Struck Down

by Penelope L'Amoreaux

  Being locked up had done nothing for my muscle tone. My starving stunt hadn’t helped me, either, shocking my body in a way it was still recovering from.

  Each day I was on the trail I covered fewer miles. The new boots Grif had given me were top of the line, but they were also brand new. Every night I had to stop while there was still light out so that I could peel off bloody socks and clean out my blisters. It would be my luck to get an infection out here.

  I spent each night the same way. I built a small fire. Ate food I didn’t taste. Got into my sleep sack. I would think of him. Always him. My fingers would sneak between my legs and I would furiously rub, but I could never get over the edge unless I pinched my nipples, hard, or bit my lip until it bled.

  I would fall asleep, crying because I knew he had ruined me. How could I ever ask a man to touch me like Grif had? And the truth was, I didn’t believe anybody else could touch me like he had. Could bring me to the edge of insanity, of excruciating pain and torturous pleasure.

  I would fall asleep, missing him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I had been hiking for two days when I saw someone. My eyes were on my feet, watching for roots. As always, my mind was a jumble of thoughts. As I would unravel one, it would change and become twisted again with the others. What was I doing trying to hike, why hadn’t I gone to the police… why had he sent me away?

  Because of this I didn’t hear the boot steps until they were close. When my eyes glanced up and saw a man walking toward me, I froze.

  He looked like he had been in the woods for a while. Long beard, dirty hair, bandana. Flannel shirt and beat-up hiking boots. His pack was well-worn. This was not his first time backpacking.

  As he drew nearer, my heart sped up. This was someone who could help me.

  I could tell him about my kidnapping. I could tell him about the human trafficking. Find a place to go.

  I froze in place, the words stuck in my throat, jagged.

  He walked closer. Our eyes met. This was it. My chance. All of the relief in the world could be mine if I just spoke up.

  “Hey.” He nodded as he passed me.

  My mouth worked, struggling. “...Hey.”

  “Happy hiking,” He smiled.

  “You too.”

  Help me. Help me.

  Nothing came out. His boot steps behind me. My heart and mind raging. My body tense, poised to turn around and chase after him.

  Instead, I kept walking, my breath wheezing as I struggled for control of my thoughts, my emotions.

  Tears fell down my face. That had been my chance, and I hadn’t taken it. Again and again I was faced with the chance to save myself. To turn in Grif. To begin trying to put him behind me. Each time I didn’t.

  I wasn’t comfortable with what that said about me. I didn’t know me anymore.

  * * * *

  My injury happened only a few days into my hike. I had gone to pee off trail. The best way to pee, I’d learned, was to find a hill. I would find a tree on that hill, pull down my pants, and hang a bit as I squatted. That way I didn’t pee on my pants and I managed to stay relatively clean.

  This time I was hanging, doing my business, when I felt something on my hand. Pulling the hand free I looked. An enormous spider was crawling up my arm. Its spindly legs sped across, tickling the hairs that were quickly raised on my skin.

  I shrieked and flailed, trying to whip the spider from my arm. The force of my shake wrenched my other hand free from its grip on the tree. I fell backward and rolled a bit. Still feeling it on my skin, I hopped up and tried to run, slapping at my arm. My pants were still around my ankle and I tripped on them. As I fell my ankle twisted, hard.

  The shock of pain caused me to cry out. My ankle throbbed and I knew at once that I had sprained it. As I lay on the ground, leaves in my hair, I realized how screwed I was.

  No phone. My map was only a trail map, but I knew I wasn’t remotely close to a town. I didn’t want to go off trail, either. My compass reading skills were okay, but there were a lot of North Carolina Mountains to get lost in. The trail picked the easiest walk, but even it had some major steep places. I could easily go off trail and hike myself to a cliff.

  I was stuck. I could continue trying to hike toward Wilmington and try to find a depot to stop in. A place to call forest rangers for help. I could stay where I was and hope another hiker would pass by. The problem was, the Mountains to Sea trail wasn’t that popular, and particularly at this time of year. If someone was going to hike it, they would be much further down than I was. In ten days I hadn’t crossed another person.

