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English
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Part 1 of The Black Phone
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2022-07-03
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2022-10-15
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16/16
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Dark But Just A Game

Summary:

Denver, 1977— A young woman struggles to support her two younger brothers on her own, and with the ever-rising disappearances of young boys all over the suburban area, she grows desperate trying to keep them safe. Over the summer, she becomes entangled with a much older man who has captured her attention. He only grows closer to her at all costs. However, when she discovers his true motive, it becomes all too clear that he is the one responsible for such a parade of death.

-

"𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒"
𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛'𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒
𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦

Notes:

The female character I've written here is a self-insert. This is more or less me writing out what I'd do specifically in certain situations, while with other scenarios here, I've added to enhance the plot. My self-insert is an adult, but she has two younger brothers that are canonical ages to the victims in the story.

For those who have dealt with traumatic experiences or references, look elsewhere and avoid this work. I am writing this in the vein of the story, which obviously contains some graphic situations. Please note that I do NOT endorse any violence or degenerate behavior, et cetera. What is written is merely for the storyline.

This fanfiction will contain very dark material and is not suitable for all readers.

And please, please understand that this is centered around a FICTIONAL serial killer. Do not come at me with harsh remarks, death threats, or anything in such a rude manner. Again, this is fanfiction. That being said, the characters (aside from my self-insert and her brothers) and the original storyline respectively belong to Joe Hill, Scott Derrickson, C. Robert Cargill and Blumhouse.

P.S: Even though it's never explicitly shown (and thank fuck it wasn’t), I decided to throw in a twist where instead of the Grabber going straight for boys in a sexual manner, he grooms a young woman instead to further his deviancy and to obtain his true goal.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

The knife swept against her breast, leaving a rather sensual cut in the film of her skin. Her nipple grew erect from feeling the cold steel. Her breath hitched inside her throat, and she wondered how much longer she'd still have it. After all, his preferred weapon was something strong, yet delicate. Something that could be hidden, yet wielded quickly. What was going to keep him from hurting her the way he'd hurt the others?

As she stared up at him with her brown eyes full of hateful tears, her jaw clenched and her mouth formed a tight line. She was crying, but she wasn't about to plead for her life. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing simple words fall from her lips. The knife moved over her sternum, then cut deeper. With his weight on top of hers, she couldn't move. One of his hands cupped her mouth, and with his wrought grip tightening down, her jaw couldn't move an inch. She screamed beneath his palm in a muffled cry.

"I didn't want it to have to come to this," he said, his ragged voice growing hoarse. Whether it was from self-hatred or disdain for the situation, she didn't know. But his familiar eyes had grown watery again. As he looked down at her, those blue eyes grew dark. The curves of the mask amplified the features of his eye sockets with dark shadows. As her heart began to race, the pounding of her blood echoed in her ears. As she struggled to stay alert, to stay strong and be aware of his every move, he suddenly growled, but with a broken tone to his voice.

"I just thought that having you here would perhaps make things better, but everything's all fucked up. Nothing's going right. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

The knife trailed towards her pelvis, and as it slipped beneath the elastic of her panties, he lifted it up in the air and merely held it in place. The silver of the blade gleamed in the light, shining as bright as tin. He could also see the sheen of sweat that covered her skin. The tears that fell from his eyes now were full of anger and despair. He removed his hand from her mouth and used it to squeeze her throat tightly. She coughed beneath his grip, and his thumb pressed deep into her jugular. He could choke the life from her if he wanted to. Still, there was something preventing him from finishing her. She wasn't a usual victim. She wasn't an adolescent young male exposed in the open. No, she didn't fit his modus operandi. Perhaps it was because she was perfect, almost too much in the sense that her motherly instinct was her redeeming feature. To see someone so broken and yet so strong made him feel exposed. He hated her for that, but he also admired it. She was everything he couldn't be. She was everything he had wanted from his own mother, who had broken their family with her absence.

Again, Michelina tried to thrash her way out of his hold. He looked away from her once, but then as she tried to knee him, he threw the knife away to the floor and pinned her down with his brute strength. His grip tightened as he held her in place. As he leaned down, he could smell the heat rising from between her legs. He closed his eyes after they rolled over white. With the bottom half of his mask off, he could smell her, he could salivate the moment of nearly tasting her fear. He, the predator, had just smelled a fawn in her hour of frightened heat. The urges that reveled inside him beheld a clawing sensation. Her urge to fight him was understandable. He also understood that her fire was what fueled his desire to rip her open, to cleave her, taste her, and maul her. If he wanted the true prizes, he'd have to go through her. And that he would, but only if she'd play the game like the others.

Chapter 2: It's Hot Tonight

Chapter Text

-May 3rd, 1977-

After a long shift at the drive-in, Michelina managed to tuck her purse into her truck and head off. It hadn't taken her long to go grocery shopping, and within the late hour, she was home again. Once she drove onto her street, she saw little ones riding their bikes. Three were girls, two were boys. It was the fact that they rode so close to curfew that made her feel uneasy. After all, it was now dusk, and that meant the streetlights would light very little despite being aligned along every corner. The sound of the little bells gave her little comfort. Just ride home, babies. Don't stop until you get there.

She pulled her truck into the driveway and parked it right near the house. She hurried out of the driver's side and ran back towards the tailgate. The soft white skin of her thighs was exposed, and the hemline of her shorts rode up the back. She lowered the tailgate and scooped all the bags in her arms. As she leaned over, she felt swear she could feel eyes on her as she walked along. Her feet ached from the roller skates she had been wearing all night, and she was glad to finally walk up the front steps without any shoes on. Her toenails were painted red, same as her fingernails, and with the stark gray of the concrete against the light film of her skin, it seemed like night and day. She appeared as a very attractive woman. Her long ebony hair bounced behind her shoulders as she hurried along, and her breasts jiggled and made a presentable display once she reached the top of her stairs. The boys at the drive-in thought of her as something delicious, and she hated that feeling. Everything about wearing a summer outfit made her feel on edge. As she tried to think of other things, her right hand reached towards the doorknob, and with what strength she had left in the day, she thrust the door open and hurried inside. Once she sat the groceries down on the table, she turned around towards the door and shut it, bolted it and chained it in place. With what was happening all around the suburbs of North Denver, she wasn't about to take any chances. She put everything away in silence. It was a welcomed distraction from everything happening lately. With the heat still making her feel hot and queasy, she took it upon herself to take out a bottle of Coca-Cola from the refrigerator. She popped it open promptly and swigged it down, feeling the cold intensity quench both her thirst and anxieties. Once it was empty, she tossed it into the box of glass. Hearing it shatter reminded her of her mother's vodka bottles. The sound triggered a flashback that made her feel nauseous upon first thought.

"You little bitch, if you don't stop touching my bottles, I'll break your fingers!"

Then it would be a whack across her ass with a leather belt. The sting was sharp and relentless.

"Mom, stop! Please, I'm sorry!"

If it wasn't a spoon, then it was definitely something harder and sturdier. She'd always taken the brute beating from her mother's wrath, and she did everything she could to keep her brothers safe. They didn't understand their mother had an addiction. They didn't understand how she couldn't function without it. Michelina felt obligated and grateful for every beating she took. It had helped shape her into the mother figure her brothers needed. She knew violence was never the answer, but she still felt it was the right thing to do, to take the brutality and protect them at every cost. She could feel the butt of the bottle on her head every once in a while, giving her a sharp pain. Luckily for her brothers, their mother was housed in an institution in Colorado Springs. It seemed only appropriate that she should be the one taken away. There were tears in her eyes, and as she was about to prepare some dinner, the beige phone on her wall began to ring.

She thought nothing of it as she answered. She took the receiver in hand and took a deep breath. The fear began to grow throughout her body. Her nerves were growing cold, and the feeling surged through her system efficiently. Her brothers were at their brother's house, visiting him for the weekend and staying over until Sunday night. It was only Friday, so they still had two days left. However, it wasn't what she was afraid of. She was worried this call would be from the police department. She had seen all the missing posters around town. There were fliers upon fliers shifting aimlessly over the streets. There was a solemn rhythm to her heartbeat then, and as she rose the phone to her ear, she answered it carefully. The words left her breath in a single shudder. "Hello? Rovare residence, Michelina speaking."

"Hey, sweet cheeks," a female voice said. "How's it going down there? Everyone still around?"

"Jesus Christ, Arleen, you scared the hell out of me."

"Well, who the hell did you think it was? Mr. Boogie?" she laughed.

A real flirtatious coquette, the red-haired Arleen Sanderson was a loyal friend more than anything. Through middle-school breakups and slugging rapey prom dates, she'd stuck through thick and thin with Michelina. She also held a dramatic flair for rebellious activity, which more or less always set them up to be arrested at any given time, though of course they never were. Michelina answered without skipping a beat, half-laughing herself. "You're so funny, smartass. What's up?"

"Did you hear about that Hopper kid? They said he got snagged outside of Ellison's in broad daylight. Yes sir, the Grabber snatched that punk up like he was a Twizzler, and nothing to it."

Her eyes went wide at the mention of the kid's last name. She knew the kid Arleen was talking about. He was blonde, moppy-haired, always wore denim and sported a busted set of knuckles. She always imagined him as a mini Robert Plant with the need to beat the shit out of anyone and everything. God, not you too Arleen. I took you for having more brains than these people. Michelina brushed her forehead clean from the sheen of sweat that pooled there. Not only was she still feeling hot, but the topic of their conversation made her feel uneasy. It made her blood boil, and it made her heart seize inside her chest. The thought of any child missing was awful. No parent or sibling should endure the thought of their flesh and blood being away from home, stuck somewhere they couldn't get out. Then she began to think of the blood, of the child screaming to be taken back home. She swallowed hard and teared up more, then responded before Arleen could detect the anxiety in her voice.

"No," she said. "I didn't hear about him. He's an eighth grader or something, right?"

"Ha! Hell if I know. His ass should be in kindergarten still. It's a goddamn miracle he got as far as he did with that thick skull he's got. But hey, I got a question for you. My side fling has extra tickets to an Alice Cooper concert. We'll be rolling through Denver pretty soon actually. We can smoke some bud, finally hook you up with someone. Maybe even Glen or Dennis if you've got ambition. You wanna go, hot stuff?"

Michelina hesitated. The thought of leaving town for anything made her feel uneasy. Perhaps it was the fact that every teenage boy was an easy target in North Denver. They'd been kids she knew, kids she'd help babysit when they were little. It was the fact that her own brothers could be next that made her feel sick to her stomach. She imagined finding the other bodies lying somewhere cold and dark. She imagined her brothers lying on the ground right beside them. In her mind, she pictured their clothes torn and bloody. Immediately, she dropped to her knees and slumped against the kitchen wall. Her breath was labored now, and she could hardly hold onto the phone. Tears streamed down her face and fell off her jaw. She dropped the phone momentarily and heard Arleen's voice reverberating from the other end of the line.

"Michelina? Mick, are you there?"

She licked her lips nervously and swept her tears away. She had to keep herself composed. She had to be strong for her brothers, if not herself. Michelina rose the phone back up to her ear and answered. "Yeah, yeah no I'm here. But I'll have to take a rain check on that, Arleen. I'm sorry, but there's no possible way I could tag along. I have to go, I'll call you soon."

"Oh wait, come on, we can talk—"

"Arleen, I can't. I'm sorry. Bye."

The phone went back onto the jack, and the cord began to swing back and forth. Michelina planted her forehead against the wall, gently bumping it to and fro. The tears that fell from her eyes were a symbol of the fights she'd be having with herself. She was tired from work, tired from life, but she had to keep going. Just as the thought of the missing kid fliers kept repeating itself, she took the phone off the jack and began to dial the rotary again. The number she entered was their brother's. She and Andrew weren't biologically related, but he still treated her like a sister after their parents' divorce. She always could count on him no matter what. As the phone rang, she waited. Her pulse was slightly elevated, but it was expected due to her anxiety. As she waited, she returned to coiling the cord around her fingers again. Her feet gently pattered back and forth as she paced. Please be there, please be there.

"Come on Drew, please pick up."

A minute later, he finally answered. "Hello?"

"Hey Drew, it's Michelina. I'm just calling to see how the boys are doing."

"Don't worry, sis. They're just out in the garage helping me work on our dad's Thunderbird. Besides, you know I've got a big old goddamn gun by the door at all times and a spare in the garage," he laughed.

Oh thank God, she thought. She bit her lip hard and stifled a cry. She licked her lips again and cleared her throat once before replying. "Okay, but they are doing alright?"

There was a slight tremor in her voice that couldn't go unnoticed. Andrew had always been supportive of her, and he still considered her as family. He reassured her on the other end of the line, saying, "He's not gonna get them, Mick. I got this house sealed up tighter than Alcatraz. Those little shits couldn't sneak out even if they tried, and no one is gonna get in. They're okay, Mick. It'll be alright. Have you been taking your medicine lately?"

She shook her head against the phone. When she was diagnosed with depression, she was told to take Valium for her attacks. With her being so traumatized, it was the only thing that could help her besides therapy. She hadn't been attending many sessions because she wanted to watch over the boys. She knew that if she continued her medication, the doctors said she'd be somewhat functional, but still half-fixed. Bullshit, she had always told herself. There's no way to fix something that's broken. I know that better than anyone. Repeatedly, the childhood memories of her being brutalized and abused played in her head. She could still hear the crack of the leather belt, the shatter of the broken glass, and the screams of both her brothers in her ears. It didn't help that she had to become an adult before she even had the chance to be a kid. She loved her brothers and wouldn't allow them to go through the same things she did. She refused to let them be victims, so she tried to forego any and all substances that would hinder her ability to be a good sister. Even without the medicine, she was still strong. Her will to fight and her nurturing heart were her strongest qualities, that and her willingness to die for those she loved. If the day ever came, she'd show that kid-snatching son of a bitch who was stronger.

After thinking to herself in silence, she replied. "Yes, Drew, I am. Still, thank you for letting me know how the boys are. I'll come get them on Sunday if that's okay with you."

"No problem, Mick. Just take care of yourself until then. And get some sleep, for God's sake. You're more nocturnal than a damn owl. Love you, sis. See you."

The phone burred on the other end, and static ensued. Michelina hung the phone up again and turned to walk down the hallway. She had lost her appetite due to her paranoia, and she felt sticky and clammy altogether. She managed to walk into the bathroom and sit on the rim of the tub with her feet throbbing. She clasped her face in her hands and began to feel everything weigh her down. Tears flowed into her palms, and as she silently cried, she still waited to hear another ring from the phone.

Chapter 3: Only Women Bleed

Chapter Text

In the hours that passed, Michelina couldn't keep still. She could feel an unusual sense of dread forming in the pit of her stomach, and that in turn aroused a sour taste at the back of her throat. She clung to the pillow and tried to sleep, but ultimately she couldn't. It wasn't the heat that kept her half-awake, but the images of the missing kid fliers all over Denver. One couldn't turn a corner without seeing them tacked everywhere. Her brown eyes were still red from her crying, and they stung with every blink she took. Their young faces plagued her every thought, and due to her maternal instinct, she couldn't help but worry about them. She hardly knew some of them, but for those she knew, it pulled at her heartstrings. They had been her brothers' classmates, their friends. She'd given them a place to stay, just in case they needed to escape temporarily from their traumatic lives. She knew the distinction of being victimized at a young age, and she had always vowed to help those in need. It wouldn't stop her from being vigilant of her surroundings.

As the sweat continued to pool on her skin, she threw back the covers and headed into the bathroom without stopping. She was already dressed in a short, thin nightgown, so it wasn't anything daunting to strip out of it. The cotton pooled around her ankles, leaving her bare in front of the mirror. She turned the nozzle of the shower and waited for the water to heat up. Steam began to fog up the bathroom mirror and the window. She entered the tub once she felt the water growing hot upon her hand, and there she pulled the flimsy curtain shut. The hot water drenched her entire body and rippled over her breasts and down the cleft of her ass. The texture reminded her of other substances, something thicker like blood. She remembered those fluids vividly from the night she'd been assaulted. The memory of the ordeal was still stuck in her head and wouldn't go away, at least not easily. How one could try and forget such a crime was hard. It replayed in her mind like a record from a jukebox.

Hold still, bitch. That was what the assailant had told her as he helped himself out of his pants. She'd been hunched over the rim of the bathtub in a former friend's bathroom, pleading for the man to stop. Michelina could still feel the wrought iron grip of the man's hands on her hips, and a tight squeeze made her feel the brute force of his hold. Tears fell down her cheeks again, this time in remembrance of what had happened that night. She tried to get her breathing under control, but it was hardly easy.

Please don't hurt me, she begged. I'll go home and I won't tell anyone, I promise. Please don't do this. I'm not that kind of girl.

But the man hadn't listened to her at all. He had violated her with his fingers and expanded them inside, marking her, bruising her. He had claimed that orifice as if he owned it. She could still hear the man spitting onto his fingers and squelching his digits inside her. She could still feel every poke and prod. As Michelina sank down in the tub, sitting there with her knees pressed against her breasts, she buried her face into her hands and wept violently. She told herself for a long time that it wasn't her fault. It truly wasn't, yet somehow she had been twisted into feeling that way. She had never told anyone about it, as she knew the case would never be handled properly. The police department of North Denver was useless. The cops always had their minds on other matters, or they had their hands stuck in business that was apparently more relevant at the time. But what could be more important than helping rape victims or finding young boys? Society was truly something diseased, riddled with a few people who had no business of being born. And with the way minds worked these days, it was unfortunate that young boys had to suffer the consequences of someone who was nothing more than a psychopath. They, like herself, were being subjected to cruelties that no child should ever have to go through.

Just as she moved to sit back against the rim of the tub, something thudded at the window. A part of the window was broken, and the glass could be heard cracking. She heard it clear as day. The sudden sound had jolted her into an alert response. Her fingertips dug into the surface of her skin, and her legs quivered in the water. The window wasn't far across the way from her. She prayed that whatever was at the window was gone. Foolishly, she played it off as something as simple as a bird flying into the pane. She quickly ran her hands over her body and swept the sweat away. Once she was cleaned off, she cautiously grabbed the towel off a nearby rack. She stood up and wrapped herself in the cotton, feeling the water roam down her thighs and over her labia. Her entire body suddenly went cold. Something about the noise had made her acknowledge that it was not normal. She knew it wasn't her brothers. She also knew it wasn't her neighbor's children. They were all inside and locked indoors. With what was going on, no child was allowed outside after curfew. Her first instinct was to take something in hand. There was a curling iron on the bathroom sink, and she quickly wrapped the cord around her arm, turning it into a makeshift weapon. A ball of pain formed inside her throat as she approached the covered glass. Her free hand threw back the small drape in a swift tug.

There she saw a crack in the window. It was obviously splintered from the outside, and as she leaned in closely, she saw strange marks against the painted sill. It looked as if someone had scratched the windowsill. There were small, angry little lines streaking through the season-old paint, and then she noticed something else too. A thick, white mass of liquid sat at the bottom of the pane, smearing the glass and pooling over the edge of the windowsill. The curling iron fell from her hand quickly. It clattered to the floor and the cord hit her feet, but she didn't pay attention to the pain. She knew exactly what that substance was. She didn't need to touch it or smell it, just to know what it was or where it came from. She immediately ran out of the bathroom and down towards the kitchen. While she hadn't much faith in law enforcement whatsoever, she wasn't about to let this go. Her fingers dialed the rotary face as quickly as possible, and with the operator connecting to her line, the sound of her breath stalling inside her throat was evident.

"Please connect me to the police department, I need to report a disturbance at my home."

--

When the police came, they had someone obtain the evidence on her windowsill. It was categorized as semen obviously, but with very little knowledge of how DNA worked, they wouldn't know whose it was. She watched in abject silence as they took it into evidence. A few minutes later, two officers sat her down in her living room after they instructed their colleagues to take pictures of her window. Michelina kept her knees together with her hands, as she still trembled with fear and anxiety. They sat down with her, and one had a pad out with a pen. A first for everything, I'll be damned. They actually look like they seem interested, she internally scoffed. Still, she appeared intent with discussing what had happened. Detective Wright was the first to ask questions.

"So you said you were in the shower, but did you see anything in particular, Miss Rovare?"

"No, sir. I had the shower curtain pulled around me," she answered.

Detective Miller chimed in then, his voice condescending. "So if you had the shower curtain pulled around you and there was a drape over your bathroom window, how do you suspect someone was outside then playing Peeping Tom?"

It took every bit of self-restraint for her to not go off on the man. He was incompetent, an ass, and presumably knew everything judging by the way he used his position of power. She gripped her knees harder and looked down to the shag carpeting. The red nail polish on her toes made her think of nothing but blood. She swallowed hard and felt her heartbeat thumping hard beneath her breast. She wanted to hit him, she truly did.

Wright leaned forward in his seat and looked at her while ignoring his partner's behavior. He saw the pain she was in, but didn't know what to say to her about it. Instead, he merely spoke with a blank look on his face. "Miss Rovare, when you approached the window, did you see anything out of the ordinary outside? Was anything knocked down or turned over?"

Now that she thought of it, she had seen something turned over in the backyard. There were branches snapped around the brush where a secluded path sat. She knew the path often led towards the middle of town, connecting to a sidewalk outside Ellison's, and from a few blocks away, it continued towards an old hardware store. She knew about the path, but her brothers didn't. Even if they did, she wouldn't let them use it. 

"Miss Rovare?"

She snapped to and answered with a slight croak in her voice. "There were a few branches knocked over from behind the house. I think whoever it was snuck out towards East Colfax Avenue. It's the closest big street I can think of. Probably booked ass and ran back home."

Miller, sitting there in his tattered, pasty skin, nodded his head in mocking reassurance. "Yes, I'm sure that's what it was. It was probably just a teenager trying to take a peek. He got a little excited, that's all. But don't you worry, miss. We could have a patrol swing by every few hours if you'd like."

Michelina stood up then in her housecoat and shook her head. She kept her composure the best she could, and kept facing forward. The detectives followed her towards the door, and she unlocked it again with swift tugs at the bolt and chain. "That won't be necessary, Detective Miller. My half-brothers are coming back from their brother's house on Sunday, and I don't want them to be alarmed by the presence of a squad car. But thank you both for coming. Your hard work is appreciated."

While she knew Wright was a gentle dunce, she made sure her tone was reflected at Miller. She knew that her sarcasm would perhaps rub him the wrong way, but she didn't care. It was the truth that most cops were lazy and nonchalant about everything. If it were up to me, I'd do their goddamn job. At least I'd get shit done, and not sit on my thumb at a doughnut shop. The police left, and once they were out the door, she closed it tightly and made sure the locks were in place again. The bolt was thrown and the chain was set. As she watched the red and blue lights fade away, she swallowed hard. She still felt something was wrong, but she didn't know what it would be. She had every window locked in the house, and even though she had a baseball bat at the front door, one in the kitchen and upstairs in her room, she felt little to no comfort. She didn't know what else to do, but she had to keep her wits sharp. It was the only strong suit she had to play.

Chapter 4: Some Folks

Chapter Text

The Valium had surprisingly helped her fall asleep last night after everything that had happened. It had numbed her, lulled her to sleep, and for once, it didn't allow her to have grotesque dreams. It wasn't unusual for her to fall asleep quickly if she took a little more than the prescribed dosage, and for that, she was grateful. Still, she was always careful not to become an addict. When she woke up, Michelina turned on her side to face her bedroom window. Her room was two stories high, facing towards Quebec Street. It was in view of the public, but from behind her house, there was seclusion from any open view. There were bushes and a hidden trail that sank down a hill between two wide trees. She could only figure that was how her 'visitor' got away from her house last night. He had to of taken the path back towards East Colfax. There was no other way he could've gotten away without being seen.

It also occurred to Michelina that she had to get thicker curtains; the ones she had all over the house were thin, but luckily not transparent. Somehow that bastard saw her late last night, and that angered her more so than anything. She wasn't afraid of it, but she knew she should be. Still, she rolled back the covers and stretched, feeling her body crack from the stiffness. She had an agenda today, and before she'd go to work at the drive-in, she'd have to do some early shopping for things around the house. It didn't take long for her to get ready, as she merely threw on her outfit, and she accompanied it with a blue denim jacket. She wore mid-calf socks with red trim, and she threw on her new red and blue Vans. Michelina stood in front of her floor-length mirror and applied a medium shade of red lipstick. The color brightened the soft tone of her skin and amplified the flowing tresses of her ebony hair, but more so it brought out the soft dark circles under her eyes.

Christ, I look like I'm approaching forty, she thought. I suppose that's how one gets pretty when they can't sleep and have underlying trauma.

She pulled her hair to sit around her shoulders to accent the shape of her face. As she finished sliding her shorts up to her waist, the soft shape of her ass could be seen again. The shape of was round, but not too out there. It wasn't an outfit she was comfortable wearing when working, but it was mandatory for all the women at work to wear it. It made her feel like an easy target. She wasn't whorish, so why would she have to wear clothes that made her feel exposed in the open? She hadn't voiced her opinion about it, because it was the only job she had at the moment. Her brothers depended on her for that sense of financial security, so she'd continue to wear it at the cost of her own comfort. Michelina grabbed both her keys and her purse off the dresser, but as she walked downstairs, she heard the phone ringing again. Or at least, she thought she did. She went into the kitchen in a swift stride and picked up the receiver. There was nothing there. No one was on the other end of the line from what she could hear. She quickly tapped on the plunger and waited for a response. Nothing burred or returned a signal, so she put the phone back on the jack. It wasn't the first time something like that happened, but it confused her. She seldom gave out her house phone number, except to people she knew and trusted. She knew it wouldn't be Arleen calling her like that. She'd simply begin to rant if it was her.

It wouldn't be Andrew, because he'd do the same thing. He checked in on them from time to time, but he never so much as dialed the house as a prank; he knew of everything she went through, and he wouldn't do that to begin with. Michelina tried to come up with an idea of who it would be, but she couldn't think. She was still unable to process the events from last night, and she was already developing a migraine.

What the fuck is going on?

As she stood in the kitchen, she started to make herself some to eat before heading out. She popped the bread into the small toaster and waited for the timer to go off. She gathered red jam from the refrigerator and grabbed a butter knife. A minute passed, and as the toast finally popped out, she swiped the fruit on top of it and took a simple bite. The juice of the red strawberries grazed her lower lips, and from afar, one could mistake it as blood. She took a glass and filled it with water at the faucet. Once she was about to take a drink, the rotary rang loudly behind her. The glass fell from her hand and shattered onto the linoleum of the floor.

"Ah! Goddamn it," she mumbled.

She took five steps back towards the phone and took the receiver in hand, a little irked but still fairly calm. "Hello? Rovare residence, Michelina speaking."

Now her heartbeat began to change. It went from calm to slightly elevated in a few seconds. On the other end of the line, there was a low tone of breathing; she could hear it huffing, almost as if someone was out of breath from running. Michelina gripped the cord tightly. It wrapped around her fingers, nearly cutting off her circulation as she trembled. She could feel eyes on the back of her nape again. She looked over to the front door and saw that the chain was still locked in place. Her throat grew hoarse, and she asked the same questions again.

"Hello? Who is this? Who's there on the other end? I can hear you breathing, so you can quit it now."

No answer came. The breathing grew labored, and a deep, guttural moan quivered on the other end of the line. It sounded like the perpetrator was getting close, and somehow, it made her womb react in such a way she was disgusted with herself. The tone, the breathing, the growls— it all made her body react to their sounds in an unequivocal somersault. She licked the red of her lips and grew intense in her tone. Was this sick bastard trying to arouse her? If so, it was truly a disgusting approach.

"Who the fuck is this!"

Now she was afraid. It didn't sound right to her ears, and it sounded more so like someone was stroking themselves to ejaculate. She wanted to hang up the phone, but for some ungodly reason, she wanted to know who it was. But if they were pleasuring themselves, perhaps they were too occupied with taking a peek as well. After all, she had no curtains over the windows of her front door. It was a distinct possibility that someone could be watching her from across the street, maybe even from their own house. She slammed the receiver back down on the plunger and trembled. There was something about the voice that made her feel uneasy. She couldn't explain it, but she remembered feeling that same explicit terror. She remembered it from the night of her assault. Tears began to stream down her face, and as she grabbed her keys, she immediately charged towards the door. She quickly unlocked it from the inside, then once she was on the porch, she made sure to lock it again. She swept her tears off her cheeks with her right hand, and in her left, she clenched onto the set of keys and her purse like it was a matter of life and death. She ran to her truck and threw the door open quickly. It slammed tightly behind her, and as she sniffled, she banged her head against the steering wheel.

As she started the truck, the ignition was slightly scratched from how she tried to force her key inside. "Please start, please start goddamn it," she sputtered. "I just want to get the hell out of here."

