"For a couple of minutes there, I thought I was going to go nuts. Really, clinically nuts. Her lips on me. . .biting me . . .And when she was doing it, I liked it. Ben. That’s the hellish part. I actually had an erection. Can you believe it?"

Jim looks up from his book, that last part of dialog running through his mind. He smiles at first, thinking that he knows precisely what the man in this novel is talking about.

After all, Pam has sparked that exact same reaction in him.

Salem’s Lot is said to be one of the scariest books of all time. Normally, Jim isn’t that much of a Stephen King fan, but since starting the horrific vampire tale last Monday, he believes it is. Just now, he’s reading the scene in which the main character, Ben, and his buddy Jimmy – huh, imagine that – have taken the recently diseased Marjorie Glick to the morgue, only to find that not only is she dead, but that she’s undead as well. Jim had just started the chapter five minutes ago, and already he’s turned all the lights on in the living room.

A small shiver had run down his spine when Mrs. Glick’s body rose from the autopsy table and attacked Jimmy. He knows it’s stupid to be scared of a book. He hasn’t been scared since he read Scary Stories To Tell in the Dark when he was in 7th grade. Jim hasn’t told Pam about that, he’s sure she would tease him until the day he died.

He rereads Jimmy’s word’s again. The spell that Jimmy was under with Mrs. Glick reminds him of the spell that Pam casts on Jim. Even by doing something mundane, Pam is able to arouse the same physical reaction from him that Jimmy described in the book.

At that last thought, Jim lets out a small chuckle. Maybe Pam’s a vampire.

Just then he hears their upstairs bedroom door creak open.

"Jiiiiiiiiim. Come to beeeed," Pam’s voice is light, and it mistily floats down the empty staircase as it swirls about the room, echoing like a siren’s song.

It’s not until he’s halfway up the stairs that he realizes that he’s moving towards their bedroom. He closes his eyes, and with a fresh grin on his face he wonders: Maybe. . .

***

They’re getting ready for work the next morning, and as Jim is shaving in front of the bathroom mirror, he feels a soft hand on his back.

"Hey," she whispers into his bare shoulder.

"Hey, yourself," he smiles.

He goes back to shaving when he sees her watching him intently in the reflection of the mirror. Jim is just about to ask her what she is thinking when he is struck by the color of her eyes. He can’t help but notice how they seem greener today, but quickly he passes that off on the contrasting glow of her porcelain skin in their steamy bathroom.

The razor is already scratching across his stubble when he feels Pam’s acute nails skim lightly over his stomach. Looking back at her reflection, he notices something about her facial expression that he hadn’t earlier. Her eyes just aren’t greener, they’re brighter, too. They seem harder, and they remind him of the eyes of the animals he used to see in the zoo when he was a kid.

The memory of how he had observed a panther stalk behind the glass, watching him lustily when he had gone to the Bronx in New York pops into his head. It had made him uneasy then, and Pam’s unabashed gaze is doing the same now. There is something so hungry in her eyes that Jim has to remind himself to breathe, but since Pam’s hand is still burning the area of skin on his lower abdomen, he finds it difficult. Her wolf-like fixation makes him feel like a rabbit who’s being hunted.

"What ya doin’?" he asks playfully, and his arm is trembling from holding his razor for so long.

Pam licks her. . .oh she licks her lips. . .and rests her chin on his left shoulder blade.

"Just enjoying the view," she sighs, and then he feels her fingers dip into his navel.

Without thinking he drops his razor into the sink with a "PLUNK" and it doesn’t take long for him to register the feel of her lips grazing over his back. She tugs on his boxers, asking him to turn around so he can face her, and he willingly obliges, his lips seeking hers softly at first, then desperately.

She doesn’t seem to mind the fact that most of his shaving cream is now smeared over her cheeks, chin, and below her ear. Jim is glad that she doesn’t mind. Even when he has to go back, and shave again forty minutes later, which makes them late for work, he finds that their little intermission was totally worth it.

As they sit in the car, he sees Pam run a finger over her scarlet, swollen mouth. It’s not until the light turns green and the car behind them honks rudely that he realizes that he’s completely zoned out.

And as they pull into the parking lot, she smiles and he thinks: Maybe. . .

***

This isn’t the first time he’s wondered, mostly jokingly, if Pam was a vampire. Right before they had gotten married, she had refused to wed in a church. She had blame it on the fact that Roy had booked the rundown old church because it was cheaper, while she, herself, had wanted to marry outside in the fresh, clean spring air.

She had elbowed him in the ribs.

"So, what’s the name of that painting over there?!" Jim quizzes as he points at a rather dark piece hanging a little ways down corridor of the museum.

Pam barley looks up and responds: "It’s Saturn Devouring One Of His Children by Goya," she says proudly.

As Jim and Pam move closer to it, the painting depicts a man biting off the head of a young baby. Jim feels his stomach turn, and he wants to look away, but he can’t. There’s something disturbing, grotesque, yet intriguing about this picture.

"Ew."

"Yeah, it’s pretty graphic," Pam agrees. "Not one of my favorites."

"These aren’t the original paintings, are they?" At his question, Pam giggles.

"Yeah, like these famous paintings would hanging in the Scranton Valley Museum," she humorously chides. He tickles her sides, and she giggles again. "No, these are mock paintings. Students from all over the county try to emulate famous works. This one’s not too bad," comments as she points at the fake Goya.

They continue to walk hand in hand, looking at impressive imitations of Monet, Van Gogh, Constable, Pollack, Picasso, and more artists than Jim has ever imagined. It occurs to Jim that he never really paid much attention to the world of art until he had married Pam.

"Oh! Look at that one!" Pam exclaims, dragging him over to an extremely engrossed painting.

What Jim sees before him really isn’t something he’d like to remember. The piece is very vivid, with graphic images and rich colors of reds and browns. An unconscious woman’s body is strewn over a bed with her head hanging off the end. Her arms are violently thrown above her as a demon sits on her stomach, glaring evilly, and somewhat knowingly at the viewer. It takes Jim a moment to see that there is a black steed lurking just behind the monster, his eyes a milky white.

"It’s pretty," Jim scoffs, but there’s something about the picture that makes his insides come alive.

"Not that, it looks just like the original!" Pam beams clearly impressed.

"I wouldn’t know."

"It’s Fuseli," she says this as if he already knows.

"Fusawhatee?"

She looks at him, grins, and presses her body into his side.

"It’s called The Nightmare by Fuseli," as she says this, her voice drops, and he can feel her arms wrap themselves around his waste.

"It’s gonna give me nightmares," Jim hushes and his sight finds hers. There’s a warmth in her eyes, and he falls in love with her all over again.

"Well, then you’ll just have to sleep closer to me." Her arms tighten around him.

"Well, then it’s a good thing we decided to come to the museum," he chuckles and places a kiss on her forehead.

She doesn’t break his gaze right away, instead she looks at him as if she’s contemplating something. It’s a look that he can’t quite describe either. It’s an expression mixed with love, desire, passion, and something else. Something Jim’s not used to seeing. But he likes it.

"That picture," Pam whispers as she stares at her husband, not bothering to look at the painting, "what do you think when you look at it?"

Jim’s a little surprised at her question.

"Um, well. . . ." he glances back at the portrait and he stares at the slumbering woman (or is she dead?) and then at the little Imp on top of her. "I guess I think it’s. . .dramatic."

Pam finally looks at the painting, and seems to study it thoroughly, he watches how her eyes sweep over the images that – in his opinion – seem to challenge him.

"What is that thing?" he asks, pointing that the demonic-like creature.

"Well, if I remember correctly from my art history class, it’s supposed to be an Incubus." She catches Jim’s eye, noticing that he is impressed, she blushes. "But I’m not sure."

"Isn’t that a band?" Jim jokes, but his laugh stops short when he feels her fingers fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

"It’s a sexual vampire."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm."

"Well, I- I feel a little bad for that woman, ‘cause he’s fugly. She’s gonna regret drinking with the frat boys when she wakes up and sees that thing." It’s hard for him to be funny when the warmth of her hand seeping through the cotton of his shirt.

"I think the story behind the piece is that after a woman would fall asleep, the Incubus would come in and impregnate her. So when she woke up, she would think it was simply a nightmare. Kind of a Rosemary’s Baby type thing."

"Wow. Can I get a female equivalent?" She gasps in fake horror, and sticks her tongue out at him.

"You’re thinking of a Succubus. And from what I’ve heard, those things suck. Pun intended." She snorts at her own joke, and Jim can’t help but laugh at her own dorkiness. "You’re better off sticking with me." And as if to emphasize her point, she softly kisses his cheek, lingering there longer than usual.

"So, why is the horse there?" Jim asks.

"Well, obviously so he can watch."  And Jim is laughing so hard he gets nasty stares from the other students. "Kinky."

"Why would anyone want to paint that?" He gestures his head toward The Nightmare.

