by Christa Lynn
This is going to be fun.” He breathes across my face and I shiver.
I jerk my head back and spit in his face. “MMMM, thanks for that. I needed a little taste of what I’m about to enjoy.” He laughs as his tongue licks my saliva from his bottom lip. His fingers grip my chin hard as his dirty mouth comes crashing down on mine, the odor causing my stomach to flip. I fight him best I can, knowing his tongue is about to be bitten off if he even tries anything further.
But he knows better and pulls back, trailing his fingers down my chest. I search his body for a weapon of some sort, but he appears to be unarmed for now. My hands are tingling behind me from the tightness of the ropes binding them. I wriggle my wrists and fingers to try and get the blood pumping through them, but that’s nearly impossible. My mind keeps flashing back to the first time I sat in this dungeon, begging for my life. I got out, I survived and I have to keep that close to my heart. I can get out again, I will survive. All I have to do is wait for this kid to do something stupid. And he will, and I must be ready.
“You recognize this place, Doctor?” He says as he walks around the room like he’s taking a museum tour. He takes a deep breath, “The smell? You remember the smell Doctor?” He looks back at me with terror in his eyes. “Yes, you do don’t you? By the look in your eyes, you remember it all too well.”
“Who are you?” I ask again. But before he answers, I hear him behind me, the shrill sound of duct tape being ripped from the roll. His arms reach around me and he slams the tape across my mouth.
“No talking, Doctor. I will talk and you will listen.” He growls as he bruises my face by the force. He grabs my hair and jerks my head back so that I’m looking back at him, upside down.
“You will sit here quietly until I’m ready for you. But be prepared bitch, cause I’ve been ready for this for twenty years. I’m ready for my revenge Doctor. Are you ready to be number four again?” And he drops my face, pushing it forward so hard my chin hits my chest. “You sit here and remember being number four the last time, whore.”
But as I scan his face trying to carve his features in to my mind, I see it. A strange tattoo engraved in to his neck. I can’t make out what it is, but it appears to be a snake or other reptile, curling up in an “S” shape from his collar, up his neck, ending behind his ear. He turns and leaves the room, the door slamming behind him. I exhale a breath and scan the room frantically Sure enough, there it is. The tattoo gun. It now taunts me, scares me. Paralyzes me. I realize he’s going to mark me. Maybe not now, but at some point, he will mark me. Another ink portrait to go along with the other one, a constant memory to take with me everywhere. He plans to make sure I never forget.
But he mentioned revenge. Revenge for what? I’m the victim here, though I cringe at that thought. I never wanted to be a victim and I’ve refused to call myself that for so many years, but I guess I am. A poor, tortured victim, all because of my father.
I watch as the young boy leaves the basement, leaving me to my own devices. As he exits the room it hits me. The boy that slammed into me, three times, on the streets of New York. He’s been watching me for......shit, who knows how long? He’s the same boy that jumped me in the street, the one that got away. The lock clicks behind him and I struggle to free my hands. But it’s no use, the ropes are too tight. He must have been a boy scout, cause he sure knows how to tie a knot. But who is he and why is he after me? My eyes travel the room, looking for some hint as to who this asshole is and why he feels he needs revenge on me. I wonder silently if I counseled him as a young boy. Maybe he was abused and........yeah, that has to be it. Apparently, psychoanalysis didn’t work on him. It does backfire sometimes, but I never imagined someone would come after me because of it.
But how did he know about this place? It then dawns on me that this place......is in Chicago.
I’m no longer in New York and the odds of someone finding me here are remote. At least not until I’m washing up in the Chicago River, or Lake Michigan. I shiver at the thought, and resign myself to getting out of here, alive.
I hear cluttering noises from outside the door, so I know he’s still here. I close my eyes and try and take deep, calming breaths. But the smell is rancid and I struggle not to cough. I flash back to when I was here twenty years ago and the ending results. I know, that by the time this is over, there will be another dead body. I silently pray it won’t be mine.
Glass shatters and curses fly out of my captor’s mouth outside the door. My heart jumps into my throat and I try and swallow around the lump. After a few minutes of this, it goes quiet.
