After he’d cleared the table and started the dishes in the dishwasher, he asked, “Would you care to partake of a game of cards?”
“I would, but I’m exhausted. Would you mind if I just went to bed?” It was true. I was so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open.
He smiled and nodded. “Sure. There’s always tomorrow, isn’t there?”
As he led me to bed, undressed me, and restrained my arms, I kept hearing his words echoing through my mind.
There’s always tomorrow, there’s always tomorrow...
Was that my life now? Stuck here in this house with him while he killed women in the basement? Thinking of ways to keep him liking me, and yet keep him from having me. Always trying to think faster than him, trying to guess his next move. Trying to do or say whatever would set him off the least. Jumping in my skin every time he moved, wondering if this was the time he’d turn his anger on me.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t live like that forever. I had to get out of this house and away from him. I didn’t know how or when, but I knew that I had to. But any attempts I was to make would have to wait until I’d regained my strength.
I was pretty certain that while I was naked and strapped to the bed, I felt his hands not only fondling my breasts, but sliding up and down my thighs. I fell asleep quickly, but I never felt him touching my crotch while I was awake. As crazy as he was, there was no telling what he did after I drifted off.
The next morning, I woke to find Ron standing beside the bed. His arms were folded across his chest. Though he was looking at me, he didn’t seem to see me. He was too lost in thought. In fact, he didn’t even notice that I was awake for a few minutes, which was more than enough time for me to notice the blood under his fingernails.
At first, I thought I was imagining it. After all, he was meticulous about cleaning. Surely, he wouldn’t walk around with fresh blood caked under his nails. But after blinking to clear my vision, I clearly identified it as blood. Fresh blood. Some of it still seemed wet.
I wouldn’t have brought myself to his attention at all. I would’ve continued lying there while he remained lost in thought. But I really had to pee.
“Ron.”
Nothing.
“Ron.”
When he spoke, it was quiet. Too quiet for me to clearly hear. But after concentrating hard on what I had managed to hear, I deduced that he’d said, “I’ll just kill her.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was he referring to me or Melinda? Or maybe he was remembering Stephanie. I had no idea what to think.
On the verge of pissing the bed, I said, “Ron,” with more force than before.
This did the trick. His eyes cleared and he focused on me.
“Good morning.”
“I really have to pee,” I said squirming a little.
“I’m sure you do,” he said without moving.
Several seconds passed and he still hadn’t moved. He just kept standing there smiling at me.
“Ron, I really have to go.”
“I know.”
“Do you think you could undo these cuffs and let me use the bathroom?”
“Sure.” He kept smiling, and he kept not moving.
“Ron, you’re really starting to piss me off here. I have got to go.”
“I know you do, Nicole.” His smile, which had been up to this point a regular smile, was now the smile I would expect a psychopath to have. There was nothing in those crazy eyes of his. His smile had an evil undertone.
Angry, I said, “Do you want me to piss the bed?”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“Do you think it’s wise to leave me laying here, knowing I have to pee?”
“Do what you feel you must. I believe you don’t need to go as badly as you think you do. It’s all a matter of the mind, Nicole.”
“No. It’s a matter of the bladder. The damn thing’s full and screaming for me to let it out. But I can’t do that if the asshole with the key won’t unlock the handcuffs.”
“Really, Nicole, that language isn’t becoming of a woman of mine.”
“A woman of yours?” I asked in a snotty tone. I faintly remembered that I was supposed to be on his side, buying myself time to find a way out. It was hard to do at the moment, though.
“Yes. You’re a woman of mine. And you really shouldn’t say things that a woman of Melinda’s sort would say.”
“Well if I’m a woman of yours, you really shouldn’t leave me here in pain, begging you to use the toilet,” I said as I squeezed my legs together as best I could.
“Maybe you’re right. But maybe you need to learn control. You need to learn to control your body, Nicole. It’s mind over matter.”