The engine finally revved, and after she threw the gear into reverse, she threw her arm over the passenger seat's headrest. She backed out of her driveway as quickly as possible, and with another truck coming towards her, the horn honked profusely and she took off down the street. Her foot didn't leave the gas pedal for a slight moment, unless it was to stop at a light or yield. She didn't even realize she was speeding until a patrol car threw its lights on. She saw the lights blinking in her rear view mirror, and she pulled over to the side of the street. It was right across the way from Ellison's. She let go of the wheel and immediately began to look for her registration. An officer left the car and walked up to her window, tapping on the glass. She rolled the window down and swallowed hard. The officer towered over her side, and he looked down at her through dark sunglasses. He had a pad and pen out, taking note of her license plate.

"Miss, do you know how fast you were going?"

The moment she looked over her shoulder and saw the badge, she began to cry uncontrollably. The tears fell off her cheekbones as she shook in her seat. Looking her over, the officer opened her door and leaned on the frame. "Miss, is something wrong?"

"Hell no, I'm not okay. I-I think someone called my house."

"Alright, calm down now. You were expecting the call or no?"

"Of course not," she said. "The fact remains that there was someone at my house last night, and he ejaculated all over my bathroom windowsill. I think it was the same guy from last night who called me a few minutes ago and did the same thing."

The officer didn't know what to say, but she saw a brow rise over his eye. The man stopped writing on the pad, and as he pursed a hand on his hip, he questioned her. "Now why would someone call you and do that?"

Does it look like I fucking read minds? If I knew why, I'd handle it myself! God, there are five million things wrong in this town, and you assholes want to waste everyone's time and play twenty questions. Her face remained placid, though beneath her skin, her blood boiled at the man's stupidity. She passed him her license and registration regardless of what he would ask next, and she looked down at her thighs, which were now riddled with gooseflesh. She scoffed at him and smacked her hand against the rim of her window, hiding her eyes in her palm. "I honestly have no idea, Officer. I don't even know who the hell it could be."

Michelina felt absolutely terrified. She had never had someone be so crass towards her, nor had she ever seen someone go to such extreme lengths. She didn't know what to expect of it. More so, what would her brothers think about this? She didn't want them exposed to that behavior no matter, even if it was aimed towards her. After the officer wrote her a ticket, returned her paperwork, he recommended she visit the station. She took off towards the hardware store instead. She had formulated a plan in mind, and with her brothers coming back tomorrow, it couldn't wait. It needed to be done, and that was the truth.

Chapter 5: You Make Me Wanna

Chapter Text

Her breath continued to quiver slightly in her throat, even as she inhaled the fresh air that blew in through her truck window. As she turned the corner down towards Floro Hardware, she managed to pull into the parking lot with ease. She had to remind herself that the phone call was behind her now, but it still didn't deter her from going inside. She exited her truck in a timely fashion and hurried inside. Her keys jingled in her hand, and as her hair bounced in the breeze, it fell away from the corner of her face and gave her the chance to look out of her peripheral vision. Save for what she presumed was the owner's car, it was only her truck sitting in the closest stall. There was no one else around. She saw a nearby street clock read 8:35 AM, and she knew she had plenty of time to gather the appropriate items. Before she walked inside, she swept her eyes with her palm, clearing away any tears. She cleared her throat and swung the door open in determination. The store owner was already behind the counter, taking a tally of his inventory.

"Michelina? You're in here awful early," he said. "Did you need help looking for something?"

"No, Earl, I think I'll be okay. Thank you."

She looked around for anything that would help secure her home, but more so, she was determined to get a new set of tools to work with, and possibly even new locks for the windows. Her feet carried her down aisle four, and she tracked it to the back of the store. She passed items like paintbrushes, resin, oil, and even some gardening materials. Plain shovels and heavy bags of Quikrete were against the back wall, sitting there as if they were begging to be bought. The visual combination made her shiver, but she paid no attention to them. She turned the corner and found exactly what she was looking for: a new door and a chain system. She hurriedly grabbed the smaller item, and it was then she bent down to retrieve a new set of Craftsmen tools off the bottom shelf. She didn't care how expensive everything would be, she just wanted it for the house. Earl came back to check on her, and he hobbled slowly in his stead. He was eighty-something and rather lackluster in appearance. She could at least count on the fact that he couldn't possibly be the Grabber. No, Earl Wayne was too old and gray, and he hadn't a streak of cruelty to him. As he approached her, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She shot up and nearly dropped everything she had in her arms. Her brown eyes were large and wet, but she mustered a closed smile. Earl was taken aback by her sudden expression of fright. He immediately consoled her.

"Michelina, is something wrong?"

"No," she lied. "Not at all, sir. I'm sorry for being jumpy."

He didn't believe her. An upturned frown appeared on his wrinkled face, and in a grandfatherly fashion, he escorted her up to the counter. The two slowly walked side by side in the quiet, empty store. She placed everything down when they went up, and there she withdrew a small clip of money from her purse. She sniffled once and tried not to break down in front of Earl. He rang her up at the register, and began to scribble down her invoice. Clearing her throat, she pursed herself against the countertop. Her fingertips nervously tapped on the pine as he continued to write.

"And Earl, I almost forgot to ask, but can I get that large oak door from the back?"

He slowly cocked his head up and said, "Well sure, but sadly I can't carry it out for you. Sorry about that. If I were a couple years younger, it wouldn't be a problem."

"It's alright, really. I'm just in dire need of a new door."

"Did something happen to the old one?"

No, and I pray to God that nothing happens to this one. I'll be pissed. "No, I just thought it was time to replace that old eye sore."

She was lost in thought, and as she started to count the bills, a bell rang again, this time from the back room. She looked over her shoulder and out of the window, and outside she saw a dark van cornered at the far end of the lot. No one approached the front of the store, so she could only assume that one of the workers had come in. Earl clapped the pencil down to the countertop and nodded at her. Michelina turned her head back to face the elderly man, and there he gave her a total. She knew it would be more than four-hundred, so she passed him five.

Everything she held in her hand was either for her rent or groceries, but when it came to the security of her home, money didn't mean a damn thing. She counted out the appropriate change and passed it to Earl. He decided to pass her back at least two hundred dollars. Her dark brows pulled together in confusion, and she wondered if he was feeling alright.

"Earl?"

"Little Miss, I can see when people have something haunting their eyes. I've been through two world wars, and believe me, people see things and it can stick with them forever. Now you look like you haven't slept for days, and I know that with that crazy bastard roaming around town, it's put everyone on edge. I also know the look of a concerned sister when I see one. Don't you worry about it."

Now she felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. She had known Earl since she was little, as he was an old family friend. She remembered him from nights he used to visit and play poker with her grandparents. It was a gentle thought that made her feel relieved, but not for long. She swallowed hard and kept her eyes on the door through her peripheral vision. He bagged everything for her in heavy-stock paper bags, and he passed them to her in a slow slide. She took everything in arm, same for the money. Everything was heavy, but with a gentle huff, she said, "I'll be back for the door."

"Oh honey, I don't want you carrying that by yourself. That thing is heavy enough as it is."

"That's sweet of you to say, Earl, but I promise I won't break. Besides, don't you remember how I helped carry the furnace out of your house?"

"Yes, and I thought you'd sink through the ground to China. Damn near gave me a heart attack."

For the first time in weeks, she had a genuine laugh. It was the most welcome of distractions she could possibly hope for. Just as she was about to leave, a rhythm of footsteps entered her ears. Immediately, she felt eyes on the back of her nape. Their gaze was indescribable, and it made her curious. She had to turn around and see for herself who it was. What her eyes saw was nothing more than a tall man coming towards her. He was rather congenial looking in the sense that he was muscled, had shoulder-length, auburn-gray hair softly streaked, and an odd smile that seemed to counteract any interpretation of hostility. If anything, he was everything she hadn't expected to see. His face was clownish, but handsome. His teeth were slightly crooked, but they gleamed pearly-white under the lights. Michelina thought of them as fangs. His canines were more sculpted than the rest, but then they hid behind his half-full lips. Something in her dared to make eye contact with this man, but she couldn't. He was wearing dark sunglasses inside. She couldn't read his irises whatsoever, and it left her a little concerned. She usually could tell about the aura of someone's personality through their eyes, but since his eyes were hidden, her heart fell inside her chest. He approached the counter more closely, and she backed away with her purchase in arm. There was just something about this man that seemed different. Even though his eyes were covered, they didn't leave her figure for a minute. She too couldn't look away. He was interesting to her, to say the least.

As the two of them continued to lock eyes, Earl interjected with a soft tone. "Oh it's alright, little miss. Al here won't bite hard."

Al? she thought. It doesn't seem to fit him. He looks more like an Ethan.

The middle-aged man spoke then, his voice somewhat airy. It was the first time she heard it, and it drew her in with its playful tone. "Did you need something taken out, Miss...?"

"Michelina," she answered. "Or Mick, whichever you want to use. I'll be right back."

She turned around and quickly made her way outside. The soft cushioning of the Vans carried her across the pavement in an orderly fashion. She felt his eyes on her, peering through the glass of the front window. She could feel this Al's eyes watching her ass as she walked along. When she opened the door of her truck, she leaned forward and felt her shorts riding up. The hem of the inner lining rubbed against her flimsy panties, and already she could feel a soft sensation grow at the base of her perineum. She knew now that the cleft of her ass was exposed. Oh God, I hope he's not looking.

She sat the bags down onto the cabin floor by the passenger seat, and she pulled the back of her shorts down in a swift tug. Blood pooled to her cheeks and left a rosy hue to her skin. It wasn't the first time someone would have seen her ample backside like that, but with him watching, it made her feel like she was presentable. She could feel the cerulean of his eyes trying to trace her outer lips. Such a thought made a ball of pleasurable pain form in her throat, and she tried not to think of it. She shut the door to her truck and rushed back inside the store. As she swept past Earl, she saw that the other man was already at the back. She cautiously approached the right side, and as she took the oak in hand, they lifted it both together. The door itself seemed weightless, but she supposed it was because of his ability to move heavy objects. After all, was that not part of his job requirements?

Al had followed behind her without saying a word. And here she thought her step was light. It set her on edge, but then again, he kept his distance. But what astounded her was his ability to lift the door up so easily. She saw the veins in his arms and hands popping to full effect. His tendons and his knuckles flashed white against the deep tan of the wood. His biceps were thick, and she knew then that his work must've kept him in shape. She'd be lying to herself if she didn't find his physique attractive. Holy Christ. There's no fucking around with him, is there?

Together, they made it out the door and to the bed of her truck in less than two minutes. Michelina placed her end down for a moment while Al propped the door to stand upright. She lowered the tailgate, and with one push, she helped him slide it all the way in. His height was intimidating to her, same for his muscle mass. The older man swiftly took it upon himself to throw the tailgate up, but he had calculated it to the angle where her fingers were still on the edge. She winced once her fingers were caught inside. Al watched out of the corner of his eye as her face went white.

"Ah, son of a bitch!" she murmured. She pulled away from both her truck and Al, sucking at her fingertips. Now the gleam in his eyes turned dark. There it was. He saw her teeth clench in a strained hiss, and as she mumbled to herself, he could see how she wriggled her hand in the open air. She felt the pulsing pain beneath her nails, and it was then that Al took her hands in his. It caught her off-guard somewhat, but it was the sound of his voice that regaled her.

"So sorry about that, sweetheart. Here, let me take a look at them."

His strong hands took her by the wrists, and it was then that he tugged her in closely. She couldn't tell if he was mocking her or if he was being serious. Regardless, her fingertips were raised near his face. He merely looked down at them and tsked, seemingly scolding himself. She looked like she wanted to slug him for his carelessness, but that faded when he swept the blood away from her cracked nail. It would bruise and turn black, but eventually it would heal. Michelina's heart palpitated as this Al swept her fingertips against his lips. A shocked sound escaped her. She felt his warm breath against the pads of her skin, and a hot sensation pooled between her legs. He recoiled his hands from her and gave her an odd, half-closed smile. A Machiavellian smile crept onto his face, and one corner of his mouth turned upright. He had an aura she couldn't quite place, and it frightened her. But then again, as she observed him sweeping her small blood drops onto his lower lip, it aroused her.

"Don't worry," he chuckled. "All better."

Michelina swallowed tenderly at the sight of her blood. Honestly, is it just my goddamn luck today?

She avoided his eyes as she slipped past him, walking quickly towards the driver's side of her truck. Her hand pulled on the handle with a small tug, and she hurried along inside the cabin. The window was still rolled up halfway, which still gave her some comfort. She quietly observed Al walking back into Floro Hardware. He was downright odd. She couldn't tell what his motive was, but he seemed... smitten. With the way he had swept her blood on his lip, he reminded her of a vampire. She once again started the engine of her truck. She also switched on her radio. As she began to drive away, she kept looking out of her rear view mirror every couple of seconds. He faded into the distance wearing his usual work attire, but beneath that congenial exterior, she could see something was amiss. Perhaps one day she'd find out.

Chapter 6: Is It My Body

Notes:

Thank you to everyone who has left me kudos on this story so far! I greatly appreciate it! I know the previous chapter with Al was probably out of character, but I'm still trying to figure out how to write him. And just to let you know, my original characters Michelina and Arleen are over 20. They're both adults and out of high school. I wrote them with this dynamic for storyline purposes, and Max showing up here does serve yet another purpose too. More to come!

Chapter Text

The whole time she drove down the main drag of South Broadway, Michelina couldn't get that Al character out of her head. Something about him was inviting, if not mysterious. She couldn't read his eyes because of the sunglasses he wore, which she thought was peculiar, and it lightly bothered her. If she could see his eyes, she'd be at peace. It was easy for her to tell the demeanor of a person just through eye contact. But with Al, it was difficult. She tried to listen to the radio as she swept past Antique Row and then Humboldt Street, but she couldn't think about anything else. He was there in the back of her mind. There was just something about him that captured her attention, and it wouldn't go away. His body language, his attitude, it all made her wonder about how this man operated. She had never met someone so straight-forward, but yet when she tried to make eye contact with him, he wouldn't look at her without his sunglasses. She knew there had to have been a reason why he wore them, even while indoors. It animated her interest— no, rather it fueled her desire to understand who he really was. It was driving her crazy. He frightened her, but yet he didn't. There was something about him that made her head pound with wild thoughts. Even if she wasn't afraid of him, there could always be a slight possibility that this man was unhinged. He wouldn't display it openly, and if he was still well enough in the head to keep a job, he must have some wits about him. She figured he'd present a challenge though when she caught her fingers in the tailgate. There was no way that wasn't an invitation to come around more. But with everything going on, would it be the appropriate time to play his little game of tag, you're it?

-

When she got back home, her first action was to take her tools out of her truck. Her fingertips hadn't let go of the keys since she pulled them out of the ignition, and the purring engine died down and went quiet. She hustled around the side of her truck, opened the door, and quickly gathered the tools in her arms. Again, her shorts rode up the back of her thighs. She silently blushed out of embarrassment once, then pulled them back down. The skimpiness of her outfit was perhaps a little too provocative to the usual society standards, but during the summer, it kept her cool and tan. Michelina quickly rustled herself to run up her front steps. She swung the door open and began to look everything over. She examined the hinges and the screws as she squatted in place. Her fingertips examined the hinges, and against their brass color, her cuticles were bruised and a gentle purple now. There was still the sting of anything that brushed against her pads, but she could still see his lips wrapped around them. She shook her head and scolded herself.

Christ, girl, it wasn't like it was an invitation or anything. Just get him out of your head and pay attention to replacing the door. That's all you have to do. No drama, no weird, handsome men sucking your blood like a Charms pop, nothing. It should be easy, right?

It made her feel stupid as she slumped onto her porch. Here she was, thinking about a man who was perhaps two and a half, maybe three times her age, while there were children being abducted all around her. He was muscled, he was cunning, and that was enough to make any woman or young girl come undone. And perhaps that was her problem— the bastard was just too intriguing for his own good, and that's what made him so appealing. She hated her hormones and the urges that came with them. Michelina ran a hand through her hair and exhaled. She even struck herself across the face, thinking it'd help her. It only made her realize just how asinine she was thinking. Still, she opened the small toolbox and pulled out an Allens screwdriver. The door wasn't going to change itself. She knelt upright on her knees then, and began to twist the head of the screwdriver into the first hinge. She continued for the better part of ten minutes, unscrewing everything with all her strength. She managed to move the old door aside and prop it against the rail of the porch. Sweat broke across her forehead and navel, and her knees were red from all the kneeling. There were small scratches on the surface of her skin, and if someone looked at them, perhaps they'd get the wrong impression. Such a thought made her go red again. It was frustrating and consuming her beyond all belief, beyond all rationality, and she wondered then if she'd end up a tramp like the girls she went to school with. She moved then to grab the new oak door, and with its heavy frame skidding across the splintered wood of her old porch, it made her think of how he would drag a dead body across the ground. She suddenly allowed the oak to thump against the frame of her doorway, and there she had to swallow hard and breathe. She hated how those thoughts would creep into her head. She didn't ask for them, she didn't want to think about it. She just wanted the boys to be found, hopefully alive, for their families' sake. It was then that her chaotic flashbacks started to plague her mind. 

Michelina dropped to her knees and covered her ears. She could hear her mother's voice resonating through her head, and it terrified her. "I should've had your father punch me in the stomach. He liked to hit every other part of me, so why not my stomach? It would've saved me the annoyance of hearing you cry every hour of the goddamn night!"

"Mom, please," she wept aloud. "I'm sorry, but please stop."

As she slumped against the frame of the door, she held her knees together and sobbed into the soft flesh of her thighs. She clung hard to the fabric of her denim jacket, and she could hear the vodka bottle shattering as if it still existed. She could picture the glass breaking and the stench of the alcohol burning her nostrils. Michelina could picture her brothers running for cover behind the couch, or running into her room and shutting the door. She grew so distressed at the images that played in her head, she grabbed the screwdriver and scraped it over the porch planks. Then the image of her mother rushing towards the boys with a leather belt broke her. She remembered how she threw herself in front of their mother, trying to block her despite the many rough blows she received. She could still taste the blood on her lips and tongue. It hadn't been until she screamed that the neighbors had called the police. They had arrested their mother, and after being detained for a month, Michelina remembered how she had been shipped off to Colorado Springs and its psychiatric hospital. There was hardly any love lost, as she knew her mother had only one child she truly loved— a bottle named vodka. The head of the screwdriver dug so deep into the plank, it looked like an animal clawed at its surface.

Her chest rose up and down, and with the heat getting to her, she pulled the denim jacket off her shoulders and tossed it down the steps. Her head fell back, and so did the heavy locks of her dark hair. The sheen of sweat that pooled there was more so from her trauma getting to her, rather than the heat that brushed against her skin. Every part of her body ached from the past abuse she suffered, but she'd never admit aloud. She didn't want to seem weak in front of others. She certainly didn't want to seem weak in front of her brothers. You've got to be strong for them, she reminded herself. Don't start losing your shit now.

As she kept thinking to herself, she heard a horn blaring from down the street. A green Ford Pinto pulled up down the side of the street, and when it came to a stop, a long, slender arm hung out of the window and waved at her. Michelina stood up and tried to see who it was. She didn't know anybody with a Ford Pinto, so it was rather curious. She was about to shout to the passenger and ask who they were, but the door opened and a bouncing Arleen popped out of the passenger seat. Her red hair was braided in pig tails, and she wore a crop top and shorts, playfully running back to the trunk. Once she had it unlocked, it was apparent she was pulling out some material items. In her left arm, she had an entire rolled-up sleeping bag. On the other arm, she had a smaller bag of clothes, and clutched onto a grocery bag. A red Charms pop sat in her mouth, and Arleen managed to walk her way up the sidewalk. Michelina grew confused when she saw a man come out of the driver's side. He went into the backseat, grabbed some more bags. He managed to lock his Pinto with his hands full, and then he scurried up the sidewalk right behind Arleen. From what she could see, he was older too, perhaps late thirties or early forties, yet he seemed like a mid-twenties stud with dark hair and a mustache. The man's brown hair glistened in the sunlight, and she saw that his eyes were lightly bloodshot. Arleen hurried up the porch steps and dropped everything to the side. Her arms embraced Michelina, and there she gave her a tight squeeze. With the Charms pop clicking against her teeth, Arleen looked around and examined everything.

"You look like you've been busy," Arleen said, propping her hands on her back hips. "Was there something I missed?"

Michelina shook her head and merely sniffled. With a light smile, she tried to play off the fact she'd been crying. "Not at all. I was just getting tired of listening to it creak in the middle of the night. But that's beside the point. What are you doing here?"

Just then Arleen's beau came up behind them, huffing as he was out of breath. He sat everything down on the steps, but didn't come up all the way. He waved his hand at Michelina and croaked, trying to laugh. He seemed an oddly-dressed guy, wearing gray khakis and a buttoned-up dress shirt with his hair styled to the side that didn't quite fit as a visual combination. "Hi," he said. "Arleen just wanted to surprise you, that's all. She was jabbering at the bit to get over here, seeing as she knew you wanted company and what not. But hey, did you hear about the kid that got abducted a few weeks ago? That Vance Hopper kid? I've been telling Arleen this, but I think I know the Grabber's pattern!"

Oh Jesus Christ, not him too. The man talked sporadically, if not at a million miles an hour. His speech wasn't slurred by slow pronunciation, and Michelina wondered then if this man was on something. He seemed twitchy, but decent. She brought Arleen to the side and quietly began to whisper. "So who the hell is this?"

Arleen took the pop out of her mouth and mused. "That's my side fling," she replied, careful to keep her voice low. "His name is Max. Even though he's a bit of a spaz and a crackpot for following the abductions, he's a sweetheart. A little doped in the head, but loyal."

Michelina lightly scoffed at her friend's testament. "I suppose you met him in Albueruque when you were on sabbatical, huh?"

"More or less. He knows how to get the good stuff."

A smile gleamed across the redhead's face as she went back to eating the pop. She chewed it loud and vigorously, and she blew a bubble once she got to the gum. She turned around then and picked everything up in her arms again, and she prompted to move past Michelina. Max seemed nervous, but animated to move. He picked up everything he had and walked inside. He gave Michelina a soft smile, and he seemed almost shy. "Hey," he said again.

The boards of the porch creaked again, and as the summer breeze swept past them, Michelina could smell marijuana on the air. It blew through the open windows of the Pinto, and she could smell something else too, though she couldn't figure out what it was. It had to of been another drug of some kind. More thoughts ran through her head, making her mind somersault inside her skull at a million miles an hour. She hadn't expected Arleen to drop in, but more so, she was growing anxious. She was waiting for the next morning to come. By then, she'd have her brothers back home where they belonged, where they would be safe. Michelina knelt down to pick up her tools as quickly as she could. She was about to go inside, but remembered she hadn't even put in the oak door yet. Max came around the corner and made her gasp, making her nearly drop the tools.

"Arleen said I should help you with the new door," he smiled.

"Oh you don't have to do that," Michelina rasped. "That's sweet of you though."

Max took the screwdriver and looked it over. He shook his head and rambled on, his mouth pulled in a wide smile. "You see, for an oak door, they're heavy. I should know. I change them sometimes with my brother. So this screwdriver won't be the one you need, so I think you need a Phillips or a torque, or even a tri-wing. And with the Grabber being strong as hell, who's to say he wouldn't come barging through this door, huh?"

His voice began to drown in her ears. He couldn't stop talking fast, and when he mentioned the Grabber, her heart sank. "What'd you say?"

"About the tri-wing? Well, it's a type of..."

"No! No, about the Grabber. I thought he just took the kids off the street."

Max reassured her by placing a hand on her shoulder. "Oh no he does, that much is true. He's never taken a kid from their house, and there's never been reported home invasions involving him. I'm just saying he's got to be exceptionally strong, because these boys he's abducting aren't exactly little anymore. That Vance Hopper kid was said to have been a fighter, so it's probable that he and the Grabber would've fought and tussled a bit, you know?"

Now the anxiety returned. Her lungs seized and her muscles went cold. Her pulse points began to quicken, and it made her think of the worst scenario. She imagined this bastard tampering with her door, cracking into it into the middle of the night. She imagined him sneaking through the hallways and down to her brothers' rooms. She could picture this man breaking into their rooms, stifling them, smothering them to the point of unconsciousness. The tools fell from her hands, and immediately, she began to tear up. Max took notice and retracted his hand. He saw how her eyes grew wet, and he tried to console her.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I should've just shut up. But hey, if it's any consolation, I've heard these boys have a strong sister. Aside from my big brother, I don't know anyone else who would take a pounding from all that brutality and use it to their benefit. Plus, you look like you could kick someone's ass," he half-laughed.

She swept the tears onto her palm and tried to compose herself. She looked into her house and pictured the interior of the layout. As she thought of every room, every crevice and hall, a plan started to form in her mind. She knew what she had to do now, but it would have to wait until the boys were home. She couldn't 'modify' the house without a few extra hands. But that still wouldn't stop her from putting up the new door. For the next half hour, she pushed it against the frame, secured it, and screwed the hinges in place. Max of course had a helping hand in it, as he wanted to offer his service in apology. He held the door in place as she finished up. Working on the installation had made her forget the pain in her fingertips. It didn't throb as badly as it did before, but the bruises were still there. Arleen came back onto the porch with some homemade lemonade in hand. She passed a cup to Max, but before she could pass the other one to Michelina, the brunette stood up and shook her head.

"Thanks, but I have to head to work."

"Michelina, it's not even noon yet," Arleen said.

"I know, but I just want to see if Sam will let me work early today. I need to get shit off my mind."

Arleen shrugged her shoulders and sighed. She couldn't rightly blame her friend for wanting to do something to distract herself, and upon seeing it would do Michelina some good, she nodded. "Okay, girl. Max and I will man the fort. Just don't snap on anyone, alright? I don't have a whole lot of bail money."

Michelina laughed at her friend's dry humor and hugged her. The hug was tight, but sincere. She grabbed her denim jacket then, and took off down the steps. She hurried along into the cabin of her truck after unlocking the door, and there she started up the engine again. It revved once, and then she backed out onto the street, waving before she drove off.

"Hey!" Arleen shouted. "Don't book a room without me!"

Michelina replied loudly, "I'll try not to!"

Max looked down at Arleen and wrapped an arm around her waist. Together they watched Michelina's truck go down the corner, then turn out of view. He seemed like a confused pup, to which he said, "What was that all about?"

"Hotel California is our favorite song, and Mick and I always said if we were ever to get into some shit, we'd be jail buddies and loony bin bunkmates."

"Charming," he nervously laughed. "But somehow, I can see it."

Chapter 7: Sideshow

Chapter Text

The atmosphere of the summer was riddled with anxiety and tension, but more so fear. As she drove down the main hub of streets, there were missing posters sweeping across the pavement. The printed face of Vance Hopper's picture seared into her eyes. Before him, it was a paper boy who'd been abducted. A kid named Griffin if she remembered the name. Michelina tried not to think of the worst scenario as she drove, but it wouldn't leave her head. She only clutched onto the steering wheel more tightly. Her knuckles flashed white, and her fingers began to ache. Would this fiasco ever end? Would the police actually get off their asses and catch him? Not only did it break her heart to think of those boys coming home in body bags, but it fueled her further to protect her brothers. If she could get done early, she'd go back home and start putting her safeguard plan into action. She still remembered a few things around the house that would serve as barriers, but eventually, she'd have to go back to the store for more locks and chains. Then it occurred to her that he might be there. With this Al seemingly having to come in during the day, perhaps she'd finally see him without his sunglasses on. That'd give her the ability to read him completely. It also sparked her desire to engage him further. She couldn't understand what it was, but it was slowly becoming another mission to her. She hadn't been interested in anyone before, but this man was different. Sure, he was older, perhaps more experienced than the average male in town, but that was what made him appealing. That, and his unwavering ability to terrify and enthrall her.

She began to put some serious thought into it as she made her way to the drive-in. The New East '70 sat in a desolate suburb, and there were multiple old buildings around its construct. The white and pale aquamarine colors of the sign were surrounded by vibrant red paint, and often at night, the '70 flashed brightly. It seemed especially lovely at dusk, but for Michelina, it often made her remember to be on guard. There were usually drunkards who liked to cause a commotion in the back rows, and it wasn't exactly unheard of to find teenagers eloping in the backseats of their parents' cars. The thoughts were perhaps a little funny to think of, but at the moment, she just wanted to see if she could work early. She pulled up next to the small concession hut, and quietly parked in the designated employee row. She hadn't seen any of her other coworkers' cars there, save for her boss' yellow Oldsmobile Delta 88. It was now approaching noon-thirty, and she knew Sam would be preparing to open up shop. She pulled her denim jacket off as she stepped out of her truck, and she killed the engine before it could overheat. Her hands brushed off whatever wood shavings and dust from her tied-up shirt and shorts, and she approached the side door of the hut. She opened the door and listened to it creak, and when she walked inside, she saw that there were already corn kernels popping in a large kettle. She heard how the oil sizzled inside, and yet she couldn't see anyone around. She saw that there were new shipments of box candy sitting on the table, and yet it hadn't been opened. Fresher products sat out, such as cooked hot dogs, burgers. Buns sat out on the table too, and it looked like a skeleton crew was running the place. No one was around that she could see or hear, and it was strange.

