Mia's Journey: An Erotic Thriller (16 page)

“Nothing inspires forgiveness quite like revenge.”

Scott Adams

Chapter 43

Daddy stood near the intersection, watching the cars. When the right one came along, going the right speed, he stepped in front of it.

Daddy bounced off the hood of the car, did a stunt roll, as it came to a screeching halt. He lay on the ground moaning, completely unhurt, as the occupants got out, worried they had killed someone.
I’m getting too old for this cowboy shit,
thought Daddy.

“God damn it, Bill. I told you, you were going too fast! Didn’t I tell you that?” said an older woman, blue-haired, in her sixties.

“He stepped right in front of me! Didn’t you see it?”

“You didn’t see a damned thing, you old fool. That’s the problem.”

“Hey Mister, you okay?” asked the older man as he reached Daddy. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“My hip, my hip.” Daddy gasped, in mock pain. “I think it’s broken.”

“Of course he isn’t okay!” the woman said. “You just ran over him.Where’s your cell phone you old fool?”

“I don’t have it. I never carry it. Don’t you have yours?”

“Of course not, only the grand babies call me on it…”

For Christ sake, I had to choose Ma and Pa Kettle to run me over?
thought Daddy.

“An ambulance is on its way!” said a bystander.

The EMT’s arrived a few minutes later, saving Daddy from listening to Ma and Pa fighting over who ought to be ‘in charge of that cell phone technological thingie’.

The EMT’s were brisk and professional. They quickly took his vitals, did a fast visual exam, probing with their fingers and a ‘does it hurt here? Or here?’ Then they loaded him on a gurney. They made it to the hospital in less than ten minutes.

Once inside, they admitted him, and placed a hospital identification strap around his wrist from the fake ID he was carrying. They wheeled him into an emergency room set aside and shut off by circular curtains.

Once he had his privacy, he slid off the gurney, took off his clothes, put on a backless hospital gown, making sure his ass was exposed to the breeze. He quickly put on a professional bald skull cap used in movies and theater. Checking himself in the stainless steel reflection of a bed pan. Only if someone got up close would they see the skull cap was a fake.

He now appeared exactly like what he wanted to look like…an aging terminal cancer patient.

Daddy slipped out the emergency curtain, and with his ass flapping in the wind and his clothes folded under the hospital gown, went in search of a wheelchair, which he found immediately.

He settled himself into it, putting his clothes under him, and started pushing himself out of the emergency room by his arms. If anyone looked like they wanted to ask him questions, or get friendly, he just let his legs splay apart.

Is there anything more pathetic than an aging terminal patient with his cock and balls hanging out?
Daddy thought, ruefully. It stopped two nurses cold in their tracks.

Daddy had already “socially engineered” the room number where Gilheart was, so he pushed himself into the elevator. Everyone in the elevator was overly polite and studiously avoided looking at him.

Daddy got out on the proper floor, and wheeled himself past the nurse’s station.

“This isn’t Oncology,” said one of the nurses, “would you like me to get one of the orderlies to help you?”

Daddy let his legs slide open again and said, “No thanks. I’m just getting some air.” Which ended that conversation and he rolled right past them. He got to Gilheart’s room and pushed through the doors and into the room. No one paid any attention to him.

Gilheart was laying in bed on his back. Asleep, dozing with the morphine maidens. He wheeled himself to his bed, and sat looking at him.

Gilheart woke and there was a dying cancer patient in his room staring at him. He figured it was part of a hallucination until the apparition spoke.

“You’re a fuckin’ mess,” Daddy said, quietly, and calmly.

“Look who’s talking,” said Gilheart.

“Yeah, but the difference is, you didn’t put me in this condition. I put you in that hospital bed.”

Gilheart’s eyes flew open. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or not, but this dream just took a turn for the nasty.

“What did you just say?”

“I think you heard me.”

“Come to finish the job?”

“Oh, hell no. I like you just the way you are.”

“So what do you want?”

“I want to know if you can help me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I can think of a number of reasons. One, the choice I prefer, is to screw Prescott, because you know he is going to fuck you over now that you’re no longer any use to him. Two, if that doesn’t work, because I can hurt you even more than you already are.”

Gilheart looked at Daddy and realized two things. This wasn’t a hallucination and two, the apparition meant every word.

“So which is it going to be? Door number one, or door number two?”

“I got a recording.”

“A recording of what?”

“Prescott selling his wife to me to beat up and rape.”

“Do ya now? Where is it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Knee complications suck,” Daddy continued like he was conversing with an old friend. “Very tricky. Some people have to go in for multiple surgeries you know. And guess what? They aren’t going to give you morphine forever.

“In fact, they won’t after the second surgery. Risk of addiction and all that. I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t start downgrading you to demerol very soon. So all I have to do is tighten one of those screws here, and loosen a screw there, and you’ll be right back in hell’s very own cutting room in no time. Without your girlfriend morphine to keep you company. ”

“It’s in my house somewhere. You caved my skull in, remember? There’s memory loss.”

