Flee

by Caroline Clark

  His face darkened, his brows furrowed, and he muttered again. “Retardare aut mori oppressus.”

  As the words were spoken, pressure forced her back, held her down, and seemed to crush her into whatever was holding her. This is crazy she thought. How I can be forced down? There’s nothing beneath me!

  In her mind she fought against him, but the pressure increased and breathing became difficult. Each lungful of air was sucked into tortured lungs. He could just as well be kneeling on her. The pain was intense, and desperate for breath, she began to weaken. She stopped struggling, and the pressure released. She laid there, exhausted as tears fell from her brown eyes, and rolled down her cheek to drip uselessly onto the carpet below.

  His hands continued their descent, circling her stomach with a lover’s caress, gentle now, teasing. He slipped his fingers into the elastic of her knickers, and tugged them gently down. They caught momentarily on her hips, but then slid down her shapely legs without resistance. Her fear and disgust multiplied, but she could not move. She laid silent, weeping inside.

  He brought the knickers to his face, breathed in her aroma, and rubbed them against his nose and mouth. His eyes were closed as an expression of ecstasy spread across his features.

  Revulsion filled her, and gorge formed in her throat. Swallowing hard, she fought to stop it. Would she choke if she allowed herself to be sick? Would he let her choke?

  He took in one last breath from her panties, and then tossed them to join her other clothes, smiling a little as they landed on the heap.

  He went to her feet, and gave her his sickly smile. She tried to shout at him, tried to move, and found the pressure and the pain in her lungs returning.

  “Come now Doris. Relax and this will soon be over. Besides we’re having fun, fun, fun, fun.” He raised an eyebrow mockingly. “If you struggle, your lungs will burst inside of you, showering blood everywhere. It’s a very painful way to die, and makes so much mess. New carpet.” He pointed to the floor. “We don’t want to spoil it.” He wagged his finger at her, as if she were a naughty child.

  She forced herself to relax. She would survive this, and deal with him later. He placed a hand on each foot. She shuddered in her mind yet her body remained frozen. He caressed each foot for a second, before opening her legs. They moved at his touch, comically parting. As he exposed her private parts a boyish grin of delight crossed his face. He covered his eyes in mock embarrassment, and peeked through his fingers. She felt her body flush with heat, shame and rage, but her skin remained white and cold. He stepped between her legs. “Isn’t this just fun?” he asked.

  She could feel the rough material of his trousers scratching her skin as he walked slowly between her legs, forcing them wide open with the pressure of his thighs. When they would open no more, he stopped, his groin pressed against her groin. She screamed inside, and the pressure forced down on her, forced her breath from her lungs, and sent her into further panic. Her ribs hurt, her chest ached, and her throat rasped as she struggled to breathe. But this time she did not rest, she continued to fight against him. Desperate for breath, her vision clouded, and her lungs felt like they would explode. The pain built up and up to a crescendo, and then she thought she could move. Just a little more, a little more effort, and she would be free. It was as if a car was resting on her chest, but she felt her legs start to move. She fought even harder sucking for breath, but gained only blackness as she passed out.

  She was back in the cellar, her memories just a bitter enemy that had stalked her dreams for years. As she remembered what had happened she felt anger build up inside her, at what he had done to her, but more rage at how he had prevented her from talking about it. He had made her doubt it happened, and cast a spell that meant she could not communicate about it. If she had been able to warn them, maybe this would never have occurred. Maybe Helen and Alex would still be alive.

  Chapter Nine

  Jenny leaned back into the sofa. The leather seemed to comfort and cuddle her weary body, and she felt safe but slightly drugged. It was as if the shock had forced her body to shut down a little, to save her from her grief.

  The large room was subtly lit. Two downlighters behind them provided enough light yet were easy on her sore eyes. Beige curtains shut out the world, making the room a cozy cocoon.

  The TV played in front of them, the volume low, ignored. In her hand was a brandy glass, and between her and Robert was a half-empty bowl of soup. She swirled the brandy, staring through it at the glow from the gas fire. Comforting, those flames mesmerized her. The brandy’s warmth had spread through her body, and for now had eased the pain, grief, and guilt.

