Nameless

by Joe Conlan

  He felt like his only chance was Annie’s survival. If the FBI didn’t find her, he would be forced to accept help from the state’s inexperienced public defenders. Alan Shipman already advised him his only prospect of success was to retain one of the best and most influential appellate lawyers in the country. Without Annie, he was doomed.

  The bone chilling cold front moving through the mountains of North Carolina was not the only reason why Annie couldn’t keep warm. In spite of the hot air blowing directly on her face and torso from the central heating vent in her bedroom and the thick flannel pajamas the monster now allowed her to wear, she was shivering like a wet Chihuahua in a blizzard. Things had changed and Annie couldn’t figure out for the life of her why. The monster was talking to her about particulars of his life she really wished he wouldn’t share. After days of nothing but silence except for his commands, he was recounting with specificity his numerous, horrific slaughters of innocent people. The tales usually followed the brutal and merciless sessions he required to relieve his insatiable need for sex. It was obvious he considered his ability to commit these senseless murders a gift and expected her to be impressed. He told the stories as if he were giving a blow by blow account of a boxing match. At least, the beatings and the bleedings had been less frequent. He was only cutting her twice a week now. When he struck her, he avoided her head. Most of his blows were directed at her breasts. They were bruised and aching, but not causing her excessive physical distress. She could only hope the curtailed abuse wasn’t a sign of the calm before the storm and that his stories weren’t meant to prepare her for her own gruesome demise.

  He had just left the room after violating her for more than an hour then describing the murders that would give her nightmares for the rest of her life. The fiend, beaming with pride, was eager to tell Annie about his capacity to outwit the most intelligent and talented law enforcement agents around the world. He boasted about the meticulous plans he devised for each killing and how he would leave just enough evidence to frustrate the police without leading them to him. It was evidently not his custom to save souvenirs from his murders. Almost as if he was instructing her on the logistics of a fine art, he explained it created a risk of being captured he wasn’t willing to take. Annie had to stifle reacting out loud to the horror when he reported every last detail of the murders of Deborah Falcone and her parents. She would swear that her heart stopped when he promised to show her the surgeon’s saw that just this one time he couldn’t resist keeping as a trophy.

  One of the most significant changes over the past few days was his willingness to allow Annie to move about the cabin and even go for walks outside. The exercise and decreased violence was the nourishment her mind and body so sorely needed. As her physical strength grew, so did her clarity of thought. Rather than obsessing over when the next bashing was coming, she had the wherewithal to give serious thought to an escape plan. She wasn’t sure she had much time.

  The monster was always attached to her hip never allowing her out of his sight, but Annie was sure he would eventually make a mistake. Just a brief detour of his gaze and she was confident she would be able to sneak a few necessary items either from the kitchen or his office and hide them in a private place on her person. It was certainly worth the risk. Lately, he had been leaving the cabin on a regular basis though he never failed to pat her down, tie her to her bed and lock the bedroom door behind him before his departure. With the right tools and a bit of luck on her side, it just might be possible to get herself untied and pick the lock. She definitely deserved the good fortune and had to believe it could happen. An immediate escape may not be in the plan due to the device on her wrist. There was a chance, however slight, she could get a letter out in the mail. She had been thinking about the mailbox just outside the gate since the day he shocked her. A note to the mailman explaining her predicament had the potential to save her and Daniel’s life.

  Annie would get an opportunity to put her plan into action much sooner than she expected. The monster had been behaving more and more erratically over the past few days. He wasn’t visiting her room nearly as often nor expecting her to be his personal slave. She found herself locked in her bedroom for more than twenty-four hours at a stretch. One time, he actually forgot to tie her up. She was sure something was bothering him. Her assumption was confirmed earlier that morning when he visited her room to provide her with her first meal in a day and a half.

  It wasn’t until two days ago while she was scrubbing the kitchen floor that she heard a phone ring for the first time. Instead of answering it, he led her upstairs, tied her to the bed and locked her in the room. This morning, while delivering her breakfast, it rang for the second time, at least as far as she was aware. Once again, he neglected to tie her up leaving the room with the light on and an obvious sense of urgency, locking the door behind him. She quickly set her meal on the floor, jumped out of the bed and hurried to the door. Holding her ear up against it, she could hear every word of his side of the conversation. It helped that he was shouting.

  “What the fuck? There has to be a way to reschedule it.”

  “No...impossible...find another way.”

  “I paid you a lot of fuck’n money. You lawyers are fuck’n useless. There’s no way I can make it tomorrow.”

  “I don’t have to do shit. Just handle it. Why do I have to be there?”

  “Who the fuck do you think you’re talkin to? I don’t take threats well.”

  “It sounded like one to me. I can’t be away that long.”

  “There has to be another way. What the fuck do I pay you for?”

  After a long pause, Annie thought he might have hung up. She was about to high-tail it back to the bed when, in a much calmer voice, totally devoid of emotion he said, “How long is this gonna take?”

  “I want it all done in one day. I want to be able to drive down there in the morning and be back before dinner.”