“Now it’s piss over foam, you dickhead. I just pissed the bed because of you.” I couldn’t help but cry. I was ashamed of myself. I hated him. How could he do that to me? How could I let him?
Quickly, he jerked the blanket off my naked body and watched as the sheet grew darker in a growing pool around me. He watched until I was finished. All I could do was cry. I couldn’t hide my face. The best I could do was turn my head to the right as far as I could.
As my thighs and butt grew warmer, I hated him more and more. I hadn’t wet the bed since I was three, yet here I was at twenty-eight, wetting the hell out of a bed because of him. If I ever managed to pull my hand free of the cuff, I’d kill him, even if I had to do it with my bare hands.
“Do you need to release your bowels, as well?” he asked.
“No. There’s enough shit going on in this room,” I snapped.
He chuckled. One of these days, I’d knock the chuckle right out of him.
He finally released me from the bed and led me to the bathroom for my usual morning routine. I took longer today than usual. I stayed in the shower until the hot water ran cold. I brushed my teeth until my gums bled. I combed my hair until my scalp burned. Fuck him. He made me piss the bed. The least I could do to him was make him stand in the hall and wait for me.
17
Two days after I’d pissed the bed, Ron sat across the table from me. We’d finished a delicious breakfast of fried eggs and bacon and were halfway through a game of Gin Rummy. I was winning.
“I have a surprise for you, Nicole.” I could tell by the way his face lit up he was excited.
“Really?” I asked as unenthusiastically as possible.
“Yes,” he said getting up from the table. “I’ll be right back.” He briskly walked out of the kitchen.
As I listened to his footsteps fade down the hallway, I tried to pull my hand free of the handcuff. I struggled with it until I heard his footsteps return.
He held something behind his back and sat in his chair. Smiling, he revealed that he was holding a stack of papers.
“What is it?”
“What is it?” he asked as if I’d just asked the world’s silliest question. “You know what it is.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Of course I know what it is. I just have a horrible habit of asking questions I already know the answer to. It’s kind of a hobby of mine.”
He shook his head and smiled. “I sure love having you here.”
“I’m so lucky.”
“It’s the book.”
This piqued my interest. “The book? The book I’m supposed to be helping you with?”
“Yes, and you are helping me, Nicole. I’ve learned so much from you. You really have made this character come to life for me. She’s more than just a name on a page to me now. When I think of her, I think of you. I suppose that’s how it will always be,” he said fondly.
I said nothing.
“Would you like to read it?”
I considered reading it. I wasn’t sure if I should or not. It would probably be a good insight into the mind of a maniac, but did I want to see that? Wasn’t it bad enough knowing what I knew about him already? Did I really want a behind-the-scenes look at the workings of a monster?
“Yes,” I said.<
br />
“Well you can’t,” he snapped.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want you to read it until it’s finished. I’d like it to be a surprise to you.”
“Why the hell would you ask me to read it if you weren’t going to let me?” I asked angrily.
“I just wanted to know that you wanted to read it. And now I know,” he said smiling. He put the stack of papers on the floor by his feet, out of my sight and reach, but not out of my mind.
I couldn’t help myself. “I hope you get a paper cut from those papers and it gets infected.”
He laughed. “I’m sure you do, Nicole.”
A while later, I asked, “Do you have a television?”
“No. They’re nonsensical and impractical. They waste a lot of valuable time.”
“They don’t waste time. People waste time watching the stupid crap they put on TV. But there’s a lot of good stuff on there too. Lots of educational programs. For example, and this should interest you, there are several shows devoted to serial killers.”
“Is that so?” he asked, obviously amused with me. I’d thought I was treading on some thin ice making such a statement in such a crass way, but it seemed to only entertain him.
“Yeah. And not just serial killers. Psychopaths, schizophrenics, delusional people, pretty much all kinds of whack jobs.”
He chuckled. “Maybe I should invest in a television after all.”
