Chapter 13

Alex

He won’t tell me what he’s done with Tyler. I’m going out of my mind worrying about where he might be, and who’s looking after him.

When we arrived in San Diego Ron took me back to our house and left Tyler in the car while he dragged me inside then handcuffed me to the bed. I was crying, begging him to bring my son to me, but without a word he’d left, leaving me to survey the wreckage of my bedroom. All my clothes have been shredded, everything I’d owned broken. What sane man would do something like that?

Although the house is warm, I grow cold at the realisation my son has been taken away by a madman. He wouldn’t hurt his son, would he? But now that Ron’s shown me his true colours, I can’t be certain of anything anymore.

I can’t stop the tears rolling down my cheeks, all full of fear for Tyler. I don’t give a damn what happens to me, just as long as my child isn’t harmed.

I don’t know how long he’s been gone, but when Ron returns sometime later, frees me from my restraints and drags me out to the SUV, I’m devastated to find there is no little boy sitting in the back seat. My worries about where he’d left my son, with whom, and in what state override any concerns about myself. “What have you done with him?” I growl.

“That doesn’t concern you.”

I see red, and spit out angrily, “Ron, I’m his mother. I need to know he’s safe.” I need to know you haven’t hurt him. “Tyler needs his medication. You know he takes antibiotics daily to stave off live-threatening infections, and needs his painkillers for when he has his episodes.”

“You smother him.” His voice is flat and cold. “He doesn’t need all that shit.”

And we’re back to the old argument. If Ron doesn’t listen to me, he’ll be signing his son’s death warrant. Even a mild infection could have severe ramifications. I have to make him understand. “Ron, for fuck’s sake. Tyler’s a sick child. You know that.”

But he never wanted to admit he’d fathered a weak son. “He’s only sick because you wrap him in cotton wool. He’s got to man up.” He gives me a calculating look.

Christ! There’s no getting through to this man. My fears for Tyler increase ten-fold. I need to get away from him. Knowing I’d prefer to take my chances throwing myself onto the road, I reach for the door handle only to find he’s used the central locking. I press all the unfamiliar buttons, to unlock the door, or open the window at least so I can yell for help. Frantically I bang on the window trying to attract attention. Someone must see and help.

Sharply he pulls the car over into an alley and parks up. In one quick move, he pulls something out of his pocket and roughly takes my arm. I try to pull it away, but he’s got hold of me too tightly. The syringe plunges into my arm.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s your fault, you wouldn’t keep fucking quiet.” And that’s all I hear. Almost immediately a wooziness comes over me. I struggle against it as he turns the car around and gets going again, but it’s no use. I can’t keep my eyes open.

When I come around, I’m lying on a couch in a place that’s familiar, but with absolutely no idea why Ron’s brought me here. It’s my parents’ old cabin up in Big Bear, a couple of hours outside San Diego. How has he got the key? Have they given it to him? The thought that they might be complicit in my kidnapping is chilling. Would they force me to go back to him? Do they know I’m here? Have they any idea he means to harm me?

Groggily sitting up, trying to stop looking for explanations and instead seeking out a route of escape, I look around the room, noticing it hasn’t changed much since I came here in my childhood. There’s a musty smell as if it hasn’t been used for years. But the fact he’s brought me somewhere familiar gives me a moment of comfort. My sister will have raised the alarm by now, reported me missing to the police, and she might remember the cabin. Would she think of pointing them here? Then I remember what he’d told me, the police are his colleagues, his friends. They’ll believe what he tells them. It wouldn’t matter whether Celine has gone to them or not. They might pretend to go through the motions, but won’t follow through. Cops stick together.

No one will come looking for me here. Unless my parents know. They wouldn’t let him hurt me, would they? But deep down I know they’d be more concerned about me bringing disgrace on the family.

I stand and walk to the window, looking out on the beautiful but desolate view which only serves to remind me how isolated the cabin is. There are no neighbours, meaning he can do anything he likes, and however loud I scream there’ll be no one coming to help. Still weak from the after effects of whatever he’d drugged me with, I sink to my knees, wondering whether I’ll ever see Tyler again, praying with everything I’ve got that while Ron might hate me, he would take care of his son.

And where has Ron gone? Is this my chance to escape? Trying to clear my head, I pull myself up and go to the door. It’s locked. I try a window, it’s been nailed shut.

“You can’t get out.” Thinking he’d left me, I jump. I hate that voice and its sneering tone. “Not if I don’t want you to go.”

I try to swallow my fear down. “And will you? Let me go?”

“What do you think?”

I’m silent, already knowing the answer. Instinctively I know I’ve not got long on this earth. Why else would he have brought me to such an isolated place?

“Tell me, Alex. How do you think it felt to know you’ve sunk so low? That my wife was stripping for money? Letting men leer at the body that belongs to me?”

