For complete disclaimers, see part 1.
WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! This part contains extreme violence and disturbing images.
If you’d like to tell me what a wonderful writer I am or that I royally suck, feel free at: XenaNut@hotmail.com
Come visit me at: www.myspace.com/aspfilmswriter or my publisher at: www.pdpublishing.com
Julie groaned as she was pulled from the deepest sleep she’d had in weeks. Green eyes blinked open as she tried to figure out what had pulled her back into reality. Then it hit her- hard. The blonde gasped, the cramps twisting her insides into knots.
“Oh, god,” she breathed, wishing more than ever that she could curl up. Or die. She grimaced as it suddenly felt like her insides were going to fall out from her very swollen, aching sex. She groaned again. She felt completely vulnerable and exposed, standing there as a very private ritual of being a woman began. She felt hot, bitter tears seep from her closed lids. She hated to feel helpless. Within moments, her sniff told her that she was right on time. “Fuck,” she whispered. It didn’t take long for her to feel wet and uncomfortable.
In truth, Julie shouldn’t have been upset or grossed out. After having a nice little reminder between her feet that all her personal things had to be taken care of where she stood, but somehow her monthly period was far too personal to not be able to take care of it properly. And her cramps were about to double her over where she stood. She’d do anything for a tampon and some Advil.
Remmy had gladly accepted Joan’s invitation to dinner. She had been holed up in her apartment for the past day and a half, plowing through the stacks of books she’d gotten form the library. The titles read like a spiritualist’s dream: Lucid Dreaming for Dummies, Astro Projection: Climbing into the new world, The Psychic Connection. On and on the titles went, old books filled with dry information, none of which seemed to ring true with the brunette.
She remembered the night before, sitting on her bed, cross-legged, a volume open in her hands, and another lying face down on the comforter in front of her. She read every word, trying to squeeze the last drop of information out of them. The only thing that even slightly resonated true was the books on lucid dreaming. This was the practice of controlling the events and characters in a dream. Well, that was all great and true, as that is exactly what Remmy had been doing, but all the books in the library won’t tell her how she’s able to influence someone else during the dreams.
She was reaching Julie, for that she was certain. She could feel the blonde’s reactions to it, could actually feel her calming as the dream progressed. The library books were all stacked safely in the brunette’s backpack, ready to be taken back early. They were no help. She’d just have to accept this as it was, just as she always had. She did, however, have an idea, and hoped Matt Wilson would be willing to work with her.
“What’s going on behind those beautiful blue eyes?” Joan asked, chopping vegetables as she glanced over at her tenant, Remmy, who was so lost in her own thoughts that she was in danger of shredding the lettuce for their salad into coleslaw.
“Huh?” Remmy asked, startled from her thoughts. She saw a smirking Joan looking at her. Cheeks slightly flushing at being caught daydreaming- again- she turned her attention back to her handiwork. “Sorry. Nothing. Just thinking.”
“Well, don’t try thinking so hard. It might be bad for you, or you may just lose a finger.” Joan emphasized her words by pointing at the sharp knife Remmy was using on the lettuce. Her employee grinned at her. “So, what do you think of Mabel?”
“In what way?” Remmy lifted the cutting board and scraping her lettuce confetti into the salad bowl, moments later Joan adding diced tomatoes, carrots and onions.
“As an employee. Do you think she’s catching on?” Joan wiped her hands of tomato boogers, then turned back to the hamburgers that were browning nicely on the stove top.
Remmy thought about the question for a moment, snatching a couple carrots from the bag on the counter. She chewed thoughtfully, mentally picturing the newest member of their team at the store. “I guess,” she said at length. “I think she’s still a little unsure on entering the cash drawer into the system.” She glanced at her boss. “Seems to make her nervous. But other than that,” she shrugged. “She’s good, I guess. Why?”
“Well, we’re one short as of Tuesday. Troy is leaving.”
“Really? Hmm.” Remmy was surprised to hear one of the night manager was going. She didn’t know him all that well, but it would make things tight.” She wondered why her boss was telling her this. Yeah, it affected the store, but she had the feeling Joan was stalling, like she had something else she wanted to talk to her about. Instead, Joan asked Remmy to get the table set as the older woman flipped slices of cheese on the patties. Remmy knew Doug wasn’t home tonight, instead going hunting with his three brothers.
Silently and efficiently, the two women got the food to the table, plates, napkins and condiments ready, and seated. Remmy knifed a generous amount of Miracle Whip on the underside of the top bun, then squirted a goodly amount of ketchup on the meat, itself. She could feel her boss’ eyes on her.. She glanced up at her in question.
“That’s disgusting,” Joan said, shaking her head as she piled on banana peppers and mustard onto her own sandwich. She looked away before catching the raised brow at her own preparation choice.
