The Strange And Curious Rape Of Hilda Miller - Emily Miller Story #1
THE STRANGE AND CURIOUS RAPEOF HILDA MILLER(Capacity Girl/Ivy MistressOrigin Story #1)By Jon-Paul Smith
Copyright 2017
Jon-Paul Smith
“Things like doors that opened and closed by themselves or objects that seemed to move around on their own when no one was looking.”
1.
Hilda never noticed the black Mercedes behind her as she pulled out of the Wal-Mart parking lot, never knew she had been watched the whole time. Her shopping trips were always like that -- an exercise in almost total obliviousness to anything other than the task at hand. She had enough on her mind as a single mom. Strange men never entered the equation. She was done with men, or so she thought, having left that part of her behind after the birth of Emily.
Truth was she wasn't done grieving yet. For the death of her son and her husband. Emily was all she had left and that was a full time job. Hilda didn't notice men at all these days, had no reason to, so she never saw the strange man with the lazy eye and the long, black pony tail in braids who had been following her down the soup aisle, past the laundry detergent, even as far as the dairy cooler, never saw him loitering by the check outs as she emptied her cart on the conveyor belts.
She didn't wake up that morning thinking, hey, wow, I'm gonna get raped and tortured today with my baby asleep in the next room. Good thing I didn't skip that shower.
She put on her blinker and made the right hand turn down Mountain River Road that took her on her homeward route. Traffic was light today, at least there was that, and the March afternoon was cool but clear. A great day for a shopping trip.
She got her cell phone from her purse as she drove, speed dialed the sitter. She'd be lost without Jessica. It was hard to find a sitter who would work for free, but Jessica was in love with Emily. Everyone was in love with Emily and why wouldn't they be? Sure, she was adorable at the age of two, but it was her personality that won you over. Every sitter Hilda had always told her that Emily was the most well behaved two year old they had ever met. And she was. There had always been something very special about Emily.
"How's our little angel?" Hilda said.
She could hear the TV in the background. Doc McStuffins singing "time for your check up!" It used to be Emily's favorite show before Sheriff Callie came along.
"Sleeping," Jessica said. "Just put her down. You on your way home?"
"Just left Wally World. The lines were awful."
"Aldis, baby girl. Aldis. In and out."
"I know. I know," Hilda said. "But it's all the way across town. You know how I hate to drive."
"Nobody knows you better than me, Hilda love. But you can't be a homebody forever. One day you're gonna have to put it all behind you and move on. That's just your best friend talking. You know I love you."
Hilda looked at her face in the rear view mirror, saw the lines around her eyes that the make up couldn't hide. Was it too late for her? Sometimes she thought it was. Then she thought about Emily and felt a pang. What if something happened to her, what if she died, where would Emily go then? What would happen to her? Sometimes it was better to have a man in your life.
"All right, Jessica. I'm thinking about it. See you in a few."
"Drive careful, OK?"
"OK."
Hilda ended the call, put the phone in her purse. That's when she saw the black Mercedes, following close.
"Enjoying the whiff there, buddy?" she said to the mirror. She tapped the brakes twice to let the driver know he was tailgating. He seemed to take the hint, slowing down to a more comfortable distance.
"Much better," she said, turning on her right blinker again for Forest Hills drive up ahead, the road she lived on.
The Mercedes put its blinker on, as if in response. For a minute she had a cold sensation of foreboding. Then it passed. But she remembered the last time she had felt that way. It was right before Jonathan and David died. Together in a fatal car crash on I-75 with the mountain in full view, that awful, awful mountain. She had felt that way before she had even known, like a psychic premonition.
She slowed to a stop as her turn came into view. The Mercedes slowed behind her. Then she made the turn without coming to a full stop and the Mercedes pressed on behind her, turning too. She realized that she was gripping the steering wheel just a bit too tightly, eased up some, but her palms were starting to sweat and the old shakes were doing a slow rerun in her nervous system.
They came and went a lot these days, ever since the wreck. The doctor said she had a "low level incidence" of post-traumatic stress disorder, but she liked to think of it as good old fashioned fear, fear that something bad was going to happen. Again. All the talk in the world couldn't make it go away or convince her otherwise. There was nothing irrational about the possibility of awfulness. It was a stone cold fact.
The sun always came up in the morning and bad shit always happened in the world. Every once in a while it happened to you. That's just the way it was. How the fuck were you supposed to protect your kids when the world was so completely full of complete, unabashed and absolute shit? If there was an answer, Hilda hadn't found it yet.
She could still remember the day David was born, holding him in her arms, looking into his eyes. Bright blue eyes that blinked in the harsh overhead lights of the delivery room. There was no experience in her life that compared to it, that experience of bringing a new life into the world. When she came out of the delivery room she wasn't the same person who had gone into it. She felt reborn; in a sense there were two births that day.
Life was a cruel master. David had been four years old when he died. At least his death had been instant. There was that. But it was no consolation. There could be no consolation.
She remembered getting the phone call that day from the state trooper, remembered dropping the phone, clinching up with a pain she didn't know was even possible, crying and crying for hours, not knowing what to do next, where to go next, how to move on. That had been almost three years ago, but in a way she was still standing there staring at the phone on the floor through a prism of tears. She had never left that moment. She had just spent three years running away from it.
A week after getting that call, after the only two people in the world who mattered to her at all were in the ground, she missed her period. At first she blamed it on the stress and waited it out, but when it never came she finally faced the fact that she might be pregnant again. A pregnancy test confirmed it. She wasn't sure how to feel about that. It felt like a blessing, a way to move on, a grand do over of sorts, but the dark part of her, the one that was still stuck in that moment, felt that it was cruel to bring another life into the world, with all the promise of hope and joy that it entailed, when the world she was bringing it into promised nothing but pain, grief and death. It was a world where life could be snuffed out without so much as a moment's notice. It was a cruel world made of cruel moments and cruel things. It was a world of blood, twisted steel and bone.
But despite all that the baby was on its way. Emily was on her way. And several months after the accident and the funeral, Emily Louise Miller came into the world, like a ray of sunshine in a room that had been dark for years.
And she was beautiful.
Life was a cruel master. David had been four years old when he died. At least his death had been instant. There was that. But it was no consolation. There could be no consolation.
The insurance settlements had been good to Hilda. She paid off the mortgage, bought a new car, with plenty put back for Hilda to bide her time and think about what to do next. It felt like a gilded cage - and in a way it was - but at least it was gilded. Everyone lives in a cage anyway, she thought, and some cages were far worse than others. So it was true she did count her blessings, but it didn't do anything to shake the feeling of doom that sat like a knot in her stomach, refusing to go away, a knot of fear and pain that nothing could touch, not drugs, not alcohol, not sex or friendship. Staying busy helped, but only because being still was worse. Emily was the only thing in her life that came close to budging it.