Eerily silent and all I hear are my shallow breaths and that dripping behind me. A car engine roars and tires squeal out of the driveway. He’s gone. But for how long? My brain goes into overdrive and I start to panic, trying to think of a way to get out of here before he gets back. But my hands are tied so tight and my fingers are going numb from the lack of circulation. I make a futile attempt at wriggling them, but it feels like pins and needles stabbing through them. I fight through the pain and continue to wriggle them around, stretching them and bending them backwards best I can in their confines.
But before I can loosen the ropes any, I hear the same squeal of tires on the pavement outside. “Shit, he’s back already. Fuck! I....need.....to......loosen.....these.....ropes.” I grunt out loud behind the duct tape, as I struggle to obtain a little give in this rope. The door to the house slams and I hear him right outside the door. His shoes blocking the light spilling into the room.
He’s stopped right outside the door, as if he’s listening. So I close my eyes and hold my breath, trying not to draw attention to myself.
Finally the shadows leave the light and he walks away from the door. I exhale through my nose again and begin to fiddle with the ropes again. Just as I feel I’ve made a little progress, the door flies open and in he stalks.
“Good evening, Doctor. Are you comfortable?” He asks facetiously as he sets a paper bag on the ground with an evil twinkle in his eye. I nod at him, feigning comfort. But in fact, my back is hurting and my fingers are still numb from the tightness of the rope.
He reaches in to the bag and I hear metal jingling. With a smirk, he pulls his hands out and holds up two sets of handcuffs. I glare at him, cause I can’t speak. I know he sees fear in my eyes and I blink it back, trying to not give him the satisfaction of my fear.
“Reinforcements, Doctor.” He answers my unasked question. “You got out of the ropes last time, that won’t happen again.” He says as he snaps one set of cuffs on my ankle, securing me to the leg of the chair. He then fastens the other set before grabbing one more set from the bag. He stalks around me, his eyes scanning from my face to my feet, an erotic look in his eyes. I follow his eyes, giving him my best ‘eat shit’ look I can muster with duct tape across my face.
As he continues to circle the chair, I realize he’s as stupid as he’s acting. The chair I’m sitting in is not fastened to the concrete. “What an idiot.” I say to myself, thankful I couldn’t say it out loud. He pulls up a chair in front of me and straddle it, the back of the chair to his front.
His eyes are a dark brown, almost black. Dark hair and olive skin, like me. I can almost see myself in his face, the similarities are uncanny. We stare like this at each other for a long time, saying nothing. His putrid breath wafts across my nose, causing a gagging sensation. I swallow it back down, because puking with my mouth sealed would be instant suffocation and I refuse to die that way.
“You’re still wondering who I am, right?” He asks, cocking his head slightly and his upper lip crooking up. I nod, because that’s all I can do. His dirty finger rises and traces the edge of my chin, almost gently. I close my eyes and squirm at his touch. He presses it to the underside of my chin and roughly lifts my head up to look at him. “Open your eyes, bitch. Look at me. Always look at me. I want you to see the monster you’ve created.” He growls at me. “Yeah, I’m a monster, Doctor. I kill women that look like you, that want to be lik
e you. You drew yourself in to this situation twenty years ago and I’m here to make sure you pay for what you’ve done. I will get my revenge, once and for all.”
My body starts trembling not because of his words, but because of the murderous look in his eyes. I know now that I need to fight for what is right and get myself out of here. Because if I truly am in Chicago, Gabe will never find me.
He steely eyes bore in to my soul as he stares me down, his fingers gripping my chin harder and harder. I feel his finger nail penetrate the skin and a drop of blood drips down my chest. My body is shaking now, even though I’m fighting for control. He gets in my face and his breath clogs my senses.
“You. Will. Pay for what you did, Doctor. You will pay, again and again. I will show you no mercy, Doctor. And maybe, if you’re a good little girl, I’ll tell you who I am. But for now, open your mouth.” He says as he rips the duct tape from my face.