“So, what’s on your mind, Joan?” Remmy asked just before taking a mammoth bite from her hamburger, humming in pleasure at the mixture of tastes on her tongue. She was amused by the surprised look on her boss’ face.
“That lady cop came by the store the night when you were out with your friend, Roman. She was looking for you.”
“Why?” Remmy wiped her mouth then sipped from her iced tea.
Joan met the curious blue gaze. “The town is going to have a memorial service for Julie Wilson.”
Remmy stared at her, unblinking. “Why?”
“Because they think she’s dead.”
“But she’s not!” Remmy exclaimed, throwing her napkin down on the table. Joan was unmoved.
“Remmy, she’s been gone for how long now? Two months? They found her blood. Honey, it’s likely she is dead.”
Remmy looked into her plate, for some reason losing her appetite. She had no idea why Joan’s declaration bothered her so badly. Julie is alive, damn it. She is! “Well, I think that’s crazy. I mean, if it’ll make them feel better, whatever. But, I think it’s just going to make them feel worse.”
“That might be, but that’s what she said. She asked me to pass on the message to you.” Joan paused, scooping some salad onto her plate and squirting Ranch dressing atop it. “I told her you’d be upset by that,” she said, not looking up at her tenant.
Remmy remained silent, not sure what to say or think. She was angry at Grace Cowan, feeling as though they’d given up hope for Julie’s return. She was also angry at Matt Wilson. Hadn’t she told him she’d get his sister back home safe and sound? With a heavy sigh, she continued to eat her dinner.
Sergio checked his rearview and side mirrors- he was right where he needed to be. Checking the dark neighborhood, he noted that there were still no lights shining in any of the windows. The neighborhood slept. Climbing out of the van, he carefully closed the driver’s side door, pulling open the newly-oiled sliding door on the side. Still unseen, he pulled gloves on his hand- light-weight, easy to maneuver- and headed into the backyard. He knew from earlier inspection that there was no dog, nor any other type of animal that might harm him or give away his location.
The yard was barren, the mark of a homeowner who spent little to no time back there. The only indication at all of habitation was a sheet pinned to the line. He took note of it, should he need it later. Making his way onto the dark back porch, Sergio’s black clothing and dark hair blended in perfectly with the shadows, making him seem to disappear. He reached into the pocket of his black jeans, feeling the familiar pieces of metal, removing them as he crouched to one knee. He used the tips of his fingers to feel over the knob and deadbolt, easily inserting the picks, and patiently waiting until he felt what he was looking for. Within a couple moments, the lock clicked, the first phase of his plan complete and a success.
Sergio took it slow, easing his way through what appeared to be a room that had been added on. A washer and dryer lined the left wall, tall, metal cabinets the right. Straight ahead was an open doorway, which led to an “L” shaped kitchen. He ran his hand along the counter, following the smooth line until it was interrupted by the stove, then another stretch of counter space. Finally he reached the arched doorway of the room, which led to a larger space. He stopped, looking around, listening: somewhere a clock ticked, its constant marking of time seeming crude in the perfect stillness. Two large windows at the front of the room let in just enough light to show the top of a console-type television, and the arm of what appeared to be a couch or armchair. Apparently this was the front room of the house. The glass panes in the front door confirmed this.
Sergio glanced to his left, seeing nothing but wall, interrupted by a window with the shade pulled down. To his left, something reflected that muted light from that window. Upon further inspection, he realized it was a built-in cabinet of some sort. It was too dark inside to tell what was hidden within. It didn’t matter- his treasure lie elsewhere.
Feeling his way past the cabinet, not wanting to misstep and fall against the glass, he felt another archway just beyond it. This led to a dark hallway with another door directly in front of him, one further down the hall to his left, and one further down the hall to his right. From the smell of Irish Spring soap, he figured the bathroom was straight ahead. This left him to either choose right, or to choose left. Heading to the left, which took him to the room at the front of the house, he realized almost instantly that he’d gone the wrong way- inside was the muted blue light from a gigantic fish tank. A futon couch lined the opposite wall, and a desk with a computer on it sat under the large window. The room smelled of furniture polish.
Sergio backtracked, his pulse racing and heart beginning to pound as he headed into the final room, where he knew his latest prize awaited him. He could feel the excitement rising in his throat, and he swallowed reflexively. As he got closer to the room, the door slightly ajar, he thought back to his mother, who always slept with her door closed, no matter what. He thought of the bedroom beyond the closed door- sparse, all except for the huge, wooden cross that hung over the bed. He always thought his mother’s room looked more like a nun’s cell rather than a bedroom in a house in the suburbs of Chicago. The rest of the house had been almost just as void of any sort of humanity or proof that anyone inhabited its cold, white walls.
