I keep swearing off writing these short stories. But they just keep coming to me, and I keep writing them down so I can share what my private muses tell me.
The explosion of sound filled the night sky with pops of light in a wonderful strobe effect. Sarah loved the explosion; it screened the sound of men’s screams. No need to find a sound-proof room or lure them to a deserted field in the middle of nowhere. She could kill them close to where they had hunted her when they thought her just a helpless runaway whom they could easily use and turn out. The advantage of never looking her age; looking sixteen and “innocent” forever.
The Greyhound pulled into the downtown terminal at 10:00 PM. It was late, but that was actually alright with her since it meant she easily blended in with the riders bustling around waiting for the driver to unload their bags. She waited until the passengers began moving toward the exit with their waiting friends and families, waited until the bus driver slammed the baggage hatch closed before she moved into a patch of streetlight and let the light pick her out. She looked lost and helpless and friendless in her really distressed jeans, too tight Goth inspired tee, tatty graying hooded cardigan, and heavy duty goth makeup.
Sarah had him picked out long before he came up to her. She was bait. After all the long years, she knew how to catch her meal.
“Are you waiting for someone?” He had asked as he appeared out of the darkness over by the car park. He’d also been waiting for the driver to leave so he could see if there was any fresh meat washing up that night.
“My brother is supposed to be picking me up,” she told him, making it obvious though her expression and body language that she was lying as she pulled her threadbare sweater tighter around her shoulder so that her breasts stood out. She needed to set the hook well, make it clear that she was hungry.
“This isn’t a safe place for a young lady to wait alone. Can I buy you a soda or something at the picnic across the way while you wait. You should be able to see him from there. We won’t go far.” Wilton knew it was safe to offer; in this crowd, who would remember him, and no one would tip that he wasn’t from this town.
She put her most trusting face on as she agreed, nervously twisting the escaping strand of hair, “I guess that would be all right.”
“I’m Wilton Courtney,” he informed her, slipping his arm around her shoulder to lead her across to the field. “My daughter was supposed to be arriving home from college on that bus, but I guess she’s been delayed.”
“I’m Sarah,” and Sarah hesitated just the right length of time to indicate she was making up the last name, “Hart.”
Wilton kept up a line of friendly patter as he bought her the promised soda and a hotdog. He wanted to appear friendly, but fatherly, to keep her on the hook. He was practically salivating as he looked obliquely at her slim body displayed in the goth clothing. It wouldn’t do to let her slip the hook. It had been two months since he’d found a suitable runaway to play with.
“My blanket is set over there,” he told her, gesturing over to the far corner of the field. “You can still see the bus station, but you can watch the fireworks also.”
Sarah let the line of patter wash over her as she let him lead her to his blanket. She let him see nervousness as she sat down on the blanket pulling her knees up to her chest and balancing the plate atop them. She checked the now vacant bus station, the people around her who barely noted the arrival of the two strangers in their midst, and the preparations for the next burst of fireworks to be sure no one was watching.
She took a bite of the hotdog, then turned her head and spat it out into her crumpled napkin – just like she done with broccoli as a child, then pretended to take a sip from her soda cup.
He watched her with hidden interest, waiting for her to turn away long enough for him to slip the roffie into her soda. Then he would sit though the rest of the firework display and carry his sleeping “daughter” to the waiting van. From there, to his warehouse where he could have some fun with her before selling her overseas thoroughly broken in.
Sarah looked up as the next firework exploded into the night sky. It was beautiful – apart from the deafening noise. The streamers of light cascaded down in several colors, forming a brief-lived flower. She felt his movement as he leaned forward and smelled the chemical as he dropped it into her soda, but kept her attention ostentatiously focused on the fireworks.
Allowing him to drug and rape her hadn’t really been her plan, but she could work with the scenario. After all, it did put them someplace private, and a van or dungy backroom was less likely to be disturbed than under dark bushes or behind a tree. She’d always been one to go with the flow.
“Wow, that was beautiful,” she said as she allowed her face to light up as she looked at the “father” figure sitting next to her. “Do they do this every year?”
But any lying answer he would have made was drowned out by the next explosive boom. Sarah pretended surprise and nudged her drink cup, making it look like it might spill.
Wilton was very quick to steady the shaking cup while she looked up at another flower design.
“I love the flower ones,” she told him, as she looked back at him and picked up her cup and lifted it to her lips.
She heard his quick inhalation as he watched expectantly, so as she turned her head to watch the next display, she took a long drink. As always, in these scenarios, she was grateful that she could drink liquids. It made it so much easier to fit in and lead the predator on.
Turning back to him, a bit later and putting her hand to her head, she told him, “I’m not feeling so hot.”
“Why don’t you just lie down a for a moment? I’ll keep an eye out for your brother’s truck, it’s a red Chevy, right?” he offered, knowing there was unlikely to be a brother looking for her.
