Innocence Taken (4 page)

Breathing became difficult. She fought. She thrashed. She hit. The hands squeezed tighter. He pushed his penis in deeper. He closed his eyes and held on to her throat tight while he pumped her. She gasped for air. The man lost all sense of time. With a cry of release, he filled her with his sperm. When he opened his eyes, he saw hers staring into nothing. He never knew exactly when she had died.

Getting off her, he knelt at her side. He felt the tears as they rolled down his cheeks. He cried—cried for the girl, cried for his loss, but most of all, he cried for the next girl he would meet.

When he finished, he buried the girl in a hole dug especially for her. She lay next to seven others. All of them his past loves. All of them young girls. All of them missed dearly by their families.

He covered the soil with some of the dry leaves, to hide the girl's resting spot, and to keep her warm. He felt she deserved that much for all the pleasure she had given him. He returned to the cabin, dressed in the same clothes he had worn a little over three weeks ago, packed the knapsack, and pulled the door closed behind him when he left. A plain brown van pulled onto the blacktop five hours later.

Nature Kranderson bolted upright from her resting position. She looked around, bewildered. It took her a minute to get her bearings and to realize she was not in a wooded area, but in her own study. Four people sat in the room with her. Two were the people who hired her, one was her secretary and trusted friend, the last was the local sheriff. The sheriff did not look pleased.

"How long was I out?"

Sheriff Westerly replied, “Six hours."

"Did you see anything?"

The woman asking the questions was in her mid forties. Gray streaks ran through her brunette hair. She was beautiful. The man next to her remained silent. He must have been a body builder at one time. His upper half still rippled but his waist rolled over his pants, probably from too much beer on football nights with the boys..

"Liz—give her a minute. She just came around."

"Our daughter may not have a minute!"

"It's been almost four weeks."

"What difference does that make? She could still be alive. I know she is—I can feel it.” She stared at her husband, holding the front of his shirt tight in her clenched fists. “I can feel it!"

"Calm down, baby. Getting all upset doesn't make the situation any better."

Nature watched as Mark Mosby, her client, pulled his wife close. He looked at her with pleading eyes. Nature kept her expression blank. She knew what had happened to their daughter. She had seen it in her vision, her gift, her nightmare. She was a psychic.

She did not want to be the one to tell them, but knew she must. They needed closure. She gripped the teddy bear tighter against her body. It had been the daughter's favorite toy. Even at eighteen, she still slept with it..

Someone moved toward her. A cup came into sight. A dark brown liquid filled it.. The smell of tea wafted to her nose. She looked up to see her secretary standing there.

"Thought you might need this after such a long session."

Nature took the cup, wrapped her stiff fingers around it, and sipped at the contents. It helped warm the cold emptiness she felt inside.

"You always know how to take care of me, don't you?"

"I have to. You don't seem to know how to do it yourself. You need my help."

She tipped the cup at the young woman, “Help appreciated."

Sandy Nemoy was in her late twenties. She could have been a super model in New York, with her long slender legs, dynamite body, and flowing mane of blonde hair, but chose to be a secretary instead. Nature had asked her about it once. Sandy only laughed. She said she did not want to be stereotypical. Besides, she liked being a secretary, especially to Nature. It was exciting.

Sandy returned to her chair, crossed one leg over the other, and waited. Nature saw Sheriff Westerly eye those legs with appreciation. He noticed Nature looking at him and looked away, blushing. He may be in his fifties, but he was still a man after all.

The Mosby's shifted on the couch, bringing her attention back to the current situation.. They were waiting for some word on their lost daughter. She had not come home from school and a missing person report was filed with the local police. Search parties combed the neighborhood and surrounding areas. They found nothing. After just over two weeks without any leads, the police moved on to other more pressing cases. Cases involving murder, shootings, and death. Unwilling to follow their example, they hounded the officers, friends, neighbors, and anyone they met, without results. That was why they were here now. Nature was their last option, their last hope.

