The Infamous Ellen James (Infamous Series)

by Alcorn, N. A.

  He's going to kill me. This man is going to fucking kill me.

  Frank is standing over me. He is a fairly large man—at least six feet tall and probably pushing two hundred pounds. His eyes are rabid and his breathing is rough. He straddles my stomach and places all of his weight on my midsection. His jacket is off, and he's wearing a white t-shirt that is severely filthy and has several holes throughout. He pushes his long, greasy black hair out of his eyes, and that's when I notice he no longer has a gun. He is holding one of my kitchen knives.

  Frank slowly runs the tip of the knife down my sternum along my midsection, the cold, sharp tip causing my nerve-endings to stand on end, making my body shudder in anticipation…in fear. I don't realize I'm holding my breath until he lifts the knife off of my stomach, spurring a deep, shuddering breath to escape my lungs.

  Frank laughs coldly as he stares down at me; his face is evil, demonic. This man has far passed the point of return. He has fallen over that proverbial ledge, and Frank is not the same Frank I have taken care of in the ER. I'm not even sure if he is human anymore.

  He scoots down my body so he is now sitting on my thighs. Taking the knife, he deliberately starts to cut my panties off. My breath is coming in quick, shallow spurts, my breasts heaving up and down as I'm desperately trying to pull in oxygen, fighting the urge to pass out again as my body threatens to hyperventilate.

  "P-P-Please stop this, Frank. Please, please, please stop this!" I'm begging, pleading for him to stop the inevitable.

  His knuckles make impact with my right cheek bone, which makes my eyes tear up and sting intensely. "You need to shut. The. Fuck. Up." His putrid breath hits my face, stirring nausea in my gut.

  Frank stands up and gives several hard kicks to my ribs with his steel-toe boots. The last rigid thrust of his boot is so forceful that I can audibly hear a sickening crack. The pain is so penetrating that tears slide down my cheeks, and a low wheeze boils out of my chest. My breathing is shallow, and I suspect that Frank has not only fractured several ribs but also punctured my right lung. He glares down at me as a deep, menacing laughter consumes him.

  "Nurse Ellen, I can't stop now. I finally have you exactly where I want you."

  He roughly pulls my threadbare panties off of me and gawks down at my exposed body.

  Tears continue to stream down my cheeks as his eyes move upwards and lock onto my face.

  "Why are you crying, Nurse Ellen? Don't worry, I'm gonna make you feel real good. We're both gonna feel so good."

  Bile rises from my stomach and hastily fills my throat; the urge to vomit is overwhelming. I attempt to sit up but he just pushes me back down to the icy, hardwood floor. I turn my head to the side in just enough time before I retch violently, bitterness pouring out of my mouth.

  Frank seems to be ignoring the fact that I am spewing all over the place and lays his body down on top of mine. I can feel his arousal pressing into my pelvic bone. He is grunting loudly as he begins to grind himself into my defenseless, naked body. He does this for several minutes before sitting back on my thighs and pulling his erection out of his repulsive sweatpants.

  "Now you're going to take care of me." He begins to stroke himself while watching me struggle to breathe.

  I hear footsteps coming near my apartment door.

  Oh god… Please don't let that be Amy. Or Trent. Oh god, no…

  Panic washes over me, and I know I have to do something to warn whoever is planning on walking into my apartment. I take a feeble gasp and attempt to yell loud enough so whoever is near my door can hear my struggle.

  "AHHHHHHHH! Get off of me!" I shriek at the top of my lungs.

  My ribs protest in agony, and I instantly feel like I'm suffocating. Frank smacks me across the face with his free hand and tells me to shut the fuck up again through clenched teeth. He continues to fondle himself and doesn't seem to notice the door knob to my apartment turn, little by little, indicating that the visitor is hesitant, aware that something very bad is occurring inside my apartment. Frank's back is to the door, and although, I'm lying on the floor, bound and exposed, I still have the door in view.

  The door opens slowly and then my vision is blocked by Frank lying down on top of my body. He attempts to thrust himself inside of me, but the way my ankles are bound together prevents him from being able to penetrate. He's grunting loudly and aggressively, trying to push his length inside of me. I close my eyes tightly, lock my thighs together, and try to move my hips away from him in pure desperation.

