That Man 3

by Nelle L’Amour

  “Oh, Chaz, what should I do?”

  “Call him right now and tell him you know what happened. And tell him you love him.”

  I so loved Chaz. He had given me a glimmer of hope. I immediately pulled my phone out from my backpack and speed-dialed Blake’s office number.

  His phone went immediately to his voice message. Mrs. Cho’s accented voice sounded in my ear. Instead of leaving a message, I simply hung up.

  “He’s not in the office,” I glumly told Chaz.

  “Girl, what are you waiting for? Call his cell.”

  Blake always had his iPhone with him. Sometimes in the wrong places and at the wrong time. But I was past that. Without wasting a second, I hit that number.

  His phone rang and rang and rang. Please, please, please pick up, Blake.

  My heart sunk to my stomach. He was ignoring me. He didn’t want to speak to me. I was right; it was all over. Finally, the call went to his voice mail. The sound of his virile velvety voice sent a shiver to the base of my spine. The phone shook in my hand as tears trailed down the screen. At the end of his message, I forced my voice to get past the painful lump in my throat.

  “Please—”

  My message cut off before I could even say his name. My phone had died. Shit. I’d lost battery power.

  “Chaz, my phone just died.” Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

  “Use mine.”

  “No, it’s okay. We’re almost at the house. I’ll charge it up and call him from there.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yes. I’ll call him.”

  “And then you’re going to call me right away and tell me everything.”

  “I will.” Trembling, I put my cell phone back into my backpack and pulled out my house keys.

  Five minutes later, we pulled up to the Spanish cottage I shared with Libby. The lights were off. Chaz helped me out of the car and handed me my crutches. He escorted me to the front door. The temperature had dropped. A thick cloud shrouded the full moon, making the darkened sky eerie. A shudder ran through me. It was just like the night of my sophomore year—the night I was almost raped. I forced the painful memory away as I inserted a key into the lock.

  “Do you want to have sushi with me later?” Chaz asked as I unlocked the door, balancing on my crutches. “I have a Groupon for Roku.”

  Chaz knew how much I loved sushi, something I’d never eaten in Boise. But tonight, I was in no frame of mind to go out to a chic, celebrity-frequented restaurant where people went to see and be seen. And maybe, just maybe, I’d see Blake tonight.

  “I’ll take a rain check.”

  “Deal. When Libster comes back, we’ll all go out—including lover boy.”

  “Sure.” I quirked a little smile, covering up my doubts about Blake. I let Chaz hug me good night before entering the house.

  The first thing I did when I hopped inside was turn on the lights. A roomful of shabby chic flea market finds came into sight and warmed me. It felt good to be home. Away from the office. I labored over to the couch where I unloaded my heavy backpack. I grabbed my cell phone and slipped it into a pocket. Crutches made carrying even the smallest things impossible. My stomach growled. I was hungry. I’d hardly eaten a thing all day.

  I hobbled into the kitchen. It was unusually drafty. I turned on the light and noticed we’d accidentally left the window open. Closing it, I headed to the counter where I plugged my cell phone into the charger, attached to an outlet. It would take about five minutes for a signal to appear. My next stop: the refrigerator. Balancing on my crutches hands-free, I swung open the door. There wasn’t a stitch of food, but at least, there was a half-empty bottle of Two Buck Chuck. It would have to do. Maybe some wine would help me relax and build up the courage to call Blake again. I reached into the frig and wrapped my fingers around the smooth green glass. As I slid it off the shelf, a powerful hand clamped my neck. I gasped. The bottle slipped out of my hand and crashed onto the tiled floor. The sound of shattering glass exploded in my ear. But I couldn’t look down. A horrific reality assaulted me. Someone was attacking me. An intruder. My heart pounded and I could barely breathe as his grip around my neck tightened painfully. Terror filled every crevice of my body.

  I wanted to scream, but my vocal chords were paralyzed. What did it matter? No one would hear my scream anyway. Chaz was long gone. And our house was sandwiched between a deserted parking lot and an empty foreclosure. No one even walked their dogs our way.

  Shaking all over, I felt my intruder tug at my ponytail, so hard I cried out in pain. He breathed in my ear.

