Torment

by Leanne Wood

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  P

  ositioned in the corner of the dining room, she sat. Watched. Waited. She had prime position. Everything had been building to his moment. No one could venture behind her. No one would enter or leave without her knowledge. Five minutes passed. She rested. Yet, she was not complacent. She scanned. She listened. People were bunched together in groups talking, eating and drinking. A small gathering of seven were celebrating a birthday. A lone candle flickered atop the birthday cake as those around the old lady burst into song. She blew out the candle in one breath. A loud group of young guys in dirty jerseys congregated near the bar at the far end of the room discussing tactics for their weekend match.

  Five more minutes passed. Then ten. She was patient. Perseverance and restraint was a must. The dining room was full. No one would take any notice of a single woman eating alone.

  Her target stood to the right of the footballers. He guzzled his beer. The sight of him almost made her throw up her dinner. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Anticipation was a sickeningly wonderful thing. He stood with his two mates. All three were familiar to her. Soon the other two would leave, and he would be alone. Stagger home he would. That was when she would strike. She had rehearsed her moves. Everything was going according to plan.

  These days she liked to refer to herself as a lioness. Not to be confused with a cougar, the type of older woman who searched out younger men to gain sexual gratification. Bridget was far from being an older woman. Rather, she was a hunter who stalked her prey.

  Her wig hovered just above her shoulders, and her make-up was unblemished. The blood red lipstick applied to her lips, a reflection of her intentions. Revenge the only thing on her mind. Her unsuspecting victim was yet to make her acquaintance. He won’t recognise her, but she needed to get close. The adrenaline rush was invigorating. The sense of being alive was addictive. Her life now had purpose. This one had to be bigger and better than the last.

  She checked the clock on the wall. Less than an hour. She knew they would play a game of pool. They always did. She watched where they placed their glasses. Normally they would move to the vacant tables left of where they stood.

  Finally they moved. Nerves tingled up her spine. She could feel the pulse in her forehead. This attack was far more daring than her last. They placed their drinks on the table. She scanned the room. Her heart pounded in her chest, so much so she believed others could hear its rapid beat. Short and shallow breaths escaped her. Her lips became dry, her mouth void of all moisture. She struggled to swallow.

  The three turned their backs on the table and began to set up their game of pool. Time to strike. Her strides were nonchalant between the dining tables, heading towards the ladies bathroom beyond them. She watched their every move. Their focus was on the pool balls. Her focus darted between them, the table on which their drinks sat, and the bathroom. She slipped her hand from her pocket.

  Now or never. She released a pouch of white powder into the glass of her target. Her move went unnoticed as she continued on her path to the bathroom. Once inside, she dashed into the cubicle and slammed the door behind her, locked it, then collapsed onto the toilet seat.

  Overwhelmed by what she’d just done, she burst into tears.

  Stage one of her mission was complete.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  H

  idden away in the bathroom cubicle, warm tears streamed down Bridget’s face as she clutched her pounding chest. A strong disinfectant odour bombarded her. Her eyes wandered over the graffiti on the walls. Why would people plaster their names and telephone numbers on the walls of toilets? Were they done by the individual themselves or was it the work of someone else playing a joke or being spiteful? The walls offered no answers, and she was not interested in calling any of the numbers to find out. Instead, she sat in silence. Alone. She needed to pull herself together. The two other cubicles had been vacant when she burst through the main door, and no one had entered behind. She couldn’t believe what she’d just done, but Pierre Rainer deserved everything he got. The pain he’d inflicted upon her was immeasurable. He was the power behind the force, the mastermind behind her suffering – a narcissistic bastard. He terrified her.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d taken refuge in a toilet cubicle, but it would be the last.

  Pierre was an arrogant piece of work. A tall, bull-necked, barrel-chested, burly bloke who wore his clothes too tight and used his size to terrorise. A stand-over guy with a short fuse. His behaviour was what you may expect of a childish brat throwing a temper tantrum, only with Pierre came the added threats of violence. He was a bully. And at his age, should have known better.

  Strutting around the office, he considered himself somewhat of a ladies man, a stud. Yet in reality most female employees viewed him as a dog that doused himself in copious amounts of cheap, overpowering cologne – a washed-up has-been. Approaching his mid-forties, Pierre was out to prove that age would not prevent him from having any woman he chose. In his mind, everything revolved around him. Sporting a cropped-cut hairstyle; nothing could disguise his receding hairline and those increasing flecks of grey. Had he shed some of those unwanted pounds, Bridget was sure he would have looked much older, as it was his oval face and puffed out cheeks that helped smooth his wrinkles.

  Her first thought when she was introduced to him was that he looked like a puffer fish… with brown, shifty, pig eyes and a snarly mouth to match. During her job interview she had been warned about his insubordination. To Pierre, she was the enemy. Not only was she his new manager, but she was female to boot.

  “Nice to meet you,” she’d said, attempting to shake his hand.

  “I’m busy,” he’d huffed, as he’d stormed by. “We’ll see how long you last,” he’d mumbled, as their shoulders collided.

