by Jaden Wilkes
That could come later, at the end of it all.
“Feel better?” I asked in a lighthearted, friendly tone.
“God, yes,” she said and remembered who I was. Her face shut like a blind coming down over a window. She closed me off and I knew I’d need to work to draw her out a little, treat her better than I had been.
The opposite of the problem I had with Pet. The irony was not lost on me. Pet was overfed and overindulged and wouldn’t stop talking or moving.
Patty was treated miserably, because of my inconsiderate nature, and couldn’t be drawn out of her shell.
If only I could find a happy medium between the two extremes.
We walked back to the body room and she visibly shuddered when the scent of warm shit mixed with greasy Chinese food hit us.
“Help me clean up,” I said gently and handed her some rags, strips of cloth and such, along with some diluted bleach.
She took it, wrapping the cover around her thin body, and started to mop up her own filth.
I took the Chinese food out of the paper bag and removed the paper plates I’d previously discovered in the cupboard.
I didn’t think I’d want to eat with her, but watching her crouched in her thin sheet, mopping up after herself, her mouth set in a determined line, her face expressionless…I suddenly developed an appetite.
The smell didn’t bother me much, smells didn’t bother me, spraying blood didn’t bother me, decaying flesh and rot…none of it bothered me at the moment.
I served us up some of the food and cracked open a bottle of excellent wine I’d scooped from home this morning.
She finished up and stood with a bundle of filthy rags, looking uncertain and afraid.
“Toss them out there,” I said and pointed to the open door. I’d left it open for her, to air the place out.
She shifted nervously and made a move towards the door.
“Don’t bother running, by the way,” I said as she left, “we’re in the middle of nowhere and I’ll catch you before you make it outside. I’ll break your fucking legs if that’s what it takes to keep you here.”
She squeaked, disappeared for a moment, but ducked back in the room like a very obedient girl.
This pleases me.
“Please, come, eat,” I said and dragged a chair beside mine. I set the plates on a small file cabinet between us and poured our wine into matching plastic cups. “It’s like a picnic,” I added and watched her sit down. She drew the sheet around her and hunched miserably.
“Are you going to kill me?” she asked and picked up the cup of wine.
“Not yet,” I said and tapped her cup with the edge of mine. “Here’s to new friends and uncertain futures,” I said and downed my wine in a single gulp.
She sipped hers, holding her cup in her shaking hand.
“Are you going to eat something? Is this not to your liking?” I asked and moved her plate closer.
She set her wine down and took a look at the food. “It’s good,” she said and picked up a fork. She took a bite and instantly transformed, she was obviously famished and it all came up at once. She made little grunting noises of pleasure as she gobbled her meal down at lightning speed.
I smiled congenially, picked up my fork and started eating.
It was cooling, greasy, nothing I would normally enjoy, but it was delicious. I let her take seconds, but stopped her at thirds. She would end up vomiting if she ate too fast, and I thought she should save some for the next day or two in case I couldn’t make it back.
When we were finished I packed up the leftovers and put them in the small fridge. I corked the remaining wine and left in on the counter.
I noticed the table had dried nicely and the room no longer stunk. I decided I could leave her there, but I had to adapt the bindings to hold her while allowing movement.
I left her to finish the last of her food and hunted down a couple of the chains I’d brought along. I had intended them to lock the front door, but hadn’t needed them.
I pulled them out and hooked one through the edge of the heavy table, through a solid metal edging. I tugged and didn’t think she’d be able to pull it free. She looked rather frail.
I hooked a small padlock to the loop and pulled the long end up. I had one more padlock I could use to attach to Patty’s neck. She would be afforded the luxury of movement without being able to escape.
When I had finished, I stood and noticed her watching me, her mouth hanging open in fear and her eyes wider than should be humanly possible.
“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” she whispered.
“Not just yet, dear,” I said and patted the now cleaned up table. “Be a sweetheart and hop up here, would you?”
She obeyed silently and I was struck at how small she seemed next to me. She was thin, but her hips curved out in a womanly fashion and her breasts, although pert, were heavy in my hands.
She didn’t make eye contact with me as I fondled her, playing with her breasts and running my hand along her thigh. The previous slashes I’d made with the knife had healed pretty well; she seemed to be in good shape for a junkie whore.
“You’re very beautiful, did you know that?” I asked and got close to her face and inhaled. The sliver of hand soap had given her a fresh, honest scent and I could see her pulse fluttering delicately in the artery at her throat.
She visibly responded to my declaration, she straightened slightly and I swore I saw the hint of a smile pass over her lips.
“Thank you,” she said.
I pulled her face towards me and kissed her, tasting the wine and Chinese food, her fear and the fact she hadn’t brushed her teeth in several days now.
It tasted raw, like humanity served up on a platter for me. I had the sudden urge to push her down and bury my face in her cunt, chew at her from below until I devoured her inside out.
I resisted and kissed her instead.
She softened against me and I felt her hand creep up my arm, she gripped my bicep and held on as she fell into our union.
