11:59 p.m.
Deana had done exactly as he told her. No matter that she had wanted to run screaming into the night. He’d placed a cloth bag over her head, and then he’d taped her hands together behind her back. They had walked for a few yards in what felt like grass before reaching steps. After climbing the steps, the boards of an old porch had creaked as they crossed it. Then the hinges of a screen door had whined as he’d opened it. They’d walked through a room with old-fashioned linoleum on the floor. The floor was the only thing she could see beyond the bag if she looked down just right. As he led her forward the floor turned to wood. Not the kind of wood like her parents had in their home. This was old wood. The kind found in ancient houses. He’d sat her down in what felt like a chair and then he’d fastened her legs to it.
It took her a minute after he’d fastened her to the chair but she began to realize that he was no longer in the room. Deana tried to be strong. She really tried to think what to do. Instead, she fell apart. She moaned and sobbed when she should have been trying to get free. How could she free herself? Her arms and legs were bound and her face was covered. That was the moment when she surrendered. Urine seeped from her bladder, trickling between her thighs.
She was going to die. She should have known he would never let her go.
“Now.”
He was back. Her breath caught.
He removed the bag and studied her. “Let’s see what we can do.”
Deana blinked. The man didn’t wear a mask now. Instead he wore a shoulder-length blond wig. She stared, startled by his face. His cheeks were as red as a clown’s. Heavy eyeliner and mascara made his eyes appear huge. Bloodred lipstick was smeared on his lips. The blue dress he wore was formfitting. He’d shaved his legs and arms and maybe his chest. If not for his voice and the Adam’s apple she would not have guessed he was a man.
“What do you want from me?” she cried. She just wanted to go home. She was getting married. She didn’t want to die.
He sighed. “I’m thinking brunette.” He reached into the box that sat next to her chair and drew out a dark wig. He tugged it onto her head, then swept the bangs out of her eyes. “Perfect.”
Shock held her still as he painted her eyes and lips. He dusted her cheeks with blush. She stared blankly at him. He was insane. Completely insane and she was going to die.
He pulled a skirt from the box and pulled at the stretchy waistband. “This should work.” He turned his attention to her. He picked up a big knife from the counter and waved it at her. “I’m going to cut your legs loose. I want you to remove your jeans and put on this skirt. You give me any trouble and I’ll slit your throat right now.”
Tears blurring her vision, Deana did as he asked. She sat perfectly still while he cut through the tape binding her ankles. She stood and let him unfasten her jeans and drag them down. She lifted first one foot and then the other. When he threw the jeans aside she ran.
Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! She had to get out of this place!
He caught her halfway across the kitchen. The cold blade of the knife pressed against her throat, stinging her as it sliced shallowly into her skin. She screamed deep in her throat. The sharp bite of the blade and the feel of the warm blood dripping down her throat sent terror roaring through her. Oh God. Oh God. She did not want to die.
“Be a good girl now and put on the blouse.”
She held stone still while he cut her wrists free. He handed her the blouse and she tried to figure out how to pull it over her head without messing up the wig. The blouse looked too small. Please let it fit. She had no idea what he would do if it didn’t.
“Do not mess up your makeup,” he warned, those red lips flattening into a thin line.
Somehow she managed to get the blouse on. The only thing that saved her was that the scooped neck was so low it made for a wide opening to poke her head through. The damned blouse was skintight. The waistband of the bell-shaped skirt cut into her gut. She felt like an apple shoved into a deflated balloon. She couldn’t breathe.
He pointed to the black pumps on the floor and she stepped into them, twisting her ankle in the process. She never wore high heels like this. She couldn’t possibly walk in them. Her heart pounded so fast she felt as if it would burst out of her chest.
“Spread your legs.”
Fear closed her throat.
“Spread your legs,” he repeated.
She inched her feet wide apart. Her lips trembled with the need to cry. “Please.”
He reached into the box once more and brought out a leather belt. Attached to the belt was a large pink dildo. A cry squeaked out of her. Holding the knife by its hilt in his mouth, he pulled up her skirt and strapped the belt around her waist, leaving the dildo up front like she had sprouted a huge penis. Unable to move, Deana stood with her legs spread, the skirt hiked up and the big pink penis thrust out in front of her.
She closed her eyes and prayed hard. Please, please, God. I don’t want to die like this.
A ripping sound forced her eyes open. He’d torn off a piece of duct tape. He was going to bind her arms and legs again. She stood frozen while he reached between her legs and taped the dildo to her thigh.
“Now.” He pointed to the tray waiting on the long dining table. “You may serve the tea.”
She looked from the tarnished silver tea service up to the chandelier. It was massive and very ornate. Light reflected and twinkled from the hundreds of crystals draped on its numerous arms, the light rained over the table and the tea service like shiny raindrops. Where was she? Why was he doing this?
“Serve the tea!” he shouted.
Deana jumped. She somehow managed to walk to the table. Her hands shook, making the lid of the teapot rattle as she poured the tea. When he sat, she sat. She followed his lead and sipped her tea. She tried so hard not to allow the cup and saucer to rattle or to make a face at the bitter taste.
When she had finished the tea, she sat the cup and saucer aside. She lifted her gaze to his. He was never going to let her go. She was going to die. She saw it in his eyes.
“Come along.” He stood and held out his hand, his grotesquely painted mouth smiling.
She moistened her lips, wished she could swallow. Her heart was in her throat. “Where are we going?”
He winked. “To give her what she deserves.”