"It’s Romanticism," she says as she kisses his cheek again.

"There’s nothing romantic about it, if you ask me."

"No, no!" Pam giggles. "Romanticism was a movement. Before, paintings were all about the ideal. That if we used our minds, we could fix any problem that came our way. But then the concept of Romanticism came along. And it focused more on emotion rather than logic. Paintings like this are supposed to stir up emotions that are inside of you, to make you feel."

"Well, I feel like I want to move away from this nightmare." When she doesn’t respond, he toys with a strand of curly hair. "How did you get to be so smart? And learn to be such a know-it-all?"

"Probably around the same time you learned to suck it."

Not long after, he takes her home, and shows her his own definition of Romanticism.

After, as she sleeps with her head resting on his chest, he wonders if he has his very own Succubus after all.

***

She’s a lot paler lately. He really has no idea as to why. She spends time outside gardening on the weekends. Also, Jim swears it’s his own imagination, but her fingers seem longer, and her nails sharper. She claims it’s from the all the soil she touches while gardening, that the dirt makes her nails stronger.

But it’s not just her appearance. Ever since they became a couple, engaged, got married, she’s been much more extroverted with him than he ever thought possible. He had passed it off at first as just unraveling more of her intimate personality as they grew closer together, but since reading that damn vampire story, he’s noticed a similar pattern in behavior between the seductive devils and his wife.

Not that she isn’t the Pam he fell in love with. She’s still timid, sweet, shy and lovely. Sometimes, there’s a sunshine in her laugh and stars in her eyes as her lips taste like strawberry lemonade. Often, he finds that her fingernails are tinged blue and red with paint. He’s caught her listening to Enya on more than one occasion, in which she flushed and swatted his butt, telling him to get out of her way. After a day outside, he’ll see that she has pink Crabapple petals in her hair from the trees outside, the same ones he’s seen in her sketches. Her words are almost always sweet and sincere and as cliche as it sounds, he honestly believes that she is an angel on Earth.

However, sometimes at night, he’ll wake up to see the moon’s reflection in her eyes as she watches him. And then it’s lips and teeth and nails, and she anything but angelic.

***

"You should go as a vampire for Halloween," he suggests, only half-jokingly, one morning while she’s sitting at the counter in a white bathrobe eating cornflakes.

She lets out an amused laugh, her spoon still halfway in her mouth.

"You think so?"

"Yeah."

She stops eating her breakfast and puts her cereal bowl down. He can’t help feel as though she’s studying him carefully. She’s gotten pretty good at doing that, but she’s taking longer than normal to watch him.

"You’re serious?" she asks, her eyebrow raised.

He nods, and he thinks she’s going to shoot down his idea when a mischievous grin overtakes her beautiful face.

"Oh, I couldn’t be a vampire. What makes you think I could pull that off?" She’s leaning forward, her cheek resting on the palm of her hand.

He tilts his head back and thinks.

"Well," he begins. "You’re very fair. Very stunning. . ."

"Continue," she says smiling.

"A little scary at times. . ."

"Okay, shut up," she moves to grab her bowl so she can eat more of her cereal.

"The most beautiful woman I’ve ever met." That got her to look at him. "And sometimes, when I watch you work, or play, or do the damn dishes, I feel like I’m going into some kind of trance."

Everything he has said is true. He sure he’s never spoken more true words in his entire life. He keeps telling himself that what he’s feeling is the power of love. That he’s simply got it bad for Pam Halpert. Even so, there’s something that tells him there’s more to it than that. Something almost. . .inhuman.

She beckons him with her finger, and he moves closer, his eyes transfixed on the redness of her mouth.

"I can’t be a vampire," she sighs.

When Pam opens the neck of her robe to reveal her creamy collarbone, Jim’s lips are already beginning to part as he leans forward in his chair. If he were really paying attention, he would notice the smirk on his wife’s face, but every time this happens, his eyes glaze over, his pulse quickens, and his mind completely shuts down. In these moments, he would do anything she wanted.

"I’m a little too warm to be a vampire," she titters.

And then it's his lips – his mouth – roaming feverishly over her collarbone, her shoulders, her neck. Her fingers snake into his hair and she pulls him flush against her as he nips and devours her throat in blinding heat. Later, their breakfast is long forgotten.

And her skin is warm. So, so warm.

***

Soon, he finds himself pouring over texts of old folklore. He’s memorized Bram Stoker’s Dracula by heart. He’s shifted through copies of Nosferatu, even the silent movie version. Jim has even read essays on the undead by professors who probably died, like, eighty years ago.

"My wife is a vampire."

Mark dribbles some of his beer down his shirt as he looks at Jim in surprise.

"You’re kidding, right?"

When he sees that Jim is anything but, he begins to cackle. Mostly because he’s drunk, but also because he’s now positive that is friend is insane.

"What makes you think that?"

Jim lets out a frustrated groan.

"I don’t know how else to explain it! She’s just so. . . She’s all I ever think about. I mean, it was bad when she was with Roy, but I never thought. . ."

Suddenly the bar’s much quieter than it was before.

"But what?" Mark prods, interested to hear what his friend has to say.

"I never thought I’d become obsessed with her. That’s what it feels like sometimes. I mean, I have her. I married her. . ."

"In record time, too."

". . .and I thought the passion was supposed to die down eventually. I thought we’d be comfortably in love. Getting to know each other’s weird quirks, annoying habits. I did not think that she and I would be going at it like teenagers in a slasher film. And it’s all her! She’s got this kind of power over me that scares me. I wonder if she’s putting me under some kind of enchantment. She literally seduces me. I – stop laughing!"

Mark is now laughing so hard, he’s afraid he might piss his pants. After a full five minutes of uncontrollable snickering, Mark wipes his eyes and finishes off his beer.

"Ya know what it sounds like to me?" he finally questions.

"What?" Jim ask, really wanting to know.

"It sounds like you are extremely hot for your wife." Jim looks down in his beer, visibly taking in his words. "I mean, do you realize how damn lucky you are? Not only do you have a pretty little wife who is willing to satisfy your every need, she’s head-over-heels in love with you! And here you are complaining that she’s seducing you? Do you have any idea how many guys would kill to be in your place?"

Jim is quiet for a moment. Clearly ashamed.

"Yeah. I have an idea."

"Just, suck it up, man. Relish this before she has a baby and you two are scheduling appointments to be together. At least she seems to have it just as bad for you, as you do for her. Enjoy it."

And just like that, he snaps out of it. And after he calls Mark a cab, he heads home.

Pam’s asleep on the couch, curled up with a small blanket covering her. A book is clutched in her hand, and as Jim bends down he sees that it’s his copy of Salem’s Lot. He smiles, she looks so peaceful, so innocent. He was clearly lost in his own lust for her to think such outrageous thoughts. Not that he ever really believed it. It was just fun to wonder. Tenderly, he runs a hand over her brow, and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear just as she stirs.

"Mmmm, ‘sat you?" she asks sleepily.

"Yeah," he whispers, kneeling down before her. "Did you stay up waiting for me?"

"Mmm-hmm. I read some of your book. It’s too scary." She looks at him with tired, heavy lidded eyes.

"It was scary. Even for me." Jim’s not just talking about the book, but he doesn’t bother to elaborate.

He smiles when she smiles and he knows that this is love.

As gently as he can, he picks her up from the couch and carries her up the stairs to their bedroom. On the way up, she nestles closer to his body, and her breathing deepens. Opening their bedroom door, he moves into the room and lays her softly onto the bed. A year and a half ago, he was asked where he saw himself in ten years. And when he thought about it, he didn’t see big cities and big money. He didn’t see Karen or himself going to large parties, mingling with higher-ups or any of that meaningless shit. He only saw years and years of Pam. Of this. Of yogurt lids and flower petals. Of Chinese takeout and cheesy movies. Of sacrifice and fear, fights and laughter.

He saw the life he had wanted.

"Love you," she mumbles before drifting off again.

His heart is so full that he can barley whisper the words back. But he does, and he’s never spoken anything more honest in his life.

But just as he dips down to brush her lips like a feather, her mouth opens – only slightly – and a hint of her tongue kisses his, slowly awakening the man inside of him in a long devilish kiss.

And as he watches her sleep, he thinks to himself that maybe she does have little vampire in her. Just a little.

Just maybe. . .

***

"And how would you like you’re steak?" The waiter asks as they sit across the table from each other the next night.

"Rare," Jim answers proudly as Pam wrinkles her nose.

Their waiter snaps his notebook shut and smiles. He’s young with dark sideburns and vibrant blue eyes. His strong hands place his pen back into his apron while he flashes cocky grin quickly at Pam. "Comin’ right up."

As they watch him walk back to the kitchen, Pam reaches across the table and traces the wristband of Jim’s watch. Smiling, she leans forward to take a long sip of her Diet Coke.

"I can’t stand the taste of rare meat," she says before her lips find her brightly colored straw.