My own hand moved up her thigh and parted her legs, found her hot slit and shoved a couple fingers inside of her. She was wet and open, ready for me. She pushed against me, struggled ever so slightly, but gave up as I started to retract and reinsert my fingers inside of her, slowly at first, but faster as she started to breathe hard against my lips.
“You like that?” I asked and ground my mouth against her. She whimpered, part fear, part longing, and I kept going. “You fucking like it, you whore, you cunt, you slut. You beautiful fucking bitch.”
She moaned and I felt her sudden, surprised release. She’d wanted to fight it, I could feel her balking at first, but I knew women and I knew her.
Women were whores, they just needed to be shown the depths of depravity they’d sink to in order to please a man.
“I’m…” her voice trailed off and she looked downwards under thick lashes.
“You’re what, sweetie?” I asked and pulled her chin up so she’d look me in the eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m just so confused.”
“It’s okay,” I replied, “just relax.”
I unzipped my pants and pulled my throbbing cock out. Freedom, sweet freedom. I’d been aching for this all day, thinking of Patty here and helpless. I’d been enjoying the excoriating pain of my hard on the entire time we’d been making small talk and eating.
I almost gasped as I slid the head inside of her tight, hot hole. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her towards me, but I didn’t want to kiss.
I bit her neck as I sunk my shaft balls deep in her pussy. She screamed and I bit harder. I felt chorded sinew grind in my teeth and skin give way as I came.
Hot blood flowed down my chin as hot cum spurted up inside of her. I let out a long groan and loosened my teeth.
I spat a chunk of flesh out onto the floor and cradled her head against my chest as she cried.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I get so ex
cited I can’t help myself. I promise I’ll be more careful next time. Shhhhhh…”
She sobbed and my cock softened, fell out of her with a wet slap and cooled in the air as I comforted the whore I’d meant to kill.
The whore I would kill eventually.
But for now I soothed her and cared for her and channeled all the frustrated anxiety I had because of Pet, because of my father, because of fucking life…I channeled it all into her.
Fair or not, it was her lot in life.
Chapter Five
Patty Wilson
Her neck throbbed and her heart pounded in the darkness even though he’d been gone for hours.
After he’d left, she’d cleaned herself up using the napkins from the Chinese take out bag, but she could still smell him on her.
It made her sick.
As bad as Jason or Chico or his other friends had been, they’d never been like this. This terrifying, this intense.
Her entire body shook, and she thought she might actually throw up. She didn’t know if it was from the assault or coming down off the coke¸ but she was in a bad way.
She didn’t want to puke though, she didn’t know when he’d come back and bring more food. She couldn’t afford to lose it.
She closed her eyes and felt hot tears slide out. She knew she was going to die. Patty had stared into the eyes of the Devil himself, and she knew he was going to take her soul.
She would never see sweet baby Sarah again, never nuzzle her soft neck, never pat her little tummy and sing her songs as she cooed and kicked her chubby feet.
She wailed, it echoed back at her, and emphasized her plight. She reached up and tugged at the chain he’d wrapped around her neck before he’d left, the padlock like some sick pendant. It rubbed her wound and she winced.
She prayed for the hundredth time that Sarah was okay, that her mom and John had kept Sarah with them.
It was strange how sensory memories could come back based on some small trigger.
When she had pooped herself on the table, she’d been humiliated and prayed for death.
When the rich guy had come back and taken her for a shower, all was good again, in spite of her kidnapping.
But going back into that room, smelling that warm shit and greasy food scent had almost made her break down in tears.
It smelled like home. The tiny house she shared with her mom and John and Sarah and her mom’s dogs and cats, always had the vague odor of crap and greasy food lingering in the air.
What a stupid memory to have, but Patty was choked up thinking about it.
She’d hated her bedroom the entire time growing up, hated the chipped and peeling green paint on the walls, the dead, brown lawn, the broken down cars in the driveway of their neighbor, Mr. Raymond.
She’d hated it all, but right now she would give anything to spend one more day with them all.
Even her mom, she craved sitting on the couch next to her ample body, feel one of her mom’s soft, pillowy arms wrap around her and talk about the last big win her mom had at bingo.
Even John, although he wasn’t Patty’s dad and he was one guy in a string of men her mom had brought home, she missed the kindness he’d shown her. Kindness with no strings, no lingering hugs or pats on the ass when her mom wasn’t looking.
And Sarah. She would give anything to spend five minutes with her baby in her arms again. The fresh scent of her hair after a bath, the soft silky skin on her little cheek.
Patty sobbed alone in the dark and felt her neck. The wound was pretty deep and still oozing.
The rich guy was so confusing, she was certain he would kill her, but he took care of her, fed her and talked to her in such a polite and nice way.
Then he’d made her come, and that had made her feel all kinds of stupid. She was terrified of him, and there she was groaning on the end of his rough fingers like she needed it or something. Like a bitch in heat.
She wondered if she escaped, could she even call it rape? He didn’t exactly force her, she had no choice in the matter, but how can you say you’re raped if you orgasm like some slutty bitch all over him?