  “You’re finally going to pay for what you did, you fucking cunt.”

  I instantly recognized the voice.

  “Do you remember this?”

  A snippet of dark, silky hair brushed across lips. My hair.

  Oh God, no. It was him!

  Chapter 22

  Blake

  I stopped at a flower shop on my way to Jennifer’s house. Not far from my office, it was one of my mother’s favorites. I had called in my order. A dozen of the most beautiful long stemmed pussy pink roses they had. And to my amazement, they even had the balloon in stock I coveted. A big SpongeBob balloon with “I LOVE YOU!” written on it.

  While the jovial florist artfully arranged the roses in a large crystal vase, I wrote a note. I had thought about what to write in the car and just knew it was going to blow my tiger away.

  My beautiful Tiger~

  There once was a player named Blake,

  Who found true love over Christmas break.

  But when the stupid boy fucked up,

  The girl he loved simply bucked

  And left the poor bloke with a major case of heartache.

  Be like your hero, SpongeBob, and accept me with all my faults. Love me with your heart the way I love you.

  ♥nly yours~SpongeBlake NoPants

  Beneath my note, I drew a picture of a SpongeBob look-alike. SpongeBlake. Instead of wearing those dorky shorts, he sported a big cock. I scribbled a few more hearts around my drawing and then admired my creation. You know what? Maybe I wasn’t a Picasso or a poet, but I had talent. I couldn’t wait to take my tiger into my arms.

  The florist slipped my note into a tall plastic card holder and inserted it into the vase. The SpongeBob balloon, held down by a weight, soared in the air, almost touching the ceiling.

  Eagerly, I dipped my hand into my slacks pocket where I always kept my credit card and iPhone. My pulse quickened. The credit card was there all right, but my phone wasn’t. Damn it. I must have left it at my office. I quickly paid for the flowers and then hurried out of the shop with the vase in my hand. I couldn’t be without my cell phone over the weekend. Carefully placing the vase on the floor below the passenger seat, I put my Porsche in gear and headed back to my nearby office. Zooming down traffic-free Olympic Boulevard, I got there in no time.

  Sure enough, the phone was on my desk. I hastily checked my messages. There were a dozen new e-mails and texts. All of them from my Vegas affiliate manager, Vera Nichols. And all of them marked URGENT, asking me to call her. Perplexed, I immediately speed-dialed her number. She picked up on the first ring. Her voice sounded panic-driven.

  “Oh, thank God, you called me, Blake. I’ve been trying to reach you for the past half hour.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Don Springer escaped from jail this afternoon. I just found out.”

  My heart slammed against my chest. “Fuck.”

  “There’s a massive manhunt out for him.”

  “Do they have any idea where he is?”

  “No. He stole a car, and he may be armed and dangerous.”

  “Vera, I want you and your family to check into a hotel immediately. Don’t worry about the cost. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you, Blake.”

  “Where’s Eddie?”

  “He’s still in the hospital.”

  “Call the hospital and tell them what’s going on. Order security.
And take care of his ex if she’s still there.”

  “Will do.” She paused. “Blake, he could be anywhere. Be careful.”

  “I will.” And then an alarm went off inside me.

  “Call me if you hear anything.” I ended the call and immediately called Jennifer. She needed to know. And I needed to know she was all right.

  Her phone rang and rang. No answer. Fuck. She was ignoring me. Or maybe, just maybe, she’d misplaced her cell phone like I had. Or it was turned off. I couldn’t blame her. She thought I was a prick. As I despondently slipped my cell phone into my slacks pocket, a horrifying thought crossed my mind. My heart hammered.

  Jesus Christ. Had he gotten to her?

  I raced out of my office to my car.

  Chapter 23

  Jennifer

  His repulsive tongue licked my inner ear. I squirmed, but his powerful grip around my neck held me fast. Oh God! The man who had almost raped me in college was back. And I’d just made a startling, mind-shattering discovery. It was Don Springer! To my absolute shock, they were one and the same person. Blake had told me he was in jail, but he must have escaped.

  He buried his head in my hair and inhaled. “Cherries and vanilla. Right?”

