He traced the curve of her cheek, her top lip, her eyelid. She didn’t wake. He shifted closer and lifted her head onto his lap so he could see her face. He brushed her hair back from her face with his palm. He traced a line from her neck down between her breasts. Pushing the duvet down, he ran his hand over her bare stomach, her thighs. Soft, soft skin. His breathing became ragged. He pulled the knife from his pocket and drew the tip over her skin, tracing from her throat, down to just below her left breast, over her heart. A few inches between life and death. He slid the tip over her stomach, letting the blade follow the curves and hollows of her skin until it dipped into her deep, round navel. His fist tightened on the handle. The temptation to drive it into her was overwhelming.
Not yet… not yet…
He squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them, he pulled the knife away from her. The tip of the sharp blade had nicked her skin, and a thin trail of blood dripped down her skin onto the bed. Shit. Stupid fucker, taking risks like that. Ruining everything.
He froze when she tensed her shoulders up, her head shifting. She opened her eyes and gazed up at him, still mostly asleep, not really seeing him.
‘Are you going to kill me?’
The question thrilled him, shocked him and delighted him. He stroked her face and smiled.
‘Yes.’ He replied, and she closed her eyes, sighed and was asleep again.
He stroked her face one more time then bent down to kiss her soft, warm mouth.
‘Yes, my love,’ he whispered softly, ‘Yes, I’m going to kill you, my sweet, sweet Isabel…’
Part #2 Hurt Me
Hurt Me
The dream had Sam in its grip. They were in her apartment on her couch, Isa’s head on his chest, his fingers tangled in her hair. She was talking to him, smiling, loving. But the sound was all wrong, like a record being played backward.
Then Isa was wrenched from his arms by an unknown force. Her head flew back, and she screamed, a heart-breaking noise of unimaginable pain. Her arms stretched out toward him, but he couldn’t reach her. Whatever had gotten hold of her drew her inexorably into a swirling mass of light. She disappeared. Sam leaped from the couch and found himself on a beach. The wind blew, and it sang its mournful song out of key.
The sea was a tumult of rage, destruction; the waves broke high, almost as tall as Sam. Above the noise, he heard a whisper.
‘Sam.’
Her voice. He turned. Isa was standing on an outcrop of rocks jutting out into the water. She faced the ocean, a long white robe making her seem ghostly, ethereal. Her long hair seemed darker, and it clouded around her head, black tendrils snaking down way past her waist. She was achingly beautiful.
Sam started to run toward her, screaming her name. But the more he ran, the further she moved away.
She held up a hand to halt him. A snapshot. A river of blood. He blinked and it had gone. She slowly turned to face him. Her eyes, the irises, the whites were entirely black. Her mouth was moving, silent words. He started toward her, and again the whisper carried itself to him.
‘You can’t save me, Sam.’
‘No, no! Isa!’ He watched in horror as a figure appeared behind her, locking its arm around her neck and raising a knife above its head. It plunged the blade into her.
Sam screamed her name. Her face creased in pain, and she cried out, again that horrific sound of agony. At the center of the white dress, a spot appeared and grew larger.
Blood. The figure stabbed her again.
‘No!’ Sam started to run to her, but it was as if he was running in treacle. The blood gushed from her in a torrent turning the ocean red. More snapshots. Angels. Stone angels. Trees. A ruined hospital. From behind him, Sam sensed a presence, but he did not want to take his eyes off her.
As he watched in despair, Isa’s body was wracked with spasms. She couldn’t stop the blood, losing more than a human body could possibly hold. Somewhere in his subconscious, Sam registered this fact – he knew it was just a dream, but he couldn’t escape the crushing grief as he watched his love, his life, being so savagely and mercilessly slaughtered.
He heard laughing behind him. Isa bent double, clutching at her ruined belly and when she stood, her eyes were normal – she was his Isa again. His heart broke when he saw the terror in her face. She gazed at him for a final time then her eyes fluttered shut, and her body dropped. Before she hit the rocks, a huge scarlet wave took her and threw her into the swirling mass.
