Hold On

by Dani Wyatt

  I pause on that thought.

  Our place. In such a short time, it does feel like it belongs to me, too, mostly because Marshall doesn’t go a day without telling me everything that was his is now ours.

  Working through the small house, I reach the back where the kitchen opens onto a summer porch and see the back door is cracked open. I narrow my eyes, thinking back to when I was here last and whether I would have left it open.

  It’s certainly possible. Living back here in the woods, we never worried too much about locking up. It was rare anyone traveled the long dirt road, then down our secluded driveway, unless they knew us and had good directions.

  I set my phone down and head toward the bathroom. As I step away, I remember I haven’t texted Marshall to let him know we're here and promise myself I will—just as soon as I deal with the three cups of coffee I drank before I left the house.

  After I pee and get my pants zipped up, I grab the garbage can and open the medicine chest. It’s still full of so many prescription bottles. It makes me sad to remember the last year of my grandparents’ lives, so filled with pain and the inevitable realization they were very close to the last days they would have here in this life.

  On the back of the closed bathroom door hang their robes and my throat tightens.

  As I empty the pill bottles from the cabinet, I throw them harder and harder into the trash can. The warm memories of them raising me, then me having to take over in the last few years, bring a fresh wave of grief. But there’s joy, too, knowing this place will be something new and reinvigorated, washing away some of the gray and staleness that lingers here now. A place for my new family and me to enjoy and create new memories.

  My eyes burn and my cheeks are wet when I finally emerge from the tiny bathroom into the hall.

  I swipe my sleeve over my eyes as I turn toward the kitchen, thinking I should deal with whatever food is left in the refrigerator the same way I dealt with the pill bottles.

  I squeeze my nose and sniff, catching a scent of something rancid, like tobacco and coffee. It makes me screw up my face in disgust, and I can’t quite place the smell.

  It’s familiar, but neither of my grandparents ever smoked. I snap my fingers, remembering I still haven’t texted Marshall and I turn on my heel to go get my phone only to feel a hand clasp around my throat, dragging me backward, my heart screaming and my blood turning cold.

  And I hear the voice in my ear.

  “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

  Carver’s voice seeps into my ear, and I twist and fight, but he’s got me pinned with my face against the wall, pulling my arms behind me, and I feel cold metal then hear the click of the cuffs before he spins me around, shoves me into my bedroom, and slams me face down onto my bed.

  “Don’t touch me,” I yell as he picks me up and throws me down again onto the center of the bed.

  “I’m going to touch you. I’m going to do many things to you. Do you know why?”

  “Just because I didn’t go out with you? What a self-absorbed ass you are.”

  He laughs. “That, then your shiny new rich boyfriend fires me. No, not only fires me, but has also me escorted out in front of everyone. He wants to humiliate me? Fine. But, what is he going to think when he sees you on a porn channel having fun with a masked man? Don’t think he’ll want you after the show I’m going to give him.”

  Carver clicks something onto the cuffs behind my back, then I hear metal and look up to see him wrapping a chain around the headboard, winching my arms up, stretching the tendons in my shoulders until they ache.

  He drops a backpack from his shoulders as heat covers me, and I struggle against the handcuffs, but whenever I do, sharp pain stabs me in the shoulders. I’m no expert, but I’m guessing I’d have to dislocate them to gain even a few inches, which wouldn't do me any good.

  He’s disheveled looking like he’s been sleeping in his clothes.

  “Don’t do this,” I try, realizing how contrived and dumb it sounds.

  “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” He reaches into the backpack and brings out a black rubber mask, setting it on the dresser, followed by a white frilly dress that looks like one a toddler would wear to one of those horrible baby beauty pageants.

  My mind is racing, trying to figure my way out, but if I can’t even get off the bed, there’s not much hope of making a break for it.

  He lays the dress on the floor, then pulls out something metal and starts to unfold it. After a few seconds, I realize it’s a light, like one of those they advertise on Facebook for people that do video blogs and video shoots, but this one is huge. When he plugs it into the outlet and clicks it on, there’s a low hum and it nearly blinds me.