But Emily was more than beautiful. She was also strangely beautiful. Strange as in strange things were always happening when she was around. Even her birth had been marked by weird omens as if something important had happened. Maybe it had.
She remembered the delivery room, remembered holding Emily for the first time, shielding her eyes from the bright lights of the delivery room. Every time she moved her hand away Emily would close her eyes again, her eyes still accustomed to the darkness of the womb. Then the strange thing happened. When Hilda moved her hand away the lights in the room went dim, not out, just dim like they would in a brownout. Then Hilda covered Emily's eyes again and the lights came back to their full flare. She repeated it several times. Her newborn daughter was like an electrical switch. Even the doctors and nurses noticed it, but they didn't say anything and nothing unusual happened after that at the hospital once they left the delivery room. It wasn't until they got home that things got weird again.
Things like doors that opened and closed by themselves or objects that seemed to move around on their own when no one was looking. Once when Hilda had given Emily a bath and taken her into her bedroom to be dressed Hilda had forgotten to let the bath water our, but while she was changing Emily she heard a clink in the bathroom adjacent, heard the familiar sound of water flowing down the drain.
The bathtub switch had flipped itself. The water had drained itself.
Whenever these things happened there was always a fierce look of concentration on Emily's face. It was a look that Hilda had come to recognize well. She was the only one who had ever seen it.
Yeah. Something special about Emily. Something strange. Something that Emily couldn't quite put her finger on. She thought there might be a word for it somewhere, but she didn't know what it was. She'd figure it out one day. She'd have to because as Emily grew older these incidents were becoming more and more frequent.
Hilda kept a close eye on the Mercedes in her rear view mirror as she approached her house on the right, moving slow. It wasn't following her close the way it did before, but she still couldn't shake the sense that she was being followed. She slowed the car a bit more, put her right blinker on again to let the driver know what she was doing. Then she came to a stop.
The driver stopped behind her, but his blinker wasn't going.
That's when Hilda got her first glimpse of the driver's face. Hard, sun swept features. Dark, oily skin, but a Caucasian dark, almost Italian looking. Long black hair pulled back that was even oilier. And a lazy eye. The pupil of the lazy eye was almost solid white with cataract, a cataract so white she could see it all the way from here.
The driver was smiling at her with teeth so black they might have been made of coal. He knew that she was looking at him. He knew. Hilda got the feeling that he knew everything and it made her hands start shaking again.
She got a good look at the Mercedes as she pulled in her driveway, so many crazy thoughts going through her head now. Was he stalking her? Was he a murderer? He certainly knew where she lived now.
The Mercedes had seen better days. The body, where it wasn't black anymore, was pock marked with rust. The bumpers had lost their shine years ago and the one on the front seemed to be hanging a bit on the right hand side. She couldn't tell what year it was, but it was old, and the tires looked like they were as old as it was even though she knew that wasn't possible. The feeling of foreboding was all over her like Monday stink after a bathless weekend.
But as soon as she came to a stop in front of her garage, the driver gave the Mercedes some gas and moved it on down the road. Then he was gone. Just like that.
Hilda sat in the driver's seat, shaking, wondering what the hell was wrong anymore with her these days. It's not like she lived on a dead end street or anything. The driver was just like anyone else going down this road heading for the thick of hills and winding East Tennessee roads that went for miles behind her house. There was nothing unusual going on here. She was just being paranoid. Again.
Tell that to your hands, though, she thought, sitting there, watching them shake.
She got out of the Passport - the one she'd bought with the insurance money - and went around to the back. It was a good car for the two of them with less than ten thousand miles still and she'd bought it new. Hell, at the rate she drove, to the store and back, little else, she'd still be driving it by the time Emily was in college.
She pulled the hatch and looked at the groceries inside. Then she got her cell phone from her purse.
One ring and Jessica answered.
"Jessica, could you be a dear?"
"I'm on my way."
The driver was smiling at her with teeth so black they might have been made of coal. He knew that she was looking at him. He knew. Hilda got the feeling that he knew everything and it made her hands start shaking again.
She put the phone in her purse and started grabbing what bags she could manage then started down the curved cobble path that led to her front door. Jessica came out and met her half way, dressed in pink sweat pants with her blonde hair up in a bun. The sweat pants had the words GOOD LUCK printed on the back. She was in her late thirties and was still, Hilda thought, good looking as hell. Hilda had been with a woman twice before, had considered going down that route again. It couldn't be any worse, right? But never with Jessica. That was a friendship she placed too much value on. It was there if she wanted it though. Hilda had to admit to herself that sometimes the offer seemed too tempting to refuse.
"Careful," Jessica said. "There's still eggs in the back."
"I got this sweetie," Jessica said, moving past her to the car.
Hilda stepped through the front door, hanging her purse from the coat rack on the left, carefully avoiding the mirror in the hallway. Rear view mirrors were bad enough. She didn't need any full body shots today. No thank you, not today, and she wasn't taking any rain checks either.
She pressed forward down the hallway to set the groceries on the kitchen table. Then she went back down the hallway, hung her jacket on the rack, then went down the adjacent hallway to check on Emily in her room. She had to push the door slowly. She'd been meaning to oil that squeaky hinge for months now, but hadn't got around to it and she didn't want to wake Emily up.
Emily was still sleeping, curled up in a ball under her pink Disney Princess blanket, a small sliver of light coming through the window, lighting up her hair which was still blondish but getting longer - and darker - by the day. In Hilda's eyes she looked angelic, always would, but the mother in her always hitched inside whenever she saw her child so peacefully reposed. She wanted her baby girl to stay that way forever. She wanted her baby girl to never deal with the horror and pain that she had been forced to deal with. Was that too much to ask?
Sometimes Emily thought that anything was too much to ask, that it was like an unwritten rule of the universe, bound up so deeply inside of it that taking it out would make the universe go away. What did the writers call it? Oh yeah, the human condition. Well, the universe could suck a big one, Hilda thought.
She closed the door, being as quiet as she could, then made her way back to the kitchen, where Jessica was already busy putting groceries in the cabinet.
"How long's she been out?" Hilda asked.
"Oh, less than an hour," Jessica said. "She was pretty wore out from playing in the back yard earlier. You've probably got another two hours to yourself."
These days Hilda didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"How much do I owe you?"
Hilda always hated this part. It was damned if you did, damned if you didn't in a way. You could pay in money or you could pay in guilt. Sometimes both. Another one of those unwritten laws.
"Hilda, you know better."
Jessica said it without even looking over her shoulders, still busy putting groceries away. This was the way the money part usually played out between them. No eye contact. Like a turd on the carpet, but they both walked around it, pretending it wasn't there.
Maybe it was better that way, Hilda thought. Maybe it was better sometimes when you didn't talk about things, didn't fuck things up by over analysing them. She let out a sigh.