"Funny, I didn’t hear you complaining last night." And Pam sprays a little bit of soda out of her mouth.

Jerking her head back, her palm covers her face and when she speaks, there’s the wet pop of her tongue hitting her teeth as she tries to talk. Looking at her husband with her now watering eyes she spies that he is smirking while Pam fumbles for her napkin, and presses it over her face.

"Coke came out of my nose," she sputters, watching as his smirk evolves into a open mouth guffaw.

"Sorry," although his tone sounds anything but apologetic. "Are you okay?" he somehow manages to ask between snickers.

"Yeah," she says as she pats her chest, "I just wasn’t expecting you to say that. . . here."

Jim merely smiles fondly at her, and shrugs his broad shoulders. "Come on, it’s not as easy to make pasta jokes. You gotta give me something, Pam."

"Excuse me, my chicken pasta is ripe for parody," she argues while mopping up little droplets of Coke on the table with her napkin. "I just don’t see how you can eat that steak when it’s still. . .still. . .mooing."

"Yeah, that’s half the fun. It makes me feel like a lion. I love it!"

Pam can only roll her eyes. Soon, their food arrives, interrupting their laughter as they playfully banter back and forth. This is one of the reason’s she loves Jim. They can talk about nothing, and still feel as though they will wet their pants with glee.

Their waiter ("Hey, you can call me Sam.") stands next to them with two sizzling trays. "I have a T-bone steak for you, sir." Sam places Jim’s animal carcass down next to his drink.

"Thank you," Jim replies and he’s already reaching for his fork and knife.

"And a chicken pasta for the lovely lady." Sam’s white teeth are almost blinding as he beams charmingly down at Pam.

"Thanks," she mutters shyly, all the while still managing to smile bashfully back at her waiter.

"Okay folks," Sam exclaims enthusiastically, "Enjoy your meal."

Pam’s too busy spearing her noodles with her fork to notice that Sam has left. She looks up from her food to find that Jim has an extremely grim expression on his face. Putting her fork down, she nets her eyebrows together tries to swallow the rest of her pasta.

"What’s wrong?" she asks, her voice full of concern.

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Jim’s jerks as if he’s just snapped out of a trance.

"What? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking," and as he smiles at her, she can’t help herself from grinning back.

"So, how’s your cow?" she asks as she watches his knife slice easily into his steak. Taking a large bite, he chews carefully as though he’s some food critic for the local paper.

"Mmmmm," is his answer.

A coppery aroma wafts its way over to Pam, and she’s pretty sure that the dark liquid pool surrounding Jim’s steak isn’t gravy. He doesn’t seem to mind as he happily chomps on his food. As she watches him, she realizes that he wasn’t kidding about feeling like a lion. His teeth sink into his meat with raw exuberance. The image reminds Pam of the time she watched a panther kill an animal on the Discovery Channel.

About a forty minutes into their meal, Pam pushes her plate away and takes one last swig of her drink. Sighing, she leans back in her chair. If she were a man, this would be the part where she opens her belt.

"Full?" Jim asks between bites.

"You’re obviously not," she states.

"What can I say? I’m a man," he retorts, taking another morsel of his, now, very small steak.

"Trust me, I’ve been watching you eat, and you look as if you belong out in the wild."

Just then, she leans forward and wipes a little dark smudge off the corner of Jim’s mouth with her thumb. It’s meant to be a quick gesture, however, she finds that she can’t quite take her fingers off of his warm skin. She’s sure she imagines it, but Jim’s eyes darken, and she’s certain that something primal flashes behind those green irises making a deep warm sensation flood inside of her belly unexpectedly.

Absently, she pulls the skin of her lips between her teeth as she views is facial expression. He stares fixedly back at her, and his adams apple bobs noticeably as he swallows the remainder of his meat. Pam’s positive that there are little beads of sweat forming just above his brow. Slowly, as if in a enchanted, she slides her arm back to her side and fiddles with her silverware.

"I’m full." His voice is low and throaty and it still manages to send a shock of excitement through her body.

"Well then, " she wets her upper lip with her tongue, "maybe we should ask for our check."

She glances up from her knife and fork that she’s been playing with and feels a sense of hungry power surge through her entire being. It makes her flesh thrum boldly and she knows that all she has to do is. . .

The tip of her finger faintly traces Jim’s knuckle of his wedding finger. She can feel the light whips of hair brush light against her nails. He remains absolutely still for a few moments, and taking a deep breathe, he catches his waiters eye and beckons him over to their table.

"We’d like our check now, please."

Looking at Pam, their waiter puts his hand over his heart. "Aw, already?"

"Yes," Jim’s voice is a bit more forceful.

Sam brings them their check, and Jim hurriedly scribbles on the ticket.

"Give him a bigger tip than that, Jim," she knows that Jim is too distracted to argue.

Standing up, Pam grabs her jacket and Jim puts a hand on the small of her back as they make their way to the exit. Sam takes their check and shows them out as they weave through the Friday night crowd.

"Thanks for coming, "Sam says. As his eyes meets Pam’s, he says: "I hope to see you again."

The pressure of Jim’s hand on her back is suddenly much more prominent as he guides her out of the restaurant.

They make their way across the dark parking lot to their car. Jim’s hand slips from her back to her waist, and she’s surprised to find that his pace has increased slightly. Leaning into his side, she lets her body relax as he directs her to their parking space. Walking her to her side of the door, he suddenly stops. Pam turns to face him and leans against the passenger door.

"Hmmmm," she hums as a small breeze blows past them. Her eyes meet his and she brushes a stray hair away from her face.

That troubled look at she had seen earlier is back. "Thank you Jim, that was really nice."

He doesn’t say anything in return, and it’s hard to read his eyes in the darkness of the lot. She hears that is breathing has become shallower since they left and she can feel singeing heat radiating off of him. Pam’s not sure because she hasn’t looked down, but she wonders if he has his hands stuffed into his pocket like he normally does when he’s upset.

"Hey, Jim," her voice is soft. "Are you oka – "

Her brain doesn’t seem to register the sensation of her back pushing into her door right away. Instead, all she can concentrate on is the fact that his fingers are dipping into the waistband of her jeans. Jim’s lips are covering her hastily, almost severely and her temperature boils dramatically. His lips are tinged with fresh blood and he tastes better than any steak she’s ever savored.

Groaning, she slips her hands inside the opening of his jacket to feel his heart drumming with fervent craze. Teasingly, he runs his tongue over her upper lip, and Pam’s knees begin to feel like gelatin. The salty scent of sweat overpowers her and she drastically wishes that they were somewhere more private. All the blood must have drained from her head because she is very startling aware that she is very dizzy.

"Jim! Jim," she gasps trying to not focus on his twisting lips that are trailing down her jaw, her neck, her throat. . .

Grabbing her hips, he crushes her into him. "P- Pam I can’t. . ." But then he’s kissing her again, and his arms lock around her.

"Take me home," is all she has to say.

After, they rest in utter ecstasy as the thin layer of sheets absorb the sweat on their exhausted bodies. Pam can’t seem to get her blood to cool, and her body doesn’t want to drop in temperature. Not in the slightest. She can feel Jim’s moist nose as he nuzzles the back of her damp neck.

"I love you," he mumbles lazily into her slick skin.

And as he sleeps, Pam’s wonders if Jim is holding her a little tighter tonight.

***

"You look exhausted," Jen observes one afternoon as Pam sits on top of a picnic table.

Pam looks away from her sketch book and gazes down at her friend who is sitting the bench next to Pam’s feet. The cool fall air is damp and it’s making her fingers so cold that she can’t hold onto her pencil.

"Do I?" Pam smiles.

"Yeah, has Jim been. . .ya know, keeping you up at night?" Jen giggles and Pam tries hard not to roll her eyes.

"Ye – No. I. . I mean no. Why do you say that?" she clambers, a little flustered. Now Jen is the one who’s smiling.

"Oh, come on! Remember the other night when he stopped by to pick you up? He was undressing you with his eyes, no shame at all about it, and practically shoved you into the car."

"Well, he is my husband."

"Yeah, well, based on the all the PDA between you two, I wouldn’t be surprised if you practiced your nude drawings on him," Jen snorts.

"Jen!" Pam sets her notebook down. Actually, drawing a naked Jim doesn’t sound like a bad idea. . .

"I’m just saying. . ." Jen goes back to reading her text book.

"Yeah, since when do you have an eye for art?" Pam questions her friend.

The two had met during one of Pam’s math classes at the college. Jen was nice, and knew her way around a calculator. She helped Pam pass math, and the two had been friends ever since. She had even gone as far to tell Pam: "Stick with the art, math ain’t your thing."

"Just because I study folklore doesn’t mean I don’t notice things, Pam," Jen retorts, trying to take a peek at one of Pam’s drawings. Pam quickly snaps her sketchbook shut.

"Folklore does sound interesting," she says, thinking out loud. "What are you going to write about for your midterm?"

