by Amanda Holt
REAPER I: THE BEGINNING
Amanda M. Holt
Reaper I: The Beginning
Amanda M. Holt
Published by Amanda M. Holt at Kindle Direct Publishing
Copyright 2012 Amanda M. Holt
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Dedication:
“Thanks to: Bunny for her support in times of need (and of course, her friendship); Al and Reg for their input on the realm of the law; Miss T for her timeless love and unfaltering support; Desirea and Aaron for being the first to read that initial chapter in its original awkward state; Nancee G. for her infinite thoughtfulness; Mr. Elliot for thinking, once upon a time, that I might make a decent writer; Mr. Ortwein, for nurturing my creativity; Krista for your enthusiasm and friendship; MC, Kay Kay, and everyone else at Carrol Res over the years; for my surrogate Thompson family; and of course, my biological family for always being there for me, no matter what the obstacle, we’ve always overcome it together, haven’t we?
I would also like to thank all the people who snickered when I said I wanted to write. My own perception of success is testimony enough to their lack of foresight/wisdom.
Immeasurable thanks to my readers. If not for you, these words would be meaningless, purposeless electrons on my laptop.
Oh, and a special thanks to my cousin Anthony for introducing me to comic books: whole new worlds of limitless possibilities…”
Donation Pledge:
Your purchase of this eBook has allowed me to generate a donation from the royalties that I’m collecting – a donation that I have earmarked for Siloam Mission, a non-profit organization in Winnipeg, Manitoba (Canada) that attempts to meet the needs of homeless, disadvantaged and high risk street-involved people.
Even though they are a Christian faith-based/faith-central charity – and I myself do not identify as being a Christian (certainly not a practicing one) – their mission is one that I find admirable.
I have been monitoring their efforts for some time now and contributing to their cause in the form of support, encouragement and donations. Now that I am releasing my Reaper Series as a self-published body of work, I have every intention of donating a portion of my royalties from multiple books in this series to Siloam Mission.
Please support homeless/poverty aid agencies in your area.
For more information on Siloam Mission, or to make a donation to their very worthy cause, visit: http://www.siloam.ca/
REAPER I: THE BEGINNING
Amanda M. Holt
The first time that I turned into the Dark Thing, I was just as terrified of my transformation as I was of my attackers.
That evening had begun normally enough.
I had just left my workplace and, for the usual reason, had chosen to take a shortcut home by walking through Lincoln Park.
Cutting thought the park at night was something my mother would have scolded me for, but I was far too bold to heed her warnings.
Instead, I brushed them off as mere motherly paranoia.
She was always paranoid about one thing or another.
Always worried, usually without reason.
Besides, it was the Suburbs for God’s sake.
Nothing ever really happened there.
I didn’t share the same fears as my mother.
I didn’t believe in things that went bump in the night.
Nothing bad had ever happened to me in Lincoln Park, day or night, and this route was, after all, the quickest way home from my part time job at Bo’s Ice Cream Parlor.
Plus, I was in a hurry to get home because I was really looking forward to the episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer that was playing that night. It was a repeat episode, but one of my favorites… Spike was in love with Buffy, little good that it did him, as she was still in love with Angel.
I loved watching Spike suffer through his unrequited love. Something about seeing that gorgeous bleached blond vampire lusting after a woman he couldn’t have made my fifteen year old pulse quicken.
I had never even been kissed by a boy.
I was innocent of many things.
In my innocence, I felt as long that as I stuck to the lit paths that cut Lincoln Park into its sections, I should be fine. I wouldn’t run into any wild animals, trip over any tree roots, or meet up with any of the homeless people who sought out refuge in the deeper shadows of the park.
I had traveled this path during both the daylight hours and autumn evenings numerous times without a single unpleasant incident.
I probably could have walked my favorite path with my eyes closed.
From my point of view, it was a much better route home than walking the several blocks around the park to get to my neighborhood.
So yes, I dared that night to cross Ol’ Lincoln, sticking to those well-lit paths as best I could.
My lucky stars had never led me astray before…
Nevertheless, on that cold October night, I would not be so lucky.
I heard the gruff voiced men well before I saw them.
Their intentions came to me in bits and pieces of conversation.
“Now there’s a sweet piece of ass if ever I saw one,” one of them hissed, in my general direction.
“I’ve been craving a piece like that all night,” said another man, from the same place as his unseen companion.
Being the only piece of ass that I could see in Lincoln Park that night, I would have been stupid not to assume that he was talking about me.
I began to walk faster, hoping that my footsteps would carry me further away from their voices. Put me out of sight before they could get any other vile ideas, make any other gross comments.