“I guess that would be alright,” she said faintly. And with his eager help Sarah lay down next to him on the blanket, and after allowing her eyes to glaze and then drift closed, she waited as impatiently for the fireworks to finish and the surrounding crowd to begin dispersing as Wilton was waiting. Neither could make their next move until then.
Finally the last explosion brightened the night sky, and the crowd began hurriedly gathering belongings and joining the lines to the exit.
“Is she alright?” Sarah heard a wavery concerned voice ask.
“My daughter was up all last night coming home from college,” Wilton answered affably.
“Do you need help getting her to your car?” a male voice offered.
“No, It’s a nice night, and might as well let her catch a few winks here as wake her and sit in line waiting to get out. Traffic. Thanks for the offer, though. Have a pleasant night.”
She heard the man shout to a friend as the couple walked away.
Pretty soon, all was quiet; even the men doing the fireworks display and checking for sparks left, and Wilton and she were all that remained.
She murmured softly and let herself go deadweight as she was rolled up in the blanket and slung her over his shoulder. She opened her eyes and covertly checked to make certain that indeed no one was around.
After a fair bit of jouncing and a whole lot of having to put up with her legs and butt being felt up, Wilton reached his van. Sarah smiled to herself. She had been fairly sure he’d be driving a van. Any old man who roofied a young woman was going to drive a van. Some sort of rule.
He loaded her in and crawled in beside her to get a good look at what he’d hooked.
Sarah now had a choice to make; eat now and save herself the pawing, or let him take her back to his hole and drain him slowly. “Hell with that,” she told herself, “I’m hungry.”
But as Wilton turned away to close the back of the van and she prepared to surprise him, she heard the tell-tale crackle of a cop radio and a voice asking Wilton is everything was alright.
“It’s fine, officer,” Wilton said climbing out, “just making sure the picnic food isn’t going to spill on the way home.”Sarah swore softly as the door closed her in and she felt the van start to move.
She was ravenous when the van finally pulled to a stop. She heard Wilton open a gate, felt the van move though, then he closed the gate and resumed driving for a short while.
When he opened the back of the van and slid inside to lift her flaccid body out, she reached out and pulled him into her embrace. His shock held him motionless for a moment, but then Wilton started struggling. She pulled his head to one side and used her fingernails to pierce his jugular vein. She was a quart into him when she came up for air. She knew she needed to drink a bit slower or she’d be burping blood all night. And Wilton had quit struggling after the first pint or two. He wasn’t going anywhere; out cold and in shock from blood-loss and pain.
Pushing his body away from her own, Sarah poked around the inside of the van, taking stock. A few, now bloody, sleeping bags on the floor. An open tool kit in which plastic zip strips in several sizes and duct tape in a variety of colors filled the top opening. Then she spotted the plether briefcase tucked partially under the passenger seat. Opening it, she found a cornucopia: vials of Rohypnol and Klonopin, along with a baggie of white powder she figured was cocaine and a selection of needles packaged with a vial of Heroin. Nasty stuff, and expensive stuff for a standard old-guy rapist to be carrying around. Sarah looked from the open briefcase to him, considering her options. She could finish him quickly – which was her norm – or hit him with some of his own product to keep him out while she explored the location he’d brought her to. It would mean drinking tainted blood unless she waited until it cleared his system, but really, all it would do was to make his blood taste rancid. The drugs in it wouldn’t make her sick or have any “high” effect on her.
Shaking her head at herself as she gave in to her biggest vice, curiosity, Sarah prepared him a fix and injected him. She’d watched enough of her friends do it back when she’d been alive to be capable of it. Then she covered his body with one of the bloodstained sleeping bags before cracking the door a few inches.
Peering carefully out and seeing no one and hearing no movement, she slipped out of the van allowing the door to close gently behind her.
It was the low moans coming from the obviously abandoned building on her left that gave her direction, and she moved quietly in that direction. Sidling up to a broken window she peered in; there was a young naked woman chained to a cot. The moans were coming from her, “Oh God, oh God, oh God” in a constant stream as the woman rocked back and forth rubbing her shoulders. Sarah knew a good human would rush in and “save her,” releasing her from the chains and sweeping her off to hospital and help. But Sarah wasn’t human. Not anymore.
She smiled and went to the van where she stepped over Wilton to reach the drug kit. Pulling a second syringe out and filling it with enough H to keep the captive placid for a few more hours, she walked over to the broken window and tossed it though a broken space. She heard the scramble as the captive crawled eagerly over to the syringe. No need to watch.
She would finish up Wilton and hole up for the day, and if no “saviors,” or Wilton’s partners, didn’t show up by the time the chained woman woke up, Sarah would have her next day’s meal. She’d leave the outcome to chance: good or bad.
It was the game that made eternity interesting.