“You should.”
He looked at me with enough affection to turn my stomach, and then asked, “Did you watch a lot of television?”
I winced at the way he referred to me in the past tense, and said, “Not a lot.”
Shuffling the cards, he asked, “What kind of programs did you watch? Soap operas?”
“No,” I snapped. “I hate soap operas. Talk about a waste of time.”
“I’m sorry, Nicole. I just assumed since you were a woman, you’d watch those types of programs.”
“You shouldn’t assume things about people.”
“No?”
“No. You don’t buy a book based solely on the cover, do you?”
He nodded. “You’re right, Nicole. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve known a lot of women who watched that type of thing.”
“Was one of them your wife?”
Quickly, he stood, reached across the table, and slapped me hard, bringing tears to my eyes. I’d never been slapped before. It hurt like hell. It felt like dozens of pins stinging my face.
I know he saw the shock on my face as I rubbed my left cheek with my free hand.
“I’m sorry, Nicole. I shouldn’t have done that,” he said as he sat down in his chair again.
For a while, all I could do was look at him, shocked. I shouldn’t be surprised, of course. He was a psychopath. I should be expecting anything at anytime. But I hadn’t seen that coming.
“I’m sorry. Let’s just forget that ever happened, shall we? It’s your turn,” he said, indicating the cards.
“You can kiss my ass if you think I’m going to play with you after that.”
“Nicole, please.”
“No. I’m not in the mood to play cards anymore.” I tried to cross my arms over my chest in a childish manner, but with my right arm shackled to the underside of the table, I could only cross my left arm. That probably looked at least half as stupid as it felt, so I relaxed my left arm, letting my hand fall to my lap limply.
Maybe I was crazy for talking back to him the way I was. I know he liked it when I did, but I also knew there was a very thin line that I couldn’t see but knew I didn’t want to cross. It would take him from amused by me to furious at me in the blink of an eye. But I didn’t care at the moment. I was angry.
I didn’t talk to him much the rest of the day. I watched as he cleaned the house, but if he looked my way, I averted my eyes. Eye contact provoked conversation and I wasn’t in the mood for that.
While he cleaned, I pulled on my hand, trying desperately to free myself of the metal handcuff. I tried to bend my thumb over far enough into my palm to make it smaller. It didn’t work. I even spit on my wrist and rubbed it around under the cuff trying to create enough lubricant to allow my hand to slip through. It didn’t work either.
In fact, the only thing I succeeded in doing was rubbing my wrist raw and making the bones in my hand hurt.
There would come a day, though, when the cuff would be just loose enough for my wrist to slide out. Then I would be free. And Ron would be dead.
18
A couple of days later, I was cuffed to the table while Ron was in the basement. He’d been down there for a while. I didn’t know what he was doing and I didn’t care. When he’d first gone down, I’d heard Melinda’s screams, but they’d fallen silent some time ago.
Now, I just sat and waited.
Eventually, Ron came stomping up the stairs in a huff. I could tell he was angry by the sounds of his footsteps. They were heavy, quick, and purposeful. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want to face him, afraid I would be the center of his anger.
Turns out, I didn’t have to turn around to be the center of his anger. And if I had put half as much thought into it as I thought I had, I would’ve seen this coming.
I heard his footsteps approach me from behind. They stopped directly behind me. I caved and started to turn around to face him, but before I could, he had his right arm across my right shoulder, and with his hand, he held my jaw tightly. His left hand came up on my left side. Before I could register that he had something in his hand, he was forcing it into my mouth.
I tried to pull away from him, but I had nowhere to go. My right hand was bound to the underside of the table. He was behind me, and I was trapped in his arms.
To my surprise and his, I managed to keep my teeth tightly together for a full minute. But no more than that. He stuffed his dirty, meaty fingers into my mouth and pried open my jaw. With his left hand, he managed to cram in a handful of the stuff he held, which I now knew to be the rotten dog food I’d so cleverly hidden from him.
