“Officially, I am prepared to testify that the seal was already broken on the door.”
“And I’ll swear to it,” David added.
“As long as you’re getting paid?” Maggie asked.
“Let’s not be too cynical,” David said. He clicked the camera’s shutter again and got to his feet. “But speaking of cynical, what are you doing here?”
“I was visiting a friend in the building,” she said with a shrug. “In fact, I was here with Jane.”
“I wish I had known,” said David. “I would have come by and said ‘hello’.”
“So you guys know each other?” Heather asked.
“We met once,” Maggie said. “David is Jane Larson’s boyfriend, and she’s my lawyer.”
“Was her boyfriend,” David added.
“Was,” Maggie corrected herself. “Of course, it’s only been a few days and the ways of love are mysterious sometimes.”
“Very mysterious,” said David.
“I did know about Jane and David,” Heather said a bit defensively. “Harry mentioned it to me.”
Maggie looked at David. His expression told her that it was time to change the subject.
“Well, Heather,” Maggie said. “I’m glad to see you got your job back.”
“Yeah, all of a sudden, Harry thinks I’m pretty smart.” She smiled and looked around the apartment. There was an old sagging sofa and a leather chair from which the stuffing exuded like exploded popcorn. The TV was the newest piece of furniture. A short, squat bookcase was stuffed with old newspapers, various DVDs, dirty ashtrays and a clip for holding marijuana butts. “Harry wanted pictures of this shit hole and since I am now his expert on Diana, I got the job of bringing a photographer over. I paid the Superintendent a few dollars and he told us the apartment number. But he wouldn’t come near the place.”
“Can’t imagine why not,” David said. “What now, Heather?”
“Try to take the wall again from over there by the sofa.”
“As you wish,” David replied. “We haven’t done that particular angle more than ten times.”
“Fuck yourself,” Heather said.
The photograph she wanted was of the familiar Diana slogan that was scrawled on the wall, ending with the refrain, “Praise her, praise Diana.” Maggie wondered if Heather knew it was her poem. She would tell her another time when David wasn’t there.
“The bedroom is where it happened,” Heather said. “Apparently, she convinced him to let her tie him to the bed. Talk about bad choices. I heard that the cops think she may have sliced off his balls while he was still alive. I don’t know if it’s true, but it’s a helluva detail, huh?”
“Very nice,” David said from his spot on the sofa.
“For a story, David,” she replied.
Heather gave David a look of mild scorn and gestured to the bedroom with a nod of her head.
“Go on, Maggie,” Heather said. “Take a look. Harry was talking about asking you to do an article on the murders as a kind of companion to the fiction.”
“Then I really should have a look, I suppose,” Maggie replied.
She walked into the bedroom. The remains of rope were evident at the corners of the bed. Whoever responded first had evidently cut the victim loose. The mattress and sheets were soaked with blood that was turning a deep brown, except at the edges where the spreading stain was almost a pale purple. She felt nothing except a great calm. The thought pleased her.
She went to the closet and stopped. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for, if anything. There were shirts and pants placed haphazardly on hangers. More clothes were thrown in a pile on the floor. A few sweaters were folded badly on an upper shelf. Was it any surprise that he would be a slob in his personal life?
The dresser was old-fashioned in style but not really an antique: spacious, made of heavily lacquered pine, with a curved front and intricately cast faux pewter drawer handles that swung on hinges. She imagined that he had gotten this from a relative who was moving. It was too nice for him to have picked out on his own.
The top drawer was open a crack already. Carefully, she took out a handkerchief and used it to slip her fingers under one handle and pull the drawer open further. Inside were socks and underwear that she pushed aside with casual disdain. Then she saw the knife and inhaled sharply and any sense of control left her in that rush of breath. She clenched her fists and pounded them against the sides of her legs to stop from trembling. She forced herself to breathe in through her nose and mouth, out again the same way. ‘Control yourself, damn it,’ she whispered. ‘Control!’
It was a folding knife with a six-inch blade and handle made of carved ivory that had yellowed with age at the edges. It might have belonged to the man’s father or an uncle and been handed down to him. She used her handkerchief to pick it up, then carefully slid open the blade that had a slight curve to it and came to a very elongated, sharp point. She could feel her blood pounding in her temples as she snapped it shut and dropped it into her handbag, pushed the drawer closed again, and walked out into the living room. She wondered if her face was flushed. It seemed that the pulsing of her heart should be visible through her shirt.
David was looking at her. Did he know? How could he? Stop it!
She cleared her throat and tried to smile.
“It’s not so bad, David,” Maggie said. “You should visit a farm when they’re slaughtering a bull. Now that’s a lot of blood.”
“Plus they eat the testicles, don’t they?” Heather added.
“You’re just a fount of useful and amusing information, Heather,” David said.
He had finished taking photographs and was storing his equipment in a backpack that he lifted over his shoulder.
Heather laughed.
“He tries to act cool, but he’s a man, and they’re all upset that a woman’s out there who wants to seduce and murder them, and maybe cut off their penises and little sperm factories.”
