Hollow Pleasure Ch 09

*** Disclaimer ***

The following installment contains themes of hypnosis, mind control, non-consent, voyeurism, and incest. This installment specifically contains a scene involving gang rape, BDSM, rough sex, and humiliation. This one might not be for the faint of heart. You've been warned.

This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted are at least 18 years of age. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Hollow Pleasure chapter 09

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2B

Quinn awoke to the screech of his clock, with a terrible pain in his neck and back. He gazed around, alarmed and covered in sweat. The dream was already vanishing, but he knew it well. He had it frequently. He had been in the woods, strapped to a gurney in a little camp that sat beside a destroyed helicopter. For days he'd been completely unable to move, completely helpless. He'd soiled himself multiple times during that ordeal. He'd been unable to clean or feed himself, and completely unable to fight.

He heard the gunshots, the screams in the night. His fellow troopers, all with broken arms, or broken ribs, or concussions. All were making their desperate last stands. And one by one their screams fell silent.

He knew he'd be next. And he'd be easy prey to the psychopath— the monster who took a sick joy in stalking campers.

Then suddenly he was being lifted into the air, carried away from it all. He was on the rescue helicopter, and was lifting off. Beside him, Captain Angela "Fallen Angel" Morgan was holding his hand. He'd been terrified, especially after their last helicopter crash. She was singing to him to keep him from panicking. She'd kept him safe, kept him alive— fed him, made sure he stayed hydrated, cleaned him when he was dirty, and fought for his life when he'd been unable to. She was the only reason he survived at all.

But as Quinn stared at the forest that was dropping away, he spotted them. His former troopers— the men who'd been killed on those dark and terrifying nights. They stood like silent statues, their faces rotting and their eyes gone. Troopers Harrison, and Garber, and Fields, and Falcon, and Rosetti, ... even that asshole Hower. And they were pointing at him as he was carried away to safety— to live a life that should have ended along side of them.

"IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU!!!" They all howled at him, screaming their protests that he had survived while they had perished.

That was the last thing he remembered before his alarm went off. And the sounds of their mournful accusations followed him to the surface. He could still hear them in his head as he sat up and his vision cleared.

He was in Galloway's apartment. She was beside him, smiling in her sleep. Even moaning cutely. The room was dark, but cozy. His whole body was trembling, searching for threats in his post-nightmare paranoia.

Finally, on unsteady legs, he stood, wobbled and headed into the bathroom. He immediately shut the door. The words from the nightmare still echoed in his head as he shrank onto the floor. He buried his face in his palms and began to cry.

It should have been you.

"I'm sorry, guys," he whispered to the still air. He sniffled, knowing full well it should have been him.

"Quinn?" a voice at the door startled him.

"Yeah," Quinn said, quickly composing himself. "I'm just getting ready for work."

"Are you alright?" Galloway asked. She sounded half asleep.

"I'm okay. I just had a bad dream, that's all," he assured her.

"What was it about?" she asked.

He paused. "I... I don't really remember anymore," he lied. As much as he wanted to say it all out loud and get it off his chest, he knew that it would only upset and disturb her. That was the last thing he wanted.

When he was sure she'd gone back to bed, he started the shower and got ready for work. The entire time, he found himself wishing he would have a heart attack or a brain aneurism and would die quickly. Let karma finally put him out of his misery.

When he was ready and packed for his day, he hesitated at the door. Ethan's words resonated in his head— about leaving notes. "It makes Galloway feel good. It's what I'd want someone to do for me. If I was having a bad day, or was scared, I'd want someone to leave me a little note. Nobody does, so I figured if I want something to happen for me, I should do it for someone else. Tell them something that I'd want to hear. It matters."

Quinn was wishing for a little encouragement and a kind word for himself at the moment. So he took out his pen and pocket notebook and taped something to the door. Something just for Galloway. "You always have been, always are, and always will be the best part of my day."

Then he kissed a sleeping Galloway on the cheek and headed out the door. He gently closed the apartment door and double-checked that the lock had engaged. His feet were the only sounds in the building. He felt like he was alone and everyone had moved on without him. He was feeling that way a lot lately. Then he passed the wall sconces and started down the stairs.