"I couldn't talk you into hanging out a while, could I?" Hilda said. "Maybe watch Snapped or something?"
Now there was eye contact. Jessica put the last of the dry groceries in the cabinet and turned to the kitchen table for the milk and eggs, looking Hilda in the eye.
"You know Cody is supposed to pick me up in less than half an hour," she said. "You know, hit the track, get sweaty, maybe shower together later on..."
Hilda gave her the puppy dog eyes.
"Please?"
Jessica stopped to consider it. For a heartbeat or two, no longer.
"All right," she said. "I'll do it. But if I decide to jump your bones later on that's all on you. I was pretty sure I was gonna get some."
Hilda just laughed.
She wanted her baby girl to stay that way forever. She wanted her baby girl to never deal with the horror and pain that she had been forced to deal with. Was that too much to ask?
2.
So it was all set up to be a girl's night in. Jessica got on the phone and broke her date with Cody, making up some bullshit story about Hilda being sick so someone had to watch the baby. Meanwhile Jessica fired up her Apple TV and started browsing for new chick flicks on rental.
"You owe me one," Jessica said, peering into the room, Iphone in hand.
"Was it that bad?" Hilda asked.
Jessica rolled her eyes.
"Trust me," she said. "It's never that bad. Cody's such a horn dog he couldn't stay mad even if he did find out I was bullshitting him."
"Are you mad?"
Jessica came into the living room, put her arms around Hilda, hugging her. Hard. Then she let go, put her hands on Hilda's shoulders, looking deep into her eyes.
"Look," she said. "I know you think that I don't understand what you're going through and you're probably right. I haven't been through what you've been through. I can't feel your pain because it's your pain. But when I see that look on your face it hurts me too, maybe in a different way, but it still hurts, you know what I'm saying? Is that enough? I don't know, but it's the best I can do. So, no, I'm not mad. I'm never mad. Not at you anyway."
Hilda didn't know what to say, but her eyes said it for her.
"I'm here for you," Jessica said. "I will always be here for you. And that's the way it's always going to be."
That's when Hilda couldn't hold it back any longer. That's when the water works started in earnest.
"I'm so scared," she said.
Jessica hugged her again.
"I know," she said. "That's why I'm here. Now let's go make dinner.
A few minutes later Hilda was watching Jessica prepare her world famous lasagna on the counter by the stove, eyeing the muscles in her arms as she worked the can opener, strong from years of martial arts training, thinking about how they'd met. They'd been friends for a long time, ten years or so, but there had been a long lapse in that decade span when their lives had gone in very different directions.
They'd been college roommates back in the day, thrown together by the chance and circumstance of dorm room living like so many old college friends. Jessica had been everything that Hilda wasn't. Strong, independent, outgoing, she had an air of confidence that drove men wild. But she'd never been the marrying type, preferring instead to blaze her own path as a single, liberated modern woman. She'd been a business major and when she graduated she went to work for several high tech companies on the east coast before leaving the rat race and returning to the more pastoral, and considerably slower paced, city of Chattanooga that was her hometown. Her mom was sick and that had a lot to do with it, but there was more to it than that. Jessica had proven something to herself and after that she didn't need to prove it anymore. She'd been successful, putting a lot of money back while she did it. Now she wanted a quiet life, pursuing her new life as a tech writer for various internet blogs. Hilda had no doubt that she would be as wildly successful at that as she had been in management.
Jessica looked at her and that was all it took. It was a part of the secret language they shared, not only as friends, but as females too. Jessica didn't need to hear another word. It was the one word that all women shared: him. It could mean many things at different times, but when it was uttered in fear, it meant one thing. Danger. It was a word that every woman in the world knew all too well.
Hilda had been quite the opposite. Unsure of herself and shy, she'd gone to college, like a lot of girls her age, to get her MRS. degree. A quiet English major when she wasn't reading she was eyeing the boys trying to find the One. Eventually she met Jonathon, although it took a lot of pestering on his part to break her out her shell long enough to serious. He won her over eventually though and when they graduated Hilda went on to pursue her life long dream of raising kids while Jessica headed for California.
It wasn't until the death of Jonathon and David that Hilda started putting out feelers on Facebook. She'd never been very active on the Internet before that, but once she created her profile it only took a few days for Jessica to find her. Making contact with Jessica again and finding out that she had moved back home was probably the best thing that had happened to Hilda since the accident, second only to the birth of Emily herself. It didn't take long for them to pick up right where they had left. The passing time had only served to make their friendship stronger.
Maybe it was that whole opposites attract thing. Who knew. But they had always hit it off, shared time, shared secrets, forming over the years a secret language of the heart that only they could speak. Hilda didn't know what she would have done without Jessica, didn't want to think about it. She had been like the line from that movie Hilda loved so much, the one with the elves and the hobbits: a light when all other lights have gone out.
Yeah, that pretty much summed it up.
Jessica threw on an mitt and tossed the lasagna in the oven.
"Well, that's done," she said. "Wanna see what's on the tube while it cooks?"
"Sure," Hilda said. "There's some Yeungling in the fridge if you want one."
"Sweetie, I thought you'd never ask."
They went into the living room, beers in tow, plopped on the couch together, cracking their beers open - fzzzz! - at the same time. It was a well worn ritual, one that never got old no matter how many times they repeated it.
There was some show playing on the Discover Channel about psychic phenomena. Some older lady with bleach white hair and too much lipstick was explaining that psychic abilities often manifested themselves at a very early age, sometimes even in infancy, but they didn't show their full power until puberty set in. Trauma could affect this though. The weird looking lady was saying that a particularly traumatic event could cause a latent ability to manifest its full potential as early as the age of two. But that was rare, she went on to explain, even more rare than the manifestation of psychic abilities in the first place.
It made Hilda think of Emily. Was shy psychic? Then she dismissed the idea. It was just too silly to entertain. Hilda didn't believe in psychic powers any more than she believed that Jonathon would show up suddenly at her door step as if nothing ever happened. She couldn't remember when she had become so rationally cynical about the universe, but she had. There were no demons, or ghosts, or psychics in the world that she lived in, and more importantly, there was no after life either, no heaven to look forward to. She knew deep in her heart that she would never see her baby David again even if that belief only broke her heart even more. Hilda was addicted to the truth and like most addictions it was slowly but surely strangling the life right out of her.
"What's that noise?" Jessica asked.
"What?" Hilda said, her mental reverie interrupted. "What noise?"
"Turn the TV down. Listen. Is there a car in the driveway?"
Hilda grabbed the remote off the coffee table, hit the volume control. The weird lady's voice faded away to silence, numbers on the TV flashing green as they descended. Then she heard it. A low rumble. No doubt about it, there was a car in the driveway.