"Guess," Jen quints and smiles a somewhat devilish smile.

"Ummm," Pam looks up and thinks, "Greek mythology."

"Boring!"

"Fairytales?"

"Nah, I wrote my last paper on that."

"Midgets?"

"Those are real, Pam."

"I know, I’m talking to one."

"Okay, keep guessing."

"Urban legends?"

"Nope."

"Goblins?"

"Gettin’ warmer. . ."

"I don’t know, Jen, what?" Pam throws her hands into the air to tell her that she’s given up.

Jen is smiling again and she scoots closer to Pam. Holding her book up, she flips it over, and Pam sees that it’s not a text book at all.

"Werewolves!" Jen exclaims excitedly, holding the pages close to Pam’s face for her to see.

Pam takes the book from Jen’s hands and studies it carefully. She see’s two images, both black and white sketches of the mythological creature. One looks as if it belongs in a comic book as the bold ink shades the dark curves of a strong beast. Its teeth are larger than its own head and it almost has a human quality as she sees how the artist drew him with the pecs and the six-pack of an man’s.

The other sketch is done in light pencil, and the style looks much older. It’s ancient style seems to help her take the drawing more seriously and she feels a small shiver runs down her spine. To Pam, this picture seems scarier than the other one. The animal looks more like a cross between a wolf and a demon as it lurks evilly under a full moon. The eyes are wide and shine like large silver dollars. Its long body stretches out over a soft road of snow, and this time, its teeth are longer and its fangs gleam as it grins insanely back at Pam.

"You’re writing about monsters?" Pam asks, confused as she reads more of the text.

"Not monsters, Pam. It’s folklore. Celtic folklore. Although, the myth of the werewolf is believed to have existed since the Ancient Greeks. And you would have known that if you had read my book." Snatching her book back from Pam’s hands, Jen turns the pages of her text vigorously.

Pam watches Jen as she admires the pictures of her class topic for a few seconds.

"Doesn’t that creep you out? Even a little bit?" Pam wonders verbally.

"What’s to be scared about? They’re not real." Jen’s eyes move back up from her book and she stares at Pam. "Why, do you know any werewolves?" she asks jokingly.

"Oh yeah, I see them all the time here in Scranton, Pennsylvania," Pam quips back, chuckling.

"Hmmm, what about Jim? He seems. . .rugged. . ."

"Rugged?"

". . .and a little hairy."

"He does have very nice hair," Pam muses, entertained by Jen’s outrageous connection.

"Come on, Pam, aren’t there times when he seems just a tad bit animalistic?" Jen is flat out laughing now, and Pam can’t help but smile.

She smiles because she thinks about the other evening in the kitchen, and how Jim had growled into her shoulder blade. He had been a little rough that night. She still has the bite marks to prove it.

"You’re right. I should probably stop telling Jim to drink out of the toilet bowl." Jen lets out a shriek of laughter.

"Yeah, some dogs got into my garbage yesterday. Hey, were was Jim last night?" she snickers.

"Peeing on the carpet again," Pam titters. And the two women giggle like school girls.

"What are you two laughing about?"

Pam jerks her head up to see Jim walking across the moist grass. The gray clouds roll overhead, and for a moment, Pam wants to draw the image of him stepping towards her, the charcoal sky darkening his eyes. Touching the spot where his teeth had sunk into her skin, she shudders, and despite to cold, her fingers start to sweat.

"Werewolves," Pam replies as he meets her. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too, "says Jim as he dips his head and kisses her a little too lustily on the small patch of flesh below her left ear.

His mouth his warm against her cool skin, and her eyes flutter involuntarily for a minute. She chances a glance at Jen who is smirking and folding her arms across her chest as if to say: "See, total animal." Jim breathes a little into her skin before pulling away, and she’s miraculously aware of how chilly the weather is.

"Hey, Jen," he says pleasantly.

"Hiya, Jim," she waves.

"So, you two are talking about werewolves? Don’t you know those things don’t exist?" he teases as he places an arm around his wife.

"Oh, I don’t know," Jen sighs, "I’ve believed in weirder things. . . "

***

They decide to go camping once before the weather really goes to hell. It’s a little rainy, and a little cold, but for the most part, Pam really enjoys their small weekend away in the woods. It’s night and they huddle together next to the fire that Jim built and Pam finds that she is very easily hypnotized by the dancing flames. The deep rise and fall of Jim’s chest relaxes her as she leans back into him.

"This was nice," she soughs. "I wish we had done it during the summer."

"Yeah," he breathes in her ear. "But you know that Michael would’ve wanted to come along."

"I’m surprised that he didn’t make us go on some sort of outing."

She rotates herself so that she’s sitting in his lap. The glow of the fire cascades over his skin and he looks so handsome. . .so incredibly sexy that Pam’s heart stirs lightly inside of her chest.

"You’re growing a light beard," she says as she runs her finger along his jaw.

His voice rumbles as he rubs his cheeks over her face. She squeals and tries to escape his lap, but he’s holding her too tight and she finally gives up when he begins to place feathery kisses along her temple, her eyelids, down her nose, over her lips. His long whiskers tickle her cheeks, but she doesn’t mind, just as long as he keeps touching her like that. . .

When they separate, Pam looks up at the dark sky to see that it’s a full moon. Looking back down, she sees that he’s watching her, his eyes almost all white from the moonlight’s reflection. He smiles wickedly back at her, and his teeth glitter sharply from the fire’s gleam. Pam thinks back to the picture in Jen’s book, and there’s something so familiar in his expression that it scares her for a moment.

Her breathing hitches as he grins wider and his eyes are bright, lustful. . . hungry. She feels his nails lightly scratch over the sides of her stomach, and when he tilts his head back, she notices that his hair is wildly sticking up on end, making him look not human.

"I’m tired," Pam blurts out randomly.

Quickly, his smile fades and before he can say anything, she’s sliding off of his lap. She doesn’t look back as she heads for their tent. When she enters, she grabs her flash light and begins to change into her nightgown. She has no idea why she’s acting this way, but she’s just sliding her shirt over her head when Jim enters.

"Going to bed, huh?" he questions softly.

Behind the open flap that he’s holding open, she sees the smoldering smoke from their once bright fire. She shines her flashlight in his direction but not in his eyes as to blind him. In the dim light of their tent, he finds that he looks a little sad, but very much like the man she married.

"Yeah, I’m just. . .a little worn out," she replies as she clicks off her flashlight.

Pam hears him moving around as he changes into her PJ’s and then he’s sliding into their large sleeping bag next to her. The tent is quiet for a moment before he speaks.

"You okay?" From his tone, he sounds hurt, and Pam quickly feels guilty for how she acted earlier.

"I’m fine, I just need my beauty sleep so I can be your trophy wife," her words are kidding, but she’s not sure he buys it.

"Okay. Night Pam." He leans forward and kisses her arm and settles back into bed.

Before she falls asleep, Pam can’t believe how superstitious she is.

Later, Pam is awakened by a terrible noise. It’s seething and raw and it makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. For a moment, Pam’s not sure what the sound is, but she soon realizes that it’s grunting maddingly. The noises are coming from outside of their tent, and Pam soon hears that there are more of them. . .snapping and growling as if ready to kill.

Their harsh panting from far off is what makes Pam roll over hastily and reach out blindly for Jim. Touching his hot torso, she shakes him a little, and in the dark, she can see that his head is turned away from her, his mouth open in deep sleep.

"Jim!" she whispers urgently, "Jim, do you hear that?"

He doesn’t answer right away, and that makes her feel even more afraid and alone.

"Jim, do you hear that?" she hushes.

"Mmmm, what?" he slurs drowsily. "What is it?"

"Listen. . ." Pam strains and it seems like whatever is out there is coming closer. "What is that?"

The growling makes her clutch Jim’s T-shirt in her fists. She hears something like a mix between a snarl and a bark and she shuts her eyes tightly as if she can make it go away. Jim is so silent that she worries for a second that he’s fallen back asleep, but then he answers, still sounding sleepy.

"It sounds like wolves," he mutters.

"Wolves?" she whispers lightly. "Jim, what are we gonna do?"

"Hey," she feels him grab her hand. "They sound pretty far off. I don’t think they’ll bother us. Besides, I have a gun in our bag, and I also have a radio." He stops for a moment as he listens again. "They’re moving away from us, Pam. The Ranger around here says that they normally don’t bother humans."

"They sound angry," she sighs as she snuggles closer to him.

"They’re probably just fighting over some food that the Ranger set out for them."

Suddenly, a high, steely, crazed howl erupts in the distance and makes Pam jump and cling to Jim. He jolts a little, surprised, and then grabs onto her.

"I’m scared," she whimpers.

"Hey," he hushes in that comforting Jim tone. "I’ll protect you. I don’t think you’ll need it, though. You could kick those beasts’s asses any day."

