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The bike had an electronic ignition and locking saddlebags, as well as a helmet, painted to match the bike's colors, which was locked into a spot on the back of the seat. I had no keys. I made an immediate trip back into the tent and found the keys in a jacket hanging from a hook on the back tent pole. It had been there the whole time and I hadn't noticed. That bothered me; for some reason I didn't like missing details, despite having spent the past twenty years with fading vision, bad eyes and non-existent reflexes.The left side saddlebag produced the bike's title and registration and, surprisingly, a sheaf of paperwork from Eastside Harley Davidson in Bellevue, Washington. I had a 2011 Road King with an optional rear luggage rack. The invoice said it was Merlot Sunglo and Vivid Black, but it looked more like a rich brown and deep black color combination to me. Cooper James bought it off the showroom floor five days ago, and now I figured that made it mine.The right side saddlebag. "Oh my God, the Comtesse isdying!" cried Florence. The girls moved to help.Florence had laid the seemingly unconscious woman on the back while Isabelleand Charlotte fumbled with the dress laces. The Comtesse's face was almost asred as it has been when she was strangling in the noose but now that feverishredness spread to her chest and shoulders. Her breath was raspy, shallow, andmuch too rapid; she opened her mouth as if to say something but the only soundthat came out of her throat was a piteous moan. "She is getting worse!" panicked Florence. "No, no! I amalright," croaked the lying woman withoutopening her eyes."Don't you see?... I am... coming..." She placed her left hand between her legs and began to rubherself shamelessly. Sweat poured down her temples.Her moans grew louder, and now the air was full of sharpfeminine odor. She shuddered, arched her back, and made a piercing cry thatechoed from the walls. Then she relaxed with acontent smile. "I've seen a woman come before,".
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