"It should have been you." The voice wasn't in his memory this time. It was right in his ear, as audible as a person speaking. Hot breath on his neck as it snarled, he froze and he felt hands grasp his neck from behind.

He turned, but didn't see anyone. Then the hands tightened, two distinct palms, and they pushed.

Quinn was too startled to even yelp as he fell face-first down the staircase.

His face hit the step, then his head bounced, toppling end over end. The world became an endless blur of pain and terror as his body twisted and rolled down, down, down. His head hit one of the steps and he saw stars. His back twisted as his torso rolled and he felt blinding pain shoot up and down his body.

He gasped as he rolled but no sound came out. He couldn't draw a breath, the wind going out of him.

After what felt like an eternity, he landed in a twisted heap at the bottom of the stairs. He breathed shallow. Everything hurt. He could see his lunchbox across the hall. And his left arm was bent, contorted along with several fingers.

He groaned miserably. His back was a near blinding pain. He struggled to move his right arm, to drag himself to the nearest door. "Help," he said weakly, but his voice barely carried.

Quinn, who had felt hopeless and like a burden to everyone around him, now felt as helpless as an infant in a crib— just like in his dream, like when he was back in the mountains. Only this time, Morgan wasn't here to save him.

He tried to cry out again, but as he drew in a breath, he heard the basement door behind him creak open. Though he couldn't see, there was someone standing behind him, a shadow. He was sure of it.

"It should have been you," the voice hissed one final time. The voice like an arid wind from another world. From hell.

Then his body was being easily dragged toward the basement door.

***

When Galloway got the emergency phone call, she was in the middle of training. Her blood turned cold the second she answered and heard the news. She hadn't even been aware of what happened when she left for work today. Her thoughts had been so innocent... well that wasn't entirely true. Another sex dream had been as vivid as ever, even after she woke and started her day. Now she felt guilty, as though she really had cheated on Quinn, all while not realizing that something awful had happened to someone that she loved.

Her instructors let her leave training early, and Galloway's drive to the hospital had been a blur, both mentally, and at the speed that she was traveling.

When she arrived, she conferred with the nurse's station about what room he was in, then sprinted down the hallway.

Two faces were waiting outside. Ethan looked simultaneously worried and guilty. He put his arms around Galloway. "I'm sorry," he said. She felt him sobbing a little. It warmed her heart to know that he really did care about Quinn. She hugged him back but it was distracted. "I'm sorry I wasn't nicer to Quinn," he managed to stammer out. "He really is a good guy. I didn't like him at first, but I do now."

"It's fine, Ethan. What happened?" Galloway asked.

The man standing beside Ethan spoke up. Chris Berger— the gangly man with the dark hair and glasses from 1B was looking edgy. His eyes were darting all around. He wore the expression of a man had a target on his back.

Galloway saw that same uneasy expression when she and Quinn encountered him that day in the hallway— when he'd been snooping on Robert Bradford's odd behavior.

"I found him in the basement," Chris explained.

"The basement?"

He nodded. "I went downstairs, to ah... do laundry. And I found him laying there not able to move and barely able to talk. He must have been laying down there for a few hours, at least."

Galloway had the sense that Chris was holding back about something.

Chris shrugged. "It was really just dumb luck that I saw him. Otherwise, he might have been there for days."

That thought was so horrible that Galloway didn't want to imagine it for long. She thanked them both and headed for the hospital room. Chris stopped her with an urgent tug on her arm.

His voice dropped to a low whisper. "When you come back out, I need to talk to you alone."

Galloway studied his face. This man knew something that he didn't want to say in front of Ethan. Galloway nodded her understanding.

She went into the hospital room.

There was a doctor talking to Quinn. Quinn was laying in bed, looking terribly frail and ill for such a strong guy. He didn't smile with relief when he saw her. If anything, he looked away in shame.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" she came over and squeezed his hand.

He squeezed back but couldn't meet her eyes. "I've had better days," he admitted.

"You're the girlfriend?" The doctor asked.

