Bound and Freed Boxed Set (26 page)

Kelly simply couldn’t speak,
and she couldn't move.

John was a sadist, she knew
that. He enjoyed causing heightened anxiety, torment, and pain, and he
particularly loved tears. John said that because he couldn’t cry, his subs
cried for him. Or was it begging he wanted? No, she remembered suddenly. What
had he told her once? That he could only connect to people through pain.

"Kelly?" John said
authoritatively. "Answer me."

"I don’t know,
John," she said, trying to find the words that would explain what she
felt. "I think I would look at you and not see you anymore. I think I
would just keep seeing those poor animals."

John strode back and sat
down at the other end of the couch. With a large expulsion of air, he said,
"My father tortured animals for awhile. That wasn't his real kink. I think
he did it partially to break me. I ran away once, not long after being taken
from my aunt Brenda. The police brought me back. I tried to tell them about my
father, but they didn’t believe me. Why would they? Judge Taylor was well
respected, and he had a golden tongue that explained everything. Who would
believe a kid?"

"Besides," John
explained. "My father kept telling me to do exactly as he said or he would
kill Aunt Brenda. I believed him. Even though I wasn't allowed to see her, I
loved her too much to imagine a world without her in it."

John scrubbed his face with
his hands, and Kelly realized she had never seen John display these common
human reactions before. He was usually so calm, measured and self-contained.

"My father made me
watch as he tortured cats and dogs, and he wanted me to do it, too," John
said. "I have to say, I never once enjoyed it. They were under our care,
they couldn't speak. It was wrong on every level. As dumb creatures they didn’t
understand, either. It's not like whipping a human being for punishment or
pleasure. The most I did, was whip them, and that was over a period of about
six months when I was eight."

Kelly noticed that John's
voice had become dry and hoarse. He looked tense and uncomfortable.

Jumping up off the couch,
John strode to the little kitchenette and before he could start looking for a
glass, Kelly said, "Right hand cupboard over the sink. There's Coke in the
fridge."

John got down a glass and
turned on the tap. "Water's good," he said. Swallowing the entire
glass full, John resumed his initial place on arrival, leaning with his back
against the kitchen counter, but this time his hands were on either side of
him, gripping the countertop.

"My father caught me
playing with a puppy." John shut his eyes for a moment. His expression
became grim and his hands on the counter whitened with the strength that he was
gripping it. "It was a little brown mutt, and because of a dog's naturally
generous nature, that little pup gave me unconditional love."

John's voice was strange and
strained, as if filled with some undefined yet powerful raw emotion. It kind of
frightened her. "I used to call it 'Pup' as if that was its name, and the
trusting little creature came when called. It was my only friend. Animals are
so much better than humans sometimes, you know? So generous with their
affection and so loyal."

John ran a hand through his
hair. "I don't think I ever saw my father so angry. I won't go into it,
but it took three days before I did what he asked. He made me kill that puppy,
Kelly, and I swear I did it willingly in the end – as quick and as painlessly
as possible. I refused to torture it. That was what he really wanted."

Kelly saw that John's face
had become impassive once more. His eyes seemed empty, lost and remote.

"It was a turning
point," John said, "and it was the last time I can remember ever
being able to cry. I cried for hours over that puppy, Kelly, but I was simply
unable to cry after that. It was like everything in me died. I was black and
dead inside."

Kelly's eyes stung and she
felt too shocked to move, or to speak or to even make a sound. Tears welled and
began to roll in warm trails down her cheeks.

John came back to the couch,
and sank down into it with a defeated look. Like he was contagious or diseased,
he sat at the other end of the couch, again as far from her as possible.

"I refused anything my
father wanted after that, no matter what he did to me," John said. "I
was cut off and completely disconnected. I think I went a little mad. I was an
eight year old having a nervous breakdown, I guess. All emotion, sensation and
pain seemed the same to me then. My father punished me, but he couldn’t touch
me, not the hidden person inside. The real me just went away I guess."

