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CWfiction4 Again

CWfiction4 Again

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Published by randy boone
This is pretty darm and grim. Brace yourself?
This is pretty darm and grim. Brace yourself?

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Published by: randy boone on Feb 28, 2008
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Randy BooneWeek 4—Fiction
Marilyn T. breathed quick, short, staccato breaths through her mouth to try tokeep her head clear. It was a technique that she had picked up to alleviate panic duringan emergency preparedness training workshop at Governor Sullivan Elementary. Shetried to catalog what she knew about her situation. She figured it had been about twodays since he grabbed her, although she remembered once having heard that when you’redeprived of your senses, one of the first things to go is your sense of time. Her eyes had been covered before he threw her into the truck or van. It felt like some kind of thick rubber or elastic band squeezing her head and blackening her sight. Her hands werecuffed to some sort of makeshift bed, each wrist clamped tight in a metal bracelet andthen chained to something above her head. The mat beneath felt like some kind of cheap plastic or vinyl. She guessed that it was thin and that it rested on a cement floor, since itfelt colder than the surrounding air. She figured that she was in a basement. He hadcarried her down a flight of stairs. Possibly up, but she was pretty sure it was down. Sheknew very little of her captor. She hadn’t seen him before he grabbed her onBartholomew Street. He smelled acrid, of urine, body odor, cigarette smoke, andmothballs. He had barely spoken at all. The only words he said were,
You wanna go‘round wearing skirts like a slut? Then I’ll fuck you like a slut, bitch
.” This he mutteredas he raped her minutes after shackling her wrists. He had said nothing since, even whenshe made attempts to speak to him. She knew that she could not overpower him; she hadto use her wits. From the brief amount of speaking that he’d done, she guessed that hewas of the mental capacity of a fourth or fifth grader. She knew how fifth gradersthought. She could use this to her advantage.Hewitt bit his Captain’s Wafer cracker in half, crunching it quickly between histeeth. Crumbs leaked through his lips and fell on his sweater. His brow was perspiring.He was thirsty, but he didn’t want to leave her. He munched down the other half of thecracker. He had three crackers left. He choked down the dry wafer and took a deep breath, wheezing just a bit. He stretched the fingers on his left hand; they had become1
cramped from gripping the pistol. He continued to pace along the three sides of themakeshift bed. He needed a plan.Marilyn T. heard him stop pacing. His shuffling feet had come to rest near her head. She could feel him looking down at her. She decided to try again.“I told you that I’m a school teacher, right? I’ve been doing it for seventeenyears. People are going to miss me on Monday at work, you know. I really can’t misswork. The children need me there. They’ll ask where I am. You understand, right?Please.”Hewitt hadn’t moved. He stared toward the ceiling, rubbing the pistol against histhigh. He was hungry, but he didn’t want to finish his crackers until he figured out a wayto leave so that he didn’t have to return to this place. He reached into his pocket.Marilyn T. heard the
cht cht 
sound of the lighter and then smelled bitter smoke. Itsmelled like white smoke. She tried to breathe it in very subtly, figuring that it mighthelp to keep her head clear. She decided to keep talking.“I have two sons. Kevin is probably about your age.” She wasn’t about todivulge any of her personal information to him, but she needed a concrete scenario so thatshe wouldn’t contradict herself in her talking. She adopted the family of her colleagueTheresa. She continued. “We wanted him to go to college, but he didn’t want that. He’sa bricklayer now. He does construction. He really likes it. And Manny is in twelfthgrade. He’s a good kid. He wrestles. School comes hard for him though. He reallyneeds me at home.”Hewitt tapped the cigarette out against the wall and placed it on the little woodentable. He couldn’t concentrate. The butt still had two or three good drags left on it, andhe couldn’t afford to waste them. He was down to half a pack. He started to pace back around the perimeter of the bed, walking outside the space where her panties had fallenonto the floor. He wanted to kick them toward the mattress. He wiped most of the sweatfrom his forehead with the sleeve of his sweater.Marilyn T. decided to try a different route. She knew that words were her greatestally. Eventually, something would connect, and he would speak, or grunt, or laugh. She just had to find the right thing. It was like being given a key ring with a thousand keys in2

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