"Sure, we'll go with that. What happened?"

"He took a spill down the stairs while he was leaving for work."

Galloway looked horrified. "Is he alright? He's had a bad back from--"

"We're aware of that," the doctor explained. "His back is fine. He bruised his spine in several places, along with a concussion, a broken wrist, and three fractured fingers. He'll recover without any permanent damage. It sounds worse than it is. He got lucky."

Quinn frowned. "Real lucky," he said miserably. That comment worried Galloway more than the list of injuries. It wasn't like Quinn to let these sorts of things bother him. His demeanor was normally upbeat and sarcastic-- infuriatingly so. The first time he'd broken his back and she had come to visit him, he had nearly jumped out of bed to hug her. He always had a shit-eating-grin, a pervy comment, and a laugh for whoever was around.

All of that seemed to have gone out of him-- like a deflated balloon. This wasn't the Quinn she knew. His disposition had soured.

"Regardless," the doctor said, "he was lucky that the neighbor found him. We're going to keep him for a few days, just until the swelling and the pain abates."

"How'd you end up in the basement if you fell down the main stairs?" Galloway asked him. Quinn considered her question and grew slightly pale.

"We need to talk about that," he said at last. "Alone." Again, somebody wanted to have a serious private conversation.

Quinn waited until the doctor was out of earshot and wouldn't be coming back. Finally he said, "Galloway... I didn't get clumsy. Something pushed me."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." He glared at her. When they worked together at the casino as lowly guards, they often speculated if it could have been haunted.

Then Quinn swallowed his pride. He told her about the dream, about his fellow officers, about what they'd said to him in the dream-- that it should have been him.

Galloway's eyes widened. She looked guilty and like she didn't want to believe it. Her dreams had been especially weird lately as well.

"I'm starting to think those guys were right," Quinn took a deep breath, his diaphragm making his inhale quiver.

"You know it was just a dream." Galloway insisted.

"Even so, they were right. I'm fuckin' useless. I'm a drain on everyone."

"Stop it. Stop talking like that."

"Seriously though. I worked and worked and made it to a job where I could make a difference. Where I could help people and keep people safe. And before I even could, I end up with a broken back. I wasn't meant to help anyone. I was meant to spend a life time with them helping me. I'm going to spend the rest of my life filling goddamn bottles until I fall down the stairs one more time, having left nothing behind that matters. I just want to go to sleep and not wake up anymore..." He shut his eyes and started to sob, having confessed that.

She watched him for a while, not sure what to do. This definitely wasn't the man that she knew.

Emotionally he was circling the drain. For him to have said that, he must have been just barely keeping it together for a long time. She knew he hadn't been happy with his career change, but he'd kept a brave face through it all. This must have pushed him over the edge. She needed to find a way to bring him back from the brink. Especially in a hospital, giving up could be way more deadly than the injury itself.

"Shut the fuck up, Quinn." She snapped at him, letting her emotions pick her words for her. "Get your act together and stop belittling yourself. Because I'll tell you this... if I lose you, I will *never* be happy again. So I need you to pull yourself together. I didn't know you for one second as a State Trooper. So your disappointment in yourself is all you. I knew you as Quinn the security guard with the insufferably annoying sense of humor."

He laughed softly to himself.

"And after your crash, when I found you in the hospital, I realized how much I loved you. You know why I love you so fuckin' much? Because no matter how much pain you were in, you still grinned and made your usual sick jokes. You didn't let it destroy you. Did you know that Morgan took me aside after your crash? She told me about you being on a stretcher the whole time out in the woods. That you were utterly helpless and completely dependent on her. But she said that you were always grinning. You were always making jokes, and you were always making her and the other survivors laugh, even when things were at their worst. That's who you are, and that's the man I love. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He gazed at his hands again, resting in his lap. He nodded, and a little needle of shame began to work its way into his brain. She was absolutely right, and he hated himself for losing it like that, and letting her see the 'oh woe is me' face of his insecurities.

"You're right. I get it. I'll work on that."