"Were you expecting anyone?" Jessica asked.
"No. Were you?"
"Not anymore," she said, sticking her tongue out.
"Well, let me see who it is then," Jessica said, getting up off the couch. She made her way across the living room to the window where the blinds were drawn tight. Peeling one of the blinds down with her finger she took a quick peek. Then she stopped breathing for a heartbeat or two, the shock of it still working its way to her brain.
The black Mercedes was in her driveway.
She could make out the tattoo on his arm now: that tree from the Garden of Eden that ran up the length of his left arm, with a snake entwined round and round from the tree's roots to its boughs. At the tree's base a woman was offering an apple to a man.
From the window she could see the driver's face, his head moving back and forth with the radio, although it couldn't have been very loud since she couldn't hear it from here. He had his arms on the steering wheel as he jammed. She could see a tattoo running the length of his left forearm, but she couldn't make out any detail from this distance. His hair was a deep black, running down the length of his back in a long, tightly woven braid. She couldn't tell what kind of pants he was wearing, but he was wearing a gray T-shirt with the sleeves cut off - his arms were tight with muscle, his biceps flexing in the afternoon sun as he half-danced to the music in the driver's seat of the Mercedes. The Mercedes itself had a hood ornament in the shape of a death's head skull, silver with a patch of rust on its pate like a patch of hair.
Then he cut the car's engine, getting out of the car in a pair of faded jeans, well worn at the edges. There was a chain running from a belt loop on the front to an oversized leather wallet in the back pocket. On his right hip was a hunting knife in its sheath, maybe a Buck knife - no, it was a Bear Gryll - the handle a signature orange that Hilda recognized from her accidental forays into the sporting goods section at her local Wal-Mart. His movements were quick and well-balanced; it was the walk of a man in supreme physical condition, the movements of a man who was long accustomed to fearing nothing. The words apex predator flashed in Hilda's mind. Where had she heard that before? Probably the Discover Channel. Or maybe one of the cheap novels she tore through when her mind refused to sit still, the ninety-nine cent creature features that were popular on the Amazon Kindle bookstore, the badly edited ones that were self-published by the aspiring J. A. Konrath's and Victor Methos's of the digital publishing world.
Hilda's hands were shaking again and she lost her grip on the blind. It snapped shut with a whisper. Jessica must have sensed that something was wrong because she got up, turning the TV down, and put her hand on Hilda's shoulders.
"Honey, what's wrong?" Jessica said.
But something had taken Hilda's voice. She was hyperventilating now, shaking her heard.
"Hilda," Jessica said. "Look at me."
All at once her voice came back, but not for long, long enough for one fresh squeezed word to ooze from her throat like the juice of a long rotten orange.
"Him," she said, wheezing.
Jessica looked at her and that was all it took. It was a part of the secret language they shared, not only as friends, but as females too. Jessica didn't need to hear another word. It was the one word that all women shared: him. It could mean many things at different times, but when it was uttered in fear, it meant one thing. Danger. It was a word that every woman in the world knew all too well.
That was when the doorbell rang.
"You let me get that," Jessica said. "If he wants to start any trouble in a dream, I'll make him wake up and apologize."
Jessica could make good on that too. Hilda admired her body for a moment, lithe and catlike. All those years of martial arts had paid off. She had started training when they were in college. Back then it had been just a fun way to get in shape and meet guys, a sort of let's just take this class and see where it goes. College had been like that. It had been fun to try new things, to see what interests hung on and which were tossed aside like yesterday's combo meal. And for a year or so it had been that way for Jessica. But then she had caught the bug. Hilda remembered watching in awe as Jessica made her way through the ranks, ignoring the guys now for a higher passion. She had found her true path in the way of Tae Kwon Do, nurturing her inner strength with every kick and punch, each advancing kata like a prayer of self. Now here she was, ten years later, a third degree black belt well on her path to grand master.
If there was anyone Hilda knew who could hold her own in a street fight with a man, it would be Jessica.
Jessica sprang to the front door in three quick steps, light as air. She peered through the peep hole.
At the thought of Jessica springing to her aid, Hilda's voice returned.
"Well?" she said.
"Just a sec," Jessica said, her eye never leaving the peep hole. "It's just some guy. A little rough around the edges maybe. Who is he?"
"You know," Hilda said. "It was probably just my imagination."
Jessica shook her head, maybe shaking the cobwebs from her brain.
"Tell me about it," she said.
So Hilda gave her the short version of everything that happened after she left the Wal-Mart with her groceries. She felt a little silly telling it out loud. Now that she had the story out in the open she found herself thinking - oh yeah, my paranoia is really starting to show now - but the look on Jessica's face didn't show anything resembling judgement.
I'm really lucky to have a friend like this, Hilda thought.
"It's probably nothing," Jessica said after a moment's consideration. "I'm gonna open the door and see what he wants. If he wants to start any trouble, don't worry. He'll find some."
She turned the deadbolt - Hilda always turned it when she came in - and it caught halfway.
I really need to get that fixed, Hilda thought.
After fumbling it with for a minute, Jessica finally got it to turn. Then she opened the door, nice and easy, keeping her torso behind it, standing sidewise with all her weight on her back leg. A swift kick with her right leg - her left leg always was a weenie - would send it slamming shut if she needed it to. She peered around it.
"Sorry, we already bought today," she said.
"Well," he said, his voice changing, "maybe you could see it better if I put my fat cock in your fucking whore ass."
But one look at the man's eyes showed nothing more than honest befuddlement. Even Hilda, after the morning's events, was struck by the sincerity in this man's eyes. Seeing him up close somehow changed her feeling about the man.
She could make out the tattoo on his arm now: that tree from the Garden of Eden that ran up the length of his left arm, with a snake entwined round and round from the tree's roots to its boughs. At the tree's base a woman was offering an apple to a man. Along the length of the tattoo were the words IN THE BEGINNING GOD CREATED HEAVEN AND EARTH in a bold, gilded script. On his right arm was another smaller tattoo that read: EVIL RESIDES IN THE HEARTS OF MEN. HAVE YOU BEEN TO CHURCH TODAY?
That's a lot of religious imagery there, Hilda thought. Maybe I've got this all wrong.
Jessica stood behind the door, waiting.
"Can we help you?" she said.
The man spoke then in a soft, almost soothing, voice, a gentle voice, like the voice of a doctor consoling a worried patient.
"I'm really sorry to bother you," he said. "I know you don't know me from Adam, but I was driving by and I couldn't help myself, I just had to stop, being an animal lover and all."
Jessica and Hilda just stood there with their mouths open. Then he went on.
"Did you know there's a kitten stuck on your roof?"
"It's a white cat with black splotches. Just like old Sam. Sam lived to be seventeen years old. I still miss him. You come out I'll show it to you."
3.