  “Good lighting is the key to a good video, you know.”

  I blink and see the silhouette of him stripping off his shirt from behind the light, his body unnaturally smooth and shiny. When he steps to the side, and I get a better look, I realize his body is completely shaved. Then he drops his pants, and the scream I’ve been holding back explodes, seeing the black latex thong with an enormous erection straining at the top elastic.

  “Shut up. You’ll enjoy this. Girls like you always do.”

  He reaches into his backpack and draws out a clear bottle and a white rag, unscrewing the top and pouring some of the liquid onto the fabric before stepping toward the bed. Panic closes my airway, and there’s a ringing in my ears.

  “Either way, you’re going to look like you’re enjoying it. You won’t remember enough to make a good report, and the video will show you consenting. Not just consenting, enjoying. Now, take a deep breath, it won’t be over soon...”

  Carver hovers over me, bringing the cloth to cover my nose and mouth. The acrid chloroform scent gags me, and I think of the last week and the joy I’ve felt. How this piece of shit thinks he can take all of that away from me.

  The anger gathers in my gut and explodes out of me like a cannonball.

  “No!” I scream into the pressure of the fabric as my vision blurs, my strength already draining away. “No! Carver, stop this!” I mumble as the cloth is suffocating me.

  I try to hold my breath. With the image of Marshall in my mind, I refuse to go own without a fight.

  Tightening my core, I fling my legs up and around his neck. With my remaining power, I squeeze like a python on its prey, throwing him off balance, then I drive with all my force downward, hoping I don’t break my arms in the process. I give it my all, but Carver’s weight is more than I can overpower, and he slaps a hand down on the bed, regaining his balance.

  “Fucking bitch...” He raises a hand to grab one of my legs, and I know I won’t be able to hold him off if he pulls them apart.

  His fingers grip my calf, and just as he begins to tug them apart, releasing my futile grip, there’s a snarling and growling from the doorway, and Carver looks down and yells as Buddha comes running like a greyhound through the door, launching himself into the air like a gazelle.

  He bares his teeth, latching onto the back of Carver’s bare thigh, and begins to shake it like it’s a rabbit he’s trying to put out of its misery. A moment later, he re-sets his teeth as blood covers his mouth.

  “Jesus Christ!” Carver’s pained voice fills the room, and I realize this is my last chance.

  I bend my knees and reset my leg grip around his neck. I gather all my strength and with a grunting effort I shift my weight, my shoulder pops and I scream with agony, but I slam Carver’s head down and into the corner of my nightstand.

  Pain blinds me as I release my leg hold, tears burning my cheeks, but I hear Buddha’s snarling and biting even as there is no sound from Carver. When I catch my breath, I look down to see Carver laying there, his mouth open with blood already pooling beneath his head, his eyes closed, and his limbs splayed at weird angles, in a heap on the faded blue rug.

  “God, please...” I sob, the pain in my shoulder more than I’ve ever felt. Buddha’s lips are curled, red-tinted slobber s
treaming from his mouth as he stands face to face with Carver, and I see he’s torn several spots in Carver’s leg, leaving the flesh purple, crimson rivers bubbling from the puncture wounds.

  I’m breathing like I’ve just run for my life, but relief floods over me. Sooner or later, Marshall will come looking for us. I only hope it’s before Carver comes to and decides to finish things in a way that may not have been his original intent.

  “Good dog,” I grit out as Buddha looks up at me, and his stub of a tail wiggles against the floor before he returns his focus to Carver.

  I do my best to draw a deep breath through the pain. Looking at Carver, I don’t foresee him getting up anytime soon, so I concentrate on sending Marshall telepathic signals to come and find me. My only consolation is I forgot to text him when we got here, so he will call and text, and when I don’t answer, I’m sure he will head this way.

