Meg Kellaway could not be certain how long she had sat on the bench by the Student Union. The air suddenly felt cold, and she shivered. She had to move. The faint strains of the dance music had stopped now. What time was it? She checked. Two-fifteen A.M.
She started walking along Busch Boulevard toward the dormitories, but she had not gone far when something to her left on the lawn outside the gym caught her attention. It looked like a mound of earth, but it was too large to have been made by a mole. She wondered if it was an animal in trouble and she went to look, but as she approached, it appeared to glitter darkly. She stopped and waited to see if it moved.
She went closer.
It was a black net jacket, neatly folded. It was decorated with black sequins. She lifted it and dropped it like a stone.
Underneath was the corpse of the largest spider she had ever seen.
She ran all the way to her room and locked herself in. She was violently sick.
Sarah hung on the web and was comforted. She had asked for comfort and it had been denied; now she was claiming it in her own way. She had found the gym open and unlit. She had stepped forward in the pitch darkness with her hands probing the space ahead until they touched something. It was smooth and cordlike. That first contact as she slipped her fingers along the nylon rope was like a balm. She had never realized how powerful the tactile sense was as a source of comfort. The darkness intensified everything.
Now she rested on the spirals high under the gym roof, motionless, hunkered into a squat shape that covered the signal thread. She had discarded all her clothes except for her body stocking. She would not be wearing the April May clothes again. They were not only an encumbrance on the web; they were offensive to the dignity of Spider Girl. Havelock had been right: she hadn’t needed dressing up. She had only to be herself.
Here in the dark she felt a stronger sense of self than she had ever experienced before. This was her web and she knew every radius and spiral. She drew strength from its resiliency, confidence from its symmetrical design. While you are on that web, you have to become a spider. It worked: her body felt different, less constricted. It was alive to new experiences, incredibly complex and beautiful vibrations. It reacted instinctively. And the force of instinctive reaction was so powerful that it annihilated rational thought. This was her refuge and she was entitled to it.
Time had no meaning on the web, so she had no idea how long she had been there when she thought she detected sounds below, as if someone had come into the gym and crossed the floor. She kept still, breathing evenly and lightly. She was not scared. This was the safest place in the world.
In a moment she felt a slight twitch on the signal thread. She tensed. There was a second twitch and then two or three convulsive jerks.
Someone had climbed on her web.
She waited for more signals. They did not come at once. There was an interval of almost half a minute. Then she felt a peculiarly faint movement, little more than you would make with a touch on one of the radial lines. It was followed by two more distinct pulsations, then another faint one. Two sharp. One faint.
The invader was signaling to her.
Her spine tingled and a pulse in her head began beating time with the rhythm on the signal thread. It was changing, becoming more intricate. Three sharp and fast. Two faint and slow. A pause. Three sharp and fast. At the same time a wrench on the web indicated a bigger movement, as if weight was being transferred to a higher spiral.
She was intrigued and her heartbeat quickened. The signals unerringly invited her to move down to the hub of the web. They were excitingly persuasive, so subtle that this had to be someone who knew the power of the signals. And their purpose.
Very well. Spider Girl would respond.
She waited for a pause in the vibrations. Without a sound she raced down the signal thread to the center.
There was a vigorous jerking as the visitor retreated. The web shook and then felt more resilient. She was alone on her web again.
She waited at the hub until all the vibrations stopped. She was acutely aroused. That pulse in her head was racing.
But the seconds passed and there was no fresh disturbance on the outer edge. She waited uncertainly for two minutes. Three.
Suddenly something hit the web with such an impact that she was almost thrown off. She gripped hard as the shock waves pitched her up and down. Before it calmed, she could tell from the stress on the lines where her would-be seducer was, below and to the right. He must have used one of the gym ropes to project himself onto the web with such force.
When she was quite still, the vibrations started again. She felt them with her hands and feet and the parts of her leg that touched the nylon lines. The rhythm was more gentle. It rippled over her flesh like shallow water on a safe beach. She luxuriated for a while, shifting her position to let it lap gently and evenly over her body. It made no demands. Sarah herself decided to move closer to the source because she wanted to feel the pulsations more intensely. She inched out along the radius.
The beat was heavier now and she was sure it had quickened. She strained to see ahead. She could make out a solid shape, but recognition was impossible. That was how it should be, she told herself. His rhythm was his identity. It said all that needed to be said. She was Spider Girl and she had a lover.
She crossed the spirals toward him and the vibrations got stronger. Her body throbbed with anticipation. It was the ultimate in experience, the most thrilling moment of her life.
She felt herself touched. His hand gripped her left wrist, then moved up the length of her arm, pressing it rhythmically and gently. It stroked her neck and buried itself in her hair. He was so close that she could feel his warmth, smell the vinegary tang of his body.
One of his hands covered one of hers and placed it on a line formed by a spiral, then slipped it gently across its width, and back.
The mating bridge.
She was ready. She drew the body stocking downward and eased it over her hips and legs, letting it drop into the void. Naked, she hitched her legs over the mating bridge with her knees bent and spread wide. She lay back on the steep-angled surface of the web, head toward the floor.
For him, this would be a difficult maneuver, but she was making no concessions. His technique had been faultless so far and she expected perfection.
He moved to a position higher on the web and put his hands on her knees. By degrees he moved them over her thighs and so down the length of her body. She moaned with pleasure.
He grasped the cord on either side of her head, and with one slow, exquisite thrust he penetrated her. The rhythm began and increased and came to its conclusion and Sarah learned the meaning of ecstasy.
He was breathing heavily from the combined effort of sex and literal suspense, but now that it was over, Sarah wanted to be free. She pushed at his chest. Her hand came into contact with a chain suspended from his neck. She followed it with her fingers until they rested on something small, angular, and heavy.
Rick Saville’s ingot.
“Not bad, hey, Spider Girl?” he said as he eased himself aside. “Only next time we do it my way. In bed. Christ, I’m wiped.”
It was intolerable. That cheap playboy she despised.
With an effort, she pulled herself up and freed her legs.
He was lying on his back on the web. Her web.
“But you have to admit I really had you in heat,” he boasted. “I said I’d get it right. Remember?”
She was in no frame of mind to remember anything. Her web was being defiled.
“Hey,” said Rick, “I like this now. It’s like a hammock.” He started the web swinging.