  I nodded.

  “Say it, bitch!”

  “Yes. Cherries and vanilla.” My voice was so small I could hardly hear myself.

  “How could I forget?” He inhaled again. “So, it looks like you had a little accident.”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Soon you won’t ever be walking. And you won’t be needing crutches.”

  He squeezed his arm around my neck, so tightly I couldn’t breathe. My heart was beating a mile a minute and my mind was racing. Think, Jen, think! An impulsive idea flew into my head. It was worth a shot. I had no choice. He was suffocating me. Gasping for air, I silently prayed for my life. Then as hard as I could, I stabbed the tip of my right crutch onto his foot.

  “OW! You fucking cunt!” Moaning with pain, he let go of my neck and bent down to rub his throbbing instep.

  Yes! Clutching my crutches, I escaped, hobbling away from him as fast as I could. I had to get to the front door. To safety. And scream for help outside. Maybe even drive away. Then I remembered my car keys were hanging in the kitchen. I thought about dropping the crutches, but wasn’t sure if hobbling on my bad foot with its boxing glove sized bandage would be any easier. Or faster.

  Panting, I made it into the living room. Heavy footsteps were approaching from behind me.

  “Get back here, you cunt!”

  Oh God. He was after me. If only I could make it to the front door. I heard my phone ringing in the kitchen. It stopped and then rang again. Shit. Why hadn’t I taken it with me? I could have called 911.

  I was only steps away from freedom when he tackled me. I fell hard, flat on my face, crutches and all, trapped under his thickset body. Dazed, I tried to free myself, but his weight and strength made it impossible. He had me pinned down. Fear like I’ve never known consumed me. All I could do now was whimper.

  “Shut up, you little slut. I only want to hear you whimper when I fuck the shit out of you.” He painfully pulled my ponytail again. “Understand?”

  I nodded my head, biting down hard on my quivering lips to quell my sounds. Torrid tears poured from my eyes onto the hardwood floor.

  He tugged again, this time so hard I winced. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Y-yes,” I stuttered, my voice thin and watery.

  “Good. You know, I could fuck you like this, but I want to see your pretty face when I rip you apart and come inside you.” In one heart-stopping motion, he rolled off me and turned me onto my back. For the first time, I faced him.

  Dressed in ill-fitting sweats, he was wearing leather gloves and a ski mask, just like he had my sophomore year. His insipid eyes shone through the holes, and I could see the evil smirk on his face beneath the fabric. I still couldn’t believe my rapist and Don Springer were one and the same.

  Holding my head down, he fisted my ponytail and dusted the ends across the openings for his nostrils. He inhaled deeply.

  “I was positive I knew you somehow when I first saw you on the set of Wheel.” Wheel of Pain, his disgusting, sadistic game show.

  He sniffed again. “That cherry vanilla smell of your hair always stayed with me. It took me a while, but I figured it out. It all came back to me.”

  As my phone rang again, the horrific memory of that college night flooded my brain. Of him shoving down my jeans, tearing off my panties, and unzipping his fly. And then snipping off my hair. I was shaking all over. It was going to happen all over again. If only I had my pepper spray.

  “That wasn’t very nice of you to spray that shit in my eyes. Or make me lose my job.”

  He slapped me hard across my face and I winced.

  “And it wasn’t very nice of you to stab my foot.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” I stammered.

  “It’s a little late for an apology, sugar.” He pulled out a large pocketknife and switched it open. I gasped. The razor-sharp blade was at least six-inches long.

  “P-please don’t hurt me,” I whimpered.

  He laughed wickedly. “This isn’t going to hurt. I just want another little souvenir.” In the skip of a heartbeat, he chopped off a three-inch snippet of my ponytail. He took a whiff of it and then put it in his pocket. The knife stayed in his hand.

  I couldn’t help it. I began to cry. He pressed the tip of the knife against my neck. Oh, no! He was going to kill me.

  “So you want to cry?”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “Not yet. But I’m going to make you cry harder.”

  I was too frightened to say a thing. Just sobs. I bit down on my trembling lip.

  “Now pull down your skirt.”

  I was too paralyzed with fear to move.

