Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) (17 page)

He waved a hand in her direction, focused on the news clippings. “Yeah. Whatever.”

Humming “Please, Please Me,” she went to work.

Chapter 38

M
onths passed. Seasons came and went. And the rhythm of the captivity didn’t change. Slavery. Abandonment. Hunger. Duct tape on her mouth when he got sick of her. Triumphant return to the weak little servant who begged for crumbs.

Portia lost all track of time. She’d tried to keep up with it for a while, but now, she didn’t care any more. She felt lackluster, dead inside. The more he did to her, the further she retreated into her little worlds.

One day in summer—she didn’t know what month, but knew it was in her second year—Murphy left her alone again to pick up gas for the generator. Without the gas, they had no power. Without the power, they had no lights, no cook top, no refrigerator, and no water. He took the truck into town, saying he’d be back soon.

As usual, he tied her up, this time surprising her with a kiss to her forehead. She lay on her back on the bed, still clad in her jeans and tee shirt, grateful for small favors. At least her breasts weren’t hanging out from that obscene nurse’s outfit, and her legs were covered.

Hairy legs
, she thought, curling up and reaching down to feel the soft fuzz on her calf. I haven’t shaved in… how long? And I’m just now thinking about it?

What does that say about me?

God. Oh, God. Please help me.

She hadn’t let him see her cry since the first year. But she let the tears roll down her cheeks, and sobs wracked her body. Shuddering, she let the hopeless feelings wash through her, and let herself fully see what she’d tried so hard to block out.

I’ll never get out of here.

Oh, my God. I’ll be here until the day he tires of me, until I push him just that little bit too far, and he kills me.

And then he can bring home a new girl, see what uniform fits them, and start all over again.

Where were the bodies? Sunk to the bottom of the lake with cement blocks tied to their feet?

She shook and wept harder.

I don’t want to die.

She lay like that for two hours, forlorn and forgotten. The tears finally stopped, and she wondered if he’d ever come back.

Five minutes later, she heard the truck. With a sick realization, she caught herself being relieved. Almost happy? How had she turned into such a mess? Such a pitiful little slave?

The sound of the padlock being opened met her ears, but there was something else, too.

It sounded like someone whining, almost animal-like.

“Sugar? I’ve got a surprise for you.” His deep voice rumbled from the porch. “You ready?”

Her heart fell. What kind of surprise now? Another fun time on the bed with him pleasuring himself?

Please, no.

There it was again. Almost a whimper.

“She’s in the car. I’ll go get her.”

Murphy hadn’t untied her yet, so she couldn’t see what he was doing. But she heard the door shut, the padlock click.

All safe and secure, just like always.

He stood in the doorway with something wiggling in his arms.

A dog?

Yes! A cute little scruffy mutt, who wiggled with joy to see her.

He put the creature on the bed, and it scrambled to her side, licking her face.

“I found her in the woods, she’s got no collar. Seen her a few times over the past week.” He actually leaned over to pat the animal. “I think she’s hungry.”

“Untie me, please.” She pulled on the restraints, smiling at the creature who stood on her hind legs on the bed, as if she were dancing in a circus. “Please!”

Murphy grunted and released her. “Okay, okay. Don’t get too excited. It’s just a mongrel.”

Portia embraced the creature with tears of joy. “Oh, she’s beautiful!” She cuddled and stroked her soft fur. “Where do you belong, little one?”

The dog licked her hands, nosed into her arms, and settled on her lap as if that was where she belonged all along.

“Oh, she’s so sweet. She’s lying in my lap, just like a little cupcake.”

“That’s what you should name her, then.”

“Cupcake?” Portia genuinely smiled for the first time since he’d taken her. “Yes. That’s what I’m going to call her. My little Cupcake.”

Chapter 39

O
n a warm day in mid summer, Portia won a battle with Murphy. It was a small accomplishment, but she felt ridiculously victorious.

He worked outside, chopping wood near the cabin. She’d asked to sit on the porch, and he surprisingly agreed. Of course, he tied her to the porch railing. Tight. With only a foot of slack.

The cycle of starvation and abandonment had continued, and she wondered more and more about the other girl or girls he kept.

Where were they?

She had no idea. The only clues she got were his returning with different clothes than he’d left in.

And she wondered how she’d endured her second winter in that cabin. It had been freezing for so long, in spite of the woodstove in the living room that made that room toasty, but hardly heated the bedroom. And the baths had been so cold…only once a week now. Spring had never felt so good, and now, summer had come, warming her face and body through the cracks in the windows where the mud had fallen out leaving little holes for sunlight to come inside.

Murphy didn’t relent one bit. When she wasn’t cooking or cleaning, she was restrained on the bed, even though she had the little dog to lie beside her, and that made it so much better. When he showered, he tied her up. And he always hung the keys in the shower with him, on a hook he installed for just that purpose.

Portia had lost so much weight that she wondered if anyone would recognize her. She’d shared her food with Cupcake, always making sure the sweet little dog had enough to eat.

Thankfully, the jerk had relaxed a little as far as the required “dress code” went. He even let her wash her jeans and tee shirt every few days in the bathtub. She wore them all the time now, except when he needed his special attention.

So far, she’d been lucky. He hadn’t pressed her for more yet. He’d been happy to touch her in various places while satisfying himself on the bed next to her, or sometimes on the couch. He had violated her in so many ways, taken her freedom, humiliated her, touched her where he shouldn’t, forced her to lie still while he did disgusting things to himself, and all of that had made her sick to her stomach, but still, she was relieved he hadn’t raped her. She didn’t think she could have survived that.

Thank God.

She didn’t think she could survive if he actually tried to go further. Could she?

Could a person live like this forever?

Would she have to be here until she died? Would he tire of her, abandon her for good one day?