  I'm petrified and consumed with fear. Each inhalation of my lungs is getting shallower as my body screams for oxygen. I'm starting to feel lightheaded as I open my eyes again. I see Trent with the gun, standing behind Frank. A thousand different emotions are all over his face. My vision begins to tunnel as my ears are filled with ringing.

  "GET THE FUCK OFF OF HER!" Frank stills and turns to see Trent pointing the gun at his face. He speedily stands up off of my weak, helpless body and tries to lunge at Trent.

  BANG!

  My body jerks from the startling, ear-splitting sound of a gunshot.

  The intense, all-encompassing sound echoes deafeningly throughout my apartment.

  The sensation of blood spurting across my face and chest instantly causes my stomach to recoil. Frank's body falls to the ground in a crashing tumble.

  His lifeless body bleeds onto the hardwood floor of my kitchen.

  Trent drops the gun to the floor and immediately collapses to his knees, draping himself over me. “Ellie, I got you baby. I got you baby. Hold on for me…”

  That's the last thing I remember before my world goes completely black.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “When life gives you dilemma, you should fight. Fight for every breath, every beat of your heart, and every chance to live another day.”

  Ellen...Ellie... Open your eyes, baby. Please open your eyes.

  Someone is grasping my hand tightly, lifting it up, and I can feel soft, warm lips touch it tenderly.

  You're going to be okay, Ellie. I can promise you that.

  Muffled voices are around me, and a faint beep beep beep is insistent in the background. I try like hell to open my eyes, but the pounding in my skull is refusing to stop. Constant aching and pounding and aching and pounding... Where am I? My body doesn't feel like my body. I feel as if I'm having an actual out-of-body experience. My mind searches for some sort of memory, something to pull me out of this nightmare.

  Search...

  Find something...

  Come on, Ellen. Remember what happened...

  Then a vision of Frank straddling my thighs fills my brain and I remember. I remember everything—every crushing blow I received underneath his cold hands, every fear that overwhelmed me, the fear of never walking away from him alive. Adrenaline starts to rush through my veins, my breathing is fast, and my heart is nearly pounding out of my chest. Beep beep beep beep... That insistent beeping in the background has gotten louder, quicker.

  Ellie, calm down baby. Someone get her physician and nurse in here.

  Warm hands touch my cheeks, softly caressing them, attempting to calm me down, but it's too late. I'm stuck in the nightmare that is Frank. The memories are flooding in like a hurricane and I'm scared. Terrified. Cold fluid is pushed into my vein and my brain is getting foggy... Frank is drifting away into a dark abyss. Far from me, far enough that he can't touch me, hurt me...rape me...kill me. That's what he was going to do. He was going to violate me in the worst possible way and then leave me for dead. I squeeze my eyes tighter, fearful that if I open them he will be there. Standing. Waiting. Watching. Ready to hurt me.

  Beep…beep…beep.

  The beeping is slowing, and I feel my body relaxing into nothingness. It's a safe place where my mind and body will be protected and I don't have to think about anything… especially him.

  ***

  I flex my hand and relish in the ability to actually move parts of my body again. I don't feel like I'm disconnect
ed from myself anymore. I just feel tired and pain—I definitely feel pain. My chest hurts and my head is still throbbing.

  Throbbing incessantly.

  I flutter my eyelids open and my vision in blurred. I strive to focus, attempting to figure out where in the hell I am. The blurriness is replaced by the gray stark walls of a hospital room—an ICU room actually.

  I'm in the ICU? Oh my god.

  I'm lying in a hospital bed, in the ICU. I make out a Regency Hospital logo on a frame hanging from the wall and turn my head slightly to the side to see Trent next to me. He is sitting in a chair, his head leaned back, his eyes closed. He looks tired, disheveled. Stress lines his face. I reach my hand towards his—its currently resting on the stiff white sheets of my hospital bed. God, just moving my hand alone feels like I'm using enough energy to move a Mack Truck.

  How long have I been lying here?

  How long have I been unconscious?

