by S I Taylor
She replayed the steps in her mind, only this time the monster changed. The twisting of her nipple as he walked by her, the motioning for her to enter, her “yes, sir” response and his “good girl” praise, the folding of his clothing, and the sucking and gagging which followed, he performed exactly as Mr. Riley did. In fact, Mr. Riley had learned it from him. Nixon had coached him to do what he couldn’t do to Barbara.
Her body ached but she had to maintain composure. Repulsion was written on her face as she had to willingly perform for him. She didn’t feel the prickling of facial hair as she sat on his face. She let him delve his tongue inside of her—she knew what would come after. She slowly was releasing her weight on him. The closer he got to his climax the more weight she placed on him. As he moaned she let her weight sit on his face. Another moan and more of her weight settled on his face. His body jerked, she lowered her full weight on his face, and clamped her legs.
Nixon was struggling underneath her. Barbara felt his hands squeeze her waist and she felt air leaving her body and it was getting harder to breathe. The strong hold she had on him was getting weaker. His grip dug into her sides and he lifted her in the air slamming her against the floor with a loud thud.
“Fuck, You’re such a stubborn girl. But all you need is some coaxing.” Without hesitation she quickly stood. He chuckled as he slowly got up from the bed and walked toward her.
They were both panting but he was enjoying himself while she looked terrified but determined to defend herself and get away.
She took the blade that was in the metal tray behind her and thrust it at him, not meaning to stab him but just to push him back. “If you come any closer I’ll stab you.”
“I’m ready for it, now do it. You haven’t killed anyone, Barbara. You don’t know how it feels when a sharp object penetrates through skin, veins, muscles, fat, and then hits bones. The suckling burbling sound of blood and flesh against a sharp metal object. The way your victim looks at you in disbelief or the way they beg for their life before you take it. The bloodcurdling scream when the knife first enters their body and the way you just can’t stop yourself and you continue until they’re no longer squirming against you and you can see the whites in their eyes. No, Barbara, you haven’t felt that. You’re just a small-time thief, not a killer. You weren’t lucid when you attacked Junior. You were drugged then but now what I gave you in my apartment has worn off.”
“Junior, how did you know about that?”
More laughter erupted. “He wasn’t supposed to take you inside the warehouse. I was supposed to be with you that night but the plans had to change and they all had to die.”
“So you killed them,” Barbara said.
“Yes, but the evidence says you did.”
“You bastard.”
He laughed.
Barbara lunged at him, digging the blade at his side. She didn’t have time to register what she did in her fury. She watched as Nixon winced but got up, rushing toward her.
Barbara realized that the blade was too small to cause significant damage and she wished she had her pocketknife but in her haste, she grabbed the first thing her hands touched.
She turned toward the door and ran. Ig boring the pain from her ankle. Her survival instinct kicked in. Her hands fumbled with the old doorknob but she managed to get out of the room. She went inside her mother’s old room and locked the door.
Barbara backed away slowly from the door and stood in the middle of the room with her eyes fixated on the doorknob as it violently shook.
“Open the door Barbara. It will be worse for you when I get inside. Open up!” Nixon’s voice was manic, his voice becoming a loud growl.
Barbara’s body trembled as she realized that there was a monster trying to get to her. He was no longer Nixon.
Nixon continued to shake the doorknob and pound his fist louder against the wooden door. She knew the house was old and she could imagine that the metal sound was the rusty hinges that barely kept the door in place. Then the rattling stopped, and his footsteps faded angrily in the distance. She dragged a small end table that doubled as a nightstand and placed it behind the door. She looked around and tried to adjust her vision to the dark room but there wasn’t an escape route. The windows were boarded, and the only exit was the way she had entered.
She heard his footsteps on the creaking floorboards and then a ceremonious clatter of a set of keys.
“I only have five keys, Barbara, and one of them will open this door.”
The keys clinked together violently for several seconds. She hadn’t hated the sound of keys before but today he had managed to taint things she loved.
“Key number one.”
Even though Barbara’s breathing was harsh and her heart felt as if it were to surge from her chest, everything in that moment felt as if it were on speakers. She counted four clicks as the key entered the keyhole. Silence once it reached the final click.
“Barbara!”
She jumped at the mention of her name. His voice was getting to her and she needed to stay calm to think rationally.
“Open up. This is your last chance.”
She saw as the doorknob slowly turned. She was paralyzed. He was going to get inside, and she didn’t have an escape route or a plan. But then click, the doorknob rattled without opening.
She sighed. She still had a few more seconds to think.
“Oops, sorry to keep you waiting. I must’ve picked the wrong one. Key number two.” His voice was less threatening but with a playful, calloused tone.
The slow clinking of the key ridges entering the keyhole was loud in the quiet room. Her heart was pounding and her breathing quickened once more.
“Darn it, wrong one again. This is the third key, Barbara, I got two more to go or this one might be it.”
He was toying with her and she was sure he knew exactly what key would open the door but he was taunting her. Her back hit the wall and she hadn’t realized how small the room was until now. She was cornered with nothing to protect her. She turned to face the wall and she noticed that the window in the room had a loose plank. Her fingers roamed the plank, wiggling it, but the nails that held it in place on top were not budging. She was on the tips of her toes trying to pull but it was too high.