My quick breaths formed little puffs of mist in the cold night air.
Another rough voice drifted to me.
“Man, I wanna tear that ass up. Tear it to pieces.”
Another hoarse whisper from the shadows.
“I could eat that ass up in two bites!” A third voice growled.
I glanced nervously to the left of my field of vision, looking for the faces and bodies that belonged to the crude words.
It was then that I saw the three of them walking toward me from the shadows of the park, blocking my way further along the path.
The short heavyset man was the first one I saw.
He wasn’t dressed for the brisk cold of the night, in a sleeveless shirt that showed a collection of tattoos. He was leering at me, his vicious smile splitting his face from ear to ear.
The dark skinned one of the three had hooded eyes that made me feel uncomfortable as his glance swept me from head to toe. He was tall, well built and moved with feline grace making me think that he must have been an athlete of some sort.
He too was leering, a missing tooth in his smile.
The youngest one couldn’t have been much older than me. He was as pale a ghastly white as the moon overhead.
He smiled at me, but there was no humor in his smile, only a cruel hunger.
In hindsight, I realize that it was at the sight of those corrupt smiles that I probably should have run.
Run as far and as fast away from those men as my slender young legs could have carried me.
>
I was only fifteen—and even though they looked like a rough Motley Crew of men, I didn’t immediately have the sense that they were going to act on their obscene words.
On the other hand, I should have known that my youth wasn’t something that would have swayed them from their perverted thoughts, their sick and twisted cause.
If society’s warnings were anything to go by, my tender age would only have encouraged them to act out their lascivious ideas.
Sick perverts loved young girls, isn’t that what every mother—especially mine—liked to warn?
It turned out, my mother was right.
Hindsight being what it is, I know now that I should never have cut through the park after dark.
Not even in this nice part of town.
Certainly not at night.
Not that night.
But instead, there I was in my pink polyester Bo’s Ice Cream Parlor uniform, my nametag, Samantha B. flashing in the late October moonlight like a beacon that could draw the men nearer.
The heavyset man in the middle of the group continued to leer at me as he twisted the hairs of his long goatee with a plump tattooed hand.
“Hey, girly – you look lonely.” His stare was unmistakably set on me. The callousness of his words assured me he meant me. “Maybe you’re bored?”
“Maybe you’d like to play tonight?” The young one asked.
“Maybe you need a little company.” The dark-skinned one drawled.
There was no longer any doubt in my mind – they were talking about me.
My heart began to pound more quickly in my chest.
Adrenaline began to course through my body, making me tremble.
The fat one laughed. “What, cat got your tongue?”
“Maybe she’s deaf,” the young one supposed out loud.
The tall dark one smiled even wider. “She’s cute, for a mute.”
“Cute enough to fuck, though?” The young one asked.
“Aren’t they always?” The tattooed one began to advance toward me. “Come on boys. Time to do what we do best.”
I was frozen in place.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t even think.
Were they really going to do what I thought they were going to do?
“Yup, time to fuck her and cut her.” The young one followed the fat one.
Oh shit.
It was even worse than it had seemed.
Fuck and cut? Fuck and cut?
Fuck what?
Cut where?
“Same as the others,” the dark one agreed, joining his fellows.
It was then that I began to feel a strange crawling sensation under my skin, a tingling that started out subtle and barely noticed, but quickly became painful, almost burning.
It started in my chest near where my heart had begun to pound.
It was unlike anything I had ever felt before.
I felt as though something inside of me was about to catch fire.
Is this what it is like to be terrified?
“What, you don’t talk to strangers, is that it?” The stained teeth in the fat one’s smile glistened at me in the darkness.
“I’m…I’m close to home now,” I managed to croak, trying to make it sound like a warning.
“Is that so?” If his proximity was anything to go by, the fat one was their leader. “You saying you don’t want to play with us? Because I sure would like to play with you.”
“Baby Boy, you wanna play with her too?” The dark skinned man asked his other companion.
“I like this one, Jason.” The youngest of the three, as pale as a phantom from a nightmare, seemed intrigued by what he saw in me There was no mistaking the violence in his every move. “Looks like a waitress. I haven’t fucked me a waitress in a long, long time.”
“Pussy is pussy. Good enough for me.” Jason shrugged.
“So long as I get to stick my dick in some part of her,” said the fat one, approaching me from the left, closing in the distance between us. “She’ll do just fine.”
More hoarse words and the threat was set.
They were poised to attack.
The tension between us was thick and prickly.
As prickly as the sensation spreading through my body.
There would be a breaking point, I was sure of it.
I knew that the moment I ran they would run after me.
