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About halfway down the terraced slope, Marie realized that asian supermodel was lost. The jumbled mass of old stones and monuments bore no resemblance to the neat, precise layout of the cemetery map. If the map could be counted on at all, then Blackthorne's grave had to be somewhere off to her left, about a hundred feet. She would just have to search around until she found it.

Beneath the tall, sheltering oaks, the grass grew sparsely. Most of the ground was a muddy gruel. She took her sandals off and stepped between a row of tombstones, feeling the cool mud squish up between her toes as she moved to her left. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, she realized, almost sensuous, in fact. asian adult scan

Some of the tombstones were surrounded by rusty, iron fences with spear points. Others were gray slabs laid upon the ground or coffin-shaped sepulchers presided around by a host of simpering angels and naked, winged, smiling cupids. To Marie, the smiles seemed malevolent rather than comforting. She moved among them cautiously, in the slippery mud, with her camera case slung over one shoulder and her shoes held in her hand, her breath fogging the still, misty air. Far off, she heard the faint caw of a crow.

She wandered about for close to an hour, then, almost without realizing it, she found herself standing before a tall, Latin cross made of white marble. Climbing vines had been carved into its surface. On the base she saw the name, Blackthorne.
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She breathed a sigh of relief, and began removing her camera from its case.

There was an inscription on the base, a prayer, it seemed. Some of the words had been erased by the passage of years:

~where time has no memory...
breathless before new seasons,
new joys...before drowning in
your holy fire, give us one more
day~

The subject was obviously Death, Marie thought. She wished the inscription had not been so badly faded, and she wondered if the words had been penned by Blackthorne. That was the most likely assumption, she guessed. But, if so, why did he think he would be going to hell? As far as she knew Blackthorne hadn't been an evil man.

Since the lighting was so bad, Marie decided to use flash bulbs. She took several shots from different angles using various settings, in case some didn't turn out right.

She was so intent upon what she was doing that she didn't notice the stocky man with a scruffy beard and beer belly watching her.
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Tom Logan had been observing the pretty blonde for sometime now. He wanted to make sure she was alone. At first he had merely thought to ask her for money, but now other thoughts were crowding his woozy mind. Thoughts his mother wouldn't have approved. Tom Logan grinned.

No woman should look that good. It ought'a be a crime. Even with the raincoat covering her, Logan could tell she had a figure. She would be sleek and sexy underneath. He wondered if she shaved her cunt. A lot of women did; he knew from all the porno filth he got out of dumpsters. She could easily be one of those women. She didn't look cheap, though. Bimbo-ish. She looked sensitive and intelligent which made her even more sexy.

She reminded him of a school teacher he'd had. He'd always fantasized fucking her. But this bitch was a whole lot fucking prettier.

He moved toward her, his muddy work boots squishing deeply into the pasty mud. He felt his cock stiffening halfway down the inside of his thick, hairy thigh.

Marie heard the sound of his approach just as she was putting her camera back in its case. She turned and saw him standing only a few feet from her.

Her first thought was that he was one of the cemetery handymen, but then she noted the vile, whiskey smell emanating from him, his scruffy beard and filthy clothes, and she realized, with alarm, that he was some kind of derelict.