“Feel free, Heather, not to say everything that pops into your pretty little head,” David replied.
“Oooooo, sensitive.”
“Jane said something interesting tonight,” Maggie said. “She was a guest on the Dr. Suzy show. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”
David raised his eyebrows into bored peaks.
“She said that Diana has put the shoe on the other foot, so to speak. Men now have the chance to feel fear the way a woman does when a serial rapist is out and about.”
“Sounds like something Jane would say. Just vague enough to sound profound.”
“Well, I think she got it exactly right,” Heather said. “Let them feel a little bit of fear. I say that’s fine.”
“So this Diana is actually just a radical feminist out to raise the consciousness of all mankind, or person-kind, excuse me?”
Heather hesitated.
“Maybe. Something like that.”
“And what if she’s just a twisted bitch with a personal vendetta?” David asked.
“Then you’ll still get paid,” Heather said. “And we’ll both have a front row seat for the mayhem. Harry wants us on this story to the end. He thinks he owns Diana at this point.”
“So you’re going to be at the exhibit, I guess?” Maggie asked.
“Absolutely. And David will be there with me, won’t you David? He has his own project he’s working on for Harry. Top secret.”
David glanced at Maggie again. A hint of a smile played over his lips.
“That’s right,” he said. “Tell Jane, will you? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Maggie walked to her apartment with her gaze fastened on the sidewalk before her, without a glance to right or left. A floodgate had been opened in her memory; details, sensations and thoughts that she had struggled to suppress came back to her in a torrent that she was able now to let rush over her.
By the time she unlocked the front door, tears fell freely off her cheeks and onto the desk, her legs, the floor
. The room was illuminated only by the bluish glow of the computer screen. The falling tears left dark splotches that might have been blood.
Chapter Four
~ Diana ~
By
Maggie Edwards
I am ashamed.
After about half an hour, Jake took over the driving. From what I could hear of their conversation, he knew the way to their destination better than Donnie, who was afraid that they might attract attention to the van if it slowed down on the highway while he struggled to locate the various turns.
At that point, Donnie climbed into the back, ostensibly to make sure that I was still bound securely. Then he rolled me over on my side and in a moment was pressing against me from behind with his penis between my legs.
Jake spun around and cursed at him. “Leave her the fuck alone!” he screamed. With one hand on the wheel, he grabbed Donnie by the hair and yanked him away from me. Donnie let out a scream of pain. The van swerved onto the shoulder, which was rutted and rock-filled. Through the thin mattress, I could feel the van lurch and bounce until he maneuvered it onto the pavement again.
“Jake, for Christ’s sake, what’d you do that for?” Donnie asked, rubbing at his scalp. He was on his knees beside me with his pants down around his thighs. His penis was growing soft. He was angry, but his tone showed that he deferred to Jake.
“You had your chance,” Jake said. “Now she’s mine until I say she’s yours again.”
“Hey, c’mon, Jake. Just a little bit of ass, that’s all.”
Jake spun toward him again shaking his fist and one extended finger inches from his face. “Get the fuck up here with me,” he said. “I swear to God, I’ll kill you and her if I have to.”
“What the fuck are you getting so crazy for?” Donnie asked.
“Just do what I say. And cover her up with the tarp. I don’t want nobody looking into the back and seeing her.”
It had been getting dark but with the painting tarp over me, I could see nothing. I had been trying up until then to gauge distance, to try to remember the turns that were made in some sort of sequence. But that became useless after they seemed to pull into some parking lot while Donnie got food for them. When they got back onto the road, I had no idea which way they were heading.
They drove for another hour, maybe more, maybe less. It was impossible to tell. I was aware of the roads becoming less and less smooth as the minutes passed. Finally, there was what seemed to be an interminable sequence along a rutted path in the woods during which I felt each bounce through the thin mattress. I could hear branches scraping the sides of the van in places. I did not hear any vehicle passing in the other direction.
As we went, Jake’s words revolved over and over again in my mind. He’d said, ‘I’ll kill you and her’, as though my death were a foregone conclusion, a necessary part of the adventure he was now embarked upon. And as the van traveled further off the road, I grew more and more frightened.
When we finally came to a stop, there was complete silence outside. My fear was like a living thing inside me as they opened the rear doors of the van and yanked me out. Donnie started to pick up my legs, but Jake stopped him.
“Untie her ankles. She can fuckin’ walk.” Then he ripped off the tape that had held a cloth over my mouth.
“Scream if you want to, Bitch,” Jake said. “Scream as loud as you want. Ain’t nobody going to hear you.”
They pulled me to my feet, each holding one of my arms, and led me around the van. Suddenly, I could see the looming shape of a cabin a few yards away and I was certain that if I were to enter that cabin, I would not come out alive. I felt suddenly that I couldn’t breathe.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I said. My voice was a cracking whisper. My legs gave out beneath me. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear. I’ll do whatever you want. Please, don’t hurt me.”
Jake laughed. He yanked me to my feet and put his face against my neck so that I could feel his hot breath. He stuck his hand under my shirt. By instinct, I started to pull back.
