*This is the final chapter of the story. If you haven't read the others, I recommend doing so as this is only here to complete the tale for those who are interested in the fate of the characters. There is no sex in this chapter but rather a consideration of the whole point in its composition and a response perhaps to previous comments. I hope you enjoy and, as always, comments are welcome.
Lucy felt her eyes opening but nothing was revealed but a blackness as deep as the unconscious void from which she had emerged. Her mouth was dry and she became aware of rough cloth between her teeth- a gag. Her wrists hurt and she was puzzled then anxious when she realized that she couldn't pull them apart. She was bound and drowning in darkness.
The air was close and hot and she panicked. She struggled against her bonds but hit her head on something metal and pain detonated behind her eyes.
She groaned and tried to take control, forcing herself to take deep and calming breaths. She felt a jolt and became aware of the deep buzz of an accelerating engine. Realisation blossomed- she was in the boot of a car!
The image of her grandmother's corpse came back to her; the ragged gash at her throat spilling crimson blood, and Lucy sobbed as she realised it was all true- this was her reality.
The car boot stank of oil and old cigarettes and her mind raced as she tried to comprehend what was happening to her and why.
This can't be real; it's not happening! The thought spun in her mind like a scrolling LED display but she felt the coarse lining of the boot beneath her head and smelt the stale smoke and felt the lurches and jolts and knew that it was real, that it was indeed happening as her abductor took her heaven knows where.
She brought her bound hands up to her face and tried to slip her fingers into the dirty cloth gag in her mouth but then she heard the brakes groan and felt the car come to a stop. The handbrake clicked but the engine kept running. A door slammed and she heard heavy footsteps falling on wet earth and a second later the boot was open and cold air was flowing onto her face. The boot light flicked on and her eyes stung from the sudden brightness. She blinked and the image of a man slowly coalesced before her.
He towered over her, clad in black. He was unshaven and his grimy hair fell about his face in lank curls. He stank of drink and his eyes were bloodshot and wild. His right hand rested on the lid of the boot as he stared down at her and she moaned with horror at the sight of dry blood on his palms. In his left he clutched the terrible blade with which he had ended her grandmother's life. Fat and heavy rain fell about him as he leered down at her and she whimpered.
Then his bony hand was grabbing her by the collar of the red hooded sweatshirt and dragging her from the confinement of the car boot. She fell to the wet muddy ground and her bare knees stung from the sudden impact. She bore the pain and stole a glance at their surroundings. It was dark and raining but she could discern the shadowy silhouettes of trees about them, and could hear the violent wind stirring their leaves. She frowned through her shock and felt that, despite the hellish nature of the place, it was somehow familiar. She panted through the gag as he slammed the boot shut above her. Her lungs felt lacerated by the fumes of the exhaust pipe next to her face and she coughed awkwardly through the cloth between her teeth.
Then his fingers were in her hair and wrenching her to her feet; needling pain latticed her scalp. Still painfully clutching her hair, he pulled her along with him, across the muddy and slippery road and into the uneven ground of a forest.
"Please," she tried to say but the gag muffled and distorted her pleading into an unintelligible groan. She tried again but it was no clearer and by focussing on this she lost her footing when her foot snagged on a tree root. She fell forward and was suspended for a moment as his hand in her hair took her full weight. Her scream was muffled but unmistakeable and his fingers released. She fell forwards and, without her hands to take the fall, her face slammed into the damp mulch of the forest floor.
His hand was at her throat in an instant, pulling her into a sitting position. His palm came sailing through the air and impacted with her cheek leaving the skin pink and stinging.
Then his face was before her own, spraying spittle as he hissed, "Concentrate you little cunt... and keep your fucking mouth shut or I'll cut your fucking throat just like..."
Tears ran down her cheeks as she winced from this terror before her. He couldn't finish his sentence but the image of her grandmother's ruined body returned.
She sobbed once, twice... but that was all he'd allow. His fingers gripped her arm and she was wrenched once more back to her feet, the cruel blade held in his other hand, always ready for a slicing violation of her flesh.
Ever on he dragged her and she knew it was no use struggling, not with the knife promising pain at every step; on and on, stumbling between the trees, the branches flailing above them like the limbs of silent, screaming children. The rain lashed down between the boughs, drenching them both, mixing with the cold sweat of her skin. Her hair hung, tangled and dripping about her shoulders. The only light was of a full moon that peeked between clouds now and then, illuminating the nightmare that unfolded before her eyes and on the tips of her nerves.
