Hey everyone. I decided to bring all these parts together in one post and see if you all could help me with your opinions and tips. I haven't written the ending. I thought that it might help for me to read through it myself and see where it is going. I would appreciate any contribution you can make, I don't even care if it is negative. Some of the readers of this story have really inspired me to consider trying to expand this into something of a novel. I'm sure as I read through it, there will be a need for conectives, between the different parts that I wrote. Anything added, I will place in ()'s. Let me know what you think, and I will have the conclusion by this weekend. Thank you for your imput.
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There was a time when he would have not thought the thoughts he does. The wicked and hateful. Sexual and perverse. What horrible thing is that makes a mind the way it is? He dwells on what he was told was wrong. What God tells him is sinful. His appetites are of a barbaric nature. Sweet delicious meat. Flesh. Isn't meat meat? What is it that tells you want is food and what isn't. She seemed almost good enough to eat. Literally. Like a plump juicy turkey. He just thought that. Had to wipe it from his mind, after all it is wrong. Wrong to desire a woman in that way. Wrong, like Biblicly wrong. He couldn't get it out of his head, though. Basted and marinated, meat falls right off the bone. Melts in your mouth. Delicious. He watched her as she sat at the table eating her meal. The warm sun, catching her black hair blowing through the wind. Shining like a jem. A beautiful onyx. Watched and waited. Like a wolf watching a rabbit unaware of its presence. Waiting for the perfect time. His jaws ached from grinding his teeth. His eyes bulged, bloodshot and dry. Some of the best meals are anticipated. Lingering. Waiting. What was it about this one that peeked his interest so much. What did she have that the others didn't? He couldn't tell, but wanted to. Wanted to know. His mouth filled with saliva, like a hungry animal. He looked away, try to stave the hunger inside of him. It burned in his stomach, burned hot. He turned back to her as she got up from the table. She laid a tip on the table and turned away. She walked down the sidewalk to the next street, and turned the corner disapparing beside the building. He got up from his chair. Dung his hand into his pocket. It was there. He began walking after her, gripping the knife in his hand tightly, in anticipation. Tonight he was going to eat good.
(Things went quite well. He was most pleased with the ease of the abduction. He was not spotted and she was not missed. Or so he believed. Most well planned. His thoughts wandered. He was going to have a hell of a time with her.)
There was a sinister thought to his every move. There was never a good deed or a kind act. He stalked the world like a hungry cat at its small prey. Dangling hope in front of it and then smashing it to pieces.
10 days later . . .
The last thing she remembered was leaving the patio resturant after paying her bill and walking to her car that was parked at a meter a few blocks away. She tried to move her arm, but couldn't. It seemed tied down somehow. She tried to wiggle her fingers but could not feel them. Like when your fingers get really cold and you can't feel them until they get warm. But it wasn't all that cold. When she tried to look down at her hands, she couldn't move her head. She couldn't move at all.
She looked around her at her surroundings as much as she could. She seemed to be in a cellar or basement of a house. It was unfinished and the cold, stone walls were chipped from paint that had one time been there. It was unfeeling and empty. The ceiling had no covering and the water pipe and electrical lines hung in the open.
She again struggled against her restraints, but to no avail. She laid there wondering what the hell happened. Where was she? Fear started to culminate. Straight from her bones and into her heart.
She heard a door open somewhere in the room. Light from the open door, cast down the steps and onto her. The door was now doubt directly behind her. The heavy breathing of the person entering the room could be heard right away. She smelled something rancid. Flesh rotten, and putrid. Like hamburger left outside for too long. She felt a gag in the pit of her stomach from the smell of it. She watched a shadow fall over her as she looked up at the ceiling. She could smell the person's breath over her, but could not yet see the person. A man's hand appeared over her, as she started to scream, he covered her mouth with a cold, wet cloth. She slowly felt her eyes become heavy. As she tried to breath through the cloth, the sleepiness became worse.
And the sick feeling returned as she could feel the person's hot breath on the back of her neck.