“You see?” Jake said, grabbing after me and squeezing the flesh hard. “You’re a damned liar aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not!” I pleaded in a voice that I could barely recognize as my own.
They opened the door and forced me inside. I was left for the moment to stand alone. My knees buckled and I tried to steady myself, but I lost my balance with my hands tied behind me and fell on my side, my face against the tile floor.
The lights came on. A single bulb hung from the ceiling that was operated by a string. Jake locked the door.
“Get the fuck up, Bitch,” Jake said.
I could not see him, but Donnie must have made a move as if to help me.
“She can get up herself,” Jake shouted. “Get the fuck up!”
I struggled to my feet and stood trembling from the effort and from my fear. It was a roughly made one-room cabin. The kitchen consisted of a small stove, a refrigerator, and a stained sink with a wooden cabinet hanging above it. On the opposite side was a bathroom with a shower and toilet. In the rest of the room, there was a pair of single beds, a wooden table and a few chairs that served both for eating and sitting.
Jake opened a drawer at the sink, took something out and sat in one of the chairs.
“Come here, Bitch,” he said.
I walked toward him and saw that he held a folding knife with a carved handle and a long curving blade. He was running the blade against a stone, slowly and expertly sharpening the blade.
“Untie her, Donnie,” he said and his friend did as he was told. I rubbed my hands over my wrists, which were red and raw.
“I didn’t say you could rub your wrists,” Jake said. He looked up for a moment. His eyes had no emotion in them. The irises were dark, almost black. “You don’t do nothing but breathe without asking me or Donnie first. Understand? You’re our slave.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I held my hands at my side, suppressing the need to soothe the skin. “May I rub my wrists?”
“Please?” Jake said.
“Please, may I?”
Donnie let out a small laugh behind me.
“She’s our fuckin’ slave, Jake,” he said. “She is.”
He waved the knife to shut him up.
“You may unbutton your shirt, Bitch, and rub your wrists against your breasts,” Jake said.
Donnie let out another laugh, this time a little louder. He came around to my side to watch.
I hesitated for just a moment and Jake got to his feet. Quickly, I set to work, but the buttons were small and I was so frightened now that my fingers could not get them through the tiny holes. He grabbed the front of my shirt and the blade cut through the thread holding each button easily. I imagined it cutting through my flesh.
“Go on,” he said, gesturing with the knife. “Let me see.”
I pulled back the front of my shirt. Somehow, I held still as Jake severed the straps of my bra, placed the flat of the blade beneath my breast and lifted it upward slightly.
He leaned forward and sucked hard at the nipple.
“You liked that didn’t you?” Jake asked, pulling away with a yank. “That’s what you wanted all along, isn’t it?”
He stared into my eyes. I avoided his look, but the blade pressed upward more insistently.
“Did I give you permission to look away?” he asked. Beside him, Donnie grinned, his arms crossed on his chest as though he were hugging himself.
“You’re a fucking pistol, Jake.”
“Shut up, Donnie,” he said sharply. “Bitch, answer me!”
“Yes, it’s what I wanted.”
“You don’t sound sincere,” he said.
“It is! I swear it’s what I wanted.”
“You wanted to fuck Donnie in the grass, right?”
“Yes.”
He yanked the shirt down over my shoulders so that I could barely move my arms.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I wanted to.”
“And you wanted me too, Bitch, didn’t you?”
The hand holding the knife reached under my skirt.
“Oh, please,” I said. My legs were trembling so much that I could barely stand. “Please don’t hurt me. I did want you. I did.”
With a quick movement of the blade, he slit the skirt open from the waistband to the hem.
“And you want me now, Bitch, right?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I want you badly.”
“And you can hardly wait to pull down your panties for me, right?”
Quickly, without hesitation I reached under my skirt and complied.
Now, for the first time, Jake’s lips twisted into a smile. It made my blood run cold.
“That was very good, Bitch,” he said. “You see how nice she is now, Donnie?”
“She’s real nice now,” Donnie said.
“She’s getting so horny for us, I believe she’s going to start rubbing her cunt with both hands. Am I right, Bitch?”
Donnie moved closer to watch as the tip of the knife pointed upward between my legs. I covered my private parts and began to move my hands across myself slowly.
“Jake, for Christ’s sake, fuck her, will ya?” Donnie said suddenly. “I’m dying over here.”
“But don’t you see she’s not ready yet? First, she wants to be especially nice to me because of the misunderstanding we had back on the road, right, Bitch?”
“Yes.”
He lifted the knife to the side of my head. The downward pressure from the point of metal on my naked shoulder told me what he wanted. I knelt before him. The blade rested on the side of my neck.
“And now, Bitch, you’re going to ask for permission to take out my cock and put it in your mouth.
My hands went to his pants and he slapped me hard across my face.
“Please,” I said. “May I take out your cock and put it in my mouth?”
“Yes,” he said, and I unbuckled his trousers and pulled down his underwear.
“And what do we say?”
“Thank you. Thank you for letting me.”
“Because the taste of a cock turns you on, right Bitch?”
Praise Her, Praise Diana Page 15