"Who the hell leaves—? Sam, where did you go?"

She marched through the back and past the coolers, which were running and chilled, but still burning out one of their gears. There was steam starting to come from the kettle, and she ran back quick to check the insides. Once she opened the lid, her entire face was greeted with a hot gust of heat. She blinked once and started to cough, as she could smell that some of the kernels had burned. On basic instinct, she began to fan everything out of the door. She used a nearby cloth and began to filter it out, upon which she heard the cloth smack someone in the face. Michelina's mouth dropped open with a solemn 'o' the moment she saw Sam standing there. She quickly retracted her hands and pulled them behind her back, half-laughing as he walked inside.

"Well hello to you too," he said.

"The popcorn was burning, I'm sorry."

"Eh," Sam said, waving her off. "I told Ted to keep an eye out, but he's back behind the shop taking a leak. I forgot the city guys were doing maintenance on the bathrooms. Thanks though for making sure the shop doesn't burn down."

"No problem."

But Sam looked from her to the wall clock, and then back to her again with a surprised face. "You're here super early. I don't have you scheduled until six. What's up?"

"I want to work early today, if that's alright with you."

As Sam started to unbox the candy, his brows pulled together and his expression hardly changed. Just as the grill began to sizzle next, he turned around and grabbed a spatula. Michelina turned around the corner and offered Sam a half-lived smile. She cleared her throat lowly, trying to let him see that she was anxious for an answer. As he began to shape out the meat and flatten it into patties, he grew curious. She always came in early for a shift, but never six hours early. Something had to of been bothering her, or maybe she was busy. Sam looked at her and asked, "You got a date, hon? Is that it?"

"What? No, no, no," she said, her voice adamant with denial. "I don't have the time to date anyone, and nor would I. It's just with everything going to hell around here and—"

He flicked a finger at her and said with an affirming nod, "You're worried about the creep. That's understandable, hon. But I promise, he's got no business being around here, and I have a big gun sitting above the coolers. I can see you're nervous about that, and that's to be expected. With you having younger brothers and all around these kids' age..."

"Sam."

"What?"

She shook her head in a stern rhythm, and a maternal look radiated from her brown eyes. Her gaze beheld the impression of don't you dare say that shit, and he knew that humility was his best friend. "You're right. I shouldn't have said anything about it. But honestly, if what's bugging you is not being around your brothers when you're working, they're always welcome to come here and bunk inside the hut. I don't mind having a few extra hands around to help out. I'll even pay them."

"Sam, they're only thirteen and fourteen. I don't want them out so late. And besides, my friend Arleen and her boyfriend are at my house right now, so I'm sure they won't have a problem watching them."

"So what is it then? Did something happen?"

While Sam wasn't always up to par on everything, he cared about what happened to his employees. He often played the ringleader for the girls whenever they were badgered by a young buck who thought being handy was alright. He could tell that something bothered Michelina. He could see that she wanted to cry, but she was fierce. She was biting her lower lip inside, and he could see how hard it was to keep her composure. Once the meat finished cooking on one side, he seared it and put it on a nearby plate. Sam pursed a hand on his hip and leaned against the counter. Michelina finally took a deep breath, and in response to his question, she nodded without looking him in the eye.

"I want you to take the night off," he said.

"What?" His statement snapped her out of her trance, and it made her brows pull together in confusion. "But Sam..."

"Look, I'm not gonna ask what happened, because I know that a, it's always hard for you to talk about these things, and b, you're a wreck. I can see it in your eyes. You look like you sleep very little these days, and with everything going on, I understand it's nerve-wracking. Shit, if Ted and I were both kids again, our mother wouldn't have even let us step outside. I understand how it goes. So, go home, and take a Valium and sleep. You need it."

"But I need to work, Sam. I won't be able to-"

He rose a hand and stopped her mid-sentence. "I'm not going to hold it against you. Now go home, girl. I've got plenty of other kids coming in, and the college types are all heading back home anyway. Believe me, I got plenty of work for them to do."

"You sure?"

He nodded once. "Obviously yes. Now go on. And for God's sake, girl, get some sleep."

Michelina gave him a closed smile and turned around. It didn't feel right to not be at work when she wanted to be, and she knew it would've helped her cope with what was happening. But if Sam said she looked exhausted, then perhaps he was right. She often neglected her own needs and put others first. Perhaps she looked like a walking corpse, pale with bags under her eyes and a slow, shuffling step. She hardly looked in the mirror in the morning, and she only applied what makeup she wanted to wear for work. She didn't have time for herself anymore. Since she became what she considered a full-time mother figure, her time was not her own, but she accepted that. As she headed out the door, the fresh air gave her the ability to breathe. She inhaled deeply as she opened the driver's side door. When she got in, she managed to put her denim jacket back on without a fuss. As she put an arm through her sleeve, a piece of paper had fallen out of her pocket and onto the passenger's seat. She picked it up and saw it was actually a business card, seemingly simple and blank, except on one side. It beheld the words Abracadabra Entertainment and Supplies in a jaded blue-green font. But what was odd was that it had no phone number, as most business cards did. It only had the business name, but she brushed it off. She hadn't heard about any magician's joint in town, but with what she could figure was that he had to of slipped it into her pocket. But how he did it remained a mystery. His hands had been holding hers, so there was no way he could've done it without her noticing. Now she was determined. Something about his sly nature was driving her mad. Perhaps another trip to the store would spark her curiosity.

---

She had kept the truck's speed under 60, but yet she seemed determined to get there as soon as possible. There was something about the card that didn't sit right with her. Not only didn't it have a phone number, the card stock smelled different. It didn't smell like wood, plaster, or anything else relative to the store, but something loaded with chemicals. It smelled like a repellent or spray of some kind. The scent was strong and sharp, and even though she kept it away from her nostrils, it had potent fumes.

She drove into the parking lot again, but this time she saw the store was closed. It struck her curiosity why it would be locked up so early. Though Earl Wayne was elderly, that didn't mean he couldn't have others run it during the day for him. Michelina pulled into the parking lot again and killed the engine. She scurried up to the front door, and of course, it was locked. She looked through the glass and saw no one inside. It was dark, and no lights were on in the back room. Everything seemed completely still. Nothing about the scene sat right with Michelina. She also knew that in case of an emergency, or if Earl ever forgot his keys at home, he'd keep a spare under the welcome mat at the front door. She knelt down and flipped the right corner of the mat up, and there she saw a brass key gleaming in the sunlight. She grabbed it immediately and moved to unlock the door. With one small push, she jolted it open and heard the little bell ring above the frame. No one came out to greet her as she walked inside.

"Hello? Earl?"

Please, please, please let someone be here. I'm not in the mood for any more surprises.

She felt stupid for asking those questions in such a cliche manner, but she wanted to know if he or anyone else was there. But of course, there was no answer. She knew something wasn't right. As she stepped down the aisles and looked to see if anything was out of place, she saw nothing that would presume he'd been burglarized. All the commodities sat on the shelves, and nothing was overturned. Michelina looked past her shoulder and saw the till was still closed. It made her stop in her tracks, and inwardly, she felt a sharp pain roaming down her spine. It was the kind of pain one usually received when they knew something was terribly wrong, or worse, if they knew someone was hurt or dead. As she looked straight at the back room, she saw something shining under the light. It was viscous and dark. Without thinking, she bolted forward and ran back until she slipped. Her arms covered her head, and she fell onto the cool concrete floor. Her hip had broken her fall, but it was then she felt something not yet congealed pool into the fabric of her clothes. Her vision was blurry, and she felt like the air was knocked out of her. As the light focused in and out, she rolled onto her belly, then sat up on her knees. With a nearby table prompting a corner for her to grab, she pulled herself up and felt something wet again, this time sticking to her fingers and her palm. Michelina's Vans were covered in red. She thought dark paint had been spilled, but she had been wrong. So wrong.

When she regained her sight, she looked down past her right ankle and felt what congealed beneath the sole of her shoes. There on the floor, with his eyes half-opened and his head dented in, Earl lay there in a pool of his own blood. The shock made her freeze. Earl lay there with his left arm under his torso, and his right lay over his head. His legs were spread apart. It appeared that one of his shoelaces was untied. But the blood was too much to bear. There was enough of it to make a small splatter everywhere, and as she felt it grow cold on her palm, fresh tears welled into her eyes.

"Oh fuck!"

Her first instinct was simple: call the police. She didn't hesitate to run back up to the front, and when she leapt behind the counter, her bloodied palm picked up the receiver. Her fingers dialed on the rotary face the simple number, and when the operator connected, she babbled into the phone and cried, almost uncontrollably. Tears streamed down her face, and strands of her hair clung to her temples. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks, and now that she saw an old family friend's body this way, it'd stay with her indefinitely.

"I need the Denver Police Department please. Tell them to come to Floro Hardware Supply. Earl Wayne has had an accident, and I think he fell and hemorrhaged."

The woman who answered kept a calm tone. "Miss, is he breathing? Can you tell me what happened?"

"Just send the goddamn cops, please! I don't know what happened. Please, just send an ambulance, send somebody."

Her knees locked, and she slammed down onto the floor. She buckled completely and toppled, feeling weak from the emotions that consumed her. She hadn't expected to see Earl like that. She didn't expect to be covered in his blood, least of all. For the next ten minutes, she waited for the ambulance and police to arrive. Every second of each minute that passed felt longer than the last. Her heartbeat felt slow in its thumping rhythm, and she wondered if it'd be better off without a beat. She was so tired of seeing familiar faces giving her one last smile, or saying goodbye to her in one last interaction. Her knees continued to quiver together, and the blood that caked her soles was now dark and dried. The sound of a siren entered her ears, and by chance, she found the strength to get up off the floor and run outside. She had her hands out in front, showing the police that she wasn't a killer and had no weapons whatsoever. Even during the day, the red and blue lights flashed brightly. A Cadillac ambulance followed behind, and it parked in front of the store. Michelina could feel multiple eyes on her. It was the most unnerving thing. Everyone whispered, stared, and gawked. She saw an impending crowd pack in behind the officers. They approached her and with a female officer on site, frisked her and checked her denim jacket. The tears fell from her bloodshot eyes in small rivers. She had closed her eyes and immediately started to hyperventilate. She felt like she was being suffocated. As the female officer led her towards the squad car, someone called out to them.

"Officer, just a moment," the voice said.

While the man came towards them, the technicians passed through the doorway and followed the bloody tracks Michelina had left behind. They followed them all the way to the backroom, and there they found Earl deceased, of course, present without an active pulse. They took pictures, placed markers as to where blood and other evidence had been found. They had secured his body on a gurney once it'd been rolled in, and they pushed it back out through the front. A bloody white sheet covered the old man's body, and the scent of rigor mortis was heavy on the air. Men and women flocked around the blocked off hardware store and gasped. Most were beginning to think she had something to do with it. Would she become a new pariah for them to tear apart? Would she become as hated as the one who abducted the teenagers? She turned back to see them load Earl's body into the ambulance. She was about to pass out from the shock of seeing the scene, but two strong arms caught her before her knees could lock again. She screamed and began to shake. Through stinging tears, she looked up with her bloodshot eyes and saw the same face from before, though his eyes were covered yet again. Out of instinct and traumatized experience, Michelina clung to him. She didn't even think twice about it. The side of her face burrowed into an embroidered uniform shirt, which held the name of the store stitched upon the breast pocket. She threw her arms around his neck and cried, gripping the back of his shirt, pawing at him with her blood-caked nails. She buried her face into his throat and felt the strands of his light brownish-gray hair brushing against her nose. In that moment, Michelina forgot about everything. She could still see Earl's brain matter on the corner of the counter, and it frightened her. She was near hysterics, but she managed to murmur into Al's throat in soft sobs. Her breath was hot on his throat. It stirred the organ between his legs with heightened pleasure. If they weren't in public, he would've been able to take care of it.

"Earl's dead. His head, it... it was split open," she rasped. "Jesus Christ, there's blood everywhere. He's dead, and they just dragged him out and he's dead."

He cupped the back of Michelina's head, entwining his fingers in her hair, inhaling her scent as she craned into him. He hushed her as if he were a father calming his daughter. If there was ever a time to reel her in, it was now. Al could feel his breath catch in his throat, but his lips were pulled back in a calculating frown. He nuzzled his face playfully into her temple, his lips brushing her hairline, and whispered to her, saying, "It's alright now. I'm sure it was just an accident, sweetheart. You know how the elderly get when their balance is off. Don't worry, they'll take good care of him."

His tone was playful, yet careful. His large hand cupped her lower back, and he pulled her in close. Michelina's skin reacted the moment he touched her skin. His calloused fingers traced over her spine, and his palm swept against her in a light motion. He could smell her perfume and his boss' blood on the hot air. He could see how stained her knees were, and he saw that her hands were still covered in blood. It was gratifying to see her tremble. It only made blood rush to his cock, but due to the fact they were in public, he'd have to conceal his growing erection. He also wondered how she would react once she'd been touched by an unrelenting pair of hands. The female officer came around the curb and inquired with her hand on her belt, saying, "Do you know this girl?"

His blue eyes looked down at the young woman in his arms, then back at the officer, whose face was upturned with suspicion. A sneer appeared on the woman's face. He didn't appear uncooperative, nor did he assert his dominance on the site. He would have plenty of time later to show his true nature. As he curled Michelina into his sculpted chest, Al nodded at the officer's question, as he observed her name tag. "Only from this morning, but she's no killer, Officer Anderson. She's harmless, I assure you."

Michelina looked helpless. Her brown eyes were still bloodshot, and the tears continued to flow down her cheekbones. Al could feel her heartbeat racing against his chest, a rhythm that pumped all of her fear. As he felt the entirety of her hot blood circulating beneath the film of her skin, it aroused his sadism. For him, there was no other way to receive a rush of adrenaline. It pleased him to see others in distress. But he needed to present himself as someone she could trust. If he could get her guard down, it'd be easy to sink his teeth into her. All he had to do was earn her trust, and what better way to do that than by presenting himself as someone who would always be there? Again, he hushed her and kept whispering to her that everything would be fine. He could feel how her body reacted to his embrace. The young woman trembled, almost as if she were imagining something warm coaxing her out of her shell. The coroner came out of the store then, and ducked beneath the road block placed around the street. He approached Officer Anderson and pulled her aside, shaking his head.

"We found small wooden fragments of the table embedded in his skull and brain matter. There were items tumbled around him, so it is probable he just fell. It's likely he died of a hemorrhage, just like the girl said. Let her go, Rebecca. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Anderson shook her head in return too. "I still have to question her. It's standard procedure."

"For what?" the coroner asked. "It doesn't fit the preliminary evidence, Rebecca. It's clear he fell and hemorrhaged. You can tell by the way he was angled on the floor and from the amount of blood lying around. There are splinters on his hands from where he tried to grab onto something. I pulled them out myself. Let the girl go home."

Michelina looked back at the coroner out of fear. She hadn't heard the entire conversation, but she was still afraid of what would happen. Would they come back and try to pin Earl's death on her? Or would they try to arrest her on some asinine theory? She knew that police weren't the most reliable source of law enforcement, and most times, it showed, even with the multiple teenage boys missing. The coroner now trekked the officer away and argued with her, disagreeing about her theories. The two faded out of view, and Michelina was weary of everything. She wanted to go home, find a Valium as Sam recommended, and take one before going to sleep. Her nerves were shot, and she simply wanted to wash her hands. And her knees, and clean out her clothes and Vans. This is fucked, so very fucked. The whole inside of her head throbbed from a forming migraine, and her eyes felt sensitive to the light around her. She slowly rose a hand to her head and tried to rub her temple. The soft red nail polish gleamed in front of Al, and he decided to play coy.

"Not feeling too hot, huh? You poor thing, you look like you've been through hell."

"I just need to get back home," she said. "I need to take a Valium."

Now his interests were sparked. The mere mentioning of the medicine gave him an idea. There were other ways he could obtain her, much less render her unconscious if need be. But now wasn't the time to press the issue. He would just glide right in, metaphorically speaking. He'd get her to drop her guard. Al pretended to be softer, more genuine. He curled up to her and tried to keep his composure, and Michelina saw how he closed the space between them. The young woman was quivering as his thumb braced her lower lip. She hadn't expected him to do such a thing. He was so close that one would think they were having a tryst in broad daylight.

"Would you like me to take you home? It'd be a pity if you fell asleep behind the wheel."

She reeled her face away from his hand and swallowed hard. Her mouth fell open a little at a time, and with her brows pulled together, she inquired. "Are you trying to ease the tension, is that it?"

"More or less," he said. "If anything, I was trying to get inside your head."

And how bluntly he said that. Any trace of a coy nature suddenly drained from his person. He grew much more serious now, and a straight, unyielding line formed on his face. He stepped closer to her and felt her eyes falling to his chest, then to his thighs. He could tell that she was observing his body for everything he had. Even though he hadn't had much luck with others, he could tell when someone was sexually frustrated, inexperienced, or at least curious. He was one of those people, always holding back, repressing everything he had inside until he found the right one to express himself with. But he could smell her trepidation on the air. He could also smell the arousal coming from in between her legs. He could hurt her, maim her, but perhaps she'd be the kind of girl to thank him for it. At least, that was what he thought as he observed her. He could twist her into a new animal if she gave him the chance. He'd break her in more ways than one, and secretly, he was hoping she'd play the game like the others.

Michelina retracted from his touch and started to walk back to her truck. She kept looking over her shoulder every few seconds. She felt like he could read her body language and anticipate her next move. She knew she had grown wet from holding onto him, but it was the sight of his half-covered face and the sound of his voice that made her like that in the first place. She hated him for it. At the same time, she couldn't get the feeling to go away. Every part of her anatomy was electrified with strange currents she didn't understand. In her traumatized state, she got back into her truck. She saw Al standing there in an unmoving stance as she looked through her window. He seemed lifeless. He stood there with his eyes still half-hidden, even in the middle of the day. His toned arms were hidden in his pockets, and his hip was cocked out to the side. He watched her as she watched him. It still drove her mad how she couldn't see his eyes. Just what the hell are you trying to hide?

As she gripped the steering wheel hard, a wild idea ran into her mind. It was stupid to say the least, but she wanted to see if it would work. She took out the small card she had found from before and held onto it. Her fingers went back to the wheel, and she moved to drive down a small corner and stopped. Al grew confused, if not intrigued, by this interesting display. Michelina held out her arm with the card between her fingers. She watched him cautiously. Would he take it, or would he throw it away? She was testing him, as she wanted to see what he would do.

The older man walked up to the driver's side and pursed his arms on the edge of her window. She tried not to look at him as he took the card. It was inevitable, as his fingertips brushed hers. They swept softly across the digits, but paused as he observed the card up close. "Well, what's this?" he asked.

"I'm pretty sure you know what it is. I don't know anyone else who would've put it in my pocket, so nice try."

Al's expression suddenly changed. It went from blank to utterly shocked. His eyes, if she could've seen them clearly, grew dark with anticipation. He stepped back and scratched his jawline, continuously peering at the card and not her. Now was her cue to leave. She drove off down the street and returned to the main road. She watched as his figure shrank in the glass of her rear view mirror, growing smaller by the second. As the stench of Earl's blood dried in the Denver heat, she coughed lightly and heaved. Her stomach somersaulted in her abdomen from the sight. She wanted to get home and take a shower again, to clean herself of the evidence from Earl's unfortunate mishap. And what a ride it would be, telling Arleen and Max about what had happened and why there was blood on her person.

Chapter 8: Give the Kid a Break

Chapter Text

Michelina opened the truck door and let her feet dangle out for a moment. She looked blankly at her Vans, and saw how they were still caked in crimson. The sight was enough to discern that something awful happened. But the feeling of knowing she trekked blood through the store? It made her want to cut her feet off and limp on stumps everywhere. She felt guilty. She hadn't caused Earl's death, but she felt as though she had. Her breath continued to hitch in her throat. She kept inhaling, but she didn't want to exhale. Every part of her body wanted to shut down. Everything from her toes and her mind all felt numb. It was almost as though all the blood in her body went cold and stopped circulating. She felt numb beyond all meaning. A part of her wanted to strip off all her clothes and burn them in the backyard, but that'd be stupid. 

The neighbors would talk, and then it would definitely look as if she killed Earl. It'd still be simple enough to get rid of the clothes another way. Slowly, she stepped out of her truck and managed to walk towards her front door. She was about to walk inside, but she looked at her driveway and saw her ex-stepbrother's beige car parked by the garage. White smoke bellowed in the air, and she could smell meat cooking on a grill. She figured they were having a cookout in the backyard. In that case, she didn't want to cause alarm to Andrew, and she certainly didn't want their brothers to see her in her present condition. She quickly ran up to the oak door, unlocked it. She scrambled to fit the key into the lock, and her fingers felt numb. She managed to head towards the bathroom the moment she got inside. She closed the front door as quietly as possible. The sight of her bloodied Vans only made her hurry along towards the bathroom. Their colors appeared dirty against the wooden floor, and her feet were killing her. She heard laughter and giggling coming from Arleen, and she knew from the echo she was in the kitchen. She could smell bacon cooking on the stovetop, and she heard her flirting with Max, who managed to walk past the den without seeing her out of his peripheral. He made playful noises that drowned out the opening of the bathroom door. Michelina opened the door and shut it fast. It thudded hard, and she heard the laughter from the kitchen cease.

"Mick?" Arleen called out, her voice airy. "Are you back already?"

She didn't answer. Her fingertips were already on the knob, and she locked it in less than a second. She was too busy unbuttoning her shorts, throwing them down around her ankles, same for her underwear. The denim jacket followed next, as did the tied-up white shirt. All her clothes were stained somehow with the blood, and she despised the sight of them. Once she was done in the bathroom, she'd dispose of them properly. She turned on the shower with one twist of the nozzle, but it wasn't long before she heard a pair of raps at the door. The rhythm made her jolt in her stance.

"Mick, are you okay?" Arleen said. Her voice carried through the door with a light tone, and as she knocked again, it was apparent she was worried. "Hey, did everything go alright? What did Sam have to say?"

Once she stood completely naked in front of the mirror, Michelina took a good long look at herself and felt nauseous. Her hair was matted, her skin pale. "Yeah," she said, trying to sound as normal as possible. "He gave me the night off, so everything's fine."

She could feel Arleen hesitating on the other side of the door. She could deduce that Arleen could tell she was lying. However, the redhead's voice managed to sound soft before she stepped away. "Okay, well, if you get hungry, Max and I made plenty of food. The boys are out back and Drew's manning the grill. If you want anything, let us know. We basically bought out the whole store."

Oh God, I can't eat right now. My stomach feels like it's been twisted into a knot, and I can't stop seeing all this blood everywhere. I don't want to eat and I don't want to sleep, she thought. Everything in my life is shot to shit like Pearl Harbor, and I wish it wasn't. This isn't fair, and I'm sick of it. It's all a bunch of bullshit.

She stepped inside and felt the hot water hit her skin at an accelerated rate. A sharp shudder left her throat at the feeling of the temperature. She quickly grabbed a sponge and doused it with soap and water, and managed to sweep it all over her body. If it would help her feel clean again and not like a murderer, it would be a welcome change. But she felt enraged, she felt disgusted with herself. As the sponge foamed in her hand, she scrubbed herself harder and harder. Her skin grew red with every harsh movement.

I just want to scrub this off my skin and feel normal. Let everything be normal for Christ's sake. Let me raise my brothers, let me keep them safe. I don't want to deal with this anymore. Her mind still throbbed, and no Valium or migraine medicine would make her anxieties go away. As she dipped her hand in between her legs, she remembered the slick that had pooled there. The sensation of the water had made her jump, especially as it swept over her sensitive spots. He had caused her to feel that way. His voice, his touch, his breath— it made her feel warm in that close interaction. Her labia felt aflame, and blood pooled into the veins inside. Her clit felt heavy as the suds swept over it. The feeling made her thighs quiver. Now the feeling of excitement had transformed into fear. She hadn't been attracted to anyone since her sophomore year, and when she was sodomized at age eighteen, the feeling of trust had all but dissipated. She'd been violated, and it had scarred her in more ways than one. Every day, she still felt some kind of pain from it. As she pressed her back to the shower wall, the feeling of the tiles cooled her down. She wanted so much to let someone into her life, but how could she with everything going on? She was mentally scarred, traumatized. She was acting as a single mother with a lot of responsibility. What man would ever want her like that?

But Al didn't have to hold her the way he did. He didn't have to let her hold him in return either. By all means, he could've pushed her away, but he didn't. There was something about Al that had her vexed and confused, but she didn't know why exactly. She could still smell his cologne against her skin, and it made her feel drunk. Michelina clung to the sponge and squeezed it, imagining it was his back or his chest. Perhaps she was acting like a lovesick girl again, but he had stirred something inside her. She wondered about him. It was strange, and she felt like he was always around. It made her think then— had he been the one at the window the other night? Did he know where she lived? No, it was impossible. Wasn't it? She hadn't met him before now, and if she had seen him at the store before, it wasn't for long. He seemed shy most of the time, but today outside the store? He was there. He had her in his arm, and his lips had been at her temple. She could feel his breath on her face, and that made her clit jolt with pleasurable pulses. For Christ's sake, he had been there like clockwork. Just what the hell had it been about? Why was he there in her face, comforting her when she was covered in blood? If anyone else saw her caked in red, they would've thought she was perhaps a delinquent or insane. No one would've willingly walked up to her, unless they knew what they were getting themselves into. Or unless he already knew what she was covered in. Al was a right weird bastard. There was something off about him, but his nonchalant, airy nature was strange. Perhaps that was what attracted her in the first place. He was unreadable, and she wanted to know what he was like. She hated not knowing a person's intentions, and more so, she hated not seeing his eyes. She wanted to see them more than anything. It would be a challenge to find a way to read him, but she accepted it. Quickly, she rinsed herself off underneath the shower head. The suds fell over her skin and went down the drain, stained with blood.

Once she was cleaned, she managed to step out carefully and snake a towel around her torso. She unlocked the door, but not before grabbing the soiled clothes in her hand. She held them tight to her chest, and she opened the door without second thoughts. Her wet feet trekked her across the floor and upstairs. The wetness of her soles against the wood would be enough to make her slip, but she didn't want to be seen. All she wanted was to get dried off, dressed in clean, bloodless garments, and find everyone else downstairs without being covered in suspicious liquids. She immediately threw the ruined clothes on her bed and looked through her dresser. She gathered a clean shirt, bra, panties, and a new pair of shorts she'd bought a week past. It didn't take her long to dress, and before she went back downstairs, she popped a Valium into her mouth. She swallowed it dry, but the chalky coat remained on the back of her tongue. Her dry feet trekked her downstairs, and it was a welcome change to the bloodied Vans she'd been wearing earlier. The pine of the steps felt smooth beneath her aching soles, and as she stepped into the kitchen, she saw no one there. The stove was off, and everything had been moved outside. Through the back door, she could see Arleen pouring lemonade, and Max was beside Andrew at the grill, helping him change out the meat. The two men seemed to be getting along famously. For that, she was grateful. The boys were also sitting at the table, playing euchre, and out of view from the sidewalk. Michelina took a deep breath, then exhaled. They were home, they were safe. With everyone around, no one could touch them. She stepped outside and marched down the back steps. Max looked over his shoulder and acknowledged with a wave.

"Hey, the lady of the house is back! How did it go?" he said.

Honestly Max, you don't want to know. "Pretty well. Sam gave me the night off," she repeated.

Arleen crept around the back of the table and hugged her friend tightly. The feeling of her embrace wasn't anything like Al's. Hers was more benign and friendlier. If anything, Al felt more possessive with a strange kind of adoration. Her voice entered Michelina's ears again, and she babbled on, smiling. "You sounded like you were drowning in the shower. I was about to come barging in to see if you were alright, but Max persuaded me otherwise. But hey, he's got to be heading back soon, so he was wondering if he could call his brother and invite him over for a little bit. I know it's short timing, but it's his last night here in Denver."

Apart from the sudden request, everything seemed to be happening so quickly. She blinked twice in a quick flitter. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Yeah," Arleen said, awkwardly scratching her neck. "He's got to head back home for his job, but he wants to hang out with his brother so he can get him out of the house and around other people. I guess the guy's a recluse, so he pities him, you know? Look, I'm sorry. I have no right to ask you."