The next thing she remembered waking up to was the sickly feeling of bile in your throat. Still restrained and unable to see her surroundings she wondered what was happening to her. She could feel the cold air of the room, sweeping every part of her body, until he realized she was nearly naked. What did this man want from her? Was it sexual? Had he raped her? What was it he wanted from her? Have you ever felt totally helpless. As if God himself had abandoned you? Where you are in a situation that God himself wouldn't even leave you in?
There was no denying it, she knew she was going to die in this room at the hands of a man she did not know. This time however as she strained to look at herself, she could move her head. She slowly looked down her half naked body, at her hands, as she still felt that her fingers were not there. She stared at the stub of fingers that stared back at her. Wrapped in dressing and stained with blood. She screamed. Her scream going unanswered as she stared at the stub that protruded from her hand. The sickly feeling swarmed over her, the uncontrolable feeling to vomit. It spewed out of her mouth, covering her chest. Staring at the absense of one of her fingers. She wretched, trying to keep a second wave down. Her neck felt cold and wet. She tried to reach up but her arms were still tied. She knew this was the begining of the end and that chilled her to the very bone. She turned her head to the right and there laying on a plate on top of small table, was her finger . . . garnashed with parsley. Her stomach lurched.
She tried to scream through the gag in her mouth, which just came out muffled, like someone being smothered under a pillow. Her raspy breathing had soaked the rags, making it difficult to breath through her mouth, as the scents in the room, kept her from breathing too much through her nose. She tried to turn her head, she looked at her hand. Of course the first thought for her wasn't that she was now able to move her head, but the bloody stump on her left hand that use to be her ring finger. And a thought came to her. As much as dreaded to look again at that dismembered finger, that stared and taunted her fears. As if the wrinkles in her knuckles were a laughing face, egging her cowardise for being afraid.
She looked. And it was there, now crusted in blood that had run down from her finger being severed. Her engagment ring. The diamond no longer shinning as it had, just this morning. She looked back at her hand. The small stump of a finger left, wrapped in a dressing. Red and still moist.
That morning. In fact she had just got done eating with her fiance at the cafe where she was sitting when he saw her. They had just had their first meal together as an engaged couple. He had just proposed to her the night before. It had been such a perfect evening, so simple yet so elegant. It was amazing. He loved her so much and she could tell.
A rustle brought her back to reality. She opened her eyes and tried to look around, as it was dark, except for the one dim bulb that lit one side of the room, where the taunting finger lay on a plate on a small table, with one chair next to it.
She saw a shadow move out of the darkness, toward the light. She couldn't make out the person or his face. He kept to the shadows even though he was in the light. He pulled the chair away from the table and laid something on the table next to the plate, but she couldn't make it out. Almost though. Maybe silverware? Oh, that was sickening. He isn't going to is he?
He returned from the shadows again and sat in the chair. Pulled the plate toward him on the other side of the table. As he reached for what he had laid on the table, she could finally see what it was. Oh dear God! It was a fork! He took a stab at the finger with his fork. Oh God! It raised it to his mouth. She could hear his heavy, raspy breathing like when your anticipating opening your Christmas presents. He popped the finger in his mouth. She could hear his smacking as he sucked the meat from the bone, like sucking an oyster from its shell. He dropped the bone on the plate, and leaned back in his chair. He listened to her muffled cries as she sobbed feverishly at the event.
He got up from his chair, smiled, and disappered into the shadows again.
(She didn't know how long that she had laid there after he left. It seemed like an eternity. The image of him eating her flesh still embedded deep in her mind. It would never leave her, no matter the outcome of this.)
