a dog to its owner as she had ever seen. Could she deal with the dog on her own? Would he turn vicious and angry if his master were slain? Would Nita have to kill the dog as well? That thought sickened her. Killing violent, evil criminals was one thing, but an innocent animal just following its instincts? That was something else again. And if she killed Kirk and had to dispatch Duke, where would she be? Marooned in an isolated cabin on a bum leg with no way to fend for herself. Painful as it was for the incredibly resourceful Nita to admit, she needed Kirk alive at present. She would have to go along with Kirk's skeevy plans at least until her leg healed. She'd take her chances in the snowbound wilderness even if it meant dying of exposure. That death was understandable, even respectable. Staying in this cabin and being sullied after her leg healed would make her the sort of woman she assuredly was not. She thought of Richard and wondered what turmoil he was going through. He must have retraced my steps and assumed that I am dead, she reasoned. I can't imagine what he is going through. My phoenix-like return will be the greatest gift I could ever possibly give Dick. Dick will avenge me. The Spider will restore my honor. Nita smiled at the thought of her fiancé capturing and penalizing Kirk. She knew that Richard would deal effectively with this presumptive failed doctor. Nita could see Kirk spread-eagled as the Spider tortured him with fiendish precision. Nita knew that Richard would prolong Kirk's pain, draining life from his slowly, taking perhaps more than a long, arduous, intensely agonizing week to finally dispatch the vile letch to the circle of hell that provided the most torment. Nita smiled as she considered that whatever punishments the hooved one dealt Kirk, they would pale compared to the torments the Spider had inflicted upon him while he still breathed!

**

Ricard Wentworth came out of his grief somewhat. There was a new hardness about him. He was sharp and menacing even with Jenkins, Rham Singh, and his butler. The chauffeur and body servant felt as though they were walking on eggshells constantly. The Spider's mercurial mood could go from profound laughter to bitter tears in an instant. Mostly, between mood swings, he was sullen and focused. His drive now was to eliminate all crime in New York. Not just the big criminal fish polluting the pond but every criminal action in the Big Apple, from crooked accounting books in the mom-and-pop delicatessens to random jaywalkers. No one and nothing were now safe from the wrath of the Spider. Wentworth had always been a target; now it was as though he had donned a neon sign at midnight. He plunged in with new vigor at his quest to dismember the criminal body of New York City. To disarticulate every bone, to peel away every fiber, nerve, and sinew. It was as though the very devil himself had opened the furnaces of hell on New York's underworld. The press and the radio boys could not get enough of it.

**

Nita tried to hate Kirk, but the massage was too exquisite. His hands were skilled and magical. The rest of him wasn't bad either. She felt her every muscle relax. Now, he gently applied the baby lotion, coating her from neck to heels.

"Roll over," he said.

Nita was proud that she could do that act unassisted now.

He gazed at her revealed body. He had kept her trim and fit despite her limited mobility. She was no heavier than when she had entered this cabin, He began at the divot between her collar bones and worked down, giving proper attention to each breast, her ribs, her hips, her thighs, her good calf, and both feet. He put down the large bottle of oil and finished off by skillfully applying his hands to her sex. In short order, he had her moaning with pleasure, followed by an intoxicating giggle and a full-body tremor. He never got tired of seeing her in orgasmic ecstasy. Now, she called out his name instead of Richard or Dick.

"I'll take the splint off tomorrow. From everything I can see, the bone has knitted together rather well. You may require a cane for a week or two until you have built up the strength in your leg and restored atrophied muscles."

"Goodie!"

He stepped out of his shorts. He was ready to go. Nita was still soaring on her endorphin high. His handsome cock was inside her thrusting, driving her to edge of a precipice of sensation and then over. She gasped and cried out; he grunted. The world went fuzzy about the edges for a moment or two for both. He covered her with a blanket. Nita appreciated that. Kirk did everything for her. He cooked, he cleaned, he chose the radio programs they listened to, and he read to her in a fine voice from a selection of classic literature he kept in his cabin. He took the lead always in their lovemaking, but he could read Nita's desires as effectively as a novel. She had never been as sated and as satisfied. He still bathed her as well, even though Nita was now quite capable of managing the water and suds herself once he helped her into the tub. From time to time, she wore the clothes he had found her in, but her skill with a needle and thread had reworked some of Kirk's old shirts and trousers into neat dresses, blouses, and skirts; almost always worn sans underwear.

Nita took in all of Kirk. He stood nude, his finely muscled physique on full display. She recalled how she had hated him at first, had desired his painful execution with a passion that could have outshone the sun. Now? Their first time, a bout of resentment and anger, had long since been drained from her memory.