  “Fuck try. Make it happen.”

  There was another period of extended silence then, “Ok, tomorrow. This better take care of everything or you’ll be sorry. I’m dead serious. Goodbye.”

  Annie bolted for the bed. Just before she was about to leap into it, her attention was diverted by a sparkling flicker in her peripheral vision coming from a point down low between the door and the bed. She turned her head to examine it more carefully and saw the flash was a reflection bouncing off the scalpel the monster sometimes used to bleed her. In his rush to answer the phone, it must have dropped out of his pocket onto the floor. It was only by dumb luck she didn’t step on it. She didn’t even want to think about what he was planning to do with it. Making a spur of the moment decision, she hurried to pick it up. It was either going to be her salvation or the dumbest move she ever made in her life.

  Once back in the bed, she grabbed her breakfast, shoved the remainder of the overdone scrambled eggs into her mouth and chugged down the entire glass of milk. She almost choked at the sound of his footsteps pounding up the stairs. Normally, he was very light on his feet, usually surprising Annie when she heard the turn of the key in the lock without hearing his approach. He was most definitely agitated. Willing herself to stay calm, she used the short amount of time she had to evaluate the information she had just overheard. It was pretty clear he was going to be gone for most of the day tomorrow. This was a chance that would probably never present itself again. He was definitely off his game. His focus for the past few days hadn’t been on her. The issue with the lawyer obviously had him distracted.

  The idea she was contemplating would entail terrifying risk. Any one of a number of things could go wrong that would undoubtedly mean either the end of her or unthinkable pain and suffering. The sound of the stomping was getting louder by the millisecond forcing her to make another hasty choice. If she had the time to weigh the pros and cons, her decision might not have been so courageous. She tucked the scalpel safely down the backside of her pajamas not a moment too soon. Shem unlocked the door and burst through
it.

  Annie knew instantly she was in deep trouble. The look on his face was one she had seen too many times. There was a total lack of emotion or spirit. The blank, vacuous expression of his eyes would have sent a shiver up the spine of Satan. It was infinitely more frightening than the butcher’s knife he was carrying in his left hand. With a clear purpose in his stride, he made his way to Annie’s side. He reared back with his right hand and hit her square on the nose and mouth with a closed fist. Blood gushed from her nostrils and oozed down both sides of her mouth. Annie barely noticed it, half-dazed from the blow. Shem didn’t bother with the buttons of her top or the snaps of her fly. He slashed through the pajamas with the butcher’s knife exposing her breasts and opening a hole in the crotch. The tip of the knife had sliced into both breasts and several areas on her stomach. Blood was everywhere. The smell and the sight of it were too much for Shem to handle. He quickly undressed, his penis already fully erect. Though Annie was forced to live through the horror of another violent and bloody rape, later, she would thank the Lord he was too spent after the frontal assault to also take her from behind. She kept the scalpel tucked safely against her rear not taking the chance to use it and fail. His weapon was a lot larger. She had a much safer plan in mind for later.

  It was the coldest day of the year to date in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. Shem put on three layers of clothing before donning his parka. He wasn’t totally comfortable with the idea of leaving Annie home alone for a whole day, but had taken every possible precaution to assure she was going nowhere. He had tied the knots of the synthetic twine extra tight and forced her to take a high dose of sedatives just minutes ago. She should be asleep for most of the day. None of this would’ve been necessary if his business didn’t involve an issue of traceability. When the question of his anonymity came into play, there was no such thing as having too many checks and balances in place. He had employed an attorney who was well known for engaging in illegal activities and paid him an exorbitant fee to keep his mouth shut. Shem also wouldn’t hesitate to use his knowledge of the shyster’s connection to the mob to assure his obedience.

  According to the lawyer, Shem’s notarized signature was required by his personal bankers in the Cayman Islands on a stack of tax documents. A meeting with all parties involved had been scheduled months ago for today at the lawyer’s office in downtown Atlanta. Shem was expected to attend and furnish an official form of identification. If everything wasn’t filed by the end of the day, his funds would be frozen and subject to inspection by the United States government. Until just the other day, Shem had completely forgotten about the meeting. Perhaps it could have been delayed if he had requested a postponement a week ago. Now, according to the lawyer, it was too late. Shem’s presence was unavoidable. The lawyer had prepared a falsified driver’s license for Shem to present to the bankers who were already in town. All that was required of Shem was to show up and sign the documents.

  Stepping out the front door onto the porch, his mind didn’t register that the temperature had dipped below ten degrees Fahrenheit. His total focus was on the business at hand. It was pitch black at five o’clock in the morning. The sun would not rise for at least another two hours. He had a mile and a half walk to get to his car hidden in the woods just outside his property. As sure-footed as a mountain goat and seemingly with the night vision of an African lion, he negotiated the icy driveway without a slip or a slide. He had already calculated his trip to Atlanta would take at least four hours considering the icy mountain roads. His meeting with the bank representatives was scheduled for 9:00am. By one o’clock in the afternoon, he should be on the road back home. If all went according to schedule, he would be at the cabin by no later than 5:00pm. Just the drugs should keep Annie sedated until then.