Was she ever to escape this prison that she has been trapped in? Was there anyone, anyone that could help her plight? It seemed like the bottomless pit of despair and fear. She was falling, always falling and yet it seemed no matter what happened there would still be no bottom to hit. The darkness was swallowing all hope of any light making its way to her. She wondered what it was that made a person this way. What had happened to him as a child? What trama had caused a person to be this evil? Evil doesnt just reside in a person, it is grown, fermented, marinated. People arent born evil or good, straight or gay, violent or peaceful. People choose to be the way they are. WHy did he choose to be this way. What was the catalyst that ignited the evil that lay dormant in his soul? The soul that was once a happy, delightful child, now a dark black soul that no light resided in. His mind obsessed with the goth of death and living flesh. The damage branded on his heart, the still sizzing fresh hot wound of evil's brand. Did the Devil himself take the strings of this boy and play him into the evil that he is now? The Devil that turned benavolance into menavolance? Or was it women? Was he wronged by some thoughtless woman that paid him no never mind? Or was it his mother? Grandmother? Sister? So many questions and yet no answers available to her. All the answers were locked deep inside that black heart mind of his. The only way to discover to them were to discover him. She must open his mind up or she would be forever covered in the maw of his evil . . .
(Her eyes grew heavy. All she wanted to do was sleep. Rest. Maybe when she opened her eyes this nightmare would be gone.)
There was a low throbbing feeling in her legs. An almost tingling like sitting on your legs for too long. And the blood burts forth down your legs spreading out where there was no blood before. And the sensation of it's movement leave a passing numbness in your leg. That's how it felt, although the restraints were really not that tight for that to be the case. She glanced down at her hand again, blankly staring at the now absent finger. By now the blood had soaked into the dressing and had turned a redish brown, like mud mixed with blood. She took a breath, deeply. And let it out slowly. She knew what she had to do, if she were to escape with her life from this perdicament. But saying is much different than doing.
She started to pull up her hand with her shoulder, trying to free her hand from the leather restraint. The harder she pulled the more pain she felt it her muscles. Her body's thought of using it's muscles after having been in such a restarined postion for so long, made it sick. She tried to ignore the pain and kept pulling against the restraint. As her hand got closer to the retraint she realized she would have to pull her hand through. Her wounded hand. As she pulled she could feel the anticipated pain. Of course pulling through a restraint much smaller than her hand, she had to fist her hand. Smashing her stub of a finger inside the fist. The tighter she squeezed it to get it through the strap, she could feel a warm liqiud inside her hand. But it wasn't enough, she had to try and tighten in more and pull harder to get her hand through. Blood oozed out from in between her fingers, running down and around her fist. The warm fresh blood acted as a natural lubricant, helping her fist slip through the strap. As she pulled she could feel the headway she was gaining. Finally she pulled free, and the resitance jerked her arm out, slinging the blood off her hand into the air. There was a small pool that had collected there on the slab that she was restrained to.
She held her hand upright for a bit, trying to let the feeling back in her arm and hand, watching the blood run down her arm. She watched the scarlet colored liquid, stared until her eyes blurred. Quickly her eyes readjusted as she looked away and focused on something else. Finally she laid her arm back down on the slab next to her, letting the muscles relax for a bit. She breathed in deeply again. In a abstract subconcious move, she pulled up slightly on her right arm, against the restraint.
She layed there still for a minute on the slab. Her thoughts wondering to other times and places. Wondering off to a world where she was happy and safe. Dreams and visions of times past, memories. Anything to escape the terrible feelings that dwelled within her flesh. There were times that the dismal postion that she was in, left a sick, twisted feeling in her stomach. But she knew she had to get past that and focus on the present if she were to escape from her captor.
She tried to reach over her chest with her left and see if she could undo the strap on her right hand. But being unable to find any buckles or other means to undo the strap, she knew she would have to squeeze it out as she did the other one. So reaching over herself once again, she balled her left hand into a fist, sqeezing tightly on her wounded finger, pushing the blood out of her finger, onto her hand. It dripped out slowly at first, as when your draining the last bit of fat from hamburger. As she tightened her fist the blood started to flow more, till it was almost a steady stream. Her hand began to shake and she felt a weak feeling in her arm to the point that she couldn't hold it up anymore. She dropped in down, slug across her chest. She tried to wiggle her right arm in an atempt to pull if free from the restraint. But a dizzyness fell over her and she stopped to regain her strength.