The two of them sat down at the table in silence. Michelina's lips were pulled together in quiet amusement. As she contemplated the entertaining idea, she haplessly watched her brothers playing cards, slacking off in the heat and laughing. They were doing well and having a good time. As Andrew finished cooking the rest of the meat on the grill, he doused a thick log full of lighter fluid and lit it high in a makeshift bonfire pit. The fire snapped her back to reality with its bright light. She could feel the heat of the flames on her skin, and as the sun finally set, it seemed beautiful. Suddenly, she found herself answering with a trance-like tone. "Yeah, it's no problem. It's just him coming over, right?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. He can call him."

Arleen embraced her tightly, and then playfully skimped beside Max. She could see the two of them talking together, and as Arleen began to grab all the plated meat, she walked back over to the table and set everything. Max walked up beside Michelina and said, "Thanks, this means a lot to me. It's just... he's always so cooped up in the house with Samson, it's sad. But I'm sure you'll like him, and I know he'll warm up to you."

If he is the one I'm thinking of, he already has. Max dipped past her and walked back into the house, trekking out of view and into the kitchen. She heard him dialing the phone, but as he finally began to speak into the receiver, it was muffled. She couldn't hear what he said. After two minutes, he came back outside. His face was upturned like a pup's, and he seemed rather energetic. She decided to move next to Alex, who had a decent amount of cards in his right hand. Colby was perched on his heels on the bench of the table, and he watched his brother pick up cards with precision. For the better part of ten minutes, the boys took turns kicking each other's asses in the game. It made her smile, seeing how competitive they were. Of course, the highlight of the game was when the youngest accused the middle child of cheating.

"You jackass!" Colby hollered. "You did that on purpose!"

"Nah, you just suck at playing cards," Alex laughed. "Now draw, you little shit."

The two boys bickered like old ladies. Each time one lost, they always said the sky was the limit. It gave her great comfort to see them like that, but soon as the rest of the bottles were uncapped and the silverware set, Andrew set down the plate of brats and burgers. The scent broke the boys' concentration, and they dropped all their cards.

He put the spatula to the side, then playfully biffed them. Michelina laughed as both rubbed their heads. "Look, you're both little shits. Now put the cards away and eat before it gets cold."

The boys grabbed a handful of everything onto their plates and began to wharf it all down. They were still growing, and their metabolism was as great as a horse's. As she sat at the table with them, she hardly touched anything. Each boy had at least two plates, and while Arleen, Max and Andrew were still on their first round, she sat by idly. She merely drank a glass of lemonade to keep her stomach feeling full. The heat made her feel dizzy, and somehow, she could still smell the blood on the air. Everyone continued to laugh and eat, and while she felt a little light-headed, she heard another vehicle driving up the side of the street, then stopping beside her house. There were white headlights burning through the colors of dusk, and then they went black. They turned off, and so did the engine. Michelina was immediately alarmed. Just what did Max's brother drive exactly? Was it a hearse, or a goddamn tank?

Regardless of what his vehicle was, she had the urge to go back inside. Everyone looked at her stance, and when Andrew was about to ask what it was, she stopped him with a simple phrase. "I'll get it."

She got up and hurried along the steps, as she was sure whoever parked in front of her house was coming to her front door. Her bare feet trekked her down the hallway, and she approached the new oak door. She looked through the top of the door's window, and she saw merely the top of someone's head. She cautiously removed the chain, and her hand stalled on the doorknob. She wanted to unlock it and turn it badly. There was something burning inside her. If it's really you, I think I'll fall over.

Michelina jolted in place and lightly yelped the moment she felt a hand touch her shoulder. It didn't take her more than two seconds to snap around. She clutched her chest for a moment, then laughed briefly. "Jesus Christ, Max, don't do that."

"Sorry," he said breathlessly. "I just wanted to introduce you guys."

Whatever, she thought. She exhaled once as she nodded, regaining her nerves, and with a graceful flick of her wrist, she opened the door. Standing tall in a red turtleneck, black bell bottoms, and black polo shirt, he seemed brawnier than before. He was very toned, to say the least, and his muscles, God, she couldn't forget about those. His light brownish-gray hair sat promptly against his shoulders, and his crooked smile reappeared. As always, he wore the same sunglasses that prevented him from showing his eyes. Now you're doing it on purpose, she thought.

Max stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Michelina, this is my big brother, Albert. This is-"

"Al is fine," he growled. But the moment he stepped inside, his eyes, though veiled behind the amber lens, immediately went to her face. His tone was annoyed at the utterance of his first name, but when the blood faded from his face, he smiled at her. His tone had shifted from grave to light. "And we've met, Max. Trust me."

The younger brother's face upturned with genuine surprise. "Wait, you have? I was sure you two had nev-"

But he looked at Max with intent eyes, though his brows were lightly pulled together. Now that sparked a dangerous reaction. For all the years he had known his brother, the acknowledgment of his short-lived temper was paramount to their relationship. Max quickly backed off, and half-smiling, said, "I think I heard Arleen calling me. I'll, uh, I'm just gonna go see what she needs." With that remark, he went back outside.

When he went down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps could be heard in a retreating pattern. She looked over her shoulder, and with her hands now cupped behind her back, she cocked her head back to face Al. He stepped inside, then closed the door tightly. He watched how her chest rose up and down. He heard her breathing softly, then deeply as he closed in on her. Perhaps she hadn't expected it to be him. No, she thought it would be someone else, but nothing worked to her advantage. He kicked off his shoes accordingly, and with his black socks stifling any sounds he made, he approached her cordially. As he stood a few inches from her, the sudden pain in her fingertips returned. The throbbing became as deep as the sensation between her legs. There was something about his hovering that made him seem possessive, if not curious. Al took one of her hands in his, and again, he swept her buds against his lips.

"How's it going, sweetheart? I hope you don't mind me dropping in."

She could hardly form words. He released her hand, and she pulled it back right away. Without thinking, she blindly asked, "Would you like to come out back with me? There's a fire going, and I'm sure everyone else would like to meet you too."

He formed a downward frown, but his cheeks pulled them back to form a forced smile. The blood remained out of the vessels in his cheeks. He was as pale and flaccid as a corpse. She could tell that made him uncomfortable, but to hell with it. He was in her house, as her guest. She wasn't about to let him take advantage of her under her own roof. Now she took his hand in hers, and without breaking eye contact with his sunglasses, she led him down the hallway and through the kitchen. He was in her home now, and she wouldn't back down. Now she had the chance to truly interact with him. Now was the time to see what he was like around others. Was he as conniving as he was earlier in the morning, or was he simply just bad at socialization? Whatever the case was, she wanted to see him for who he really was.

Chapter 9: You're My Temptation

Chapter Text

The whole time she led Al down the front steps, he had hardly skipped a beat. He was right there behind her, trailing her, watching her. He surprisingly allowed her to keep hold of his hand, and when he saw the flames of the fire flickering high, it cast shadows against her body. Beneath the flimsy white t-shirt she wore, he could see the outline of her large breasts. They hung a little low due to the fact that they were fat and natural, and it gave him a decent idea of what her nipples only looked like. His eyes trailed down to meet the cleft of her spine, and as he saw how the hemline of the shorts rode up her thighs, he knew that the shape of her ass was just as lush. He could see that she was quick to get rid of the bloody clothes from before, but he still liked the set she wore now. He could only imagine what she'd look like when completely nude. He had envisioned it for a while, and more so, he tried to catch a glimpse of her that night at her bathroom window. But the curtain had blocked his view. He couldn't see the curves of her body, nor could he see the look on her face when she dried herself off. Blood raced to his cock as he imagined the soft brown tresses of curls over her wet junction. And the scent, oh, he could savor it as she walked in front of him. Al could picture her soft folds. He imagined she'd be so smooth on the inside, prime for pumping, for curling his large fingers inside. He imagined smelling her tight little cunt on the silver of his rings, and the scent itself— he imagined it would be like fresh droplets of dewy saccharine. He couldn't help but think about her bent over on all fours, desperate, pleading. He could go on with his thoughts, but he was saving himself for the real thing. He had to have her. There wasn't any other option. He needed to break her in, to get inside her completely. With the way she watched him with suspicion, it wouldn't take him long to toy with her.

Michelina brought him over to the rest of the group and cleared off a folding chair for him to sit down on. She let go of his hand for a moment and brought it closer to the fire pit. Everyone began to notice this strange, black-clad man, and she wanted him as close to the flames as possible. The chair sat beside Max and Arleen, who watched as Al kept himself close to her. The redhead watched as the man's glasses sank for only a second, dipping with him as he tipped his head. She knew he was watching her friend. But as Michelina felt him eyeing her, the familiar trepidation returned. It pooled in her canal, moving through the walls and veins of her skin, and it fluttered to her clit with rushing blood. She was about to get another chair to avoid his eyes. When he took his seat, he pulled her to sit down with him. A strong arm enclosed around her waist. The young woman thudded against his chest, and the scent of his cologne made her feel drunk. It was warm, accented with sandalwood and pine, also with something else. It was something grainy that she couldn't place. The other two components were so strong, she couldn't tell what the third ingredient was. Its scent burrowed into her nostrils. But it was the sudden grasp that caught her off guard. He laughed against her neck. Her long dark hair hid most of his jaw, and the sunglasses kept his eyes veiled, hidden from any kind of contact.

"Hey look, Mick's got a new boyfriend," Alex laughed. Everyone else laughed too, but theirs were short-lived. There was an odd feeling of unease on the air, and as Max held Arleen close, the redhead kept looking over to her friend, then to the boys. Andrew was sitting close beside them, and he too was an ample build. He worked construction for eight hours a day, and he had muscle that was presentable like Al's. He kept an eye on Michelina as this stranger held her.

The remark only made Al grip her hips harder. He could tell the teenager was mocking her, and perhaps him too. But it also sparked a dangerous idea, one deep and twisted. A sharp, crooked smile appeared on his placid face. He replied with a sharp smile, "I could be if she wants me to be."

What the fuck? Michelina's eyes went wide, and her mouth fell open in a soft round shape as she nervously laughed. Her cheeks flushed red with blood. The sight of an embarrassed girl aroused him to no end, and as he clung to her, his thick forearms acted as a belt. She couldn't move, and she was secured without any room to nudge. He watched her intently, and with the hemline of her shorts retreating back to the apex of her thighs, he could see how lush and soft her flesh was. He wanted to grip her skin right then and there. He wanted to dig his fingernails into her, to claw at her, scratch her. He was becoming like an animal in heat, and while she was around other people, he couldn't have her the way he wanted.

An hour passed, and Andrew looked at his wrist watch. The time was 9:34, and it was after the boys' curfew. While the two sat in front of the pit, making s'mores, the area around them was dark. The streetlights were lit, but with poor lighting. Their bulbs weren't strong enough to provide adequate coverage. There were shadows cast over every vehicle on the block, and from the backyard, the house seemed covered in darkness. Only the fire flickered in the small pit. Max stretched then, and as Arleen curled into his chest, he rubbed his eye and cleared his throat. "Anyone have the time?" he asked.

"It's 9:35," Andrew said. "Which means I've got to get going, and that two young men need to get inside and go to bed." 

Both Alex and Colby groaned, rolling their eyes. One of them had just taken a bite, the other finished their s'more. Across the way from the fire pit, Al watched them studiously. He observed their faces, their body language. He smiled as the two of them began to grovel. It reminded him of the times when he and Max were still kids. "Are you serious, dude? It's not even ten yet! Mick lets us stay up that late at least. Damn, you treat us like a bunch of old biddies."

Andrew snapped his fingers and laughed. "Come on, you two. You never gave me any shit while you were at my place, so why act up now? Now you know why you gotta go inside."

Alex rolled his eyes again. "Yeah, it's because of that Grabber bastard. We know. With you guys locking us up, I don't see how he could ever get us anyway."

The two young men cleaned up their trash and gathered their chocolate onto a plate. They stuffed it full of the graham crackers, marshmallows, anything they could find. Colby went back to the table and nudged for more. Alex ran up beside him and butted his hip. "Don't be taking all the brats, tank ass. Leave some for me at least."

After they plated everything up, the boys raced through the grass and towards the back steps. They managed to carry their food in hand without spilling it, and it was a miracle that they could run that well through the darkness. Their footsteps could be heard clattering up the wood. A creak of the door's hinges entered their ears, then it slammed shut. The lights to the kitchen turned on, and Michelina exhaled. They were inside and safe. No one could get them now. Andrew looked at Michelina and walked over to her, hugging her tight. He was nearly face to face with this Al, and he shot him a preemptive glare. It beheld the aura of you hurt her, I'll kill you. It was more or less him challenging Al on the spot.

"See you, sis. Thanks for letting us come over." He withdrew his hold on her, and as he took his keys in hand, he headed off. His lanky figure could be seen walking against the fence line of the neighbor's property. He was out of view in less than a minute.

But upon recollecting the time, a wide-eyed Max jolted to sit upright. His single beer spilled onto the grass beside him, and the bottle clattered to the ground. "What? Ah, shit. I've got to get going too. Arleen, honey, can you help me find my stuff? Just my luck, I'll forget something."

He moved to stand up, and Arleen followed suit. She lazily moved from his side and clung onto the flimsy blanket they shared. She was still half-asleep from the small nap, and Max tried to keep her upright. But of course, it was hard for him to do so without laughing. He planted a kiss on her nose, saying, "You're cute like that, you know? You look like a little Jawa."

"Shut up, smartass," she laughed, her eyes still half-closed. She began to take everything that belonged to them, and she put her sandals back on before they left. Max seemed hectic, if not jittery. If by happenstance, the firelight provided little coverage to the white powder that sat over the bank of his mustache. Arleen didn't see it, and perhaps it was a good thing she hadn't. She didn't like others doing drugs in front of her friend's brothers. No, not when she viewed them as brothers herself. Still, the two of them began to pack everything up. Arleen grabbed her keys and walked over to Michelina's side carefully. She was trying not to trip, but more so, she was trying not to get in arm's reach of this Al. She didn't want him to touch her whatsoever.

"Hey, I'm gonna head out with Max," she said. "Or at least, I'm gonna walk him to his car."

"Okay," Michelina said. Her tone was soft, if not scared. She looked over her shoulder, giving Al a decent look. Let me get up and hug her goodbye, she thought. She was already pulling herself away, and he released his hold on her waist, raising his hands up like a child who'd just been caught. She stood up, wrapping her arms around her friend's back. The two young women held each other for what seemed to be a decade, but as Max scrambled to Arleen's side, he held onto her shoulder. Michelina released her and gave her and Max a half-lived smile.

"Thanks for hosting us," Max said. "It was nice to finally meet you and the family. And Al?"

The elder Shaw looked up at his brother with disdain and coordinated composure. He pursed his chin in his fingers, and as he poised his elbow to rest on the chair, his voice went low. A growl escaped his lips as he answered his brother. "What?"

"I'll take care of Samson before I leave."

"That's fine."

Arleen hurried along and took Max's hand in hers. There was a look of unease in her bright blues, and she practically dragged Max towards the front of the house. They carried everything around the side to the driveway, and just like Andrew, they dipped out of view. It was just Michelina and Al around the fire now, and it was a prime setting for them to be alone. Her brothers were inside, hopefully with the door locked, and everyone else got inside their cars. She could hear the engines starting from the driveway and the street, and with two sets of headlights turning on, everything remained dim. She couldn't see the shape of anything, and it was just the crackling sound of the fire in her ears. But he wasn't about to waste this opportunity. Now she was alone. No one else was around to watch out for her, and that was an arousing thought in itself.

---

As she watched everyone drive away, Al took it upon himself to quietly come up behind her. He snaked his arms around her waist, and with the warm wind blowing her hair back, it gave him room to nuzzle his face against her throat. Startled, Michelina's hand came around and she tried to hit him. His hand caught her ample wrist, and he squeezed hard. He pulled her back into his arms, and with her shirt riding up her belly, he could feel the heat of her body reverberate against him. Arching her back, she tried to move away. He smiled deeply, and as he felt her squirm, she scoffed at him, especially as his arms wrapped around her chest. His chortling laughs made her skin crawl with both pleasure and anxiety.

"You still seemed shocked to see me," he teased.

"You're the last person I ever expected to show up at my front door," she said. "What do you want?"

He spread her legs open then, and allowed her to feel his growing erection. Her eyes went wide. It was as hard as the phallus that had hurt her years before, and it made her remember everything she'd gone through. She imagined being bent back over, having her clothes ripped from her body. The feeling made her wriggle against his hips, and she swallowed hard. She looked away from him, but the sound of her breathing alerted him to the fact she was aroused. He could smell her glaze, but he wouldn't take her just yet. He needed her defenses gone. He needed her to be completely hopeless. She could feel his hands guiding her hips on his lap, and it was almost like a game. It was strategic, it was planned. Every time he jolted his hips against hers, a small rasp escaped her. 

You son of a bitch. This is wrong, and you know it.

He squeezed her thighs, clawing deep into the soft skin with brute force. There wasn't anything gentle about his touch at all. It was rough, coarse, and as she panted, he could smell her slick pooling at her entrance. If she hadn't been wearing her panties and shorts, perhaps she would've dripped onto his crotch. And what a sight that would be. To imagine the firelight casting shadows over her curls, against the wet labia between her legs. It was arousing, to say the least. But as his hands dipped in between her thighs, she elbowed her way out of his hold. She stood up quickly, and though he was only a few inches taller than her, the two were face to face. He loved this now. He could see she was a fighter. She had the same bravado as the others. In her eyes there was spirit, and as she thrashed in his hold, he gripped her hair in his hand. He pulled her head back with a tough pull, and she whimpered in pain. He was tired of her fighting him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and now he began to pull her against his chest. Deep, low growls escaped his lips as she drove her fingernails into his pectorals. She tried to push him away, but of course, he was stronger. He wasn't about to let her go anywhere.

"Well, how's that for a rewarding gesture? I hold you and try to calm you down this morning, and you're clawing at me," he seethed.

"Maybe it's because you have no business handling me like this. You don't know how to treat a lady, that's for sure."

Al took the opportunity to mock her further. "Who said you were a lady? It's not that hard to tell you're aroused, and I'm sure you can feel what you do to me."

She shook her head and pulled her brows together. "You fucker."

The way she said those words made blood rush to his cock again. Now she tried to give him a decent slap. Her palm was flat, and her fingers were straightened. As she pulled her arm way to try and slug him, Al caught her wrist. With his acute strength, wrapped his other arm under her thighs. Michelina's mouth fell open as she felt the brutal touch under her ass. He growled against her temple, "So that's where the boys get their foul mouths from. Tsk, tsk, it's not very cordial, is it?"

He lifted her up in his arms, and in turn, she had no choice but to cling to him. She could feel his erection brushing against her mound, and the friction of his thighs as he walked along made her ache. She couldn't help but let a deep moan escape her lips. Once he took them both up the stairs and entered through the back door, he kept her pinned against the hallway wall. The boys' television could be heard upstairs. It masked any sounds she made as he handled her. He couldn't give himself away, not now. There was still much that needed to be done, and he was so close to reeling her in. She tried not to look at him, but she was still so damnably curious about those eyes. He still wore his sunglasses, and hid away anything that would give his intentions away. But seeing as he was still a guest in her house, he allowed her to slide down off his waist. He still cornered her as a precaution. Their hips were pressed together, and their chests still touched. She huffed, out of breath, but now there was a half-angry, half-hungry look in her brown irises. He had aroused her, but she didn't want to admit it. She would rather die than say it out loud. But then the familiar Machiavellian smile returned, then died immediately.

"Before I leave, allow me to give you a parting gift."

He hadn't wasted any time diving to his knees. He pressed one leg over his shoulder, and as he inhaled her scent, it made her quiver in fear. If she could've seen how blown his pupils were behind those lenses, it would've been enough to level the earth into nothingness. He hungrily licked his lips, then without warning her, he drove his teeth into the inner sanctum of her thigh. Michelina cried out and gripped his shoulder at first. The sharp crookedness of his canines burrowed deep into her skin, nearly breaking it and drawing blood. His growls were guttural in their volume. She couldn't even cry out for him to stop, because in reality, she didn't want him to. She hated him for it. She hated what he brought out in her. To muffle her cries, she threw her hand over her mouth. The boys were still up in their room, and for her sake, they didn't come out to investigate the sounds. Al removed his mouth from her and through the pain and pleasure, she bled. His lips were covered in blood. He hoisted her leg off his shoulder and watched as she shivered against the wall. She turned her head to look away as he stood back up.

"I'll be seeing you some other time, I'm sure," he said. "Nighty-night, naughty girl."

He walked towards the front door and pulled his shoes back on his feet. He made himself look presentable before leaving her house. As the oak door began to close behind him, she rushed to secure it. However, she managed to catch a glimpse of the vehicle he drove. It was a long panel van, done up with a black matte scheme that graced its entire build. He moved to get into the driver's seat, and when he started the engine, he held his long arm out of the window. He waved his hand at her as he began to drive away. But as the van began to fade out of view, she managed to see the decal on the side of the van. It was the same as what was printed on the card he slipped her: Abracadabra Entertainment and Supplies. She suddenly felt her hips quiver in pain and fear. She stepped back inside and immediately slammed the door shut. The chain was thrown and the lock was secured. Was he really-? But there was no description of what the Grabber drove. No one knew if he drove a truck, a car, or a van like that one. No one knew a damn thing about this man, except that he abducted the kids in broad daylight. She tried to convince herself that he was just an ass.

Don't fucking think about it. He's just a rough bastard, that's all. You'll go crazy with this shit, and it won't do you or the boys any good. Besides, he works at a hardware store for Christ's sake. He's got to have room for everything, and I'm sure that magician bullshit, that's just a side gig. I doubt he's that good anyway.

Denial ran all throughout her body. Michelina's thigh felt like it was burning, and every time she brushed her other thigh against it, it stung. Fresh tears formed in her eyes every time she moved. She went into the bathroom to clean the sizable bite mark. The crescent shape he left her was crooked, aligned with different imprints. It was unique. The redness of her skin faded lightly as she cleaned it with soap and warm water. She moved to take care of the slick that pooled between her legs, she removed her shorts without pause. When she pulled the garment down, it was the only thing she wove her fingers around. There wasn't an elastic band for her to grab onto. She frantically tried to reach for them again, thinking she was just amiss from the encounter she just had. Then it occurred to her something was missing— her favorite pair of black lace panties.

How? How the fuck did you do that?

But of course, knowing his demeanor, he'd probably tell her that a magician never reveals his secrets. But to her, he would. In the next encounter, she'd make him tell her, and she'd be better prepared next time.

Chapter 10: Dangerous Tonight

Notes:

There are some heavy non-con elements here, even though they're represented in a dream. Though this character is fictional, her terrors are my own. I still have nightmares from time to time from the night I was sexually assaulted, and penning this through the eyes of a self-insert helps. In a strange way, writing this out lets me release any pent up fear and trauma I have. But please know that I absolutely do NOT endorse, support, or encourage any dubious content I write. Hell no. Just a fair warning though about the material in store, it's not for the faint-hearted.

More to come, and thank you all for liking this fanfic!

Chapter Text

All the lights in the house were all turned off. Every room inside the house was dark, and the windows and doors were all closed and sealed shut. The chains were thrown, and the locks all clicked into place. Once all the food and dishes were put away, Michelina retired to bed, but not before taking a glass of water upstairs with her. As she entered her room, she closed her door and trekked over to her window. She saw the two large trees swaying in the wind, and she saw how the pathway looked like a black hole between them. The bark shaded its entrance, and she quivered. Could he be there now, waiting?

As she opened the pill bottle, she hardly took her eyes away. A single pill fell into her palm. She took her Valium in a single swallow. The chalky aftertaste lingered on the back of her tongue, and she gagged. The bite on her thigh still ached from his precision. The pressure of its sting felt unequivocally brutal, yet impassioned. She lay there without the covers on her bed, and slept only in a flimsy t-shirt and another clean pair of panties. She wore no bra, and her nipples filled with blood. Her areolas were lightly shriveled and dark, and every time her shirt rolled over the tender flesh, she winced with an ache. The air that came in through her window allowed her some comfort, but not much. She could still feel him against her. She could feel how his lips brushed against her throat, how his nose nudged her ear. She could still feel his cock grinding against her covered lips, the sheer heat of it as he gyrated his pelvis into hers. Her eyes began to roll behind her lids as the Valium kicked in. There was something about him that felt terribly off, and she knew she should be weary of him. After all, had he not slammed her fingers, causing them to draw blood in a calculated pinch?

While they no longer hurt, it was the sheer presence of Al that caused her to be frightened and incredibly aroused. It was wrong. She knew it was wrong from the first time she saw him, and yet she couldn't help but think about him. There was something in him that seemed eroded. He seemed like he was putting on a front to conceal his true nature. It drove her mad, not knowing what his intentions were. He'd toyed with her, aroused her. But she wasn't stupid in the slightest. It was obvious that he was grooming her. As she curled her arms over her head, she spread her legs to avoid rubbing her thighs together. The heat that came from her pussy then was strong. But the friction from before, oh it felt good, but still in her present condition, she felt unsatisfied. He had stirred something inside her that made the yearning too strong. If she'd ever get the chance, she'd tell him how she despised his coyness. You really are a goddamn bastard.

In the pitch dark of her room, she cried then with self-loathing. He's fucked in the head, and so are you. What the hell are you doing getting heavy for this creep? What's in it for you? Are you bored, or are you that desperate to have him inside you? She kept throwing insult after insult at herself. Her clit was full of blood, but she didn't know how to relieve herself. It was something she never knew how to do, let alone want to do until now. As she dreamed, she kept her thighs apart. She gripped the pillow beneath her head and cried. She rolled her hips as she breathed heavily. She finally fell into a deep sleep thirty minutes after taking the medicine.

Her bedroom door was shut, and the boys were asleep in their rooms with their doors locked. Hers was the only one in the house left unlocked. After all, she didn't fit the Grabber's modus operandi, so why should she fear anything? She was older, and she was female. It gave her some comfort to know that she was too old to be part of his status quo. But as she felt the ache continue to grow between her thighs, the scent of her slick was heavy on the evening air. As she began to dream, she envisioned herself still in the dark of her room. But when she was lying there, the dream became cataclysmic. It was the most vivid experience she had ever had, and with her Valium coaxing her into complete unconsciousness, her mind was left to the most unnatural ideas.

-

In the dream, she wore nothing. She lay there on the covers of her bed completely naked, and as she felt the evening air roam over her skin, she could feel her nipples hardening. The curls of her pubic hair were soft and brown in the moonlight, and her labia appeared flushed red from the mirror mounted on the wall across her room. Her knees were bent upright, and her legs were spread softly. She seemed ready for the taking. Just as she inhaled, her eyes slowly opened to see him kneeling in front of her. His eyes were no longer hidden by the sunglasses, but by shadows. His shoulder-length hair swept against his muscles, and as he continued to watch her, the moonlight brought the shape of his body to light. He was stripped down, naked, and throbbing before her. The wet droplets she'd been feeling were beads of his pre-cum, dribbling down her thighs. His hands gripped her knees tightly. His fingertips nudged into her skin again, and his nails drove themselves in deeply. As he moved down to lie on his stomach, gripping her thighs with excessive force, he exhaled after taking a deep breath. A deep, guttural growl escaped his lips. She could barely see his face despite the moonlight, but the audible sound of his tone nearly made her drench her bedspread. Even then, Al was still a tease.

"Such a pretty little cunt for me," he said. "Look at her. Is she all wet just for me?"

Now she curled her fingers around her pillow. She tried not to think of him, but he was there. He was singsonging in her head, and his ridiculous girlish laugh resonated in her ears. He was in her mind like a bad habit that wouldn't break. As she dreamt of him lying between her legs, she couldn't escape his hold. But it felt good. It made her feel so good, and she grew resentful. He wasn't supposed to make her feel like that, as it was a dream. He was a manhandling bastard in reality, but then again, dreams were only vivid images, insipid fantasies, weren't they? Whatever the case was, she whimpered as this persona's fingers played with her clit.

"Fuck you, I hate you," she murmured, crying. "I hate you, damn it."

He knelt upright and with full force, he slapped her across the face. His palm left a viable handprint on her jaw, and her blood was singing. His voice offered a low threat as he growled. "Say those words again, and I'll make you hurt for it."

"Fuck. You."

Another slap came, one harder than the rest, and it left her dizzy. There was a small crack in her lip, and blood welled to the surface. The ringing in her ears dissipated little by little as his voice rang. "You are a little slut, aren't you? It's perfect. You really take each hit like a good girl."