They listen in silence as the wolves move further and further away. Their grunts and jagged breathing still make Pam shake, but Jim holds her tight, and rubs his large hands over her belly every time she starts to tremble. However, after a while, his consoling gestures starts to become more intimate as he rubs the bare skin of her hip bone with the tips of his fingers. The action makes Pam aroused and soon, he starts to comfort her with his lips as well.

Before she realizes it, he taking her fully and deeply on the floor of their tent. And Pam swears that he makes the exact same sounds as those wolves that stalk the woods.

***

Pam hasn’t had an art show in. . .well. . .ages. To be completely honest, she hasn’t had enough courage to have another one since Jim never showed up and Michael offered to buy her painting. But that was almost two years ago. Things are very different now.

So, when Pam hears about how her fellow students are going to have another art show the day before Halloween, Pam signs up immediately.

Now, she stands in front of her display and thinks about how different these pieces are from her other drawings of staples and office supplies two years before. Some of her art are the water colors that she did on their weekend away in the forest. Others are charcoal and deep, rich prisms. One is of the tree in their backyard that she had done early one morning in October. It’s golden maple leaves hang securely on the branch as the tree stands tall in her backyard. The sun had risen behind Pam as she had worked on the piece. The sun’s rays had reflected off of the orange, red, and golden leaves making the maple tree look as if it were on fire.

The other one is of Jim as he stands behind a chain linked fence. He was still wearing his work cloths the day she had drawn him doing that pose. His large hand reaches up and is gripping the fence, his fingers tangled in the massive wire. His stare is very serious and Pam loves the picture when she admires it on her wall.

"So," she hears Jim say behind her. "What do you call this one?" He points at the portrait of himself.

"I call it: ‘The Chains of a Suburban Life,’" Pam answers in a rich, arty voice. The picture is actually called "My Husband Behind a Fence" because Pam doesn’t have any symbolic message in her portrait

"And what does it represent?" Jim walks closer and studies himself.

"Well, it’s supposed to represent the actual hell that a quiet life can bring. One feeling trapped in a job, or by a nagging by a wife. The fence. . .represents. . .blockage. . . of. . . life." Pam tries hard to come up with something else clever and Jim laughs.

"This is so cool," he says breaking character. "It’s surreal to see myself up on a wall as art."

"Baby, your whole body’s art," she says only half jokingly.

"And that’s the only reason you married me, hm? I’m your muse."

"Yep."

"Pam!" she hears someone shout. Turning around she sees Martin, one of her classmates. He’s a little shorter than Jim, and has spiky blond hair and thick black glasses. He makes most of all the girls in Pam’s class swoon.

"Hey Martin," she smiles at him as he moves over to her area, She watches as he looks over her wall.

"Wow! Are these yours?" he asks. Pam nods proudly and Martin squeezes her arm. "They’re great! You really are talented. You’ve also made a lot of progress."

"Oh, thanks," she blushes as she pats his arm. "Oh, Martin, this is my husband, Jim. Jim this is my friend Martin."

"Hello," the both of them say to each other.

"So, Pam," Martin says turning back to her, "when are you going to pose naked?"

Pam laughs.

"How about never."

"What? Come on Pam, you gotta do it at least once. Something to show your grand kids," Martin grins and Pam shakes her head.

"I don’t want them to see that," she says chuckling at the image of her horrified grandchildren.

"Well, good luck becoming a real artist then," he smiles as he waves at her. Pam shakes her head again and giggles again at that odd mental image.

"He seemed nice," Jim says softly. "Is he gay?"

"Huh?" Pam turns her attention back to Jim. "Martin? No, I don’t think so. . ."

"PAM THOSE ARE AWESOME!" a familiar voice shouts so loud that she jumps a little. It’s Jason, another friend in her class.

Jason jogs up to her in his greasy jeans and faded baseball tee. Pam wonders if Jason is actually a hobo who has an eye for art. His hair is long, and his long brown beard moves as he speaks.

"Those are rockin’!" He moves closer to the one of Jim and his head moves back and forth between picture Jim and real Jim. "That’s you."

"I know it’s me," Jim smiles, but it somehow looks forced.

"Pam, you are, like, a professional," Jason exclaims turning back around to face her.

"Er. . .Well . . .I don’t know about that. . . ."

"Aw, don’t be so modest," Jason says as he moves forward and gives an already blushing Pam a quick kiss on the cheek. "Are you going to see my exhibit?" he asks happily.

"Oh, devils, witches and rock stars with tattoo of’s skulls painted over their bodies? Defiantly." Pam slowly nods and grins from ear to ear thinking that her friend certainly has his own style.

Jason raises his hand and gives Pam a high five. "Yes! I’ll see you there." And with a pump of his fist, he turns around and leaves. Pam’s still beaming when she hears Jim shuffle his feet behind her.

"Who was that guy?" he questions and Pam turns around to face him.

"That was Jason, he’s a little crazy. But he has a big personality. Better keep him away from Phyllis," Pam jokes but Jim doesn’t laugh. He only nods his head and moves a little closer to her. In one swift motion Jim reaches a long arm to and snatches a glass from the mini bar near by.

"Hey, Pam!" another man says. It’s Chris, and he’s wearing a lavender chemise with a matching tie which makes him look like a GQ model. His hair is black and curly and he has soft brown eyes that move swiftly over Pam’s art. "Those are nice."

"Another friend of yours?" Jim whispers in her ear.

"Thanks, Chris. Where are you?" Chris flashes his teeth at Pam’s question and points to the wall of painting full of scantily clad and nude women. Pam nods impressed. "Provocative."

"Yes, I was trying to make it sexy," Chris agrees. Leaning forward, he kisses Pam on her other cheek. Just then, she feels Jim’s strong arm around her. "I wish you would have taken me up on that offer."

For the first time that night, Pam can’t quite get the words out.

"N – no, no. I don’t know why everyone keeps asking me," Pam stutters.

"What?" Jim asks.

"Come on, Pam. I know you have a heavenly body. You should show it off more," Chris says leaning in and grinning at her.

"Excuse me?" Jim interrupts.

"I wouldn’t feel comfortable. . . "

". . . .because you aren’t going to look like that forever. . "

". . . and I would look totally painful sitting like that. . ."

". . .your naked body isn’t anything to be ashamed of. . "

". . . It would look really unnatural."

"Okay, what are you two talking about?" Jim finally pushes his way feverishly into the conversation. For the first time, Chris seems to take notice of him.

"Are you Jim?" Chris asks as if Jim has just popped out of thin air.

"Are you gay?" Jim replies, his words cutting.

"Jim!" Pam turns to him, hoping that he’ll see the mental daggers she’s sending him with her eyes.

Chris lets out a nervous laugh and rubs his chin. Turning back to Pam, who can feel her cheeks burning bright, he smiles and reaches out to squeeze her hand.

"Your work is great, Pam. Come by my exhibit later." Turning to Jim he adds; "Nice meeting you."

"Yeah," Jim grunts as he watches Chris walk away.

They are quiet and Pam can’t find her voice as she turns angrily at her husband. Jim is now taking a long swig of his drink, and he shudders as he swallows.

"What the hell was that?" Pam snaps. Jim shrugs, but there something burning in his eyes that Pam’s never seen before.

"I thought he was gay," Jim mumbles.

They don’t talk much for the rest of Pam’s art show. However, he never leaves her side and stays dangerously close, especially when Pam’s male art buddies come by to congratulate her. For the remainder of the night, Jim acts like Pam’s own personal guard dog, snipping and growling at any one who seems to threaten his territory.

When the show is over, Pam begins taking down her work, and the gallery is almost completely empty when Jim finally speaks to her.

"I didn’t realize you had so many guy friends," Jim states softly, but seriously.

Sighing, Pam drops her hands to her sides and glares at him. "What is wrong with you tonight?"

Jim doesn’t answer, he only stares fixedly at the portrait of himself behind the fence.

After a long stretch of silence, Pam shakes her head and resumes taking all of her pictures down. She can’t believe how’s he been acting. It was embarrassing to see her husband acting like a little spoiled boy who doesn’t want to share. Even Roy didn’t act like that.

The rooms is so quiet that Pam thinks she might suffocate if they continue not to talk to each other. Finally, she takes down her graphite portrait of Jim and that’s when she feels his breath warm in her ear.

"I don’t like them touching you," his voice is low and it rumbles possessively all over her body.

Turning to face him, she sees that his eyes are blazing with something she’s never seen before. He’s closer . . . Much closer than he was a moment ago and she can smell the faint odor of alcohol on this breath.

"What?" she whispers back, a little dazed at his sudden proximity.

When he speaks, he moving closer to her; "I don’t like them touching you," he repeats. She knows who he’s talking about and she takes a step back as he moves forward. "I don’t like them looking at you," now her back is pressed against the wall.

"Jim, "it comes out raspy. "Are you jealous?"

He stops and stares down at her. After a moment he finally nods. "Yes. I’m insanely jealous," he admits.

