注：Obesssions 疑为Obsessions 之误
by Jeff Tidball
Lucy sat in the small oaken lecture hall at Miskatonic University, packed cheek-to-jowl with rapt students and interested locals. At the front of the hall, the visiting scholar Dr. Gregory Cooke was conveying, with carefully staged detachment, the unfolding of a perverse aboriginal ritual he'd witnessed on a remote Philippine island. The rite, according to the portly and somewhat sweaty Dr. Cooke, was designed to appease the sinister godling whom the culture believed safeguarded forbidden knowledge.
Lucy smiled, and applauded with the rest of the audience as Cooke drew his tale to a close. It had been a fine presentation, but her work was just beginning.
* * *
The mixer following the presentation was populated by graduate students and faculty keen to share their academic insights, and to hear more of Cooke's. Lucy stood patiently as the white-haired chair of the Department of Anthropology shared some dearly held theory while Cooke nodded with feigned interest and wiped his brow. The visiting scholar, Lucy could tell, was already studying her, though she pretended to be looking elsewhere.
Lucy could see a history professor she recognized from Garfield's estate (the "Lodge," she reminded herself) watching her from the far side of the room. And then, Cooke was approaching her.
"Hello, my dear," he said extending his hand toward her. She offered hers in return. His skin was warm but not inviting - too hot. "You're aware that I'm Dr. Gregory Cooke, but I'm still unaware of the name of the beautiful young woman I noticed more than an hour ago in my audience."
Lucy looked away, a flirtatious move of her head. "Lucy Jennings," she said softly enough that he'd have to move his head closer to hear it. As he did, she saw his eyes plunge down her dress. "I enjoyed your lecture very much," she added.
"The dangers I've endured seem all the more worthwhile when I can share them with an intelligent audience in a civilized place," he said. The visiting professor's eyes amounted to the groping hands of an aging lech, but Lucy's heart was racing with her subterfuge; she had no time to be repulsed by the corpulent man's come-ons. "Let's find you another glass of wine," Cooke's voice cut through her preoccupations.
She smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "Yes, let's!" she enthused, allowing Cooke to take her arm and lead her off.
* * *
The thunderstorm was unplanned, but lent appropriate drama to the incident as Lucy "struggled" to get the engine compartment of the Tremaines' car open at the side of the road just outside Arkham's city limits. If she'd calculated his departure correctly, Cooke's car would be coming over the rise to rescue her just... about...
...and sure enough, a flash of lightning revealed his auto cresting the hill.
Lucy stepped into the lane to wave at his approaching car as the thunder rolled in the lightning's wake. Cooke's car rolled to a stop, and he nearly leapt out into the rain.
"Dr. Cooke, thank goodness!" Lucy said. "My car's stalled out!"
Cooke had already produced an umbrella and rushed to shelter her from the downpour. "Would you like me to have a look?" he asked, huffing.
"Not in all this," she replied. "If I could trouble you for a ride to a friend's house... Do you know the Garfield estate?" She pressed her body against his, shrinking under the umbrella as if trying to keep from getting further wet.
"It will be my pleasure," he said, escorting her back to his car as his eyes roved over the curves her wet dress revealed as it clung to her body.
* * *
The car's windshield wipers were almost entirely ineffective against the sheets of rain. "Was that the sign for the county road?'' Lucy asked, peering out the car's window. "That's the way to-"
"We'll go to the resort where I'm staying, I think - that makes much more sense. The suite the university's provided is quite fine." Cooke looked over at her, now completely incapable of keeping the naked lechery off his face.
"Doctor!" Lucy said. "I insist that you-"
She stopped. He was ignoring her.
"Dr. Cooke!"
He drove on.
Lucy's breath quickened. She reached for the door handle, but Cooke grabbed her wrist, and anyway, he was driving too fast to make bailing out remotely sensible.
"The only reasonable thing," he said firmly, "is to retire to my suite and wait for the storm to blow over."
Lucy bit her lip as the car drove further into the thunderstorm, putting the turn-off to the Lodge further and further behind them.