‘No!’ Sam found himself where she had been standing and as he watched, the water pitched and reeled her broken body in a grotesque dance. Sam knelt and tried to catch hold of her, but every time he tried, his fingers passed through her as if she were liquid.
From the corner of his eye, he saw something move to his left. He looked up to see a man’s figure, immersed to the waist, wading toward him. Sam felt the desperate need to save her, even in death, from this man. He reached for Isa’s body only to jerk back. She was gone, replaced by a face. The face, inhuman, mocking, smiled at him.
‘She’ll never be safe.’
Sam only just made it to the bathroom before he threw up. Rinsing his mouth, he grabbed his cell phone and booked the next flight back to Seattle.
Seb decided against another drink and instead went out of the bar to get some air. The club was subdued tonight, he thought, but then realized it was probably just his mood. Since the attack on the gallery, he had been on edge, and with having to keep the secret of the death threat from his mom, he felt older than his young age. Outside the club, he had a view over the midnight waters of Elliott Bay and stared out morosely, watching the ferries move into the port, other pleasure boats scattered around. They looked so peaceful, he was almost envious.
‘Hey.’
He turned and smiled. His friend, Louisa, had followed him out of the club. Tall and slim, Louisa was a rock chick; her platinum hair short and spiky, her large brown eyes ringed with kohl. She grinned at him and Seb felt the pull of desire he always felt near her. They’d flirted harmlessly throughout freshmen and sophomore years but now, they were growing closer and Seb hoped they could be more than friends.
Louisa nudged his shoulder with his and handed him a cold bottle of Bud. ‘One for the road, handsome.’
He thanked her and let the cool liquid swirl down his throat. ‘How you doing, bub?’
‘Drunk, broke and horny,’ she said matter-of-factly and Seb threw his head back and laughed. Louisa never pulled any punches.
‘Well, I can help you out with one of them,’ he waggled his eyebrows at her, expecting her to roll her eyes, not take his joke seriously, like always but tonight, she just grinned at him.
‘About damn time you did,’ she said softly and Seb nearly choked on his beer. He stared at her for a long moment and she gazed back steadily.
‘You’re serious?’ He finally managed to say and she laughed.
‘Never more so. Come on, Seb, we both know that’s where we’ve been heading – don’t we?’
Seb stood and cupped her cheek in his hand. ‘I didn’t know, I hoped.’
‘Well,’ she said and brushed her lips lightly against his, ‘Permission granted.’
Seb kissed her deeply then, reveling in her sweet taste, breathing in the heady scent of her perfume. ‘I’d invited you back to mine but it’s a little crowded,’ he said regretfully.
‘My roommate is in Portland for the weekend,’ she said smoothly. ‘Now, stop talking and let’s go.’
Seb grinned and took her hand. ‘Lead on, ma’am.’
Isa opened her eyes sleepily as Sam slipped into bed beside her. He could see she wasn’t really awake, but she smiled anyway when she saw him.
‘Are you really here?’ Her voice was barely a whisper and he smiled, pressing his lips to hers.
‘I really am. I love you; I missed you.’ Sam pulled her into his arms, and a few seconds later, he could tell by her steady breathing she was asleep again. He could not shake that dream, that horrific drea
m. The vision of Isa having her life… clawed… from her had shaken him badly. He tipped her face up to his and watched as sleep had erased all stress from her face. If only he could find such peace.
Blood. So much blood.
He felt sick now, swallowing nausea as it rose in his throat. It wasn’t just the dream – for a little while now, he had had a terrible, haunting feeling that something was going to happen he wasn’t going to be able to control, and she would be taken from him suddenly, without warning.
His arms tightened around her, and it wasn’t until he was at the very edge of sleep, he realized the thing that had been bugging him since he got home.
The door to the apartment had been unlocked.