He shook the thoughts away as his hand reached out, barely touching the door as he tested the hinges. They squeaked just enough to make him stop. He tensed, listening intently- nothing. Slowly pushing the door some more, he stopped once again, only to push one last time until the door was fully opened. The room was very dark, but he could hear the soft breathing of the woman who lie sprawled in the bed. He waited a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to this new darkness. As they did, he was starting to be able to make out a large patch of light color, which he realized was the light-colored bedding. The floors in the room were wood, differing from the carpeting in the rest of the house. Good thing his boots had rubber soles.
He walked slowly, stopping when he felt the gentle push of the edge of the mattress against his knees. Looking down, he smiled, seeing the sleeping form, lying on her side. One arm was outside of the covers, the hand up by her face. Her long, dark hair was spread out over the pillow. He reached out a hand, yearning to touch it, but stopped when he heard a gasp.
Within a heartbeat, Sergio was on top of the girl, forcing her to her back, a hand placed tightly over her mouth. Huge, dark eyes stared up at him in startled terror.
“Shh,” he cooed, his hand still firmly in place. “Don’t be frightened,” he whispered. He could hear the girl beginning to whimper underneath him. With his much larger body weight, he held her in place, reaching into the pocket of his jacket to produce a tiny bottle and a t-shirt, which he snagged from the floor next to the bed. With the quick twist of his fingers, he had the cap off the bottle, and the liquid on the cloth. The barest bit of a scream was heard as he replaced his hand with the shirt. The girl’s body only struggled for a moment before she went limp.
Sergio held strong for a moment, making sure she was, indeed out. Assured, he pushed himself off her, breathing hard and sweating profusely. He knew he didn’t have much time, so he threw the covers off of her and lifted her in strong arms. Mindful of her legs and head, Sergio quickly made headed back the way he’d come, and out into the chilled October night.
Pamela felt as though she were about to lose her mind. Roxie had been crying off and on for the past… hell, she had no idea how long. It was a long time. She was at the end of her tether, and if she weren’t bound to the fucking wall, she would have gone over there and beat the living shit out of the woman. The dental assistant could tell Julie was sick of it, too. Sure, the cute little blonde had thought she was mean for telling Roxie to shut the fuck up and quit her whining. Now, after months of this crap, even Julie was tired of it, and often told Roxie to stuff a sock in it.
Pamela’s musings were cut short when suddenly, and to her dread, the little door was swung open, a grunting asshole backing his way in. The older brunette wasn’t all that surprised to see that he was dragging someone inside.
“Evenin’, ladies,” Sergio panted, amused at his own casualness. He dropped the hands of his prize, standing to his full height and stretching his back. He looked at the women before him, one to his left, one to his right, and the sap straight in front of him. His gaze fixated on her. Her eyes were tear-streaked and swollen, her bottom lip protruding. “What?” he asked, patience thin after his full night.
Roxie shook her head. “I don’t wanna be here no more,” she cried, voice thick from hours of crying.
Sergio took a step toward her. “What?”
“Shut up, Roxie,” Julie said, her voice breathy. She had a bad feeling in her gut.
“I don’t wanna be here. I wanna go home,” Roxie said, fresh tears leaking down her cheeks.
Sergio felt his patience run out, gone, leaving him cold and irritated. He took another step toward her, his facial features hardened into planes of shadow-chiseled stone. “Stop crying,” he warned, voice low. His blood began to warm, then simmer as her tears not only didn’t stop, but increased in flow. “I said, stop crying,” he growled.
“Roxie, please,” Julie gasped, her skin growing cold, a chill her lover’s caress.
Roxie’s sobs filled the tight space, her head shaking as her eyes squeezed shut, more tears pouring out. She gasped and cried out as a large, strong hand was suddenly around her throat.
“Stop crying!” Sergio yelled, his face mere inches from hers. He could feel the smooth, cool flesh beneath his hand, the continued tears making the flesh wet and slimy. Angered further by that, and the fact that this bitch wasn’t following his commands, his blood raged, filling his sight with the face of a someone not worth his pity, not worth his spit. Not worth his mercy. “Stop crying, you bitch!” he screamed, Roxie’s gasping face merging with a woman much older, eyes small and dark, looking at him with hatred and disgust. “I said stop! Fucking stop!” She opened her mouth, sharp little tongue waggling at him, telling him what a bad boy he was, what a waste and how pitiful he was. You’re not a man, she hissed. You’re pathetic, God’s castoff. He tightened his grip, watching in satisfaction as those dark, beady eyes bulged, a desperate gasp to take in air, the hatred still burning strong, burning deep.
Julie couldn’t take her eyes away from what was happening, her heart stopped in her chest, fear ice cold and heavy. She could hear the rattle of Roxie’s bonds as her body convulsed, trying desperately to reach for the hand that clenched tighter and tighter, but impotent to do anything- just like she was.
“Stop crying,” Sergio whispered, a pale face with wide, blue eyes staring sightlessly back at him, no longer struggling. No longer crying. No longer breathing.