  Just as my breathing settles and I come to an understanding with the blinding heat burning through my shoulder, I hear a snap and a pop and look over to see the outlet on the wall where Carver plugged in that ridiculously bright light starts to smoke.

  “Noooo...” I plead to the universe or God or whoever might be listening. “No, no, no, no...”

  Three seconds later, another pop, and there’s a flicker of flames from the base of the cord where it connects to the wall. Two seconds more and the fire ignites the old wallpaper, blackening the space above it, spreading by the second.

  “Buddha, go, get out of here...” I scream, but he sits down at the side of the bed panting then hops up to put his front paws on the edge of the bed, licking my face.

  I do everything I can to try to shift my body and get my feet on the floor, but it’s useless. My grandfather bolted my bed to the floor when I was little so it wouldn’t move around when I jumped on it.

  I’m stuck, with smoke beginning to fill the room, choking me, and the flicker of flames growing nearly to the ceiling in a long single strip, popping and sparking as it rips through the old wiring in the wall.

  As dry and old as this house is, it will be consumed in a matter of minutes.

  All the hope and possibilities I’ve enjoyed the last week cascade over me, and I wonder what I could have done to deserve this final chapter. What it means and—

  “What the fuck?”

  I cough and sputter, wondering if I’m losing consciousness, and the words reverberate through the small room. I twist my head to see Marshall coming through the bedroom door with the fire of hell in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry...” It’s all I can think to say as he’s next to me in an instant. Marshall runs his hands down my arms, assessing my situation.

  “Don’t be sorry. Do you know where the keys to the cuffs are?”

  I shake my head as Marshall lifts my arms, and I scream in agony. “My shoulder!” I dart my eyes from him to where the pain is. “I think it’s dislocated.”

  “Jesus.” Marshall runs a hand down his face, and the room clouds by the second, the heat already becoming unbearable. “Hold on, baby. I’m going to get you out of here, just hold on.”

  Marshall grabs the backpack and dumps the contents on the floor. I see a ball gag, ankle cuffs and a few other items, but I don’t care about that. My eyes sift through the contents as Marshall unzips all the pockets, shoving his hand into each but coming up empty.

  “His pants!” I say, coughing on the smoke. “Look through his pants.”

  Marshall reaches for the khakis on the floor and drives his hand into the front pocket, then the next.

  “Yes!” He spins a small silver key in his hand and comes around behind me.

  A moment later, there’s a soft click above the crackling of the fire growing up the wall. There’s a release of pressure from my wrists as Marshall gently moves my arm to my sides, the fiery pain still there as he picks me up and carries me to the door.

  “Buddha!” I scream and see out of the smoke the fat brown and black face following close behind.

  Finally, outside, my stomach is clenched and my throat is raw, but I look up at Marshall and know we have to do what is right.

  “Carver. He’ll die in there.”

  “I don’t give a shit. He deserves to die.”

  “Please, that’s not justice. Try, just try to pull him out. He’ll get what’s coming to him. I don’t want to live knowing we left him in there to burn...”

  Marshall looks to the sky, then at the house. The smoke plumes from the bedroom window, flames engulfing the whole of the wall.

  “Please,” I say. “At least try if you think you can. If it’s still safe.”

  He doesn’t say anything else but takes off at a run for the front door. My heart is in my throat watching him go, wondering if I’ve made the right choice. What if I’m left alone, without him, for the sake of a scumbag like Carver? I feel the tears sting my eyes and blink them away, grabbing Buddha with my good arm, pulling him close.

  A minute later, Marshall reappears, dragging Carver’s unconscious body out the door and off the porch, his head knocking on each step. He drops the lifeless-looking body a safe distance from the house then gives him a kick in the ass before speeding to my side and dropping to his knees. “He’ll live,” he says, though there’s no pleasure or relief in his words. “You okay, baby?”

  “Yes, call 911 please. For the house...and...” I tip my head towards Carver. “Him. I might have killed him. I slammed his head into the nightstand.”