"I know how crazy that sounds," the man said. "Maybe it climbed up a tree. You've got one on the side of your house that it could have used. Oh, by the way, my name's Gary. It's nice to meet you, even though I guess it's probably a little weird and all."
He extended his hand.
Jessica gave a Hilda a wondering look that seemed to say I don't know. He seems OK. Then she looked at the hand he was extending. The hand just seemed to hang there in space like a lonely planet.
It was Hilda that broke the silence, rushing up and taking Gary's hand. His skin was rough like old bark, but the hand was warm, almost hot to touch.
"Hi, Gary," Hilda said. "My name's Hilda and this is Jessica. We didn't hear anything. Are you sure it was a cat?"
"Oh, it's a cat, all right," Gary said. "But it might have stopped meowing a long time ago. I saw it up there, all balled up on its haunches, the way cats do when they've settled for a hard night - or when they've given up. That's what it looked like. Like it'd given up. Breaks my heart seeing it like that really. Reminds me of a cat I had once."
"What color was it?" Jessica said, not bothering to conceal the suspicion in her voice. She was still standing behind the door.
"It's a white cat with black splotches. Just like old Sam. Sam lived to be seventeen years old. I still miss him. You come out I'll show it to you."
"What's the knife for?" Jessica said.
"I do fix it jobs," Gary said. "Come's in handy."
"Uh-huh."
"Come on I'll show it to you," Gary said, stepping back out in to the yard, pointing up at the roof.
Jessica seemed to think it over for a minute then she stepped out from behind the door. She walked down the porch steps into the yard, the afternoon sun in her eyes. Gary was standing in the grass, his finger still pointing up behind her. That's when Jessica did something she never should have done. She turned her back, just for a moment, on Gary the cat lover.
"I don't see it," she said.
"It's right there," Gary said, waving his finger. "Just past the chimney."
"I still don't see it," she said, squinting.
Gary just sighed.
"Well," he said, his voice changing, "maybe you could see it better if I put my fat cock in your fucking whore ass."
Hilda just laid there with one thought going through her head: Don't scream. You can not scream. If you scream you'll wake the baby up and he doesn't know she's here and it's got to stay that way.
He moved so fast that Hilda never saw him reach for the knife. One second his hand was empty. Then it was holding the knife, its blade a flash of light in the sun. Jessica never had time to move - or even respond. One minute she was looking for a cat on the roof. The next moment she was dead, a gash five inches long on the front of her neck spurting blood on the overgrown grass of Hilda's front lawn. She went to her knees and fell down face forward.
Adrenaline pumping through Hilda's veins, pure instinct took over. She slammed the door shut and started working the dead bolt. But it got stuck the way it did a few minutes before. By now her hands were shaking so bad she couldn't get it to move.
While she stood there struggling with the lock Gary pushed the door open with so much strength it threw Hilda on her back, right there in her front hallway. She hit the floor so hard that it knocked the wind right out of her. That's when Gary came in, dragging Jessica's body behind him, her neck still squirting blood, pumping crimson on the white shag of Hilda's carpet. Gary threw the body on top of Hilda as she lay there struggling for breath.
Then he turned and worked the dead bolt without so much as a hitch. He looked at Hilda, grinning, his once gentle eyes pure malice now. She seemed to notice for the first time that his eyes were black, almost as black as the irises themselves.
"Having a little trouble with that lock?" he said. "I can fix that for you. Oh, by the way, I've got something I wanna show you."
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a roll of tie-died duct tape.
"Got this cheap at the Wal-Mart while I was following you around. You know, Hilda, I knew there was something special about you the moment I laid eyes on you. It kind of always works that way. I see the one and I just know. You like it up the ass Hilda? 'Cause that's how you're gonna get it. Right up the ass. More than once too. I'm gonna fuck you up the ass until I'm completely spent, maybe five, six times, but I gotta tell you it takes me a lot longer to get off that way, and right now I'm feeling really, really, really horny. So get ready, bitch. You got a long day ahead of you and there's worse to come so when you look back on it this ass fucking's gonna seem like a goddamn happy memory."
Hilda just laid there with one thought going through her head: Don't scream. You can not scream. If you scream you'll wake the baby up and he doesn't know she's here and it's got to stay that way.
But before the day was over that resolve would be put to the test.
Gary dragged Jessica's body off of Hilda, looking down at her, a crazy light in his bad eye, the one with the cataract. She could still make out the pupil through the milky haze, a pupil that danced with the inner light of madness.
"I'm gonna do some things to you," he said. "But it won't hurt as much the first time. Don't get me wrong, it'll still hurt like hell, but it takes some time for the nerve endings to warm up. Don't worry though. You're in good hands. I've done this before."
He lifted his foot - all Hilda could see was the sole of his boot -what the rednecks called shitkickers - and brought it down on her stomach. She thought she'd had the wind knocked out of her before, but she was wrong. It was worse this time. She couldn't breathe at all. Her lungs were on fire and her abdomen felt like it was giving birth to an abomination.
Like the chestburster scene in the movie Alien, she thought. It was a weird thought to have at a moment like this. But the guy with the alien bursting out of his chest must have felt something similar. Like the wind had been knocked out of him by some indestructible evil.
And it went on for a long time, longer than she could comprehend. Was it ten minutes or an hour? She had lost all track of time. Every instant, every painful slap against her thighs seemed like forever. Then she passed out again.
But Gary wasn't indestructible. He was just a human being with human weaknesses. She held onto that thought like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft in the deep, blue sea.
A sea full of teeth and the monsters who bear them.
Oh, stop it, she told herself. Just stop it. There's no time for that now.
Then she closed her eyes.
She must have passed out then, because when she opened her eyes again, she was on her stomach in a hog tie, her wrists and ankles bound together with duct tape and her hands bound to her feet with even more duct tape, making the bonds extra tight.
"You're probably wondering how I'm gonna fuck your ass with your hands and feet in the way," Gary said. "I told you it was gonna hurt."
Then he lifted her up on her knees, pulling her back against him. She felt a painful tugg in the ligaments and muscles of her hips and legs, felt something hard and warm against the flesh of her backside, as he wrapped his arm around her in an effort to stabilise her weight.
She felt his hips thrust. Hard. And fought with all her might to choke back a scream. He had penetrated her and it hurt like hell. It hurt everywhere. Everything from the waist down was on fire, like being stretched on a rack. She didn't know what hurt worse, the pain in her hips, knees and legs or the pain of being penetrated rectally.
In the end she decided that the pain in her asshole was much, much worse. He was freakishly large.
His thrusts were slow at first, all the way in, all the way out, taking his time, but then he started to speed up, just a little at first, then faster and faster, until it felt like a bullet train - slap - slap - slap - like a metronome on its highest setting.