He was so attractive, not at all like she would have imagined a kidnapper to be. He could probably get a gorgeous normal model type girl, why did he have to pick her off the street and leave her here?
She shivered in the cold and sat up. Fresh blood flowed from the injury on her neck and she slid off the table. She fumbled around until she found the pile of rags on the counter and pushed one onto her neck.
He didn’t seem like he was going to kill her right away, but she knew she wouldn’t survive this.
She decided she’d try bargaining with him. Mention Sarah more often, he’d seemed a little uncomfortable when he’d found out she had a baby.
Maybe if she could connect with him somehow, like Oprah had said on her show once, he’d let her go.
She sat down on the floor, pulled the thin blanket around her and leaned against the cupboards. She pressed the cloth into her neck, felt her heartbeat pounding against her wound, and plotted her escape.
If only she could convince him that she’d never tell, she was sure he’d let her go. And then she’d see Sarah again.
Chapter Six
Donovan Blake
FBI – Behavioral Unit Field Office
The days were running on without any hope of finding the man we’d dubbed as the CK. Idly pacing the conference room, I looked over the faces of my team. Emily examined her fingernails, her mouth moving slowly as she worked a piece of chewing gum between her teeth. Agents Reynolds and Cartwright played a game of cards as Agent Ward scrolled through his phone, the backlight flashing up at his face and illuminating the way his skin wrinkled between his eyes. From the looks of it, the man needed glasses, but I wasn’t an ophthalmologist and I didn’t feel the need to break it to him that old age had crept up a while ago, stealing his ability to see along with the healthy glow of young skin.
“So what information have we received? Please, one of you fucking tell me that we have something beyond the knowledge that some asshole has outsmarted us once again. At this point, we have two missing waitresses and several missing prostitutes.”
The call had come in the day before, some woman was concerned that her daughter hadn’t come home from her evening job and she was left taking care of her infant daughter. From the report, I didn’t believe that she or her live-in boyfriend gave a shit about the child and I’d called in family services in order to have someone with half a brain look in on the family to ensure the welfare of the baby. The woman apparently believed her precious daughter worked night shifts at Wal-Mart. Only when we caught up with her boyfriend in Seattle, some two-bit drug dealer and pimp – also known as the father of her child – did we learn the truth about her nightly excursions. At first, he attempted to make us believe that she was walking the streets on her own, that he wasn’t somehow involved in her activities. However, one night of research and a quick perusal of his criminal history made it glaringly apparent that he was, at least, partially responsible for the woman’s poor choices in life.
“I canvassed the area the night after we received the report,” Reynolds stated without bothering to look up from his card game. “We received a description of a car. The witness believed it was a black Aston Martin, but I have my doubts. The possibility that a person who owns that type of car is involved in this is unlikely. The damn car costs more than my house. He could easily rent a high-class escort and do anything he wants with her. Per our profile, the man we are looking for won’t have money.”
My feet stopped in place, my head wrenching to the side to eye Agent Reynolds. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this, Reynolds?”
He shrugged and I made a mental note to pull him aside later on to chastise him about his lackadaisical response to my question.
“It’s like I said, Blake, I don’t think it’s our guy. The woman who told me about the car mentioned that she didn’t see it stop. My gut te
lls me it was a rich asshole who’d somehow gotten lost on the wrong side of town on his way into the city. It happens all the time. Most times, they don’t even bother stopping for red lights once they realize they could get jacked if they slow their vehicle down past ten miles per hour.”
“How many Aston Martins are owned by Portland residents? I would assume if the car is as expensive as you say, not many people who have it registered under their name.”
“I haven’t looked.” His eyes never left those damn cards and I walked quietly to stand behind him. “How much do you two have riding on this hand?”
Agent Cartwright looked up and answered, “Five hundred big ones.”
I smiled. “Reynolds is holding an Ace, a pair of threes and a jack and queen.”
“I fold!” Throwing down the cards, Reynolds turned in his seat to glare at me. “Dammit. I was bluffing. I could have had that round.”
“Yes. You could have. But now you don’t. That leaves you free to walk out of this room and go check with Portland Police about the identities of any persons who own a black Aston Martin in the Portland area.”
“That gives us nothing, Donovan. What if the guy was just passing through the area?”
I grinned in warning. “After you determine who owns the car, you’re going to walk the streets again until you find someone who can give you more information about it. Find someone, Reynolds. I doubt that nobody saw a waitress getting shoved into a car that costs more than your house. Do you understand me, or do I need to explain it in more basic terms?”
He was riding my last nerve. “What terms are those?”
“The kind that cause you to lose your job if you don’t locate what I’m after.”
Point made, I walked away from him, fully expecting that he would pound cement until he found the person who could tie one of our victims to that car. Only when I heard the door to the room open and slam shut again, did I bother to look back up.
Emily glared at me, finally satisfied with the polished state of her fingernails. “Was that really necessary, Blake? We’re all feeling the pressure right now. You didn’t have to weigh down Reynolds’ shoulders with our collective failure.”