Isa touched the dried blood on her side, not comprehending. What the hell? She had woken up, overjoyed that her dream had been true and Sam was beside her in bed, but then a wave of overwhelming nausea had hit her, and she dashed to the bathroom to throw up. Was she getting sick? Her stomach roiled and heaved and as she had stood to rinse her mouth, she caught sight of herself in the antique full-length mirror she had propped against the wall. A dark red line of dried blood snaked down from her navel to her back. She frowned. Had she scratched herself? Whatever had caused it, she’d been laying on her back
‘Weird,’ she muttered then shrieked as Sam came up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist. He sniggered and kissed her cheek. She smiled, and they stared at their reflection in the mirror.
‘Would you look at how beautiful you are,’ he said softly. She flushed with pleasure.
‘You’re not so bad yourself.’ She twisted around in his arms so she could kiss him, smoothing his dark hair down. The kiss went on longer than she expected and she was breathless by the time they broke apart.
‘Do you think we’ll ever get tired of doing that?’ She smiled as his hand drifted down between her legs. ‘Or that…’ She shifted, her own hand moving to stroke his already erect cock but then, suddenly he stopped. She was confused until he traced the line of blood on her belly.
‘What’s this?’
‘I must have scratched myself; it’s nothing.’
He took her hands in his. ‘Your nails are short.’
Suddenly she really didn’t want to deal with whatever he was thinking. She turned away, grabbed her bath sponge, wet it and scrubbed the offending blood away. ‘See? All gone, nothing to see here.’
Sam was still frowning, but she ran her fingers over his forehead to smooth away the crease between his eyes. ‘Sam, it’s nothing.’ She pressed her lips to his firmly, feeling the tension in his body. She sighed. ‘Let’s not make a big deal out of nothing. Besides, I have a much better idea.’ She grinned at him and started to stroke his cock. She felt it tremble and stiffen under her hands. His body relaxed and he smiled.
‘You’re right.’ He looked up at the mirror and grinned. ‘I have an idea.’
He slid his diamond-hard cock slowly into her. Her leg was over his shoulders, and they both watched the reflection in the mirror as his shaft buried itself deep into her sex. He moved slowly in and out. The sight of his cock plunging into her, again and again, was an incredible turn-on and Sam saw she was helpless under his touch, especially when he started to knead her clit between his fore-finger and thumb. He smiled down at her, reveling in his control of her.
‘Tell me you belong to me,’ he whispered, increasing the pressure on her clitoris and she moaned.
‘I’m yours, Sam; I’m yours forever.’ She was breathless, every inch of skin vibrating with unbearable desire. With his free hand, he slid it onto her inner thigh, his fingers biting hard into the flesh. She gasped at the quick pain but smiled her pleasure at it.
‘Tell me you want me to fuck you hard.’
‘Fuck me hard, Sam, please…’
‘You want me to be rough?’
‘Yes… yes…’
‘How rough?’
Time seemed to stop as their gaze locked, a trust and an understanding forging between them. Then she spoke quietly, sending an otherworldly thrill through him.
‘Hurt me.’
Sam slammed her hands down, pinning them with one hand while the other hand pulled her other leg over his shoulder. He rammed himself into her as hard as he could, her cries of pain and pleasure spurring him on. She came quickly, he could feel the hot rush of her orgasm and grinning, he flipped her onto her stomach, pulling her hands behind her. She laughed, a thrilled, excited sound and his heart swelled at her perfect trust in him. He put his mouth to her ear.
‘Sweetheart, you know the safe word. Use it, and I’ll stop.’
She moaned. ‘Do me now...’ she ordered, and he grinned, thrusting into her ass, jubilant as he heard her gasp, pant, cry out, call his name, all of it the sheer music of her pleasure…
He thrust hard, not looking at her face. She had tried to kiss him, but he had turned his face away from her sharply.
‘That’s not what I’m paying you for.’
A stringy blonde was almost emaciated in her thinness. That’s what he had said he had wanted, someone the opposite of… her. He looked at the hooker’s hard face and smiled, a humorless expression. When he’d picked her up in the rental car, she knew she’d been what he was looking for; cold, hard, all business.