The flight of the bumblebee, she thought, once again scolding herself that it was the wrong thought at the wrong time. That really weird and fast classical tune. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. It HURTS.
And it went on for a long time, longer than she could comprehend. Was it ten minutes or an hour? She had lost all track of time. Every instant, every painful slap against her thighs seemed like forever. Then she passed out again.
"It's called skinning," he said, his breath hot on the back of her neck. "A little thing my daddy taught me. Something he learned in Vietnam."
When she came to he was stroking her face with his knife.
"Ready for another go?" he said.
Fuck you, she thought. It's not like I have a fucking choice, you cruel, evil fuck.
And he did it again. She didn't know how long it took the second time, but she knew one thing for sure. It took a lot longer than the first. The pain was awful now.
I guess that's the old nerve endings getting warmed up, she thought. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, please don't let it hurt any worse.
But it did. And she passed out yet again.
When she woke up again he was stroking the back of her legs, the steel cold on her skin.
"Time to mix it up a bit," he said. "Don't want your nerves to go numb. That simply will not do. Besides my cock could use a rest. You're gonna hate round three. But you might hate this more."
4.
"It's called skinning," he said, his breath hot on the back of her neck. "A little thing my daddy taught me. Something he learned in Vietnam."
But all Hilda could think was I made it this far without screaming. If I can make it through that, I can make it through anything.
But she was wrong.
She felt the knife moving again.
"My daddy raised his boys up right," Gary said. "Taught us to read the Bible and know a man's place in the world. He taught us how to deal with women who went against God's way, whores like my mama."
He put a special emphasis on the word whores that made Hilda's skin crawl.
"You see, Hilda, that's the problem with women like you. You're so absorbed in the modern world that you've lost the path of righteousness. But I'm here to set you straight. I'm hear to cleanse you and set you free."
He stuck the tip of the knife in the back of her leg, not hard, just enough to break the skin, but the shock of it sent a jolt right through her. She held back a scream through clenched teeth. All that came out was a soft mew, like a kitten at the door on a cold, winter night.
"My mama was the first woman I ever killed," he said. "And my daddy was right there with me the whole time, showing me the way. I've been seeing the light of God ever since. I wake up every day and praise God for the miracle he has given me."
He brought the knife around and showed it to her. The tip was bright with blood, but that was all there was.
"My brothers never could hear the word of God," he said. "When they found out what daddy done they got real mad. But daddy showed them the way, and I know deep in my heart that they're with God now. Not in the lake of fire with whores like you."
He was caressing her ass cheeks now with the steel of his blade, working his down, down to the spot of skin between the anus and her vagina.
"Do you want to hear the word of God, Hilda?" he said.
Hilda let out a muffled scream, clenching her teeth. She could hear Jessica's voice in her head, as if she were there in her head, but she wasn't, she was dead, it was just something she might have said if she were.
Keep it together, sweetie, it said.
"No," Hilda said, her voice weak.
No, no, no, honey. Tell him what he wants to hear.
Gary's voice sounded confused when he asked her, "But don't you wanna go to heaven?"
That's it, sweetie. Tell him what he wants to hear.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, Gary. I do want to go to heaven."
"My mama was the first woman I ever killed," he said. "And my daddy was right there with me the whole time, showing me the way. I've been seeing the light of God ever since. I wake up every day and praise God for the miracle he has given me."
"That's a good girl, Hilda," Gary said. "Because I'm gonna take you there. Would you like that?"
"Yes," Hilda said, her voice choking with tears. Maybe he was going to let her go. Maybe that's all he needed to hear. Was it too good to be true, too much to ask for?
Gotta play the odds, sweetie. I mean what else can you do at this point?
"That's good, Hilda," Gary said. "I'm really glad to hear you say that. I really do mean that too. I sleep better at night knowing that I sent one more repentant whore to the pearly gates. Warms my heart."
Uh-oh, Jessica's voice said. Looks like we may have screwed the pooch on that one.
Oh, shut up, Hilda thought to the voice in her head, but she knew what it meant. The realization was just now sinking in. She knew what it meant to send repentant whores to Heaven.
It meant that she wasn't going to get out of this alive.
Gary was breathing heavy now.
"Sometimes," he said, "if you want to get to heaven, you have to go through hell first. You keep that in mind, Hilda whore, because this night is just getting started."
And no sooner had he said that then he began to peel the skin from the back of leg, slowly at first, just a small, single patch and just a single layer, the epidermis. Enough to warm the nerve endings up. And it hurt so bad that Hilda almost screamed aloud.
But she held it back. For now.
Hold it steady, baby girl, Jessica's voice was saying.
"The gooks called it skinning," Gary said. "It's something they used on the POWs to get them to tell them what they wanted or just for fun if they felt like it. The gooks were like that. Did I tell you that my Dad was a POW? He fought like hell in that war, fought for his God and fought for his country. My dad was a war hero, but not a lot of people know that."
He reached around and showed her his handiwork, a two inch long piece of skin, bloody, paper thin and lily white. She fought back the urge to retch and failed, swallowing the backwash of her own bile as a thin sliver of vomit ran down her chin.
"You've got a lot of skin," Gary said. "And this is just the first layer. At this rate we could go all night. And that's not even taking into account the fact that my dick's starting to get hard again."
It began again, the slow scrape of sharpened steel on bare skin, and this time the urge to scream was overwhelming. She sank her teeth deep in the fibers of her shag carpet, fighting with everything she had, but this time she knew she was going to give in. The pain was too intense.
Don't do it, honey, please, Jessica's voice pleaded, but it was no use.
I can't hold it back, Hilda told the voice. I can't take it anymore.
Back when Hilda was in grammar school she used to walk back and forth to school. One time, when she is the fourth grade, she had been walking home when the urge to go to the bathroom hit her so bad it had her walking funny, hobbling like a penguin down the sidewalks of Red Bank, walking as fast as she could, thinking to herself, just a little ways to go, you can make it. But she didn't make it and once that first Hershey squirt hit the back of her legs, it was like a floodgate had burst, and she just kept squirting with every step she took until her bowels had completely emptied.
The scream that came out of Hilda Miller was a lot like that. Once she started she couldn't stop. It was like a primal beast had finally escaped its cage, a cage that was deep in the heart of her. It went on forever.
I know that's what the bastard wants, she thought. He wants to hear me scream. Oh, God, I hope it didn't wake the baby.
She was right about one thing. It must have been what he wanted, because when she finally stopped the room was quiet. She turned her head to look behind her, her eyes locking with his.
And he was smiling, not saying a word. Just smiling in that cruel animal way of his. Smiling and waving that knife of his back and forth in slow motion like a windshield wiper, the blade doing a slow dance in the air as if to say: you ain't seen nothing yet. That was just the motherfucking sorbet, the pallet cleanser as they say.