Despite herself, Pam chuckles a bit.

"Why?"

Now he’s moving away and running a hand through his hair. He looks angry again and Pam wishes momentarily that she hadn’t bothered to ask.

"Why shouldn’t I be?" he seethes. "I mean, I spent years watching you go home with him. Kissing him. And now you’re mine. You’re legally mine. I know what it’s like to touch you, to taste you, to have you, and then they come along and flirt with you while I’m standing right here!"

"So, I’m not allowed to have any friends?" Pam feels as if she’s about to cry.

"They don’t want to be your friend, Pam." Jim almost shouts. "They want you. They want your body. Can’t you feel their eyes on you? I had to stand here all night and watch as they sight humped you."

"Jim, I think you’re overreactin – "

"No I’m not!" Jim is moving closer to her again. "I’m a man, I know how it works. I know because it’s so fucking easy to fall in love with you! I’ve been there, I know how those poor bastards feel. And it’s not that I don’t trust you. Hell, I trust you completely. You’re the most faithful person I’ve ever met. But I don’t trust them. I will never trust them. And look at me! I went behind Roy’s back and told you that I loved you. I can see it in their eyes, when that Chris guy stared at your legs, and I saw his face drain of all its color. But you’re mine. You’re mine, Pam, and I don’t want them touching you."

Throughout his speech, Jim has completely lost control. His eyes are on fire and he moves toward her as if he’s stalking his prey. The room is spinning as she moves closer to him and places her hands on his chest. His heart throbs under her fingers and his breathing has become shallow.

"Hey," she whispers. Her lips find his jaw and she kisses him. He’s sweating but his pulse seems to die down a little at her touch. "I never knew you could be so possessive," she murmurs into his stubble.

"Neither did I," he breathes. "I’m afraid you’ll leave me. That I’ll lose you. I can’t."

"You’ll never lose me. But you’ve got to let me breathe, Jim. I promise that I’ll always love you."

And then he’s hugging her tightly. Burying his face into the crook of her neck, he sighs and nods against her collar bone.

"I’m sorry."

"I know. I love you."

When he kisses her ferociously in their car, she bite his earlobe and he groans and then his fingers are on the top button of her jeans.

"Jim?" she pants as he works feverishly on her neck. "Do you believe in werewolves?"

"No," his words hum over her throat. "Why?"

"Never mind."

Pam looks out of her widow to stare at the moon, and she wonders if being married to an animal isn’t such a bad thing after all.

"So, why did we decide to come here for our vacation, again?" asks Jim as he stares around the old southern city. He’s always thought that Pam would want to go to Athens or Florence, not Charleston.

"Because we went to Paris on our honeymoon, and I’ve always wanted to visit the south," Pam replies as she sits down on a bench and fans her sweaty body.

It’s so damn hot.

"Yeah, but this time I thought you might want to visit the south of France, not South Carolina."

"I don’t know. I guess I just felt drawn here," she says.

Pam looks up at him and squints through the bright haze, and she looks so darn adorable that he can’t help himself from smiling down at her. However, she may have felt drawn to Charleston, but he feels as if he’d like to run away as fast as his legs can carry him. He’s not sure why. There’s just something about this city that makes him uncomfortable. He’d even go as far as to say that it spooks him.

"So, where are we?" he questions as he sits down on the bench next to her.

"I think this is called Rainbow Row," she answers, and the two of them stare at the street full of old, pastel, beautiful looking houses.

"Would you ever want to move here?" At his question, she shrugs.

"I sorta feel like I’ve already lived here," Pam says and rests her head on his shoulder. "But you don’t see houses like this in Scranton."

"It’s so hot," Jim complains as he tilts his head back. They’ve only been here a day, and already he wants to pass out. "I don’t know how people can do anything in this heat. I just want to fall asleep."

Pam looks up at him and smirks.

"Where’s the fun in that?"

***

He used to dream about Pam.

He used to dream about her before they were married.

He used to dream about her before they got together.

He used to dream about her before he met her.

Now, that’s not as poetic – or charming – as it sounds. Jim didn’t dream about Pam in the cheesy, cornball movie line "I-dreamed-about-you-before-I-ever-met-you" kind of way. When he was young, he never had those soft visions of a woman without a face, or the lovely fantasies about a girl a lot like Pam. . .

He actually had dreams about her. Pam. With the same hair, same eyes, same mouth and nose, toes and fingers.

Jim first started having the dreams when he was fourteen. Back then, it seemed like his imagination had simply conjured up some sort of random girl for his wet dreams. He had always figured that she was sort of a cross between Charlotte Kerns, a shy girl that lived down the street and sat with him on the bus, who tempted him in her knee-high socks and thigh-low denim skirt, and his ninth grade algebra teacher, Mrs. Locane. Mrs. Locane was fresh out of college, and had just finished up her student teaching when she became Jim’s teacher, and of course, all the boys crushed on her sweet smile and soft eyes.

So, naturally, Jim just always assumed that the woman who haunted him during his sleep was the product of his Charlotte-Locane fascination. It wasn’t like he meant to dream about her, or even that he wanted to dream about her. But after those first few nights of raw, unadulterated passion, he began to look forward to his bedtime.

The dreams were so vivid and real. He remembers the first, but it’s also the one that he remembers the least. Time’s funny like that, but he can recall that he was standing in a large pond, his pants rolled up to the knees, but it was no use since the water was almost up to his waist. The air was thick, and his sweat made his shirt stick to his skin as the low afternoon sun slowly finished it’s trail in the sky. He hadn’t recognized the place, but he had seen her, standing next to a tree – he forgets what kind – in a thin, cotton dress. Smiling at him in a way that made the cool water he was standing in boil, she had called out to him.

Now that he knows Pam, he looks back and notices that her voice in his dream had sounded different. He’s not really sure why, but something was off. She had carefully made her way down to the pond in her bare feet  and he watched how her toes curled when she stood at the edge of the water. He doesn’t remember what was said, the dialog is so fuzzy, but he can recollect how it didn’t take her long to wade next to him, the end of her dress swirling in the water. How her warm hand had pushed against the fine layer of cotton covering his chest. How her tongue tasted like fresh sugar and lemons. How hot her skin was from the long summer’s heat. How he had quickly peeled her wet dress off of her when they had finally moved ashore. How her slick skin glistened in the twilight. How quiet everything was. No cars, no busy streets or obnoxious conversations. The only noise consisted of the soft orchestra of chirping crickets, of a soft breeze, lapping water. Her ragged breathing the soprano of their symphony.

Yeah, that was the dream Jim remembered the least.

And there were more. Many, many more. But not all of them were filled with bliss. There is one that Jim had back then, and still has now. In the dream, or nightmare, he’s in a dark, thick forest. The sky above is barely black, casting a blue hue over him as he stumbles and runs in blind panic. Jim is never sure where he is, but he knows that he’s looking for her. And there’s something else, too. It’s a feeling that he’s never really felt before. It’s an overwhelming sense of dread, a suffocating fear that usually wakes him up gasping for breath.

Over time as he’s gotten older, the dreams have become clearer, and he remembers a little more every time. So, by the time he had first seen Pam stiffly walking back to her desk from Michael’s office, Jim had almost wet his pants. He knew that face, knew those hands, and it was the first time in his life that Jim was positive that he had gone insane. Jim’s not sure what it was that made him talk to her, maybe it was the dreams, or the need to be close to her, but he was sure he had just met the love of his life.

It was about that time that his dreams of her began to be replaced with new ones. Of Pam the receptionist, of his best friend. They weren’t as graphic or as clear, but more like normal, odd dreams.

But everyone once in a while, Jim still has the ones he had in high school. Most of the time they’re good. But sometimes, they’re not.

***

They stay in one of those quant little Bed and Breakfast inns. The kind that ooze southern charm. It’s romantic, away from city traffic, and the owner is a rather sassy old broad named Helen Reynolds. She’s not the warmest person, but she’s much better than Dwight, and her inn doesn’t smell like old beets and oil.

"So, how long are you twos gonna stay?" asks Helen in a long, lazy southern accent as the two of them check in.

"Oh, um, we’re gonna be in town for about a week. My wife may want to travel to Georgia for a few days. We haven’t really planned that far. But I think we were only planning staying here for three days."

"Mmmm," she hums, and Pam is too busy looking at all of Helen’s old china to notice the aged woman’s unappreciative sounds. "Well, there’s a few things about my inn that you an’ ya wife should hear."

"What’s that?" asks Jim as Pam walks and stands next to him.

"We have three rooms, and ice tea at noon if ya interested. This ol’ place makes funny noises at night, but don’t be gettin’ yerself all worked up."

"We’ve slept through worse," Pam chimes and casts a sly smile at Jim.