It seemed so hopeless. She felt warm tears welling up in her eyes. A soft sob escaped her trembling lips. The hot tears ran down her cheeks, and down her neck, soaking into her shirt. She tried so hard and her body could not bear the strain. She tried one more time and took a deep breath and swallowed hard. Reaching up with her left hand she wiped the tears as best she could and once again started to pull with her right arm. She could slowly feel her hand pulling through the strap, the blood washing around her hand, moistening it and helping it slide through. She gave it once last tug and it pulled past the restraint and it was freed.
In a dark corner, out of her sight and most certaintly out of her mind, someone watched. All her consentration was on the work at hand, leaving her to completly forget about her captor. He sat there like a coyote watching an injured rabbit. Knowing that the prey could not escape, but leaving it to think that it had a chance. And then leaping upon it just as it thought it was safe. He smiled a toothy grin, crusted blood still between his teeth and on his gums. Knowing that the best tool against his prey was fear. Fear would keep her in dispair. Her twirled a knife there on the table silently, watching her. Imagine what she would feel like, taste like. Imagining her body, laying next to him, hot and sweaty. Her fear resonating off and filling him with the fuel to do what he had to do. Her soft skin. Her hair. All the things that he had never felt from another woman. She would be his and his alone. Her would own her. Her mind. Her body. All his, to do what he wanted. She was his.
She slowly rubbed her hands together, trying to restore the feeling in them, as the stress of pulling herself free had cramped the muscles and irritated her wound. She laid her left hand on her chest, pressing down to keep the dressing on her finger in place. She reached over with her right hand and tried to salvage what was left of the dressing back over her finger. However, by now the bandage had been soaked in blood and was slowing coming undone. She tried as best she could and eventually got it to stay somewhat together. She laid there, her hands resting on her chest. She stared down at her finger watching it slowly move up and down with the respirations of her lungs.
There was a certain air to the room around her. It was almost as if evil resided in the air itself. The presence of the devil was breathing in the room, filling it with the taste of sulfur and rotting flesh. The thought snapped her back. She looked at her finger again and reality set it. She got the thought of the infection of her wound. Which in a situation such as this might have been minor, but to her the thought of escape was what prompted her to worry about the wound getting infected.
If concidence were a person it would have walked up in slapped her in the face. But this concidence was both good and bad. For the presence of someone within her vicinity was almost unmistakable. She knew someone was there she just couldn't see them. Like a blind spot in a car, no matter which way she turned and squirmed she couldn't spot anyone.
Then with the force of a gale wind, she felt someone reach around her neck with their arm. A hairy, sweaty arm wrapped around her neck, not to the point of harm, but enough to make his presence know. He had reached from behind her and was now looking down at her, smiling. He leaned down close to her ear, and she could feel his hot, musty breath on her neck. He leaned almost to the point that they were touching. He whispered something in her ear. Her face was blank, with an expression of confusion. He released her neck from his grip and walked around to the side of the slab that she was still somewhat restrained on. He reached his arm out into the darkness and returned with a mason jar in his hand. Filled with a clear liquid of some kind, she could anticipate what was to happen. He set the jar next to her on the slab, so that he could undo the lid. He let the lid fall and clatter on the floor. He grabbed the mason jar with his left hand and held down her hand with his right hand. Turning in palm, so that her amputated finger sub was upright. He looked at her, for a moment. He looked away, and started to pour the liquid over her finger. As soon as the liquid hit so did the pain. She tried to jerk her arm, clenching her fingers together as the pain ran from her wound all the way up her arm. The pain was excruciating, unbearable, as the alcohol, worked its way through her wound. Dried and crusted blood was away from her finger, running down onto the slab and then to the floor. She kept screaming and twisting, her breathing becoming heavier and heavier. Finally her hand slipped out of his, swinging up and knocking the jar out of his hand, sending it crashing to the floor.
He reached around behind him and pulled a syringe out of his back pocket. Without hesitation, he stuck it in her arm, dispensing what was inside of it into her bloodstream. She looked at him, surprised, although she didn't know why. And that is the last thing she remembered as her world darkened.
