Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) (16 page)

Behind her, more yelling.

“Sugar!”

Oh God, he’s getting closer.

Redoubling her efforts, ducking through pine boughs and over clumps of brush, she flew through the woods toward the water. It grew closer, and she could even see a few fishing boats in the distance.

If only she could get their attention.

She broke into the clearing where the shore met water, felt the hot sun on her skin, and began to scream, waving her arms. She pounded across the dock, past the rowboat, and at the end, she braced her legs and dove into the cool blue water. When she broke into the air, she heard his footfalls pounding along the pier.

 I made it.

Giggling hysterically inside, she threw arm over arm and stroked away from him. Away from the cabin. The humiliation. The fear.

Use your fear. Move!

Go, go, go!

The voices in her head encouraged her as if she were in a race and they were cheering alongside her route. She focused on breathing and swimming, and tried to ignore the sound of a small motor starting up.

No!

Harder now, she threw her arms far and wide, long, powerful strokes, surely enough to distance her from her monster.

“Sugar!”

His voice sounded impossibly closer, and she dared to turn to see the boat chugging up behind her. Why was the shore so close? Why hadn’t she made more progress?

Oh, please, God. Please don’t let him catch me.

Laughing, he moved the craft up beside her.

She glanced sideways. “No!” Screaming, she treaded water and yelled for help as loud as she could.

The engine puttered softly, and he simply watched her struggle. A huge smile bloomed across his ugly face. “Time to come home now, sugar.”

“No!” She screamed again, tiring suddenly, feeling as if she couldn’t move another foot in the water.

“They can’t hear you. They’re too far away,” he said, as if to a child.

She considered letting herself sink to the bottom. Wouldn’t that be better than facing him again?

NO.

Next time, she would have to incapacitate him. Knock him out.

Kill him.

Next time.

Her mind let go, and when he caught her around the neck with the fishing gaff, she barely struggled.

“There you go,” he said, as if he were drying a wet puppy after a rainstorm. He hauled her into the boat and turned the boat around, churning back to the cabin.

She lay on the floor of the wooden craft, soaking wet and exhausted.

“Now, sugar.” His metallic voice rasped, even more pronounced out here on the lake. “You’re gonna have to learn some manners. That was very rude. Trying to leave me after all I did for you.”

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

Next time.

 Chapter 36

W
hen they reached the shore again, she’d regained some strength, and one more time, she tried screaming.

“Help! Anybody? Please, help me!”

She twisted away from him and started toward the woods, but this time he caught her in seconds, pouncing on her from behind. His heavy body slammed her to the moist sand.

“Now, stop that, sugar. There’s no hope for you. Nobody can hear you.”

Anger built inside her, billowing into a volcanic head of emotion. “Stop it! Get off me. And stop calling me sugar! My name is Portia.” She curled sideways and hammered at him, hands slamming his face and feet kicking his knees. “I don’t even know your name, you big, filthy monster.” Sobbing, she tried yelling again, but could barely hear her own voice. “Help!”

“Now, stop that. You know the drill. I’m bringing you back inside.” He grabbed her hair and began to drag her like a caveman to his stony enclave.

Twisting and turning, she grabbed his wrist to lessen the force on her scalp. “No!”

He kept right on, as if she were nothing more than a rabbit he’d shot in the woods. Just bringing home dinner on a quiet Sunday afternoon.

“Stop!” she screamed again, louder this time. “I don’t want to be locked up anymore.”

“Oh, you’ll be locked up, all right. Tighter ‘n a titmouse’s tree house. I’m tying you to the damned bed again.” He sneered over his shoulder, still dragging her toward the cabin.

“Please…” she whimpered. “I’ll do anything. Just let me go.”

With an irritated groan, he jerked her hard. “You stop. You crazy bitch. You’re my woman, and you belong in the house with me. End. Of. Story.”

The filter on her mouth didn’t work anymore. And she didn’t care. Still struggling, pulling away and yanking his wrists, she yelled at him. “I’m not your woman! And what about all the others? Do you have more out there, wherever the hell you disappeared to last week? Are they nurses, too? Do they sing lullabies to you?”

