Take Me With You

by Nina G. Jones

  He wraps his arm around me and pulls me up, so that he's kneeling on the bed and I am sitting on him. He rocks me up and down. I am his toy, helpless, my arms still tied behind me.

  My confounded body and mind war as the cock inside of me stubbornly insists on taking me to a place I don't want to go. I tighten around him. My moans get louder, a mix of pleasure, fear and defeat.

  “I'm gonna fill you, Vesp.”

  “No,” I mewl.

  “Yes.” His throat quivers as he chuffs. “I can feel you clenching on my cock.” He squeezes my ass. “I think you're different,” he taunts.

  “Fuck you,” I sneer.

  “You already are.” He pulls me tightly towards him, so that I am so full, so overwhelmed with him, that I can't fight it any longer.

  “No…no…” I cry as I near climax.

  Then from the corner of my eye, I see it: a shadow. My eyes go huge and it catches the violator's attention.

  Johnny's silhouette is standing quietly at the door.

  Still inside of me, the intruder's body goes rigid.

  There are a few seconds of taut silence. I don't know what to say or do. I can tell he's working out what he'll do and I am terrified he'll act on his word and slit Johnny's throat.

  I try to sniff back my tears. Maybe I can convince him everything is all right and send him back to bed.

  I lean towards the man and whisper. “Please, let me put him in his room. He won't bother.”

  It looks like he's considering it, or considering I can see almost nothing of his facial expressions, it feels like he is. But that only lasts for a few moments as a noise comes from Johnny's mouth.

  “MMMMM…MMMM…MMMM…” With each repetition the nonsensical sound gets louder. It's the loudest I have ever heard Johnny. His equivalent of a scream. Sometimes when he's upset he vocalizes, but not to this extent or this volume. People look at him and they think he's dumb. They think he doesn't feel like us. They dismiss him as a “retard.” But he has instincts just like we do. Even though he can't verbalize his feelings, he comprehends them. He understands right and wrong and he knows this isn't right.

  “Johnny…shhh!” I try desperately to quiet him. But he gets louder.

  The man rips himself away from me and charges toward Johnny with a knife in his hand.

  “No, please!” I scream. If my silence can't save Johnny, then I don't care anymore. I'll scream. I'll fight.

  He grips Johnny by the t-shirt.

  “Please, I can make him stop!” I cry.

  A thud. Loud. Coming from my bedroom. Carter must have found his way to the door. It sounds like he's slamming against it, trying to break it open. The thumping is loud and repetitive and adds a layer to the chaos.

  It's strange. As frightened as I was, as violated as I was, I felt I could manage this. Things were quiet. I knew I could pacify this stranger with sex. But in seconds, everything I was protecting has dissolved into chaos.

  “I'll kill him,” the masked man threatens with a throaty husk. He's gripping Johnny, but he looks down the hall. It's clear he's referencing Carter.

  He drags Johnny with him, who is still vocalizing loudly and unrelentingly.

  “No!” I yell, chasing after him with my hands tied behind my back, my inner thighs wet from his intrusion. I stop when I see him in front of my bedroom door, holding Johnny tightly against him, the other hand resting at his side with the knife. The door to the bedroom is buckling at the bottom. I think Carter is still bound. Otherwise he would have tried the window. There's a long way to go before it breaks. And when it does, he's going to meet his death. He'll be no match tied up against a man with a ten-inch kitchen knife.

  “I'm gonna carve your boyfriend's fucking heart out,” the man growls.

  Johnny's going at full volume. There's too much panic. Too much noise. Too much chaos. Where is everyone? How can no one hear the nightmare developing within these walls?

  The violator holds the knife to Johnny's neck. “Shut up!” he grunts. But Johnny is in a full blown tantrum, the worst I have ever seen. His crooked lips contort as he tries desperately to speak like the rest of us, but the same pointless sounds come out.

  This whole thing is out of control. This man planned everything. He had us bound in minutes. He's lost control and he'll do anything to get it back. So I do what I have to do. We can all die, or they can live and I can give this man what he wants. I don't want to live if that means watching my brother and fiancé die.