He stands and unbuttons his dirty jeans, sliding them down. His erect penis springs free and bobbles in my face. “OPEN YOUR MOUTH BITCH!” He screams at me, pinching my jaw hard so that I have no choice but to open up.
“How can you be sure I won’t bite your dick off, asshole?” I spit in his face. I immediately regret it, cause that could have been a way out for me. But I hold my regard and stare at him as his cock rests on my bottom lip. He hasn’t showered for days and the smell makes me nauseous.
I gag and heave before my stomach empties all over his stomach.
“YOU LITTLE WHORE!” He yells as he stands back, my vomit rolling down his pants leg. “You just bought yourself trouble.” He says as he removes his pants so that he’s completely naked from the waist down. He picks up his pants and throws them at me, the stiff denim landing in a thud on my lap. “You can hold on to those while I go change. But don’t think you’re out of the woods yet, Doctor. I’ve heard you give good head, and I plan to find out just how good you are.
If you pass the test, I might let you live.”
He slams the door behind him and I wriggle just enough to get his jeans off of me. They hit the floor in a thunk, but the odor still fills my nose. I fight off another bout of nausea and manage to calm my stomach, and my thoughts. He walked out without taping my mouth up, so I am free to speak - or scream, but I decide against it. I look around my feet and see that I could easily get out of here, the handcuffs only wrapped around the legs, and the chair is not secure. A rocking motion and I can free my legs. But do I do it now and risk him walking in? I shake my head no, I think I need to wait until he least expects it. He’s going to have to sleep at some point, so I sit there and stare at the walls, waiting for him to return.
Long seconds drag by before I see his shadow under the light of the door again. My heart rate picks up and beads of sweat tickle the back of my neck. He was angry when he left before, so I can only imagine how his mind must be now. In my professional experience, I figure he will come back in clean and with a different attitude, on the outside. Inside, his mind is boiling and he’s ready to kill. But he also knows that if he comes in here smelling like he did before, I will probably vomit all over him again and he won’t be able to complete his task of raping me.
I’m unable to get my hands free, but I will be able to get my legs free should he try anything.
My Sanshou training will come in handy for this, and he won’t know what hit him. Well, he’ll know it when he’s having my foot surgically removed from his ass.
The door knob slowly turns and the door opens, and I was right. His hair is wet, he’s clean shaven and wearing clean clothes. The overwhelming scent of his cheap cologne flows into the room. I take a deep breath, cause it’s better than the moldy vomit smell in here. His eyes are glowing with evil, and strangely, romance. What does this creep think he’s going to do? Woo me into sleeping with him? I stare back at him, anger flowing from my eyes. His lips curl in a seductive smile, baring his crooked teeth.
“Now, Doctor. I hope you’re ready for me.” He spits at me while HE stalks towards me, his fingers toying with the hem of his shirt, that smirk curling his lips. He stands in front of me, his abdomen in my face. I cringe back and slam my eyes shut, cause I don’t want to see what he’s about to do. “Open your eyes.” He says as I feel him get closer to me “You’re going to finish what you started earlier. And you won’t complain one bit, bitch.” He lowers his zipper and his cock rolls out of his jeans. I turn my head away, clamping my mouth shut. But he grabs my chin and pulls it forward, pressing in to my cheek. My mouth opens, even though I try hard to keep it shut.
“You can fight me all you want, Doctor. I like it rough. But no matter how hard you fight, you will suck my dick.”
He slides his cock in to my mouth and I struggle not to gag on it. But he pulls back and releases his cock from my lips, only to raise his hand and punch me in the face. The sound of his fist connecting with my jaw echoes in the room and spit flies from my mouth. I taste blood and I lick the droplet away. Before I can focus, he jams himself in my mouth and grabs the back of my head. In order to avoid being punched like that, I let him use my mouth how he wants. But he better be prepared for what he might have to endure if he......”Shit!” He screams as he pulls back, releasing his filth all over my face. I clamp my lips shut to avoid consuming any of it, while ribbons of fluid splash across my face.
I resist the urge to gag and sit as still as possible, eyes closed and taking deep breaths through my nose. Before I can open my eyes, his fist comes back and slams against my jaw again.
