“Stop!” she screamed again, louder this time. “I don’t want to be locked up anymore.”
“Oh, you’ll be locked up, all right. Tighter ‘n a titmouse’s tree house. I’m tying you to the damned bed again.” He sneered over his shoulder, still dragging her toward the cabin.
“Please…” she whimpered. “I’ll do anything. Just let me go.”
With an irritated groan, he jerked her hard. “You stop. You crazy bitch. You’re my woman, and you belong in the house with me. End. Of. Story.”
The filter on her mouth didn’t work anymore. And she didn’t care. Still struggling, pulling away and yanking his wrists, she yelled at him. “I’m not your woman! And what about all the others? Do you have more out there, wherever the hell you disappeared to last week? Are they nurses, too? Do they sing lullabies to you?”
Now she’d done it.
He turned, his face dark red. “Shut up,” he growled. With a shout, he punched the side of her head. “Just shut the fuck up.”
She saw stars, and suddenly her arms and legs went all floppy. She knew she’d pissed him off this time. But she didn’t care. It had felt good to yell at him. And damn the consequences.
Barely aware of what was happening, her ears ringing and eyes unfocused, she realized he’d picked her up and slung her over his shoulder.
I don’t care anymore. Give me your best shot.
He must’ve hit her pretty damned hard, because when he reached the porch, she felt the hamburger and fries rolling in her stomach.
Screw you.
With a hysterical laugh, she promptly threw up on him.
“Mother of God!” He dumped her on the porch, kicking her away from him. “Look what you did, you filthy bitch!”
Out of bleary eyes, she saw him peel off his shirt and hurl it toward the woods. “Get inside!” He had lost all control, and his face screwed up with fury. “I’m gonna kill you!”
She couldn’t move, her legs and stomach hurt so badly from being kicked. Curling on her stomach, she whispered, “Can’t.”
“You’d better move it, girlie. Get up!”
Another kick, this time to her hip.
“Get up! Get up! Get up!”
Three more kicks, timed with his words, and now she felt the blackness descending. Sweet oblivion filled her mind, and she drifted off to a place where no one could hurt her anymore.
Chapter 37
She woke feeling cold and shivery, coughing and spitting water. Naked, she lay on her back in the bathtub. The shower relentlessly rained frigid water onto her.
“Well, look who’s awake,” he chuckled, looming over her, big and dark and sinister. “You ready for your punishment?”
She sputtered some more, turning her head sideways and trying to get up. “Enough. Please. Let me up.”
He shoved her back with one massive hand. “No. You stay there until I say you can get up.”
She woke fully, and wanted to leap at the monster, tear at his eyes, kick him where it counts. She wanted to rake her nails over his body and scratch him to death.
But he was stronger than she was. At least right now. She had to act smart. Play the part again. Get him to lower his defenses, and then she’d do what she had to when the time came. Which had better be soon, or she’d go stark raving mad.
Like a docile dog, she relaxed and lay there, curling onto her side.
Try to conserve your energy.
If you don’t fight him, he’ll have nothing to push against.
She controlled the whimper that threatened to rush from her lips, pressing them tightly together.
You can do this.
Shivering hard, she lay as still as possible, then said in a meek voice, “I’m sorry.”
He leered over the tub, his eyes focusing on her bare skin. “What’s that you said?”
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t look at him. Didn’t move.
“Okay.” He turned off the water. “Now, dry off, put these on, and get on the bed.”
He watched her every move. The wet uniform she’d worn into Devil’s Lake hung on the towel rack, still dripping onto a rag on the floor. It occurred to her that it couldn’t have been too long since her failed escape attempt. The dress was still soaked. Maybe only a few minutes?
With her back to him, she pulled on the underwear he’d laid out for her. All that lay on the chair was a white nurse’s cap, a dry one from his collection. She towel-dried her hair and combed it with her fingers, then pinned the hat to her damp hair, and covered her breasts with folded arms.
“Nice,” he said, eyeing her body. “I like this look on you.” He reached up, pulled her arms away. “And aren’t you just a perfect little specimen of womanhood. My, my.”
She left her arms at her side, much as they wanted to spring up again to hide herself from his lustful gaze. She stayed as calm as possible, remembering that he’d never forced himself on her. He’d always stopped when he got too close.
This time, however, he seemed bolder. He reached up and caressed one breast, circling it. “Very pretty.” He leaned forward and kissed it.
NO! It took every ounce of her strength not to resist, not to turn away. Oh, how she wanted to slug him, to wipe that horrid smile off his face.
Get your slimy hands off me.
Her brain screamed the words, but she didn’t move.
“On the bed,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Now.” His arm shot out and pointed.
She realized she hadn’t moved, then hurried—still shivering—to the mattress. “I’m cold,” she said, hoping he’d give her more clothing.
“Too bad,” he sneered. “Hey, want me to warm you up?” He crawled after her to the bed, fastening her wrists with the ropes he’d used on the first day of her capture. “Hold still, damn you.”
She knew, once again, that she’d been struggling involuntarily. Forcing herself to relax, she let him restrain her. “Please. Can I have a blanket? I’m really sorry.”