  Raising her eyebrows in shock she’d turned to the Regional Manager, Richard West, whose face had been aglow. “He must be having a bad day, he’ll be okay,” he’d said, trying to convince her all would be fine, but not making eye contact as he’d pulled at his jacket and ushered her forward without delay. She should have taken this encounter as a warning. Pierre didn’t take kindly to women telling him what to do. How could he ever be expected to take orders from a manager who didn’t possess a dingle-dangle and two sinkers? He was a misogynist, and Bridget had heard stories of previous female managers who’d succumbed to his antics. Yet, she’d been assured all would be fine.

  Senior management had addressed his behaviour and given her their commitment to being dedicated to strong business ethics; teamwork, support and respect, fairness, integrity and uncompromising standards regarding equality and diversity. Heck, she’d even received a personal assurance from Mr Wolf, the owner of Wolf Industries.

  “I will not tolerate workplace harassment,” he’d stated, as he’d slammed his fist onto the table. “We provide a safe work environment for everyone and if people do not adhere to our high standards and respect others they know where the door is.”

  Hearing those supporting words had provided confidence that all those stories were a thing of the past.

  They say a leopard doesn’t change its spots, however she was assured Pierre’s aggression would be controlled by the rules and policies set in place to protect all. That was what she’d been led to believe. What a joke. Her assurances had been short lived. Their words were hollow, and her complaints fell on deaf ears. They may as well have thrown her into the cage for they sure as hell weren’t interested in controlling or addressing the multitude of reports she’d submitted regarding Pierre’s insubordination.

  Nicknamed ‘The Hulk’, Pierre was a man on a mission. A narcissistic arsehole, who inflicted intentional cruelty upon others. He was a hunter who used force, threats and aggression to instil fear, terrorise and hurt. His mission was to destroy. His behaviour was repeated and habitual. He was a bully who felt empowered by demeaning others. He used his size to intimidate, and with his almost Neander
thal features, silently ruled the workplace. He had done so for years, and Bridget’s appointment would not stop him.

  She often wondered if his nickname was a reflection of his size, his power or the level of aggression he was capable of displaying. Pierre Rainer was the Union delegate and no one wanted to upset the Union. Upsetting the Union could result in strikes, and strikes meant lost revenue. Money makes the world go round, and Bridget soon learnt that money came first and foremost. It was far more important than the welfare of employees. Pierre Rainer knew this and used the company’s greed as his ally. He was untouchable. And Bridget was in his firing line.

  Bridget shivered as she recalled one of his most violent attacks. He had cut her off as she’d attempted to escape to the ladies toilets. She had not made it to safety. No one saw. No one heard. No one would believe her against Pierre Rainer, and that would only be if she dared to speak up against him. She had never spoken of his ambush.

  The squeaking of the toilet door brought her back to the now. She closed her eyes and fought back tears. She hated him. She wanted to annihilate him. So sickening, so wicked had some of his acts been that she’d never told a soul. He repulsed—

  Leaping from the toilet Bridget swung around just in time, flipping the lid as she lost the contents of her stomach. This only fuelled her anger, fired up her determination.

  Pierre Rainer was going to pay. She would bring this master manipulator to his knees.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  B

  ridget sat, her teeth clenched as she wiped away her tears. Hate filled her heart. She was alone again. Determined to settle the score. Only when the wrongs had been righted, would she be able to move forward. There were two types of people who sought revenge – those who desired instant gratification, and those who played the long game. There was little doubt which she was. Forgiveness was not an option. She had created a method so meticulous in its planning that she would finally gain retribution.

  Vengeance will be mine.

  Rising to her feet she exited the cubicle and began to pace back and forth in front of the wash basins. Rage burned through her; her anger all consuming. They did this to her; it was only fair she returned the favour. Her life had been destroyed. Her happiness shattered. They hadn’t given her a second thought. So why should she spare them any pain?

  Checking her watch, it was time to return to the bar. Doubt began to creep in, and she wondered if she should continue. Would revenge offer the sense of fulfilment she so desired? What would happen if she were caught? Overwhelmed by fear, she began to sweat and shake. Procrastinating would get her nowhere. She had to return to the bar and see it through. She wiped her brow, pulled herself together, and stepped from behind her walls of protection.

  She spotted him immediately, and she moved unnoticed towards the front door as her target drank down the last of his beer. He raised his hand to his mouth and yawned. The three friends would soon part company, and Pierre Rainer would be alone.

  She hadn’t forgotten his haunting image or the warmth and rank smell of his breath. Not his spit hitting her in the face, nor the strength of his shoves and the evil in his eyes that had cut deep into her soul. Soon the tables would turn. Pierre Rainer would come face to face with his demons from the past.

  She dashed to her car and drove to her strike zone. All was dark. All was quiet.

  Watching him stagger towards her, Bridget began to feel sick. Her nerves intensified. A large lump formed in her throat. What if he spotted her? What if someone heard? What if someone witnessed her attack? Someone could phone the police. Someone could come to his aid. She was shaking. Her hands were sweaty beneath the gloves. She clenched the tyre iron as she peered through the bush she was hiding behind; the balaclava she wore limited her vision.