  Straining the muscles of her neck and shoulders, Annie lifted her head in the direction of her right hand securely tied to the bedpost. At the same time, she pulled her arm toward her mouth stretching the twine to its limit. She had already made two attempts to stick her index finger down her throat without success. The last time, she had gotten much closer, the finger reaching the middle of her tongue. The physical exertion required by the effort was starting to zap her strength. She was giving herself a second to rest, but couldn’t afford to be too long. The drugs would pass from her stomach to her small intestine any minute. If that happened, her plan would go up in smoke.

  After waiting a good minute, she took a deep breath then pulled her hand toward her mouth with all her might while compelling her neck to extend further than would ordinarily be possible. She could feel her finger glide against her tongue moving closer and closer to the back of her throat. At the absolute worst possible moment, a droplet of sweat from her forehead slithered into her eye causing a distracting sting. Her instinct was to close the eye, but with the determination that had gotten her through the hard times of her life to this point, she willed herself to ignore the reflex and continue her effort. With one final thrust of her head and arm, the sound of her neck cracking blasted in her ear as if transmitted through a loud speaker. Before her brain had the time to make the connection she was vomiting, she could smell the cheesy stink of the half-digested food from her stomach exploding out onto the blanket and the floor below. Never in her thirty-seven years had she been so happy about projectile puke. She prayed she was able to expel most of the drugs the monster forced her to take. She would know soon enough.

  In the meantime, she had to think about getting her hands free. Since the room was almost completely devoid of light, she would have to work by feel alone. Yesterday morning, after the monster left the room, Annie had to figure out a hiding spot she would be able to reach with her hands tied. Luckily, the scalpel only superficially pierced the skin of her buttocks over the time it was hidden on her person. She caught a second break when, in his preoccupied state, he left her untied just long enough to find a suitable storage space. At least, she hoped she would be able to get to it when the time presented itself. It was a tense twenty-two hours until this morning, waiting to discover whether he noticed the missing scalpel or would find her cache.

  Before attempting to recover her prize, she took a few minutes to allow her muscles to recover. The job would require a lot more stretching and straining both physical and mental. The sharp end of the scalpel was tucked in the groove just behind the bedpost where it met the backside of the head board. She had intentionally placed it on the side where she would be able to use her dominant right hand to retrieve it. Not only would it be necessary to distend her arm and wrist beyond their normal confines, she would have to deftly employ her fine motor skills to avoid dropping the scalpel all while keeping her cool. To top it all off, she had no idea exactly how much time she had to get everything she planned done. So many things had to go exactly right. Even then she may need a lot of luck, probably even a miracle to achieve each of her goals. The fact that the room reeked of her vomit just provided that much more of an unpleasant environment.

  In order to succeed Annie knew she would have to take things one step at a time. If she allowed herself to think ahead, the stress alone from the enormity of her task would significantly work against her. When she felt she was physically ready to proceed, she inhaled and exhaled several breaths as a calming exercise. Her emotional fortitude would be just as important as brute strength and endurance. She had already tested several times to determine if she could reach the hiding spot during the day yesterday and a few times overnight. Every time, she was able to lightly touch the handle of the scalpel. Now, the twine was tied much tighter. As she extended her right hand backwards, she felt a tensing of her chest and stomach in spite of her work to control her nerves. She couldn’t erase the thoughts from her mind that the twine’s rigidity was going to prevent her from getting her hand behind the post. The first attempt failed almost as much as a result of her stress than the tautness of the twine. It only stood to reason that the more anxious she was, the less flexible her muscles would be.
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br />   She took a few more minutes to relax herself, employing a few yoga techniques she had learned from her college days when she was into that sort of thing. This time, when she extended her hand backwards, her fingers brushed against the back of the post. With all the tugging and jerking of the twine, it seemed to be giving her a little bit more slack. She flexed the twine to its limit several more times expecting to loosen it even more. On the next attempt, she was able to lay the palm-side of her index and middle fingers down to the second knuckle flat against the blade. A few more tugs of the twine and maybe she would have enough leeway to grasp it.

  Just when she was ready to give it another shot, seemingly out of nowhere, her eyelids started to feel the heaviness of oncoming sleep. She tried to will her fingers to reach back toward the bedpost, but they rejected her command. Her entire body had turned numb. She fought with all her resolve to stay awake. It was turning out to be a losing battle. The realization that her efforts to expel the drugs must have failed was a devastating blow. Her determination to resist the urge to close her eyes was gone. She surrendered to a state of total relaxation. Before she could formulate another thought, she was asleep.

  With no way of knowing how long she was unconscious, Annie woke up to full alertness in a panic. It seemed like only minutes ago she was struggling against the effects of the drugs, but for all she knew, the monster was already home. Unwilling to give up on what could be her one and only opportunity to escape, she stubbornly decided she wasn’t going to worry about the time. If she didn’t succeed with her plans, she probably didn’t want to live anyway. She didn’t think she could bear one more second of his abuse without a reason for hope.