“How sorry are you, sugar? Somehow, I don’t believe you anymore. You’ve lost all credibility, girlie.”
“I just lost it back there. I was so lonely when you were gone. It was awful. It made me crazy, I think.”
He stopped and looked at her. “Really?” A broad smile crept over his lips. “Good. Maybe you’ll appreciate me more now.”
“I do. But I need to ask you a question.”
He lay near her and leaned over her breasts, tracing his fingers across both nipples. “What’s that, sugar?”
“What’s your name? You never told me.”
Surprised, he dropped his hand and locked eyes with her. “Really? You want to know my name?”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t exactly flutter her eyes at him, but it was close. “I do.”
He sat back, thinking out loud. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt. You can call me Murphy.”
“Murphy?” she echoed. “That's nice. Is that your first or last name?”
Wrong tact.
His face darkened and red crept onto his ears. “Why do you need to know that, for crying out loud.”
She tried to back peddle. “Oh, no reason. I was just curious. Murphy’s good. I’ll call you that if I may.”
He nodded, brought his hand back to her breasts. “Okay. Now hold still.”
She closed her eyes while he kneaded her flesh. The sound of his zipper being opened made her wince inside, but she lay perfectly still, ignoring the sounds of his hand sliding over his flesh.
Stay where you are, please don’t come closer.
She summoned songs in her head, trying to block out his moans. The Beatles, first album. Yes. There they were, singing “Please, Please Me” to her. She brought up the voices of Paul and John, and focused on them.
It was working.
Murphy’s sounds were gone and she sat in an auditorium, watching the band performing their first hits on The Ed Sullivan Show. Her mother had been a huge fan, and she had grown up on all the sixties music
Mom loved. Each record was scribed in her brain.
“Love Me Do” rang through her brain, and she heard John’s harmonica wailing throughout the hall. She imagined herself jumping in the air, screaming for Paul, her favorite. He winked at her, and her heart swelled.
Keep it up. This is a good fantasy.
She added bits and pieces to the vision, including the smell of her mother’s perfume she imagined pinching just before she got ready for the show. She pictured herself in an old-fashioned getup, with a woolen skirt and sweater, a pink headband, with her hair in bangs.
When she got to “P.S. I Love You,” the soft haunting sound of Paul’s voice made her cry inside. She pictured tears of joy and yearning streaming down her cheeks, her heart melted, wanting someone to love so badly.
“Hey. Why are you crying?”
He shook her roughly, and she pulled herself out of the reverie, opening her eyes. “I’m not…” But she touched her cheeks and realized the tears had been real. Her cheeks were soaked. “I…I don’t know.”
“Listen. I’m treating you good. You need to behave, okay?”
She glanced over. Thank God he’d zipped up. She didn’t want to see that. “I don’t know. I think I’m just tired. Or hungry.” Maybe if she mentioned food, he’d want her to start cooking. It had worked before.
“Huh. Okay. Well, you’ll have to wait for your outfit to dry.”
“Couldn’t I wear my old clothes? Just for now?”
He glanced sideways at her and curled his lip. “They’re disgusting. But if you want for now. I guess.”
Hmm. Sex made him more mellow. That was a good thing to remember.
“Thanks.” She lifted her wrists. “Can you please untie me?”
He did as she asked and she scrambled to the closet, where her jeans and tee shirt lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t thrown them out. Thank God.
Even though they didn’t smell really fresh, they felt so good to her. She actually smiled and turned to him. “Hungry?”
He got up, grunted, and went into the living room to stare at the pegboard. “Yeah.”
She went through the food he’d bought, picked out some ingredients, and went back to her obsequious role. “How about chicken tonight, Murphy?”
He waved a hand in her direction, focused on the news clippings. “Yeah. Whatever.”
Humming “Please, Please Me,” she went to work.
Chapter 38
Months passed. Seasons came and went. And the rhythm of the captivity didn’t change. Slavery. Abandonment. Hunger. Duct tape on her mouth when he got sick of her. Triumphant return to the weak little servant who begged for crumbs.
Portia lost all track of time. She’d tried to keep up with it for a while, but now, she didn’t care any more. She felt lackluster, dead inside. The more he did to her, the further she retreated into her little worlds.
One day in summer—she didn’t know what month, but knew it was in her second year—Murphy left her alone again to pick up gas for the generator. Without the gas, they had no power. Without the power, they had no lights, no cook top, no refrigerator, and no water. He took the truck into town, saying he’d be back soon.
As usual, he tied her up, this time surprising her with a kiss to her forehead. She lay on her back on the bed, still clad in her jeans and tee shirt, grateful for small favors. At least her breasts weren’t hanging out from that obscene nurse’s outfit, and her legs were covered.
Hairy legs, she thought, curling up and reaching down to feel the soft fuzz on her calf. I haven’t shaved in… how long? And I’m just now thinking about it?
What does that say about me?
God. Oh, God. Please help me.
She hadn’t let him see her cry since the first year. But she let the tears roll down her cheeks, and sobs wracked her body. Shuddering, she let the hopeless feelings wash through her, and let herself fully see what she’d tried so hard to block out.
