Hillary_Tail of the Dog

Hillary:

Tail of the Dog

Book One

Angel Gelique

Hillary: Tail of the Dog

Angel Gelique

Copyright © 2012 Angel Gelique

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without express, written permission.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidences are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

*******

License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or transferred unless a separate copy has been purchased. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

DEDICATION

This book is lovingly dedicated to…

…my husband Keith, for his undying love and devotion. Thanks for always being there for me and for putting up with me!

…my sister Regina, for always watching over me and for opening my mind to limitless possibilities. You are the best sister ever!

I LOVE YOU BOTH!

PROLOGUE

Hillary was running through a dense forest from a man with blood red eyes. He was getting closer, gaining on her. She could smell his sweat, hear him wheezing. She fought the urge to turn around and see just how close he was. She knew that she had to outrun him; it was her only hope for survival. She ran as fast as she could, pushing branches out of her way as she passed, snapping twigs under her sneakers. She ignored the intense pain assaulting her side. She struggled to catch her own breath as she forged on. Her heart raced. She could feel each powerful beat thumping within her chest.

This can’t be happening
, she thought. Yet, there she was, lost in the forest, running for her life. It was getting chilly and the sun was starting to set. Hillary didn’t know whether she preferred the impending cover of darkness or dreaded it.

Hillary heard the man begin coughing, but it didn’t seem to slow him down. He seemed closer than ever. The pain attacking Hillary’s side was nearly unbearable. She wanted to drop to the ground and just give up, but her will to live propelled her forward. She tripped on a rock and stumbled forward, almost falling to the ground, but at the last moment, found her balance. She continued to run, panting heavily. She knew that she couldn’t run for much longer. For the first time in years, she prayed.

Please God, don’t let him catch me,
she begged in her mind. Tears slid down her cheeks as she began slowing down from exhaustion and intolerable stomach cramps.

“
Please...
” she panted weakly, nearly inaudible.

The man was so close Hillary could feel his body heat threatening to engulf her. The smell of his sweat grew stronger. It was fetid and vile and made her think about the time her eighth grade class took a trip to a swamp to study the ecosystem. They had come upon the decaying half-eaten body of a large rat. Half the class puked up their lunch—boys and girls alike—and even one of the teachers. It was the most disgusting thing Hillary had ever smelled...until now.

Just as Hillary visualized the rotting rat carcass, the man grabbed a hold of her long hair and yanked hard, causing her to fall back upon him. She screamed as he slipped his arm around her neck, putting her in a head lock. She tried to escape his grip but her efforts were futile. She was breathing so heavily she was on the verge of hyperventilating. She threw her head back forcibly, hoping to head-butt the man, hoping to loosen his grip, to no avail. She succeeded only in seeing his face—something she fiercely regretted. He was not a man at all. There was no way this creature could be human.

Hillary struggled within the beast’s arm as it opened its mouth and bit down into her shoulder. Blood gushed down the sides of the beast’s mouth sloppily as he drank Hillary’s blood. Hillary gasped in pain as the beast quenched its thirst. Within seconds that seemed like years to Hillary, the beast drank on noisily. When it had its fill of blood it bit down further to feast on her flesh. Hillary shrieked in pain, praying now for death instead of prolonged life in agony. The beast kept biting off pieces of flesh from her shoulder and upper arm until at last it bit down on her neck, piercing her jugular vein. Hillary’s last thought before dying was that she didn’t kiss her mother goodbye as she hurried off to school that morning.

With a loud gasp, Hillary opened her eyes. Her heart was racing.
Just a dream
, she thought frantically. It had seemed so real, so vivid. Her head was throbbing in pain and her mouth was dry. She started to get out of bed and realized that she could not feel her legs...or arms, for that matter. She was paralyzed. It was then that she became aware of her surroundings. She was not at home in her own bed. Though the lighting was dim, she could see that there was no furniture in the room except the bed that she was on and a table far away at the other end of the room. There was a closed door to her left.

Panic set in and Hillary opened her mouth to scream but quickly shut it. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself and bring her captors to the room. Suddenly, she felt as helpless and terrified as she had moments ago in her dream. She had been so relieved when she awoke to discover that it was only a nightmare. Now the horror was exacerbated by her realization that the nightmare had only just begun.

