by I.B. Holder
Chapter 11 Night Visitor
A click outside door and Laura stopped all motion straining to listen. There it was again, they were coming for her. Laura noticed earlier that there were two doors that were opened before anyone entered the room. An outer security door of some sort, it gave her warning that company was on its way. There was no time to set the table or get ready for guests. She went limp.
She heard the second door open, but not a sound of Blue approaching, before his arms were wrapped around her picking her up. “We don’t want you laying cold on the floor dear.”
Laura hadn’t noticed any change in the ambient light of the room as he’d entered. She concluded that it must be nighttime. All she needed was ten more minutes alone. Blue hadn’t checked her restraints and he headed for the door. Laura breathed a sigh of relief. It was the kind of sound that a predator’s ears drank in like nectar. Blue turned at the door to enjoy one last look at the captive. He was about to leave when he stopped focusing on the area that Laura had been laying. It was impossible that he could see the sharp splinter of imperfection on the floor between them.
But Laura saw him process the new information, like inside of his head the connections clicked like tumblers on a lock. His expression seemed locked in a battle between anger and pleasure. Then he relaxed, deciding on a neutral expression that was more ominous in its omission of his intentions than any snarl could have been. “My precious little darling, I’ve just been told a story of a naughty, naughty girl who wouldn’t go to bed.” His steps were heavy on the floor as he charged across the room.
A thought flashed across Laura’s mind, “This can only work two ways,” and she curled up protectively.
“Busy, busy, busy.” Blue’s voice grew excited. He grabbed her arms wrenching them farther behind her back rubbing them against the ropes that had relaxed, but still held her arms. The pressure from his grip was intense, and her tendons strained.
Her legs were coiled into her stomach ready to strike. She wanted to wait until he turned to get a shot at a tear of his ACL, but the relentless pain of his grip pushed her to act. Her heel separated the cartilage in Blue’s left knee. He let loose with a cry of savage and somewhat gratifying pain. “Sick bastard, so far so good.” She rolled off the bed and balanced momentarily on one leg, ready to strike another blow. “Now do I take the extra time to stomp on his throat until he’s dead, or just run?” she thought, regaining her balance. Laura saw Blue rolling on the ground and recoiled. She decided that since killing him would require touching him again, it wasn’t worth it.
Laura crouched low and with a burst of speed she was out the door. Her shoulders bumped the walls, coming to an abrupt stop. Laura found herself in a box corridor, the size of an outhouse with another locked door staring her in the face. She heard Blue gain his feet in the room behind her. He was getting up a lethal head of steam hobbling for the door. Laura had never been a fan of bullfighting, but the principle lent itself to so many real world applications. Blue burst through the doorway. A puff of air crossed her face and she slipped into his outstretched arms surprising him with no resistance. She planted her left leg as a pivot and Blue spun around. Now she could use all that extra momentum, her shoulder pushed into his chest and they both went flying into the locked outer door.
Light washed over them in a flash. It wasn’t night. Bright sunlight bathed her face. Her eyes blinked in the midday sun for a moment cut into geometric patterns falling over her body by fast moving shadows of bodies standing over her. She realized that several men surrounded her. A hood dropped over her head. Multiple sets of hands held her down. Blue’s voice had a raspy echo of recent pain.
“I told you to be ready for this. This one is a wildcat.” They picked her up by her bound arms and grappled with her free legs. Laura struggled fiercely. She landed another kick into soft muscle, probably thigh or stomach and heard a satisfying grunt accompany the concussion. She thought for a second and realized that this crew wanted her looking pretty. No bruises, no cuts or scrapes, and they all had on their soft hands because of it. If she’d had use of her hands, she knew this would be a different fight.
Laura had been trained to fight. She freed her left leg, faked a thrust with the foot and then brought her knee squarely crashing into a very square jaw. She felt saliva and with a little luck maybe even blood spatter her stomach. This was turning out better than she’d thought. A totally different voice whispered in her ear as her pants were stripped from her. “I’ll shove this up you and carry you like a Popsicle back to bed if you don’t stop struggling.” She felt the threat of a long cold metallic shaft, a baseball bat, against her thigh. Something in the tone told her that his threat was mixed with sick fantasy. He desperately wanted to make good on it. She relaxed.
“Fucking bitch,” was a mainstay of the conversation between the men as they tucked her back into her bed. It was like the personal pronoun “she” had been replaced with “Fucking bitch,” like a sentence couldn’t be made without it. Surgical straps of woven Kevlar now secured her every limb. “Make it tighter.” The voice was shushed, but he kept going “I lost a tooth.” Laura smiled under the hood. It was the last honest smile she’d manage for some time.