Now she’d done it.

He turned, his face dark red. “Shut up,” he growled. With a shout, he punched the side of her head. “Just shut the fuck up.”

She saw stars, and suddenly her arms and legs went all floppy. She knew she’d pissed him off this time. But she didn’t care. It had felt good to yell at him. And damn the consequences.

Barely aware of what was happening, her ears ringing and eyes unfocused, she realized he’d picked her up and slung her over his shoulder.

I don’t care anymore. Give me your best shot.

He must’ve hit her pretty damned hard, because when he reached the porch, she felt the hamburger and fries rolling in her stomach.

Screw you.

With a hysterical laugh, she promptly threw up on him.

“Mother of God!” He dumped her on the porch, kicking her away from him. “Look what you did, you filthy bitch!”

Out of bleary eyes, she saw him peel off his shirt and hurl it toward the woods. “Get inside!” He had lost all control, and his face screwed up with fury. “I’m gonna kill you!”

She couldn’t move, her legs and stomach hurt so badly from being kicked. Curling on her stomach, she whispered, “Can’t.”

“You’d better move it, girlie. Get up!”

Another kick, this time to her hip.

“Get up! Get up! Get up!”

Three more kicks, timed with his words, and now she felt the blackness descending. Sweet oblivion filled her mind, and she drifted off to a place where no one could hurt her anymore.

Chapter 37

S
he woke feeling cold and shivery, coughing and spitting water. Naked, she lay on her back in the bathtub. The shower relentlessly rained frigid water onto her.

“Well, look who’s awake,” he chuckled, looming over her, big and dark and sinister. “You ready for your punishment?”

She sputtered some more, turning her head sideways and trying to get up. “Enough. Please. Let me up.”

He shoved her back with one massive hand. “No. You stay there until I say you can get up.”

She woke fully, and wanted to leap at the monster, tear at his eyes, kick him where it counts. She wanted to rake her nails over his body and scratch him to death.

But he was stronger than she was. At least right now. She had to act smart. Play the part again. Get him to lower his defenses, and then she’d do what she had to when the time came. Which had better be soon, or she’d go stark raving mad.

Like a docile dog, she relaxed and lay there, curling onto her side.

Try to conserve your energy.

If you don’t fight him, he’ll have nothing to push against.

She controlled the whimper that threatened to rush from her lips, pressing them tightly together.

You can do this.

Shivering hard, she lay as still as possible, then said in a meek voice, “I’m sorry.”

He leered over the tub, his eyes focusing on her bare skin. “What’s that you said?”

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t look at him. Didn’t move.

“Okay.” He turned off the water. “Now, dry off, put these on, and get on the bed.”

He watched her every move. The wet uniform she’d worn into Devil’s Lake hung on the towel rack, still dripping onto a rag on the floor. It occurred to her that it couldn’t have been too long since her failed escape attempt. The dress was still soaked. Maybe only a few minutes?

With her back to him, she pulled on the underwear he’d laid out for her. All that lay on the chair was a white nurse’s cap, a dry one from his collection. She towel-dried her hair and combed it with her fingers, then pinned the hat to her damp hair, and covered her breasts with folded arms.

“Nice,” he said, eyeing her body.  “I like this look on you.” He reached up, pulled her arms away. “And aren’t you just a perfect little specimen of womanhood. My, my.”

She left her arms at her side, much as they wanted to spring up again to hide herself from his lustful gaze. She stayed as calm as possible, remembering that he’d never forced himself on her. He’d always stopped when he got too close.

This time, however, he seemed bolder. He reached up and caressed one breast, circling it. “Very pretty.” He leaned forward and kissed it.

NO!
It took every ounce of her strength not to resist, not to turn away. Oh, how she wanted to slug him, to wipe that horrid smile off his face.

Get your slimy hands off me.  

Her brain screamed the words, but she didn’t move.

“On the bed,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Now.” His arm shot out and pointed.

She realized she hadn’t moved, then hurried—still shivering—to the mattress. “I’m cold,” she said, hoping he’d give her more clothing.

