by Paul Blades
Once he entered it, he kept the Walther on his lap. He had the two extra clips in his pocket. There was no way they would take him alive.
The car edged its way slowly down the road. His eyes were peeled for any sign of movement. He went a little further. Nothing. When the car came to the cutoff, he took it, the driver’s window open and the gun in his hand. He pulled up to where the Malibu had been parked. He saw the tire tracks. He looked around. The sky had turned grey and there were a few flakes of snow coming down. The place looked desolate.
He walked the 100 yards or so to where he had buried the girl under the brush. He stopped. If he listened very close, he could hear a sound like whimpering, although it might just have been the wind through the leafless trees. He looked down at the pile of leaves and branches. Maybe she was dead already, he thought. He didn’t want to dig her out if she was. He would rather remember her alive. He lit a smoke. He gave it some thought. Finally, he decided that he might as well get his stuff as long as he was here anyways. If she was dead, then, maybe it was fate and not him who killed her. Maybe it was just her time to go.
He tossed aside the smoke and began to drag off the debris he had used to cover the tent. As he progressed, the whimpering sound became louder. Once the brush was clear, he pulled off the top of the tent. There she was, squirming and squealing.
The first hour had been awful. Carly had struggled with her bonds uselessly. Then she realized that with the stuff all piled on top of her, she had limited air. If she used it all up, she might suffocate. She tried to calm herself. He said he would be back in a while. What’s a while? An hour? Two? He can’t mean longer than that. That would be horrible. As it was it was horrible, but it would be so much worse if she had to wait that long for liberation.
After a short time, she relaxed. “I should just be glad I’m alive,” she thought. When she had heard the click of the pistol, she thought it was all over. All of her senses had gathered together in unity to live that final moment. Her mind had never been so concentrated in all of her life. She had never been so alert to her individuality in the world, her separateness from it. The world would continue and she would not. It would go on for months and years and decades and centuries. Her body would wither and decay. Eventually, even her bones would turn to dust. Her presence would be extinguished. Everyone she knew would mourn her and she would not be able to say a single thing to them.
Her life had been leading inexorably to this single moment and she had never suspected it. In a split second she would have the answer to the age old questions. Would she see God? Would she see her father who had gone on before her? Would she see paradise? Or would all consciousness merely black out into nothingness? Would it hurt?
All these things went rushing away when the man told her to get on her knees. She had started to sob uncontrollably. Somehow her nerves had been shattered by that single command. But when he pushed her to her belly and started binding her legs together, she realized that he had changed his mind. Again. Twice now she had been brought to the edge of annihilation and had survived.
The dam broke. She cried and cried and cried. She heard the man moving around and doing something, but she didn’t have the energy to care. All she knew was that she was still breathing, still feeling, still thinking. When she heard him digging, she got nervous again, but then she looked up and saw him setting up the tent. Were they going to stay in it? It would be cold and uncomfortable. But she didn’t care. She would stay anywhere.
Then the man led her over, and made her lie down inside the tent. Due to the hole he had made, her shoulders and belly were about six inches below the level of the surrounding ground. He tied her elbows together just like yesterday and then hooked her legs back up to her wrists. He tied them too. And her knees. He was making doubly sure that she wouldn’t get away. She realized that she owed her life to the value he saw in her.
She thought back to that blow job she had given him just before they left the cabin last night. She hadn’t really known what she was doing at the time. She had just reacted to an urge, a need to prove her worth to him. Now she realized that that blowjob had probably saved her life. As long as she was willing and open and a valuable sexual object, he would want her and let her live. It was a lesson she would remember.
He brought all their stuff into the tent and then lowered it over her. She heard and felt him covering her with something, leaves and branches. Then she heard his voice. He would be back.
She kept going back to that promise as the time dragged on. He said he would be back. But as the time got longer and longer, doubt began to creep into her mind. She couldn’t see anything. The dark nylon of the tent admitted almost no light. It was getting cold, freezing cold, and her muscles were way past cramping. She was hungry. She was frightened. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he got arrested and decided not to tell them where she was. Maybe he had an accident. Or maybe he shot it out with the cops and he’s dead and them with no clue as to what he did with her. She had no idea where she was. All she knew was that she was in some woods somewhere. They had driven a long time on that bumpy road when she was in the trunk. She could be miles from the nearest house.
The longer she lay there, the more frightened she got. She would vary from certitude that he was never coming back to a firm resolution that all she had to do was to hang on to her sanity and everything would be all right. He had promised. But then, he was a convict, a murderer. What good was a promise from him? And then she would start all over again.
She realized that he had gone to steal another car. She wondered how long that would take him. He had to go to some urbanized setting so that the car wouldn’t be missed right away. She had no idea how far away from one they were. She tried to visualize a map in her head. They had gone west the night before last and then south and west and south and west last night. She knew that they had crossed into Nebraska at some point before he put her in the trunk, but that was all she knew.