  Or… I could go back.

  It was a shock how much comfort that brought me. How the thought of seeing Grif again elated me. Had I just been looking for an excuse to go back to him? The thought should have sickened me--but it didn’t.

  Hobbling back to my things, I realized that was my only option, anyway. With as sore as my body was from the hiking and my ankle, which was already swelling in the boot, I couldn’t carry my pack as it was.

  I sat on the side of the trail and unloaded bags of rice, trail mix, and beef jerky. My pot for cooking the rice. Food was my heaviest item. It had taken me ten days at a medium speed to get where I was. I could only assume it would take me fifteen or twenty days to hike back and tried to plan for the minimum amount of food I should carry for it.

  It was scary, leaving things by the side of the trail. In the end, I left everything except the clothing I was wearing and two other pairs of socks, my bed roll, my tarp, my firestarter, and a small bag of food.

  I would have to make it back. I left everything out. Some other hiker might find it and be able to use it.

  Before I put my pack on, I found a large stick to lean on. Putting the weight on my back was awful, the pain from my ankle shooting up my leg. Leaning on the stick, I began to make my way back.

  * * * *

  The ankle had slowed me, and it had taken more time to reach the road where I had begun my hike than I had planned. I was hungry, I was exhausted, and though my ankle was actually feeling better, my leg still hurt. My heart hurt worse, having been without him for so long.

  Now, though, I was rounding the road that led to Grif’s house. In another mile or so I’d see the walls of his mansion, the curved steps leading to the front door. My heart throbbed in my chest and I felt sick. This had seemed like the right choice on the trail. I had felt elated when I had reached the road that would take me back to him.

  Now, though, I was full of doubt. He had kicked me out. I was crazy to think he’d want me back. What if he shut the door on me? What if he decided to sell me as punishment?

  What if he already had another girl, a replacement for me?

  That was the worry that hurt the most. He had said he was retired, but knowing what I knew now… maybe he was too lonely to stop working.

  I didn’t think I could handle seeing another girl. Knowing that he had touched her the way that he had touched me.

  I was so lost in my anxiety that I didn’t hear the tires rolling up behind me until the truck slowed next to me.

  “Need a lift?”

  My insides froze. The voice…

  It was Isaac.

  I tried to run, but I was weighed down by the pack and slowed by my ankle. I heard his truck door slam as he chased after me.

  It was foolish to think I could have escaped him.

  I screamed, “Grif! GRIF!”

  Isaac’s hand caught in my hair and his other clamped over my throat, cutting off my air. I realized he had done this before--I would have tried to bite him if he had covered my mouth. No air meant no screaming.

  “Shut up, you fucking whore.” His voice seethed in my ear. “You’re coming with me.”

  He let go of my hair and relaxed his grip on my throat just enough that I could draw a painful breath. I heard a switch and felt the cool blade of a knife on my cheek.

  “I can gut you quicker than you can scream, so you better come along quiet
ly. Nod if you understand.”

  Déjà vous. Nod if you understand. I hadn’t understood when Grif had first taken me. I understood now, all too well. I wouldn’t get a spanking if I disobeyed Isaac. He would do exactly what he said.

  We went back to his car. He threw my bag and gear into his truck bed and forced me into the front seat. The cab smelled like cigarettes and cheap beer and I wondered if he had been drinking while driving. It would almost be a relief if he crashed.

  “Jesus, you stink.” He rolled the windows down and half stuck his head out of the window. I hadn’t had time to think about it, but it had been weeks since I had been able to shower. The forest didn’t exactly have bathing facilities ready to use. I had just gotten used to my own smell, forgetting that it was an issue.

  His driving was smooth as he turned the truck around. As we drove away my stomach dropped. I should have let Isaac kill me, but I no longer had the strength for death. Instead, I was crippled by fear, knowing I was heading into a hell I couldn’t even imagine.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The church was small but nice. Old stone and jewel-toned stained glass windows. If I didn’t know the kind of men who worshipped there, I’d have thought it beautiful. Instead it was dark and ominous.