“Too bad,” he sneered. “Hey, want me to warm you up?” He crawled after her to the bed, fastening her wrists with the ropes he’d used on the first day of her capture. “Hold still, damn you.”

 She knew, once again, that she’d been struggling involuntarily. Forcing herself to relax, she let him restrain her. “Please. Can I have a blanket? I’m really sorry.”

“How sorry are you, sugar? Somehow, I don’t believe you anymore. You’ve lost all credibility, girlie.”

“I just lost it back there. I was so lonely when you were gone. It was awful. It made me crazy, I think.”

He stopped and looked at her. “Really?” A broad smile crept over his lips. “Good. Maybe you’ll appreciate me more now.”

“I do. But I need to ask you a question.”

He lay near her and leaned over her breasts, tracing his fingers across both nipples. “What’s that, sugar?”

“What’s your name? You never told me.”

Surprised, he dropped his hand and locked eyes with her. “Really? You want to know my name?”

“Uh-huh.” She didn’t exactly flutter her eyes at him, but it was close. “I do.”

He sat back, thinking out loud. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt. You can call me Murphy.”

“Murphy?” she echoed. “That's nice. Is that your first or last name?”

Wrong tact.

His face darkened and red crept onto his ears. “Why do you need to know that, for crying out loud.”

She tried to back peddle. “Oh, no reason. I was just curious. Murphy’s good. I’ll call you that if I may.”

He nodded, brought his hand back to her breasts. “Okay. Now hold still.”

She closed her eyes while he kneaded her flesh. The sound of his zipper being opened made her wince inside, but she lay perfectly still, ignoring the sounds of his hand sliding over his flesh.

Stay where you are, please don’t come closer.

She summoned songs in her head, trying to block out his moans. The Beatles, first album. Yes. There they were, singing “Please, Please Me” to her. She brought up the voices of Paul and John, and focused on them.

It was working.

Murphy’s sounds were gone and she sat in an auditorium, watching the band performing their first hits on The Ed Sullivan Show. Her mother had been a huge fan, and she had grown up on all the sixties music Mom loved. Each record was scribed in her brain.

“Love Me Do” rang through her brain, and she heard John’s harmonica wailing throughout the hall. She imagined herself jumping in the air, screaming for Paul, her favorite. He winked at her, and her heart swelled.

Keep it up. This is a good fantasy.

She added bits and pieces to the vision, including the smell of her mother’s perfume she imagined pinching just before she got ready for the show. She pictured herself in an old-fashioned getup, with a woolen skirt and sweater, a pink headband, with her hair in bangs.

When she got to “P.S. I Love You,” the soft haunting sound of Paul’s voice made her cry inside. She pictured tears of joy and yearning streaming down her cheeks, her heart melted, wanting someone to love so badly.

“Hey. Why are you crying?”

He shook her roughly, and she pulled herself out of the reverie, opening her eyes. “I’m not…” But she touched her cheeks and realized the tears had been real. Her cheeks were soaked. “I…I don’t know.”

“Listen. I’m treating you good. You need to behave, okay?”

She glanced over. Thank God he’d zipped up. She didn’t want to see
that
. “I don’t know. I think I’m just tired. Or hungry.” Maybe if she mentioned food, he’d want her to start cooking. It had worked before.

“Huh. Okay. Well, you’ll have to wait for your outfit to dry.”

“Couldn’t I wear my old clothes? Just for now?”

He glanced sideways at her and curled his lip. “They’re disgusting. But if you want for now. I guess.”

Hmm. Sex made him more mellow. That was a good thing to remember.

“Thanks.” She lifted her wrists. “Can you please untie me?”

He did as she asked and she scrambled to the closet, where her jeans and tee shirt lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t thrown them out. Thank God.

Even though they didn’t smell really fresh, they felt so good to her. She actually smiled and turned to him. “Hungry?”

He got up, grunted, and went into the living room to stare at the pegboard. “Yeah.”

She went through the food he’d bought, picked out some ingredients, and went back to her obsequious role. “How about chicken tonight, Murphy?”