Nita realized that she had spent more time alone with Kirk Wessex than she had ever spent with Richard Wentworth, even considering their long-term engagement. She was alone with Kirk as she had been alone with Richard. There were no butlers looming patiently to serve, no rattle of dishes from the next room as dinner was being prepared, no phone calls, no passing sirens, honking horns, or railroad train whistles. Even in the quietest restaurants with the most meaningful conversations, they were never truly alone. Not even on Richard's yacht in the open sea were things as profoundly quiet and meaningful as they were in this simple cabin. It was a white wonderland beyond the windows. Kirk had an extensive larder and a skilled chef. In college, before medical school, he had supported himself as a short-order cook in the finest diner in town. She really got to know Kirk. Kirk held nothing back, admitting to being smitten with her from moment one; his honesty in confessing that he had enjoyed undressing her nearly comatose body. His visions, dreams, and plans. Nita realized she was in a position to help Kirk return to medical school. A family emergency had drained his savings, and he missed the deadline in applying for a scholarship, resulting in his being bounced from the rolls of students. In the end, all he had left was this cabin and Duke. Nita had access to money. She could pay all his expenses. Kirk deserved to be a doctor with a thriving practice. She told him as much. He had deduced her last name from various gossip items Hedda Hopper repeated over the radio. He knew she was an heiress. He didn't hold that against her. She told him about Richard and concocted a convincing cover story to explain how she had been lured to the Caglioni mansion on a ruse and was making her escape when the mansion blew up. Kirk never connected the dots and deduced that Richard Wentworth was also the Spider, and she was not about to illuminate him.

Richard! What was she going to tell Richard? The truth would be painful and cutting, like a bandage torn away from a wound. She still loved Richard, but she loved Kirk more. It was that simple. Telling Richard that would break his heart. Nita and Richard could never have married and started a family. The danger of Richard's secret identity being revealed was too strong to risk exposing a wife and children to the sort of murderous thugs the Spider dispatched every day. But Nita could marry Kirk. She hadn't really desired a family until being with Kirk. Her mind's eye saw a brownstone on the Upper West Side, children and Kirk gathered around the dinner table, recounting their adventures of the day. Yes, reasoned

Nita, once Dick got over his surprise, shock, and anger, her would be happy for her and pleased that Kirk was in her life. At least she hoped that would be the case. Richard was nothing if not pragmatic. She pulled the cover tight around herself and began to snooze. What a wonderful lazy existence!

**

J. Edgar Hoover's orders had been explicit: "Nab the Spider. I want that vigilante dead or alive! Preferably the former!" The senior G-man took the Spider's success personally. So effectively and lethally was he eliminating crime of every sort out of New York City and surrounding environs, there was public grumbling that the vigilante should be placed in charge of the F. B. I., as he was obviously much more effective than the current occupant of that office. Making Hoover look bad tended to be fatal for civilians and criminals alike. The director's mood of angry frustration was felt by every agent. Unofficially, there was a huge bonus and an extended paid vacation for the agent whose slugs took down the Spider. The hypothetical reward increased each week the Spider eluded capture or elimination. By this point, every agent was drooling over the potential payout.

Through it all, the Spider emitted his sardonic laugh and became even more daring, sometimes working in bright daylight, practically daring his enemies to strike. Truth be told, though, his bold strikes were becoming less common simply because his one-man crusade against evildoers was so successful he was running out of criminals to eliminate. New Yorkers breathed easier and privately echoed the praises of the tabloids in favor of the Spider. Even the mayor had fallen under the thrall of the masked vigilante. "Even if the Spider IS a criminal, the city needs more of his ilk!" Police Commissioner Kirkpatrick was told in no uncertain terms to soft pedal his famed dogged pursuit of the Spider. This made him seethe, but he could not deny that the Spider, of late, had made his job much easier.

A man who had been bitten bitterly by love himself, Kirkpatrick wondered if the Spider was motivated by a bad breakup. It was well known that the beautiful socialite Nita Van Sloan had been two-timing Richard Wentworth, her fiancé, with the Spider. Now, supposedly, Nita was in Macau or Monaco (accounts varied) with the dashing son and heir of an astonishingly wealthy steel magnate. His good friend, Richard Wentworth, had taken Nita's apparent elopement philosophically. He was out of sorts for a few weeks, angry, as any man would be in finding out that his fiancée had not only cheated on him but had dumped him and the Spider both in favor of a much bigger wallet. Dick Wentworth had even started dating again, escorting a pneumatic blonde to a gallery opening and occasionally double dating with Kirkpatrick. Yes, Dick Wentworth was taking Nita's betrayal well, but the Spider? He certainly was acting like a man with anger issues and something to prove! So much of it seemed unlike Nita, but then again weren't women notoriously fickle? Kirkpatrick took a deep draught of his cigar and blew smoke rings while he contemplated the issue. Maybe Dick's gorgeous blonde girlfriend has a sister?

**

"Oh, Kirk!" sighed Nita. "You are the best!"

It had been a momentous day. For the first time, she had perambulated through every room of the small cabin without the assistance of any kind; no crutch, no cane, no stabilizing shoulder. The scar on her calf where Kirk had stitched her up had already faded to near invisibility. The days were getting longer, brighter and warmer. The thunderous sound of ice breaking up on the river made it clear that the spring thaw had, at last, arrived. Kirk could only estimate how long it would take for the snow to melt away enough so that they could journey to town and then on to New York.

Kirk held his arms wide, and she leaped into them.

"Way to go, baby."

"This calls for a celebration, Kirk."

"Such as?"