Pamela watched in a daze as her jailor let go of Roxie, his barrel chest heaving as he panted. He stepped back from the woman, who’s head fell forward as soon as it was released. She was truly terrified for the first time in many, many months, her eyes on him. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, which hung in his eyes, almost giving him the appearance of a little boy. He looked around, unable to meet either women’s eye.
Sudden movement and noise startled them all as the body he’d left near the door moved, the girl groaning and coughing. He hurried over to her, gathering her up in strong arms and quickly reaching into his pocket. He shoved the newly treated t-shirt over her mouth again, within moments rendering her unconscious again.
The stunned silence was only broken by the sounds of Sergio dragging his new prize over to the wall where Julie was bound. He grunted as he hefted the girl’s basically dead weight up, holding her in place with his own body as he quickly got her into place. Stepping away from her, he bent over, resting his palms on his bent knees and took several deep breaths.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” he muttered, as if to himself.
Julie watched on, terrified to make a move or a sound, not wanting to turn his attention on her. She sensed Pam was thinking the same thing, both women making eye contact for a brief moment before returning to their own heads. Neither could bring themselves to look over at Roxie.
Fear… Can’t breathe! Shaking, can’t look, don’t look…
Hot tears ran down Remmy’s cheeks in her sleep, which was fitful at best. She tossed, crying out in a loud whimper, her legs scissoring in the sheets.
“No,” she hissed. “Let go…”
Heart pounding… can’t breathe! Can’t breathe! No! Can’t die!
The image was fuzzy, only colors delineating between objects. A naked form, arms out to the sides. Someone dark, dark clothing, stood before her…
Can’t breathe! Hands on the form, squeezing, squeezing, gasping… Can’t breathe!
Remmy shot up with a cry, eyes wide and tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “Oh god,” she gasped, hands raising to her throat. “Oh, god.” She was panting, chest heaving as she tried to suck in precious air. She felt cold and very afraid as she looked around her apartment.
Shoving off the bed, Remmy ran into the bathroom, barely managing to throw the toilet lid up before losing her dinner. Stomach empty, Remmy slid down to the floor, back against the cold porcelain of the tub. She was breathing heavily, a trembling hand running through her hair.
Sergio looked down at the body of the woman who lay on the floor of his garage. Her skin was pale, a deep bruise appearing on the flesh of her throat. He leaned back against his large, red toolbox, unsure of what to do. He noted with mild curiosity that the woman had a tattoo on her hip, which from the spread of her hips from childbirth, had become distorted and stretched.
With a heavy sigh, her pushed away from his toolbox, turning and opening the drawers at random, looking for something, anything that would make his job easier. With grim satisfaction, he found it, running a finger over the jagged teeth of the blade. Setting the saw down, Sergio looked through another drawer, finding a box of dust masks, and grabbing one with slightly shaking fingers. Managing to slip the cord over his head, he slid the mask in place, pinching the thin, metal bar so it hugged the bridge of his nose.
Sergio’s work was grim, but he knew it had to be done. He was exhausted, and just wanted to curl up with someone for the night. That would have to wait. He had no idea the strength it would take to perform the grisly task, but he was glad he had it in abundance. It took more than three hours, and by time he was finished, he was working purely on adrenaline. Scouring his garage and workshop area, he realized he didn’t have the final ingredient he’d need, he’d have to get that tomorrow. For the time being, Sergio wrapped each part in newspaper, then carefully stowed them in a fifty-gallon drum he drug from the backyard, which he usually stored his trash in. It would do for now.
Brushing a bloodied hand across his forehead to dislodge sweaty bangs, Sergio grimaced. He needed a shower. Clicking off the garage light and heading inside, he locked the house up for the night, then stripped on his way to his bedroom, careful what he touched. He hated a mess.
The water was hot against his skin, making him groan loud as the tension eased from his aching back. It had been such a long night. He washed his hair three times, and scrubbed his hands with a brush, sure to get underneath his fingernails. His skin felt fresh and new as he stepped out of the stall, grabbing a towel from the rack on the door and drying his hair then his body.
The clock on his nightstand told him the sun would rise in less than two hours. Good things he was off the next day. Looking at his large bed, Sergio frowned- it was too big, too empty. Making a quick decision, he threw on some sweats and a pair of sneakers and headed toward the kitchen and basement stairs beyond.
It didn’t take him long to decide whose company he wanted, and it took him even less time to subdue her with treated cloth over her mouth and nose. Julie didn’t make a sound as her body was gently unshackled and carefully carried out of the confines of her prison.
Once upstairs, Sergio made sure she was properly bound, then slipped out of his sweats and shoes, and into bed, pulling the covers up over their naked bodies as he rested his still-wet head on the blonde’s shoulder. He was soon asleep, missing the silent tears that fell onto the pillow.
Return to the Academy