  Isaac swung to a stop on the side. He yanked me out of the truck by my hair, the roots screaming as he dragged me to a modest cabin behind the church.

  Inside there was a fire. The rooms were lush, beautiful in their rustic simplicity. Grif hadn’t lied; the business had paid well for the whole family.

  “Get on the floor, slut.” Isaac shoved me down and I skinned my knees on the raw wood floorboards. “Dad, come and see what I found!”

  I heard heavy boots on the floor and in walked Grif’s father. His face stern, he stared at me in disgust. “How did you get her?”

  “She was heading to Grif’s house. She had a backpack on.”

  Grif’s father knelt in front of me. His fingers touched my chin and lifted my face up. It would have been a sweet gesture had I not seen the cold, calculating eyes. Green, like Grif’s.

  “Did he let you go?”

  It was useless lying. They would see right through me. I nodded.

  “That fool,” Grif’s father spat. “Did you talk to anyone about us, anyone at all?” The venom, the worry in his voice was terrifying.

  I shook my head, too scared to speak.

  “My name is Herman. My son was rude and didn’t introduce us the last time we met. It doesn’t matter, you will never address me as that. You will only refer to me as Master.”

  He waited, foot tapping, until I managed a meek, “yes, Master.”

  “Isaac, take her to your mother. She smells awful.”

  Isaac wrenched me up by my arm, dragging me into a kitchen. In it, a tall, thin woman worked at the stove. She said nothing and refused to look when I was dragged in and tossed on the floor.

  “Mother, clean this slut up. If she doesn’t smell like fucking roses in an hour, I’m going to beat both of you.”

  Isaac leered at me before he left. “I’ve got plans for you, uppity bitch.”

  My tears escaped then and I began to sob. Full, body wracking sobs. Isaac grinned harder and left me.

  Grif’s mother came over. He looked like her. He had received his eyes and curly black hair from his father, but his face, his beautiful face… it was a mirror of hers. Or what hers had been, at least, long ago. I could see the beauty behind the worry lines and wrinkles. And scars. There were two distinct, large scars on her face, one of which split her lip a little. Someone had cut her, long ago, leaving their mark on her skin.

  She beckoned for me to get up and follow.

  “Will you help me escape?” I whispered.

  She ignored me. We went out of the kitchen and down a hall to a large bathroom. She drew the water for a bath, so hot I could see the steam leave the surface.

  “Strip and get in.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  She looked at me, her eyes sad. “Do it, don’t do it. I don’t care.”

  She didn’t care. The threat of being beaten was hanging over her head and she looked like she was just as fine either way.

  This was my future, I realized. So numb, so blank after torturous treatment that it wouldn’t matter to me if I was hit. Or bones broken. It would just be another day.

  I stripped and stepped into the water, which immediately turned black.

  Grif’s mother brought out soap and a large boar bristle brush and began to scour my skin.

  “He looks like you, you know. Grif does.” I murmured as my skin was scrubbed raw. She paused for a fraction of a second as I said it.

  “H-he’s… he’s well?” She asked, her voice so tiny and soft I could barely hear it. None of her jaded tone here--she was genuine.

  “Yes.”

  Her hands began to soap my hair. “That’s good.”

  “He feels badly for you, you know. For how he treated you.”

  “He treated me like he’s supposed to. A woman’s place--”

  “--is at a man’s heel. I know.” Any hope I had of winning her over dissipated. I had known that they trained women. I hadn’t realized how thoroughly they could scour any sense of self from them.

  We didn’t speak for the remainder of the hour. She had to empty and refill the tub twice to get the dirt and smell off of me. My skin was soft and pruney as we finished.

  She did not give me clothes after.

  * * * *

  “A little skinny, maybe.”

  Isaac was circling my naked body, his critical eye covering every inch of me. Bile rose in my throat.