“I danced,” I try to tell him again, biting my lip, knowing even if I could convince him that’s probably bad enough.

“Show me how you strip, Alex,” he lazily commands. “If the bikers employed you, perhaps you do have some moves. Let me see what I was missing all those miserable years.”

That’s the last thing I want to do for him, and I shudder at just the thought. I’m scared but try not to let it show, keeping my voice calm, not wanting to provoke him into losing his temper. “I pole dance.” I wave my hand around. “There’s no pole here, so I can’t show you.”

“As if I want to see your fat ass contorted around a fucking pole,” he scoffs. “Just take your clothes off.”

“No.”

“No? Don’t make me force you.” His threat makes me shiver. He takes a step toward me, I take one back.

“If you do as I tell you, I’ll let you see Tyler.”

Can I believe him? But why does he want me to take off my clothes? Is he going to rape me? I’d let him do anything to me if it means I get to see my child again. And it wouldn’t be much different to how he’d taken me in the past. If that’s what it takes to see Tyler, I can do that.

“Strip, Alex,” he repeats.

“Why?” I’m having difficulty believing he wants to see me naked. In the past, he’d tell me my body disgusted him. I can’t see anything would have changed now.

“Take off your fucking clothes!” And there’s that tone he used that last day, the one that carries a touch of madness.

I see a vein pulsing in his forehead, and realise he’s getting to the end of his tether. If he kills me I’ll never see Tyler again. My son needs me. Making a quick decision, feeling like insects are crawling across my skin, I reach for my top and pull it over my head, and then unbutton my shorts, close my eyes, and slide my shorts down and shrug them off over my shoes. It’s cooler up here in the mountains, and goosebumps rise on my body.

“Huh!” He sneers, leaning himself back against the wall. “If that’s how you stripped in the club I’m surprised they gave you the time of day. Fuck, Alex. You’re an ugly piece of work to begin with. Now take the rest off. And do it how you did it for them.”

Feeling humiliated, telling myself it’s not showing him anything he’s not seen before, I undo my bra and let it drop. Then I slip out of my panties. I shiver, from cold and despair. Is he going to leave me here without any clothes as a way of ensuring I don’t escape? It’s the only explanation I can come up with. I can see I’m not turning him on. One glance at his crotch is all I need to confirm that.

He smiles at me, the expression showing me I can expect trouble. He’s not a big man, but he’s enough to overpower me. He approaches menacingly, and although I struggle and try to fight him off, I’m still feeling dizzy, and it doesn’t take much effort on his part to drag me into one of the two bedrooms. As I look at the bare mattress, it’s clear what’s he’s been doing. He’s set all this up.

He uses his greater strength to immobilise me on the bed and uses two pairs of handcuffs to fasten my arms over my head, and another two sets to secure my feet to the bottom posts. I’m spread-eagled before him.

As I pull at the metal cuffs holding me prisoner, he stares at me and then says, his voice now calm and reasonable, “The thing is, Alex, if I let you go, you’ll just go back to the club and embarrass me like you did before. Do you know what it feels like to be a cop and know all your colleagues are snickering behind your back because your wife’s become a stripper? And can you imagine how I felt, as your husband, to know you were taking your clothes off and letting other men see what belongs to me?”

Any other man would just have divorced me. There’s something I’m missing, something I don’t understand. “Why does it bother you? You never wanted me!”

“And ain’t that the truth!”

“Why did you marry me if you found me so unattractive?” I scream out, realising I’ve never come out with it and asked him before, even though I’d often wondered.

Suddenly he laughs. “You stupid bitch. You really don’t know, do you? Did you really think it was ever you that I wanted? You’re fucking crazy if you do. Truth is, your parents gave me money to take you off their hands. I’m surprised you never guessed.”

What? Why would they do that?

“You really don’t think anyone would want a sad bitch like you without having a sweetener, do you? Fuck, it’s been hell living with you and that fuck-up of a son you had. But it was hard to turn down the money they paid me.”

My parents paid him? While it’s hard to get over that blow, I realise I have to know. “How much, Ron? How much did they sell their daughter for? And why did they do it?” And what has he done with the money?

He shrugs, and chooses to answer the second question first. “They wanted you tied to a man who could control you. You’d started going to college, became independent. They didn’t want you to turn out like your sister. One daughter running off they could explain, but another getting pregnant or bringing home the wrong sort? They didn’t want to risk the embarrassment. A police officer could help them, and provide a good influence on their errant daughter. And as for the money? Not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but it came in handy enough. Allowed me to live the life that I wanted, which wasn’t with you. They gave me a down payment of a hundred thousand dollars, then twenty-five thousand a year after that, which increased to fifty once you had the kid. Unfortunately, if they know you’ve left me the money will stop.”

“So, you need me to come back.” And there it is. Money is at the bottom of it. Tears prick at my eyes, he never wanted me at all.