John's hands were balled
into tight fists and his body was tense, his expression empty. Kelly still
found that she was afraid of him, frightened by the pain and violence inside of
him.

"By then he had what he
wanted," John said. "Evidence that I had been torturing animals,
proof that I was screwed up and mentally ill. I had so many psychiatric
interviews where I sat sullenly and couldn't speak or explain the dead animals.
I wasn't able to tell, do you see? How can an eight year old explain that his
dad, a prominent district judge, was the real psychopath of the family?"

"But those
pictures," Kelly said. "Of cut up animals…?"

"Never," John
said, leaning back against the couch, appearing as if he was trying very hard
to force his tense body to relax. "I never cut one, or burned them or any
of the other despicable things in those pictures. I did whip them for about six
months, as I already explained. I still feel so ashamed and guilty for that,
and for killing my only friend, poor little Pup. I planned to eventually tell
you, Kelly, but of all my sins, these are honestly the last ones I would have
spoken to you about. These are the ones I burn with the most shame for."

"Trust me, Kelly,"
he said. "The disturbed, angry and hate-filled child that I was, is not
who I am now."

Kelly saw that John had more
to tell her, but how much more could she take? Already she felt like throwing
up.

Kelly steeled herself.

John took a deep breath.
"I will not discuss this right now, but I will give you an idea," he
said. "My father made me call him Sir. That's why I hate that title."

"You have probably
guessed that not only physical abuse but sexual abuse was part of my childhood,
too," John said, standing up and resuming his pacing. It was as if he was
too full of explosive energy to sit still.

"It was pretty ugly,
and until you came along, I had cut myself off from sex. Sex was one big
trigger. But this is what I want you to understand. You know what I have found
in life, Kelly? It doesn’t matter what was done to you. These things can hurt,
yes. Being a victim is always difficult. It destroys any chance of self esteem
or self love. Yet in truth, nothing burns like knowing you've done wrong."

"Victimizing others hurts
far worse than any pain you can imagine, Kelly. Was I ashamed to be sexually
abused? Yes, but I was a victim and that dishonor belongs to my father and my
mother. If I ever really want to squirm with humiliation and regret, I simply
recall the terrible things I myself have done. Because those shameful things
were my choice, no matter what the circumstance. Those were the moments I
victimized another and made the decision to do wrong."

John looked up at Kelly and
their gaze met.

"I learned not be a bully,"
he said. "It would have been so easy to go down that road, to take all the
hate and violence I had inside and put it onto others. I wanted to cause pain
to anyone and everyone, Kelly. I wanted them to hurt like I hurt inside. But
the goodness of that puppy taught me right from wrong. That trusting, loving
little puppy never doubted me, even as I killed it. Do you have any idea what
that was like? I felt as if I was killing myself. Perhaps committing that sin
against an innocent did kill a part of me. It was horrific, and it was
shameful, but it was a lesson I have never forgotten."

John spun on one foot toward
her suddenly, and Kelly, too stunned to think, didn't flinch this time.
"Where is the bathroom?" he asked her.

Kelly told him, and she was
left alone, while her brain processed all John had said. What would it take to
make an eight year old child kill his only friend? Jesus, no wonder John had
been seeing a counselor regularly. Was he screwed up or what? But he had only
ever been considerate of her. John cared about her, and he didn't hurt others.
Not really.

John seemed to be spending a
long time in that bathroom. Again, Kelly suspected he was doing that for her,
letting her think over all he had said.

When John returned he seemed
much more composed. He sat back on the couch, again far from her.

"André helped me direct
my needs, Kelly," he said. "He taught me how to use my sadistic
nature to cause pleasure. That changed everything for me. I could control a
scene, bring a sub to the bliss of sub space, and I could connect with others,
finally. I needed the connection, Kelly because no matter what has happened in
life, a person can't really be human without that vital link to another human
being. Do you know what I am talking about, Kelly?"

Mind reeling, Kelly just
stared at him and nodded.