  “DO IT!”

  Shivering with cold sweat, I undid the button and slid the skirt over my hips. With his free hand, he shoved it off my legs. Then to my utter horror, he took the knife and slashed off the buttons of my blouse. He tore it open and sliced my bra apart. My breasts quivered as he ran the sharp blade across my nipples. Goose bumps spread across my trembling body.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” I sobbed. “I’ll do anything you want.”

  Through my tears, I could see him smirk again. And then he moved the knife to my crotch. Oh, God. I squeezed my eyes shut and just let the scorching tears fall. Expecting to feel unbearable pain, I instead heard another slash. I blinked my eyes open. He had cut off my panties and was holding them to his nose. After a deep inhale, he tossed them.

  The phone rang again as he eyed my exposed center.

  “Now I’m finally going to get myself some of that sweet pussy of yours.” He jammed a stout finger deep inside me, and I screamed out.

  “Shut up, cunt. And spread your legs,” he growled as he yanked out his finger.

  I couldn’t get my legs to move.

  “Fucking do it, bitch!”

  Slowly, I spread my shaking legs.

  He laughed again. “This time your asshole boyfriend won’t be around to save you. Chances are you won’t be around to tell him all about it. And if things go as planned, neither will he.”

  Reality hit me with the force of an avalanche. He was going to rape me and then kill me. And then he was going kill Blake. Oh God. How could this be happening? The phone rang again and I began to think it was my always worried parents. Tears stormed down my face. I was never going to see them again. They’d never get over losing me. And poor Blake!

  “Please, please, don’t kill me,” I sobbed.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, SHUT UP! If I hear you say one more thing, this knife is going to be anchored in your heart after I shove it up your cunt.”

  I pressed my lips together and wept, trying impossibly to soften my sobs.

  Gripping the knife, my assailant lifted his sweatshirt over his head, exposing his flaccid hairy chest and ugly
paunch. But as he started to pull down his pants, someone knocked at the door.

  “What the fuck?” growled Springer.

  The knocking morphed into banging, and with a loud kick, the door came crashing down.

  “You motherfucker!”

  Oh my God. It was Blake! Holding a vase of roses with a SpongeBob balloon.

  “Say good-bye to your girlfriend, Burns.”

  My eyes widened as Don lowered the knife to my heart, but just as it touched down on my skin, it went flying. Blake had managed to kick it out of his hand just in the nick of time.

  “You’re going to pay for that!” Springer leapt to his feet and charged at Blake. I was free.

  “Jen, get away,” yelled Blake as he defensively hurled the vase at Springer. It hit him in the chest and then landed in one piece on the floor. The water puddled around the scattered roses and a note while the balloon soared to the ceiling. It said “I LOVE YOU.” Oh, my Blake!

  “You motherfucker!” screamed Springer as he lunged at Blake.

  Frantically, I crawled to the couch. A new kind of fear rushed into my bloodstream. As I watched Springer deliver one blow after another to my beloved, I feared for his life. A tsunami of tears assaulted me. My heart was in my throat. I could hardly breathe.

  Struggling to ward off his assailant, Blake managed to reach for his cell phone. He tossed it to me, and it landed close to where I was stationed. I grabbed it.

  “Jen, call 911!” he shouted.

  I quickly did as he asked as Springer punched him hard in the face. I cringed, feeling all of his pain.

  “Fuck you, Springer,” growled Blake, delivering a blow right back at him.

  Their life and death battle escalated. Blake was panting and sweat poured down his face. The madman, for sure, had the upper hand. Oh God! I prayed for Blake’s life and for the police to get here soon.

  The loud blows went back and forth. Grunt and groans filled the room and mixed with my shrieks. Ducking one of Blake’s blows, Springer grabbed the vase.

  “Blake!” I screamed out. But it was too late. With a roar, Springer crashed it over Blake’s head, shattering it to pieces. Dazed, Blake collapsed onto his knees, next to my crutches. Springer kicked him hard in the face, and Blake moaned. Blood trickled from his nose. I was sobbing. My poor baby! And then another kick. Blake, close to losing consciousness, swayed on his knees.