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Her timing is perfect. All eyes turn and voices erupt as the fourth and final candidate rises up behind the stage… his body lurching and tossing about as the crude pulleys propel him forward. ‘or will our gracious lord have mercy upon this soul-less one? One known to the church as a proponent and master of the black arts?’ The crowd stills as thousands of minds take in the meaning of these few words… then erupts again as the speaker chortles ‘would you?’ She laughs and rejoins her voice to the crescendo as she looks up at the new one… Her voice falters… she looks away, wincing as if struck a blow. Breathing deep, she stares into the wooden floorboards before her. Then, recomposed, her eyes move slowly upward and back to his. These are not the eyes of the damned. Nor are they the eyes of one with false hopes. They are bright and pure, life flowing from them: true and unbridled life. Her head spins slightly, the ground tilting upward toward her. Her cheeks flush, hotly. A hollowness. Sam was transfixed, it was almost like seeing a ghost. Her resemblance to Caroline in her younger days was so apparent in this photograph. The fiery red hair, the light freckles, the lithe body, the only difference being that Charlie’s breasts were petite whereas Caroline’s had been and still were very much fuller. He could even see her nipples poking through the material of the light coloured bikini. He felt his cock throbbing and looked down to see that, without noticing, he had gripped his shaft and had been slowly but surely moving his hand up and down. His heart raced in his chest at the realisation. He was shocked, not at what he was doing but how good it felt. He turned to the bag and with his free hand reached in and withdrew a pair of yellow knickers and brought them immediately to his face and inhaled deeply as his eyes remained fixed on the picture. His body was flooded with Caroline’s scent, but he was imagining those tiny bikini bottoms in the picture that were so snugly.
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