  “Trent,” my voice croaks out in a whisper. My throat is sore and drier than cotton balls. I lightly touch his fingers with my hand. His eyes blink a few times and then there they are, gazing back at me, those beautiful blue eyes. They wrap me up and I feel safe for the first time since he stepped into my apartment.

  “Ellie! Oh, baby...”

  Trent kneels next to my bed, grasping my weak hand in both of his palms, his warm, comforting hands. He leans his forehead down, touching my fingers to his face.

  “God, I was so scared.” His eyes reach me and lock my gaze.

  “You saved me. You saved my life.”

  “I could hear your muffled screams when I was walking towards your apartment and I knew. I just knew that something wasn't right. And then, when I saw him on top of you...” Trent shuts his eyes tightly, his jaw grits, and he takes a deep, trembling breath. “When I saw him on top of you, my heart fell out of my chest and I was ready to do anything to save you. Anything.”

  “Is he... Is he...” I can't even let his name cross my lips. Thoughts of his putrid breath and vile hands touching me, hurting me, violating me... They are causing my chest to feel heavy. Pressure… So much pressure is pressing down on me, making me unable to breath.

  “You're safe, baby. He's dead. He will never hurt you again. No one will ever hurt you again, I can promise you that.” Trent leans towards my face, tenderly kissing my forehead, and I take a heavy breath. I think this is the first time since Frank walked into my apartment that I feel like I can actually breathe.

  “I'm going to go get your family and Amy. They've been worried sick about you.”

  “My parents are here?”

  Trent lets out a low laugh. “Of course your parents are here, Elle. We've all been worried about you. Rest your eyes. I'll go get them.” He stands up, kissing my forehead one more time, his lips lingering.

  “Thank you, Trent.”

  “For what?” His look is incredulous.

  “For everything. For being here. For being you. For saving me.” A tear falls from my eye and slowly slides down my cheek.

  Trent catches the liquid emotion with his fingertip. “I thought we've already established that I love you. Now let's establish that I would do anything for you, always, Ellie. You're important to me. So fucking important to me.” His smile is soft, gentle, and it caresses my soul. He leans down and softly presses his lips to mine. His kiss is tender and affectionate, and it grabs at my heartstrings. And thoughts of Trent moving to Seattle aren't even crossing my mind, because right now, in this moment, I'm just thankful that I'm actually here, alive.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Sadness and grief can be all-consuming. They can eat you alive and leave a shell of your former self. The only resolution is to search deep within yourself and find the will to battle for your well-being. For your chance to be whole again.”

  Eight long days at Regency.

  Admitted to the ICU for four of the days, I spent the other four days finishing my recovery on a Medical-Surgical floor. I suffered a concussion, several cracked ribs, and a small puncture to my right lung. My face and midsection were covered in bruising from the violent blows I repeatedly received from Frank. I'm lucky, so damn lucky. If Trent wouldn't have happened to come home when he did, I would have been gone. Dead. There is no doubt in my mind that Frank was going to kill me. He was going to violate me in the absolute worst way and then take my life; but Frank was the one who died that critical night. Frank is dead, and I'm alive.

  Everyone has been watching over me, trying to help me get through this awful, horrible situation. Physically, I'm doing better, on the mend. Everything is healing, and the only visible remnants of my injuries are the faint bruises on my face and midsection. Emotionally, though? I'm not really dealing with things all that well. Amy, Lizzy, and Trent have been the best support system anyone could ask for. They've spent countless nights at my bedside while I was in the hospital, and they proceeded to help me with everything I needed once I was discharged home. I'm so thankful for them, their support, and their endless love.

  It's been four weeks since my attack.

  Four long weeks.

  These weeks feel more like years. I haven't spoken with Trent all day. His surgery schedule was grueling and the gunshot victim that rolled in at 7 p.m. made it impossible for me to see him before leaving work tonight. My muscles ache and my entire body is carrying the weight of the past couple of weeks. My emotional state is... I'm not even sure what to call it.

  Withdrawn?

  Emotionless?