She dreamt then that he leaned down to kiss her, and what a desperate, hungry kiss it was. He lapped at her lips with his tongue, sampling the iron. He enclosed his lips and teeth around hers and suckled. Every part of her pelvis felt aflame. His grip on her wrists grew harsh, and from squeezing her hard, bruises and ligature marks formed. She could feel how his cock slid against her folds. The feeling of it made her gasp against his mouth. He ate her lips, devoured her tongue. She felt the veins of his shaft then and the bulbous pink head. There were more beads of pre-cum dribbling off the tip, and as she saw the moonlight hitting the surface of the soft glaze, she felt rather hungry herself. Al pulled his lips from hers and applied his full weight atop of her. His hands found her breasts, and she kept her arms over her head. He moved his head down to gnaw at her breasts, and his teeth gnashed with her nipples. The more he bit them, the darker her areolas became. The pleasure-pain grew too much, and she found herself running her fingers through his hair. It only made his canines sink deeper, and he left a set of crescent bite marks all around her skin. There wasn't an inch of breast that hadn't been touched or maimed. As she cried, the tears fell from her eyes. They glittered on her lashes, and he could see that she wanted more. He cupped her throat then and began to squeeze, his thumb pressing hard over her vein. She felt dizzy again from the grip, but at the same time, she'd never felt better.

Now she stirred in reality, shifting onto her belly as she gripped the small side pillow. Her arms entangled themselves around it, and she sniffled, pulling her legs together in response. He only grew harder in her dream, and she could feel it. The electrifying currents surged through her pussy and to her nipples, and she could still feel him rubbing against her. She began to grind her hips in return, and even though she hated him, no one else had ever made her feel like that. She felt disgusted with both herself and him, but he was the one who made her a mess. In the dream, he became worse. She realized then that his nudity was merely for show.

He threw her onto her stomach, then pulled her hips up. Her ass was exposed in the air, with her swollen pussy showing. The soft hair on her folds was still soft, though damp from her slick. She grew embarrassed by the touch of him prying her flesh open with his fingers. He buried them inside her quickly, and she could feel his knuckles at the junction of her perineum.

"Fuck!"

Now he was absolutely ravenous. He grabbed one of her hips tightly, and he began to prowl her small canal with his hand. She was so sweet in the dream, that she felt like she was doused with Texan oil. He buried two fingers inside of her pussy, then three, and finally four. The thickness of his fingers made her quiver in pain, but she still kept her ass up in the air. Leaning over his hand, Al spat onto his thumb, coating the rest of his hand. He didn't give her a warning, and with the tears pouring down her cheeks, he pushed his hand inside her. A scream left her lips as she clung to the pillow in her sleep. She could feel those phantom digits at her cervix, working her with absolute greed. The Valium hadn't numbed her to the point where she couldn't feel anything else, and that much was true. As she slept, she kicked her feet in response.

"Please, it hurts!"

But in the dream, he continued. He wasn't stopping, and with his hand buried inside her, he managed to curl his fingers with sadistic pleasure. As she mewled for him to pull his hand away, the feeling returned to her womb. She imagined then that he was grinding his hand against her walls, side to side, just to toy with her. Al didn't allow his pace to let up, but then he could feel her clenching tightly around his hand. Michelina could feel her bladder quivering as she lay there in bed. There was such a strange feeling inside her, and as she dreamt of this man's brutality, her skull began to pound with even more pleasure-pain. She could see that he wasn't about to let her cum, and she wondered if that was what she felt now. Beneath her pelvis, her panties were soaked. Her t-shirt was stained with sweat, and the pillow was damp from her perspiration. Before she could cum, she could see him grabbing her from behind, pulling her up to press his chest against her back. His hand pulled out of her pussy, and he moved to flick his fingers across her clit hard and fast. Tears fell down her face, and loose strands of hair clung to her cheeks. Through the blood, sweat, and tears, she rejected him, but her body thanked him for every tremor of coerced pleasure.

"Don't fucking cum until I tell you to," he ordered her. Even while asleep, she could hear his voice clearly. "This cunt belongs to me."

"Yes."

"Yes? Say it, say it right now, or I'll snap your fucking neck."

"It belongs to you."

Another painful jolt, one pleasurable and contorted trusted at her core. "Say it or else."

"Ah! This cunt belongs to you! Please, please stop. Just let me cum, please!" she sobbed.

This vision of Al swept her cervix, and as he fingered her with a deep, unrelenting rhythm, Michelina felt herself clawing into the pillow she held. The dream felt utterly real. Too real in fact, and the more he assaulted her, the more she could feel it in her sleep.

"I can't. I can't-"

"Can't what? You mean, you won't let me play with you? Come on sweetheart, don't misbehave. You won't make the game fun."

The dream version of herself reached her climax, and just as she threw her head back, crying out in pain, she saw her own neck snapped as promised. Regardless of how she played the game, he had her. His hand clenched around her jaw, and with one swift flick of his wrist, her bones cracked. The son of a bitch, he'd lied. She should've known better than to trust his word. Of course, the version she saw of herself now lay dead on the bed, and Al smiled so darkly. She wondered if there'd been any humanity in him at all.

As she felt the coil grow inside her, an overwhelming sensation flooded her insides, and she sat up screaming. Michelina broke away from the pillow and sat upright, trembling, sweating in absolute pleasure and anxiety. She gripped her throat to make sure it was still there. The tears she cried now were fresh and unyielding. For the first time in her life, she was unsure of what to think. Just then, the sound of thudding knocks came at her door.

"Mick? Mick, are you alright?"

"Mick, what happened? Sis?"

Both of the boys were at her door, pounding fiercely. Her tears kept falling, and as she hyperventilated, Alex broke into her room, crashing the door down with his strength. He played football after all, and he wasn't exactly lithe. He used his strength and muscle to break in at full force. Colby came in behind him, and together they rushed to the bed, but not before looking around the entire room to see if someone was there. There wasn't an inch of space left unchecked. Michelina sat in her bed shaking, breathing heavily, and upon seeing the wet puddle beneath her ass, she covered herself up quickly. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she became heavily embarrassed. Once both boys saw there was no danger, they both sat on either side of their sister and looked her over once the lamp turned on. As she brushed the tears away from her face, she sniffled and almost recoiled. Alex turned the nightstand lamp to look at her closely, and there he saw the fear in his sister's eyes.

"Mick, what the hell happened?" he asked.

"Yeah, what's wrong? You look all fucked up," Colby added.

As she rubbed her upper arms, she blinked profusely and tried to regain her composure. She swallowed hard and felt the tingling between her legs throb further on. The dream she had was twisted, and she would never tell them about it. She wasn't about to worry them, or engross their minds with the sick details of some horrific wet dream she had. Shaking her head, she reached for the glass on the nightstand. She forgot there wasn't any more water in it, and she sighed. Colby immediately took the glass from her and went to fill it from the upstairs bathroom. Alex remained at her side. Colby came back into her room and passed her the glass. She took it with a trembling hand and began to drink it down as if it were a can of Budweiser. The entire glass quenched the dryness of her throat, but she had swigged it down too fast. The boys watched her sink back against her headboard with glazing eyes.

"Mick, did you have a bad dream?" Alex asked.

"It's nothing," she answered. "It was just a stupid nightmare. I'm sorry I woke you two up."

"Hey, shit happens."

But it shouldn't happen like this, she thought. No, this is wrong. This is beyond wrong, it's fucked up. I keep dreaming about blood, about him, and every time I close my eyes, he's always there. If I had a right mind, I'd report his ass to the police. But they won't do anything, and nor can they accept a bad gut feeling as evidence. It'd be a waste of time, that's for sure.

As she snapped out of her trance, the boys remained at her side. Over the next hour, one made popcorn downstairs on the stove, then brought it upstairs in a large bowl. The three of them sat and ate it together, and the boys helped to distract her however they could. One played the radio, and the other brought out a photo album of the times when they were all little. It was a welcome distraction, but Michelina knew it wasn't the end of her anguish. Something was about to happen down the road, and it'd be drastic. It gave her the feeling all sisters loathed. It gave her the feeling that none of them were no longer safe.

Chapter 11: Didn't We Meet? (Part One)

Notes:

WARNING: In this chapter, there are elements of somnophilia and unintentional impregnation. The scene is not for the faint-hearted, and if this makes you uncomfortable, you are under no obligation to read it. But note that what is in this scene happens to fictional characters. Yes, while the two brothers are underage, I will never explicitly write scenes involving molestation. If anyone was waiting to read that in my story, then fuck off. You're really sick, and you all need help if you were waiting to see the Grabber sexually abuse a child. And yes, this is a canon divergent work, meaning I'm ignoring the canon pertaining to his sexuality.

You may comment on my work, but I won't tolerate harassment. Thank you to those who have left me kudos and comments in the past. I appreciate it very much.

Part two to this chapter is coming!

Chapter Text

-July 9th, 1977-

To finally be out of Colorado relieved her. Though she had caved into Arleen's request, she never felt better. The winds blew hot against her skin, and the New Mexico climate was more welcoming. She hadn't heard of another abduction in the last month or so, and for that, she was grateful. Maybe the son of a bitch finally moved on, she thought. Though there were still missing posters around North Denver, the police still canvassed the terrain, albeit in a half-assed manner. They hadn't had any decent leads or new breaks, and there were still four boys missing. Four, and not in addition to those still on the Grabber's radar. No one knew how many more would go missing. That alone became a reason why she wanted the boys to be with her, and not dumped off at someone else's house. She knew them all too well. She knew they were capable of sweet-talking their friends' mothers and sneaking out. It was typical for the average American teenager to sneak out.

As she stepped out of the grocery store, she carried a bag of ice in hand, and the other held a paper bag full of small snacks. The ice melted slightly at the first contact with the sun, but once she approached the back of her truck, she flipped open an Igloo cooler that sat in front by the tailgate. Her knees felt the small droplets of water as she propped the tailgate down, and the sun kissed her hips as she leaned over. She had a decent tan working, and those around her could see the soft cellulite on her skin. The sun hit her small stretch marks, and they looked like small rivers embedded in her skin. Tearing the bag open, she dumped the ice inside quickly. The boys running out of the store behind her, and she made sure to secure everything that sat on the tailgate. They helped push the cooler in back, and secured it with straps. The Tingley Coliseum wasn't far from where they were staying, and the inn was decent enough to let them have rooms next to each other. Arleen and Max had their own room, and so did the boys. She had the corner suite alone, which sat adjacent to a swimming pool that overlooked the office. As she prepared everything in the back of the truck, Michelina could feel the heat getting to her. Even though she wore light layers and skin-tight shorts, she felt overheated. Alex took out a bottle of Coca-Cola and swigged it down. He finished it in nearly five seconds. Colby was up front in the truck, looking for a decent radio station to tune into. The scenery was a welcome change, as it didn't make up the fear-riddled streets of Denver. No, Albuquerque was blessedly free of killers. At least, the city had none that she knew of.

As she sat down on the tailgate with her feet swinging off the ground, Arleen came out of the store with a cart full in hand. Her short figure had a spring to her step, and Max trailed behind her with a case of Budweiser. He wrapped his free arm around her waist. She bumped her hip against his, especially as he trailed his hand down to pinch her ass. Arleen could be seen batting at Max's arm as she turned red. He kissed her cheek in return once they reached his Pinto, and then he quickly leaned down to nibble her neck, smirking as she giggled. The cart almost rammed into the bumper, but she was quick to deflect it. She turned around then and grabbed him by the waist with both hands.

"You know, you're awfully ambitious for an older guy," she teased. "It'd hate to get you a cane."

"A cane? But honey, I'm only 43! Ah, you're probably right though. These joints aren't what they used to be, that's for sure," he laughed.

Michelina sat there with her mouth pulled back in a closed smile, and as she leaned forward with her hands gripping the tailgate's rim, she swung her feet back and forth. She inhaled the air and closed her eyes briefly. It would be dark in two hours, and then they'd have to get to the Coliseum. The breeze that blew through the trees seemed of pine, and as she took a deep breath, she tried to regain her peace of mind. Her thigh no longer hurt, and her nightmares had subsided, at least for now. But what was most relieving was the fact he hadn't bothered her in a month or so. There had been no phone calls, no strange visits. He didn't show up when she least expected him, and a part of her grew suspicious. If he had been so adamant to get under her skin, why wouldn't he persist with his schemes? She brushed it off as something trivial. Perhaps he found someone else to toy with. Even if he had, she pitied them. No one should feel uncomfortable where they lived, much less have someone try to reel them in via grooming. A part of her hated herself for not having reported him sooner. Still, something about it bothered her. He had been so persistent the last time she saw him. He was bold enough to leave a mark on her body. It was almost like he marked his territory, or at least, what he presumed to be property. She was no such thing though. She looked down at the crescent-shaped bite mark on her inner thigh, and there she felt another kind of heat pool between her legs. The heat of the wind on her skin encouraged a rush of blood to flow to her nipples, and her slick returned. She closed her eyes and grit her teeth behind her lips.

No, she thought. Don't think about it. Not today, goddamn it. You drove down here to get away from all that shit, remember? Try to enjoy yourself.

She was lost in thought so much to the point where she hadn't heard Arleen trying to get her attention. A hand bobbed up and down in front of her face, and she cocked her head to look at the redhead. She was smiling, and the freckles on her face were bright beneath her eyes. Arleen's expression seemed playful. "Hello? Hello-o-o?"

"Huh?" She snapped her eyes open and took a deep inhale, arching her brows.

Arleen moved to sit beside her on the tailgate, and Max came around to lean up against the Ford. The redhead mused as she unwrapped a Kit-Kat in hand. She began to nibble the chocolate slowly. "Girl, you've got your head in the clouds. Are you feeling alright?"

Michelina was quick to answer, as not to skip a beat. "Yeah, I'm alright. I'm a little tired from driving, but yeah I'm fine."

Max chimed in and pulled out a bottle of No-Doze pills from his khakis pocket. The pills clattered inside the bottle like drive-in candy, and it rang in her ears. He smiled at her with his boyish grin, saying, "It's not much, but they'll do the job. I once took some that kept me awake for two days. It was like being on acid and experiencing five million things all at once. It was one hell of a rush! But hey, you want one?"

She gently shook her head. She put on another smile, whereas she replied, "That's sweet, Max, but I think I'll be okay."

He put them away with a shy frown, and he nodded in return. The thought of taking a caffeine pill frightened her. Not because it'd keep her awake, but because it'd react negatively to the Valium she took. Her doctor told her not to take any stay-awake drug while taking her benzodiazepine medication. The risks were great, and she didn't want to succumb to joining the 27 Club. She didn't fancy ending up like Morrison or Joplin.

Just then, Alex and Colby both piped up from the cabin. The truck rocked as they began to bat each other in front. One butted the other in the shoulder as they slid the window open in the back. Alex nudged his way through, and sat his chin on the frame. "Hey Mick, can we get something to eat? I'm starving, and Tank Ass here keeps wharfing down everything he can find."

"Kiss my ass!" Colby sputtered. "At least I don't-"

"Hey, hey, hey," she said, smiling. "Tone it down, it's fine. Now what's everybody in the mood for?"

"Pizza," they said. Michelina looked to Arleen and Max, who shrugged their shoulders, unsure of what they wanted.

She nodded her head and got off the tailgate, as did Arleen. She pulled it up and made sure it thudded tightly, and then it reminded of the time when Al had caught her fingertips. She felt a simultaneous throbbing under her nails. Immediately, she shook her head and smirked. Not this time, you bastard. Before she could ask what Max and Arleen wanted, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up like she weighed nothing. He nibbled on her neck, and she giggled, kicking her feet. It was clear they had other plans.

"I guess we'll see you at the Coliseum then," she half-laughed.

"Yeah, we'll be there. Don't forget, Alice plays at 8!"

"Yes, Mother."

Arleen and Max got into his Pinto and went towards the main drag. Michelina drove with the boys in her Ford down the block, scouting for a pizza parlor. Once they found one, she made sure to get the boys the largest size. After fifteen minutes, the boys received the pizza and began to devour the slices to their liking. She sat in the booth with them and watched as they singlehandedly took the time to eat a large. She wasn't hungry though, as the Valium made her lose her appetite. It was strange. She had never felt the urge to not eat before, and while they sat there together, she looked out of the window. Dusk was fast approaching, and the sun was dying behind the buildings and trees. Shades of red and orange bled into the skies, and purple followed too. She looked out at the street and began to observe her surroundings. There were general groups of teenagers and adults walking through, and some rode by on their skates with their friends following close behind them. It seemed like a simple community. It didn't feel like there was someone nasty about, so why did she have the feeling he was still around? Michelina swirled her straw in hand and allowed the ice to clink against the glass. Even the boys could see she was preoccupied. From the absent-minded look on her face to the expression of anxiety, they could tell that she was elsewhere.

"Mick, you okay?"

She looked back at the boys with a light gleam of tears in her eyes. She took a moment to study their faces, as if for one last time. She looked at their big brown eyes, their wide smiles. In her eyes, they were still little. Her heart hurt, but she smiled at them anyway. "Yeah, it's all good. Are you boys excited for tonight?"

"It's the Coop, Mick, hell yeah we're excited!"

The boys finished eating their slices, and the rest were wrapped in tin foil. Once the tab was paid, it was 7:32 PM. She hurried them out the door and back into her Ford, and she almost accelerated the gas a little too fast. She wanted to find a decent parking spot before the entire place was packed. By chance, Max and Arleen were already there. Max had parked six rows away from the entrance, which was an opportune spot. Though she parked in the fifteenth row, she would see where they were at. The boys nudged each other again, and they started to chortle, running up towards the front entrance with their arms flailing. Arleen and Max came up behind her, and wrapped their arms around her shoulders. The venue already smelled of marijuana at the first breeze. There were slight clouds of smoke escaping the doors, and as they walked inside, the boys were already looking for a good place to stand. She felt stifled by the scent, but she was determined to see the night through. The whole coliseum became heavily packed within the next half hour. As the lights grew dim, the guitars began to hum. The boys stood in front of her, and she didn't take her eyes off them once. With Alice coming out onstage, everyone began to scream. The sensory process became a lot to bear, and she felt her head reeling with heavy palpitations. The vibrations of the music coursed through her as the set began. Her temples throbbed, and her spine felt tremulous from the buzzing of the speakers. Arleen clung to Max, and the two of them were having a great time, well into the first song. As the crowd around them grew louder, she tried to fight the urge to leave. Everything was overwhelming her, and at that point, she didn't want to leave the boys. No, not with the way smoke crowded the interior and darkened the horizon.

---

Halfway through the set list, people came and went outside, smoking heavily. The heavy concentration of fog cleared out slightly the moment the doors opened. The smell of Mary Jane was overwhelming, and with the heaviness growing thicker, she became nauseous. One could hardly see the heads of those who faced Alice in the crowd. Her stomach felt sour, and the taste of fresh bud bobbed at the back of her throat. Her tongue grew gamey with the taste, and her eyes burned. They watered every time someone took a hit around her. She wasn't unaccustomed to the plant itself, and nor did she oppose it. She just hadn't been around such a heavy class of smokers. Naturally, Arleen and Max rolled a joint of their own and smoked right there in the crowd. She felt her head spinning, and suddenly felt rather light-headed. Arleen, who was heavily high, looked over at her with bloodshot eyes that matched the red of her hair.

"You alright?" she yelled, shouting through the music.

Michelina shook her head and felt herself growing tired. Whenever she smoked grass or inhaled the fog, she always ended up feeling exhausted. The boys were in front of her having a good time, and their backs were turned to her. At least she could still see them for the most part. Max stood there with Arleen still on his arm, and they were vibing back and forth to I'm Eighteen. His arms were around her waist as he held her from behind, and Arleen cheered, swaying her hips much like the other girls in the crowd. The guitar riffs filled the entire Coliseum with their electric vibrations, and the stands began to hum. Suddenly, she felt the energy pulse through her body, and it felt gratifying, though her head still spun with tremors of pain. Air, she thought. I fucking need air.

Before pressing the matter, Michelina tapped the boys' shoulders. They turned around to look at her as they continued to sway to the music, bobbing their heads. "What?"

"Stay here with Max and Arleen," she said. "Do not leave their sights. I'm stepping out for a second."

"Okay, fine."

"Boys," she shouted, trying to get them to hear her through the noise. "I'm being serious. Don't move from this spot."

They turned back around and went back to watching the stage, but not before rolling their eyes. As Alice began his song The Black Widow, a tremor of fear eclipsed her skin. She suddenly felt cold. While she loved his songs, there were a few that always set her on edge. For this one, its lyrics made her feel uncomfortable. Of course, it reminded her of Denver's monster. That made her feel an insurmountable amount of anxiety. Alice's voice carried off the walls, and the speakers reverberated his words clearly. His hoarse tone was twisted with a vaudevillian laugh.

"He sits upon his throne and picks at all the bones of his,
Husbands and his wives he's devoured.
He stares with a gleam, with a laugh so obscene,
At the virgins and the children he's deflowered."

She turned then and began to push her way through the crowd, trying to find her way towards the front door. As she continued to push through, she elbowed a few people here and there. A few men tried to touch her. Others tried hitting on her as she passed. The women in attendance almost battered her, thinking their men wanted her instead. Michelina nudged her way towards the door, and once she stepped outside, the fresh air hit her nostrils with a sharp freshness sorely lacking inside. The winds blew against her skin, and she felt relieved. The cool temperature made her feel whole again, and as she began to walk towards the other side of the Coliseum, she felt herself feeling nauseous. The scent of the marijuana had become too much for her to handle. Its scent was overwhelming, and smelling it on an empty stomach made her turn pale. As she slumped against a nearby trash can, she clung to its rim. She tried to heave, but nothing would come up. The lining of her stomach bubbled heavily. She also felt something behind her, and she didn't want to investigate it whatsoever. She could always tell whenever there were a pair of eyes upon her nape.

No, she thought. Not again, please, please not again.

She was feeling weighed down from the contact high, and her muscles felt numb. She slumped against the wall and sank down. A migraine formed at the base of her skull, and it throbbed into the front of her temples. Her eyes fell heavy, and they closed quickly. A light-headed feeling ensued. Her soft knees trembled as she swept against the concrete. The feeling of two eyes became real. As he stalked towards her, she could see something black and velvety flowing behind him. Her vision blurred in and out as he drew near. He stood tall, and with a deep red V-neck blouse adorning his chest, his scarlet-clad arms embraced her. She tried to hit him but she was tired, so very tired. But what alarmed her was the twisted, deep smile upon a gruesome mask. They were well out of the light, but she could still see the features of said mask. The top half was decorated with awful horns, ones that pointed upward with a devil's nod. The nose was pointed, and the cheeks, well, were carved with utmost precision, and the smile pulled upward into a Glasgow grin. She tried to scream, but her voice was dry. The fog had consumed her senses and rendered her slow. He lifted her aimlessly as if she weighed nothing. A part of her suspected something would happen, even away from the Denver borders. But was she dreaming? Was she hallucinating? Just who was this bastard in this freakish mask? Though she had inhaled plenty of the fog, her mind reeled with different scenarios, with different questions she wanted answered. He seemingly laughed with an airy tone as he carried her into the parking lot. With everyone inside, it was opportune. No one would see them, and nor would they pay attention. He carried her back to his van, her figure lying drowsy in his arms.

His feet trekked along the pavement in a swift manner. He looked down at her and saw how her eyes closed again. The long tresses of her hair bellowed in the wind, and the scent of her perfume lingered on the air, same for the Mary Jane. He managed to crack his van doors open, and he allowed her to collapse into the back. She fell inside easily, almost like a rag doll. She lay there completely unconscious. He quickly rushed inside the back as well, and he slammed the doors shut behind him. He unclasped the black cape from his neck and pursed it over the windows. They were enveloped in pitch darkness. 

Al began his assault on her with careful, calculating caresses. His rough, calloused hands swept over her inner thighs, and once he felt his previous bite mark there on his left palm, he smiled beneath the mask. The bite was significantly scarred by now, and he knew she'd have it for the rest of her life. He caressed it with his thumb, as if he were admiring a piece of art. He managed to sweep both hands over her mound and felt how hot her lips radiated. His fingertips undid her button and pulled down her zipper. He latched onto each layer of clothing and pulled them down, sweeping it off her ankles then her feet. She lay there completely exposed from the waist down. He managed to unclasp the bottom of the mask then, and he separated it from the top half. His mouth was wet, not only from saliva, but from the blood he drew from his own lip. Now he could ruin her how he planned to. He quietly and carefully moved atop of her. He could hear how she breathed softly, and as he brushed his pelvis against hers, he felt how her folds allowed a streak of slick to grace his pants. He watched her in the faint darkness. Her body was lush and round, and with her breasts weighing to the side, she was plump and soft. He rolled his hips to get a reaction from her, but she didn't move. It was interesting to him to say the least. She seemed to sleep more deeply when high. Al's hand gripped her hip then, and he heard the faintest cry escape her. 

Something in him decided it didn't want to wait any longer. Kneeling upright, he undid his belt, then unzipped his pants in addition to pulling down his boxers. He felt her labia brushing against his tip, and he sighed, then gasped loudly. She was wet, she was hot. He craned her legs to spread open wide, and he thrust into her canal with brute force. Her eyes opened halfway then and she screamed. His large hand cupped her mouth and muffled her cries. He didn't wait for her to adjust to his cock. He immediately began to pummel her cunt, thrusting deep, brutally nudging his tip against her cervix. There were fresh tears forming in her eyes, and as the pain of penetration rolled through her pelvis, he didn't let up. His balls slapped against her perineum, and wet, squelching noises smacked into the air, loud and clean. Her body felt numb and heavy. She couldn't move, and even though she tried to claw at him, to push him off, he wouldn't leave. He moved his hand from her mouth then, and he swept her hair away from her neck. He held both of her wrists down in his hands, and as he continued to fuck her, he nuzzled his face against her jugular for half a second. His crooked teeth plunged into the film of her skin, and she arched her back beneath him, crying out as he lay there half-conscious. Her blood welled into his mouth, and like a vampire, he swallowed its hot iron. Once he had his fill of blood, he pulled out for one moment. He turned her onto her stomach, and as he pulled her ass into the air, he took his belt from his pants and strangled her with it. He didn't use his full strength, but merely used enough pressure to keep her quiet. He pushed back inside her canal and began to fuck her even harder.

His snarls rang inside her ears, and his growls, oh they were dark, deep, disgustingly dominant. He wheezed and rasped as he thrust hard, and with every thrust, he angled his hips against her ass. In the dim shadows, he watched how her ass bounced on his cock. The ripples of her skin appeared like waves of lush cellulite. He could feel her tightening around him. As he exhausted her further, she went back to being unconscious. The belt had restricted enough blood to her brain, and it took the breath out of her, leaving her lightly wheezing. He dropped the belt from his hand, then gripped her hips in both hands. He began to pound her now with a brutal pace. He growled, he snarled, and he whimpered altogether. He was getting close too. If he could make her cum, he'd be spent. His balls were already aching, turning red in the black dark of his van. Al's hips hardly left hers. Just as he felt a wave of liquid gush over his length, he ground his cock deep into her soft, sweet pussy. Without pulling away, he ground himself hard into her. Just as he came, he applied his full weight to her back and lay there on top of her. One hand remained around her throat, and he tried to pull out before finishing inside her completely. His cum splashed onto the cleft of her ass, and it dribbled down to her anus. The small orifice suckled it in once it felt the fluid. 

With a boyish whimper, he felt sore. He had never cum that hard before, especially with a female. He had never allowed himself to spill inside one either. Just as he heard people walking past the van, he threw himself atop of her, watching her movements. There were a group of young adults walking around the driver's side of the van, talking loud and laughing obnoxiously. Their voices masked the soft cries she let loose, and oh, what a symphony they were.

"Such a good little slut, sucking me in," he said. "I wonder how pretty your insides are."

Chapter 12: Didn't We Meet? (Part Two)

Notes:

WARNING: There are mentions of forced insemination and murder. If you’re not comfortable with this kind of material, know you’re not obligated to stay on this page to read this.

More to come!

Chapter Text

The atmosphere continued to have a smoky haze about it, and as the concert grew close to its first intermission, Arleen managed to regain herself. She had stopped smoking around nine, and with the boys still standing there, they stayed without breaking their word, except for a trip or two to the bathroom. The music continued to reverberate throughout the entire complex, and as she looked around for her friend, she noticed the brunette hadn't returned. Something wasn't right, that much was certain. It wasn't like Michelina to dawdle. She wasn't the type to meet someone and run off. No, she had too many responsibilities, too much self-respect. It wouldn't be anything in her character to run off and leave her brothers behind; there was no way in hell she'd do that, and Arleen knew it. Immediately, her defenses went up. She looked around for Max, and as he came back through the crowd with a beer in hand, she put her hands on the boys' arms. She leaned forward, trying to get their attention by carefully raising her voice. The crowd still murmured loudly, so getting their attention would be a small challenge. Yet Colby turned to look over his shoulder, and there he saw her lean in closer.

"Hey, have either of you two seen your sister yet?" she asked.