  He staggered closer. He stumbled; wiped his eyes. Soon he would be level with her. No turning back.

  Bridget had done her homework. Pierre’s partner, Judy, was away for the weekend competing in a softball championship. His absence would go unnoticed. His feet crunched against the loose gravel on the path. The scraping of his leather shoes neared. She froze. Held her breath.

  He staggered past.

  A quick glance around. They were alone.

  She rose; her steps cat-like. She approached from behind, both hands clasped tightly on tyre iron. She struck. Contact.

  A loud crack filled her ears. He hit the ground with a thud. Blood seeped from his head, and Bridget feared she’d killed him. She dashed to his side; her mission far from over. Alive. She grabbed his wrists, checked again that they were still alone then began to drag him into her car. His clothes scrapped along the path, and sounded like sandpaper rubbing over a rough surface. His flabby body was heavy, but her weight lifting had prepared her. She was determined to win. Her attack had been timed perfectly, and finally she had his body next to her back tyre.

  It took a matter of moments to get his limp body onto the back seat. He was out cold, and would remain that way for hours. The drugs she’d slipped into his drink would see to that. She closed his door, placed the tyre iron in her boot, along with her gloves and balaclava then drove home.

  Bridget’s staging needed to be precise. Turning into her driveway she smiled as she spotted her wheelbarrow. It sat ready near her rear side entrance. Unloading Pierre was easier than she had anticipated. A long board extended over the three steps into her house, and she wheeled Pierre inside.

  Bridget smiled as she dumped him on the floor then tied him up. Her plan was coming together. She left him alone and bound on the floor. Pierre had never been inside her house, and even if he woke he wouldn’t recognise his surrounding.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  B

  ridget couldn’t wait till tomorrow. It was still dark outside. The street in front of her house was quiet and deserted. There were still several hours before she had to leave. She smiled. For once her sleepless night was not the result of nightmares. Checks were made then double and triple checks. Everything was planned. Everything needed to be precise. Black balaclava, a large and long black jacket, latex surgical gloves, overalls, electrical tape, bolt cutters, a hammer, two large d-shackles and the exact length of heavy gauge chain. Chain she had driven over one hundred kilometres to collect from a marine supply warehouse the day before. She smiled; it was all coming together. All the bits and pieces required for inflicting bodily pain were at her fingertips. More so than all these items, she had the element of surprise. Pierre Rainer wouldn’t know what had hit him when he came to.

  Daniel’s words played over in her mind; “They will get what they deserve.”

  No one would be so naive to think life would be a fairytale, but few would anticipate a terrorising attack just around the corner, Pierre Rainer included. Life followed a natural progression, for every action there is a reaction. Unexpected situations resulted in plans being changed. The road travelled was not always smooth. Pierre Rainer would soon discover the truth of this.

  Bridget could barely contain her excitement. She bit her fingernails and paced around the room. She had to see if he had moved.

  Pulling the balaclava over her head she peeked around the corner, and looked down at his limp body. He was defenceless. His face was expressionless. She’d worn the same expression when she’d pleaded with him to spare her. He didn’t listen. He hadn’t cared. She had begged him to leave her alone. She prayed he would stop. He did not.

  The sight of him made her sick. She couldn’t stand to look at him. Anger flooded her, she stepped closer and she pounded her boot into his face with all her might. His nose shattered. He moaned and remained unconscious. Blood flowed to the floor. Bridget huffed and left the room; she would clean the mess later. She removed her balaclava. She sucked in deep breaths. Her relief was slight. Her waiting game had commenced.

  One hour passed then another before Pierre began to moan and groan. Finally, he was coming to. She was relieved. She had become bored with the waiting.
Her mission was to inflict so much pain and fear he would never forget. Doing so required him to be awake. She wanted his horror to haunt his every waking hour. Disturbing nightmares would wake him from the deepest sleep. She would be his worst nightmare, just as he had been hers. She would destroy him.

  His eyes opened. Bridget froze. Glaring at him propelled her thoughts back to one of his painful attacks. On that occasion they had been alone. She was frozen stiff. She stared straight ahead into his blackened eyes. Short shallow breaths escaped her. She was not game to blink. It was like staring into the eyes of a wild animal, his next move unpredictable. Her back was planted firmly against the hard cold surface of the brick wall in the parking garage. Her heart hammered in her chest. If only she had been more alert, she should never have allowed herself to be alone with him. She began to pray someone might enter. Surely someone would hear his raised voice, his ranting insults, his thunderous threats. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face.

  “You had better watch your back you bitch.” He shoved his thick finger against her chest.

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” he snarled. “You’ve been warned.” He poked harder.

  How much longer can I take this? Why won’t anyone help me? He was a monster of a man. She squirmed within his shadow, wishing he would stop, nausea swirling in her gut. But all the wishing in the world wasn’t going to get her anywhere. This wasn’t the first attack and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. I can’t be sick. I must be brave. If I move now then he’ll win. I can’t let him believe he’s won I must maintain my illusion of calmness. I’ve worked hard to earn my position in this company and no bully is going to force me to walk away.