Just where had her husband disappeared to? Just what kind of black magic had sent a docile, mild, well-mannered college graduate off to some distant pest hole to be metamorphosed into a rutting animal?

Or, had Vietnam had anything at all to do with it? Had the beast always been there, beneath the surface, waiting to jump out at the first opportunity? That was certainly possible when considering how that "other" John Mason had been so opposite his sister Marne. How could any one as meek and mild as John had seemed at the time of his marriage have popped from the same womb as Marne?

Not that Melissa didn't like Marne. Because she did. Actually, when Melissa was up to admitting it to herself, she even envied Marne, to a certain extent. On the other hand, there was too much of everything about Marne which made Melissa a little uneasy.

Marne was simply too beautiful. Her breasts were a trifle too large. Her figure was a bit too sensuous. Her walk was a mite too sexy. Her voice was too sultry. Her eyes were too seductive. Her lips were too inviting.

Marne, in short, reeked a kind of sexuality that Melissa found disturbing. Why she found it disturbing, she couldn't quite say.

"Melissa!" John called again, bringing his wife back once again to the reality.

Surely, surely, John wasn't thinking of doing any of his disgusting sexual gymnastics tonight! Sweet Jesus, but they hadn't gotten back from the graveyard but a few short hours before. But, then, that would hardly matter to John, would it? He had lived with death in Nam, hadn't he? He had seen death all around him every day of the week. So, what did it matter to John Mason that William Davenport was dead?

"Melissa, for Christ's sake, you brush your hair so much, it's a fucking wonder it doesn't all fall out by its roots!" John yelled loudly from the bedroom where he would be naked and probably lying on top of the bed, his huge penis hard and laid out along his belly like some Army missile ready for launching.