  Rosie was curled up next to her, on a blanket thrown over the white leather sofa. Her head rested in Jenny’s lap, her breathing slow and contented, her eyes closed. Jenny had been stroking the dog’s head, running her fingers in circles over the short silken hairs. Rosie had moaned in pleasure before eventually falling asleep, Jenny’s hand still on her head.

  She felt herself starting to nod off, her own head was heavy, and her eyes refused to stay open. She decided to call it a night.

  “I think I’m off to bed.” She looked across at Robert. His face was lined with concern.

  “That’s a good idea. Tomorrow we’ll start to sort out this mess. I think you should stay here until after your birthday, just to be safe,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m not sure. I should contact Simon… go to him?”

  “Let’s see what the police say about that. I’m expecting them to ring or call around tomorrow. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He got up, and extended a hand to help her rise.

  She took it, glad of his strength as he helped her up. Swaying slightly from the effects of the alcohol, she allowed him to escort her from the room. Rosie stretched, and then slid off the sofa to follow.

  As they reached her room, Jenny turned, a yawn trying to surface on her face. “Why haven’t they called already?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “Maybe there’s a lot to do? Remember there aren’t many police in our little town. But don’t you worry; they’ll call in the morning. Goodnight.”

  * * *

  Jenny snuggled into the comfy bed, and pulled the soft and luxurious quilt up around her ears. She could feel Rosie’s muscular body curled up next to her. The dog’s breathing was slow and even. She was already asleep. Jenny reached across, enjoying the feel of the warm, silky coat against her fingers. She pulled herself closer to the dog. Rosie’s comforting smell, like warm biscuits, relaxed her. The contact helped her feel safe.

  Sleep seemed an elusive beast now, and she found herself wondering how difficult it must be for the house-proud Robert to allow this big dog to run riot in his ultra clean home. It just proved how much he cared.

  Snuggling up to the dog, her thoughts turned to her mum, who had been her only confidant, since a messy divorce five years ago. Jenny had stopped trusting anyone, and had become a bit of a recluse. Only her mum seemed able to give her the support and comfort she needed, but now she was gone. With this thought on her mind, and hot salty tears on her face, she fell into a deep, exhausted, dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  Light had not yet peeled back the cover of darkness when Jenny came instantly awake. Beside her, low growls emanated from Rosie and reverberated around the room. A stark warning that all was not well.

  Jenny touched the lamp at her bedside, and light flooded the room. Instinctively, she leaned back into the bed but no threat lurked there, just her panic.

  She reached across and ruffled Rosie’s fur. “What’s up pooch?”

  Rosie jumped nimble from the bed, and trotted to the door. She looked back, and whined quietly at Jenny, pleading to be let out.

  Jenny stretched then pulled back the covers. Wearing only a light, floral pair of pajamas she swung her legs to the floor. A sudden metallic thud, and a loud bang caused her to gasp. Every nerve in her body was alert as she crossed the room.

  What was that?


  Slowly, she pulled Rosie out of the way, and held her ear to the cold wood of the door. All seemed quiet.

  Rosie’s hackles had risen, giving her an almost comical look, as if her hair had been jelled into a peak all down her spine. But the low warning growl that issued from deep in her throat was not funny. The dog was serious about something. Jenny’s leg was touching the dogs flank, and she could feel a slight shivering, which informed her of the depth of Rosie’s anguish. Jenny’s hands were shaking slightly as she replaced her ear on the door.

  Rosie was not a barker; her temperament was warm and loving, and she rarely showed aggression. Perhaps the night’s events had upset her, or perhaps the killer had found Jenny here, and was stalking the house, searching for a way in.

  Jenny laughed at her own paranoia, and inched open the door. The hall light was out, and she could barely make out the washed oak doors, beige walls and lush cocoa colored carpet. But no one lurked in the corridor.