  I know I'm introverted, closed off, and I'm not myself right now. I'm wallowing in a bottomless pit of grief and anxiety. My nights are sleepless, restless, and bringing me closer to my breaking point. Every day, flashbacks of my attack consume my mind and nearly choke me to death. Visions of Frank in my apartment wake me up at night. His cold, soulless eyes staring down at me while his vile hands are all over my body.

  These thoughts, these recollections, are overwhelming. They are slowly taking pieces of my sanity, day by day, minute by minute. Every day a small piece of my heart, my soul, is stolen from me. Trent and I haven't been getting along all that well lately. I'm short and terse and would rather wallow in my own self-pity than spend time with him. I think last night was nearly the last straw for Trent. He came over to my apartment to spend some time with me and my detached, pathetic state just put a giant roadblock between us.

  “Baby, let's get out of the apartment. I want to take you to dinner,” he said as he sat on the edge of my bed, looking down at me with tenderness in his eyes.

  “I'm not going out tonight, Trent,” I said before rolling over in my bed, my back towards him. I could hear him sigh heavily in frustration. Or was it irritation? I wasn't really sure. I knew he was tired of this. Tired of the ginormous change in me. Tired of trying to pull me out of myself and help me get back to some semblance of normality.

  I felt his warm hand rest gently on my back. “Tell me what I need to do, Ellie. Just tell me what I need to do to take this pain away for you and I'll do it.” His voice was a whisper, nearly pleading.

  “Nothing, Trent. There's nothing you can do. There's nothing you can say. You might as well just go home.” I held back the tears as my voice cracked in a hushed tone. His hand gripped my shoulder, and I could practically feel him wince behind me when I told him to leave. Why was I still doing this? Pushing him away. Refusing to let him back in. I knew this wasn't fair to him, but for some reason, the wrong words just kept flowing out of my mouth. Trent went home last night after giving me a soft kiss to my forehead, and I was left wondering if that was the final push he needed. Did I just seal myself a fate without Trent by continually testing his patience? Continually avoiding, pushing away, closing off, and putting up giant walls.

  My physician strongly encouraged me to begin therapy and take a medical leave of absence from Regency. He could see the grief and depression engulfing me whole. Empathy and concern filled his eyes at my appointment today. I know I need help. I know what I need to do
. I know this, and yet, here I am, taking no action. Making no effort to help myself, heal myself. I dial the number to the one person who understands me, who will listen, who will lend a willing ear, who will be my shoulder to cry on.

  "Hey, sweetie. It's so good to hear your voice."

  "Hi, Mom." Tears start to fill my eyes.

  "How are you?"

  "I'm all right…" My lips tremble with sadness and a sob bubbles up from my throat.

  "Oh, baby girl, what's wrong? Your father and I have been so worried about you." My mom's voice is etched with concern. My parents came immediately when they got news of my attack. My mom stayed with me in the hospital for several days and even helped me get settled back into my apartment. It was hard to see her head back home to Louisville, but responsibilities of the family diner were causing a strain. I could tell she was torn and didn't want to leave my side, but Amy, Trent, and Lizzy made sure she knew I would be well taken care of.

  "Everything. Absolutely everything." The waterworks have started, and I feel no end in sight. My chest burns with each gasping breath.

  "I'm here for you, Ellen. I'm always here for you. Take a deep breath, try to calm down, and tell me what's going on, sweetie."

  And with that, I tell her everything. Everything that is bothering me. Trent. The attack. The grief and depression that's consuming me. I'm desperately screaming for help, for guidance, for someone to just fucking tell me what I need to do. For someone to tell me that everything is going to be okay. And that's what she does. She throws me a lifeline, an inflatable life vest to save me from drowning. She helps me see what I know I'm avoiding, what I'm running away from, what I'm sadly attempting to squash down and ignore.

  She's right about everything, and deep down, I know this. I already know this. I know what I need to do, what I have to do, what I will do. I'm not weak. I've never been the type of girl to let something take over my life, ruin me every minute of every day. I've never been that girl, and I refuse to start being that girl now. For the first time since the attack, I feel renewed, invigorated with hope that things can get better, that I can get through this. I can get past the horrible things Frank did to me. I'm thankful to be alive, and for that, I should be on my hands and knees thanking God. I should be relishing every second of every day, grateful for how things actually turned out.