He glanced at the digital clock displayed on the dash stereo.
“We have time to swing through town and buy a coke.”
It was getting late and he did need to get home and rest for work tomorrow. So, he let the memory fade and reached for the key left in the ignition. But before he could turn it, a voice startled him.
I met David that night, after you dropped me off.
“What?” He spun toward the voice behind him.
It was our first time to meet so late.
“Sharon…”
It was her, sitting in the back seat, on the opposite side of the vehicle.
I’m glad I met him, considering what you did to me…
Sharon was pale, white, luminescent and translucent. Despite that, open wounds crisscrossed her body. Dark stains, like inky blood in a black-and-white horror film, marred her clothing. An airy summer dress. The dress she’d been wearing that fateful night. Her hair, her beautiful blonde hair, was a rat’s nest of dirt, twigs, and clotted blood from a head wound at the temple.
His heart seized to see her like this. The gruesome sight stole away his breath and his response along with it, as if she’d slashed his tongue, much as he’d slashed her beautiful face.
You’re a horrible person. You should be dead, not me. You left me! You left me alone with David! And then you have the nerve to blame him. To blame me!
Tears streamed down his face. Still speechless, he reached for her but she escaped his grasp to slip through the unopened door and disappear into the mist.
Sliding across the bench seat, he stumbled out the passenger door. Sharon was nowhere to be seen.
“Sharon! Please forgive me,” he shouted. But he knew he’d never be forgiven. He’d be forced to live this hell forever.
Chapter 11
“I want to know where she is.”
“How many times must I tell you? I don’t know.”
“Bullshit!”
He slapped her across the face. Backhanded her.
A coppery taste of blood filled her mouth as her mind screamed for Chad, along with this man, to fucking die.
I did nothing to deserve this. Nothing, she thought. A sense of helplessness gave way to anger, and she charged at the man, who had been ranting at her for the past five minutes.
“You’re crazy. Delusional. I don’t know any fucking Sharon,” Julia said, fingers curled like claws as she went for his face, for his eyes.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said as he seized wrists and slung her into the dresser. Its edge caught her in the side. Had it been sturdier, she might have broken a rib. But as it stood, the damn thing cracked as it absorbed the impact.
Julia collapsed to the floor and a flurry of kicks and stomps bombarded her, igniting pain across her body.
“No! Please! Stop! Don’t kill me.”
Surprisingly he did stop.
“You’re right. I’ll never get her whereabouts out of you if you’re dead. And believe me, I know how to get information out of you.”
With those words, he headed for the door.
I’m fucked if he leaves, Julia assumed. She scrambled after him like a dog on a chain but a kick to the head stopped her cold. He tried to slam the door but she painfully stopped it from closing with a leg.
“Goddamn it,” she cursed.
She glared as he ignored the open door to jog up the stairs. He knew she couldn’t leave because of the chain around an ankle; an open door offered no escape, only mockery.
What do I do now? He wants something from me I don’t have, Julia thought. A typical man, asking the impossible.
She collapsed on the bed, surveyed her wounds. An ache in her side suggested a cracked rib. Her head throbbed where he’d kicked it. The area might swell into a goose egg bump but besides that, and perhaps more bumps and bruises, she seemed okay.
Okay for now…
Hands covered a weeping face. Her mind screamed obscenities at her improbable predicament. However, as frustrating as her situation remained, it hadn’t changed much. It had simply gotten worse.
He’ll torture you, then kill you. No, scratch that. He’ll torture you, rape you, then kill you. And it’s all your goddamn fault, Chad. You horny son of a bitch. You and Texas Ta-tas. Jesus, I hate men.
Hated them and loved them.
Why me? Julia asked herself. Why haven’t I met a wonderful man and gotten married already? Then none of this would be happening. Yet, she knew the answer. I’m a serial monogamist, just like my mother says.
There was always a reason to leave a man, always a reason to land another. She hated Chad for flirting and Marcus for his entourage and accusations of jealousy. Before that there’d been Jason and all the time he spent with his guy friends, playing fantasy football, backyard football, football watching parties and bowling league. Once football season ended and he replaced the activities with ATV riding, a ski trip, and the start of baseball season, Julia ended things between them, citing the reason “he simply needs holes to fill when he isn’t busy,” which seemed to sum up their relationship. In retrospect, perhaps she should have suggested couples counseling instead of telling Jason to “shove a baseball bat up his ass.”
Julia lay crying, contemplating her past when the man came rushing down the stairs, something rattling in his hands.
“What is that?” she asked, worried.
“These?” he asked, holding up a jumble of chains, shackles and bars whose purpose became clear almost immediately. “Just some things I made for the last bitch who decided to let Sharon loose.”
Some things you made?
The things consisted of a metal bar with shackles and another couple pairs of shackles attached by short chains; they looked like something from Bondage R Us.
“Ohh… No…”
“Oh, yes.”
Julia scrambled off the bed but with nowhere to run he took his time reeling her in with the ankle chain.
She kicked and scratched at him but a few belly punches and a well-placed fist above the right buttock stole away her feistiness.