  We were back in the living room, in front of the enormous fireplace. The heat from the flames licked along my bare skin.

  His hand reached out and drifted along the flat planes of my stomach. I couldn’t help it--I shrank from his touch.

  Isaac immediately struck me down with a backhand. I tasted blood in my mouth.

  “If I want to touch you, whore, then I’ll touch you.”

  To make his point he threw me on the floor, straddling me and holding me down. He leaned in, his breath hot on my cheek, and licked my jawline. His tongue was thick and sloppy and I felt the slime of his saliva trail across my skin, sickening me.

  “You love it, you bitch. You want some big cock?”

  He reached between us and unbuttoned his pants. My muscles tightened, my legs trying to clamp shut, but his strength overwhelmed me and he pried them open with his knees.

  When I moaned in terror he hit me twice, hard slaps that jerked my head back and forth and left me dizzy.

  And then I felt him between my legs, jabbing at the apex of my thighs, trying to force himself into me.

  I should have let him stab me with the knife.

  Being dead would be better than what was about to happen.

  “Isaac, get off. Now.” Herman’s voice whipped through the living room. Isaac made one last half-hearted jab at me with his cock and then slid off.

  “Son, you know better. She isn’t ready for that level of servitude.”

  “Grif spoiled her, dad. She’ll be no good as a servant. She’s damaged goods, only good to be used as a cum dump.”

  “Please don’t be vulgar, Isaac.” With grace, Grif’s father squatted beside of me and pushed my hair out of my face. “Little one,” he murmured softly, “things are going to seem very hard for you soon. Painful. But know that everything I do, everything I teach you is in service to God. One day you’ll know the proper way to serve him, too.”

  He stood again and looked at Isaac. “I think you’re right that she’s a bit damaged. We’ll keep her here. She’ll learn to serve you. I don’t like keeping them, but I can’t see anyway around it. We just need to give her a permanent reminder of her place. Tie her down.”

  Isaac’s grin split his face and he wasted no time. Using a few lengths of coarse rope he tied me, spread eagled, in front of the fire. The rope’s fibers bit into my s
kin, painful and itching, but I was more concerned with how vulnerable I felt. Exposed.

  My terror clutched at me, my body aching and shivering.

  “Put the iron in the fire.” Isaac grabbed one of the fire pokers and laid it’s iron head in the hot embers.

  “Cattle are property. Cattle are branded, Little One, so that other ranchers always know who it belongs to. I believe that the act is a painful reminder to the cow, as well, that it lives to serve us as our food and a provider of hide. Our church views women in the same way. Property. I won’t spend time tonight telling you of the many passages which support this; that is for your education, which Isaac will provide. I do, however, think you need a reminder of what you are.”

  Grif’s father grabbed the poker. The tip was glowing orange. It would sear the flesh right off. I started to scream.

  “Shut her up.”

  Isaac cuffed me, hard, causing my ears to ring. He shoved a filthy cloth into my mouth, causing me to choke on my screams.

  “Normally I would mark your hip. But because my other son spoiled you, you aren’t worthy of being regular cattle.”

  He stepped in between my open legs and pointed the poker at my clit. “You only need the hole to serve your purpose. You don’t deserve the pleasure. I’m taking it away. Its for your own good.”

  My whole body sprung to life, my limbs yanking at my bonds, my hips writhing, trying to escape that burning tip. Tears poured from my eyes, soaking the hair at my temples. Isaac began to laugh and clap.

  “Look at her dance, Pops!”

  A loud blast rang out and the front door slammed open. I couldn’t see over the furniture, but I heard the single best sound in the world.

  “Get the fuck away from her.”

  “Grif. Put the gun down.” Even as he said it, Herman stepped away from me a little, the poker swinging close to the flesh of my thighs but missing contact.

  “Isaac, untie her.”

  “Fuck you, Grif.”

  A shot rang out the lamp and table next to Isaac exploded. I saw the scatter shot hole in the wall. Grif had a shotgun and at this range the damage would be fatal.