Authors: Elizabeth Lowe
A hand twisting her wrist made his
nails bite into soft flesh.
“You
wouldn't try anything stupid now would you, precious?
I'd hate to get ole Peter all heated up and
have to take it out on such a young child.”
Susan got her answer.
Nicole was in the apartment, somewhere.
Oh God, she prayed, please keep her safe.
As he stood his arm around her waist
hauled Susan with him.
Had it not been
for his support she would have never made it across the room.
Now she knew what it felt like to be lead to
the gallows.
Once they arrived in the meager
bedroom, an ambience of doom presented itself through a night-light, time
becoming non-existent from the lack of a window.
She heard the rain beating in rhythm to the
tears held inside.
Thunder and lightning
from the anger sustaining her courage.
Tucking both of his hands into the
waistband of her skirt he yanked it from her exposing only a gee string for
protection.
Sensing her resistance, like
a piece of baggage he swung Susan under his arm and flung her onto the
bed.
“Now, let's cut the crap baby and
get down to the real thing.”
Susan heard something, a slight
whimper coming from the closet.
It had
to be Nicole.
She was still alive.
She had time.
Rough fingers snatched and tore the
gee string away.
Coming over her quickly
his heaviness pressed the air from her lungs.
Slimy lips plied her body, sucking, biting, lapping as though a dog in
heat.
His penis ground into her flesh
with such force she hurt from his undulations.
Had she given into the horror of him inside her, tearing at her, she
would surely die.
She knew she couldn't,
not before saving Nicole.
Hands of the predator became lost in
exploration of her body while her arm frantically stretched toward the pillow
fingertips seeking the gun.
Unsuccessful
attempts making her realize she needed to free the weight pressing into
her.
“Not so fast, my love.
You should undress first.
Here, let me do it,” she cooed.
Shocking Susan, he leaped off the
bed dragging her with him her backside toward the nightstand.
Her heartbeat was like the rapids of a river
washing away her fear, his proximity smothering.
While one of her agile hands began
assisting him in undressing, the other carefully opened the drawer and searched
wildly for the letter opener that once lay on Sommer’s desk.
Once securely, in hand excitement shot to her
skull.
Closing her eyes, she summoned all
her strength and concentration on directing her lunging hand toward his
chest.
She heard the retched sound of
torn skin, felt the dagger sink into muscle before hitting bone.
Unspeakable sensations that made her eyes
peal open.
She couldn’t believe she was
capable of such a horrendous act.
Red
spewed, not from his heart as intended, but from his shoulder.
Eyes like a wild stallion held
Susan’s as he yanked the scarlet dagger from the wound.
Cinching both of her wrists in one hand, the
other backhanded her across the cheek.
“Bitch,” he yelled, “You'll die for this and so will your precious
daughter.
Better yet, you'll watch her
suffer before I make you pay.
You're
just like all the others.
Just like my
mother.
I'm going to enjoy killing you,
more than you'll ever know, more than all the rest of them.”
With a mighty force, the back of his
hand whacked Susan's cheek again.
Her
head
spun crazily as she fell backwards
onto the mattress.
Fisted knuckles
plundered her stomach, her face, her stomach repeatedly.
Knurled claws yanked her hair and threw her
to the floor where he savagely kicked her back, stomach, and thighs.
The pain unbearable and yet, she refused to
give in to his obsession for scream's and begging.
All she could do was pray someone would hear
the loud thrashing.
Someone would help,
but deep inside she knew no one would come.
Within the buildings walls it was a daily event for a woman to succumb
to male brutality
Snatching her up, he flung her onto
her stomach, her legs draping off the bed.
His feet kicked her limbs apart.
Leaning over her, one hand digging into her hip the other crushing her
forehead with one swift motion he jerked her backsides against his penis
entering her with so much force the ripping pain released the screams he’d
longed for.
Chuckling, he rode her, one hand
slapping her buttocks, the other slamming her head rhythmically against the
mattress.
Pressing her face into the
softness he bit her shoulders, her back, his fingers digging and pinching
tender skin.
He moaned and thrust,
moaned and thrust, then shocked her when he withdrew before spilling
inside.
“Yes.
Yes.
Oh, you are good, baby, very good, but not good enough.
I think I need someone fresh, someone new,
someone much younger.”
Hauling Susan up
by the hair, he flung her to the floor.
“We'll need the bed.”
Struggling to fight off the heavy
weariness pressing in on her, Susan's swollen eyelids labored open.