~1~

Hillary tried to remember how she had gotten to this point. Was the dream actually a memory? She nervously looked over at her left shoulder—the one that the beast of her “dream” had gnashed its teeth into. That’s when Hillary noticed that she was naked. This realization frightened her even more than being held captive.

The fact that there were no signs that her shoulder had been mutilated was of little consolation. It merely proved that the dream she had awakened from was just a nightmare. How she ended up in this cold, dark room remained a mystery. Hillary struggled to remember her last memory and found to her horror that she could not remember who she was, let alone how she ended up in this situation. What was her name? How old was she? Where did she live? Was she a student, as her dream had suggested? Would someone look for her? Would they find her? Would she survive this nightmare? Would she—

Hillary froze. Even her thoughts grew silent as she held her breath. The door opened slowly. Hillary tried again to move—move anything—to try to protect herself before her kidnapper entered. She was still paralyzed, able only to move her head. She could feel the wetness on her cheeks as tears streaked down her face. Her lips trembled as she braced herself for the worst.

A man entered the room. Alone, and seemingly unarmed. He did not look anything like the horrors Hillary had imagined. He wasn’t disfigured. He didn’t have a chainsaw or an axe. He looked...ordinary. He was actually decent-looking, for an older man, Hillary noted. Still, she was afraid. After all, he was her captor. He walked in slowly, looking cautiously at her. He was wearing a striped button-down shirt and a pair of khaki pants. He looked like he belonged in an office somewhere—or maybe teaching a class full of kids.

Why would he take me?
Hillary wondered.

The man cleared his throat as he approached. If Hillary didn’t know better, she would swear that he looked more nervous than she was. Maybe this was his first time kidnapping. Maybe she would be his first victim. Maybe he was having doubts...second thoughts about what he had done. Without thinking, Hillary pleaded with him.

“If you let me go, I won’t tell anyone what you’ve done,” she implored desperately.

“And what is it that you think I’ve done?” the man asked calmly. He had a soothing, deep voice. He didn’t sound threatening at all.

“You kidnapped me,” Hillary replied quietly, barely over a whisper, as if she didn’t want to acknowledge how bad the situation was.

The man did not respond. He reached out and took her hand in his. Though Hillary could not feel it at all, she could see her hand rise as he gripped it and lifted it up. She wished more than anything that she could grab her hand away from him. The fact that she could not move anything disturbed her almost more than the things she imagined this man might do to her. Even if she were to be rescued, she did not want to spend her life as a quadriplegic. She almost wished that he would just kill her. Let him do whatever he wanted, she wouldn’t feel it anyway. Yet, seeing him holding up her hand not only troubled her, it
angered
her.

“Get off me!” she yelled, surprising herself.

It further surprised her that the man actually obliged. He set her hand down gently upon the bed.

“Who are you?” she yelled.

“It doesn’t matter who I am. Who are you?” he asked softly.

“I—I don’t know. I can’t remember. Why did you bring me here? Where am I?” Hillary lost her edge and resumed her role as the victim. She thought about all of the emotions she had felt in the short time since she awoke—terror, despair, anger, sadness, confusion, desperation....

The man did not answer. He walked over to the far end of the room and picked up a notebook that was on the table. He began writing something.

“
Please
,” Hillary begged, “will you please let me go?”

The man walked over to Hillary.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked.

What
? Hillary thought.
Is he serious
? The anger that had dissipated just moments ago returned with such force that it made Hillary’s head throb even harder.

“How do you think I’m feeling?” she yelled. “I can’t move and I just want to go home.”

“Well, where do you live?” the man asked.

Hillary searched her mind for the answer. She had no idea who she was, where she lived, who her parents were. She just had vague feelings that she was
someone’s
daughter, from
somewhere
.

Her heart raced as her frustration level multiplied.

“You did this to me. What did you do to me?” Hillary demanded.

“You can’t move anything?” the man asked as he cautiously approached her again and lifted up her left leg.

“Get off me!” Hillary shouted, feeling angry, embarrassed and degraded all at once. She became acutely aware of her nakedness and longed more than anything to cover up.
What kind of a sick man would stand there in front of a naked girl, taking notes and asking stupid questions?

The man let her leg fall to the bed. He seemed satisfied that she was being truthful about her paralysis.

“Can you get me a sheet, a blanket, anything? Can’t you at least cover me up?” she sobbed, unable to contain her emotions.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” the man said.

“When they find you, I hope they rip off your balls, you sick freak,” she screamed furiously.