Then in the dead quiet of the front hallway they both heard a sound that was impossible to mistake. A sound that came from the far bedroom down the opposite hall. The plaintive, calling sound of a baby calling out like a far away bird. It was a sound every mother knew and it wracked Hilda's heart with sorrow.
"Mama?"
It was Emily.
Oh, no, no, no, Hilda thought. She's awake. If that fucker touches her...
Her eyes locked with Gary again and he must have seen something there he liked.
"Well, well, well," he said. "What have we here?"
She just looked at him, furious.
"Don't you touch her, you stupid fucker," Hilda said.
And Gary licked his lips.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven," he said. "All the children go to heaven. You know, Hilda, I've never done a kid before. Would you like that? Would you like me to make you watch? Wouldn't that just be grand?"
That's when Hilda began to struggle in earnest. The passive victim was gone now and in its place was a wild animal, a furious she beast bent on one single purpose: to protect her young. She pulled and yanked at the duct tape around her wrists and ankles, twisting and yanking like a fish on a hook, but the bonds wouldn't budge. He had bound her tight.
"I wouldn't struggle too much," Gary said. "If you get loose I'll just kill you. And what do you think would become of the little girl then?"
That stopped her cold. The thought had not occurred to her and now that it had it took all the fight out of her. She sank into the carpet, a broken mess of hopeless resignation, sobbing.
There was nothing she could do. He was going to have his way and there was nothing she could do.
Then she heard the door to Emily's door creaking open, that one rusty hinge of its breaking the silence like a buzz saw.
Been meaning to oil that, Hilda thought. If only she had a man around the house.
Then she realized that there was a man around the house and it was possibly the worst thing she had ever endured in her entire life. How was that for irony?
Silence again. Then the pitter patter of little feet on the shag carpet. Emily was dragging her feet. She did that a lot when she first woke up. She would be coming around the corner any minute now.
Hilda and Gary both stared at the hallway, waiting. Then Emily appeared, in her pink onesey, spaghetti sauce on the sleeves, her fine blonde hair mashed flat from sleeping on it. She was hugging a pink sippy cup to her chest. There was a picture of Dora the Explorer on its side. Her eyes were blue and wide as she took it all in. A kind of comprehension seemed to settle in her delicate features as she saw the blood on her mother's legs. Then she looked at Gary, her eyes blinking slowly. Then she looked back to Hilda, dropping her sippy cup to the floor.
"Mama boo boo?" she said.
5.
"Yes, baby," Hilda said. "Mama boo boo."
Emily looked back and forth from Gary to her mother, a look of consternation on her face. Then she did something that she often did when she first woke up. She held her arms out in a gesture that said she wanted to be held, wanted to be reassured that everything was all right.
That's when Hilda began to struggle in earnest. The passive victim was gone now and in its place was a wild animal, a furious she beast bent on one single purpose: to protect her young. She pulled and yanked at the duct tape around her wrists and ankles, twisting and yanking like a fish on a hook, but the bonds wouldn't budge. He had bound her tight.
But everything wasn't all right. Everything was far from all right. In fact, Hilda thought, everything was about as close to being as fucked up as it could get.
"Honey," Hilda said. "Why don't you go back to bed. Let mommy talk to her friend."
But Hilda could see by the storm brewing in Emily's eyes that going to bed was at the very bottom of her very long list of things to do before the day was over.
"Sure," Gary said, grinning. "Mommy's busy."
Hilda's mothering instincts kicked in and something dawned at her, something that every mother knew the moment they saw it. Gary didn't spend a lot of time with kids, had more than likely never spent any time with kids. It wasn't what the cops on Law and Order called his M.O. - modus operandi. He wasn't a kid killer by preference, didn't really know how to handle them. They were, from Gary's perspective, a completely new animal.
Emily kept her arms out.
"I wan Mama," she said, her eyes already brimming with tears.
"Well, you can't have her," Gary said. "She's mine."
"I wan Mama," Emily said again.
Then Gary said the magic word. It was the last mistake he would ever make.
"No," Gary said.
And that's when all hell started breaking loose.
Hilda knew the signs. All the mothers and child caregivers knew the signs, but it was completely beyond Gary's ken. Hilda saw it in the curl of her daughter's lip, the furrowing of her daughter's brow and the tears that were welling in her daughter's eyes. She knew the early signs of a tantrum and Emily could throw some doozies. Hell hath no fury as they say.
"I wan Mama," Emily said again. One more time. Not playing this time.
"Baby, I can't," Hilda said.
That's when the light in the living room started flickering on and off.
It started slow, just a flicker at first, the way it does when there's a brown out in the area. Then it just kept picking up speed, flashing faster and faster, until the lamp in the living room - a large shoulder high affair with a twisted, ornate base made of wood - started flashing like a strobe light. Emily let out a long, plaintive cry, tears flowing down her cheeks, and the bulb burst, throwing shards of glass on the white shag carpet by the TV.
The problem, Hilda thought, was pretty obvious. The light had never been on in the first place. Hilda had seen this sort of thing before. At the hospital. After baths. But she had never seen anything this strong before and the word that was on the tip of her tongue before rolled off of it and popped into her conscious mind, clear as day: telekinesis.
My daughter has telekinesis, she thought. Wow. And hell hath no fury like the temper tantrum of a two year old with telekinetic powers.
She looked at her daughter's eyes, a mother's imploring look.
"Honey," she said. "I don't know what you did. But can you do it again?"
That stopped the tantrum cold. Emily's eyes grew wide, the eyes of a two year old who had suddenly discovered something new, and she nodded.
"Okay, Mama," she said, looking at Gary this time.
Hilda knew the signs. All the mothers and child caregivers knew the signs, but it was completely beyond Gary's ken. Hilda saw it in the curl of her daughter's lip, the furrowing of her daughter's brow and the tears that were welling in her daughter's eyes. She knew the early signs of a tantrum and Emily could throw some doozies. Hell hath no fury as they say.
And that's when Gary started to rise slowly into the air, his arms and legs flailing like a fish on the hook.
Poor, poor, Gary, Hilda thought, without meaning it. Emily had just found a new toy.
And a new way of playing with it. Something told Hilda that they were all in for a long day, but the dynamics of the game had just undergone a fundamental change.
Hilda rolled over on her left side to get a better view of Gary, Emily behind her now. She began to work at her restraints, thinking that maybe she had found the moment she needed. She could no longer see Emily, but she could still hear her breathing. The look on Gary's face was something that Hilda would remember for the rest of her life, the look of a doomed man whose comeuppance had finally come. It was a look that most people never got to see.
"Honey, can you make him shake?" Hilda said.
"Shay," Emily said, repeating her mother and giggling for the first time since she had come into the room. "Okay, Mama."
