"Yeah, it's me," Greg said, getting off the bed and smiling at her. "Have I changed much? You sure have."

He had changed, Debby thought. He looked meaner, and now he sported tattoos on his meaty arms. He was wearing dirty jeans and a torn undershirt, smelled of stale beer and cigarettes. The spark of life was gone from his eyes, replaced by a worldly cynicism. His mouth, once etched with laugh lines, was set and bitter.

"Greg, I don't believe it," Debby whispered, again feeling fear claw at her mind. "I… I thought I was supposed to baby sit. Where is the, uh, baby?"

"I guess I'm the baby in question," Greg laughed humorlessly, getting off the bed.

"I have to leave," Debby said quickly, again trying the knob.

"Oh, no, baby," Greg said, walking over toward her, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, "we have old times to talk about. Like how you got me sent up."

"How was I to know he was going to ask all those questions?" Debby said, spluttering, casting a hunted look about the cluttered room. "I didn't mean to say those things."

"I saw your ad in the paper when I was looking for a part for my bike, and this opportunity just seemed too good to pass up," Greg continued, ignoring her protest.

"There's no… baby?" Debby asked, swallowing hard. "Then, why did you call?"

"To see you and do all those things again you told the judge about," Greg said, now standing in front of her.

"Let me go!" Debby shouted, clawing at the door, feeling the coppery taste of terror in the back of her mouth. "Don't you dare touch me, I'll call the police!"

"Like I really give a fuck." Greg roughly grabbed her. He bit down on her mouth like a striking cobra, then embraced her, grinding his crotch against hers. "Mmmmm, you have changed," he murmured, tasting the sweet flavor of her mouth. "All ripe and ready for the plucking, so to speak."