  The walls were hung with family portraits of Robert, Sophie, and the kids. All looked quiet and normal. Rosie sneaked her head into the crack in the door and sniffed.

  BANG.

  Jenny jumped backward, and slammed the door shut. Her legs tangled in the dog behind her, and she went down. Heart hammered, her arms hit the floor, jarring her, and causing her to cry out in pain. She sat there nerves jangling, expecting something to come at her through the door. Turning onto her knees, she hugged Rosie, using the dog to lever herself back upright. Rosie had stopped growling, and stood between her mistress and the door.

  Jenny climbed back to her feet, and rubbed her hands and wrists to relieve the pain. The door inched open, and Rosie leaped forward, barking viciously. The quiet, mild-mannered dog flew at the door. She was thirty kilos of fury. Jenny screamed with shock, and jumped back, looking for a weapon.

  Robert’s head popped around the door.

  “No, Rosie wait,” she shouted, the dog hesitated, then stopped, her growl starting over, her hackles raised, and her eyes warning Robert not to move.

  Jenny felt a rush of relief flood her body with warmth and mild embarrassment, she walked up, and grabbed Rosie's collar. “Come here, idiot, it’s just Robert.” She mocked, and pulled Rosie back. “On your bed.” Rosie turned, and jumped nimbly onto the bed. She circled on her blanket, and then grudgingly lay down. But her eyes were alert, her body tense, and she still growled deep and low.

  “Sorry, Robert, come in. We just got a bit spooked.”

  Robert peeked further into the room, keeping Jenny between himself and the dog. He eyed her with suspicion, and made sure that he had a clear exit in case she moved. He was wearing a black silk nightgown and blue slippers, his face flushed. “I heard you scream is everything ok?”

  “Yes, we heard banging. It made me jump, and I fell over Rosie. We were just going to investigate, scared someone might be here.”

  Robert smiled. “Sorry, it’s my fault. The garage window bangs when it’s windy, and I forget to close it. I’ve just done it now. You two go back to sleep.” He turned to leave, keeping a wary eye on Rosie, who still grumbled deep in her chest. “Goodnight,” he called as he closed the door behind him.

  “Goodnight,” Jenny said, and crawled back on the bed with Rosie. “What’s up with you pooch? We need to be nice to Uncle Robert.” Jenny hugged her close. “We’re safe here, Rosie. No one knows where we are.”

  Rosie’s hard muscular body continued to shake as Jenny hugged her close, but whether it was with fear or anger, she did not know.

  Hugging Rosie tight, Jenny allowed sleep to drag her back into its comfortable arms. She was safe, at least for now.

  Chapter Ten

  Doris screamed herself awake. She was back in the nightmare of the Numen’s office, and fear rushed in to meet her. She tensed her muscles, and struggled against the invisible force that held her horizontal before him. Thrashing, pushing, with her legs, her arms, even her chest, but nothing happened. She could not move.

  Tears of fear and frustration filled her eyes. The more she pushed, the more the pressure built against her. Desperate lungs ached as they fought for breath. The weight on her chest built as it was squeezed by some unseen force, and her throat was raw.

  The tears burst through the dam of her eyelashes, and slid slowly down her cheeks, cooling her skin with their passage. The constraints against her body increased. Shaking her head, she tried to clear the dizziness, but her head did not move, and pressure squeezed her skull to bursting point. Pain was building in her lungs, hysteria clawed its way in with it and threatened to engulf her.

  “Siste.”

  The voice was inside her head, somehow she knew it meant stop. Though still afraid she relaxed, her muscles loosened, and the panic subsided a little.

  “I don’t wish to kill you. It’s way too messy. And I would just have to go out, and find someone new,” the Numen said inside her mind. “Relax and this will soon be over.”

  Trapped inside her own body she was unable to prevent what was happening. What had happened? It all came back to her, the Numen’s deceit, bringing her there. How long had she been unconscious? What had he done to her, what had she missed?

  Then anger formed like red hot fire, he would not break her. It gave her the strength to meet his eyes as he stood there between her legs.