From time to time, she struggled at her bonds. She knew it was useless, but she couldn’t help herself. She tried not to do it because each time that she stopped, the realization that it was useless would produce a wave of intense misery that would flow all through her. It was so hard to accept what had been happening to her. It was so hard to accept in her mind that she couldn’t move her hands or legs, that she was completely helpless, lying in a hole somewhere out in the wilderness, unable to move more than a smidgeon of an inch in any direction. It was so hard to accept that the only person in the whole world who was likely to save her from her current horrid circumstances was the man who put her here.
She thought about the knots that held her so tightly bound. They were a product of the man’s will. It made it seem like he could project it on her from wherever he went, whatever he did. The knots were like stored up energy, a force produced by his steely muscles, his iron like grip, and transferred to the rope that bound her. It was almost like an act of magic, like she was being held in place by some evil spell he had placed upon her. Her mouth was still stuffed with that foul gag. That thing was still in her rear and that egg thing in her sex. He had placed them there and there they would remain until he removed them. He had buried her in the wilderness, worked his charms on her and then left her here to molt like some weird chrysalis.
Would she emerge as a butterfly? Something beautiful and magical? Or maybe, she would emerge as the man’s hell bound slave, from the very bowels of the earth, like some troll or goblin or succubus now cemented to his will. For she knew that these lonely, abandoned hours, her subterranean, tomb like placement would work some change on her. She would emerge from her burial place transformed into something entirely new. The old Carly would be left behind to molder in her grave.
Then, finally, she heard what she thought was a car. Her heart leapt. All her reserve wilted away and she started whining and moaning and pleading with him to come free her. It took the longest time! What was he doing? What was taking so long?
And then she
thought, maybe it’s someone else, someone who had come into the woods to hunt or bird watch or something. Maybe some kids to drink and fuck or to smoke pot. They might not even see her. But he might see them and drive away rather than risk discovery. She tried to yell and scream as loud as she could, but only low moans came out. She shook her body from side to side, her shoulders butting up against the sides of the hole he had placed her in. She was beginning to turn hysterical. She knew that she should stop, but she couldn’t. She yelled and yelled and yelled.
Something above her moved. The tent was being cleared of brush and branches. Someone was there! Who? Who?
When she felt his hands on her, she knew immediately who it was. It tempered her joy at liberation somewhat, but only a little. She hadn’t really expected anybody else to come way out here. The top of the tent was pulled aside and she saw light. Her feet were freed and he let them down slowly. She moaned at the pain. He pulled her to her knees and then her feet. She could barely stand. She looked at him pleadingly, gratefully. He had come back! He had come back!
He had her sit down on the ground, her hand still bound behind her. She looked a wreck. She was trembling and her face was wet with tears. Well, he didn’t have much time to commiserate with her. He quickly gathered up their stash and brought it over to the Marquee, putting most of it in the trunk. He kept some snacks and stuff to put in the passenger compartment. He folded up the tent. The girl watched him as if what he was doing was the most interesting thing she had ever seen.
When everything was ready, he went and got her. “She’s not going to be happy,” he thought. He let her pee and then removed her gag so that she could drink some water. She finished off almost a full 12 oz. bottle. When he presented the gag to her lips again, she frowned, but she opened them. He affixed it tightly behind her head. The trunk was still open. He dragged her over to it. She looked into it and whined. He couldn’t help it. She was just too hot. He lifted her and put her in. He tied off her legs again to her wrists and slammed the trunk closed. He got back in the Merc, started it up and then they were on their way once more.
He skirted around Kansas City and headed southeast on a two laned county road. He didn’t want to keep too direct a path south. He figured that they might be looking for him near Tulsa or Wichita, so he waited until he had gone about 30 miles east before he turned south again.
The snow was coming down heavier now and was starting to stick. The terrain was getting rougher too and they were mostly headed up. He crossed the Arkansas border at a small town called Gateway and headed up into the mountains. He knew that it was getting pretty cold out and that the girl in the trunk must be freezing. He was dog tired too. He needed to find a place to pull off the road. He passed through a small town called Bentonville and saw a sign for a place called Cave Springs. It sounded like a tourist place. He was right. He passed a few motels until he saw the one he wanted. It was set back off the road about 50 yards and had a number of little cabins. He pulled up and parked the car where it couldn’t be seen from the motel office. He turned to the back seat.
“I’m getting a room,” he said loudly so she could hear him through the back seat. “Just stay quiet for a little while longer. Then I’ll get you something to eat and we can sleep. Just remember, if you fuck up, I’ll kill you. And don’t think I won’t.”
He went into the motel office and got them a cabin at the edge of the property like before. He had taken a quick glance at the license plate number before he went inside so that there would be no suspicions when he registered. He put down two names. Not stupid names like before. He used the name of the guy who owned the car, Peter Lindley, and his imaginary wife, Susan. He told the manager that she was asleep in the car.
He drove over to the cabin. He unlocked and opened the door. Then he made sure that so one was looking. It was about 4:30 in the afternoon. Due to the snow, it had started getting dark already. It wasn’t coming down blizzard style yet, but it soon would and visibility was already poor. He had gotten off the road just in time.