Tiny slits revealed he was still hard.
She vowed s would not beg, but she did.
“No, no, no, please no,” she wailed.
“I’ll do anything you ask, anything.”
Cursing the darkness flashing before
her helped erase the pain.
She’d win
this fight, for herself, for Samantha, for Nicole, for the other women this
monster raped and murdered.
Terror swift
and strong pushed every thought except that of Nicole's survival from her mind.
As he headed toward the closet, she
crawled as though an inchworm closer and closer to the bed repeating under her
breathe; you're going to die, bastard.
Die!
With super human strength,
the gun tugged from beneath the pillow wavered in the air.
“Look at me, faggot.
Look at me,” she screamed.
“I want you to see hell.
I want you to see the one who is going to
send you there, and spit on you as you die.”
Spinning around, his
laughter riffled the air, “Stupid, blonde bitch.
I would have thought you'd know when to
quit.”
He started for her reaching out as
if to prove how right he was.
How richly
she deserved punishment.
A sudden
impulse of self-protection penetrated, a cold sense of purpose steadied her hand
like something primitive had seized her.
Three,
two, one, the clock ticked, the bullet exploded, the smell of gunpowder
permeated the air.
Brief and loud the
sound shattering the quiet in the room drowned out by the rumble of trucks,
horns, and sirens.
He screamed, his hands groping
between his legs where blood gushed, the victims expressive eyes a mix of
excruciating pain, shock and terror.
He
spun around and staggered toward the closet.
Barely able to see, Susan cudgeled her
trembling reactions into control sufficiently to induce a semblance of sanity.
Sparks from another explosion lit the room.
A hollow point bullet found the back of his head making sure he would
never see daylight again.
Just shy of
the closet door he fell forward onto what remained of his face.
For a few seconds his hands twitched as blood
oozed from beneath his body.
Icy calm flowed over Susan.
Pain slowly drifted from her body.
She heard the apartment door open, heard a
woman’s scream followed by the sound of a cell phone summoning help, and
finally, yes at last, she heard her daughter crying.
Thoughts plundered her bruised mind; there
was justice, there was a God, there was peace.
The battle she had dreaded, had
prepared for all these months, like a patient fighting an incurable disease
waiting for death, was so unfair so unequal as were most battles of the world.
While tears of victory washed the blood from her eyes, as though from outside
herself, she watched a dark expression come over her face.
Cynicism twisted her lips as she glanced at
the blurred face of the clock that had tumbled to the floor during the
conflict.
It was five P.M.
The slits of Susan's eyelids closed.
CHAPTER 52
In
Manhattan D.E.A officers were executing the largest drug bust in the Cities
history. A man using the alias of Fazone now secured behind bars.
Search teams dispatched tried to locate
Sommer’s body.
The connection between the
woman brutally beaten to death in her apartment and the man she murdered was
uncovered.
Parents of the victim at this
moment arranged to fly their daughters' body home for burial along with a sad
but healthy granddaughter.
...........................................................................………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
With
their wrists cuffed, two men occupied the back seat of a squad car proudly
displaying the insignia Wyoming State Police parked at the base of the Teton
Mountain’s.
Surrounding a dilapidated
cabin a SWAT team stood paralyzed by their discovery.
A
blur of voices were coming from the officials in charge then, silence as they
examined one another's faces for the one that possessed enough courage to end
the scene making everyone uneasy.
They
should have been accustomed to and hardened by what unfolded before them on a
daily basis.
Somehow, today was
different.
Somehow, the potency of
emotions hit harder than anything they had witnessed before.
Collectively, heads bowed in respect, some
wiping at eyes blurred with sorrow, Brad's father, and Ralph among them.
The very day Sam regained her voice and asked
her father to go after Ralph, later as they sat discussing a plan to go after
Brad, Ralph, Tom McGregor, and the head of the DEA, entered the hospital room.
The answers to everyone’s questions reflected
in their features.
From Sam's bedside
they placed a call to Brad's father, Frank, who confirmed their
suspicions.
Shortly after Brad's
departure, he found a letter from his son along with a map indicating the location
of the cabin.
Brad was unaware his
father always knew where his son and friend spent most of their time.
Worried about his son's safety Frank saddled
up long before authorities arrived.
“You have to convince him to let go
of the body, Sir,” the commander said, his words startling Brad's father.
“I will, Dammit.
Give him time.”
“The time has come, Sir.
If not, we will be up here overnight.
I don't believe that would be in your son's
best interest.”