  A boyish grin of wonder lit up his face.

  The anger started to fade, and she knew she needed it if she was to survive. What had happened, whilst she slept? The thought tugged at her mind like a drowning man would tug at a safety line. What had he done to her? A shudder of revulsion slid down her spine as the anger came back, but still her traitorous body refused to move.

  He grinned, staring down at her body drinking in her nakedness.

  No, she could not stand this. Her legs ached, her back ached, and her muscles cramped with stress. Her lungs and throat were raw from struggling to take in breath, but her private parts felt untouched. The questions clawed its way into her mind. Had he raped her? Though his skirt was gone, his trousers were fastened, all seemed to be in place. She would know, wouldn’t she? Would feel sore or pain? There was nothing, and relief flooded through her.

  Standing there he pushed closer against her groin. The rough material of his trousers scratched her delicate skin.

  Winking, he lunged over her. Bending from the waist like an exhausted lover he dropped onto her chest. The touch of skin on skin, supposedly the most sensual of touches, caused her to scream inside her mind. She screamed, shouted and beat at him, but all the time she remained a statue.

  When he raised upright his eyes were completely white, as if rolled back into his skull, unseeing. He bent over again, his head resting between her breasts, coarse hair rubbed against her skin. His breath was faster now. Hot and wet on her flesh, as saliva sprayed her with each exhalation.

  Doris shook as palpitations coursed through her. Panic well and truly took over, but still her body betrayed her, by refusing to move.

  Shaking his head side to side across her body, his hair caressed her with each sweep, and he began to chant. She couldn’t tell if it was Latin, couldn’t understand the words.

  What was he doing, what was all this for?

  Then he stopped, bent over her. His head rested between her breasts, warm and clammy. Sweat dripped from him onto her skin. The feel of the liquid as it dripped disgusted her. It was warm and sticky. It slid from her chest, across her ribs and dripped down to join the wine and tears on the carpet below.

  Though her terror was at a heart-shattering intensity she also felt strangely calm. She was giving in to her fate. Building her anger, her mind broke the chains of despair. She would not take this. For a moment she fought once more, but as the pain increased she calmed herself, she would beat him… but she had to be clever.

  Slowly, he raised his head, and stood upright, his face sneered with derision. With almost theatrical flair, his left hand reached inside his jacket, and he pulled it out to reveal a rowan wand.<
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  Doris recognized it; she had seen her employers use one similar. An eighteen-inch narrow rod cut from a tree blessed by the divinity you worshipped. The Rowan tree itself was a powerful magic force. The red berries which so brightened frosty autumn, contained a pentagram where they joined to the stalk. It had been long used in magic. But was it for good or evil? She searched her memory.

  Rowan, usually a sign of good magic, but could be used for gaining personal power and success. The words in her mid were spoken by Helen.

  The Numen stood between her legs, his eyes once more all white. Like a conductor starting a symphony he waved the wand across her, mumbling as he did so. The first pain was sharp, between her breasts, like a knife forced through her skin, and then drawn down.

  Involuntarily, she tried to shout, tried to reach the wound. Unable to move, she watched in horror as blood appeared between her breasts, followed by more blood further down. The pain grew as he stood there the wand pointed at her, his eyes rolled back, sweat dripped from his face.

  A drop formed on his nose, and fell down, down, only to splash on her side, chilling her as it rolled off her skin to drip onto the floor.

  The cuts continued, each proceeded by intense pain and finished with a bloody wound. They crisscrossed down her body in a symmetrical pattern from her breasts to her navel. Each cut felt deep in her skin, followed by the letting of blood until an intricate pattern had been formed. Blood covered her body. Some ran down her sides, and spilled onto the carpet. More formed a pool in her belly button. As hysteria tried to take her, she held onto her anger. One day she would pay him back. One day she would see him suffer. She was getting close to breaking when his eyes returned to normal, and he smiled down at his handy work.

  “Oh, Doris, you look so beautiful. Now let me clean you up before we send you on your way.”