She woke up, her back slumped over in between her legs, her hands laying on the cold floor. She lifted her head up and looked around, but couldn't see much past the darkness. She thought she could almost see the slab that she had laid on for however long it was. Thinking about that made her wonder just how long she had been down there. She doesn't really remember eating much, but then she never had felt all that hungry. Not like, not hungry, just because of the situation, like not hungry as in she was getting feed, she doesn't remember it.
As the drug, of whatever he had given her started to wear off, she started to get feeling back in her legs and arms. The thought of trying to stand up ran through her mind but she was worried that laying down for so long that her legs might not be ready yet. Still there was the satisfaction of standing on her own two legs after laying down for so long. She reached out, searching for something to maybe support her. She found a handhold on the support pillar that she was leaning against. As she tried to pull herself up, she heard a clanging, like a chain hitting together. She stopped momentairly in half rise, listening. Silence. She continued to try to pull herself upright, and as she did she heard it again. But this time she also felt cold metal against her back. As if she had been in a total daze (more than likely from the drugs) she looked down and realized that her shirt had been taken off, and all she had on was a sports bra that she had been wearing from when she went to the gym, that fateful day when she was taken. She turned around sharply, her head spun and almost felt as if she would hit the ground again. But she steadied herself on the post and regained her balance.
And there it was, just hanging there in the darkness. She reached up and felt around her neck. A thick leather strap was wrapped around her neck rather tightly. She followed the chain that was attached to the back of the strap with her hand. Knowing full well what was going on. The next thought slapped her in the face. She hurried looked down and sighed as the remainder of her cloths were still intact.
She knew as she followed the chain what he had done to her. Here she was tied up like a dog. A dog on a leash. No more than mere entertainment for her abductor. The thought made her sick and her stomach turned. She felt hot stomach acid reach up to her throat, until she was unable to hold it down. She lurched to her knees, hanging her head in between her legs, vomiting the acid. When she reached her arm up to wipe the remaining saliva from her mouth, she could see that he also had put arm restraint on her at one time to. Although the loop that no doubt hooked the chain was empty.
Her thoughts were definately going a mile a minute wondering what this man had done to her or plan to do. The thought was most definatly sickening and her already irriated stomach lurch again. After a few dry heaves, she sat back down on the cold floor. She wrapped her head inside her arms, against her knees and cried, soft pitiful cries. For the first time, she contemplated her doom. All she needed was a hero.
(He sat there, looking at her. His thought wandered, as he contemplated every curve of her voluptous body. His eyes blurred as his stare never left her. Sitting there on the cold floor. His loins burned at the very look of her. She was his savior. She would be the one. She would save him. He was excited. She would do just fine. Just fine.)
Strange and beautiful, familiar and hideous. There are things that people see, some see what others don't. But most people will only see what they can with their own two eyes and nothing more. There are those who would say that of him. She knew different though, she knew that there was something that started the madness. There's always a spark. And that made her wonder just had happened to him. Did you see him? What a poor ugly boy?
Haha look at the anteater man!
The hatred and fear in people's voice as they looked at his apperance. What a small mind people have and such a large vocabulary of hate. Not that anyone one of us could say that we might not take a second look and wonder why this poor boy was born the way he was. We are a vain race. Baised to the things that are beautiful and not understanding of those that aren't. But what is easy and right is always different. And what one says and one does is two different things too. So it is no wonder that the boy was ridiculed the way he was. Girls judging him on his apperance and boys ostricizing him for the girls taunts.
It's no wonder you've never brought a girl home! You're an ugly, ugly boy! I wish you were never my son! You've cursed my womb!
An unloving mother can build up so much hate. Hate women. Hate them. The wounding words of his mother's disgust for him, cut like a knife. Bleeding his heart, until the blood pours out of his cracked open chest. Staining the ground and leaving a mark that can never be washed away. It chokes out any decency, until the dark person within us all, surfaces to combat the feelings of lonliness that are trying so hard to be locked away. But feelings can never be locked away and always come to light and manifested in some manner or other. And when it is fear and hatred at the root of the soul, then what comes forth is like the rotting intestines of hell. They spill forth, reeking of death and destruction. With no regard for anything or anyone. Like the devil's fingers are digging into his brain until there is nothing but evil. Dark, twisted thoughts that plague his brain, with nowhere to disperse them, until they spill forth in an action that is whispered in his ear by Lucifer himself. A personality that would have probably been devoid had people looked past what their eyes saw.
