"What is?" she asked.
"I need to get out of LA," he said. "I can't stand it here. I hate living here. I hate everything about it. I hate the smog, I hate my pious, hypocrite neighbors, I hate the traffic, I hate the crowding, I hate the tiny little lot I live on."
"Tiny little lot? Jake, you live in a damn mansion!"
"With other mansions all around me," he said. "I want a nice chunk of land on the ocean somewhere, at least ten acres, somewhere where my neighbors are just vague concepts. I want my own airstrip on that land to fly my plane in and out of. I can't afford anything like that within range of my 172. With the 414, however, I could potentially live up to three hundred miles away and still do a daily commute when we're recording or mixing. If I keep an apartment of some kind in LA and stay there during the workweek, virtually all of California and a good chunk of both Nevada and Arizona are within reach. That's why I want a new plane."
She was looking at him now with understanding. "Do you really hate LA that much?"
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "I really do."
"And what about me?" she asked. "How do I fit into this plan of yours? I like being a flight instructor. I'm eventually going to take over my dad's business. It's what I plan to do until I retire."
"You work in an airport, Helen," he reminded her. "And you're a pilot. Assuming that we move in together at some point, you could just fly a plane to work every morning."
"Wouldn't that decrease your range back to the unaffordable range?" she asked.
"Maybe," he said. "And maybe not. It's something we can work out when the time comes, isn't it?"
"I suppose," she said.
"The first step is getting me certified in multi-engine and pressurization. Are you gonna set me up with someone, or what?"
"You know I will," she said. "But I want to take the classes and get certified with you."
"You do?"
"Bet your ass," she said. "You think I'm gonna have you able to fly something that I can't? Dream on, motherfucker."
Jake laughed. "I love you, Helen," he said, stroking a lock of her hair.
"I love you too," she told him, leaning in to give him a soft, sensuous kiss on the cheek.
He took his eyes off the road long enough to give her a loving gaze. "Can I cheat off your test papers when we take the class?" he asked.
That earned him yet another punch in the shoulder, and her another accusation of domestic violence.
Helen was in the mood for love when they got back to his place. Jake went to the wine cellar to select a good vintage for them (he went with one of the bottles he'd bought in Bordeaux) and by the time he carried it back upstairs, she was sitting on the bed, dressed in nothing but one of his long T-shirts. Her long, sexy legs were on display, parted just enough to allow him a tantalizing peek between them. Her large, braless breasts bounced and jiggled with each movement of her body. She was playing coy, of course, acting like she was just getting ready for bed and had no idea the picture she was painting for him.
"Looks like someone is interested in a little more than sleep tonight," Jake commented as he set the wine bottle down on a table and picked up the corkscrew.
"I don't know what made you think that," she said with mock huffiness. "I was just making myself comfortable."
"Uh huh," he said, threading the corkscrew into the cork. He gently pulled it out and set it down. He then poured each of them a glass. He carried them over to the bed and handed Helen hers.
"Thanks," she said, snuggling into his side, rubbing her breast against his shoulder.
He took a sip of the wine, taking a moment to savor the taste of it, and then looked at Helen, a serious expression on his face. "Before you get any more comfortable," he told her. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to make you uncomfortable first."
The sexy smile faded a little from her face. "What do you mean?" she asked carefully.
"I got another letter from Miss Johansen yesterday," he told her.
"Oh Jesus," Helen said with a shake of the head. "I thought you were going to give me the 'I think we should see other people' speech. Can't we talk about this... you know..." She took his free hand and dropped it high on her upper thigh. "... later?"
The soft skin of her leg and the hint of aroused musk he smelled when she pulled the hem of the t-shirt up almost derailed him. Almost. He gently removed his hand. "I really think we should talk about it now," he told her.
"Oh come on, Jake," she said. "So the whacko wrote you another letter? What's the big deal? I told you, there's no reason to take her seriously. She's just someone with mental problems."
"I really think you should read the letter," Jake said. "It's... well... more disturbing than the first one. Much more disturbing."
Helen chewed her bottom lip nervously. "Much more, huh?" she asked.
"Yeah," Jake said. He stood up and walked over to the desk in the corner of the room. Inside the top drawer was an envelope. He picked it up and carried it over to Helen.
She reluctantly took it. After setting her wine glass down on the table next to the bed she pulled open the flap and removed two pieces of paper. She unfolded them and looked down at the first sheet. It was written in the same spiky handwriting as the first letter.
Jake my love, my soulmate,
I still haven't heard back from you so I can only conclude that that bitch Helen is intercepting your letters to me. When I realized the lengths that slut is going to just to keep us from fulfilling our destiny together, I also realized that she must be exerting some kind of supernatural mind control over you to keep you bound to her. No other explanation makes sense. I realize now that your situation must be desperate and that I must act quickly and forcefully in order to free you from the pit of hell you are in. Don't worry. Help is on the way. I'm formulating your liberation even now. The end of your suffering is in sight and the end of that demon spawn who has enslaved you is imminent.
Please study the drawing I sent with this letter. Soon you will see this in person and the spell will be broken. We are almost together, my love. Just one more tough battle to fight.
All my love, all my life,
Jen
"Wow," Helen said when she was done with the letter. "I will admit that this one did actually send a chill up my spine, but I still don't think..."
"Uh... Helen," Jake said. "I think maybe you'd better take a look at the drawing she made before you dismiss this as just another letter."
She was about to make a wisecrack, her mouth was actually opening to deliver it, and then she took a good look at Jake's face. She could tell he was very upset by the letter, very worried about her. She closed her mouth and looked down at the sheets of paper in her hand. Slowly, she removed the top sheet upon which the letter itself had been written. When she saw what was underneath she gasped. She stared at the picture for nearly thirty seconds, her hands beginning to tremble.
The picture took up most of a standard sheet of typing paper. It had been drawn in colored pencils with exacting detail, displaying a frightening amount of artistic talent. The picture showed Helen from the shoulders up, the likeness unmistakable. Helen had been drawn with a ragged, bloody gash across her throat, as if a dull knife had slashed her from ear to ear. Her mouth was open and filled with blood, her teeth bashed in. And her eyes... well... her eyes weren't there at all. Where the eyes should have been were two bloody sockets with ripped and ragged flesh surrounding them. Printed in gothic calligraphy below the picture, in letters drawn red and dripping blood, were the words, DIE DEMON!! DIE!!!!