He went around to the trunk and popped it open. The girl looked at him forlornly. He could tell that she was freezing. He undid her ankles and lifted her from the trunk. It was only about 15 feet to the door of the cabin and he practically carried her there. He brought her in, closed the door and put her on the bed. He didn’t hog tie her, but merely clipped her ankles together. She just lay there on her belly while he brought in the rest of the things they would need from the car. He turned on the heat, pulled down the curtain to the one, large window near the door and then sat down on a chair by the small table near the kitchen area.
The room was much like the one they had had back in Wisconsin. The double bed was almost all the way up to the wall on the right side, leaving just enough room to get by and an old bedside table with a small lamp on it up by the headboard. It had a wooden frame with little posts on the corners in imitation of a more fanciful design. There were four pillows and the bed was covered with a red and white calico quilt. There was an extra blanket on the end of the bed.
The kitchen area was, like in the other place, to the left of the bed. It was a little bigger and had a real stove and kitchen sink. The fridge was a real stand up one too. The bathroom was off the kitchen. It shared a wall with the bed. It was clean, not very modern and had an old style tub with knobby feet on it. A curtain rod went around the tub and a shower had been hooked up. The tile and the bathtub were all white or, actually, kind of a grayish white due to their age. The curtain was orange and blue swirls. A matching orange and blue throw rug was on the floor.
The cabin was paneled wood, like the other place, but someone had whitewashed the paneling and covered it with lime green paint. It was not very attractive. Yellow linoleum covered the floor by the kitchen and a brown rug lay on the floor over by the table. The room was lit overhead by a roundish, frosted light fixture that covered two bright bulbs. There was a standing lamp by the left side of the bed.
He was watching the girl. Her long, bare legs were enticing. Her joined hands rested in the small of her back. Her face was turned away from him and all he could see was her now, stringy, blond hair. She would need to be cleaned up, he thought. And fed. And they needed some sleep. Not necessarily in that order.
He opened a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli, dumped it in a pot and put it on the stove on a low heat. Then he opened a can of beef barley soup he had gotten for the girl. He put that in a pot on a burner next to the ravioli. Then he went over to his captive.
Straddling her, he unclasped the hook in the back of her blue denim miniskirt and lowered the zipper. She did not react. He was able to easily draw it down her soft thighs and off her feet. Her pale rear mounds greeted him. He had been thinking about them all day. He ran his hands over them. They were as soft and firm as he remembered them. The end of the dildo was just protruding from the girl’s rear star. “Later,” he thought.
Placing his hand in her hair, he gripped it tightly and ordered the girl to sit up. She obeyed and gave him a tired, morose look. Ignoring her, he reached for her waist and began to draw the t-shirt she was wearing up her torso. He pulled it up over her breasts and then her head and drew it down her arms to her conjoined hands. He pushed her face down on the bed again and unhooked her bracelets so that he could remove her t-shirt and then joined them again.
“That’s better,” he thought. It was better that she be naked, ready for use. And it was better that his eyes be able to take in her not inconsiderable charms. He had risked an awful lot in keeping her and he wanted to get all of his money’s worth.
Carly had almost exactly the same thought. Not that it was better necessarily, but that she was now naked, ready for use. She knew that she should be showing the man more energy and cooperation; her value as a sexual partner had, after all, saved her life today. But she was just so tired and hungry and dispirited that she couldn’t do any more than obey his commands and follow wherever his hands led her. The time in the woods under the tent in tha
t hole he dug for her had been horrible. It hadn’t been much better to travel in the trunk of the car for many hours. He could at least have let her put on her coat.
She winced when he took hold of her hair again and pulled her to her knees and then off of the bed. She moaned slightly from the pressure to her scalp, but cooperated as best she was able. He brought her over to one of the wooden chairs and sat her down in it. She remembered his standing orders and spread her legs widely and sat back the best she could, giving him a good display of her breasts and sex. He sat in the opposite chair, looking at her. His face was always hard to read. She knew that he had had many years, 12 of them, in which to learn how to hide his thoughts and control his emotions. But she knew a look of desire when she saw one and she thanked her stars that there was one in his eyes.
Jack kept his eye on the girl. He lit a cigarette and opened a small bottle of Pepsi that he had bought. He took a deep, refreshing drink, keeping his eyes on the girl the whole time. He knew that she must be thirsty, but decided that she could wait. Her eyes were red rimmed and she had dark shadows under them. The leather shield of the gag still covered her mouth and he thought pleasantly of the prick like prong having been inside her all this time. It made him recall that she still had the stone egg inside her and he was tempted to turn it on to see how she would react, but he resisted the temptation. She was probably too tired to respond to it anyway.
He released a large cloud of bluish grey smoke, and then, putting the cigarette out in the ashtray, got up and stirred the soup and the ravioli. They were just about ready. He took a plate from the 5’ tall, white metal cabinet next to the stove and brought it and the pot of ravioli to the table. After he spooned the steaming pasta onto the plate, he went into the cabinet again and brought out a large soup bowl. He put that on the table and poured the soup into it. He put the soup on the linoleum floor.