I’ll never get out of here.
Oh, my God. I’ll be here until the day he tires of me, until I push him just that little bit too far, and he kills me.
And then he can bring home a new girl, see what uniform fits them, and start all over again.
Where were the bodies? Sunk to the bottom of the lake with cement blocks tied to their feet?
She shook and wept harder.
I don’t want to die.
She lay like that for two hours, forlorn and forgotten. The tears finally stopped, and she wondered if he’d ever come back.
Five minutes later, she heard the truck. With a sick realization, she caught herself being relieved. Almost happy? How had she turned into such a mess? Such a pitiful little slave?
The sound of the padlock being opened met her ears, but there was something else, too.
It sounded like someone whining, almost animal-like.
“Sugar? I’ve got a surprise for you.” His deep voice rumbled from the porch. “You ready?”
Her heart fell. What kind of surprise now? Another fun time on the bed with him pleasuring himself?
Please, no.
There it was again. Almost a whimper.
“She’s in the car. I’ll go get her.”
Murphy hadn’t untied her yet, so she couldn’t see what he was doing. But she heard the door shut, the padlock click.
All safe and secure, just like always.
He stood in the doorway with something wiggling in his arms.
A dog?
Yes! A cute little scruffy mutt, who wiggled with joy to see her.
He put the creature on the bed, and it scrambled to her side, licking her face.
“I found her in the woods, she’s got no collar. Seen her a few times over the past week.” He actually leaned over to pat the animal. “I think she’s hungry.”
“Untie me, please.” She pulled on the restraints, smiling at the creature who stood on her hind legs on the bed, as if she were dancing in a circus. “Please!”
Murphy grunted and released her. “Okay, okay. Don’t get too excited. It’s just a mongrel.”
Portia embraced the creature with tears of joy. “Oh, she’s beautiful!” She cuddled and stroked her soft fur. “Where do you belong, little one?”
The dog licked her hands, nosed into her arms, and settled on her lap as if that was where she belonged all along.
“Oh, she’s so sweet. She’s lying in my lap, just like a little cupcake.”
“That’s what you should name her, then.”
“Cupcake?” Portia genuinely smiled for the first time since he’d taken her. “Yes. That’s what I’m going to call her. My little Cupcake.”
Chapter 39
On a warm day in mid summer, Portia won a battle with Murphy. It was a small accomplishment, but she felt ridiculously victorious.
He worked outside, chopping wood near the cabin. She’d asked to sit on the porch, and he surprisingly agreed. Of course, he tied her to the porch railing. Tight. With only a foot of slack.
The cycle of starvation and abandonment had continued, and she wondered more and more about the other girl or girls he kept.
Where were they?
She had no idea. The only clues she got were his returning with different clothes than he’d left in.
And she wondered how she’d endured her second winter in that cabin. It had been freezing for so long, in spite of the woodstove in the living room that made that room toasty, but hardly heated the bedroom. And the baths had been so cold…only once a week now. Spring had never felt so good, and now, summer had come, warming her face and body through the cracks in the windows where the mud had fallen out leaving little holes for sunlight to come inside.
Murphy didn’t relent one bit. When she wasn’t cooking or cleaning, she was restrained on the bed, even though she had the little dog to lie beside her, and that made it so much better. When he showered, he tied her up. And he always hung the keys in the shower with him, on a hook he installed for just that pu
rpose.
Portia had lost so much weight that she wondered if anyone would recognize her. She’d shared her food with Cupcake, always making sure the sweet little dog had enough to eat.
Thankfully, the jerk had relaxed a little as far as the required “dress code” went. He even let her wash her jeans and tee shirt every few days in the bathtub. She wore them all the time now, except when he needed his special attention.
So far, she’d been lucky. He hadn’t pressed her for more yet. He’d been happy to touch her in various places while satisfying himself on the bed next to her, or sometimes on the couch. He had violated her in so many ways, taken her freedom, humiliated her, touched her where he shouldn’t, forced her to lie still while he did disgusting things to himself, and all of that had made her sick to her stomach, but still, she was relieved he hadn’t raped her. She didn’t think she could have survived that.
Thank God.
She didn’t think she could survive if he actually tried to go further. Could she?
Could a person live like this forever?
Would she have to be here until she died? Would he tire of her, abandon her for good one day?
She sat in the beam of sunlight that kissed her forehead, rocking back and forth in the porch chair, cuddling Cupcake on her lap. The fresh air felt so good, so tempting, but it also was a painful reminder of what she’d come to expect in life. The inner walls. The constant humiliation. The fear and pain and need to escape.
She escaped all the time in her mind these days. It really helped. The scenes she imagined were colorful, filled with music and laughter. She pictured herself readying Mirage for a ride, mounting him, and heading off for the hills. She drew every trail, tree, and rock from memory in these dream-like scenes, and she enhanced the visions each time she drew on them. She pictured her family’s kitchen, her father making pancakes. Her mother’s lasagna and fresh bread. She even imagined the smell of the bread in the oven.
Oh, how she longed for home.
Something inside her snapped.
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