"And now I am connected
to you, Kelly," he said in a raw, low voice. "I always feel connected
to you. I don’t need to cause pain, I don’t need anything anymore – I only need
you. I've gone through the fire, and I've come out the other end. For the first
time in my life I am honestly happy. That is all because of you, Kelly."

Kelly looked at John and her
chest ached to see the openness in his expression. The tough, sadistic Dom,
'Father John,' was defenseless because of her. He was vulnerable… but only to
her.

The tight painful knot
inside her loosened, and then disappeared.

Instantly Kelly felt an
overwhelming all consuming need to touch John, to ease his pain, and to make
him feel better about himself. Ever attentive and aware of her desires, John
put a hand out to her. When Kelly took it she felt a burning sensation flow
right through her, like scalding water - only it didn't hurt. It was a hyper-awareness
and a strong, almost spiritual bond. It felt good.

This was her John, and she
loved him, and he went through so much as a child. It was a wonder he was sane
at all.

Smiling sympathetically, as
if knowing what she was thinking and how she felt, John pulled her gently
toward him, and Kelly came willingly then, cuddling up onto his lap. She melted
into him as John stroked her back and hair, and gave her light, soft kisses on
her head and neck.

Soothing, but not sexual.
The images of dead animals were still vividly in each other's mind.

"Thank you, Kelly, for
listening, and understanding," he murmured. "You really do make me feel
human. You force me to accept my own goodness. You, Kelly, are enough to make
me believe that maybe there is a God, because only God could create someone as
pure and perfect as you. Perhaps God has forgiven me. I dare to hope that maybe
I deserve to be happy, and to find peace. Did he send you to me, do you think,
Kelly?"

"If he did, he knew
that you were just the right person for me, too," Kelly said and her eyes
stung as tears welled once more. "We make each other happy, John. I love
you so much."

And with that they hugged
each other. They pressed their bodies as close together as possible, and fully
connected once more.

Homicide Detective Lorenzo
Martin walked down the street, enjoying the mild weather.
April
in Portland was often wet or overcast and that had more or less been the case
so far this month. Today it was sunny and a balmy fifty-seven degrees.
Consequently Lorenzo was happy to take the mile walk to his favorite restaurant
for lunch.

As he neared the
Portland Police
Bureau entry, a familiar silver Mercedes sports car pulled up beside him, and
the passenger window rolled down.

"Detective
Martin?"

What does this fuck head
want?
Lorenzo frowned,
suddenly re-thinking the whole walk thing. "What do you want,
Taylor?" Lorenzo said, making no attempt to hide his irritation.

"To show you
something."

"Is that so?"

"Hop in."

"I don’t think
so."

Lorenzo's eyes narrowed as
Taylor, the asshole, chuckled. "Okay, fair enough," Taylor said.
"How about we go for a drive in your car then?"

Curious now, Lorenzo
acquiesced and, using his ID badge, he opened the gates, letting his suspect,
John Taylor, into the cops' private parking lot. Taylor parked and got out of
his car. It beeped when he locked it.

"I would prefer not to
have your partner in on this," Taylor said.

Lorenzo raised his eyebrows
at that, but nodded his agreement. "If you're going in my car, and not
sitting behind the perp protection in the back seat, I'll have to search you
for weapons."

Studying his suspect in his
watchful cop way, Lorenzo caught just a brush of an odd shift in Taylor's
features in response to this demand. It was a strange combination of possible
emotions, anxiety, tension, and then resignation perhaps. Lorenzo had observed
that stiffening tension earlier when he had acquainted Taylor with a physical
search before taking him downtown.

Did the man have something
to hide? Or did he just hate to be touched?
Lorenzo wondered.

Without a word, Taylor
obediently put his hands against the police cruiser 'assuming the position.'
Fast
learner,
Lorenzo thought. Utterly motionless, Taylor allowed Lorenzo to
search him.

"Alright, you're
clean," Lorenzo said. "Hop in."

Lorenzo's jaw tightened as
John Taylor, the most likely suspect for the brutal murder of Professor Maria
Christina
Lopez got into his car.