Can you believe that? He actually thought that I would go out with him? The anteater man! I told him yes just to see what he would say. And when he smiled, his gross, crocked teeth stuck out like a beaver. He's so gross! I can wait to humiliate him when we get to the dance. The little anteater man!
How twisted we as humans can be. Uncaring of the feelings of others. Basing what they might be feeling based on what they look like. And there is the spark. The final straw. The end of all. Inspiring him. He can remember it so perfectly. As he waited outside, watching and listening. Watching the drunken wench stumble to her car. Waiting silently in the shadows, as she neared.
Waiting silently. She dropped her keys several times as she attempted to unlock the door to her car. Upon finally completing the task, she opened the door and got in the car. But she never took a breath inside the car, as a hand covered her mouth, and she felt a cold sharpness run from ear to ear. As she looked down she watched her beautiful prom dress go from white to scarlet red. Her head fell forward hitting the steering wheel. Her eyes hurt as she watched her blood soak her dress and seat.
He got out of the car and open the driver's door and pushed her head back against the seat. (He laid his hands against her chest. He could feel her breast rise up and down, with the last few breaths that remained in her body. He ripped her dress away violently, exposing her chest. He touched her breast, ever so slightly. He took a deep breath and pulled his hand away in sudden repulsion.) He smiled at his handy work. She stared back up, as the last of her life leaked out of her. She thought that maybe that wasn't the nicest thing she could have done. But now it was to late. Now she had to pay for her sins.
I like your pretty smile, you drunken wench! Now you will smile all the time.
It was a feeling like no other. Something that could be said as sexual, but not. Just a feeling of satisfaction so intense, like a mental orgasm. There is a downside to the first high. It can never be achieved again. There will never be another "first". She took his virginity, and now no woman will ever do to him, what she did to him. Hatred festers. Now she can not judge him. She cannot turn away in disgust. He remembers standing there as she "smiled" at him, until her eyes fell and she slept for all eternity. But others must learn. They must learn from her mistake, otherwise others might have to be punished for their hatred.
The next day she was found at the steps of the school, tired in a crusifix across the entrance. And to this day, all know what happened, in this small, small little town. They know the devil is working inside the boy. They know. What they sadly still do not realize is they were the instrument the devil used to reach inside this young boy and mold him into the man that he is today. And they call him a mencace to society.
Strange isn't it . . .
Where was this hero that was needed? How do you call for help when you don't know who to call for? Or where to find them. How to reach out to them. These things plagued her mind. Incesent thoughts of rape and plunder.
She lifted her head up. The sickness still in her stomach. A putrid, rotten taste of stomach acid in her mouth was bombarding her smell. There was no denying the fact that she was very far up shit creek, and she could not seem to find a paddle. But the thoughts of impending doom, did not obstruct her determination to find a way out of this situation. There was no way that this man was going to get the best of her.
She started, as she had on the slab, working her restraint around her neck. This one, however was considerably tighter. And she was unable to find where the strap came together. It didn't have any snaps, or links, or locking mechanism of any kind, that she could see anyway. She was barely able to stick her finger between the stap and her neck, it was so tight. But as with any problem, it just was going to take time and some thought. So she started pacing around the support, carefull not to wrap the chain around it, like a dog running in mad circles around it's chain post.
Her thoughts were distrubed, however, by what sounded like someone unlocking the door to where she was. She hesitated, from pacing, listening silently. She could hear the lock slide inside the door, and heard it momentairly creak, as he pushed it open. She heard his shuffling feet on the stairs as he walked down them. She instinctivly dashed being the support that she was chained to. As she waited for him to enter, she inevertently looked down at the post and saw where the chain was fixed to the support beam. There was a large thick anchor bolt that had been welded to the meatal I-beam that supported the ceiling of the basement she was in. Although the first chain link had been looped in before the anchor blot was welded into the beam, the weld was weak and not done by someone that really knew what they were doing.