He’d found it. He must’ve been down there cleaning and lifted the mattress. So as it turns out, I wasn’t quite the genius I thought I was.
I was more afraid than I had been so far. Even more afraid than I’d been as I’d watched him hack Stephanie into pieces. I knew that he was angry. Not just angry, but directly angry at me, with me, for lying to him. I didn’t even want to imagine the kind of punishment he had for something like this.
“Eat it, you stupid bitch,” he said as he continued cramming wads of rotten dog food in my mouth. Some pieces were still hard and crumbled as they scraped across my teeth. But other pieces had gone soft in their decay and fell softly into my mouth, threatening to slide down my throat. It was a battle to keep any from going down.
I only had one free hand and I used it to alternately beat him in the face and pull at his arms. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe with my mouth and throat full of the foul kibble. I was trying to keep it all in my mouth so when he let go, I could spit it all in his face.
“You think you can lie to me and get away with it?” he screamed in my ear. “Eat it!”
I began to cough and choke. He stopped shoving more food in, but refused to allow any out. He cupped his left hand, which was still covered in dog food crumbs, over my mouth and bloated cheeks. With his right hand, he lifted up on my jaw, tilting my head back against his chest where I could feel his furiously pounding heart beating against his ribs, adding to the pounding I already had in my head.
“Eat it, bitch, or I’ll snap your neck and then shove it down your throat while your heart still beats.”
Trying not to choke, I swallowed what was in my throat, some of the pieces scratching as they went. It took a few swallows to get it down, but I finally managed. Then, I chewed what was in my mouth. He didn’t give me any slack to chew, so I had to grind the bits of food against my teeth with my tongue to get it small enough to swallow. And worse, I could only br
eathe through my nose which meant I could smell. And taste. To say that it was a struggle to keep from puking was like saying that it was warm in Death Valley. A total understatement.
When he was satisfied that I’d swallowed enough of the vile stuff, he let go of my mouth and jaw. Just as I began to relax a little, he put a hand on the back of my head and shoved my face down onto the table hard enough to rattle my teeth and blur my vision. I’d managed to turn my head slightly to the left, making my cheek cushion the blow and avoiding a certain broken nose. I had not been able to keep from biting the inside of my jaw, however. The metallic taste of the blood was welcoming, as it masked the putrid taste of rotten dog food.
He leaned down and spoke directly into my ear loudly. “If you ever, ever, lie to me again, I’ll bring your family here and make you watch as I slowly kill them. Do you understand me?”
I tried to nod, but his hand had my face pinned tightly against the table, so instead I said, “Yes,” in a weak and defeated voice.
He let go of my head and stomped back downstairs. To the sound of his fading footsteps, I vomited. I threw up all the dog food, spilling it onto the kitchen floor. When I saw the maggots writhing around in it, I vomited again.
Using the back of my hand and the tail of my shirt, I wiped my face and mouth free of as much of the gross stuff as I could. Still, I could smell it. To expel as much of the smell as I could, I blew my nose into the tail of my shirt. It helped, but I still ended up breathing through only my mouth for the rest of the day.
Also for the rest of the day, I didn’t speak to Ron or look at him. He didn’t speak to me either.
When he finally allowed me to use the restroom, I saw myself in the mirror. I had bits of dog food in my hair. My face was bruised on the right side, where he’d slammed it against the table.
I didn’t give a damn what he said. I stayed in the bathroom until I’d cleaned myself up a bit.
I brushed my teeth twice. I ran the sink full of icy water and plunged my face into it. I considered leaving it there and drawing a deep breath. It shouldn’t take long to drown. The only problem would be my body working against me, fighting for life. I wasn’t sure I could overcome the will to live. And as Mason popped forward in my mind, I knew I couldn’t. His adorable little face was enough to make me pull my face from the sink and suck in a deep breath of air instead of water.
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