She sat in the beam of sunlight that kissed her forehead, rocking back and forth in the porch chair, cuddling Cupcake on her lap. The fresh air felt so good, so tempting, but it also was a painful reminder of what she’d come to expect in life. The inner walls. The constant humiliation. The fear and pain and need to escape.

She escaped all the time in her mind these days. It really helped. The scenes she imagined were colorful, filled with music and laughter. She pictured herself readying Mirage for a ride, mounting him, and heading off for the hills. She drew every trail, tree, and rock from memory in these dream-like scenes, and she enhanced the visions each time she drew on them. She pictured her family’s kitchen, her father making pancakes. Her mother’s lasagna and fresh bread. She even imagined the smell of the bread in the oven.

Oh, how she longed for home.

Something inside her snapped.

Wait. What’s happening to me?

Why have I become so passive? So subservient? Why am I so damned appreciative of every little thing he gives me?

Maybe I’m brainwashed.

A surge of anger flushed through her, and in an instant, she knew what her next move would be.

She watched him, waving once in a while to make him feel safe and secure. Maybe he even felt loved by her, in his strange and bizarre heart? If he had a heart, that is. Slowly, she lowered the mutt to the porch floor. “Shh, baby. Don’t give me away.”

She waited until he was almost done, then began to moan. Softly at first, then louder.

“What’s wrong with you, sugar?” he said, setting his axe on the ground. “You sick?”

The ash bucket sat in the corner beside her, its square black shovel tucked into a clasp on the side of the pail.

She lowered her head to her chest, slumping in the chair so she slid down to the floor, her hands still restrained above. Her wrists hurt, but she figured maybe he’d come to her, maybe he’d untie her and…

Footsteps came up the porch steps. “What the hell’s wrong with you, girl?” He poked her with one foot, but she didn’t respond. Cupcake licked her hands and face.

He pulled her head up with her hair, and the dog began to bark, snarling around his ankles.

Damn, that hurt.

She didn’t flutter an eyelid, let her face stay slack and droopy.

“Oh, cripes.” He untied her arms and she fell onto the porch, huddled near the bucket.

When he leaned down to lift her, she grabbed the shovel and jabbed him in the crotch with it, as hard as she could.

It wasn’t sharp enough to cut him, of course, but she hoped it put him down for a long time.

He howled in pain, fell to the ground, and released her, cupping his injured parts.

Like a gazelle, she leapt over the porch railing and for the second time in her long captivity, she began to run toward the lake with Cupcake racing behind her.

Chapter 40

A
t the woodpile, she stopped and stared.

There was the hatchet, and beside it, a heavy sledgehammer.

Should I?

Thoughts raced through her mind like tumbleweeds in a tornado, completely twisted and crazy and running wild with murderous intent.

Murphy moaned on the porch, and before long, he’d get up and chase her. Again. And he’d probably catch her, unless she did something different this time.

She stopped mid-flight, grabbed the sledgehammer, and returned to the porch where the monster lay, groaning and swearing at her. Cupcake stopped and sat on the grass at the bottom of the porch, looking confused.

“God damned loony woman,” Murphy moaned again. “You’ll…pay…for…this, bitch.”

“Never again,” she said, the words hissing from her lips in a near scream.

The sledgehammer was so heavy, she could barely lift it. But anger surged through her, giving her power she’d never known possible, and she swung it wide and high, three times.

Three times it thudded against his skull. Three times she felt the sick, sweet feeling of revenge coursing through her veins. Three times she saw him shudder as it slammed his temple.

And then he was still.

And there was blood. Not a lot, but enough to send chills of fear racing down her back.

Oh, God. Oh, God! What have I done?

She leaned down to feel his pulse, but couldn’t find it and was afraid to check for too long. He might get up. He might be faking. He might grab her.

Her father’s voice came into her head again, offering steady council.
You’ve done what was necessary to survive. Now get out of there.

With a start, she realized she should hurry.
What if he isn’t dead? What if he wakes up and recaptures me?

Quickly, with shaking hands, she tied the ropes he’d used for her onto his hairy wrists. At least if he woke up, he wouldn’t get free right away.

She streaked back into the cabin.

What do I need?

The pegboard! Get rid of the articles. If he’s dead, they won’t be able to connect her to the murder. She ripped the articles off the board and jammed them crumpled into her jeans pockets.

What else?

She’d only come with the clothes on her back, and had nothing personal to reclaim. Except maybe her fingerprints, which would be impossible to wipe down. They were on every glass, every counter, every surface.

Screw that.

Get the keys. Get the dog. And get out.

The keys were in his jacket pocket, and by shoving and rolling Murphy until his pockets were accessible, she finally fished them out. He flopped onto his side with arms loose and mouth agape. Blood trickled down his forehead, and she felt nausea creeping up inside her. She couldn’t see his chest rising.

Did that mean…

NO. Don’t think about it.

Should I drag him inside? Lock the door?

No, if he were only stunned, he might wake up and grab her.

She noticed his wallet bulging in his back pocket, and carefully slid it out. Inside was over two hundred dollars in tens and twenties.

She took it, folding the money into her jeans pocket. “You owe me a lot more than that,” she said, surprised at the harshness of her tone. “Bastard.” She almost kicked him for good measure, but the dog was watching, and for some reason, she didn’t want Cupcake to see her perform any more violent acts.

“Come on, honey,” she said, cuddling Cupcake in her arms. “We’re going home.”

PART III

Revenge

Chapter 41

B
oone took a deep breath and knocked on the cabin door.

Silence.

“Hello?” He called a second time, then knocked again.

Anderson pointed to the ropes tied to the porch railing. “Crap. That’s where Portia said she tied him up after she hit him with the sledgehammer.”

Boone frowned. “Yeah, also where he tied her to the rails the day she escaped.”