The Executioner

by Suzanne Steele

  Chapter Ten

  Dr. Winslow

  I decide against calling my patient to come back in. I can’t take a chance on my secretary informing the police that she is presently a patient of mine if she is ever reported missing. With her being released months ago from my treatment, there will be no ties whatsoever with me now.

  I wait until the next day and I park outside of her home to stalk her. I remember her telling me that she runs a lot of her errands on Mondays and, true to her word, she exits her home early and makes her way to her car.

  It is a typical Monday, an aggravating, over scheduled Monday. Every time I think she has dwindled her ‘to do’ list down, she makes her way to another store or to pay another bill. I am being patient, following her at a distance so she isn’t aware she is being followed.

  From store to store I go, patiently following behind her just waiting for the opportunity to strike. She is so focused on getting done, she never notices the predator that follows her every move.

  By five o’ clock, I’m tired and losing my patience. She finally lets her guard down and breaks the cardinal rule of staying out of alleys.

  I can only assume she made the choice to park in one in order to hit those last two boutiques which can be easily accessed by doing so.

  She makes her way out to her car and opens her trunk to unload her bags. She never sees my hand slip over her face from behind. I cover her mouth to muffle her cries for help. I can feel the pulse in her neck wildly racing and I squeeze. There will be no permanent damage but unconsciousness is only seconds away. The last words that she hears are me whispering, “Well, well, we meet again,” right before I stab her in the neck with a syringe.

  She awakens, groggy and disoriented. The lighting is dim and the traffic noise outside is muted, almost as if it is at a distance. She begins to get her bearings and realizes she is in a basement. I have her arms and legs spread and tied apart in a spread eagle position, but standing up on a St. Andrew’s cross. One shoe has been kicked off and her dress is bunched up around her legs.

  The absolute horror she feels shows on her face when she views a hand held recorder on a tripod. The red, blinking light assures her that our sessions are being filmed. She turns her head when she hears hard soled shoes approaching. Up until this point, she hasn’t noted my presence due to her drug induced state. I purposely touch the soles of my shoes on the floor with more force, causing each step to become louder. It sounds as if thunder is clapping, but I can still hear her breathing becoming more labored due to her fear.

  I lift her weary head and her mouth literally drops open. I realize then that she recognizes me despite the drugs coursing through her system. I gently stroke her hair to soothe her, assuring her with my words that I don’t want to hurt her. I softly murmur, “This isn’t about hurting you or having sex with you.” A shudder runs through her body and I chuckle, “What? Are you being shy? Now? After all that we have discussed in our sessions?”

  I lean into her ear and whisper, “You belong to me now; you’re my test subject. Just think… you will go down in history. You’ll die knowing your life wasn’t in vain. Of course, I won’t be able to reveal you as my test subject but you can die with a sense of knowing you helped others with their bonding issues. You see… it really is quite simple. If you can bond with a monster who has kidnapped you and is holding you against your will, then that means others with your psychological problems can bond even under the most horrific of circumstances.”

  Kansas

  He left without a word, just commanded me to continue writing and brought lunch in only to leave again. So, I do what he says and I write. I never know what to expect from Trent; he is a hard man. Though I am in his house, under his roof, and never out of his sight, he watches me as if he is a man obsessed. I soak it up like a woman suffering from Stockholm Syndrome and that is not the case. I’m simply a woman who believes in obsession and not love. There is no love for me, there is only Trent’s obsession. I’m tired so I write a short poem before I eat and take a nap.

  A predator’s intention……

  It is my intention to cause you fear such as you have never known. It is my desire to take your fear to a whole new level of terror.

  I can smell your fear as its sweet scent flows through my universe. This small universe that I have created and am permitting you to exist in.

  I say these things because you only exist right now because I have allowed it, for if I should choose, I could snuff you out as if extinguishing a candle flame.

  I will make you thank me later for allowing you to breathe.

  I will mix you a concoction of fear, pain, uncertainty, and arousal such as you have never known.

  You see, my curious little prey, these all create very similar physical reactions. My little prey, they have common traits on the emotional side too.

  Curious prey, curious prey, let me growl my intentions into your curious ear. I will keep you in a constant state of fear, pain, uncertainty, and arousal. I know exactly what I am doing; I am a skilled and professional predator.

  It is my full intention to own you! I will keep you in a constant emotional whirlpool. This is the universe of my making, and you exist in it by my power and by my choice. I want you in a constant state of fear, physical discomfort, pain, uncertainty, and arousal.

  I am purposely blurring the lines between your emotions, and your physical sensations. As I do this, I am creating a desire and a craving within you to be manhandled and taken by me.

  I am intentionally working you into a state of intense arousal and desperation. I am conditioning you to crave your new life as my prey…

  Executioner

  “Un-fucking-believable!” I stand with my arms folded over my chest reading what she has written on the computer screen and I am impressed. She fucking nailed the intentions of a predator. I can’t believe it. I truly am impressed. Not only that, but now my dick is rock hard. She stirred something in me writing that shit and now I’m ready to play.

