SadisticExcess

Editor’s note: Contains non-con. Simply put, if this series continues, it will be quite ugly in places. If it goes as I hope it will, it will be a story of ends, not means - and unapologetic for its tone. Stories change as they develop so we’ll see.

Thank you, N. You always manage to inspire me.

Introduction:

Day 17: Lunch
W/Sara, laughed freq. Tppd waitr 20%. Cell phn clls, 3u. Body lang sggsts ex.
Likes prawns.

I closed the book and sat quietly as she gathered her purse, collecting with it her keys and the small tube of lipstick she always applied after eating. I glanced down at the table cloth as she passed, not wishing for her to see my gaze, the pure possessiveness of it that had no business being there.

This endeavor has cost me only two months of well-earned vacation time, and only 19 days of it has passed thus far, more than enough time to learn her habits anew. I don’t select my victims randomly and even the word victim is misleading. She was my target, my…project for the next several weeks.

I glanced out of the corner of my eye and watched as she turned the corner and began her walk back to the office, her friend Sara, a co-worker, accompanied her. I pushed the handle of the coffee mug around slowly as my thoughts began to gel.

I picked up the phone.

‘Yes, tonight. Let’s see if she remembers me.’

*** *** *** ***

He took a drag from his cigarette before flicking it into the street, exhaling in a cloud that felt deliciously good, even as a jogger let out a protesting noise. Sometimes a cigarette was worth overlooking the image lung cancer and ignoring the flavor it left in your mouth. He left what remained of the pack sitting on the roof of his car and moved closer to the curb.

‘Boss?’ He waived absently to the two men behind him who failed in any effort to blend into the scenery of New York. It was, he supposed, the reason it worked. This city was filled with oddities, people that don’t belong, things that don’t belong - like the glass pyramid some guy built in Paris - seemingly to give the French the finger for a few hundred, perhaps thousand, years.

He glanced impatiently at his watch and noted that she was late for her jog. ‘Don’t let this be the day you decide to sit on your ass.’ he mumbled to himself, impatience growing in him. He had a wife to get back too, kids that would, no doubt, be screaming for attention. This was the first in a long list of jobs he had to complete tonight and he wasn’t going to fuck this one up.

His hand pushed against the fat cylinder of rolled bills that rested in his pocket and he wrapped his fingers around it. This, this money would make sure those kids got food, his wife got her hair done every Friday and he got to sit in his chair once in a while and watch football without one of them bitching. The new Giants season looked promising.

He waited and nodded his head as she emerged from the building, quickly gesturing to the other men who looked and then followed after the woman. He grabbed the keys from his trouser pocket and walked calmly back to the car. Lighting another cigarette, he dialed a phone number.

‘We got her. Be there in a hour.’

*** *** *** *** ***
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking to clear the haze that clouded her vision. Her head hurt, the blood moving in her temples felt thick, heavy. She turned her head from the pillow and stared out into the room as it came into focus. Her mind couldn’t make sense of what she saw, trying hazily as it was to piece it into some known setting, some place in her memory.

She tried to move her hand but it felt pinned somehow and as she pulled harder she realized she was restrained. Alarm and memory jolted her and she moaned against the swath of duct tape that covered her mouth even as she struggled to pull herself into a somewhat less compromising position. Her feet found the edge of the bed and she rolled her body until she could sit up, her arms bound tightly behind her, her knees laced together from the tops of her knees down.

The men had asked her for directions. It is really all she pull together from her fractured memory before waking up here. Her head throbbed with the effort it took to remain calm and still acknowledge that she was in this place. She glanced out the window and saw nothing but sky and the outline of her own pitiful reflection. It was late, very late, and she wiggled but couldn’t make out any skyline, any clue that would help her identify her location.

She scanned the room, it wasn’t lit with the exception of the small lamp beside the bed, and she wasn’t eager to explore the less illuminated areas. She felt the beginning of panic start to seep into her stomach as she scanned further, feeling a wave of relief wash through her as she saw the phone sitting on the bar only 20 feet away.

Her arms moved in tandem behind her and she realized the ridiculousness of the situation. How could she dial? She was fairly certain her legs were meant to remain bent at this angle. She doubted that even standing would be possible.

She heard voices coming down the hallway but when the door opened she was still, laying against the bed, her eyes closed, her breathing suggestive of a still pleasant dream. She felt one corner of the bed sink and resisted the urge to open her eyes.

‘Your breathing gives you away, not to mention the camera that has been watching you the last 10 minutes.’

Her eyes flashed open and her gaze fell upon him. A sob erupted from her as his face triggered memories distanced, but not forgotten.

There was one thing she knew now. She wasn’t going anywhere.