  “Take me!” I beg. “Take me anywhere. Somewhere quiet. I won't fight just please don't hurt them,” I sob. “Take me with you. It's what you came here for. Please,” I drop to my knees, completely broken, hoping to appeal to a shred of humanity in him. To understand I would rather him rape and kill me than take the life of the eight-year-old boy in his arms. It would be an act of mercy.

  “I love you, Johnny,” I say softly, my voice quivering as I restrain the scream of terror that wrestles to escape.

  The bedlam drifts into the background like an echo. I have played my last hand. And either way, I will likely die. I close my eyes and bow my head. “Please,” I utter, so low, there's no way anyone could hear me. I don't want to look. I don't want to watch him kill my family.

  A hand claws onto my arm, the pain jarring me back to the physical world. The noises, the feel of a hand on my skin, they focus me.

  “Get up,” he growls.

  I learned about sex from watching the animals. I guess we all have to learn it somewhere. There were stretches of time, long after the accident, when my mother would lock herself in her room, that the animals were my only companions. I fed them. I watched the stallion mount the mare with his huge cock and take her. She would neigh and fight, but he would conquer her. That's how it works in most of nature. The male dominates the female.

  I guess as far as I can think back, I had a tendency to watch. I couldn't say much. Couldn't participate. I wasn't welcome. This was my way of knowing the world.

  I guess this night is how Johnny will learn about sex. Fuck. And this is why planning is fucking important. Vesper made me act on impulse with that whole proposal charade. Johnny's room doesn't have a lock. I only had so much rope. Carter was the threat, or at least so I thought. It turns out the closest I have ever been to everything falling apart was from the will of a disabled little boy.

  I don't relish scaring kids. Besides, with his issues he wouldn't be going far even if he did wake. His little useless fingers can't work locks. But I made a massive error. I have never heard him make a sound. I thought he was completely mute.

  I considered letting Vesper put Johnny back into his room until he started making this god-awful repetitive whining chant. Like an excited donkey. The little fucker was getting so loud that I was going to have to bail or silence him. The shit hit a new level of chaos when the fucking Prince of Sacramento decided he was going to try and save Vesper. It was too late for him to save the day anyway. I'd already been inside of her. But I didn't come. Fuck. Shit.

  Every time I hit a house, I strive for perfection. I am always learning from my mistakes, adjusting for the next one. If I fuck up big time, I feel compelled to go out right away and make up for it. It makes me more frustrated so that I become more brutal in order to ensure compliance. I don't like when things don't go the way I planned. Ironically, while this was not the night I planned to enter, I had almost reached utter perfection. The complete fantasy coming to life. Where I completely infiltrate their lives in every facet. Not just getting into the home, eating their food, taking their things, taking away their power. But becoming the man of the house, taking the woman and making her come all over my cock like her man doesn't even exist.

  Vesper creamed up my fingers and cock. I didn't even need lube. Despite her protests, I could feel her pussy swelling around me, her body getting taut. I could hear her moans were genuine, even though she was stifling them. We were right there. Right fucking there. And then the kid came in. And everything went to shit—
fast.

  I wouldn’t have hurt the kid. It's not like he could ID me or take me down. But, I would have killed her fiancé if he got out. I can't risk getting caught. His life is not worth my freedom.

  Fortunately for me, it is worth hers.

  The thought never crossed my mind to take her until she asked—begged. I don't do that. The destruction stays where I lay it. Nothing comes back with me that doesn't have to. That's how I have managed to do this for so long and completely outwit the cops. Hell, there's so many prowlers in this part of Cali, they're just starting to figure out which hits are mine. I've even got a media name now.

  But this girl. I want more. I can't leave without finishing what we started. And then maybe, just maybe, I won't have to worry about what's next.

  But this isn't in any plan. I haven't prepared for this. I never take risks. I run from them. I quit when things turn sideways. There's always another house. Another family. Another day. But there's not another Vesper. Just like she incited me earlier tonight, I act on impulse.