Distracted by the thoughts of her newest restraint, she was completly taken by suprise, by the captors presence, right next to her. He clamped a hand around her neck. His massive hands, wrapped almost all the way around her neck. He tighted his grip, puller head towards him, as he was standing behind her. She gasped as he yanked her to him, pressing her against his shoulder, and looking down at her, smirking. He reached over to her with his right hand, and pressed his index and ring finger against her lips, and nodded his head slightly, in a disapproving motion. She pulled against his grip on her neck, but it was of no use, as his grip was incredibly tight. Her ran his finger down from her lips, down her chin and neck, stopping momentairly. Her was a fear in her eyes of not knowing what his intentions were. He feed on it. Relsihed it. It was drug that gave him a high, like nothing else. He continued on down, passing his fingers, between her breasts and down to her navel, where he abruptly pulled his hand back, and let it fall to his side.
He loosened his grip on her neck slightly, turning her to face him, almost nose to nose. His apperance was nothing strange, quite normal, aside from the situation. He almost appeared as an everyday man. The kind that you would pass at the grocery store and never give a second thought. The true apitamy (way wrong spelling, hopefully you know what I'm trying to type) of never judge a book by it's cover.
He bent down slightly to look at her at her height. He came so close to her that they were almost breathing each other's carbon minoxide. His lips parted slightly, and unexpectedly, he licked her. From the bottom of her neck up to her lips. His tounge was unsually long and thin. It was thick and rough, like a cat's tounge, but long and narrow, like an anteater or snake. She tried to twist away from him. But she could wrest herself from his grip. At the sight of her pulling away, angered him. She could feel his grip tighten to the point of almost choking her. He raised his other hand and slapped her. A yelp escaped her lips. She bit her lips, angry at herself for giving him the satisfaction. He slapped her again, this time bringing stars to her eyes. But she uttered no sound. He pushed her to the floor, landing hard on her butt. He reached down and grabbed her by hee hair . . . there was a sound.
He looked up away from her. There it was again. It was a pounding sound, like someone beating on a door. He cursed under his breath. He released her hair and snarled at her, disgustingly. He walked away from her toward the stair, yelling at the top of his lungs, as the beating on his door continued. She heard him stomp up the stairs and heard the door slam behind him. But there is one thing that she didn't hear. The sound of the lock clicking shut.
She could still here him moving around the upper floor. Earlier it had sounded like someone had been beating on the door. He had hurried upstairs, cursing as if he half-way was expecting someone, but was irritated, as if he was interrupted from something. Could this be the savoir that she needed so badly, or just another tormentor?
She listened closely, for anything. But it just sounded like he was upstairs pacing the floor. She could hear hushed voices, but couldn't isolate whether it was one person of more. Since she had barely heard her captor talk, she really wasn't able to decifer is voice through the floor. But from the pacing (or at least the sound of it) it was very frantic. As if for the first time since she had seen him, he didn't know what to do or where to go.
She couldn't tell how long that she had listened before it go quite. After a few minutes, someone got up and started walking. Almost sounded like sets of steps. Both seem to be heading toward the door to the basement. By now she had almost worked the weld loose. She had been pulling on the weld, since the minute she heard the door close the first time he left. She thought that she could feel it giving, but couldn't be sure. Maybe it was just her hopes and desperation. But she had been pulling like hell and was sure she wasn't doing it for nothing. By then the steps had finally reached the door. She could hear the doorknob turn . . . and then it stopped.
