She presumed it was nighttime though she couldn’t see the sky. She stretched out on her back.

“Is it hot outside?”

“Yes.”

“Has the sun gone down yet?”

“No.”

Rhiannon looked at the ceiling. “Tell me about it?”

“About what?”

“Today. Tell me about today. What was it like?”

Carl was on his stomach. His chin rested on his folded arms. “It was today.” He shrugged. “Today was a day like any other day. I don’t know what you’re asking me.”

Rhiannon sighed. “It was hot.”

“Yeah. It was hot.”

“And sunny?”

“Yes. Sunny.”

“What did you do today?”

“I went to work.” He paused. “I went to your house and let your cat in. I…uh, cleaned out the litter box and…and I closed the window and turned the A/C up to sixty-five.” He put his cheek on his arms. “I gave him some water.”

“Oh.”

He shifted. “Are you tired?”

“Not really.”

“He’s fine. The…cat.”

“Good. That’s good. Really.”

He turned onto his side and picked up her wrist. He spun the shackle around. Rhiannon watched him take a key out of his pocket. He slotted the key into the metal and unlocked it. The shackle loosened and he eased it over her hand. She blinked. She watched it slide off her fingers in a daze. He let it fall onto the bed and got up on his knees and reached over her hips. He picked up the other hand and unlocked that one too. She sat up. He tossed the loose chains and the shackles onto the floor. They landed with a clamor. She winced at the sound and flexed her wrists. She looked down at them. He unfastened the chain from her collar and unlocked the collar. It opened on a hinge. She took in a deep breath. He slid the collar from her neck. She touched her throat, then touched her wrists. She clasped one in each hand. She felt fragile and weightless.

“What…?”

His voice was soft and quiet. “Your stuff is…uh, outside the door and your car. It’s in the front yard. So uh you can…go.” He scratched the back of his neck and looked sideways. “Whenever you like. Just go ahead and walk out. If…if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t understand.”

He glanced at her. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Um.” She looked down. “Yes. He’s, uh…Persian.”

He nodded. “Uh huh.”

She took in a breath. “I want to go upstairs.”

He got off the bed. “Okay.”

Rhiannon moved backward off the bed. She looked around the inside of the small room and touched her throat. She looked at him. He opened the door and walked out and left the door standing wide open. She saw old concrete walls framed in the door that looked like dirt buried in shadows and smelled cobwebs and the kind of light that comes from a bare bulb. She heard his feet on the stairs. She went to the doorway and rested her hands on the frame and looked out. Her blue walls were stripped down to studs and sheetrock on the opposite side. Fresh nails gleamed. She picked up her purse and her clothes. There was an old clawfoot tub in one dark corner and a huge laundry sink and exposed copper pipes laced the ceiling. On the opposite side of the big basement room an hydraulic hoist looked half-installed. Long heavy chains dangled from it. She counted fourteen.

“This is your…your…wow.”

He sat down on the wooden stairs. “Yeah.”

“Holy shit. This is some fuckin setup. Damn.” She walked to the chains and touched them with light fingers. “I’ve never done it but I’ve wanted to. There are some guys around here who do them out in the desert. They’ll rig you up from these blasted old cottonwood trees along this…arroyo or something. I knew this guy once who did it right when the sun was going down and it was all pink mountain time and he talked about the pink light on his skin, just looking at it with the hooks pulling on his skin like he was in a trance or something. He said the light felt heavy but the weightlessness was amazing. It was like…space. Not outer space but…I dunno.” She shrugged and hugged herself and looked up underneath the hoist. “Like outer space but in his head. So it’s inner space, maybe.”

“Maybe.”

She looked at him. “Is that what it’s like for you?”

“I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I-I’m…not so good with words as you.”

Rhiannon came to the stairs. She put her foot on the bottom and he stood. He put his hands on the railings. She looped her purse around her neck and her clothes around the purse and looked up at him. She slid her hands onto the railings. With each step forward he moved up and backward. He reached behind and twisted the doorknob. The door opened. Warm light spilled around him and moved across her face. She squinted. An old white refrigerator came into focus. It was covered with magnets, photos, and loose papers. She saw dark cabinets, Formica counters, a shelf full of folded stuff. A light fixture with dead flies in it. He moved aside. The upstairs smelled like the ghosts of meals and sunlight hitting old wood and something else, something animal: trace amounts of skin oils and forgotten hairs and the ancient imprints of old dirty towels left on the floor.

“It’s…uh, not very clean up here,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Rhiannon stepped onto the linoleum and looked around. She took her purse off her shoulder and set it down. She was captivated by the prosaic existence of potholders, bread in an bag, a stand of knives, a marble cutting board. The wallpaper peeling away in one corner. The key rack. All of the stuff that got pulled into a person’s everyday orbit and left to hang meaningless in space, invisible, until eyes like hers came along and struggled for context. She looked at the jumble of stuff like riddles in an ancient language or the detritus of a dead civilization. All of a person’s life scattered about in forgotten layers. A dirty pan soaked in the sink. The kitchen was clean and well-kept. Beyond the kitchen was a living room with worn olive green carpet and the shadow of a recliner and beyond that was the front door with a window in it. The window had a shade. A small window over the sink had white curtains and narrow bars and a view of the alley.

“Are you kidding? I wish my house was this clean.”

“It wasn’t dirty.”

“You’re flattering me.”

He smiled a little.

“I’m sure it...” Her voice lowered and she turned pink. “Looked awful.”

“N-No, it…”

Their eyes locked. Rhiannon took hold of the bottom hem of his shirt and pushed it up. His breath rushed out of him and he looked down at her. He lifted his arms up and she worked the cloth up over his head. He pulled it the rest of the way off, letting it drop to the floor. Her breath quickened and she held up her arms and he stripped the soft tunic off her torso and his mouth landed wet on her neck her face her mouth and their quick panting breaths got tangled in nostrils, tied up in tongue-knots; he yanked her skirt off and lifted her up by the thighs and smothered her mouth with his. She held onto his neck. He dropped her ass on the counter. She unzipped his pants and pushed them down with her toes.

“Wasn’t,” he gasped.

He thrust inside. She gripped his flanks with her thighs. He held onto her hips. He drove upward and it forced her breath out of her lungs, air rushing back in and claiming her flesh as he struggled to do it harder. He panted into her neck. His knees rattled the lower cabinets. She braced the heels of her hands onto the countertop and bounced a little. It was an orgasm she grasped for, one that required the tight grip of her concentration and the distraction of the pain, her strained muscles and the hard edge of the counter digging into the tender backs of her thighs. It came wet and slick and commandeered by violent motion. She felt the seizure in him, the long locked-down grunt. Sweat crackled on her skin and the air turned it cool. She shivered. He tried to catch his breath and caught her face instead, holding her by the jaws. Her teeth chattered. He shook her head but it was a gentle motion. Her breath succumbed to gravity. She put her hands on his forearms and he kissed the corner of her mouth with cool lips.

“Where do you sleep?”

He hugged her. “Upstairs.”

“I want to go up there.” She spoke into his hair. “I want to go up. I want to be in your bed. Is that okay?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

She put her fingers through his hair. “I want a cigarette.”

“You can have one.”

“Would you let me tie you down?”

“Uh…y-yes.”

She started to feel dizzy. She leaned her nose into his forehead. “Would you let me cut you?”

The words slid through his body and hooked through his pelvis and jerked. “Oh,” he breathed. “Oh…yes.”

“I’m a professional,” she whispered. “Don’t be afraid.”

He touched her face. “I’m not.”

“Open a window for me,” she said. “I want to smell the heat.”