Hillary_Tail of the Dog

by Angel Gelique

  Hillary:

  Tail of the Dog

  Book One

  Angel Gelique

  Hillary: Tail of the Dog

  Angel Gelique

  Copyright © 2012 Angel Gelique

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without express, written permission.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidences are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  *******

  License Notes

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or transferred unless a separate copy has been purchased. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  DEDICATION

  This book is lovingly dedicated to…

  …my husband Keith, for his undying love and devotion. Thanks for always being there for me and for putting up with me!

  …my sister Regina, for always watching over me and for opening my mind to limitless possibilities. You are the best sister ever!

  I LOVE YOU BOTH!

  PROLOGUE

  Hillary was running through a dense forest from a man with blood red eyes. He was getting closer, gaining on her. She could smell his sweat, hear him wheezing. She fought the urge to turn around and see just how close he was. She knew that she had to outrun him; it was her only hope for survival. She ran as fast as she could, pushing branches out of her way as she passed, snapping twigs under her sneakers. She ignored the intense pain assaulting her side. She struggled to catch her own breath as she forged on. Her heart raced. She could feel each powerful beat thumping within her chest.

  This can’t be happening, she thought. Yet, there she was, lost in the forest, running for her life. It was getting chilly and the sun was starting to set. Hillary didn’t know whether she preferred the impending cover of darkness or dreaded it.

  Hillary heard the man begin coughing, but it didn’t seem to slow him down. He seemed closer than ever. The pain attacking Hillary’s side was nearly unbearable. She wanted to drop to the ground and just give up, but her will to live propelled her forward. She tripped on a rock and stumbled forward, almost falling to the ground, but at the last moment, found her balance. She continued to run, panting heavily. She knew that she couldn’t run for much longer. For the first time in years, she prayed.

  Please God, don’t let him catch me, she begged in her mind. Tears slid down her cheeks as she began slowing down from exhaustion and intolerable stomach cramps.

  “Please...” she panted weakly, nearly inaudible.

  The man was so close Hillary could feel his body heat threatening to engulf her. The smell of his sweat grew stronger. It was fetid and vile and made her think about the time her eighth grade class took a trip to a swamp to study the ecosystem. They had come upon the decaying half-eaten body of a large rat. Half the class puked up their lunch—boys and girls alike—and even one of the teachers. It was the most disgusting thing Hillary had ever smelled...until now.

  Just as Hillary visualized the rotting rat carcass, the man grabbed a hold of her long hair and yanked hard, causing her to fall back upon him. She screamed as he slipped his arm around her neck, putting her in a head lock. She tried to escape his grip but her efforts were futile. She was breathing so heavily she was on the verge of hyperventilating. She threw her head back forcibly, hoping to head-butt the man, hoping to loosen his grip, to no avail. She succeeded only in seeing his face—something she fiercely regretted. He was not a man at all. There was no way this creature could be human.

  Hillary struggled within the beast’s arm as it opened its mouth and bit down into her shoulder. Blood gushed down the sides of the beast’s mouth sloppily as he drank Hillary’s blood. Hillary gasped in pain as the beast quenched its thirst. Within seconds that seemed like years to Hillary, the beast drank on noisily. When it had its fill of blood it bit down further to feast on her flesh. Hillary shrieked in pain, praying now for death instead of prolonged life in agony. The beast kept biting off pieces of flesh from her shoulder and upper arm until at last it bit down on her neck, piercing her jugular vein. Hillary’s last thought before dying was that she didn’t kiss her mother goodbye as she hurried off to school that morning.

  With a loud gasp, Hillary opened her eyes. Her heart was racing. Just a dream, she thought frantically. It had seemed so real, so vivid. Her head was throbbing in pain and her mouth was dry. She started to get out of bed and realized that she could not feel her legs...or arms, for that matter. She was paralyzed. It was then that she became aware of her surroundings. She was not at home in her own bed. Though the lighting was dim, she could see that there was no furniture in the room except the bed that she was on and a table far away at the other end of the room. There was a closed door to her left.

  Panic set in and Hillary opened her mouth to scream but quickly shut it. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself and bring her captors to the room. Suddenly, she felt as helpless and terrified as she had moments ago in her dream. She had been so relieved when she awoke to discover that it was only a nightmare. Now the horror was exacerbated by her realization that the nightmare had only just begun.

  ~1~

  Hillary tried to remember how she had gotten to this point. Was the dream actually a memory? She nervously looked over at her left shoulder—the one that the beast of her “dream” had gnashed its teeth into. That’s when Hillary noticed that she was naked. This realization frightened her even more than being held captive.