  I make my way to the bed, jerking her up by a handful of hair and dragging her down into the basement. Since she seems unable to stand, I’m careful not to let her head bang on the steps when she lands. Her nude body scrapes across the concrete flooring and I lift her up, attaching her arms to the chains hanging from the rafters.

  I make my way over to the wall and push a button on a winch until she is standing on her tip toes with her legs dangling.

  “What did I do? Why the fuck am I in trouble?”

  I make my way over to her, glaring at her as I place one finger over her lips and whisper, “Don’t. Fucking. Yell. At. Me. I. Don’t. Like. It!”

  Her head shakes up and down to signify her understanding as tears stream down her face.

  I lean in rubbing my face in her hair and taking in the scent of watermelon. She smells like the high dollar products she uses—and fear—she smells like fear.

  “I can smell it on you, the scent of prey. It excites me. Such a good girl, you nailed it on the last writing that you did. I’m so fucking pleased with you.”

  I lean back, looking into her face, and I can see the pleasure she gains from receiving my praise. My fingers clench around her chin and she whimpers in pain. I can feel my cock jump.

  “A writer, a good writer, shows and doesn’t tell. I’m going to show you what you wrote, Vixen.”

  I make my way over to a cabinet that holds tools, or toys, however a person will choose to describe the implements I am using. She is struggling to look behind her and the chain shows no mercy, causing her to swing and twist in circles. Her eyes widen when she sees the choice I have made.

  “I want to hurt you, baby girl.”

  She bites her bottom lip and, for reasons unknown to her, agrees to let me have my way. Not that it would have mattered, she’s mine to do with as I see fit.

  I forcefully grab the back of her neck, pulling her into my face and hiss, “I will never let you go. Do you understand me?”

  “I
don’t want to go,” she whispers as if talking to herself.

  The first strike causes her to scream out in agony. By the fifth, she has given in. I remove her body and gently lay her on the floor. She winces as her tender ass scrapes against the concrete.

  I make my way between her legs and scoop my arms beneath her upper thighs, licking over her soaked slit. My tongue explores every fold and crevice, gently taking in each new discovery of her feminine essence. Over and over, I rack her body with pleasure until I get up and remove my pants. For the first time, I gently make love to her.

  “You’re so perfect, Vixen. You were molded and hewn from birth to be mine. You fit me like a glove, you know me, you understand me, and for the first time in our lives, we are bonded. Bonds like this aren’t broken. They remain throughout time in the portals of eternity. They are what love stories are made of.

  Kansas

  His words wash over me like warm, enticing reassurances which resonate with me make me believe that I am wanted. He slowly pushes deeply within me, exploring depths known to no other.

  His face is mask of intensity that speaks of danger and an obsession that lies within him for one woman—me.

  I reach up and touch the scar that only adds to his dangerous good looks and his temple tics in recognition. I am his, I belong, and I finally found one who is worthy of me. We are knit together down to our souls and it is true…our connection will remain through the portals of time, going down in history as unrelenting love. I know this because I will document it in literature—words that stand out as a beacon to others who crave what we have managed to attain. This is real, this is raw, this is a dangerous obsession, and this is what others deem love. For the two of us, it goes much deeper because though it is dysfunctional on so many levels as far as how the outside world would view it, it is the only thing that our fucked up lives recognize as being real.

  He spends the rest of the night bathing me and rubbing my body down with lotion that smells of mint. I can feel the healing agents within it as the lotion, mixed with his words of praise, heal the hurt that has been inflicted—a pain that I have come to crave.

  Tonight, he turned what had only been my written ramblings, into our reality. My words are now more than a story, they are my new life. I am owned, I am wanted, I am loved…

  Chapter Eleven

  Dr. Winslow

  Once again, my hard soled shoes can be heard as I make my way towards her cage. I loom above her and she grabs the bars on the ceiling of her enclosure as she looks up at me.

  She’s looking into my face, pleading, as I look down on her and state, “I like this view of you looking up at me, and the concept of you being my research subject is alluring to say the least.”

  She’s searching my face earnestly and I tell her, “The Stockholm Syndrome has begun to set in, young lady. I will own more of you as the days go by. Tick, tock, tick, tock,” I mock her.

  “It’s time for your shower, little one.”

  “Noooooooooo,” she wails.

  “I hate you!” she screams, “Why are you doing this to me?”

  She is kicking, screaming, and throwing a tantrum, much like a five year old would do.

  I unlock the cage and she scurries to the back of it, terrified. I pull her out by her hair and she immediately bows at my feet, prostrate in a state of submission.

  I chuckle, “You are very cunning. I know about your past: the abandonments, the group homes, the running away, and the emancipation at sixteen.”

  I bend down and force her to look at me by grabbing a handful of hair and lifting her head.

  “Be careful… I have the wit, the wisdom, the will, and all of the skill that I need, to possess you! I set my sights on you. I am in control and I chose you. It’s bath time and if you don’t obediently follow me, I’ll drown your ass.”