He first clamped a hand around her throat and began to throttle her as he warned her “not to make it worse.” Then, as he started to fit her into the contraptions, her struggle resumed. But a few more heavy punches – another to a kidney and one to the face – settled her enough that he secured shackles to wrists and then upper arms, behind her back. The bar spread legs wide as it clamped around both ankles.
“Over here,” the man said as he dragged her across concrete to the sound of her wails and screams.
She noticed a small indentation on the floor. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? Perhaps she had, simply assuming a divot, a chunk of concrete chipped away while moving furniture or fixtures into the room, something which occurred during construction or renovation. But she’d been wrong.
The man retrieved something from a pocket and blew dust from the hole. Then he screwed the metal object into the hole. He used it to secure a short length of chain from it to the bar between her legs. Then he removed the shackle and chain tethering Julia to the wall.
“No more lap of luxury for you,” he said, as he maneuvered her into position. This new setup severely impeded movement for Julia.
“You’re sick,” she screamed. “A fucking lunatic. You can’t do this.”
“You trespass in my home and fuck with my love life,” he replied, “I can do whatever I want.”
Oh my god, you can’t speak rationally with this psycho, Julia thought. She cried, she screamed, she struggled against the bonds hoping for brittle welds which allowed shackles to snap free, but only managed to abrade skin in the process.
Then, both winded, he stood before her as she rested shoulders on concrete, ass raised.
“That dress belonged to Sharon,” he said.
“What?”
“It was my favorite and I don’t want you wearing it.”
“You should have thought of that before you chained me to the floor, you fucking idiot.”
; Calmly he pulled a knife from a jeans pocket and folded out a blade. “No worries,” he said. “I’ll cut it off. I don’t like it anymore anyway.”
Julia had never felt so humiliated in all her life. She’d dated a man, years ago, Brian or Bruce or something. He’d wanted to tie her up. She’d allowed him the kink, curious how it might feel, as their relationship had progressed far enough to trust him. However, she’d found the experience degrading and humiliating, something she didn’t wish to repeat. But now, here she was. To the Nth degree…
The warm blade traced along the back of a thigh. Try as she might to shirk its touch, the constraints offered little play and thus not much wiggle room. He lifted the skirt and ran the blade to her panties.
“Please be careful,” Julia urged. “Don’t cut me.”
“You don’t tell me what to do,” he said.
A sharp jab pierced just below the panty, at the crease where buttock met thigh, which forced Julia to yelp. A warm, wet sensation then ran down the back of her leg.
Motherfucker stabbed me, Julia thought. She gritted teeth, clenched fists, even curled toes. She feared what he might do next, realized she’d suffer his every whim. And all for what? The delusion that she had been his long-lost love, and that she’d somehow set this Sharon person free and replaced her. Like that made any possible sense.
Tears pooled on concrete as she braced herself for what would come next. He grabbed the panties and tugged them away from her. The blade slipped into a leg hole to cut through fabric. Then he repeated the process at the other leg. He could have simply slid them down, the panties belonged to Julia, part of the intimate outfit she’d bought for Chad, but the man pulled them free and tossed them aside, leaving Julia seemingly more vulnerable and exposed.
She screamed as the blade slide along the crease of her sex.
“Don’t cut my pussy,” she squealed.
Metal pressed harder between her legs then slashed outward quickly, and Julia knew she’d been mutilated.
Except she hadn’t.
With a fistful of her hair, the man pulled her back into a kneeling position. Then he stood before her.
“I used the back of the blade that time,” he said. “Next time I won’t.”
“Please…” Julia’s chin quivered. “I promise… I’ve never done anything to you… I never will if only you’ll—”
“I’ll do no such thing. Now hold still. If you rock forward, you’ll go face first to the floor.”
Julia knew this to be true, didn’t dare do anything to abrade skin or fall face first to concrete. Then the man went about cutting free the dress. Ripping through the skirt, popping each button free with a snip of thread. He took special effort to trace around nipples with the sharp end of the blade, which had grown cool in the chill of the basement. It infuriated Julia that her body responded with pebbled nipples. So humiliating. Yet she endured, afraid to set the man off on a slashing rampage which seemed a distinct possibility.
All too soon Julia knelt naked and afraid before him.
“We have things to discuss,” he said. “But it’s late and I’m tired. You think about what you’ve done, how you can rectify your situation. I’ll grab you a bucket before bed.”
He left the room to a tirade of obscenities Julia couldn’t stop from vomiting. Her body shivered, as it had grown cold, mostly but not entirely from fright. He returned with a plastic coffee can that he positioned between her legs.
“I don’t want a mess to clean up in the morning. And if you don’t shut that smart mouth of yours, I’ll shut if for you,” he warned with an upheld palm suggesting a slap to the face. “Then I’ll tape it shut.”
He left the room, switched off the light and left Julia there, more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. She lasted maybe an hour before pitching forward, using a shoulder to break her fall, then trying to sleep in that awkward position. It proved nearly impossible, with her mind racing at how much she despised Chad.