"An’ if ya twos need anything, jus’ lemme know." Pam and Jim smile as their innkeeper begins to walk back to the living room when she stops and turns around. "Oh, by the way, I’ve all that china counted, jus’. . . so’s ya know," she eyes Pam suspiciously before she vanishes out of the room.

"We’ll. . .keep that in mind," Jim mutters, a little surprised. "Yikes, she’s old south."

"Wow," Pam whispers. "I guess that means we can’t take any bottles of shampoo home, huh?"

***

"Jim, Jim!"

He’s being shaken awake, and the room around him whirls as he opens his eyes. His torso is slicked with sweat, and his neck is so damp he immediately wants to run into the bathroom, and take a cold shower. Panting harshly, Jim sits up in bed, his hair sticking together in clumps as the strands fall into his eyes. His heart is slamming violently against his ribcage at such speed, he thinks he’s actually going to have a heart attack.

"Jim, what’s wrong?"

Pam is sitting up, the lamp beside her bed is turned on and is leaning against the wall as if she turned it on in haste and knocked it over. Her eyes are wide and frightened, and it takes him a moment to notice that one of her hands is supporting his back, while the other is stroking his chest.

"Your heart is racing," Pam hushes, obviously scared.

He gulps down large breathes of fresh air and the thin cotton sheets stick to his legs. And, oh shit, he might vomit.

"It’s so fucking hot!" he gasps as he stands from his bed and lurches toward the open window, not even caring that he’s completely naked.

He hopes that it will cool him down, but unfortunately, a warm gust of wind whips over him, and he sort of wants to scream. Soon, he finds himself in the bathroom, splattering cold water on his face. The waters splashes down his chest, and he shakes his head trying to rid himself of those horrible images.

When he walks back to the bedroom, Pam’s staring at him as if she’s afraid that he’s lost his mind, as she tugs the sheets up around her breasts. He stands there and gazes at her, not really sure what to say, and defiantly not sure about what the hell just happened. The pink walls, and warm colors of their room makes the bed look so inviting, and Pam pats on the bed with her hand as if she can read his mind.

He’s planning on getting under the sheets again when Pam opens her arms to him and he finds himself completely wrapped in her embrace. All of the muscles in his entire body relax at her touch, and he pulls the sheets that cover her away from her body so that he can feel her skin against his.

"Hey," she whispers into his cheek as her nose nestles in his hair, "what happened?"

Everything’s happened so fast, and he’s not certain exactly how he’s transferred from the nightmare to reality.

"I’m not sure," he admits into her neck. "I think. . .I was having a nightmare."

Jim hears her sigh, and she hugs him tighter against her. He knows he was having a nightmare. He’s had that particular nightmare before, and he knew he’d probably have it again. But the dream had never been so detailed before. Yes, the dream had always scared him, but his body had never reacted that way, as if he were really there, experiencing it.

"I was dozing off," Pam says softly, "And then you started breathing really hard, like you do when you play basket ball. Then you started making this really weird noise. It was like – a choking noise, and that’s when I started to get scared."

He pulls back from her a little bit so he can look at her. Slowly, he can feel her fingers slide gently up and down his spine, the dampness of his skin combined with her touch makes him shudder against her.

"And then, you made this sound. It was kinda like a moan, but you were gasping. It sounded like you were trying to scream." Her eyes look worried again, so he brushes his lips over hers.

"It was just a bad dream," he whispers. He really doesn’t want to ruin their vacation because of his overactive imagination.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asks.

He pauses because he’s never really talked about his dream with her before. Jim has always kinda worried that if she ever found out, she’d think that he was crazy. How would he even begin to make her understand? So, instead, he shakes his head and starts to place soft airy kisses down her arm.

Then he feels her hand on his stomach as she gently pushes him on his back. He can hear the rustle of the sheets and then she’s hovering over him. She kisses his cheek, his jaw, his wide shoulders, across his chest, and then her lips tentatively nudge his mouth open, as if to ask him if this is what he needs right now. His answer comes when he slides the tips of his fingers down her body as they stroke her waist.

"I don’t really want to go back to sleep," he sighs into her mouth as she give him slow little kisses, the wet sound of their lips calming his senses, yet exciting his body.

His bottom lip is still between her teeth as she grunts: "Me neither."

***

She’s a bit more affectionate towards him the next morning. Sure, she’s always pretty affectionate, but. . .not like this. He’s not positive if it’s because she’s still a little worried over his frantic episode last night, or because of what came after. They had been louder than they probably should’ve been, and he was sure that Mrs. Reynolds had heard every little bit. Even their next-door neighbor had shot him a dirty look as he left his room the following day.

Even so, Jim decided that he really didn’t care since only an hour earlier, Pam had playfully pulled him into the shower with her. The taste of her wet skin as he kissed his way down her stomach was still on his tongue. So, he was pretty sure that nothing could derail his good day. Not even the lack of sleep from the pervious night could slow him down.

Now as they stand in a bakery, she keeps kissing his cheek as they wait for their order.

"Wow, what is up with you?" he asks in mock disgust, even though he’s certain that his idiotic grin is giving him away. "You can’t even keep your hands off of me when we’re waiting for food."

She giggles.

"I can’t help it. I just feel. . .closer to you." She presses her face into his chest, and he’s pretty sure he sees the young woman behind the counter roll her eyes.

"Yeah, you were pretty close to me this morning, and thrice last night, if I remember correctly," he mutters softly in her ear so only she can hear. She giggles again.

And later, as they walked outside, Pam picks at her cinnamon roll and looks up at him a little sheepishly.

"I’m not kidding," she blurts out as they begin to walk down the street.

"About what?"

"I really do feel closer to you," she admits softly, as if she’s embarrassed. "I mean, I always feel close to you. You’re my husband and best friend, but I don’t know. . .I feel like since we came here, to this place, I’ve felt like maybe. . ."

She trails off, and Jim has stopped walking so he can listen to his wife without distraction.

"What?" he smiles at her, urging her to continue.

"I don’t know," Pam shrugs. "It’s hard to explain. I’m not even really sure what I’m talking about."

Just then Jim bends down and kisses her cinnamon-sticky lips. When he’s finished, she opens her mouth a few times, sighs, and then smiles.

"I’ve always, just known you, ya know?" she finally says. "Like we’ve been friends my whole life. But here, in Charleston, it feels like longer."

Jim stares at her, slightly shocked. It’s the first time she’s ever said anything even remotely close to what he’s experienced with his dreams. Could it be even possible that perhaps Pam might have known about him before she actually met him?

"I know what you mean," he croaks, and it’s only then that he finds that his mouth has suddenly gone dry.

Stepping closer to him, she takes his hand. "And lately I’ve been feeling. . ."

She doesn’t complete her sentence and kisses him in a way that Pam Beesly has never kissed him before, but in a way that seems so familiar. It’s almost like Deja Vu, but Deja Vu doesn’t normally make him drop his pastry so he can cup her face with both of his hands. And they stand there, in the warm sun, as he sweetly kisses her lips. It’s like he’s a teenager again, kissing his first love. Jim feels like he’s young and pure and everything in life is so, so simple.

When it’s over, she’s blushing in the sun, gazing up at him, her eyes sparkling like a young girl’s.

". . .like that," she finishes.

***

Jim’s not really sure why, but he follows Pam around for the rest of the afternoon in a lovesick daze. Pam finally tells him that she wants to see a movie, and at first he whines ("We can see a movie in Scranton!") but then he decides it’s not really the movie she wants to see, it’s the old theater itself. It’s small, the architecture is classy, and there’s old fashioned carpeting, a balcony, and long velvet drapes that frame the movie screen.

As he sits in his seat, his lack of sleep begins to catch up with him, and he suddenly feels incredibly tired. The theater is cool and dark, and as he rests his head on Pam’s comfy shoulder, her soft breathing starts to lull him and his eyelids become heavy. . .

***

"Hey."

Someone’s tapping him gently on his head and he groggily opens his eyes and lifts his head up. His neck screams in protests, and it takes him a moment to register that the credits of the movie are rolling, and they’re the last people in the audience.

"You feel asleep," Pam says and he rubs his eyes. He can still feel Pam or Miriam’s tongue tracing his ear.

"I didn’t mean to," he grunts very exhausted and Pam's fingers messuage the back of his neck. "What time is it?"

"It’s almost seven. You want to grab dinner? I hear there’s a great little place – What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Before he’s even aware he’s doing it, he’s pulling her into a tight hug.

"I really, really love you." The words are a little out of the blue, and she looks surprised but happy to hear it.

"I love you, too." She crinkles her brow and stares at him with her head tilted to the side. "You okay? You’ve been acting strange since we came here."

"To the movie?"

"No, to Charleston. It’s like. . ." She shakes her head when she can’t find the word she’s looking for, but she grabs his hand and pulls him up. "Maybe it’s the heat," she mutters.

"Yeah, maybe."