“Awww, poor boy. And you ass raped my Baby Girl. Maybe even left her with some permanent damage. And that was after I warned you off. You got off easy, buddy.”

“Then kill me. It’ll be better than living like this.”

“Have you ever read ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’ by Dumas?”

“Of course.”

“Then you know, the Count’s preferred method of revenge was to completely destroy the life of the people who did him wrong. He destroyed them, mentally, physically, emotionally, and financially. That is your future, Gilheart.

“I’m going to completely, and without mercy, destroy every aspect of your life for what you did to Mia. Not only will you have the problems you have now, but the black cloud of bad Karma is about to visit your life. I warned you I was someone you never wanted to meet. You didn’t listen. In the end, when I’m finished, you’ll take your own life in despair,” Daddy said quietly, without emotion.

“Please…”

Daddy reached out and grabbed a chunk of Gilheart’s hair and pulled it out, roots and all. Gilheart winced, but felt nothing, thanks to the morphine.

“I need this for a science project I’m working on. Fuck you very much, Gilheart,” said Daddy, as he turned his chair, and wheeled himself out of the room.

“A Hospital is no place to be sick.”

Samuel Goldwyn

Chapter 44

Daddy slipped into a bathroom, put his street clothes back on, took the skull cap off, and left the hospital.

He walked to an all-night cafe and ordered a coffee to sit down and think. So now he knew there was an incriminating recording of Prescott selling his wife to be raped and beaten for the sick pleasure of other men.

His heart went out to Mia. He couldn’t fathom the years of horror and abuse she had to live through. His rage at Prescott threatened to boil over, and he forcefully calmed himself down, as he gripped the coffee cup.

“Would you like me to warm that up for you?” a pretty young waitress asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“You looked like you were out of coffee.”

“Yes, please.”

“Is everything okay, mister?”

“Yeah, just one of those nights.”

Daddy liked her smile, so he left her a twenty dollar tip for a $1.50 cup of coffee. He went back to the house and was very careful calling out Mia’s name when he entered and whistling in the prearranged fashion.

“Mia! It’s me. If you’re awake, put down the gun.”

Mia came out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes. She was wearing white panties and nothing else.

“Hi Daddy. I was sleeping. Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. Maybe even better than fine.”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems Gilheart was smart enough to make a recording of your husband selling you to him.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Protection would be my guess.”

She looked at him, uncomprehendingly.

“We live in a sick world, baby,” he said softly.

“So what are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to go find it.”

“I don’t understand. How does that help us?”

“We have evidence to nail Gilheart with his DNA left by your rape. But we didn’t have evidence linking your husband to the rape. Now we do. At least, we will once I find the recording. Where is Gilheart’s house?”

“It’s a dump over on Margold street.”

“Do you know the number?”

“426.”

Daddy parked on a parallel block, cut through a backyard, coming at Gilheart’s house from the back. Mia was right; it was a dump. He checked a cellar window, found it unlocked, and squeezed inside, feet first.

He turned his flashlight on, found the stairs, and turned it back off again. From there, he made his way in the dark to the stairs and climbed them.

The cellar opened up into the kitchen, and it stank. In fact, the whole-house stank. Opened boxes of deli food, had been left out for days. They had rotted and contributed to the entire overall stink.

Worse, Daddy was going to have to wait here in the stink until daybreak because he wasn’t going to risk his flashlight being seen in a darkened house. He found a place on the floor, he wasn’t going to use one of Gilheart’s chairs, and cleaned it the best he could. He sat down on the floor cross-legged, and waited for the sun to rise.

Daddy stilled his mind, stilled his breathing, and went into a meditative state. Hours passed like minutes, and when he became aware, the sun was coming through the thin, unwashed curtains.

If I was Gilheart, where would I hide a recording?
thought Daddy. He didn’t relish the idea of searching this house. The whole place made him feel like bugs were crawling on him.

He looked about the room he was in without getting up. He saw sex toys and porn DVD’s. He picked some up.
Satan’s Slave
,
Tied up and Tortured
,
BDSM Hotel
, were a few of the titles. Daddy was no prude, but Christ, this place reeked of small dicks and inferiority complexes. His psychology suggested he would stick it INTO something. He was a penetrator.

Okay, if I was a little dick with an inferiority complex, where would I hide a recording?
thought Daddy.
Well, I have to assume it is a mini, or micro cassette which doesn’t make my job any easier. Let’s narrow down the rooms then. Would I hide it in the living room, kitchen, or bedroom?
Still sitting on the floor, he looked around the living room.
In the couch? No. Seat cushions? No. Inside the TV? Maybe.

Daddy got up, walked to the TV and using a Leatherman Tool, opened the back of the TV. Nope.
What about inside the wall sockets?
Daddy spent half an hour opening up all the wall sockets. Wrong again. He walked around looking at the central cooling grates. None appeared to have been unscrewed lately.