"Don't do it for me, do it for yourself, Quinn. You always found a way to be happy. I'll be happy as long as you're around, but I need you to find a way to be too."

He swallowed, but didn't look like he was listening.

"Do you understand?"

"Okay," he nodded. He seemed to be calming down a bit. "Galloway... there's something you need to know about that apartment. I fell down the stairs and landed on the first floor. Something came out of the basement... and it pulled me down there like I weighed nothing. I could have died. There is something really wrong with that place."

"I know," she replied.

"You need to get out of there, as soon as possible."

Quinn's warning resonated deeply with her. Especially when she returned to the hallway and found Chris Berger leaning against the soda machine in the elevator lobby. His arms were folded. He was gripping himself like he was cold and his expression was grim.

"You'd better brace yourself," Chris said soberly. "I'm going to tell you everything that's going on in that apartment. And it's going to sound completely insane."

***

Galloway had no memory of her drive home. Everything Chris had said occupied every space in her brain, so much so that her body was running on auto-pilot.

It was all so crazy, it seemed utterly impossible. Yet somehow it filled in so many blanks and connected so many dots that Chris couldn't possibly know about— the way Rob had called her by a nickname that she'd only ever heard in her dreams before, his odd, feverish way of typing. And those dreams... But that also created more questions than it answered.

Chris was convinced, and Galloway believed that he was telling the truth... or at least thought he was. But it was a hard pill to swallow— mind control? Supernatural powers? Using those powers to have debaucherous sex with the different women in the building? That wasn't reality. Chris sounded like a crackpot and if Galloway hadn't already been so rattled, she might have laughed in Chris's face. Although there really was no denying the cameras. Chris had brought along his laptop, and though they were too far away to view them in real time, he showed Galloway the videos that Chris had recorded.

It was disturbing. And even if Chris's crazy yammering about mind control was the rant of a lunatic, there was no denying that at the very least, there was a gross invasion of privacy going on in that building.

Galloway wasn't 100% convinced. She needed some time to process this, and do her own investigating. She wondered if Ethan was experiencing anything odd. Maybe she ought to ask him when she got back. He'd left the hospital before her, so she and Chris could have their private discussion.

She arrived at the apartment and regarded the looming building with a sense of dread. For the first time, the large Disney-esque Victorian did look very much haunted. And in the top floor of the turret, lights from computer monitors cast strobing flickers across the walls and ceiling. It looked like a mad scientist was hard at work up there.

She started up the front steps, still in her gear from today's training that had been cut short. Her boots were trekking mud, her jeans hugged her hips and cupped her ass. Her tank top clung tightly to her flat tummy and round boobs. Her duty belt and vest hung loosely from her body, unzipped and open.

Galloway was still feeling like her mind was in a daze as she stepped inside... which was part of the reason why she didn't notice that the front door was open. She stopped in the community foyer to retrieve her mail, and as she walked into the tight front hallway, she knew something was immediately wrong.

The door to apartment 1B was standing wide open, and she was hearing voices within. The Bergers weren't home. Chris had sent TJ away to stay with her mother, and Chris was deliberately laying low. There shouldn't be anyone in the apartment. Did Rob have something to do with this?

Galloway heard the thump of boots, the heavy movements. There were gruff voices, and the sounds of things breaking. Her heart began to pound in her ears. Her whole body stiffened as she drew her handgun.

She nudged the door open. In the living room, she spied a stack of expensive items that had been collected— computers, electronic devices, jewelry, and tools. This was a burglary that she was walking in on.

"Oh shit," she thought to herself, her heart pounding away. Her throat had gone dry. She licked her lips, stepping cautiously into the apartment.

Then she spotted them. They were over by the kitchen, rummaging through a cabinet and collecting liquor bottles likes trophies. There were three men. A skinny white punk with bleached hair like Enimen, and a ragged shirt. A wiry black guy with a smooth baby face and scrawny arms. And a beefy Hispanic with a ratty goatee and tattoos up and down his undefined flabby arms. All of the guys were young, between 18 and 20, although if they were old enough to legally drink, Galloway would eat her hat. She was pretty sure she could take all three of them...