Authors: Elizabeth Lowe
I could quit and go to
the police, she reflected, nonsense!
What could I tell them?
What
proof do I have?
Besides, that was the
easy way out and life had never been easy for Susan. Nothing had seemed unusual
since the meeting she contemplated.
Was
it possible she misunderstood what she overheard she thrived on reading
mysteries and watching detective programs on television, but if that were true,
why was she suddenly afraid?
Woman's
intuition eating at her warned there was more to this than met the eye.
Skimming the last page
of the file, she held left her cold.
Tossing it on top of the stack beside her she hissed, “Nothing, Dammit!”
Stress made her feel lethargic. Leaning her
head against the desk, she closed her eyes mumbling to herself, “Think, Susan,
think!”
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….………………………………………………………….…………………………………………..
The pain was
excruciating.
Wrists stung and bled from
the bindings strung over a beam stretching her torso until toes barely touched
the sodden earth floor.
Cord tied around
ankles and anchored to weights pulled her legs apart.
Cobwebs grazed thin fingers stretching toward
rafters to relieve the pressure of biting robes.
Enlarged retinas attempted to pierce the
blackness as dank frigid air encompassed her small, shapely body.
A rag stuffed into her
mouth and secured with tape muffled piece by piece a long, wide knife stripped
the clothing from her frame as horror filled screams.
Perspiration dripped maddeningly into her
eyes spread wide with trepidation as the light from one candle reflected off a
razor sharp blade.
She felt pain and
oozing warmth as the tip of the knife began at the bottom of a foot and crept
up her ankle, her knee, her thigh, halting temporarily to toy with the dark
matting of pubic hair before slipping slowly between her thighs.
Unexpectedly the hand guiding the weapon released
its grip the threatening piece of steel fell to the floor.
Ten fingers grabbed her buttocks squeezing
painfully as the perpetrator hauled her petite, helpless body against a black
disguised, solid form.
Teeth bit at the
tender skin of her stomach, navel, rib cage, and breasts.
Lips sucked nipples painfully before the
tenebrous villain circling her body began fondling her from behind.
Sated, the dastard bent and retrieved the
blade again, guiding the honed tip from the base of her heel up the back of her
leg to round, firm buttocks and like needle pricks poked through the thin skin
in multi locations.
Punctures trickling
blood stripping her pale skin.
The blade
continued tracking her spinal cord from her neck to her buttocks coming to a
rest between her legs.
A
wicked laugh frosted the air. “How shall I take you first my pretty, from the
front or behind?
Which do you
prefer?
Speak up, speak up, I can't hear
you my love. Don't waste those whimpers and tears on me.
They'll do you no good.
When I have my fill, well . . . it's really
unfortunate you see, but then . . . I'll simply take my time chopping you into
tiny pieces so no one will ever identify you.”
The
males' voice was, low-pitched and ferocious as it cackled in her ear, his sharp
teeth biting through the fleshy lobe drawing blood.
Facing her, the form began removing his inky
facade from the bottom up, until only the hood covering his head remained.
He paused and as he laughed, his over-sized,
hardened penis shook.
Pockmarks were the
last thing she saw when her screams blocked out all her senses.
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Someone
shaking Susan violently hauled her to her feet.
’’What, in hell, is going on here,”
a voice screamed.
Susan had escaped impending death only to
have her eyelids open to disclose Sommer’s face.
“I . . . I must have . . . fallen asleep.”
Arsenic
laced each word Sommer’s spoke. “What's this mess all about?”
A stubby, plump hand shoved her body against
the protruding drawers of the file cabinet banging the drawers shut.
She felt a sharp biting pain in her shoulder
blade.
Fingers crushed her chin.
“What have you been doing, my sweet?
Spying?”
Frantically,
Susan began to verbalize, “Oh, no, Mr. Sommer’s. Honest!
You see I . . . I thought I would take the
time to straighten out the files.
They
were in such a mess I was having a hard time finding clients.
You must realize there have been many
secretaries over the past year and I. . . “
Thick,
wet, hot lips smothered her confession.
Grabbing the back of her head with one hand, Howard pressed her face
closer sucking her lips into his wide mouth while the other hand reached under
her skirt.
Squirming, Susan pushed at his chest.
“Please, Mr. Sommer’s.
I can't breathe.”
Thrusting his portly body into hers
so hard his belt buckle bit into her stomach, he sputtered, “You wouldn't be
lying to me now, would you, Susan?”
Petrified, fragments of
her day-mare returned.
She wondered if
it had been a forewarning of what Sommer’s and his marionettes planned to do to
her.
Gasping for
breathe
she searched for convincing words.
“Why
would I lie to you?
What reason would I
have?”
Howard's
hands traveling under her sweater ripped her bra free and crushed a
breast.
His penis probed frantically at
the juncture of her legs.