Alex looked back at her and shook his head. "No, we thought you saw her last."

Oh shit, Arleen thought. This isn't fucking good. Both boys returned to face forward. They swayed back and forth, bobbing their heads to the music. As the lights slowly eclipsed the stage, she managed to see a path leading towards the front door. She didn't want to leave the boys alone, but she had to know where Michelina was. It was making her feel uneasy, and she hated that. Just as Max approached, she leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his back. She nuzzled her face into his collarbone, then leaned up to give him a kiss. She pressed her lips to him with adoration, and she inhaled, holding him there as he clung to her. He looked down at her and smiled, returning the kiss as she stood up high on her toes. His pupils were blown out, appearing wide as saucers, but his boyish looks made him appear soft. He asked then with a half-lived laugh, slightly confused, "What's that for? You're acting like you're never gonna see me again."

A faint frown appeared on Arleen's face under the glowing lights. It didn't linger very long, as she didn't want to give Max the impression she was scared. If she panicked, then he would. He was infectious like that. And with his adoration for drugs, it didn't help him any. It made her worry, but she knew he wasn't violent when he was intoxicated or high. He was passive, mostly venturing elsewhere to look for more. Just then, the small redhead seemed lost in thought. There was something about tonight that wouldn't end well. It was almost inevitable. It had been bothering her all night, and she could still feel the jaded aura. It had been her idea to leave Denver with Michelina in arm, but now that she was currently missing, it bothered her. Had she miscalculated everything? Had she unintentionally put her friend in harm's way? She tugged on Max's arm then and added, "Babe, can you watch the boys while I'm outside? I need to go find her and see if she fell in the can or not."

A low, short belch came from him as he turned his head to the side. He blinked twice, then asked, "Is she okay?"

"Usually, if she gets lost in a Mary Jane fog, she gets tired, and therefore she's bound to pass out anywhere. But please, Max, will you watch them? Hmm, will you do it for me? I gotta go look for her."

Max nodded. He wasn't accustomed to watching kids, let alone teenagers, but if it would help, he would. He nodded at her and watched as she slowly gave him another kiss. She stood high on her tip toes and hugged him closely. Her slender tanned arms eased up on their grip after a minute, and once their lips broke free, she turned back to the boys. "Hey, don't move. Stay here with Max. I'm gonna go look for Mick, I'll be right back."

The boys nodded in response and went back to watching the stage. Alice was beginning the rest of the set list, and he started to sing I Love the Dead. The slow eerie ambiance of the song began to creep under Arleen's skin, and as she made her way towards the front door, she saw the foggy haze dissipate at the first breeze. The music followed her out like a funeral procession. It was the kind of feeling to make someone's skin crawl, and as she inhaled the fresh air, she managed to regain her self-preservation. She knew her friend was incapacitated. It was the kind of feeling anyone felt whenever danger was near.

-

Once outside, she swept her hands through the air and tried to fan away any fog around her. She started to look around with her bloodshot eyes at any corners of the Coliseum. Arleen trekked herself around the east side, and she saw no one there save for two hippies rolling another joint. They seemed inconspicuous. They weren't suspicious in her eyes, as they seemed plain and incapable of violent turns. As she moved back, she went around the reserved parking area for performers. All she saw was Alice's entourage parked in place. There were multiple vehicles and security guards packing at the back door, smoking altogether. She decided to move back to the main parking lot, and she swept her eyes over the first couple of rows. With others moving past her to go back inside, she was the only one walking alone. Arleen studied the vehicles for one that didn't belong. Among the endless amount of Fords, Chevys, and Pontiacs, there was one that didn't sit well in sight. It stuck out like a sore thumb. There was a large black panel van parked now at the far end of the lot, hidden from the lamplights. There were faint blue-green decals hidden on the matte scheme. The shape of its long frame was eerie, just as it sat alone there. Only a lamplight from another street shone behind it, and it outlined the van's black build.

She could feel something was amiss just by the way it was parked. It was secluded, with no one else around. Arleen hurried along towards the back, and as she eased up in her jog, the van moved. It looked as if someone were rocking it slightly. Immediately, she crouched down. Her knees began to wobble as she watched in silence. She snuck behind a couple of Pontiacs and then a few Fords, and once she managed to get two cars away from the van, she heard muffled moans, if not howls, coming from inside. She shook her head, and her stomach turned sour. She had the feeling Michelina was inside. Once the rocking stopped, Arleen cocked her head to look at the back windows. She tried to stay out of sight, but she had to peer around the corner to get a decent view. From what she could see, the windows were covered from the inside, another telltale sign that something was off. She knew how people acted if they wanted privacy, but with the inside pitch black and draped, it appeared bleak. The muffled moans grew slightly louder, and once she managed to crouch behind a Firebird, the back doors of the van opened. She lightly gasped and hid behind the back wheel. Shadows shuffled over the pavement, and while everything seemed blended inside, an idea struck her.

In Max's Pinto, she'd put a flashlight and crowbar in the back in case of a roadside emergency. She still remembered where they parked, and she made the observation they were six rows away from where the van was. She stayed put long enough to hear a man shuffling out of the back. She heard a male grunting, then sighing. There was a part of her that wanted to see who it was, but had a feeling that if she showed herself, it would be in vain. She'd be caught dead to rights, and there'd be no way she could help. There were footsteps trailing off, and as she slowly peeked around the corner, she saw the man was gone. The back of the van was still opened slightly, but it no longer rocked. It was completely still. Nothing moved inside. She couldn’t tell where the man went, let alone what he was doing. For their sake, she hoped he ditched to go take a leak.

Go, fucking go, Arleen thought to herself. Get the bar, then come back. Regardless if you know the guy or not, just beat his ass. It should be simple, but with not being able to see who owned the van, it terrified her. She could feel her heartbeat pulsing under the film of her skin. As she kept crouching down, she swept past the other cars and made her way to Max's Pinto. Her small feet trekked her towards the passenger's side, and she removed a spare key from her pocket. She quickly unlocked the back seat door with no time to lose. She scrambled as quietly as possible, trying to avoid stirring attention to whoever was out there. Her hand touched the cool handle of the flashlight, and then she felt the stalk of the crowbar behind the driver's seat. She took both items in hand and quietly shut the door. In her silent step, she moved back towards the van. As she grew closer, she heard a feminine cry from the back. She recognized the identity of the voice immediately.

"Oh fuck! Mick? Mick, can you hear me?"

She sprinted towards the back of the van, and upon clicking on the flashlight, she shined the light inside. Arleen's mouth dropped at the sight of her best friend lying there, sexually mangled and still half-unconscious. As she roamed the light over Michelina's thighs, she saw traces of semen and blood smeared on her skin. She wore no shorts, no panties, and her labia was beet red. Small patches of blue and purple also appeared at the cleft of her slit. Her canal was dribbling with thick white seed, and the blood was bright and fresh upon her skin. Fury overthrew Arleen, and as she climbed inside, she managed to slide closer to Michelina. She perched the light to rest at the junction of the door, and as it shone in the brunette's bruised face, tears welled in her eyes. She tried rolling Michelina onto her back, but she winced from pain. She started to claw at Arleen then, fearful and panicking it was still her attacker. With what little strength she had, the redhead tried to calm her friend down. Both women were crying, and Arleen was in disarray of what to do.

"Mick? Mick, honey, it's okay, it's me! Hey, it's alright now. Do you think you can sit up?"

"I can't," she whimpered. "I hurt so bad."

Arleen's face went red with anger. "Mick, who's done this to you? Do you know where he went?"

But Michelina could hardly keep her eyes open, and there was no wonder why. There was a light hemorrhage in the corner of her right eye, right above the tear duct. Arleen brought the flashlight closer again, and she examined her friend's abrasions. As she was about to help her sit up, someone snagged the back of her ankle.

"Don't worry, I'm right here," he snarled.

The crowbar almost fell out of her hand, but she clutched onto it for dear life. Michelina heard the rustling, and she heard the deep growls of the assailant in her ears. Unfortunately, she was out of it and could hardly discern the tone clearly. There was a loud ringing in her ears. Arleen kicked and thrashed, trying to break free from his hold, but it was wrought-iron hard. She was pulled out of the back, and as she collapsed onto the ground, she dropped the flashlight. He immediately thrust his foot down on the lens and shattered it. The small bulb inside broke into small shards. The side of his foot then collided with Arleen's face, and she tried to fight back with all she had. Once he kicked her again, she latched onto him.

"You cocksucker!"

She held onto his leg in a death grip, and she rolled up his pant leg far enough to bite into his calf. Her teeth bit into his flesh, deep enough to draw blood. A loud scream left his throat, and more so, an entourage of growls followed. He leaned down quickly and snagged Arleen by the hair. She screamed, but not before he tried to squeeze her throat for a minute and a half. Her eyes bulged and her voice cracked. She could hardly breathe, and he flung her to the ground with a rough thrust. With the crowbar on his left, he moved to grab it. His knee found the redhead's jaw, and as her teeth accidentally gnashed against her lower lip, a small piece of it fell onto the ground. Arleen coughed from tasting the blood in her mouth. Just as she hunched over, she tried to find the rest of the flashlight to use as a baton.

Two strong hands gripped the crowbar. As he positioned himself to stand behind her, he rose it high above his head. The iron gleamed in the faint light, and the twisted smile of the mask could be seen smirking sadistically. The pain she was in distracted her from her surroundings. Tears flashed in her baby blue eyes, and as she crawled around, she wasn't thinking of the danger behind her. One swift strike, and the back of her head was pierced. The high-leverage hook had found its way into her skull. Michelina managed to crack her eyes open far enough to see the blood spattering the man's figure. She tried to scream, but due to the assault on her mouth, she couldn't. Her jaw hurt too much to move, and she merely fainted from seeing the crowbar embedded in Arleen's head. She made gurgling noises and small, sharp shrieks, and then she had blood bubbling on her lips. What drained at the back of her throat had made its way onto her tongue. As he wrenched the bar out of her head, she slumped onto the ground face-first and lay there with a pool of blood forming beneath her.

He stepped back and admired his handiwork. The woman's arms were spread out, one above her head, the other at her jaw. With her leg bent out, the other remained straight. The strawberry-red hue of her hair was now doused with crimson. It was clear there was a fight, but over what no one would know. As he wheezed, he peered over his shoulder and saw his girl still lying there in the van's bed. She lay there with her head among the sheets of plastic, which he had brought with intent to use. He threw the crowbar in the back, and it clattered loudly against her ankle. It made her jolt, and Michelina's eyes filled with half-clear, half-bloodied tears. She tried to roll away, but the pain she was in made it impossible for her to move. Al crawled in to kneel beside her and cupped her face. He toyed with her by brushing his thumb against her cheek. A cruel bastard if ever he was one.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice half-light. "It's just you and me again. But don't worry. When the concert's over, I'll take us all home. I promise."

He rose his two fingers up in the air, crossed together. But before anyone could see Arleen's body, Al hurried out of the van with the sheets of plastic in hand. He rolled her body onto the sheets and wrapped her up, coddling her brain matter inside. He managed to drag her across the way towards another parking lot. With the view hidden from general traffic, it was somewhat easy for him to conceal his movements. There was an occasional car that drove past, and he always managed to duck before the lights shone on him. Once he crossed the street, he dragged Arleen's body through an old ditch crevice. He managed to pull her up over a small hill and dump her behind an old Motel 8. The back was secluded and hidden from the streets. He pushed her short body to lie beside a dumpster. As if by coincidence, there were used needles lying around. Even though her head had been impaled, one could use their perception to believe she'd been the victim of a drug deal gone wrong. Using a piece of cloth from his back pocket, he grabbed a needle and jabbed it profusely into her arms, stabbing them over and over again. The veins were punctured, and angry dark marks began to form. Fresh little dots of blood welled to the surface. As he recovered the plastic sheets, Al looked over his shoulder and saw others beginning to exit the building. He realized now that it must've been the first intermission. He returned to the lot and took refuge in the front seat, and he looked over his shoulder again. He saw Michelina lying there, still half-naked from his assaults. The cleft of her supple ass remained on his mind, as did many other things. She was so pale, so bloody. He'd have her again soon. He always loved it when the high-spirited ones fought back.

Chapter 13: Little By Little

Notes:

WARNING: There are scenes of child abduction, brutality, and scuffles between an adult man and a teenage boy in this chapter. There are also references to rape from the previous entry. I absolutely do NOT endorse this kind of behavior whatsoever, so please don't think I encourage this. This is for writing purposes only!

And please know that if this kind of content makes you uncomfortable, you are not under any kind of obligation to read it. I wouldn't force you to view this if it makes you feel squeamish. But for those who continue to support this work, I can't thank you enough. I appreciate each comment, kudos, and bookmark!

More to come.

Chapter Text

With the fog dissipating again, the boys stood in the middle of the crowd nearly all alone. Max's head became addled with a psychedelic haze, and he seemed lost in a trance. It was apparent he had more than a marijuana high ringing through his body. There were faint, scattered patches of cocaine on under his nose, and the patches covered the ends of his mustache. As the lights began to flow around him, Max imagined he was in a sea of color. The only thing missing on his wave was Arleen at his side. The drugs that circulated through his system, all of it left him feeling light and oblivious to his surroundings. Max was so far gone, in fact, that he hardly noticed the girls were missing. His pupils were heavily dilated, and his body swayed to the music, and a few heart palpitations followed him throughout the night.

The boys had now moved by the front door and waited. They looked around for their sister and Arleen. With people continuously coming in and out of the super structure, it left little encouragement in their eyes. Every time they saw another dark brunette and redhead come through and leave, their hopes sank. Neither of the girls had come back. The middle child kept an eye on the youngest. They both stood there and watched their surroundings intently. They also saw Max conversing with a few people who seemed high themselves, and their demeanor seemed friendly, if not bohemian and unkempt. The others laughed with him, and in return, he nodded at their jokes. The small group ushered Max towards the bathroom, where it was apparent they were going to share some powder or more Mary Jane. The younger Shaw brother ventured away from the teens, leaving them on their own. He seemed unstable in the sense that he could hardly stand by himself, and he banded his arms around the others. Uproarious laughter could be heard echoing off the hallway walls. It made them realize they no longer had anyone familiar around. As the music entered its final wave, everyone started roaring for Alice and the rest of the band. There wasn't anyone paying attention to the doors, and it made them feel vulnerable.

Alex stood against the frame of the door and crossed his arms. He felt weighed down by the fog inside the building. Since there was very little air circulating throughout the establishment, he felt the urge to go outside. Everywhere he looked, he felt his head swimming. He nudged Colby in the arm, nodding at him. "Let's go, come on."

"But Mick and Arleen told us to stay here. They said they'd be back, remember?"

"Yeah I know, but Max is on Cloud Nine literally with the Grateful Dead wannabes. We're on our own."

For the first time, Colby seemed unsure. He and Alex usually didn't have a care in the world when it came to sneaking out, leaving early, or anything in that vein. But with the way their sister and Arleen had taken off, it didn't feel right. Both knew the girls wouldn't abandon them like that. Still, the youngest felt uneasy. He didn't want to leave and catch hell for going back on their word. While Michelina was strict, he knew she meant well. But he'd be damned if she didn't get as red as the devil when worried. "Okay, but what if they come back in here? What if they don't find us with Max?"

"Cole, it's better we wait inside the truck. It'll be the first place they'll look. And with any luck, Max will pull his head out of the powder and find the girls."

Immediately, Colby began to panic internally. He quietly laughed to himself and shook his head, thinking to himself in a little sing-song voice. This is so stupid, dude. I'm telling you, she's gonna kick our asses. The two of them walked out of the building, then looked around the empty space. Again, there were a few people outside doing more drugs, and they stuck to themselves. The parking lot seemed vast and wide, seemingly long and adjacent to the building itself. The lamplights were still half-dim, and nothing seemed clear. They couldn't see her anywhere, nor could they find Arleen. Michelina's truck still sat where it had been parked for the last few hours, and yet, the interior was dark. There was no one inside from what they could see. The doors were still shut, and the tires were still in the same position. There were a few stalls open from where others had left, and it was then that Alex saw a black van from afar. He squinted through the dark and tried to read the decal. But just as they got closer, Colby smacked Alex's arm and pawed at him. The youngest's eyes were filled with dread. He could already feel his throat tightening as he struggled to speak. With a bony finger, he pointed across the way.

"Dude, that's the goddamn van. What the hell is it doing here?"

"What? Where?"

"Alex, it's right there. How the hell can you not see it?"

Colby pointed towards the emptiness of the secluded corner, and there the long van sat alone. The two of them had seen it back in Denver. Whenever they hung out with the other kids from school, they all remained in tight-knit groups. One of the kids was Robin Arellano. He had been the one to tell Colby how to swing on someone properly, to give him some tips on street fighting. The other kid had been Finney Blake, a gentle student who was smart, if not shy. He often helped them with their schoolwork. As far as they knew, both he and Robin were still alive. But when the four of them had been hanging out together, the same van always drove past their preferred block. It always combed the streets as if it were scouting for something, or rather someone. It was the most peculiar thing, and none of them trusted it. The windows were always tinted, so they could never truly see the driver. As if they needed to tonight. Alex and Colby walked towards their sister's truck, and heard a scrambling noise come from the van itself. There were creaking noises coming from the inside of the hollow interior, and as the back doors opened, a man got out. Alex shuddered the moment he saw the older man's body build, hair, and clothes. It was the same man they'd seen back home. He had been the one who had come to their place late at night, grasping onto their sister and holding her as if she were a rag doll. He came out wearing the exact same outfit they'd seen him in back at the house. He was smiling egregiously, with a sharp gleam to his teeth, and they saw he was tucking his shirt back into his pants. They both stammered back at the sight. Al was about to shut the door to the van, but Alex pulled Colby to stand behind him. The man looked out of the corner of his eye, and there saw the boys standing there at the tailgate of their sister's Ford. He was wearing the same sunglasses. As he finished making himself look presentable, Al pursed his hand up against the van, then held the other over his eyes. Alex immediately thought he was full of shit, and therefore he didn't trust him.

"Boys, is that you?" Al called out. "Well, what brings you two here?"

Colby began to clench his fists. He went back to standing beside Alex, and there the two made a definitive stance. Alex, please don't hit him yet, I'm not ready. I'm scared, and we don't know where Mick is. This is all fucked up, and we shouldn't even be out here. Why didn't I stay inside like a smart person?

Alex stood there standing as tall as he could, letting his body language project the image he wasn't afraid. He was cautious, and understandably concerned for Colby's safety. But when he saw Al, the van and his flamboyant persona made sense. It was obvious now. There was no denying who this was. But he grew confused at the interactions Al had with his sister. If he was who he presumed, wouldn't he have just gone for them in the beginning, no beating about the bush, so to speak? Why did he latch onto Mick that night and make it his desire to be around her? Just as Alex snapped back into the moment, Colby answered Al instead. The boy's tone was straightforward, but laced with fear.

"It's not any of your business... honestly."

"Oh?" Al chortled. "Well, you're not being polite, boys. What do you think your sister would have to say about that?"

"At this point, she wouldn't say anything. She'd be too pissed to give a damn, and she'd hand you your ass. Now, where is she?"

Now the older man went quiet. The blood drained from his face almost immediately. Her siblings suspected him, but yet they had no proof that he harbored her. They weren't aware that she was in the back of the van, redressed and still unconscious. No, but it would prompt them to be curious. As he regained his projected mask, he straightened up and slid his hands into his pockets. He merely laughed with the boys, and tried to act coy. "Why I was about to ask you the same thing. I saw her truck was here, so I automatically assumed you two were with her."

"We're being serious. We haven't seen her in a few hours," Alex said bluntly. "And I think you have something to do with it."

Just then, Al closed in on them. Colby's face went pale, and he hid behind Alex slightly. The older man stalked towards them with something metallic in his back pocket. It sat firm against his belt, and the nozzle was dripping wet. It was recently used. As he grew closer, the lamplight that stood ten feet away exposed the white makeup on his face. The boys observed this strange cosmetic display and pulled their brows together. It seemed clownish, or rather in Al's regard, ghoulish. His continued to flash his sharp, crooked teeth. The very mannerisms of this man were unnatural. But for now, it was too easy. With Arleen gone, the redhead couldn't intercede or interfere. No one would be around to help them. But what made Al's breath hitch in his throat was the fact they were so close to their sister. She was right there in the van, and they were only fifteen feet away. There would be no other option at this point. And after all, they were the ones he was after. Their sister was an unexpected interest. But since the beginning, he swore he wouldn't go back without the entire family in arm. As he saw the two boys brace themselves, his lips formed calculated and airy words. His hand pulled out a canister of insect spray, and he began to shake it back and forth. The clicking inside the canister sounded like a doomsday clock ticking down.

"Oh come on, I'm not that terrifying," he lied, giggling aloud. "But don't worry, boys. I'm sure sister dearest is around here somewhere. But to lighten the mood, would either of you like to see a magic trick?"

Alex's eyes went wide. As if he needed any confirmation, he knew exactly who this was. His right fist lunged forward, and he immediately struck Al in the jaw. The elder Shaw fell down and the canister rolled out of his hand. The sunglasses fell from Al's face, and he began to growl now, struggling to keep a straight face. He could feel the air brush against his eyes, and it made him feel exposed. His mouth fell open, and as he scrambled about for the glasses, Alex raced forward and kicked him in the side. 

"Cole, run!"

But the youngest didn't move. He was scared, petrified out of fear. His heartbeat began to race, and as he watched his older brother struggle with Al, he knew all too well that they faced the Grabber. The canister rolled out of view, and as Alex threw himself onto Al's back, he kneed him, kicked him, and scratched at the older man's face. There were angry marks on the man's cheeks, and Alex grabbed a handful of sand-gray hair. Now Al's brutality surfaced. He grabbed the boy by the back of his head, and he pulled him over his shoulder and thrust him down against the ground hard. The wind was knocked out of him. Wisps of hair were tugged from his scalp, and he screamed in pain, if not annoyance. A clenched fist found its way into Alex's face. The rings on his fingers collided with his nose, and blood was drawn. A crack could be heard, and it was apparent his nose was broken by the contact of his knuckles. 

"Little bastard," Al growled. "You've got spirit just like your sister, I'll give you that."

Colby tried to back away, but with Alex now lying there, bleeding and feeling his head reel, he could hardly look away from the sight. All he could see was his brother lying there in pain, catching his breath. Al looked over his shoulder, then darted towards the boy. Colby ran towards the Ford. He ran around the passenger side, and as he threw the car door open, a large hand caught the back of his neck. Loud cries came from his throat, and tears sprung to his eyes. Something metallic slid out of the back of Al's belt, hidden away under his shirt, and it thudded cold against the boy's scalp. The butt of the Buck knife collided with Colby's head, and he became immobilized. He fell unconscious from the blunt hit and fell against Al's chest. With one arm, the man dragged the adolescent around the corner of the truck and into the open. He hurried as quickly as possible towards his van. Alex lay there on his side and felt the blood running down his lips and chin. He cracked his eyes open and tried to focus his vision. It was all a blur, and with the surroundings becoming rings of tunnel vision, all he could see was a large shape walking towards him. As Al grew closer, Colby dangled from his arm. The youngest was limp, but still breathing. Alex tried to pull himself up on the bumper of a nearby Pontiac, and he spat out blood. Once he stood up again, with another lunge, he managed to race towards Al.

"Let go of my brother, you cocksucker!"

But it was feeble. Even though he tried to tackle Al from the waist down, the man collided his knee with the boy's jaw. A loud grunt and whimpered groan escaped Alex's mouth. It was reminiscent of the kicks he delivered to Arleen. The teenager fell to the ground and felt his head seeing with pain. He coughed and tried to catch his breath again. He slumped down, and as Al put the knife away, he grabbed Alex by the scruff of his shirt, dragging him along. Now he had them. He had the two brothers in arms, and with the concert drawing to a close, he had to hurry. He managed to get to his van in time, and with one hand keeping the youngest in arm, he quickly released the other boy long enough to open the van doors. He threw Colby inside first, and with a swift tug, he threw Alex in next. Both boys fell onto the cold steel beside their sister. 

She lay there with her shorts pulled back up over her waist, but her thighs were still caked in both semen and blood. Half of it was fresh, the rest was dried. Blotches of dark bruises remained on the film of her skin, and they were small dark circles reminiscent of hickies. There were deep, angry bite marks all over her skin, and blood welled from the corner of her mouth. It seemed Al got carried away in his acts of violation. His viciousness was stamped all over her. As he closed the doors behind them, it thudded shut with a loud bang. Alex was the only one of the siblings who remained semi-conscious.

"Mick?" he croaked. He shook her lightly and began to tear up. "Mick, wake up. Mick, please wake up!"

After realizing she was out cold, he turned onto his other side and tried to wake Colby. Both the eldest and the youngest didn't move, and they breathed in quivering rhythms. The sound of the engine drowned out Alex's voice as he continued to gain their attention. It was obvious now that he and their baby brother were to be taken away. They were in his van now, and there was no way of going back. Al began to drive off, and he could see the others coming out of the Coliseum as he exited the parking lot. The sight of Michelina's Ford faded out of view, as did his brother's Pinto. The corpse of Arleen, from the view of his rear-view mirror, was well out of sight. Whatever blood was there would be highly untraceable. No one would know to whom it belonged.

---

As the minutes faded into hours, the van drove through desolate suburbs and into wide open plains. Al kept his foot on the gas at a steady pace, and he always slowed down and obeyed the traffic laws, blending in as he observed his surroundings. There wasn't a streak of light for miles, save for the headlights in front. There were hardly any cars that passed him, except maybe two or three. As it approached one in the morning, they crossed over the Colorado state line. The large wooden sign that said "Welcome to Colorful Colorado" swung in the cool, desolate breeze. The hinges of the chains creaked, and as Al pulled over to the side of the road, he made sure to look both ways as he exited the van. He looked to the left and no one was coming. He looked to the right, and there were nothing but wide fields. They were completely secluded from civilization. The blade gleamed under the half-dim waning gibbous moon, and the light flashed brightly against the silver. He caught her ankles in his hands, and as he pulled her closer, he wrapped an arm under her back and the other under her legs. Every few miles, he found it quaint to pull over and "tranquilize" the boys with the spray. He rendered them unconscious with several brutal blows, and now as he carried her out of the back, they lay there bruised and beaten. They couldn't see how he curled his mask against her head, watching with shifting, cold eyes.

As she lingered in his arms, there were few sensations that had returned. She could feel the pain mounting in her womb. She knew she'd been torn and penetrated deeply. As he placed her at the foot of the sign, he swept her hair away from her face. The moonlight shaded her features, and it cut sharply across her cheekbones. An index finger traced her mouth then, and with what wet blood there was on her lower lip, he swept it over her breast. What was red appeared black under the moonlight. Al could hear how she rasped, and her breaths were so soft, so tremulous. But something in him wanted to mangle her. He had already hurt her physically and emotionally, but now he wanted to consume her soul. He wanted to render her of her sanity and pride, and he wanted to find a way to break her in every way possible. His free hand tightened around her throat. The hand that held the blade slid over her tie-front shirt, then trailed down inside. The cold steel brushed against her nipple, and there he heard an exquisite rasp fall from her lips. He pulled her in close and threw himself atop of her. He could kill her right then and there if he wanted to. He could leave her body behind just like her friend's. Michelina's brown eyes went wide in the darkness, and she whimpered, struggling to breathe. She began to fight with him in turn. He pinned her down beneath his frame, and with his muscle mass weighing down on her, she tried to knee him. She too went to claw at his face, and as her knee contacted his groin, he let out a boyish outcry of pain. The knife fell immediately from his hand. She coughed as he released her. Just as she took notice of the knife on the ground, she went to grab the weapon from him, but he was faster. 

His knuckles lunged at her temple, and there her vision became a blur again. She began to slowly crawl towards the van. The small pebbles of gravel from the side of the road curled beneath her elbows, and she struggled to pull herself up. Before she could cry out for the boys, a hand grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back. She cried out and wept, feeling his wrought grip on her roots.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but this is where you get off. I'll take good care of them, I promise."

Her eyes filled with tears as she came to. She could finally hear his voice clearly for the first time since he assaulted her. Through burning eyes, she looked at the van and imagined their lean bodies lying in back. She imagined them suffering the same way as her. Rage filled her voice, and she trembled violently, trying to shake herself free of him. "If you fucking touch them like you've touched me, I'll kill you."

A sadistic smile curled onto his face, but then with a glittering set of tears falling from his eyes, he replied, "That's not up to you. Nighty-night, naughty girl. I've got the feeling we'll meet again real soon."