The door slammed open, banging hard against the back wall of the doorway to the basement. She heard a hard thud, like smack of a KO'd boxer hitting the mat. Then a thumping like something tumbling down the stairs. It continued until a final thump on the hard cold basement floor. She looked out from around the support beam that she was still crouched behind. She could just see a hand laying on the floor right outside of the shadows of the rest of the unlit basement. She stared for a minute, waiting in silence, the sound of her labored breathing seemed to blast through the silent room, like music at a block party. As looked, she started to see the scarlet color of blood starting to run down the slight slope of the basement reaching out for the shadows that she hid in. She finally heard a slight rustling of footfalls. Like the other person in the room was wearing windsuit pants. She could hear the friction of the legs of the pants rubbing together as the person moved through the room. She could smell must. The putrid odor of something rotten. Or the unkept smell of body odor.
She dared take a peak around the support, fearful of what might have happened. Who was it laying there on the floor, their blood spilling out over the basement floor? And who was it that was still stirring in the shadows? Was it her captor, just trying to put her in a scare again? And if it wasn't, who was it? She had to find out, couldn't sit this one out. No matter what happened to who, she felt that this was her best chance, if any, to escape this hell that she was a prisoner of.
She looked around the corner. And slowly started to walk out in the direction of the stairs. She had never really tested how long her leash was, so she decided now was the time to find out. More than likely he wouldn't have made the mistake of making it long enough where she could get to anything. But then when it comes to pretty women, men aren't very smart. Not that she considered herself all that attractive. She hadn't had a lot of relationships with men, and the ones that she did have never ended happily. Most of the men that she had dealing with, didn't take long to show their true colors. So for some time she had not had a relationship with many. But that was not the thing to be on her mind. She needed to focus on what was happening here and now. She reached closer and closer to the still hand laying on the floor. Until she reached about two feet from it, she felt her chain pull taunt. She looked back and could see that she could go no further. She tried to peer outside of the shadows, to see if she could see the face of the person laying on the floor, but he was laying stomach down, and his neck was twisted in the opposite direction.
She heard a rustle. She spun around! He was there! Right in front of her! Wait it wasn't HIM, it was someone else, and didn't look any more friendly than he did. He reached up to grab her by the neck, but she swiftly dodged him and ran around behind him. He turned to her to try and grab her again. But as she had retreated further back, her chain had become loose. She grabbed the chain and whatever it was, instinct, fear, or adrenhilne, she wipped that chain, up and around his wrist, like throwing a spinning chain on drill pipe. She yanked as hard as she could pulling the chain so that it would twist on his wrist, like the choke chain on a dog.
He yelped, as the twisting of the chain, tore his skin, bringing blood to the surface. The swiftness in which she had yanked the chain had even twisted his wrist to the point of extreme pain. He reached out and grabbed the chain, further down from his arm, and feriously pulled at the chain with all his might. The last thing that he heard before he saw death, was the loud snap of the weld finally giving way from the support beam.
When he grabbed the chain, he grabbed it past where she had wrapped it around his wrist. So when he grapped the chain past his wrist he didn't realize that he wasn't pulling her towards him. And when he did yank the chain, the weak weld finally gave way, and the welded hunk of metal that the fastening fixture was welded to came off and flew directly toward him, smacking him in the forehead. To be honest it was still lodged in his forehead. It had cracked right through his skull, burying it deep inside his brain.
She stood over him, looking at him. She could still see the flicker of life in his eyes and the slowly blinked, as the brain was dead but the body was still going. She looked down at the man, all dressed in black, and nylon mask over his head. He had a gun stuffed in his pants. She stared down at the gun for what seemed forever. She wanted to take it, but really didn't know what to do with it, as she had never owned or fired a gun. Finally she reached down and pulled it out of his pants.
His hand lashed out! Grabbed her by the wrist! The grip was impossible to break. Without a thought, she pulled the trigger, and the gun fired into his leg. At such close range the bullet tore right through his leg, smacking hard into the basement floor, sending cememnt chips and blood splattering into the air. His hand dropped and she pulled away, firing another shot to his chest, the sound of the gun firing reverbarated throughout the empty basement. And finally his eyes dropped closed and he laid still.
She stood there shaking. What to do? Am I free finally?
I shall write the conclusion by this weekend. Tell me what you think as of now.
May U Live 2 See The Dawn
"This next song is dedicated to my father, Francis L. It's a song the girls in the band wrote, Lisa and Wendy."