They would catch me, fuck me and cut me, just as they had said – I was sure of it.
I couldn’t think.
I just needed time to think!
My fear caught breathlessly in my chest, holding me captive as my heart pounded like a bird trying to escape the trappings of my own ribcage. I could hear my heartbeat, erratic and as loud as a tribal drum in my head, drowning out the meaning of their vile whispers.
All the while, that strange burning sensation continued to scorch my heart, my chest, my skin, covering me like a fiery shroud.
As the three men closed in on me, I began to retreat, walking as briskly backward as my quivering legs would allow.
Why did my legs feel so weak, like rubber bands?
Was this the best my fight or flight system could do?
Why was my skin burning so?
I wanted to turn and run, but my fear wouldn’t let me take my eyes off the three of them…
I wouldn’t dare take my eyes off them.
How could this be happening to me?
What had I done to them to deserve this?
Jason inclined his head toward the far man. “What do ya think, Gary?”
“She’s not as hot as the last one we fucked and cut, but she’ll do just fine.”
There were those words again.
Dangerous and unmistakable.
Fucked and cut.
The whispered words fucked and cut made my steps falter.
I nearly stumbled.
Now I was petrified.
Truly afraid for my life.
Fucked sounded bad enough.
I knew what that meant, that it implied forced sex.
At fifteen I barely knew what the mechanics of sex were—but I knew that their intentions were to rape me.
As for cut, well cut was far worse a fate.
Cut what?
Cut where?
My skin continued to itch, continued to burn.
The gap between the Jason and Baby Boy was the widest.
It was there I was going to attempt my escape.
I tried to dash past Jason, but the dark skinned man intercepted me from the right, scaring me into the direction of his two cohorts.
“She’s not as young as the last one, either,” hissed Baby Boy, while closing in on my right.
His light colored eyes gleamed at me with a cold hatred.
“Not as feisty, either.” Gary, the heaviest of my assailants made his move, his plump hand striking out of midair to grab me by the arm.
He threw me to the ground with little effort on his part and I fell so hard that the wind was knocked out of me.
“They rarely ever put up a fight.” Gary laughed as he attempted to straddle me. “It’s fucking pathetic. Even animals put up more fight than these little girls do.”
As I began to crab-crawl away from him backward, my pants dampened by the wet autumn leaves, I felt as though I were flush with blazing fever, my skin feeling as if it really were burning. The itch of it was maddening.
If I weren’t in the fight of my life – or flight of my life – I probably would have scratched myself to near death.
What was worse just then, the itching or the burning, it was hard to tell as they became one and the same, leaving me to feel as though an army of fire ants were biting all over my young body.
This trial by fire was unreal.
Between the men and the misery, how would I survive such torment?
My fear was disorienting and my situation seemed desperate enough.
Yet nothing could have prepared me for what happened n
ext.
As the three men fell upon me they sealed not only my fate, but their own.
Six greedy male hands tore at my clothing.
Six hateful male hands held me to the cold wet ground.
Six ravenous male hands shredded the polyester pants from my hips, and ripped my white cotton panties from my virgin mound.
Six perverted male hands and a cold October night brought out something dark and deadly within me.
Something unnatural and hungry for the blood of the corrupt...
“Somebody! Help! Rape!“ I finally cried out.
Suddenly a tattooed hand struck me across my mouth, split my lip and drew blood, silencing me for the moment.
“Shut up, bitch!” Gary warned me. “Or I’ll fucking cut you right fucking now!”
The warm blood tasted like copper pennies on my tongue.
I struggled, but between the three of them they were able to hold me down.
As I was restrained, I let out a shriek that could have raised the dead.
One of my assailants reached out to grab me by the ponytail of my long, dark hair, ripping my head back to shut me up.
My groin began to burn and itch painfully, a sensation that became almost as bad as that across my chest, my abdomen.
It felt like there was something inside of me trying to eat its way out of me through my bones, my organs, my very skin.
Something that wanted to let loose with a vengence...
The sensation was such that I felt like I was being consumed alive by fire and pain.
“Samantha B.” Gary tossed aside my nametag as though it were a piece of litter. “Samantha B, I’m gonna fuck you first, you see, because it’s my turn to go first, ain’t that right Jason?”
“So you keep reminding us.” The dark man relented where he held both of my wrists.
My skin continued to itch and burn, becoming worse in my fingers than it was in my virgin mound, a spreading, burning, tingling itch beneath my fingernails. It felt as though my nailbeds themselves were pushing away from my body, growing, elongating.
There was a twitch and release of fiery pain beneath my fingernails and I knew instinctively that scratching, scraping, burrowing into something would be the only way to alleviate it.