***

On their third night in Charleston, Pam pleads and begs Jim to take her on one of the Ghost Tours that make Charleston so famous. He’s not to supportive of it at first, but after she bats her eyes and bites her lips, bouncing on her heels just trying to contain her excitement, Jim has no choice but to agree. They pick Charleston’s Ghost and Legends Tour, and at seven-thirty, they met up with a group of about eight or nine people who are all whispering and talking about their own ghost stories.

Their tour guide is a young college student named Jack, and he takes them around Charleston, telling them stories about all of the terrible murders, hauntings, and warped legends that have happened in their city. He even takes them to a graveyard and shows them a headstone and tells the story about a woman who lost her baby and died. He then furthers the story by recounting how someone on the tour took a photograph of the grave where the little baby was buried only to find a shadow of a woman kneeling over the headstone. As proof, Jack whips out the exact photo, and Jim and Pam stare at it before passing it around.

It's about an hour into the tour when Jack takes them to a spot on the outskirts of the woods.

"Here’s a little tale that's very sad, but also extremely creepy," and he tells them how haunted these woods are, and how a thief had once abducted a little boy, slit is throat, and left him for dead.

These woods seem familiar to Jim, and he wanders a bit away from the tour. That’s when he sees the tree. . .

It’s a large oak, and it towers over the others and without warning, he can see her hanging from the tree, her once fresh, innocent face now black and puffy as her eye bulge out and stare lifelessly back at him. And that’s when Jim throws up.

"Whoa! Whoa!" yells Jack as he sees Jim hunched over. "Looks like someone got dehydrated." And Jack is pulling out a water bottle and handing it to Jim. "You okay, buddy?"

"Jim, are you okay?" Pam asks as she places a hand on his back.

"You didn’t see a ghost there did you?" Jacks jokes and the tour laughs.

"Yeah, I just. . . I’ve seen this tree," Jim sputters and he downs the water, washing  the acidic residue out of his mouth.

"Probably," says Jack. "There’s pictures of this forest all over the internet. These woods are famous for lynchings, murders, and all other terrible stuff. I think a young girl was lynched from this tree, but that story’s not apart of the tour."

Jack moves his hand as if to urge to group on, but Jim stops him.

"What? What did you say?"

"I’d like to tell the story, but I don’t think we have time," Jack begins.

"I wanna hear it," says a woman with short blond hair and large blue eyes.

"Me, too."

"Me, too!"

Jack looks around helplessly, but when he sees that he’s overpowered, he grunts and folds his arms across his chest.

"Fine," he sighs. "This story is sad, sadder than I normally like, anyway. But the story goes that there was this family that lived in Charleston during the 1930's. They had been rich all throughout the 20's but because of the Great Depression, they were losing their money.

"So, this family was named the Campbell’s, and Eddy Campbell was going broke, so he hoped that his son might marry into some money. Hopefully into a family that hadn’t squandered their fortune like Eddy had.

"The thing is, their son, Thomas, had his eyes set on this woman named Miriam Buckley. Miriam was poor, dirt poor, but even though her entire family was raciest, she was kind to all the blacks in town. Well, rumors began to spout off that she was having an affair with all the African American boys, and the rumors got twisted, snowballed, and soon, people thought she was a witch and was using her evil ways to seduce all the men in town.

"So one night, they have this big dinner party, and Thomas and Miriam sneak off and well. . .you know. After that, the two had a long love affair. But then Miriam got pregnant and Thomas was going to marry her. When Thomas’s father found out, he told the people in the town that she had bewitched his son and also tacked on terribles lies that she was responsible for a few other evil things that had happened in town. Blamed it on the Devil and how she’d made a packed with Satan. A ton of nonsense, but back then these people were hardcore, superstitious Christians, and he riled a posse to go out and get her.

"So, they find her, kill her father, drag her from her bed, and take her into the woods. Thomas heard about the posse, and went out looking for her, but by the time he found her, they had already raped and lynched her. Right from this very tree," Jack points up at the branches, and Jim can’t see because tears are clouding his vision.

"That’s a terrible story," Pam says frowning, not seeing how Jim is covering his eyes with his hands, shaking all over.

"Yeah," Jack continues, "The worst part is, no one ever did anything about it. The police never got involved, and Eddy Campbell and his posse got off scott-free."

"What about Thomas?" another person asks.

"About two days after Miriam’s death, Thomas tried to kill his father. He failed, but he still got him pretty good. Castrated him with a butcher knife. Before Eddy could have him shipped off to the insane asylum, Thomas shot himself in the head. Pretty messy stuff."

It’s about that time that Jim vomits again and falls to the ground, the world around him going black.

***

"Should we take him to a hospital?" he hears someone ask.

"I don’t know what to do, I’ve never had someone faint on my tour!" says another.

"I’m calling an ambulance." It’s Pam, and she sounds terrified.

"Wait, wait, he’s coming out of it," a woman shouts and he opens his eyes to see Pam hovering over him, her eyes wide with fright, her cell clutched to her ear.

"Jim, Jim! Are you okay? Can you hear me?" her voice is frantic, and she’s wiping the vomit away from his mouth with a handkerchief.

The crowd is silent, and then he hears: "I guess this means the tour is over, huh?"

***

They’re back at the Bed and Breakfast later that night, and he lying on the bed, staring up and the ceiling as she dabs a cool washcloth over his forehead and cheeks. His putrid shirt is hanging over the shower rod in the bathroom, and as his thermometer beeps, Pam pulls it away from his lips.

"Well, you’re not running a fever," she says as she runs the damp washcloth over his skin. She’s quiet for a moment, and then she says: "I should’ve realized you were sick."

"I’m not sick," he mumbles, still in shock from hearing that terrible story.

"Come on, Jim, you haven’t been yourself since we came here. You’re having nightmares, falling asleep in the middle of the day, throwing up, passing out. You’re sick."

The room is quiet, and then he feels her free hand move over his chest and she begins to stroke his hard flesh as she pulls back her washcloth and places it in water, only to bring it back to his face. She’s taking care of him, she’s touching him, comforting him even though he’s practically ruined their entire vacation. But she’s here, with him, and she’s okay.

All of his past dreams, nightmares come flashing before his eyes, and all he can see his her face, smiling, laughing, moaning. And then he sees her hanging from that tree again, dead, gone. All the torches from the lynchers surrounding her bruised, broken body. He can see why Thomas killed himself, why he tried to kill the man responsible for his loves death. He’d do it, too. Or maybe he already did.

Just then Pam sighs, and her warm breath surges over his face as she moved her hand and cradles his neck as she continues to cool him down. And then he’s crying. He’s crying and she’s never seen him cry like this before, so she drops her washcloth and envelopes him in her arms. Jim holds her closer to him, pressing his face into her T-shirt.

"Jim? Jim, baby, what’s the matter?"

She’s never called him baby before. He’s always made fun of people who call their spouses baby, but he secretly loves it. But right now, it only makes him cry harder.

"I can’t lose you," he soughs. He knows what it’s like to lose her, in so many different ways. He doesn’t ever want to feel that again.

"Lose me? You aren’t gonna lose me," he hears her laugh nervously at the ridiculousness of his statement.

Then he’s pulling her down on top of him, rolls her over, and pins her to the bed. She looks at him with questions in her eyes, questions he really doesn’t want to answer right now. So he makes love to her instead. He makes love to her harder than he ever has before, so hard that they knock over the bowl Pam was using for her washcloth, causing water to go everywhere. He says he loves her against her skin, and Pam can’t react because she’s too lost in the pleasure he’s giving her.

And around 2:00 AM their neighbor bangs on the wall and tells them to shut the hell up.

An hour later, they listen to him.

***

"I used to dream about you," he tells her as they’re drifting off, their sweaty bodies sticking together, their limbs entwined.

"That’s romantic," she mumbles sleepily and moves closer to him.

"Really, I did. I used to have dreams about you before we met."

"Mmmm. Hmm, huh, what?" she doesn’t sound as tired anymore once she realizes what he’s just confessed.

"Do you believe in past lives?" he asks, a little worried she’ll think he’s crazy.

"I never really thought about it. But you use to dream about me?"

"Yeah, does that sound weird?" he smiles, because he really doesn’t know why he brought it up if he doesn’t want to tell her.

"No, I think it’s sweet," Pam replies as she rests her head on his chest. Good, she thinks he’s speaking metaphorically. "I guess I believe that I knew you before I ever met you. Like we loved for a longer time."

Soon, she dirts off, and Jim lays there and watches her. He’s not really sure why he’s gotten a second chance, why in this life, he’s been so damn lucky. Knowing what he knows now, he can’t believe there was ever a time when the two of them almost missed their chance. He shudders and doesn’t want to think about that.

But, as she sleeps, he thinks that no matter what kind of pain they each have experienced, in their past life, or this one, she’s here now, with him. And maybe that’s what life is all about, living in the moment, because if you waste your life away dwelling on the past, or worrying about the future, you forget to live.

Jim spoons her in his arms and knows this is the only way to live.

This is his life.