  Marshall is already bringing his phone to his ear but reaches down to run a hand down my hair.

  “You are something, little one. Never go down without a fight.”

  Buddha flops over next to us on the ground, his head on my leg as Marshall makes the call, and then the three of us huddle together and wait.

  Fifteen

  Marshall

  “OUCH,” I POUT AS MARSHALL lays me back on the pillows.

  Buddha lifts his head off the floor giving Marshall a dirty look.

  “I’m sorry, baby.” He looks like he’s just killed a puppy, reaching up to cup my cheek, and I swear I see tears brimming in his eyes. I can’t do it any longer.

  “I’m just kidding. It doesn’t hurt at all.” It’s the truth. My shoulder was dislocated but since the doctor popped it back in place, it’s hardly bothered me at all, but Marshall is acting like I’m on life support.

  He rolls his eyes and blows out a deep breath. “If I wasn’t so happy to have you here, I’d be pissed. Stop playing, little one.”

  The three of us are in a hotel on Lake Tahoe. Marshall wanted to get away. The police took our statements, and I had evidence of chloroform on my lips and in my bloodstream. Between that and the file folder, Bethany found in Carver’s desk, the case will more than likely sail straight to a conviction.

  I’m glad I never saw the file. Just the description of it is sickening. Carver’s obsession with me, his stalking, all of it was in there, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. Links to sites on the dark web where he sold his videos, records of payments, names of people he planned to extort more money from on account of their preferences...a real horror show.

  But whatever happens with him, we have some time before there’s any more legal activity, so Marshall wanted to take me somewhere special to heal and regroup.

  It’s been two days since the whole incident with Carver. The fire took most of the house before the firefighters put it out, and Marshall and I have been talking over whether we will just demo the rest of it and start over, building our own dream home on the property, or salvage what is left.

  Little did I know, Marshall had already purchased a hundred other acres around the little house and was going to surprise me once we solidified the plans for the renovation.

  Carver is still in the hospital, but he’s already been charged with aggravated assault and unlawful imprisonment, along with a few other charges. I smashed his head pretty good, but everyone’s satisfied that it was self-defense. He has a severe concussion with a crack
in his skull and forty staples holding his scalp together.

  Buddha’s contribution was no laughing matter, either. He inflicted enough damage to earn him the Congressional Medal of Honor, in my opinion. It took over a hundred stitches to put Carver’s leg back together.

  “Sorry,” I say to Marshall on a shrug.

  He shakes his head with a crooked smile. “Not as sorry as you’re going to be.” He eyes me with that look that tells me I’ve crossed the line, and punishment is imminent. “Bend over.”

  Marshall’s hands move to my wispy nightgown and he tugs it up and over my hips, exposing me in the morning light of the hotel suite. As always, when he looks at me like that, I feel like the most beautiful, slutty girl in the world, and it makes me come alive. I move to the edge of the bed, lower my feet to the floor and turn around, bending at the waist, my hands on the mattress. I can already feel my wetness gathering.

  It’s only been a few hours since we made love during the night, but I want him again without any doubt. I want all of him and everything we’ve already planned for our life. Whatever he gives me, I want.

  Even this kind of pain.

  His hand comes to press into the center of my back, holding me down, and I’m already whimpering in anticipation of what comes next.

  I hear a rumble from behind me, a primal, animalistic sound, and I suck in a breath, my whole body vibrating in the calm silence of the room.

  The first smack makes me yelp, bringing with the shock a rush of arousal that courses through me in a searing wave. My skin is alive, tiny fireworks exploding where the hot sting of his hand has left its mark. The muscles of my inner thighs tighten as my need grows, knowing after the pain will come unabashed pleasure.

  A second smack on my other cheek is harder, and I wince, tears springing to my eyes as the third and fourth are laid on top of the others, the sensation growing with each layer of pain.

  “You going to be a good girl? You going to tease me some more, little one?”

  “Please... No.” I rock my hips back.