Sugar coated
words with undercurrents of danger expelled from his vile mouth.
“The last thing I'd ever want to do, Miss Susie
Q., is hurt you.
I have grown very, very
fond of you, my sweet.
I've missed you
terribly.”
Like the reptile he was, his
tongue licked her lips. “Now, be a good little girl and show daddy how much
you've missed me.”
Contents
of Susan's stomach curdled.
Glazed eyes
staring beyond him focused on a letter opener on the desk. Fantasies of
plunging the weapon repeatedly into his thick
fat, wracked her brain enabling her to harness the hot; stinging tears of
fright, slow her hearts beat and mumble,
“Of course, my love.”
Pinching the flesh of
her arm between the fingers of one hand, he dragged her to the desk.
Forcefully bending her torso over brought her
stomach slamming to rest on the cold metal. Securing both of her wrists with
one hand, the other lifting her skirt tugged her panties to her knees.
The teeth of his zipper and his words, “Then
prove it, my love,” were the last sounds she allowed herself to hear.
Reprisal
charging through her veins enlarged them blocking out Sommer’s disgusting
sounds, the pain of quick, hard thrusts.
Time no longer mattered.
Seizing
every second he abused her, she made a blueprint in her mind of the ways she
would kill him, her glassy eyes fixed on the long pointed letter opener within
reach.
Two
hours later, Sommer’s departed.
Wearing
a look of insanity, Susan sat naked in her chair toying with the lethal
tool.
Her mind refused to acknowledge
what transpired.
Sommer’s had made up
for his absence by taking her in every way a man could convincing her anyone
was capable of murder.
Resolved
the information she sought was in his office hidden somewhere, with his key she
had stolen from his pocket during the onslaught in hand, like a robot, Susan
stood and limped to his door. “I'll find what I need and when I do. . .”
Casually, lifting a silver framed photo off Howard's
desk of him, his prim and proper, rather plain wife and three homely children,
she spat on it before returning it.
Twisting the rigid dagger in her hand over and over she promised, “Soon,
Mr. Sommer’s, very, very soon.”
CHAPTER 34
“THANKSGIVING, 2010”
With
thoughts anesthetized by alcohol, Brad left Southampton.
The drive to Manhattan offered time to clear
the fog from his thinking processes enough to perceive his life as worthless
the way it was.
Ted and Sam's unexpected
engagement made him more determined than ever to clear up pertinent affairs and
leave New York.
No longer would he allow
his profession or any female to consume him.
He was going home to start over.
First
thing Monday morning Maggie assisted Brad in compiling a lengthy list of
affairs requiring attention before departing, among them a letter to clients
explaining his sudden leave of absence.
During the two weeks following, with precision and efficiency, Brad
dealt with each obligation, anxiously noting its completion on the list.
With only two weeks remaining and the list
dwindled to a few insignificant matters, he relaxed in the lushness of his
executive chair, his features schooled into indifference. He was completely
unaware of the emotional stress and long hours of hard work lining his
face.
As
he proofread the final draft of the letter to his clients, he glanced
occasionally at the airline ticket purchased immediately after returning from
Southampton.
Propped on his desk in
plain-site a constant reassuring reminder soon he would be home.
Regretfully, his thoughts began to
wander.
In two week’s Sam would belong
to Ted.
He wondered how he could witness
the marriage of his best friend to the only woman he would ever love.
Despite his feelings, he could not disappoint
his lifelong friend.
He had an
obligation, the thought of which was picking at the scab beginning to form over
his wound.
Brad
was always proud when it came to women consistently using his senses. By
shivering once, he allowed Sam to break into his soul and steal a part of him
he never knew existed.
Until she
arrived, his life was uncluttered.
Now
he realized he never really knew what lonely was.
How it could tear a person apart.
He had wasted too much time chasing
materialistic dreams.
She had forced him
to re-evaluate the past and admit the most important ingredient in the recipe
of life was family.
An ingredient he
purposely left out of his piece of the pie, a lecture often given by his
parents.
Aspirations reached for he had
successfully obtained; a corporation built from scratch, millions in assets,
every materialistic object he desired.
He had everything except happiness and a sense of belonging.
It was difficult to admit he had allowed
success to become a harsh master.
The
past ten years had slipped by during one big celebration, years of feeling dead
inside.
Sam entering his world
renovating it, taking up residency in a part of his heart changed its beat.
Now drowning in the water she walked on, the
only dream that really mattered would never come true.
Scanning
his office Maggie decorated with cheerful holiday reminders, he winced at the
realization no one would be waiting for him to walk through a door with bundles
of holiday joy.
No loving arms would
hold him Christmas Eve.
No tiny squeals
of joy from a child resembling him would wake him on Christmas morning, painful
realizations from not allowing commitment to be part of the scheme.