  The fact that there were no signs that her shoulder had been mutilated was of little consolation. It merely proved that the dream she had awakened from was just a nightmare. How she ended up in this cold, dark room remained a mystery. Hillary struggled to remember her last memory and found to her horror that she could not remember who she was, let alone how she ended up in this situation. What was her name? How old was she? Where did she live? Was she a student, as her dream had suggested? Would someone look for her? Would they find her? Would she survive this nightmare? Would she—

  Hillary froze. Even her thoughts grew silent as she held her breath. The door opened slowly. Hillary tried again to move—move anything—to try to protect herself before her kidnapper entered. She was still paralyzed, able only to move her head. She could feel the wetness on her cheeks as tears streaked down her face. Her lips trembled as she braced herself for the worst.

  A man entered the room. Alone, and seemingly unarmed. He did not look anything like the horrors Hillary had imagined. He wasn’t disfigured. He didn’t have a chainsaw or an axe. He looked...ordinary. He was actually decent-looking, for an older man, Hillary noted. Still, she was afraid. After all, he was her captor. He walked in slowly, looking cautiously at her. He was wearing a striped button-down shirt and a pair of khaki pants. He looked like he belonged in an office somewhere—or maybe teaching a class full of kids.

  Why would he take me? Hillary wondered.

  The man cleared his throat as he approached. If Hillary didn’t know better, she would swear that he looked more nervous than she was. Maybe this was his first time kidnapping. Maybe she would be his first victim. Maybe he was having doubts...second thoughts about what he had done. Without thinking, Hillary pleaded with him.

  “If you let me go, I won’t tell anyone what you’ve done,” she implored desperately.

  “And what is it that you think I’ve done?” the man asked calmly. He had a soothing, deep voice. He didn’t sound threatening at all.

  “You kidnapped me,” Hillary replied quietly, barely over a whisper, as if she didn’t want to acknowledge how ba
d the situation was.

  The man did not respond. He reached out and took her hand in his. Though Hillary could not feel it at all, she could see her hand rise as he gripped it and lifted it up. She wished more than anything that she could grab her hand away from him. The fact that she could not move anything disturbed her almost more than the things she imagined this man might do to her. Even if she were to be rescued, she did not want to spend her life as a quadriplegic. She almost wished that he would just kill her. Let him do whatever he wanted, she wouldn’t feel it anyway. Yet, seeing him holding up her hand not only troubled her, it angered her.

  “Get off me!” she yelled, surprising herself.

  It further surprised her that the man actually obliged. He set her hand down gently upon the bed.

  “Who are you?” she yelled.

  “It doesn’t matter who I am. Who are you?” he asked softly.

  “I—I don’t know. I can’t remember. Why did you bring me here? Where am I?” Hillary lost her edge and resumed her role as the victim. She thought about all of the emotions she had felt in the short time since she awoke—terror, despair, anger, sadness, confusion, desperation....

  The man did not answer. He walked over to the far end of the room and picked up a notebook that was on the table. He began writing something.

  “Please,” Hillary begged, “will you please let me go?”

  The man walked over to Hillary.

  “How are you feeling today?” he asked.

  What? Hillary thought. Is he serious? The anger that had dissipated just moments ago returned with such force that it made Hillary’s head throb even harder.

  “How do you think I’m feeling?” she yelled. “I can’t move and I just want to go home.”

  “Well, where do you live?” the man asked.

  Hillary searched her mind for the answer. She had no idea who she was, where she lived, who her parents were. She just had vague feelings that she was someone’s daughter, from somewhere.

  Her heart raced as her frustration level multiplied.

  “You did this to me. What did you do to me?” Hillary demanded.

  “You can’t move anything?” the man asked as he cautiously approached her again and lifted up her left leg.

  “Get off me!” Hillary shouted, feeling angry, embarrassed and degraded all at once. She became acutely aware of her nakedness and longed more than anything to cover up. What kind of a sick man would stand there in front of a naked girl, taking notes and asking stupid questions?

  The man let her leg fall to the bed. He seemed satisfied that she was being truthful about her paralysis.

  “Can you get me a sheet, a blanket, anything? Can’t you at least cover me up?” she sobbed, unable to contain her emotions.

  “You don’t need to be embarrassed,” the man said.

  “When they find you, I hope they rip off your balls, you sick freak,” she screamed furiously.

  “When who finds me?” the man taunted.

  “Whoever will come looking for me. Someone will find me, I know it. You can’t keep me here forever.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you, you’re here for your own good,” the man said and he began gently stroking Hillary’s hair.

  The feel of his hands sweeping through her hair filled Hillary with disgust and rage and she shook her head wildly in a futile effort to avoid his hand. She was getting too angry, too excited. Her head was killing her and she imagined grabbing the man by his neck and crushing his windpipe.

  Just as the thought crossed her mind, her fingers twitched. It was a slight movement, but enough to give her enormous hope. She hoped the man didn’t notice. If he did, he said nothing about it. He pulled back and scribbled more notes in his book.

  “How long have you been awake?” he asked.

  “How would I know? I don’t even see a clock in here.”

  “Just estimate. Ten minutes, half an hour, one—”

  “I’m not answering your questions until you answer mine,” Hillary stated firmly. One moment she felt strong, brave and confident, the next she felt terrified, then angry. Must be the drugs in my system, she reasoned.