Hilda couldn't tell if Emily tried to make him shake - failing - or if she simply didn't understand what that meant, but Gary did start to move in the air, turning slowly until he was completely upside down, his arms and legs still thrashing around. He reminded Hilda now of a crucified Roman, one who instead of being crucified by the arms and legs had been tied to his own center of gravity, a center that kept changing. Whatever was happening it looked, if the expression on Gary's could be trusted, excruciating.
No, not tied, Hilda thought. Nailed.
Now you're talking, the voice of Jessica said. Nail that son of a bitch. The way he would have nailed you.
And that's when she got an idea.
Gary kept turning in the air, like a Ferris wheel, and he was screaming now, not words though - he hadn't said anything since he left the ground - just sounds, the sounds of man who had always been in power and couldn't understand the feeling of powerlessness that overwhelmed him now. Hilda didn't care how he felt as long as it was bad. She was too busy watching the knife. It was the only thing she cared about now. Emily had given her the chance she needed and she'd be damned if she was going to let that one chance slip away.
Gary was holding on to that knife like a life raft, as if it were the last hold on the only physical reality he still understood. He might have been able to hold on to even that if it weren't for the fact that he was spinning even faster now, but at this rate he would be dropping the knife any minute now.
Hilda turned her head to look at Emily. The look of concentration on her face had deepened.
She's thoroughly engrossed now, Hilda thought. This could go on a while.
Hilda had seen that look before, sometimes when she had a new toy. Emily's attention span had always been strangely long for that of a two year old.
She turned her head back to face Gary, who was spinning so fast now that his face was just a blur, less like a Ferris wheel now and more like the propeller of an airplane.
And that's when Gary finally let go, the knife coming free, shooting through the air like an arrow and heading straight for Emily's throat.
Hilda stiffened. Everything had happened too fast. Gary still had his wits about him that was sure. It was a shrewd move, using the power and momentum of his opponent's attack against them like that. Very Aikido. The very torque that held Gary in thrall had given the knife an almost bullet like velocity.
"Take that, you little bitch," Gary said.
It must have broken Emily's power of concentration, or maybe it was a reflex, because no sooner did the knife bounce off of her as if it had bounced off the side of a tank - or a force field maybe - but no sooner did that happen then Gary stopped turning and fell to the ground head first, knocking him out cold.
Hilda looked at Gary, his expression almost corpse like, although he was still breathing. She could see his chest rise and fall in slow dips. Then she looked at the knife, gleaming at Emily's feet like a beacon of hope.
"Emily," Hilda said. "Can you bring the knife to Mama?"
"Bree ni Mama," Emily said. "Okay, Mama."
Emily picked up the knife. She came over with it and sat down next to Hilda's face.
"I wah help," Emily said.
She turned her head back to face Gary, who was spinning so fast now that his face was just a blur, less like a Ferris wheel now and more like the propeller of an airplane.
In normal circumstances Hilda would have said no, but right now it seemed like a perfectly good idea.
"Do you see mommy's hand, baby?" Hilda said. "Put the knife in mommy's hand."
Before the bad man wakes up, she wanted to say, but didn't. She wasn't sure that Emily could pull her crazy tricks again. After all, she'd never done it before...
"Pu ni han," Emily said. "Okay, Mama."
Emily put the knife on Hilda's hands, Hilda barely getting hold of the hilt before it went tumbling down the back of her legs. She steadied her grip. Turning the knife around, so that the sharp side of the blade was firm against the tape, she began to push, a little at a time, not wanting to get in a hurry and drop it.
You've got one shot at this, sweetie, Jessica's voice said. Don't fuck it up.
It took a while, but she felt the tape start to give - a little. The pain in her lower back was so bad now that it brought tears to her eyes, but she kept working, keeping a sharp eye on Gary the entire time. He hadn't moved but she had no idea how long he would stay that way.
When she finally got her hands free Emily clapped. She gave her daughter a hug and Emily hugged her back. Hard. It was the best hug they had ever shared in their time together. It was like the only hug that had ever mattered and it went on for a long time. It was as if Emily knew that something very important had happened that day.
Hilda went to work on her legs, made short work of them, looking at Gary as she stood up, her legs unsteady as she worked the zipper of her pants. Her legs had gone completely numb, but the blood was starting to move inside them again, the pins and needles going from scream to mere dull, aching whisper. She was starting to feel alive again, in control.
She looked at Gary gain. He was still passed out, but she had another idea. She looked at the roll of duct tape on the shag carpet. There wasn't much left. It had taken almost the whole roll for Gary to bind her the way he did. But it didn't matter. Hilda had something else in the house that would work even better. Like a lot of couples with a baby in the house Jonathan and Hilda had tried more than one way to rejuvenate their tired sex life and one of those ways had been two pairs of handcuffs, a his and her matching set that they had purchased online. One of them was even painted pink. It would be a special pleasure to use that particular pair on Gary. The pink would give it that extra spice.
She had a pink dildo too. A big one. Just thinking about it brought a diabolical smile to her lips.
Once she had Gary's arms and legs bound safely, she went to work on his hands with the knife, severing the tendons that connected his thumbs to his wrists.
No thumbs, no hands, the voice of Jessica said. It's practically the same thing. Take it from a martial artist.
Then she did the same thing to his feet, severing the Achilles tendons, so he wouldn't be able to walk, even if he weren't bound.
You've got him good now, Jessica said. He's not going anywhere.
Of course he came to while she was doing it, but a good smack with her cast iron skillet - Paula Deen of course - was all it took to shut his punk ass up.
When her gruesome work was done she drug him into the spare bedroom, ignoring his cries for help as she made dinner for Emily.
They sat, watching TV, the mother lion with her cub, eating chicken tacos and popping cheddar popcorn into each other's mouths. They did this until Emily finally fell asleep again. Hilda kept the TV up loud to drown out that motherfucker's screams. Emily didn't seem to care.
After she put Emily down for the night she went into the spare bedroom, instruments of torture in hand, and went to work.
He was still awake, eyes red and rheumy, his face as pale as the sliver of moonlight that shunted through the bedroom window. He was hog tied, leaned against the back wall, on his knees. His lower lip was quivering, a slug of black flesh in the moonlight.
"You know what I'm gonna do, right?" Hilda said.
She turned on the bedroom light. Then she layed everything at his feet, the hammer, the nails, Gary's Bear Gryll knife and - Hilda's favorite - the oversized pink dildo, the one that had just been too big.
Gary didn't say anything at all. He knew what was coming. No one knew it better than he did and there was nothing he could say to stop it.
"This won't hurt as much the first time," Hilda said, smiling, as she covered his mouth with what remained of the tie-died duct tape. "Sometimes it takes a while for the nerve endings to get warmed up. You know how it goes."
Then Hilda Louise Miller, her strange and curious rape a thing of the past, went to work.