  “Get up,” I say, pulling her to her feet. She's wobbly; an emotional mess. This boy has her in pieces. Maybe she truly does love him in a way I thought didn't exist. Or maybe she just thinks she's going to die.

  I drag them both in the main bedroom and lock the door.

  “He stays here,” I say.

  Keeping one arm on Vesper, I slide out the window, then I pull her out, closing the window behind me so the kid can't even attempt to follow. I tuck into the hydrangeas and pull her down with me.

  “If you scream, I'll stab you in the heart and leave you to die. They won't find me. But I will find your family. And I will kill them all. Understand?”

  She nods her head. I stand up and look around. Carter's thudding against the bedroom door barely registers out in the yard. No one has heard anything. I pull her up and cover her mouth, digging the knife into her side, pressing it against her ribs so she understands I mean what I say.

  Normally, I could easily hop the fences or use a stolen bike to get back to the canal, which is only three streets away, but she's a hell of a burden. This is why it's easier to go where the targets are instead of trying to move them from one location to another.

  We shimmy sideways so I can lead her to the tall wooden fence that separates her house from her neighbor's, quietly lifting the squeaky latch so that we're in the neighbor's yard. We duck again behind some bushes. That's when she decides to go back on her deal. She knows her neighbors well (I've seen her chat them up on many occasions) and trusts they'll come save her. She thought she could draw me away from the guys, and then scream for help when she was closer to another house.

  They're all liars. They want to hurt you.

  If it were anyone else, I'd just let her go and make a run for it. I'd be pulling up to my house while the cops were still trying to figure out what was going on. No one is worth the risk of capture. She hasn't seen my face. She'd never see me again. But I want to keep her. She's already got me thinking about having her. About finally finding a way for me to have more than just the night.

  I wrestle her to the ground, sealing her mouth shut so her screams are muffled. I would knock her out, but I don't want to damage her pretty face, so I take my knife. She squirms as I jut it towards her, but less so when she realizes I'm cutting off her nightgown. It's hard work, doing it with one hand while the other clamps down on her mouth. I'm getting sweaty and uncomfortable on his humid night and it's making my patience wear thinner. I nick her a few times, but eventually, there's enough for me to shove in her mouth, and then tie around as a gag. She's naked now, but I don't care because I'll make sure no one will see us. I blindfold her with the remaining fabric and throw her over my shoulder. It'll be easier to move her this way. I run from one yard to the next, ducking behind bushes to regroup. It's not even four yet, so people are still deep in their slumbers. Vesper tries to scream, but the gag muffles most of it, and I'm moving so fast that her stomach is bumping on my shoulder, causing her voice to break. If anyone were to get up to look for the sound, we'd already be at the next backyard.

  When we get to the canal, I breathe a sigh of relief, lowering her to her feet. She's barefoot and naked, her hair is wild. She's moves her head wildly, completely unable to perceive her surroundings. She already looks feral. Seeing her body exposed and helpless out here makes me want to drop her in the brush and fuck her, but I can't risk getting caught out here. Not after all this work.

  I huff as I pull of my sweatshirt and wipe away my sweat. Running with her over my shoulder is no small task.

  “Come on,” I order, with a tug of her forearm. She whimpers as twigs crack under her feet. I know it hurts, but there's not much I can do for her right now. She trips a few times over obstacles she can't see. We walk for ten minutes until we are able to emerge. I see my car in the distance. Just a few more steps and we'll be off. This is the riskiest part of all. I have to walk with a naked, bound girl down a residential street. I step out, looking right and left as far as my eyes can see, just to make sure no one comes up on us by surprise. I don't have time for resistance, so I pick her up and jog us down the street. I pop the trunk, toss her in and slam it shut.

  I lower myself into the driver seat with a huge sigh, laughing a little bit as I wipe the sweat off my brow. I don't know what the fuck I just got myself into, but the thrill of outsmarting these people and cops gives me such overwhelming satisfaction. The thrill of carrying a naked girl through two pristine Sacramento-area neighborhoods while people sleep soundly makes me feel like a fucking god.