  “Very well. What do you want to know?” The man asked as he crossed his arms and waited for a response.

  “Do you know who I am?” Hillary asked coyly, barely above a whisper, as though she were afraid to find out.

  The man felt almost sorry for Hillary, who seemed so childlike at the moment. He had come to see her as an adult, a woman. Now she seemed so innocent, so frail, so vulnerable.

  Hillary held her breath, waiting for an answer. Who am I, she wondered, all the while opening and closing the fingers on her right hand, careful that the man would not see her.

  “Your name is Hillary. Hillary Greyson. You’re fifteen years old,” he replied curtly.

  “Where am I?” Hillary asked, as she moved her toes slowly. The name ‘Hillary Greyson’ did not even remotely sound familiar to her. It meant nothing to her.

  “You’re in a spare room in my home,” the man answered.

  Hillary sneered.

  I knew it! This creep is some sort of child molester. He kidnapped me and drugged me. I have to get out of here!

  Adrenaline coursed through her veins as panic engulfed her. To her delight, she could nearly lift her arm, though she could only try a little since the man was standing so close to her. It wouldn’t be long before she regained full use of her arms and legs and then she would escape from this place.

  “Why am I here? What have you done to me? Did you...did you rape me?” Hillary asked, feeling great revulsion by the very thought of it.

  “No, no, nothing like that,” the man assured, waving his hands as if to emphasize the truthfulness of his statement.

  “Then why would you have me here? Why am I naked?”

  “You’re here for your own protection. You need to trust me.”

  “Protection from what? And why am I naked? Can’t you give me my clothes back?”

  “Not yet. I know this must be confusing to you if you can’t remember anything. You have to trust me...please. I’ve answered some of your questions as best that I could. Now answer some of mine. I’m on your side Hillary, truly.”

  Hillary did not respond. The man accepted her silence as a good sign. He walked closer to her, hovering over the bed. He took her hand into his again. Hillary nearly pulled her hand back but thankfully had enough sense to stay perfectly still. Her only chance of escape would be to pretend that she could not move at all. The man tickled her palm with his rough fingernail. Still, Hillary did not move at all. She fought the urge to jump out of bed and run out of the room. But even if she could manage to stand, would she be strong enough to walk, let along run? She knew she had to be patient. Clever and patient.

  “About how long have you been awake?” he asked.

  Hillary sighed.

  “I just woke up a few minutes before you came in,” she replied.

  “Do you remember anything? Anything at all?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “So you don’t know who I am?” he asked, his eyebrows arched, anticipating her response.

  “No. Should I?” Hillary asked, straining to figure out who this strange man was. She had no memories whatsoever—not of him, not of anything.

  “Are—are you my father?” she asked, nervously awaiting his reply and praying that reply would be ‘no.’ What kind of father would drug his own daughter and leave her naked on a bed in the middle of an empty room?

  “No Hillary, I’m not your father,” he said, to Hillary’s relief. He let go of Hillary’s hand and began to take more notes in his book.

  “Who then? Some other relative?”

  “No, I’m a doctor,” the man replied quietly.

  “Am I sick?” Hillary asked, wondering what ailment she could possibly have that would necessitate her unclothed presence in this man’s house.

  “You’re getting better,” the man stated.

  “Where’s
my mother, my father?”

  “They’re home now. You’ve been here for quite some time. They stayed with you at first, but there was no point having them here since there’s nothing they can do.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” Hillary asked, doubting this so-called doctor’s story. It didn’t make any sense to Hillary. If she was sick, she’d be in a hospital.

  “Your memory should return to you soon,” the man said, without answering Hillary’s question.

  “Well what’s your name?” she asked.

  “Dr. Morrison.” He looked at his wristwatch.

  “How are you feeling now?” he asked. “Try to move your fingers.”

  Hillary pretended she was trying to move her fingers. She squinted as though she was trying with all her might. She even sighed heavily as though she were greatly disappointed.

  “I can’t move,” she cried out. “Why can’t I move?”

  “I had to give you a drug. I’m surprised that you are even awake. I guess the drug may be wearing off which means you’ll soon regain the use of your extremities.”

  “What kind of drug? And why did I need it?”

  “It’s only a matter of time before you start to remember, I’m sure,” Dr. Morrison said.

  “Why can’t you just tell me?” Hillary pleaded.

  “I have to get something,” Dr. Morrison said as he turned to go. “I’ll be right back.”

  Now’s my chance, thought Hillary, as she clenched both hands into tight fists. She flexed her feet forward, then back, shook her legs and arms and even lifted up her hips. Everything seemed to be functional.

  Now for the real test, Hillary thought as she prepared to stand up. She had to hurry—the so-called doctor said he’d be right back, and quite possibly he meant just that.

  Without further thought, Hillary abruptly sat up then swung her legs over to her left.