Sandy had taken the desperate call on Wednesday. By Friday, they had the money for the fee and the airfare to come to Montana. They were staying in the guest cottage on her property. It was the only building Nature refused to enter. The feelings emanating from it were too much for her to handle. Too much sadness, too much anger, too much loss.

"Mrs. Kranderson...?” Mark Mosby said.

Nature drew in a deep breath. She held it only a second before releasing it, the built up tension eased somewhat by it. This was going to be rough. She set the cup of tea on the end table.

"Mr. Mosby ... Mrs. Mosby...” She nodded her head to each. “I'm afraid your daughter is dead."

"What?” Mrs. Mosby asked, her face covered with disbelief, “That can't be right, I can feel her ... she's alive.... she's alive I tell you."

Mr. Mosby stared at Nature. He asked in a voice barely above a whisper, “Are you sure?"

"Yes.” Nature looked at the wife, “She was late and didn't want you to get mad at her. She was taken from a shortcut through the woods behind the school."

Mrs. Mosby's mouth hung open, her hands clenched into fists before it, hiding it..

"Did you see who took her? Did she know who the person was?” Mr. Mosby asked all the questions. His wife was too stunned to speak.

"I couldn't see him. I could only feel the evil within. And your daughter didn't know him.."

"Do you know where she is?"

"She's close to some mountains, somewhere not frequented by many, somewhere in a forest.. I don't know which mountains. But I do sense they are toward the east."

Mrs. Mosby bolted from her seat. She ran to Nature before anyone could stop her. Grabbing her exposed hand, she pleaded, “You're wrong. You're wrong! Rew can't be dead, she can't be!"

Nature jerked her hand back, trying to free it. Liz wrapped her other hand around the wrist. Desperation and despair made the woman's grip strong, too strong to break free. She felt the woman's sorrow, her grief. She experienced her pain as if a knife had been plunged into her back. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her heart felt like it was going to rip out of her chest. Her world disappeared into a shroud of blackness. She started to scream.

"Liz! Let go NOW!"

Suddenly, the hands holding her were gone. The feeling from them remained. Nature heard Mr. Mosby shouting. She heard Sheriff Westerly, Web, shouting. She heard Mrs. Mosby crying. She kept her eyes closed tight. She was trying to work the horrible feelings out. Her body had had too much and wanted to withdraw. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she was able to bring herself under control.

"Don't ever do that again,” Westerly growled.

"She couldn't help it. Rew is our only child; the news hit her hard. How would you feel if you just found out your daughter was dead."

Nature opened her eyes and surveyed the situation. Sheriff Westerly stood in front of the couple, hands resting on his gun belt, legs shoulder-width apart, a cold look locked onto his face. The Mosby's were seated again. Mr. Mosby had his wife wrapped in his arms, rocking her back and forth. Sandy had remained in her chair. She knew the man with the gun could handle things. She had witnessed this kind of outburst before.

"I'm so sorry,” Nature started, “You can stay in the cottage as long as you need.” She rose to her feet, wobbled a bit, then grabbed onto the furniture as she made her way to the double doors which lead to the rest of the house.

Sandy rose to her feet but did not help. Nature would not want it. She was very independent and would be insulted by the gesture. Westerly remained in front of the Mosby's, preventing them from following. The rest of the house was off-limits to outsiders.

Nature made it to the hall, shut the doors behind her, and leaned back against them. She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears. Every nerve was raw. She needed a scalding hot shower. She turned and stumbled her way up the stairs to the second floor.

Her house was located in a remote section of Montana. She had it specially built, and then sterilized before moving in. It could be considered a mansion to some, but she considered it home. She owned 375 acres, allowing her to be away from the crowds and the unwanted feelings associated with them. Her property skirted the Charles M.. Russell National Wildlife Refuge.

At the top of the stairs, a hall went right and left. To the right were the bedrooms. There were two in use at present. One was hers; Sandy used the other. Sandy was the only other person allowed on this level.. The woman had great control over her emotions. Moreover, she touched as little as possible. To the left were more rooms, including her office. She loved her office. It was full of soft oversized chairs and a huge mahogany desk littered with her papers.