Eventually, after an age of terror and pain had passed, her abductor dragged her before a large tree on the edge of a clearing. He cast her to the ground before its spreading branches and she panted in exhaustion and pain. She glanced about and realised with mounting confusion that she sat beneath a chestnut tree. The chestnut tree. The tree under which she had first consummated her love with Richard.
Oh, Richard; if only he could be there now to save her from this misery.
The meadow of blue flowers was barren now autumn had worked its power. The clearing was dark and mockingly cold. No longer would it be her favourite spot. No more would she collect those flowers for her grandmother... unless it was for her grave... if, of course, she ever had that chance.
The evil stood before her and the wet blade glinted in the intermittent moonlight. He leant forward and pulled the gag from her mouth. It fell about her throat and she took deep breaths and tried to gulp the dryness away. His hand went to an inside pocket of his jacket and she regarded her phone as he withdrew it.
"We need company for this," he snarled and his yellow teeth were bared. "I need to make a call. You stay right where you are."
She watched as he began to tap on her phone, frowning as he navigated whatever menu he had discovered. She tried the bindings at her wrists again and realised that the rain and mud had afforded her more freedom; she could slide her wrists more easily against each other. Furiously she began to work at the bonds but not so vigorously that he might notice.
His eyes returned to her as he raised the phone to his ear and she froze. A moment passed and then he spoke.
"I'm not your baby... Yes, it's me. I've got something of yours- I think you know what it is and I'm going to gut her... Listen! I'm going to cut this little whore unless you come and meet me. It's time to stop running, Richard. It's time to confess your sins and be judged. Come find us. We're where you two first met. How romantic. Oh, and I hear one siren, I see one uniform and this little cunt gets her throat slit. Understand?"
Without waiting for a response his finger pressed a button and he cast her phone to the ground.
"Now we wait," he breathed and she noticed his hands were trembling. "Shouldn't be long, I think. He won't be able to stand the idea of his little whore at my mercy."
Her mind swam with pain and confusion; he had called Richard but for what purpose? What was the connection?
"Why do you call me that?" she croaked.
"What?" he snapped, seemingly surprised at the sound of her voice.
She gulped painfully and spoke again, "Whore. Why do you call me that?"
He released a hiss through his teeth.
"Because that's what you are. A whore. Giving him your disgusting little body. Letting him corrupt you. You repulse me."
He spat at her and his saliva landed on her mud streaked legs.
"Who are you?" she asked him, steeling herself against the fear.
He smiled; a twisted leer that mocked lives of joy and contentment.
"I'm the retribution your corruptor has been running from all these years. I'm the one who will finally bring him to justice."
***
The cold started in his heart and crept outwards along his veins until the phone dropped from his paralysed fingers. Richard's breath caught in his chest and he was frozen for a moment of shock and horror and disbelief. Guilt gripped him. Lucy's face, twisted by betrayal, swam before his sight, distorted by tears. His presence had ruined a life. Again.
Feelings of the night before, that morning, recurred; the warmth of her next to him, in his arms, astride him, in loving embrace. They mocked him in retrospect. They became torn and twisted by the undeniable eventuality of that voice on the phone.
In the end those feelings spurred him to action even as his heart shattered. He shrugged on his jacket automatically, pulled on his shoes without lacing them, and ran from the house, the door swinging unlocked behind him. He leapt into his car and the wheels spun on the wet tarmac as he charged towards a fate he had postponed for far too long.
***
The murderer paced back and forth before her, turning the point of the blade against his opposite palm. She could see a trickle of blood run from its contact and she knew that he was truly mad. The rain was falling heavily now and she shivered as her legs became marked by gooseflesh. He seemed to be ignoring her as he psyched himself up for the confrontation he had arranged with her love, but she kept her eyes fixed on his person as she worked her wrists against the bonds that held her. The wet mulch beneath her acted as a lubricant and she suppressed a laugh of relief when she finally felt the coarse bonds slip over her right wrist and onto her fingers.
The relief was consumed by more burning fear as he spoke again.
"They tried to cut my claws. They called it a hospital but it was a prison. They didn't understand what I told them; their only answer was dope. Make me drool on my chin and pat each other on the back at making it all go away. But it didn't all go away, don't you see?"