“THAT’S IT BITCH, DAMN!” I hear him scream before my world goes black again.
Chapter 17
Gabe
“Andrews! I need to know who that tag is registered to! What the hell is taking so long?” I scream as I beat on his desk. “Get that tag run now!” I beat on the desk one last time before turning towards the door, pulling my phone out.
I scroll through the contacts and find the Delta Airlines number, quickly pressing the send button. “I need the next flight out of New York to Chicago O’Hare.” She puts me on hold and comes back with the flight times out of both JFK and Newark. Mo is looking at me over his shoulder, shaking his head. I know what he’s thinking, he’s thinking I’m jumping the gun. We don’t know for a fact she’s in Chicago, but my gut instinct tells me she is.
“Hold tight, Gabe.” He mouths to me. I tell the rep I’ll call her back and slide the off button.
“Got it!? Andrews says as he hangs up his phone. “Vehicle is registered to a Luis DeCarlo, out of Lincoln Park, Illinois.”
“Shit,” is all I can say. “Mo, he’s dead right? I saw the coroner’s report. Syd shot him point blank, twenty years ago. How can.....”
“Relax, Gabe. Just because the car is registered to him, doesn’t mean it was him. Andrews, what about the APB? Did anyone get a lead on where the car was going?” Before he can answer, Mo’s phone rings. I watch him as his face lets me know we got a lead. “Right, I’m on it. Get Chicago PD over to that address and wait. If he just left New York, we’ve got about eight hours to get there, and we’ll be waiting for him. But, do not engage until the Feds get there, you got it?” And I follow his phone with my eyes as he shoves the phone in his pocket. “Let’s go.
Andrews, you’re driving.”
We pile in to the car, Andrews throws the blues on while we speed through traffic towards JFK airport. We arrive in about thirty minutes and make our way to Delta airlines counter, flashing badges in order to get to the front of the line. “We need two tickets on your next flight to Chicago.” Mo tells the attendant.
“Sure, the next flight is at five eighteen, sir. Shall I reserve your seats?” She asks.
“Shit, that’s three hours, Mo. We need to get there before Syd does, be there waiting for her.”
I say to Mo, who is scanning the departure boards above our heads.
“Shit, that’s the closest flight, Gabe. No other airline has one this close, we’re just gonna have to book it and hope we get there in time
.”
I was not happy that the next flight was three hours away, then we have a three hour flight.
Then on top of that, we’d have the thirty minutes to Luis’ house pending we don’t hit any traffic.
“Guess we don’t have any choice, book them ma’am.” I say to the attendant.
She finishes up and hands us our boarding passes and we make our way through security towards the gate. We both wait impatiently for word that maybe one of the Feds has tagged the car along the way, but that doesn’t happen.
We make our way through security, our badges allowing us to pass with our weapons, but not without a fight and a phone call to FBI HQ in Virginia.
Once we’re in the air, Mo opens his laptop and connects to the on-board Wi-Fi. He links via VPN to his office computer and opens a file labeled “DeCarlo”. I’m looking over his shoulder and he turns the screen towards me. “I have Luis DeCarlo’s file here from when we started this investigation. He’s dead for sure, but we have to figure out who is driving his car. What did you find out on Sydney’s brother, Franco DeCarlo?”
“He holds two jobs and was accounted for when all three girls washed up. He’s not considered a suspect, at this time. That could all change once we get to Chicago. Has CPD been to Franco’s house and questioned him?”
Mo nods, “Yeah, he’s clear for now. But now, he and his mother are worried and I’m afraid they might start sticking their noses where they don’t belong.” He pulls up his email program and shoots an email off to CPD, asking for a car to head out to the DeCarlo residence and make sure they stay put. “All we need is for Franco and Gloria Watkins to get in the middle. They may not be close with Sydney anymore, but they like to get their fingers dirty. When Syd disappeared as a young girl, they were right in the middle of it. Gloria tried to defend her husband, the rapist of her daughter in court. It was almost as if she condoned it, allowed it. Franco was the same way, testified in court that his father could have never raped and murdered those women and especially not his own daughter.”