She turned right. Upon entering her room, she locked the door. She did not want company right now. Peeling off her clothes as she walked, she made her way to the large bathroom. A modern walk-in shower stood in one corner, an old-fashioned porcelain tub next to it. She slid the door open to the shower, reached in, and turned the hot water knob several times. The water rushed out. Gradually she mixed the cold water in, but only enough to keep from scalding her when she entered.

She moved to the built-in radio/CD player located on the wall near the doorway. Pushing play, the blaring sounds of
Nightwish
echoed throughout the room. She turned up the volume and returned to the shower. The infectious beat of an electric guitar caused her to dance into the hot water. It hit her skin, turning it beet red. Losing herself to the words about wishing to have an angel, she opened her arms wide and leaned back under the spray. She began to spin slowly. The hot water helped wash away the feelings of the girl, her mother, the tension.

Classical instruments blended with the sounds of heavy metal. She could feel the bass vibrate through the floor, the wall, her soul. As the music intensified, so did her dancing. She threw her mid length brown hair forward then back, like a major rocker during a concert. When the music changed to a melancholy one about a trail of tears, her own tears followed suit. The feelings washed away rushed back with a vengeance. She slid down the wet wall and curled into a small ball. The water pounded her. It hit and hit and hit, just like the rod. She threw her head back and screamed.

Downstairs, Sandy sat in her chair. She watched as the Sheriff and the Mosby's left through the side door. She heard the music start afterwards. She felt the bass as it vibrated through the house. Now, sipping her coffee, she sat quietly as she listened to the screams.

The first time had scared the shit out of her.. She remembered running up the stairs and pounding on the locked bedroom door. The screams continued. Sandy yelled to be let in. Nothing happened. The sound of running water continued. Just when she was about to smash the doorknob off with a hammer she had found in the garage, the door opened.

Nature stood in the entranceway, wet hair hanging in her face, dripping on the hardwood floor, a towel wrapped around her medium sized body. Sandy had rushed forward to comfort her, but the other woman backed away. She remembered being asked to wait downstairs in the study. She remembered going down and waiting for what seemed like hours. When Nature appeared, she was calm. Her hair was still wet but it lay neatly across her shoulders and back. The redness of crying was gone.

They talked far into the night about what was expected and how Sandy could help. Seven years and many sessions later, Sandy continued to do what was expected and help the woman who was not only her boss, but her friend as well.

Sandy decided to have a bite to eat. She had not eaten since before the session with the Mosby's and her stomach was growling at her. She left the study, making her way to the kitchen. All the fixings for a ham and cheese sandwich littered the counter when Nature finally joined her.

"Feeling better?” Sandy asked as she continued to spread the mayonnaise across the slice of whole wheat bread.

"Some."

"That was a bad one, wasn't it?"

A moments silence filled the room.

"Yes."

The word was barely above a whisper. Sandy paused, the knife hovering above the bread. She looked at her boss. Nature's head leaned forward, preventing the secretary from seeing her face. She knew this case was different. She also knew Nature would talk about it when she was ready. The knife resumed its back and forth motion. Upon completion, she handed the sandwich to Nature.

"I'm not hungry."

"If you don't eat, I'll have to shove a garden hose down your nose and feed you that way—you want that?"

Nature smiled. It was the only smile so far today. “Sandy, you are a blessing in disguise."

She took the offered sandwich and bit into it. The savory taste of smoked ham and yellow American cheese teased her palate. It was wonderful. It was the first thing she had eaten all day. Sandy plopped an open bag of Lays potato chips on the counter between them, pulled one out, and tossed it into her mouth.

"Why does something that's supposed to be so bad for you have to taste so heavenly?"

"It's only bad if you eat too much.” Nature grabbed a chip and tossed it in with her partially chewed bite of sandwich. She smiled and her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

Sandy couldn't help it, she did the same thing. Both women enjoyed playing with their food. It helped pass the time and made sure one was fed, regardless of whether she wanted to eat or not. When the sandwiches were gone, Sandy hooked her arm in Nature's, making sure not to touch any exposed skin, and led her into the other study.