He curled his hands around her neck and asphyxiated her to the point where she blacked out again. The blood flow was restricted to her brain only slightly, but it had been enough to immobilize her. She fell onto the ground and dirt cushioned her as she collapsed. With her truck stuck in Albuquerque, she'd have no way of getting home. She was to be stranded now, and as she lay there alone, Al watched her for a mere minute. There was a faint outline of two headlights coming towards him then, and he reacted on instinct. He pushed her with his foot down into a ravine and watched the long, willowy grass hide her. He grabbed the knife from the gravel and ran back to his van, shutting the back door and activing the locking mechanism. He scrambled into the front seat and started the engine again. Once it purred hot and loud, he drove off.

Michelina lay there in pitch darkness, feeling the cool blades brush against her skin. She began to fade in and out. Though unaware of her physical surroundings, her mind kept repeating, I've got to get home, I've got to get home. The boys still need me.

Chapter 14: Welcome to My Nightmare

Notes:

WARNING: There are mentions of rape, an in-depth hospital examination, and a scene describing a dead body and stillborn baby at the end of the chapter. These are all part of a nightmare. You can interpret them as her having traumatic scenarios, or you can imagine them as alluding to something worse for her future. This is all up in the air, but again, this is my self-insert having a nightmare due to her sexual assault.

Again, I'm sorry for not having posted a new chapter in a while. I've been having some suicidal thoughts lately, and it's been a rough couple of weeks for me. I know this chapter may not make sense towards the end, but I'll get better with my writing, I promise.

Thank you to all who read this and leave kudos. It's appreciated.

P.S: The phrases and sentences that are italicized mean they're dialogue in a dream, nightmare, or flashback sequence.

Chapter Text

The hours passed by, and Michelina awoke when the sun was hardly in the sky. The skies were a purple-red haze, and now there was more traffic passing through on the highway. Her eyes hurt, and her head throbbed. The heat had returned and made the environment hazy. As she turned onto her side, she tried to look around for anything that resembled tracks. There were half-bloodied tears flowing down her temples as she sat up. Her lungs felt pained, and her ribs hurt with a sharp twist. The dust that kicked up from cars passing by lodged into her nose, and she felt stifled. She felt like she couldn't breathe properly. She crawled up the side of the small hill, and as she reached the top, cars began to blow their horns. Very weakly, she stood up against the state line sign and held herself against the tall pillar. She fell against the wood immediately. Blood caked her clothes and body, but more so it stained her thighs. Her cervix ached, and she could feel everything growing sharper. Her knees locked the moment she stood upright completely, and she cried out, shaking, quivering. Her breaths left her in shallow whimpers. As a few more vehicles passed, finally a state trooper came around. The tan paint on the car caught her attention, and so did the blue and red lights flashing atop. The sirens weren't blaring, at least not yet. The trooper stepped out of the car and headed towards her with his flashlight. The man was at least forty-three, just like Max, and yet he grew pale at her condition. He had never seen a young woman so brutalized before. He knelt down in front of her and examined her for any gaping injuries. But as she bobbed her head up, her eye was still bleeding. The sight of the blood made him cover his mouth with his knuckles. He steadied himself, then spoke calmly to her.

"What's your name?" he asked. "I'm Trooper Caponi, can you tell me your name, hon? Do you know where you are?"

Her voice box ached, as she was still sore and hoarse. A sour flavor lingered on the back of her tongue. All she could taste was blood and semen. She couldn't speak, though the words were there. She felt nauseous, and as the trooper helped stand her up, his flashlight trailed a ray over her body. There he saw her torn clothing and the evidence of rape on her thighs. He wrapped his arms around her and helped her as she staggered in her step. He brought her back to the patrol car and opened the door for her. He secured her inside, then closed it carefully so as not to jar her fear. As large semis passed them on the road, the lights blared in her eyes. The light reflected off the rear view mirror, and she found herself trembling. Her abdomen felt immense pain, her uterus felt tight. All she could feel were rough pinpoints of pressure all over her body. She reacted to any kind of touch made by the trooper, though she knew he meant well. Before he got in on the other side, he took off his jacket and covered her torso. He wanted to spare her from being seen as a sort of mangled-looking doll. As he got in the driver's seat, he radioed headquarters and dispatched. He clicked the button on the side and began to state the nature of her condition.

"Alpha 10-83, Caponi here. I have a young woman approximately early to mid-twenties in my car, and she's been sexually assaulted and battered. The female was abandoned on the side of the road, and she can't tell me much. I don't know the seriousness of her injuries, but I'm bringing her into Saint Joseph's. We'll be there in a few hours. Car 13 over and out."

He started the car again, and the vibrations of the engine made Michelina quiver. She jolted upright, and her knees began to tremble. Caponi reached over to put a hand on her shoulder, to give her steady reassurance. "It's alright. I'm taking you to the hospital. We're gonna get you medical treatment and find whoever did this to you. Just bear with me, alright?"

The man was civil to her, if not utterly respectful. He kept her comfortable as he began to drive off on the highway. She slumped inside the seat, and her head throbbed as did her jaw. She could hardly keep conscious. Her eyes developed rings of tunnel vision, and the blood that leaked from one of her ducts finally began to dry, though the rest of her sclera remained red. She trembled at the feeling of the car ride. Through the hours she spent with the trooper, Michelina's mind raced with worry. As the sun finally began to enter the skies, the rays of light were blinding. She could feel the heat on her skin, but it gave her little comfort. She was scared. She was scared for her brothers and their safety. He had them now. He was the one calling the shots and doing God only knows what.

She felt so stupid, and she kept repeating to herself internally with a self-loathing tone. You should've fucking killed him. You should've found something to maim him with, and now because of your ignorance, he's got your brothers. Congratulations, you just let them become two more tallies. As she began to think about the consequences, tears sprang to her eyes. They rolled wet and muddled down her cheekbones, and she huffed softly, wheezing with every exhale. Caponi took notice of her anxiety, and he tried to get her to the hospital as quickly as possible.

-

In the hours that passed, Caponi managed to pull around back of the Saint Joseph Hospital. The ambulances sitting in back were already in use, and the paramedics were ushering others inside. A few nurses stood out back with two doctors, and as he pulled into a parking stall reserved for law enforcement, Caponi got out of the vehicle and ran to the passenger side. He opened the door and propped Michelina to sit up.

"I need some help here," Caponi shouted.

The nurses raced down the back steps and towards the car. They began to examine the young woman once they approached, and one of them nearly collapsed from shock. The clothes Michelina wore were torn and stained with blood, and the look of her general figure suggested the utmost use of brutality. A doctor came over after quickly putting out his cigarette, and it was then he took his stethoscope and began to listen to her heartbeat. The beats were shallow, yet present. He shook his head as he listened all over her chest cavity. As he pressed the head of the stethoscope to her side, she winced and cried. She jerked fast, and she hit the side of the console. Michelina's whimpers entered the air, and the other women who stood there were concerned for her. None of them had ever seen a young woman so brutalized before.

"Bring her inside to Room 23. I have to examine her further, but from what I can tell, a few of her ribs are cracked. I need to make sure her lungs weren't punctured in the process. Now, what did you say her name was?"

"I didn't," Caponi replied. "I don't know what her name is. There's no ID on her, so I don't know if it was lost or taken. And her jaw's bruised, so she can't talk. I radioed in and found her at the state line a few hours ago. Oh, and Doctor? She's been assaulted. She's torn up badly, and she probably needs stitches down there. I hope we can handle this discreetly for her sake."

The doctor stilled. He looked all around to see if anyone inconspicuous was listening. The knowledge of having such a battered rape victim made him on edge. The trooper was right. It needed to be handled properly, so as not to create an awful stigma that would last with her. He wouldn't have her talked about like a sideshow attraction. The two paramedics that came out of the hospital had a free gurney, and as they approached, they carefully grabbed onto her ankles and under her arms. They lifted her on the count of three, and as she lay there completely limp, the extent of her injuries could be seen. The bite mark that Al had left her just a month or two beforehand was still present, and it was surrounded by old blood and fresh bruises. The imprint of his bite mark was unique. But as all of them placed her on the gurney, they quietly looked at each other. They knew whoever did this to her was perhaps a psychopathic brute. Everything about her bloodied form terrified them. Just then, the doctor made a small request.

"Take her to Room 23 and bring a camera. We need to document everything and take photographs."

Everyone went quiet. The situation was heavy, and the aura around the small group was solemn. The nurses, paramedics and Caponi followed the doctor inside as Michelina visibly shivered. Through the swinging doors, they brought her through. Bright white lights shone down on her, and the hospital staff took notice of the battered young woman as she rolled through the halls. Many began to stare at her and gawk. Their whispers could be heard bouncing off the cool walls. The door to Room 23 was open, and they wasted no time lifting her off the gurney and onto the clean bed. Michelina's long dark hair fell over the pillow and cushioned the back of her head. She seemed so tired, and she clung however she could to Caponi's jacket.

The doctor whispered to the nurses. "Please bring a scissors when you get the camera. We'll have to cut these clothes off her. Bring her a gown too."

A few minutes later, they returned with a large Canonate-E camera and film, and in the arms of the other nurse, she held a gown, a scissors, and some evidence bags. They threw the curtain around the bed and began to snip off each piece of clothing, but not before documenting what it was and taking photographs. The jacket was returned to Caponi, who saw bloodstains on the inside of the garment. He held onto it and waited outside the room. The nurses took photographs of the bite mark, and there they measured its length and width. When Michelina was stripped of all her clothes, the nurses took pictures of her breasts, mound, thighs, neck, and hands. They were sure to write detailed descriptions of the battery they saw. Once that was over, they swabbed her skin. The forensics weren't strong or particularly good, but they would keep the samples for future reference. Both nurses cleaned the dirt from her body, and then dressed her in the hospital gown. Half an hour later, the same doctor returned with a pair of powdered gloves on his hands.

Michelina was now somewhat conscious, and as he pulled up a chair beside the bed, he made a point to question her with Caponi present. 

"What's your name, dear?" he asked.

She didn't want to answer him. Even though she had a subconjunctival hemorrhage in her right eye, she saw his name tag reading "Abernathy." She sniffled hard and kept a half-angry, half-sad look on her face. Her mouth was a straight line, but her eyes were filled with regret. The brown irises gave away the deep stabbing emotion. Everything about her screamed anxiousness, and that much was apparent in the way she flinched every time someone examined her. Caponi looked down at her and nodded once, adding, "You're safe here. No one's gonna hurt you anymore."

Through the twinge of pain in her jaw, she managed a single phrase. "You don't know that."

You can forget the game of 20 Questions. I don't want to tell you my name, she thought. I understand how this generic routine goes. You ask me a couple questions, then you try and get me to jump through hoops as if I were a dog. You'll give me false security by saying nothing was my fault. Well, tough shit. I don't have time for this. My brothers need me, and if this son of a bitch kills them, there won't be a single piece of him left. I'll kill him, then myself. Oh, why the fuck did I leave them alone!

While zoning out of consciousness, Michelina could hear Abernathy speaking with Caponi. "I still think she should stay for observation. Most rape victims tend to have an emotional episode once they realize how severe their incident was."

"Look, you can examine her and patch her up, but I don't think she's gonna stay. She doesn't seem the type to book a room at the Hotel California."

Her eyes went wide, and a few more blood-filled drops left her duct. The mentioning of the Eagles' song made her roll over onto her side. She winced in pain, but managed to press her face into the white pillow beneath her. She shivered in pain and cold, thinking of her slaughtered friend. She could still recall the murder in her mind. The way Al had thrust the crowbar into the back of Arleen's head made her tremble. The brutality of it, and the sound of his growls, all of it remained with her. But what had he done with her body? She hadn't been awake long enough to see what had become of Arleen. All she remembered was the fading black that overthrew her senses. As Michelina lay there on the bed, she shivered her way into a deep sleep. The voices of the doctor and trooper faded away. As everything went black in her mind, everything became different. What once seemed familiar now was shriveled and dark. It didn't look like the settings of her dreams, and as she began to feel the blood leak from her eye still, her mind began to toy with her in cruel scenarios.

---

"Mick? Mick, where did you go? Help!"

The voices of her brothers rang through her ears. She couldn't see them, but she heard them in the distance. Fresh tears sprang into her eyes at the sound of their cracking voices. A familiar scene returned, and she found herself looking down at a stark-white nightmare. She saw a white sheet spread over a female's body, which she could only imagine to be her own. It didn't distress her, it only made her curious. There were pillar candles burning around the covered corpse in the darkness, and in the distance, she heard a faint ringing. It sounded like the rotary phone in her house. She looked around the space of the dream to find whatever made the noise, but nothing was there. It was just her and the grotesque funerary scene. Just then, the abdomen of the covered body began to bloat. It swelled in size to the point where it looked pregnant. Her eyes went wide in the dream, and as the sheet came rolling off the corpse fast, bellowing at her at top speed, blood flowed in the room. It splashed over the corpse, whose face was mangled beyond recognition. Michelina fell back in the dream, and she tumbled to the floor in pain.

There were bits of skull and brain matter all over the edge of the table where the head lay. It was reminiscent of Arleen's demise. She could remember then how the crowbar had been pulled from her head, and how the curved edge had wisps of hair tangled on its end. As she knelt upright in the dream, the abdomen dissipated and became a postpartum mess. There was an unprofessional cut into the flesh above the mound, and where the uterus lay inside, it was pulled out, exposed for all to see. A Caesarion surgery had been performed, and yet, there were no traces of a child anywhere. All that lay there on the thighs of the body was the tangled umbilical cord, the placenta, and the scent of decay laced the air. As the scent grew, the sound of the phone amplified in her ears. The tone rang deeply, then resonated with vivid echoes. There was a fresh trail of blood then on the cold floor. She looked down and saw it making a splattered mess on the cold linoleum. She stood up and began to follow it. She walked into the deep dark.

She heard her brothers struggling in the darkness. They sounded like broken angry wails, similar to the ones she made whenever their mother dealt a beating. It only made Michelina run faster through the pitch black. She couldn't see where she was going, but she didn't care. She heard her brothers in distress, and it angered her.

Her lips formed the words in reality, and she whispered, "Boys, hold on. Hold on, I'm coming!"

Her bare feet trekked her through a long corridor, and suddenly in the dream, she found herself falling down a flight of stairs. She lost her balance and fell hard, rolling at a fast speed. Once she reached the bottom of the flight, the noises stopped. She found herself kneeling before a heavy iron door, one that seemed padded. There was a single light on the wall, and there she saw the blood trailing down beside her. The dream confused her. If the blood had come from a dead body, then what lay beyond the door? What did it all mean? Whose blood was it? Where were the boys? As she stood upright, she managed to thrust the door open as she approached it. The heavy weight of it swung open, and as she stumbled inside, she saw the boys sitting on a mattress. They were broken up, bloody, and Colby was crying. Both teenagers were still clothed, but it was apparent they'd been harmed. Alex held his arm around their youngest sibling, their eyes trailed up to meet hers. Alex cried out, pointing behind her with his voice breaking.

"Mick! Watch out!"

She felt something stabbing her in the dream, and it felt rather real. She could feel a hilt burying itself in between her shoulder blade and spine. As she thudded to the floor, she looked up again in the dream and saw the familiar mask. Only now when she saw him, there was something small and pale in his arm. One hand held the knife, the other held what was stolen from the body. In his arm lay a stillborn infant, cut from its mother's womb. Michelina screamed at the sight of the small body. In the light of what seemed to be a basement, his eyes glittered with tears. The boys scurried over to her and pulled her back. She threw her arms in front of them and guarded them however she could. The Grabber walked towards them with the infant in arm, and with the Buck knife gleaming in his hand, everything became a flash of red as he slashed at them. Blood spattered over the walls and the mattress, and with the sounds of both boys gasping for air, she knew their carotids had been cut. As the dream began to end, all faded in darkness. She knew her brothers were dying in the dream, and so was she. The grinning mask seemed triumphant in the basement light. She could feel her blood draining from her body, but more so, she could still feel his body on hers.

-

Michelina sat up then and screamed aloud, waking herself up in a stark sweat.

What did it mean? What did the baby, the phone, and her brothers crying out all mean? As she swept her hands over her face, she began to remove the IVs from her arms. She pulled off the tape that bound them to her skin, and as she pulled the needles out, small drops of blood pooled at the surface. As she continued to feel that stabbing sensation in her back, she wondered if her mind was slipping. Had she imagined these dreams as a fucked up way to cope? Or was it something deeper? It didn't make sense to her. None of it did. She couldn't understand anything anymore, and now that he had her brothers, she had to get home. But where did he live? Where was he hiding them?

She couldn't go to the police, no. That'd draw attention to him, despite the fact they were looking for him. If he was suspected by the police, he'd perhaps escalate his brutality further. Perhaps he'd get around to killing her brothers more quickly if he was trailed. Regardless if the police would be involved, she had to get home. She had to pick herself up and find a way back. But now that she had one thing on her mind, she had to find a way to get a hold of his address. And what better person to ask than Max?

Michelina saw her door was left unattended, and with her clothes taken away and dismantled, all she had to wear was a hospital gown. It wouldn't be easy sneaking out in a white garment. As the nurses made their rounds, she pretended to be asleep. She heard the footsteps pattering on the cold linoleum, but not for long. They faded out of distance once the women turned the corner. As she managed to slip on some socks provided to her, she began to examine her room. On the floor she was at, there was a fire escape that led down the south side of the building, and it trailed towards an alleyway. She knew the way home from there. All she had to do was make a quick exit.

Nearly the entire day passed. The hours had gone by slowly, and just as dusk approached, the hospital floor grew quiet. She took the opportunity to open the door of her room. She peeked around, pretending to be drowsy. In a cautious step, she approached the counter and said she needed the restroom. A woman behind the counter watched her and pointed towards the other end of the hall.

"Bathroom's down that way," she said. As Michelina hurried along despite the pain, she heard the woman add, "Poor girl."

As she entered the bathroom, she locked the door. She looked at the window in front of her then and swallowed hard. Looking through the glass, she observed the streets and sidewalks. There was the same trooper parked on the side of the street now, and it appeared he was talking to someone. Michelina exhaled the moment she saw there wasn't a single black matte van in sight. Her hands almost shook from anxiety, but once she remembered why she was taking off, she didn't hesitate. She thrust the window upright and crawled out onto the fire escape. Her bare feet felt electrified at the cold steel. She hurried along down the ladder and was quick to look around. As she dangled for a mere five seconds, she dropped onto the ground beside a dumpster. Her ankles popped at the rough contact, and she grunted in pain. She looked around the alleyway and saw the street across from her. She began to hide in the shadows, and with her feet trekking her through the dark terrain, she managed to avoid being seen. She crouched, she hid, and she tried to be very aware. Nothing was more important to her now than getting back home, getting a change of clothes, and finding a way to contact Max. That was the only thing on her mind as she ran.

Chapter 15: Nothing's Free

Notes:

Hey, everyone.

I'm sorry for not having updated the story in a while. There's been a few relapses and I've been dealing with some pretty bad nightmares, so I appreciate you all for being so patient and supportive. Hopefully, the next chapter will be the best one. Downside, it might be the last of one of this story. But there's always the possibility that I'm planning a sequel!

As usual, the comments and kudos are appreciated, and there's more to come.

PS: The phone number listed isn’t real. It’s a Durango area code but with James Ransone’s birthday: 06-02-1979.

Chapter Text

The darkness grew thick with the Colorado heat as it hid the entire area of her street. Michelina panted in the deep hollow of the path. The white of her hospital gown became a blur, and she seldom passed under streetlights, at least not if she could help it. She blended into the pitch dark that led towards the two large trees in her backyard. The scent of pine was heavy on the air, and she could hear a few hounds from across the way. They patrolled their yards, and as the fabric of the hospital gown captured her sweat, the dogs could smell her. Her heartbeat began to palpitate as she ran up the path.

Boys, I'm so sorry. I should never have left you alone. Oh, I'm so goddamn stupid. I have to be the worst sister on the fucking planet.

Her breath left her in pounding wisps, and as she swept past the two trees, her feet kicked up dirt on the path. She could feel the inner workings of the soil against her soles. As she raced up the back steps, she dove onto the wood. She felt a few splinters dig into her skin. Tears welled into her eyes, but not from the physical pain. The feeling of having small wooden shards inside her didn't hurt. She cried from not knowing if her brothers were still alive. She frantically scrambled for the spare key, then under the mat, and as her feet ached, she managed to stand upright and lean against the frame of her door. Her fingertips felt numb and cold as she struggled to hold onto the key. She was desperate. Once she finally opened the door, she fell inside her home and cried.

It already felt so different without the boys there. Just what was he doing to them?

As the soles of her feet burned, she dragged herself through the hallway. She slowly knelt upright again, and managed to crawl up the stairs. She felt so weak, not only from running, but also from jumping off a ten-foot fire escape. Everything in her body felt worn down and tired. Though her cervix had been badly bruised, her labia torn and stitched, that pain was meaningless to her. As she crawled, her entire bone structure felt heavy. She finally managed to stand up on the steps at full height, and as she pulled herself up, she wobbled into her bedroom at the top of the flight. There were tears in her eyes, and as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she jumped at her own reflection. It was apparent she'd been a victim of rape. Her hair was nestled around her jawline and shoulders with rattled waves, her eyes sunken in from crying, and her face was white. It looked like she hadn't slept for years. She quickly tore herself out of the gown and began to rustle through her dressers. She rummaged around in the dark naked, unaware how peppered her skin was with scars and bruises. Her breasts swung back and forth, and as the warm breeze blew in through her window, she realized something was amiss. She tried not to think of the ominous feeling in the back of her mind, but it was impossible. As she shifted into clean clothes from a nearby dresser, she felt how sensitive her skin was. The fabric slid over her shoulders and managed to create a low, pained hiss from her lips. She took her time carefully pulling up a new pair of shorts over her legs and hips. She wondered how many times he had imagined her like this. How many times had he stalked her and her brothers? How many places had he turned up without them noticing? Inwardly, she felt stupid. She felt like she hadn't protected them enough, and now, the boys were with him.

Michelina weakly stood upright and slid a bra over her arms, clasping it through burning tears. She finished dressing herself with a half-cropped shirt and another denim jacket. As she slipped on a new pair of socks and different Vans, she began to look for a small pocket book where she had everyone's names, addresses, and contact information. She had kept it upstairs in her bedroom for good measure, and it wasn't something she would leave sitting around idly. As she swept over her vanity desk, she opened the first drawer on the top left. Inside were family pictures and scattered Polaroids. Most of them were photos from the boys' births. She saw their small infant faces in the dark of her room, and she flipped on the lamp switch to look at them further. The boys had looked so much alike when they were first born, that they could've passed for twins, despite being thirteen months apart. The dark hair, the brown eyes. They were perfect, and now they perhaps wouldn't live to see their next birthdays. They hadn't been hers biologically, of course, but she still felt as though they were. With everything they'd been through, they might as well have been. After she finished looking at the photos, she found the small pocket book underneath another pile of Polaroids. She removed the book and flipped it open, and inside she found Arleen's New Mexico address, as well as her rotary phone number. For a moment, she felt discouraged and saddened. But what she didn't recognize was another address unknown to her, one recently scribbled inside. It wasn't her own handwriting, so it confused her.

She examined it closely, and found a Durango address. After all, it was only six hours away from Denver. She couldn't understand whose address it was, and she figured it wasn't his. No, he had to of lived in the area. How else would all these boys disappear? How else could he stick around long enough to torture them and taunt her? As Michelina looked closer at the cursive writing, she found another phone number, and a name was next to it. Max- 970-062-1979. Her eyes went wide and her sore mouth fell open. Her eyes closed momentarily as she clutched the book to her battered breast, and her voice managed to crack a thankful, yet sad laugh. Her tears stung the foundations of her corneas, and as she looked back down, she realized it was destiny.

The brunette grew teary eyed at her friend's writing. Though she was now gone, murdered, she had thrown her a lifeline to finding out where Al lived. It didn't make much sense to her, but perhaps Arleen had done her a favor. It struck her then that perhaps while they were all here the last time, Arleen must've found the book and logged Max's address for safe measure. A smart redhead indeed. But now, the array of questions remained. Where was Max? Was he sober? Did he know what happened to Arleen? She couldn't figure it out. She didn't know if he was back home in Durango, or if he was elsewhere. There was only one way to find out, and that was to call him.

-

She moved along as quickly as possible. She kept her small pocket book in hand as she descended the step. She moved through the pain, never once stopping until she reached the kitchen and the rotary phone that hung on the wall adjacent to the back door. Weakly, she turned on the kitchen light, then picked up the receiver in hand. As she balanced the book in her hand, she dialed in the number. The weight of the receiver seemed heavier than usual, but then she figured it must've been her feeling weak from the assault. She placed the book down and held onto the cord. It wrapped around her fingers in a nervous tangle. The phone began to dial out, and the vibrations of its tone reverberated against her ear.

"Please pick up, Max," she whispered, still teary. "Please pick up, goddamn it."

The number was active, but no one answered. For the next half hour, she persisted in small intervals. She wouldn't let up until she heard a voice on the other end of the line. This was too important, and the police wouldn't help her in time. She ended up sitting down at her kitchen table while waiting one more time, and her heart began to palpitate. The blood surged through her veins, and her pulse elevated with worry, anger and fear. For her, this was the most insurmountable kind of pain she had ever felt. Not knowing where he lived, not knowing if the boys were still alive. If you touch them the way you've touched me, there won't be a single thing to hold me back from hurting you. You've crossed the line, you son of a bitch. You've fucked with my family for the last time.

Just as she was about to slam the phone against the wall out of anger, someone answered. Her breath hitched, and she spoke quickly, hopeful she'd receive a decent answer from someone familiar. The cord wrapped around her fingers till they were almost blue.

"H-hello? Who is this?" a male's voice asked.

"Max? Max, it's Michelina."

"Oh God," he sobbed. "Did... did you hear about Arleen? I just found out today when I woke up. Saw the papers and I damn near died. I would've thought someone would've called, but then I know nobody has my number except you. 'Leen told me she'd leave it with you for, well, stuff like this. Mick, I'm sorry. I'm sorry as hell. I know you two were close, I know you were like sisters. Jesus Christ, she was mangled. She had her head caved in the back! Someone killed my Arleen. Goddamn it! Stupid, stupid Max. I shouldn't have been coked that night. But did you and the boys get home safe?"

Just then, she grew tense. Her entire body froze, and she could still feel his brother raping her, wounding her. She closed her eyes and stifled a sob. It was obvious that Max had no idea who his brother was. She couldn't leave any blame with him. But the question had to be asked. Did he know Al was going to follow them to Albuerquque? She didn't know for certain, and she couldn't exactly ask an addled brain those kinds of questions. Still, she gently pressed into the conversation with calm urgency.

"Max, I have a question to ask, is that okay?"

"Sure," he sniffed, his tone soft and broken. On the other end of the phone, she could tell he was doing a line. The sharp sound of something clattering against a table top, and she heard a swift inhale. "Go ahead, what's your question?"

"Where does your brother live? You see, I forgot something very important, and he's got it with him, but I've never been over to his place. Knowing me, I'll get lost. I've never been good with directions," she laughed, trying to ease into the deception. She didn't want to lie to Max, she hated it, but she didn't want to shatter his view of his brother. At least, not yet. Max went quiet on the other end of the line for a moment, and she wondered if he suspected. It turned out to be that he was only doing another line, though attempting to snort it in a quiet manner.

"Max? Are you still there?"

He sniffled again loudly, and cleared his throat. "Yeah, no I'm still here."

"Can you tell me where he's at? I promise I'll be quick if he's not home."

"I don't think he'd like me to give out his address to people. Last time I did that, he got pretty pissed off and went off the rails. If I tell you where he's at, can you tell me you'll be in and out of there fast? It's just, you seem like a nice person and all, and I'd hate for him to rag on you."

Joke's on you, sadly, she thought. He's already done much worse. "You've got my word, Max."

"Okay then," the younger Shaw hesitated. "Al's at 7742 South Irving. He's got a spare key in his mailbox, and just watch out for Samson. He may look huge, but he's a teddy bear. But don't tell Al I sent you, okay? He can get awfully annoyed real quick. I'm sure you've already seen that. But you know, I think if he just got out some more and maybe found the right girl, he wouldn't be an ornery old bastard."

She realized then that he was just a normal man concerned for his big brother. It broke her heart, and as she tried to think of their childhoods together, she teared up. She realized that something must've blackened Al to the point where he was eroded. She realized Max was more well-meaning and stronger, even if he did drugs for recreation. She admired him for that, and she felt guilty for deceiving him. As she nodded on her end, she replied, "I won't tell him, I promise."

"Michelina?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for calling. I was tearing myself up big time for what happened to 'Leen. I still am, but I'm grateful she had such a good friend. Well, I hope you get back what you're looking for, and I hope the boys are doing alright. I'm sure they're a little frazzled too. But like I said, they're strong like their big sister. There's no battering them around. Anyways, see ya."