"If I trounce you in strip poker, as usual, you have to bake me a cake!"

"And Miss Sloan, if you let me win, your keister is mine!"

Kirk and Nita broke out in mutual chuckles. They kissed deeply. Things became quite steamy in short order.

**

The voice at the end of the telephone line caused Dick Wentworth to believe, if only for a fleeting moment, that miracles were real events. After his shock and disbelief faded, he was able to absorb Nita's words. Briefly, succinctly, she explained her absence and reappearance. She had to see him to explain things further. Would he please meet her at the apartment of one of Nita's girlfriends?" He hastily agreed. With joy, he hung up the receiver and prepared to meet the love of his life, returned to him after so long!

Jenkins the chauffer noticed the bounce in Dick Wentworth's step immediately. The brave, sober face his boss had been showing the world was illuminated with an inner light. He bore the beatific grin of a martyr from a Sunday school book!

"Boss?" he inquired.

The millionaire refused to explain his mood. He simply stated, "Drive me to Miss Emily Parkhurt's apartment, Jenkins."

"Yes, sir!"

Richard Wentworth stood outside the familiar apartment. A stop along the way at a florist explained the bouquet of roses in his hand. He pressed the doorbell button and tried to control his excitement. The door opened. There stood a petite raven-tressed young woman.

"Hiya Dick!"

"Emily."

"I know the flowers aren't for me."

"Please, Emily."

"Just a minute, Dick. There are several very good reasons why Nita is meeting you on neutral territory."

"I want to see, Nita. I deserve to see Nita!"

"Yes, you do. Follow me, Dick but be prepared for a shock."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll find out."

Emily led Richard Wentworth to her living room. The shades were drawn, casting a gloom over everything.

"Stand here, Dick."

He could not read Emily's inscrutable expression.

"You can come out now, Nita."

A door opened, and in stepped a slim figure in stylish clothes. Something seemed off about her familiar frame.

"Nita?"

"Yes, Dick, darling."

He threw his arms wide.

"We need to talk, darling."

"Nita?"

Emily interjected by removing the bouquet from Ricard's grasp and stating, "I'll put these in water and make myself scarce."

Wentworth followed the shadowed form of Nita to the couch, his mind at sea.

As Nita prepared to sit down, she pressed the loose-fitting dress against her body, inadvertently revealing the baby bump.

"NITA!"

"Calm down, Dick. It's a long story. I'll start by saying that part of me will always love you. The life we shared, the adventures that made up our lives, were unique and could never be matched. But there is a time when every adventure comes to an end."

Softly, slowly, sweetly, Nita explained everything. She talked until sunset. Emily served coffee but otherwise remained unobtrusive. Richard Wentworth took it all in. His heart, which had been soaring with passion hours ago, was now confused and saddened. A part of him believed that things would have been better all around had Nita never been rescued from that icy river.

Nita made a point of flashing her left hand, a simple gold band had replaced the ornate diamond symbolizing their commitment. Nita placed that ring in Richard's stunned, upturned palm. He gazed at it as though it were an alien artifact. He found his voice at last.

"Nita! This need not be the end. I forgive you. We can go to Cuba and have this taken care of. No one will have to know. I will give this Kirk fellow a huge reward for returning you to me and forgive and forget the liberties he took with you!"

Nita closed her eyes and sighed softly.

"No, Dick. I want this baby. I want Kirk. I'm already his in a way I never was yours. I can live a life with Kirk that I could never live with you. How long can either of us continue the madcap life of the Spider? How many more times can I be shot at without the villain killing me? How many more times can I be abducted, stripped, and bound? How long until my number comes up? Neither of us knows, Richard, but we do know the answer is under a crisp white sheet on a slab in the morgue. I regret nothing of the many adventures we shared, battling side by side, but my destiny is elsewhere.

She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. It hit him like a jolt of electricity.

"Nita!" he reached for her, but she eluded his grasp.

"There is no place I would rather be at the moment, Dick than in your embrace, but it is best for us both that that does not occur."

"Nita, please! Don't toss me away. Don't toss us away!"

"This was neither an easy nor a lighthearted decision, my love. This is worse than all the pains combined when I thought the Spider had been killed. I can well imagine how you feel. If the genie could be placed back in the bottle... I'm sorry for the pain I have given you lo these many months and the pain I am giving you now. This is what we need, however, a clear, unmistakable break. Part of you will always reside in my heart."

She stood, prepared to make her way out of the room.

"Wait! Can I at least meet this Wessex fellow?"

"It's best, Dick, that he remains a phantom. I would appreciate it if you would give us space. Kirk is not your enemy; he should not be stalked like one."

She stepped closer to the exiting door, "I believe Jenkins is waiting for you, Dick."

"Nita!"

She turned. "If it is any consolation, both Kirk and I decided that if this baby is a boy, we will name him Richard."

And with that, the door closed behind her, and Richard Wentworth AKA the Spider sat in the gloom, more alone than he had ever been in his life. A long time later, Emily handed him his hat, and he left her apartment to reenter the uncaring concrete jungle of New York's six million. Despite the warmth of the spring evening, he felt an icy, bitter chill.