  I have her. The perfect girl. The girl who is a little like the rest of them, but maybe she's a little different, too.

  I start the car, and pull out. The freeway is a block away, and once I'm on it, no one will hear her kicking against the trunk.

  Where there's no light, there's no time. At least not how I knew it before. It could be just a few days or a week since I was dropped off wherever I am. I can't say where because I've been blindfolded since that son of a bitch body slammed me in the Johnson's backyard, cut up my nightgown and used it to gag and blindfold me. I thought someone would hear me. I thought someone would save me. I felt safe in my home, behind strong walls and locked windows, sleeping next to a man who had just made the commitment to take care of me forever.

  A house provides the facade of protection. It's a sacred place, separating you from the beasts that lurk outside. But that's all it is: a facade. The reason your home is safe is because no one has wanted in yet. But if you are so unlucky, nothing can stop a monster from breaching those walls.

  In the beginning, I passed the time worrying about Carter and Johnny. How long did it take for them to get out? Did they ever? I would think Carter’s school would begin to wonder why he hasn't showed up to his labs. Are my parents on their way back from Egypt? Am I on the news?

  I don't know. I am in a black hole. Over time, thirst and hunger have become more prominent thoughts in my mind. My lips are so dry, it's like running my tongue along sandpaper. My stomach cramps with hunger. I lie on my side, too weak to make the effort to stand. I fantasize about margaritas and a hamburger at The Firehouse, a tradition on Friday nights.

  He left me here and hasn't returned. At least not that I can tell. I am in a constant state of discomfort. Naked in a place that is always just a little too chilly. My own hands rubbing the goose-pimpled skin my only source of warmth. As I become weaker with dehydration and hunger, I get colder still.

  Yet, I am still alive. And with that there is hope. If he wanted me dead, he would have killed me. But then what does he want? He hasn't touched me again. He's not using me for any obvious purpose. Maybe he's left me to die a slow, agonizing, lonely death.

  Then, footsteps. They creak above my head a few times, back and forth, like someone is up to something. I don't know if I should scream for help. What if he has abandoned me somewhere and this is my only chance to be discovered? What if I say something and incur his wrath? I have no c
hoice but to take the chance.

  “H…H…elp.” I haven't used my voice in days and my mouth is so chalky I nearly choke on the sounds. “Help,” I eke out.

  The footsteps continue as I use my energy reserves to beg for help. I don't think I'm loud enough to be heard.

  But then they approach a new area overhead and there's the sound of a door unlatching. My heart pounds with adrenaline, giving me a burst of energy I haven't had since the thirst began to overtake me.

  Something thuds to the ground feet away from me. I scramble wildly trying to gauge where the person is. Terror creeps deep into my bones, but the need to survive is so strong, that it overrides the paralyzing fright. It's not bravery. Bravery implies there's a choice. “Wa-ter,” I rasp.

  Silence. Silence that makes those goosebumps surface. Then in an instant, the blindfold is whipped off my face. I've gone without seeing for so long, my eyes forget how to focus. I blink a few times, trying to find something to hone in on and recalibrate my vision. Instinctively, I do so on a bottle of water about fifteen feet away from me. The firmly built man towering over me wearing a black balaclava quickly steals my attention, though.

  I shake my head and shrink my body in fear. I don't feel human. I'm more like a caged animal. Like he's here to snuff me out. He pulls me to my knees. I look around and see I'm in a basement. A couple of short, cloudy, ground-level windows bring in hints of daylight. The light fighting its way in is bright with a tint of yellow; it must be a beautiful day out there.

  I wait for him to say something, but he keeps silent.

  He cups my chin and pulls it up to meet his eyes. Their clarity reminds me of the chunks of glass I used to collect at the beach as a kid. Still he says nothing.

  He walks away and points at the water. I don't understand this game we're playing. But I am so thirsty.

  I nod desperately. He turns away and heads back up the stairs, taking the bottle with him.