“No. I don’t need their money any longer, I’ve made other plans.”

I shudder, grasping it probably would be preferable for him to want me back. If he asked me now I’d put up with anything just to have Tyler back in my arms. Whatever scheme he’s alluding to will almost certainly bring nothing good my way. If he no longer needs the money… “You never wanted me, did you?” I don’t phrase it as a question.

But he answers anyway. “No man in his right mind would want a fat tight-assed bitch like you. And now I’m going to make sure they never will.”

What’s he talking about?

I might not know what exactly he intends to do next, but he’s got me at his mercy, and I’ll be unable to prevent it. I try to keep him talking. While I doubt anyone’s searching, the longer I can delay him, there’s a chance I could be rescued. “You were worried about losing the money then, when I left? I thought you’d be happy that I was gone, and took Tyler with me.”

He smirks. “You can’t believe how great it was not having to come home to you. Yeah, you did me a big favour by walking out.” Then he leans forward, his face so close to mine I can smell his foul breath and his sweat. “But eventually you’d have started divorce proceedings, and then money would have stopped. And, my dear Alex, no one leaves me. Not unless I want them to. No one causes me shame like that. You leave on my terms, or not at all.” He stands back and stares at me. “Six years being tied to a bitch like you. Six fucking years when I had to put my life on hold. You owe me for that, owe me for every minute of having to sleep next to your disgusting body, owe me for all the suffering you put me through.”

I don’t have much time to ponder his warped reasoning as he pulls something out of the bag that’s been lying, unnoticed, at his feet. My eyes widen as he pulls out a packet of cigarettes. He doesn’t smoke. But he certainly looks like he’s taken up the habit as he lights one and sucks in, making the tip glow orange. He coughs, and huffs a short laugh. “Can’t think why people do this.” Then he comes closer to me, his mouth twists. “Six years Alex, and you’re going to make up for every fucking day.” Before I realise what he’s doing, he presses the burning cigarette end into the tender skin of my breast, slowly pushing it in until it’s stubbed out.

I scream. God, the pain! An intense burning and stinging sensation. I try to curl up to protect myself, but secured as I am, I can’t move. There’s nothing I can do to ease the agonising throbbing on my tender flesh. My eyes have closed, a sound makes me open them. Smoke reaches my nostrils as he lights another cigarette. He brings it closer to my breast, the same one as before, this time torturing me by holding it only just above the skin so I can feel the heat from the tip.

“Please, no,” I cry out. Now that I know the level of pain to expect, the anticipation is made worse. And the look on his face shows he’s got no mercy at all. The end comes down and I scream again.

Tears run down my cheeks. I squirm, but there’s no relief. He lights another cigarette, and then another. I start thrashing, but he easily holds me down with one hand while pressing that burning tip to my skin time after time again. Now I’m breathing in the scent of my own scorched flesh, and turning my head as far as I can to the side, I retch.

“You know, I could get used to this,” he says conversationally as he flicks the lighter again.

When will it stop? My throat feels hoarse from screaming. Any noise I make is futile, there’s no one to hear me, only the man who’s relishing my cries. I’ve lost count of the number of times he burns me, but after a while he pays the same attentions to my other breast.

“It’s looking good. Maybe I’ll start a new trend.” He pauses for a moment to admire his handiwork.

I’ve almost given up, my body automatically jerking as I try to evade the torment he’s dishing out. My screams have become wails which run into each other, pleading and begging for him to stop.

At last he appears to have run out. He grabs the back of my head and pulls it up, holding me roughly by the hair, a further pain which doesn’t even register over the burning agony of my breasts.

“Open your eyes. Look.” He shakes me by his grip on my curls, and reluctantly I obey him. From this point of view, I can only see the top of my breasts, each now marked by a semicircle of angry looking burns. I can only assume the rest of the ring is underneath. He breathes a sigh of satisfaction. “Now no one will ever want to look at your tits.”

He’s scarred me and marked me, quite possibly for life.

I want to hold myself, want to rush and jump into a cold shower. Anything to take the agony away. But I can’t move. My eyes squeeze shut as my mind battles with how evil this man is, as waves of pain wash over me.

“That was fun,” he pronounces. “But not quite enough.”

Oh Jesus. What’s he planning on doing now?

“I mean, you’ve tortured me for years. Making me sick just with the sight of you, and bearing that diseased brat you saddled me with, I deserve some payback, don’t you think?”

I have to swallow to get moisture into my mouth, made dry by my screams and the pain. “I tried to be a good wife,” I whisper. And I had. Devoting my time and energy to looking after him, but nothing I ever did satisfied him.

“You don’t even know what a good wife looks like. A wife, my dear Alex, is someone her husband wants to fuck. And no one would ever willingly fuck you.”