  She timidly walks behind me and follows me to the bathroom.

  “Get in the shower,” I calmly demand of her.

  “With my clothes on?”

  “Yes, with your dress on. I have no intentions of taking you sexually. It isn’t your pussy I want. I gently tap the side of her head as I speak. “It’s this—your mind. I then tap a finger over her heart, “and this—your emotions.”

  She looks relieved and steps in the shower, allowing me to lift her arms and latch them to an O Ring device that I had installed.

  I grab the removable shower head and spray water into her face, “You defiant little bitch! Your counseling session yesterday left much to be desired.”

  She is shaking her head, choking, spitting, and screaming out “I’m sorry.”

  “One more for good measure, bitch!”

  “I’m not a bitch, I never have been!” she screams, offended that I would insinuate that she not a woman or person who deserves respect. I owe her nothing; she owes me!

  “Take a deep breath,” I chuckle as I all but drown her with the shower device.

  She violently shakes her head as snot and water fly off of her water logged face.

  “Bitch doesn’t like to be called a bitch, does she? The thing about it is I don’t give a fuck what you like, what you want, or what your opinion is! I own you, and I will do as I see fit, bitch!”

  “No one owns me,” she mumbles.

  “Want to bet?” I say, as I glare in her eyes, daring her to defy me.

  I bury my face in her ear. “You’re my research subject. You should be flattered I have chosen you.”

  I instantly change and grab a loofah, liberally soaping it up. I begin bathing her from where I am standing outside of the shower. I scratch and scrub her down as I clean her already bruised and battered body.

  “I want my research subject clean and smelling good,” I say, ignoring her screams and cries of protest.

  “You’re hurting me, you sadistic bastard!” she screams.

  I grab a handful of her hair and put my face nose to nose with her, “Do not yell at me!”

  I emphasize each word and it cuts through her like glass.

  “I hate you!” she screams out at me.

  “Liar, every day you lie to yourself, but I own you and that, you cannot deny! I know you and what you really want. I knew you when you were my patient and I know you now. You can consider me your knight in black armor because I’m helping you find your true self. You mark my words, little girl, you will never fully recover from my attentions falling on you!”

  Executioner

  I sit in bed channel surfing as I listen to her breathe from the other side of my bed. She doesn’t know it yet, but I have moved her into my room permanently. From now on, she will only sleep in my bed.

  Something happened to us tonight. She opened up a part of me that has been closed down due to the cruelty of life. I couldn’t let her go now even if I wanted to. Needless to say, there is no part of me that desires being separate from her. I toy with a lock of her long chestnut brown, highlighted hair when something on TV commands my full attention.

  Reports state that Lisa Brown McCarthy has been missing for two days. Her car was found downtown behind Southern Scents Boutique’s back alley. It is believed that she was abducted while putting items in the trunk of her car. The trunk was left open with all of her personal items still on the front seat. The police don’t believe that it was a robbery as all valuables were left at the scene. If you have seen, or know the whereabouts of this woman, please call Crime Stoppers or 911 and inform the police.

  The TV then switched to a different, totally irrelevant program. Lisa Brown McCarthy… I know that name. She was one that asshole’s patients months ago and I remember listening to her sessions after I bugged his office. It was clear I was going to have to call in a favor on this one. I need a professional team to help me locate this woman and get her away from Dr. Quack. This is just the kind of thing that Miller loves to dirty his hands with.

  You see, Miller is a professional hit man and he only takes certain jobs; he is a vigilante of sorts. But more so than that, Miller is a s
oldier I served with in Afghanistan. Anyone who has served overseas knows that there is a bond that is forged in blood with the men who serve together. Yes, it’s time for me to meet with my band of blood brothers. These guys are professionals who know how to get the job done.

  This poor woman doesn’t stand a chance against Dr. Winslow. He is deranged and there is no way he will let her live when he done fucking with her head. It’s either she dies or he dies and I have no intention of letting that sick fuck kill an innocent woman. Plus, that bastard still needs to sign off on my physical…

  Chapter Twelve

  Kansas

  I wake up the next morning in Trent’s bed. The intensity of his gaze is what pulled me from my sleep.

  “What?”

  “Go brush your teeth and pee. We need to talk.”

  “Am I in trouble?

  “You are if you don’t go and do what I said to do.”

  I plod my way into the bathroom and I can feel his gaze on my ass.

  I pee first and stand at the sink, brushing my teeth, while he takes his turn peeing.

  I can feel his breath on my neck as he stands behind me staring at my ass and I know he is looking, no, admiring his marks.

  “My cock’s hard, girl. What the fuck are you going to do about it?”

  “Whatever you want me to,” I reply after I finish brushing.”

  “Good girl. Now bend over and grab that sink.”

  He runs his cock up and down my slit as he talks to me.

  “You took it to a whole new level last night. I’m taking you to meet the only family I have.”

  The thought that he trusts me enough to introduce me to whoever these people are that are so important to him has emotion coursing through me.