She was startled as a key smashed against the wooden floor and that might have bought her another few seconds before he resumed his taunting.
She rushed toward the side of the bed for the second end table and placed it underneath the window. The table was wobbly but she managed to balance herself on it. Her bare feet were moist with sweat and she was shaking. She grabbed the wooden plank and pulled it as she tumbled backward toward the floor.
She was relieved that the plank was now on the floor but there wasn’t any light coming in. She got back on the table and realized that the window was boarded from the outside as well.
She cursed in frustration. She looked around again and went inside the closet and there was nothing in there, not even a hanger. She remembered she donated her mother’s clothing and disposed of every hanger when she moved out except for the few pieces of furniture she couldn’t take with her. Nixon must have bought her house as soon as it went into foreclosure because nothing was removed. It was all there just as she left it two years ago.
Barbara went inside the bathroom and locked herself in there. She knew that the curtain rod was collapsible, so she reached for it, but it wasn’t strong enough to cause damage. She thought about the wooden plank and that it could help her. She quickly opened the bathroom door, looked at the bedroom door that was still closed, and ran toward the plank, feeling for it in the dark room and grabbing it. She ran back to the bathroom and locked herself inside. She held the plank tightly around her hands like a baseball bat ready to hit the ball.
The room grew quiet as her heart pounded louder as if it were drums beating against her chest.
And then the bedroom doorknob turned. The old end table was a temporary hold but then it tumb
led against the carpeted floor. He must’ve slammed his body against the door.
His footsteps roamed the room and then seemed to stop in front of the bathroom. She knew she had no escape but she wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
With a forceful blow the door swung open and Nixon stood panting in the door frame. His features were grim. His body glistened with sweat mixed with his blood trickling down his leg.
With one swing the wooden plank slammed against his head and he tumbled onto the floor backward, hitting his back against the carpeted bedroom floor.
Barbara climbed over him, rushing down the hall, which seemed like a gloomy tunnel leading to nowhere, but she knew the layout, and the darkness was not stopping her from leaving. She knew the living room was to her right, the dining room and kitchen to her left, and then in a few more steps she would reach the front door.
When she reached the front door, she noticed that there were three locks, one of which was a double lock. “Fuck, I need the keys to get out,” she said in a low, exasperated tone.
She didn’t want to go back in the room and remembered that the kitchen had a back door. She rushed to the kitchen, nearly colliding with the kitchen table before she realized that the back door also had a double entry lock. Now she was certain he knew which key opened the door. She didn’t have any other choice but to go back to the bedroom to get the keys.
The hallway grew quiet but the beat of her heart grew louder, pulsating through her ears. She walked slowly down the hallway, retreating from where she came from, walking past the dark dining room where the table and large armed chair that was her prison mere hours ago. Past the dark living room where the old furniture seemed to have people sitting there watching her waiting for her to fail. When she reached her mother’s bedroom, she looked at the doorknob, wishing he had left the keys dangling there but they weren’t. Her shaking hands slowly opened the creaking door and she slipped inside quietly. She took slow steps toward Nixon on the floor but she couldn’t see the keys.
They must have slipped away from his hands as he fell. She kneeled on the floor running her hands against the carpet, her fingers crawling like spider legs feeling for the keys in the dark room. She cursed that her eyes hadn’t focused yet with the change of lighting from the hallway. She felt the keys, snatched them, and stood. She turned around and collided with Nixon, who was standing squarely in front of her. A throaty heave was released from his mouth.
He caught his breath, took the keys, and dragged her across the carpeted floor. She squirmed and kicked to no avail. He grabbed her already raw wrists and chained her to the ceiling.
“You’re going to stay like this the entire night.”
He stood directly in front of her, heaving, still catching his breath. He grabbed his pants and put them on and shoved the keys in his pocket. He grabbed the tray, placed the few things that fell back on it, and placed it on the cart. He walked back toward Barbara and watched as she swayed back and forth, and he pushed her once she stopped swaying, only to repeat it when it stopped again. He pushed her as if she was a kid sitting on a swing at the park.
She wasn’t going to give up yet. There was still a lot more fight in her. She grabbed the chain as she had before and on the last swing, she kicked him in his chest. He stumbled backward against the cart which held his toys, and it fell on him. He grunted as he landed on the floor, unmoving.
Tears trickled silently down her cheeks as she thought that she was finally rid of him.
The sound of a loud noise startled her, and she wished she’d waited until he placed her on the bed first. At least she would’ve had the opportunity to be free and defend herself. But she was stuck.
The door burst open and from her angle she couldn’t see who entered, but she knew it had to be Mr. Riley barging in, alerted by the sound of the struggle in the room and the loud thud of Nixon’s body hitting the floor.
But it wasn’t Mr. Riley.
“Wolf, are you all right?” McKinley asked.
“Yes, I’m okay, I guess,” she said in shock in a low raspy whisper.
A feeling of ease washed over her when she realized that it was McKinley and concluded that he must’ve shot through the front door to get inside.