The line buzzed and the phone went quiet. Max had hung up, and as Michelina loosened the cord around her fingertips, she felt afraid. She knew Al could overpower her, she knew that he could at any given time hurt her badly. He had left his marks on her already. He had maimed her, bit her, scarred her. But now wasn't the time to grow shy or quiet. As she looked around the kitchen for something to use as a weapon, she remembered where she kept her old Buck knife. True, it was the same knife he used, but what better way to return a poetic slice or stab than by using something he was already familiar with?

She strapped the leather casing to the loop of her jean shorts, and as she made her way down the front steps, she managed to hide the knife beneath her denim jacket. She seemed pained, but she couldn't stop now. From where she lived, South Irving Street wasn't that far away. Since he'd abandoned her truck back in Albuerquque, she'd have to do whatever she could. The night life rang around her in shrill sounds, and as cars passed her, she kept her eyes glued to the road for any long black vans that posed a threat. The air was dense, yet full of sweat and blood. She could feel a great unease on the breeze.

She also couldn't help but feel numerous eyes on her. Though her clothes were changed and the blood washed away, she still felt vulnerable in the Colorado evening.

Chapter 16: How You Gonna See Me Now

Notes:

Well, here's the last chapter of this story.

I wanted to thank all of you for sticking around and leaving me kudos and comments. They're all appreciated, and I will always take into consideration how much you love this story. And yes, I'm already planning a sequel! While this of course has centered around an adult female character, she'll be back in the next installment. A few more familiar faces will appear in the next part as well.

As always, there are heavy adult themes here. There are scenes of torture, rape, stabbing, and attempted murder. You are under no obligation to read this, but I thank you all nonetheless who have been waiting a couple of days to read this last chapter.

P.S: And for those of you wondering where I got the titles to the chapters, they're all songs by Alice Cooper. I chose to use "How You Gonna See Me Now" for this last chapter, due to the fact that the lyrics of the song remind me of Al's broken consciousness.

Chapter Text

The heat of the night grew dense against her skin, and with the battered bruises exposed, she felt determined to find the boys. She didn't know how long he kept each one, but she knew there were a few months between the abductions. Each of the abductions had either been meticulously planned or rather sloppy in preparation, almost as if they were done on last-minute impulse. As she walked down the street, she observed how a few squad cars passed by. She could see the siren lights were turned off, but she worried about the moment when the red and blue colors would flash. Perhaps they were looking for her, but it seemed so-so. It wasn't uncommon for people to leave the hospital on their own accord, but tonight wouldn't end well. All she could picture were her brothers as infants again, and how in her young state, she was overwhelmed with joy to be a big sister. She could recall their little hands, their feet, and the sight of their round faces when they were presented thirteen months after each other.

Such a thought made a tear well into her eye. Now wasn't the time to grow vulnerable with such thoughts. She had been strong this far, and she had to keep going. She had to do it, for herself, Arleen, and the boys of course. But yet, all she could picture were the bodies of Earl and Arleen. She visualized blood, she saw their faces lying pliant and cold in a pool of blood. She never imagined that she could see such carnage. While Earl had been an accident, she knew that Arleen was no coincidence. She knew that by just knowing her, Arleen had been marked. Anyone close to her was either a threat or something to be coveted. She just couldn't understand why. Would he finish off her ex-stepbrother or her boss and his brother? Anyone associated with her was in danger. But it made no sense. His targets were always young boys, boys who were the same age as her brothers. So, with that being said, why come after her? Why at all? There was no definite answer in her mind. And quite frankly, she didn't want to know why. She just wanted it to end.

-

As her soles grew stronger, her pace quickened. She kept looking throughout the streets for 7742. There were loose crumbs of concrete on the sidewalk, and with the July air blowing against her skin, she felt lost. Her footsteps made small crunching noises on the pavement, and as she grew closer down to the secluded street, she began to eye the doors and mailboxes more carefully. She kept her eyes peeled for the numbers. It was almost traumatic for her, having to look for the house in which her brothers were kept. She didn't know if they were still alive. She didn't know if they were dead.

As she kept moving, her body's foundations felt sore and weighed down again. Her muscles behind her knees and under her thighs burned. As the holster of the Buck knife lingered over her tailbone, hidden by her denim jacket, she swallowed hard. She couldn't afford to be caught right now, as she had unfinished business to attend to. She looked inconspicuous as she walked along the concrete, and the soles of her Vans were already wearing out. But she couldn't stop. She wouldn't. With everything that happened, she couldn't let this be the end. She hurried along quickly, especially as she felt something reeling her towards a house on the street. It pulled her in, it gravitated her towards it with its pull. Was her intuition bringing her closer to his place? Was she nearly there?

She was about to walk around the corner that led onto the left side of the street, but something touched her. It wasn't present, it was invisible. Something was there with her, and she couldn't see it. She had felt that feeling before, usually, after a loved one died. It sent tremors down her spine, and she thought it was the wind, but it was warm. It wasn't cold, and it certainly didn't leave a swipe on her nape. She stopped on the sidewalk. Her knees buckled, and she felt a strange, comforting presence beside her. Though what was there had no tangible form, she wouldn't deny its preternatural essence. Someone was right beside her. She knew it must've been Arleen. A tear fell again down her face, and she swallowed hard. A light swipe tickled her skin, making gooseflesh appear all over her body as she felt something touch her.

What would Arleen say to her in a moment like this? Oh right, something that went perhaps in the vein of, "Go get that son of a bitch."

---

As she hurried along then, she could feel that they were close. It was a deep feeling she always had. It was a mother's instinct. Her Vans hurried her down the side of the road then, and she came across a grey fence. On one side, there sat a wide home with a dead white tree in front of it. The bark was cold, and it seemed devoid of life. It didn't hold the distinction of something simple. As she eyed the seemingly quiet place, something reverberated. She could feel something low resonating, and it didn't feel alive or in existence. She could hear the screaming then, and it wasn't that of her brothers'. As she looked at the brick home, the sounds were that of other boys. They were crying for a reprieve, crying for someone to stop hurting them. And oh, she could hear the belt. She could hear leather contacting smooth flesh, and she knew too well the clear crying that came from the stinging pain. Snap, snap, snap. Her stomach went sour, and she cupped her hand over her mouth. Just how sick was this bastard that his victims' energies remained behind to live it repeatedly? Before she could step away, the digit 7742 appeared in her brown eyes.

Her instinct to protect was too great. With an insurmountable rush of adrenaline, she blindly went quietly towards the door. It fueled her entire body with fear, anger, and more so worry. She couldn't see his van anywhere, so she knew it was hidden. Everything around her began to fade. Out of sight, out of mind so to speak. She couldn't worry about anything else at that moment. Not about Drew, Ted, or Sam, not about her responsibilities as a city citizen. Her eyes never once left the home. She couldn't see any kind of light, but she saw a screen door. With all her quiet cunning, she opened it and tried to silently jerk the knob. She could move it, but something kept it locked from the inside. Perhaps he had a chain like she did or an actual lock of some sort. Whatever it was, she didn't have the right materials to open said door. With the police cars making their way around the streets again, she hurried along the other side of the brick house. She ducked down immediately and hid near a few shrubs. The red and blue lights went by, and their sirens turned on. The sounds rang through the air sharply, and it was then she saw the squad car race after another vehicle. It was a few teenagers street racing in their father's car. As the squad car fell out of sight, she stood back up and began to make her way carefully toward the front. She remembered what Max had told her about the mailbox. There was always a spare, he said. But for what? The door was presumably locked from the inside, so what did it go to? She couldn't think of anything else it could go to. Then again, Max was still using. Could it be he was simply mistaken?

Something made her skin crawl. There was an odorous smell coming from beneath the house across the street. It smelled unlike anything she had ever sensed before, and her stomach felt churned. The smell— it was abhorred, smelling of fresh concrete, yet it hid something foul. She looked over her shoulder and could feel the wind grow condensed. She lightly trembled as she hunched over. Could, could it be that they were there? Or were the other boys buried there? She had no idea for sure, and she hadn't the heart to investigate. There was no time. If he had her brothers, they'd be here with him. There would be another time to investigate the other house. As she stood up, her back faced the door. Her hair swept against the screen, and she heard something click behind her. Before she could move or say anything, there was a small shuffle against the door from the inside. It sounded as if something were being unlocked. Her first instinct was to grab the Buck knife in her back waistband. She anticipated him throwing the door open and grabbing her. All too poetic, but she was at least prepared this time. She had a knife, and this time she'd put it to good use. But the door didn't open. She knew that distinctively, it'd been unlocked for her access. He had to of known she was coming. After all, he had her brothers. She wouldn't let them go so easily. No caring, sane family member would. If he would inquire as to how she got his address, she'd tell him it was none of his concern. She wasn't about to shatter Max's view of his brother, despite how much of a bastard he was. She wouldn't put him in the line of fire either. As her hand gripped the handle, her heart began to pound deeply in her chest. Sweat grazed her breast and her temple. The interior of her throat felt tight and she could hardly swallow. To say she was afraid was an understatement.

But then she remembered something else Max said. "Just watch out for Samson. He may look huge, but he's a teddy bear."

She carefully removed her hand from the hilt of her knife. She didn't want to cause any harm to an innocent animal. If anything, the dog wouldn't know better. He would just be protecting his home and his owner. As she quietly opened up the screen door, her hand nervously clutched onto the doorknob. She almost hesitated to turn it, but then she remembered why she was there. Her brothers needed her desperately. Without thinking, she opened the door and stepped inside quietly. On her left, there came a shifting black mass from inside a folding closet. A huge Cane Corso charged towards her, and its bark was loud, roaring like thunder. His jaws flapped back and forth as he approached. He tried jumping up at her, but then the dog smelled his owner on her. He burrowed his snout into the junction of her thighs, and suddenly he began to inhale her scent. She backed away, even though he was chained. The dog suddenly changed his demeanor the moment his master yelled from the kitchen.

"Samson, be quiet!"

The dog retreated into the closet to lie down. A good boy indeed. Her eyes went wide then, not from fear, but anger. She swallowed hard, almost to the point where she felt like eating her tongue. Now was the time to end it. She felt afraid for the first time in her life, and as she unsheathed the Buck knife from behind her back, she treaded carefully towards the kitchen. Her Vans quietly tapped along the linoleum, and as she turned the corner, she saw him sitting there in a cold fold-out chair. He was facing a solemn wooden door in the kitchen, one that seemed to lead downstairs to either a basement or cellar. Her eyes went wide at the grotesque mask he wore, and not just at the fact he was half-naked. It was the same kind of mask he wore when he abducted her. The mask cast shadows over his pectorals and shoulder-length locks, and as she lowered her eyes to his hand, she saw there was a leather belt gripped tightly in his palm. Strategically, he turned his head to face her. She no longer saw the pointed, frowning profile. She almost dropped the knife out of her hand the moment she saw the mask completely. The face was an awful piece of craftsmanship. The mouth was closed, pulled down into a sharp frown with a lip pouting in disgust. The eyes appeared to be almost squinting, and the horns atop the mask cast sharp shadows over the curves. The blue eyes though that belonged to him were icy, yet somehow playful. He had waited for her to come around.

"There she is," he said, his voice slightly muffled. "Hello, sweetheart. Is that a Buck knife, I see?"

With angry tears forming in her eyes, she replied with a snarl. She was afraid, but she had to stand her ground. "I keep one around for bastards like you."

The belt fell out of his hand, and as he stood up, it clattered to the floor. He had kept his pants unbuttoned, and she could still smell the essence of his semen. He began to walk towards her slowly, looking as if he were preparing to jump her. Her hand only tightened its grip on the knife. Her vulva twitched the moment his eyes met hers. Even though he wasn't physically inside her at the moment, it didn't mean he didn't have plans. She could feel her fear grow as he stepped closer. She rose the blade in the air and kept her arm extended in his direction.

"St-stay right there," she said.

He didn't listen. He stood about the same height as her, if not a few inches taller. He was physically stronger than her, and with his muscles distracting her, he could sense how her heartbeat raced. The vein in her neck throbbed as he grew closer. Samson panted in his corner and drooled, watching his owner close in on her. He didn't know what was going on, and nor did he see the knife in her hand. All he could see was a young woman standing in the kitchen. As Al stalked closer to her, with one large hand, he reeled her in. The other hand enclosed around her wrist and squeezed. His hand eclipsed her throat, and his thumb was at her jugular. She closed her eyes and tried not to look at the mask. It was hideous and cruel, and she could feel his eyes all over her.

"Give me the knife."

"Fuck you. I want my brothers back, so give them to me."

"Tsk, tsk, there are those awful words. If you don't give me the knife, you'll never see the boys again."

Though he wore a mask, the sound of his voice filtered deeply into her ear. His scent was strong, smelling of sweat and ejaculation. She couldn't escape him at all. He cupped her neck harder and waited for her to give him the knife. He applied more pressure to her wrist, and as she cried out from the pain, he threw her down to the kitchen floor in a violent jolt. As he threw himself atop her, he inhaled. His blue eyes rolled over white like a shark's, and as she lay there defenseless beneath him, she was exposed again. Al's eyes opened, and he peered down at her chest. He saw the beads of sweat forming and he found her beautiful in her disarray. The skin she had was beautiful. It was still light enough to reflect the blue-purple veins on her throat, around the edges of her areolas. She drove him mad with every curve and feature. He took the knife from her and began to tease her.

The knife swept against her breast, leaving a rather sensual cut in the film of her skin. Her nipple grew erect from feeling the cold steel. Her breath hitched inside her throat, and she wondered how much longer she'd still have it. After all, his preferred weapon was something strong, yet delicate. Something that could be hidden, yet wielded quickly. What was going to keep him from hurting her the way he'd hurt the others?

As she stared up at him with her brown eyes still full of hateful tears, her jaw clenched and her mouth formed a tight line. She was crying, but she wasn't about to plead for her life. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing simple words fall from her lips. The knife moved over her sternum, then cut deeper. With his weight on top of hers, she couldn't move. One of his hands cupped her mouth, and with his wrought grip tightening down, her jaw couldn't move an inch. She screamed beneath his palm in a muffled cry.

"I didn't want it to have to come to this," he said, his ragged voice growing hoarse. Whether it was from self-hatred or disdain for the situation, she didn't know. But his familiar eyes had grown watery again. As he looked down at her, those blue eyes grew dark. The curves of the mask amplified the features of his eye sockets with dark shadows. As her heart began to race, the pounding of her blood echoed in her ears. As she struggled to stay alert, to stay strong and be aware of his every move, he suddenly growled, but with a broken tone to his voice.

"I just thought that having you here would perhaps make things better, but everything's all fucked up. Nothing's going right. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

As he kept her still, with one hand, he violently tore her shorts open. They slid down her thighs and remained there. The knife trailed towards her pelvis, and as it slipped beneath the elastic of her panties, he lifted it in the air and merely held it in place. The silver of the blade gleamed in the light, shining as bright as tin. He could also see the fresh sheen of sweat that covered her skin. The tears that fell from his eyes now were full of anger and despair. He removed his hand from her mouth and used it to squeeze her throat tightly. She coughed beneath his grip. He could choke the life from her if he wanted to. Still, something was preventing him from finishing her. She wasn't a usual victim. She wasn't an adolescent young male exposed in the open. No, she didn't fit his modus operandi. Perhaps it was because she was perfect, almost too much in the sense that her motherly instinct was her redeeming feature. To see someone so broken and yet so strong made him feel exposed. He hated her for that, but he also admired it. She was everything he had wanted from his mother, who had broken their family with her absence.

Again, she tried to thrash her way out of his hold. His grip tightened as he held her in place. As he leaned down, he could smell the heat rising from between her legs. With one quick tug, the bottom half of his mask was off. He could smell her, he could salivate the moment of nearly tasting her fear. He, the predator, had just smelled a fawn in her hour of frightening heat. The urges that reveled inside him beheld a clawing sensation. Her urge to fight him was understandable. He also understood that her fire was what fueled his desire to rip her open, to cleave her, taste her, and maul her. Without saying anything, Al drove his lips against hers. His crooked teeth bit into her lips, scraped her tongue, and blood welled to the surface. He was bruising her mouth with his, and as he kept her against him, she fought hard. All she could taste was his saliva, his blood, and hers combined. It was only another decrepit way of their DNA joining. It would keep them joined. The knife was scattered to the other side of the kitchen, and as she managed to wriggle a hand out of his hold, she tore the top half of his mask off. And what a reaction that warranted.

He saw red and retreated as if he were a frightened animal. Al's eyes went wide and as he tore his lips from her, he knelt upright and covered his face. He broke out into tears and violently, she pushed him off of her. She went to race toward the door he'd been guarding, but then he snapped back into reality. His hands gripped her calves, and he lunged at her. He pulled her into his arms and stood up, carrying her over to the counter beside the sink. Despite a window being there, there was blackness behind the glass. There was no one to see what he was doing. He threw her down and began to tear her shorts down further. The sound of her panties could be heard tearing, and Samson began to bark profusely. He could hear his owner grunting as he peeled all of her lower garments away.

"Get off me. Get off-"

"You'll do nothing. You came into my house, flashing your shit so teasingly, so now I'll do with you as I please. Now behave and spread those legs, or I'll cut your fucking throat next."

Her chest spilled into the open the moment he ripped her tied-up shirt. She hadn't been teasing him at all. That wasn't her style, and nor did she try to put out such an appearance. Could it be he was just that deluded? Her bra stood between his breasts and his hands. Before she could say anything else, he clawed at the cut he gave her. She fell backward and tried to scream, but he kept hitting her. His hand roughly unzipped his pants and pried her thighs open. The very sound of it unraveling sent shivers down her chest, through her nipples, and into the deep cut of her sternum. She felt him push inside her then, pounding her roughly, abusing her with each thrust. His mouth descended on her throat. He bit down hard again, marking her, teasing her. He began to fuck her hard, and each thrust was more brutal than the last. She still hadn't healed. There were still stitches in her skin. His tip hit her cervix in every thrust. She wept as he rammed himself into her. It was an array of emotions, and as he grew closer to coming, she turned her head away. He moaned into her skin, growled, and as he continued to pound her, he could feel her tightening. She hated herself for it. Everything about him, she hated. And as he craned his hips to the side, he heard an accidental moan slip from her lips. The pressure was becoming deep, though sensual. He was raping her, but her body was betraying her. As his pubic hair brushed against her clit, it made her react to his body. She trembled, she swallowed hard and felt her cervix grow tender with each thrust.

"I hate you..."

He pulled out momentarily to make her face the other way. He bent her over the counter next, and he pushed himself back inside. Now her ass rippled as he pounded her from behind. It was lush and he could see clearly how her folds enveloped his cock. The veins were thick, pulsating. He kept her arms behind her back as he fucked her. She tried not to look at him over her shoulder, but her brown eyes met his blues. He bit her earlobe then as he pulled her against his chest. His hand was on her throat, choking her as he growled into her ear. "It doesn't matter, sweetheart. You're so beautiful when you're battered. Makes me proud to know I was the one who broke you in."

You're a sadist, she thought. You're a goddamn sadist and a coward. I never knew your mother, but I wish I had. I would've told her not to have you to save us all some trouble. Nothing good ever comes from a piece of shit like you.

There was a wooden block holding sharp kitchen knives, and it was near the sink, right near the edge within arm's reach. With each pump, he grew closer. He could feel her tightening as well. She was close to her release too. Another unintended moan escaped her lips. She could feel her coil building. His one hand gripped her hip harshly, and his fingernails dug into her skin. His panting became more hoarse as he continued. Sweat pooled on his chest, and it pressed against the back of her denim jacket. With one grip on her throat then, he whimpered. As his cum coursed into her womb, a whine escaped him. She could feel it pooling inside her, sliding down her folds and his shaft. He leaned her over and kept himself inside for a minute. He didn't want the rest of his seed going to waste. It wasn't just from pain, but from the pleasure of her climaxing on his shaft.

"Good girl."

She grabbed the longest hilt from the block and unsheathed the knife. A gleam of silver flashed through the air in a fell swipe.

In a single motion, she slashed a decent cut into his upper hip and abdomen. A fresh streak of red appeared and blood followed. Though she was now half-naked, she leaped at him and pulled him down to the floor. Al thudded backward and as she tried to keep ahold of him, she balled her fist and struck his jaw. Now that she saw red, she began to wail at him. The knife fell away and she began to hurt him as much as she could. With his face exposed, he felt vulnerable. His identity was struck away. The way she continued to hit him, strike him, was reminiscent of his father's brutality. He loved her for it. He loved how much she cared for her brothers. The fact she was willing to die for them, to kill him to get them back, how could he not adore her viciousness at this moment? Somehow, she began to break him in. Each blow she delivered with her fist made it all clear. He allowed her to hit him, but before she delivered another blow, she reached back for the knife and blindly thrust it into his lower groin, just above his shaft and a little to the right side. He fell backward and coughed as he felt the knife leave his body.

As he lay there bleeding, he cupped the wound. Red began to soak into his skin, and it squelched through his fingers. She didn't know how deep she'd driven the blade, but nor did she care. If he died, he died. Her first instinct was to gather her shorts. Rolling away, she grabbed them and pulled them back up over her ankles, then her hips. She buttoned up her denim jacket to hide the cut and made a sprint toward the door he'd been guarding. She stayed in the doorway, calling down to the cellar. She wasn't about to go down and risk having him lock the door behind her.

"Boys? Boys, can you hear me?"

No response came, and her blood went cold. The sound of silence was something she always feared.

"Fuck!"

Just then, as he tried to sit up with the knife angled away, her fear overcame her. She was becoming paralyzed with uncertainty, but she remembered then what Arleen would say. Kick that son of a bitch hard, she would've told her. Don't let him get back up. I know you can kick like a mule, so let him fucking have it. She steadied her breathing and prepared herself. If he slashed at her with the knife, it'd be on her for not being fast enough. Charging toward him again, she allowed her foot to meet his pectoral. As he crashed backward, he tried to get back up, but couldn't without bleeding further. His iliac artery hadn't been punctured, but he was in pain. He snarled through it, but as she kicked him again, the side of her Vans met his jaw. He fell back hard. That kick had been for her friend, for a girl who was a sister to her. She kept kicking him until her leg burned from swinging back and forth. That finally rendered him unconscious along with the blood loss. Samson began to bark and whimper now as Al lay there. The dog's barking drowned out the sound of her whimpers. Once she was sure he was out, or at least slightly dazed and immobilized, she descended the steps cautiously. The tears were still fresh in her eyes, and as she approached the padded door, she sniffled. Her fear rendered gooseflesh all over her body.

"Boys?"

She went to open the door quickly, but not before flipping the switch on the side wall. Once her hand gripped the handle, she thrust the door open with all her strength. It creaked in its metallic groan, and she looked inside, only to see a grimy, cracked basement holding a single mattress. There was a damp smell of moss and mold, and as the lights inside faintly lit the room, she saw nothing, and there was no one else to be seen. Now her panic set in. She began to weep as she called out for them.

"Alexzander Douglas and Colby Clark, you answer me right this second!"

While there was only a smaller room to the side, she deduced that was only where a toilet was. Very quickly, she ran inside to search the rooms. Her eyes went wide as she saw blood all around. In the small side room, there were rolled-up mats and carpets, nothing more. It was bleak inside, and yet they weren't huddled in the corner. She ran back out into the vast space and saw how stained the mattress was. At a second glance, all she could see was all she could. There were drops of red on the cotton. She even saw handprints embedded into the cloth. What stained the fabric left behind a dwindling trail from the mattress. It was as if they were dragged out on something that hid the evidence because when she went looking for the rest of the blood, it was gone. She stepped back and let the inevitable realization sink in.

They were gone.

Thirteen and fourteen years of their lives, all gone.

The realization of them being bled and stashed somewhere made her entire body go cold. There was no sign of them left. Not a piece of clothing, not a shoe, or anything else that belonged to them. All that was left was the sign of a struggle. Her chest felt pressure, and suddenly her heart began to sink inside. Every vein and artery in her body went still. Her blood ran cold, and then she could hear Al trying to move upstairs. The chair shuffled back and creaked. She ran back upstairs with her eyes still full of tears. She had never cleared a flight of steps faster in her life. She ground her teeth and ran back over to Al, who by now was regaining some consciousness. The inner instinct to maim him was strong. She grabbed her Buck knife, and from where he lay, she placed a knee on his chest and held the blade to his throat. He looked up at her with a smile, though his eyes still held the distinction he wanted to hurt her. The blade slightly cut into his skin, and as she breathed heavily, she cried.

"Look at me, you son of a bitch," she growled. "Where did you put them?"

He held her face in one hand, and weakly, he swept the other over her thigh. She violently swatted his hand away, and as she cried, he could see that she was breaking down completely. He had finally done it. He had wounded her, broken her. Now that he got rid of her brothers and had his way, it was just the two of them now. All under his belt, he could say he finally ravaged an entire family. With anger in her veins, she threw him back against the linoleum floor of his kitchen. She gripped him hard and pressed her knee against his wound. He groaned out in pain, and she began to grow hoarse. "Goddamn it, tell me! Where did you put my boys?"

Just as he left her for dead, she'd do the same. It would only be fair play. As she realized that the squad car was doing their patrols again, she saw the red and blue lights flashing. She looked out past the window and heard the car coming down the street. In that one split second, Al sat up and brought her lips crashing to his. He bit her hard again, and as she whimpered, trying to get away, he whispered a few words then that left her blood cold. He whispered them as he pushed her waving hair behind her ear.

"You are special, sweetheart. Now that I'm a part of you, I'll never leave. Even if you tuck your tail and run, I'll always be there. Now isn't that just peachy keen?"

She vehemently tore herself out of his hold and spat his blood out of her mouth. It splashed against the floor and as she stood, she immediately turned around and made her way toward the door. He fell back and continued to bleed, though by now it had stopped gushing. All he could see was her ruined form fading out of view. She walked toward his front door, and as she backed away, she grew terrified. While he lay there, he smiled once then turned over weakly. He crawled in an attempt to retrieve his mask. Hearing his words surge through her ears made her feel small. She was undeniably terrified, worried even that he would come after her again. After all, he had done it once before. Who was to say he wouldn't do it again? But she couldn't let him get ahold of her again. She had to get away. She looked over her shoulder, but every few seconds, she kept returning her eyes to Al. He stood up through the pain, and as he regained his mask, he held onto it with bloody hands. She knew the blood was his, but what did he do with her brothers? Where were they kept hidden?

As she stepped back, she tried to ignore Samson's barking from inside the closet.

The Cane Corso's roaring was hardly enough of a distraction from the cold gaze of his owner. If she was smart, she would contact the police. She'd bring them down on him, make them arrest him for her rape, for the kidnapping, for the murders of her best friend, and now, quite inevitably her brothers. But she was petrified. Petrified at the very least that they wouldn't believe anything she said. If anything, they'd arrest her for fleeing a public hospital. They'd leave her locked up in a room without even looking at Al, and they'd charge her with escape. But was he that clever? Would he be able to hide their bodies, completely discard the mess and clean everything up without further suspicion? It terrified her, quite to the point. But then he stood up, clutching onto the kitchen counter. His hair fell over his face, hiding it in muddled waves of brown-gray strands. He immediately put his mask back on. Once it was strapped on, he looked back at her. Oddly enough, she stayed against the door and stared at him. She was frozen out of fear. She could hear the wind picking up and with the bike lock on the side of the door lightly clattering against the frame, all she could hear was the sound of her heart pounding in fear. Just as he started to quietly stalk toward her, she turned and bolted out of the front door. She cried out, whimpering as she began to run down the road. Her aching feet carried her as far as they could. Now that her truck was gone, she'd have to run back home on foot. 

But had he planned on her being that terrified? Perhaps he had. She was traumatized now, worse now than she ever was before. He had broken her by taking the lives of her brothers, and by hiding them from her, he knew it would eat her alive. He was in her head now, and of course, in her veins, her womb. There was no other way to describe the satisfaction it gave him, knowing that he was the one who wounded her and truly took her innocence. He wasn't concerned about her contacting the police. She'd be too scared to talk. She also knew they would be looking for her for escaping. It was fated perfectly. While standing away from the window of the kitchen, he could see red and blue lights flashing again. How opportune that they should show after their scuffle. He turned off the kitchen lights, shrouding himself in darkness. The police swept through his area in a quiet manner. The sirens weren't wailing, but they were being aware. They were alerting the neighborhood that they were there too. As the lights faded into the distance, Al smiled darkly behind the mask. He knew he was alright. He knew she wouldn't talk. If anything, he could see her packing her things and leaving Denver forever. It excited him to know she'd be out there alone, confused, and heartbroken. If there ever was a chance to break and erode another soul, he'd do it happily, as if he were the Devil himself providing a public service.

(FIN. To be continued...)

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