Chapter 12
Exhausted and cramped, she’d been awake, unable to sleep, when she heard footsteps descending the staircase. Though she feared what he might do to her, she longed for a change in circumstance, some change in position, anything which was an improvement over the agony of arms shackled behind her back, legs braced apart by a metal bar, cold, hard concrete beneath her.
“Rise and shine,” the man said, holding a coffee mug. He also carried a folded metal chair which he unfolded and placed before her.
Julia responded solely with a glare.
“Allow me to help.”
Julia yelped as he dragged her into a kneeling position by the hair, pushed to one side the coffee can she’d been forced to use earlier.
“There, that’s better.” He sat and sipped coffee. “Now, since you had the audacity to let Sharon go…” he started.
“I did no such th—”
An intimidating raised palm silenced her.
“Since you’re here,” he continued, “and Sharon isn’t, I’d say it’s time I learned more about you. You claimed you were in an auto accident, that you ended up here.”
“I was. You—”
“Don’t interrupt me. I suppose I could start by asking your name. But I already know who you are. Julia Sommers, age 32. You’re a loan officer, never been married, no kids, no pets – yes, a newspaper article actually mentioned the lack of a pet. All you have is a live-in boyfriend, a significant other, the article stated, by the name of Chad… What’s his last name?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t. But I do want to know more. How long have you and Chad been together?”
What the fuck difference does it make, asshole? I’m chained in your goddamn basement, my broken heart in hell while Chad’s cock is in Texas.
“What’s your point?”
His somewhat amused expression turned sour. “I’ll ask the questions.”
“About a year.”
“How long before you two decided to shack up together?”
“Three, four months.”
“Wow. You two didn’t waste much time.”
Julia’s glare continued, which only worked to revive the amusement on his face.
“So, tell me, have you shacked up before, with anyone else?”
“I’m 32. What do you think?”
“I wouldn’t want to presume anything.” He sipped coffee. “Tell me.”
“A time or two, I suppose,” Julia answered in a dry, raspy voice.
“A time or two.” He mulled over the reply. “I’m guessing more than twice. Tell me, what’s the longest you’ve been with one man?”
Julia didn’t like this interrogation one bit. It had nothing to do with anything. She was his hostage, kidnapped and stowed away like, what, some sort of sex slave? He should be raping me instead of questioning me, she thought, though she much preferred this little exercise.
“About a year and a half.”
“Was that the relationship before Chad?”
“No.”
“What was the last one’s name?”
“Marcus.”
“How long?”
“A few months.”
“Tell me what went wrong between you and Marcus. Then tell me how the relationship between you and Chad developed.”
My god, she wanted to scream. I’m kneeling on concrete, naked and afraid, and you want to reminisce about my love life? You’re fucking crazy. None of it means anything!
“Marcus said I acted jealous and he didn’t like it.”
“Interesting. Do you think you acted jealous?”
“No, I don’t. I mean, everywhere we went young girls wanted his attention. I suppose he didn’t allow any of it to last long. He’d greet them with a hug, tell them he’d see them at school, then try to send them on their way.”
“Sounds fairly innocent and well-handled.”
“It’s a bit more complicated. Those girls, most of them, anyway, shot me dirty looks. Hung on a
bit too long during the hugs. Sometimes allowed a hand to slip over his ass, or gently caressed his back or muscles. Damn, did Marcus have muscles. I knew those girls, at least some of them, fantasized about him. Given the chance, they’d try to seduce him. Teenage girls with their hormones you know.”
The man, for the first time ever, nodded his understanding, as if they actually agreed on something. He said, “Basically, Marcus, in his role as a teacher for hormonal teenage students, allowed these girls their hugs, probably so as not to damage their developing egos, and then sent them on their way. And you didn’t like it. Tell me, when the hugs lingered too long, or during inappropriate hugs, at least the ones you mentioned, or perhaps others he told you about, did he ever chastise or scold the girls for their behavior?”
Hmm… Julia thought a moment. Then an instance sprang to mind. “Yes,” she said, “there is one time that I recall.”
“Please, tell me.”
“We were at Walmart, of all places. It seems like we always bumped into one of his students there. But this one time, a girl, a ditzy blonde, a senior of 17 or 18 years of age approaches with the typical ‘Hey, Coach Marcus!’”
“They called him by his first name?”
“Actually, they did. ‘Hey, Coach Marcus. Funny bumping into you here,’ she said. Then she hugged him very tight. Rested her head on his shoulder as her hands slipped down just north of his ass.”
“The hug lingered too long.”
“Yeah. Marcus pushed her to arms’ length, told her such actions were appropriate in public.”
“How did she respond?”
“Little bitch cut her eyes at me, then said something to the effect of meeting sometime somewhere not so public.”
“Wow,” he said. “I bet you didn’t like that at all.”
“Hell, no, I didn’t.”
“What did Marcus do?”
“He told the little tramp he didn’t appreciate what she’d said and, although he’d keep it to himself this time, instead of bringing it to the attention of school authorities, she shouldn’t address him outside of school and that such comments should be reserved for a boyfriend.”
Insanity Road Page 6