He’d undressed her mechanically and waited while she worked to get him hard. He hadn’t let her lay down. Instead, he took her against the wall. She had winced as he pushed himself into her, but he ignored her. She was a whore and she’d had worse. Like an automaton, he fucked her, clinical, cold.
She looked at him; her mind turned off from the physicality of what they were doing. He was handsome if a little… he looked like he’d alphabetize his canned goods, she thought to herself. The thought made her giggle, and he looked her in irritation. She thought of the money he’d given her, enough that she wouldn’t have to turn tricks for a month and kept her mouth shut. This was a good gig. So far just fucking, nothing… hell, though, if he wanted kinky, with what he was paying her, she’d have a hard time saying no.
He groaned as he came, burying his face in her neck, saying a woman’s name over and over. She stayed silent but put her arms around him. She held him for a few moments and then he withdrew and stepped away from her. His face was cold.
‘Lay down.’ She did as he asked. He reached over and pulled a backpack toward him. He pulled a length of rope from it. She sat up, alarmed, but he held his hand up.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you, and I’ll only tie you very loosely. You’ll still be able to move quite freely.’
She lay back down, but she still watched him uneasily. He pulled a knife from the bag.
‘Hey now, come on,’ she whined in fear, sitting up again. He smiled at her. His voice was seductive as he spoke.
‘I promise; I’m not going to stab you. I just want to hold this to you whilst I fuck you. Please. At no point will it cut you or penetrate you. I’ll double your fee.’
She was shaking now. She’d had kinky johns before but this man was frightening. She calculated the distance between her and the end of the alley. If he wanted to kill her, he’d have no trouble catching her before she even got halfway. She could scream, but how many times had she screamed in filthy alleyways – and how many times had anybody, anybody, reacted?
She had to go along with him, hoping against hope he meant what he said. She gave the smallest nod. He kept his word, tying her hands loosely. She could have pulled the rope apart easily, so he was at least right on that part. He was tender this time, stroking her body. She watched his every move, her entire body tensing as he picked up the knife. She shivered as he placed the flat edge against her skin and then again as he traced the line down the middle of her body with the tip. He began to make love to her, the knife resting against her stomach. He began to thrust hard, grunting with every stroke, and again, he said the name over and over.
Isa. Isa. Isa.
As he came, he collapsed onto her, breathed, ha
rsh, ragged sounds, his weight pressing down on her, she whispered in his ear.
‘Are you going to kill her?’
He breathed heavily, once, twice, keeping his face hidden in her neck. Then he lifted his head and smiled nastily.
‘Of course, I’m going to kill her. I’m going to kill her slowly, intimately. I’ll put my knife into her belly over and over until she’s dead.’
The girl gasped as he slid his hands around her throat and began to squeeze. As she choked, her life slipping away, she saw the monster, the soul devoid of pity and was grateful. Grateful that she wasn’t the other woman he was thinking about, the one he would butcher without mercy.
Grateful that for herself it was over so quickly…
Isa pushed open the door of the restaurant slowly, ready to turn around and forget this whole thing. Casey Hamilton was seated near the door, however, and waved. No escape now. Isa plastered a smile her face and shook the woman’s hand. A waiter, his glance admiring, pulled out her chair for her.
‘I’m so glad you could make it,’ Casey’s smile was friendly enough, ‘I didn’t think you’d call. Not that I would have blamed you.’
Isa recognized passive-aggressive behavior when it was right in front of her, but she nodded. ‘That’s okay.’ She felt tongue-tied, nervous. Why had she agreed to this? The women looked over the menu for a few minutes: Casey ordering a cobb salad: Isa, the club sandwich.
‘You’re so lucky,’ Casey wafted a hand in the air, ‘I can’t touch carbs.’
Oh lord, so that’s how it’s going to be. Isa sipped her iced water and said nothing. Casey folded her hands on the table and leaned forward, her ice blue eyes focused on Isa’s. ’So, tell me about your plans now. Are you going to find somewhere else to exhibit? What’s happening with the gallery?’
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