His face was still in shock at the sight before him. She was naked, hanging from restraints on the ceiling, and her back was an open wound exposing layers of red raw flesh underneath.
He walked around her and kneeled over Nixon’s body and placed his fingers over his carotid artery to feel for a pulse. “His pulse is faint,” he said as he faced her. She was bruised, but she gave him a weak smile when she saw him standing there.
“I didn’t kill him?” she muttered softly.
He looked at her restraints and then at her.
“How are you here? How did you find me?” she said, as she struggled to speak.
“I overheard you speaking on the phone in the cabin and heard you mention his name. I grew suspicious and I had a hunch that the guy I met at the bar and him were the same person. I asked my partner to investigate,” he said, as he looked around for the keys to release her restraints. “Where are the keys?”
“I think he placed them in his pocket. These past few days I’ve been shackled and handcuffed, so if you’re going to arrest me, please, I promise I won’t escape, but don’t place anything on my wrists.”
He continued to look around and checked Nixon’s pocket and found the keys in there. “I’m not going to arrest you.”
“You still didn’t explain how you found me,” she said.
“From that watch you wear,” McKinley responded.
“The watch?” she asked, surprised.
“Yeah, I took the watch one night out of curiosity and realized that he had a tracker on you and that’s how he was able to know where you were. So I hacked it to stop the transmission from him and input one of mine in there. The moment we came to the cabin he couldn’t track you because of the lack of signal.”
He inserted the key, turned it, and she was released into his arms. He carried her to the bed and wrapped the sheets around her as he gently wrapped his arms around her.
“I got you,” he said, inches from her face.
And she sobbed in his arms. She released her anxiety and her rough exterior was shattered. She was broken.
“McKinley, look out!” Coolidge shouted from the entrance as the loud bang from her gun released a bullet that pierced through the cold air toward Nixon. The bullet went through his bare chest. He let out a puff of air, his arms stretched out in front of him as a metal object sliced through the room toward Barbara, but McKinley blocked its path. The knife pierced McKinley’s back while at the same time, Nixon slumped onto the floor with a smug look on his face. He must’ve taken the knife from the cart when it fell on him.
McKinley collapsed on top of Barbara. She looked at him and his eyes slowly closed.
“McKinley!” she shouted with fear in her voice. She was afraid that the person she’d wanted to get away from to get to the person who was torturing her was dead because of her poor choices.
Coolidge rushed to Wright, who now was lifeless on the floor, handcuffed him, and then rushed to McKinley. Coolidge looked at Barbara, but Barbara was too lost in grief to pay attention to Coolidge.
Coolidge placed one firm palm on McKinley’s back and the other around the knife and forcefully pulled it out.
“You can get up now, McKinley. This knife could’ve done damage if you weren’t wearing your ballistic vest,” she said.
McKinley’s eyes fluttered open. “Yeah, but it doesn’t mean that the shit didn’t hurt,” he said inches from Barbara’s lips. He smiled and stood up. “Call paramedics for Barbara and then forensics to collect evidence, Coolidge. I’ll call Deputy Harry to start his report and the ME’s office for Wright’s body.”
Coolidge nodded.
“I thought you were hurt,” Barbara told him.
“You were worried.”
“No, I mean yes.
I got you in this mess and if something happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Thank you for saving me,” she said.
“I guess you can say we’re even, right?” He winked.
Barbara smiled weakly, wiping her tears. “Yes, we’re even. But Mr. Riley should be on his way back here.”
“No worries, we have a team at his house right now arresting him as we speak,” Coolidge added.
Barbara extended her hand in gratitude. McKinley looked at her, wanting more than just a handshake, but he shook it instead.
Chapter 47
It had been two weeks since she arrived at the Huntersville Memorial West Regional Hospital and her recovery had been steady. The charges against her were dropped, Mr. Riley was awaiting trial, and she was once again a free woman.
“How does it feel to be free again?” McKinley asked her.
He was standing by the entrance wearing a pastel-yellow shirt tucked inside a pair of light gray tailored slacks, with polished oxford shoes. He looked enticing and although he had a bruised lip, he was imperfectly gorgeous.
“It’s a good feeling, although I’m still recovering mentally from the entire ordeal. I’ll be fine.”
“That’s good. I brought your backpack and left it on the chair over there.” He pointed and then walked toward her.
She turned her attention toward the corner and the backpack was indeed on the chair.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t look through it. As you said, I didn’t have a warrant or your permission to search through it.”
A sigh of relief escaped her. “Thank you,” she said.
“I figured you would want it, as you clutched it like your life depended on it. I must admit I was curious to see what was inside, but I respected your privacy and left it alone.”
And even if he’d found something inside, he wouldn’t have been able to use it against her without having probable cause to search it. But he’d lied to her. He’d seen the contents of the backpack. He’d been able to piece together her paranoia when she was being chased. Trivaldi had been tipped off by the silent alarm he had installed and that was how he’d known she was the one at his house. Although at the time they’d thought it was because she killed Junior. But as McKinley had told her, he couldn’t use it against her, and since Trivaldi never reported the missing jewels and obviously not the drugs, there was nothing he could do.