“Open your eyes, Alex. Watch what I do.”

As an answer, I squeeze them shut.

His hand grabs my hair, pulling it so painfully for a second it overcomes the discomfort of the burns. “Open your fucking eyes, bitch!”

I do as he says. Oh no. He’s got a knife. My breasts are throbbing, and that gleam in his eyes tells me it isn’t enough for him. Has my torture just started, or is he going to kill me now? Tyler. What will he do if I’m gone? Who will look after him? The only thought in my head is for him.

Looking almost bored, he presses the tip of the blade just underneath a couple of inches below my breastbone. He’d have to move it over a bit if he wants it to go through my heart. Why I’m mentally giving him directions, I’ve got no idea.

Then the blade pushes in and I start at the stabbing pain. It’s different to the burns. And then gets worse as he drags the sharp knife downwards in a straight line. He’s cutting deep, I can tell. At first there’s no pain, then blistering agony. His face is creased with concentration as he digs the blade into my side and drags it through my flesh, down and then up. I’m barely aware as he starts cutting again, my brain unable to isolate different areas of pain, and I feel blood welling up and dripping down my skin.

I think I pass out, a slap to my cheek brings me around to a world of pain I could never have imagined.

“Look, bitch. Now I’ve marked you with exactly what you are. Fucking look, will you?”

It’s hard to open my eyes. When I do, it’s to look into a mirror he’s holding up. He’s carved five letters right into my chest, and even backwards I can read the word WHORE. In my semi-faint state I know what he’s done as I watch his handiwork rapidly being disguised by the blood flowing freely. He’s made it so I can never take my clothes off again, in front of anyone.

This must be it. This must be the end to my torture. Even a tormentor as evil as he must be satisfied now. I’m hurting so badly it’s hard to summon up any desire to live.

But I was wrong, it’s not over. He reaches into that bag of implements once again. I’m so weak my head rolls back onto the mattress, almost uncaring of what else he might do. Just kill me now. If by the blood flowing out of my wounds he hasn’t already.

“Tyler.” The word escapes my lips as though on my last breath.

He laughs almost manically. “Just shut up about that fucking brat. He’s no concern of yours anymore.” His hand slaps my pussy. “Fuckin’ dry cunt you always had. You couldn’t even bring anything fuckable to the marriage. Six years of hell, that’s what I went through. When I was lying beside your frigid ass I’d dream up ways to get even with you. And now I’ve got my chance.”

As I’m wondering how on earth he can put it all on me, I feel a stinging and pulling sensation. Fuck! What is that. Jesus! With one last effort, I lift my head to see him with a needle and thread, and he’s using his body to keep my legs wide apart. No! He can’t…

“Nooooo,” I wail out. No, not that. No! Such an invasion worse than anything else he’s done.

He looks up and laughs. “You can lie here and think on the fact I was the last man here. And how I’m ensuring no man can ever go there again.”

Then, with a look of total absorption, he goes back to what he was doing. He’s stitching my labia together. Each time the needle and thread pushes through it causes a sharp tearing. His lips are pursed as he focuses on his task.

And then I’m only able to manage a whimper, my only protest at this final indignity.

At last he’s finished and steps back. “I’ve marked you, made you even uglier than you already are.” He puts his hand on my sore pussy. “You should never have whored yourself out. And now you’ll never be able to anymore.”

Just finish it.

“Right,” he starts conversationally. “Well, it’s been nice catching up. But now I’ve got a boy to deal with. So I’ll be off. This is our final parting, dear wife. We won’t be seeing each other again.” He pauses and his hand touches my face in a parody of a caress. “I would say it’s been nice knowing you, but I don’t want the last thing you hear to be a lie. Goodbye, Alex. And enjoy the rest of your fucking miserable life.”

With that parting shot, he turns.

He’s leaving me? Like this? Lying in agony?

But he lingers for a moment. “You’ll probably bleed out, or die of infection. Or hunger or thirst or the cold. I don’t much care. Just think on your sins, woman. If you’d not left me I wouldn’t have had to go this far. You did this to yourself, it’s all your own fault. If you’d stayed we could have kept up pretences.”

I’m too weak to argue, but I know that he’s wrong. If I’d stayed he’d just have found another method of killing me.

Passing in and out of consciousness, I don’t hear him leave, but in periods of lucidity I hear no sound. Weakly I call out, but he’s gone. I test my restraints, only to find I’m still tied up.

Even if I had the strength, there’s no way to get myself loose. These must be police issue handcuffs, designed so a criminal can’t escape. I’m destined to die a slow painful death, alone with no hope of rescue. And with no way of protecting my son from a monster.

I try to stay conscious and fight off the darkness, but I’m losing too much blood and becoming weaker all the time. My eyes flutter open, and then closed again, and this time, they stay shut. My last waking thought is for my son.

Tyler.