He walked in the bedroom, and the smell got worse. It smelled of desperate dreams, shit, and old cum. He was glad he was wearing gloves because he certainly didn’t want to touch anything with his hands. Drawers revealed shabby clothes and more sex toys. Usually of the restraining variety. Another TV and more sex, bondage, and torture tapes.
Oh, and lookee here, a fake snuff film. Well, that certainly fits.

On the bed were more sex toys. These, however, were vibrators and dildos of different sizes. He picked up one that was heavy and easily twelve inches long, and turned it on. It hummed and vibrated in his hand. Gilheart hadn’t bothered to clean it so there were dark specks and streaks on it.
Did he use it on himself?
Daddy threw it down in disgust.

Daddy picked up another one. This one was lighter than he thought it should be and made from some sort of realistic-looking latex. It had thick, exaggerated veins, and what looked like bumps all over it. He turned it on, and it didn’t work. He shook it, and tried it again. No joy. Then he realized the lightness was due to not having any batteries.

He unscrewed and opened the bottom of the vibrator, and a micro cassette tape fell out of the bottom.

Chapter 45

“What I want you to do is a back trace. I think someone is hacking me, and I want to find out who it is,” Prescott explained to the police computer tech. “Is that possible?”

“It’s possible given a certain set of circumstances, but it’s not possible in every situation,” replied the computer tech.

“What are the circumstances in which it is possible?”

“When a computer is attacked, it’s often possible to obtain an IP address that’s close to the attacker’s location. However, it is usually not an exact location. Why don’t you let me take a look at the computer and I can tell you more.”

Prescott sheepishly handed him Mia’s laptop, which was now in three different pieces. The keyboard, screen and drive were separate parts. The police tech gave him a sidelong glance.

“I got pissed. What can I say?”

“No problem. All I need is the hard drive anyway.”

He went to work unscrewing the back and extracting parts. He laid the hard drive out on the table, then hooked his computer into it and started tapping commands into a DOS screen.

“How do you know the computer was hacked?”

“As soon as I connected to the Internet the screen went blank, and a message appeared.”

“What was the message?”

“Well, there was no message. It was just a graphic with a middle finger.”

“Okay, so we have a trojan more than likely. Did the computer freeze up?”

“I don’t remember…”

“That was when you broke the computer into three pieces?”

“Well, sort of, yeah.”

“Let me go back into your data logs and see what happened.”

The computer tech worked quickly and quietly, his hands flying over the keyboard. Multiple black-and-white DOS screens opened up on the computer, then shut down as he finished with them.

“Okay, I isolated the intrusion.”

“What does that mean?” asked Prescott.

“I can see when, and where it happened. That’s the good news. The bad news is I can’t trace it back to its point of origin.”

“Why not?”

“Because the hacker cloaked it. In other words, he knew what he was doing. How badly do you want to catch this guy? The problem was only isolated to this computer, so any other computers you have in the house are unaffected. If that is your worry.”

“Can we catch him?”

“Sure. Well, with luck. What were you doing, or trying to do, when the hacker entered your system?”

“I was trying to get into a Gmail account.”

“What I could do is attach a bug to the Gmail account. If someone tries to log in to read their email, I’ll be able to track their approximate location.”

“Okay, do it.”

Mia was bored. Daddy still hadn’t come back from Gilheart’s house, and it was now ten-thirty in the morning. She flipped through the morning shows, but they bored her too.

Her injuries had been healing nicely, according to Daddy, who checked her every single day. He continued to give her douches and enemas everyday, not taking any chances. Now she thought, he just did it to piss her off.

Her bruising had faded to a dull yellow. There were no more deep purple colorations on her skin. Daddy checked those too. It was like having her own personal physician, but more intimate. He still wouldn’t allow any sex games though, which also contributed to her bad mood.

She was thinking about going upstairs and playing with herself when the door opened. Mia grabbed the gun, pulled back the hammer, but kept her finger off the trigger as Daddy had taught her. She heard a whistle, their prearranged signal, so she wouldn’t shoot Daddy in fright.

“Mia, it’s me. Put the gun down, Baby Doll.” He still took no chances.

She put the gun down.

“It’s okay, Daddy.”

“Hi baby. Did you sleep well?” He walked over to kiss her head.

She drew back in horror, eyes wide.

“You smell like Gilheart! Go take a shower. You stink! Burn your clothes.”

“Okay, baby, I forgot, sorry.” He backed away and headed up the stairs.

“Did you find the tape?”

Daddy just smiled from the stairs.
Does a raccoon defecate in the woods? Is the Catholic Church filled with pedophiles?
His grin said.

Mia sat there, still bored, then decided to check her email. She hadn’t checked it since this whole ordeal began and figured now was as good a time as any.

“You are not going to believe this,” said the computer tech.

“What?”

“Someone is checking her email right now.”

“Can you trace it?”

“I can try.”

His hands flew over the keyboard. Occasional fits of swearing were interspersed with bursts of laughter, more swearing, and awe.

“Oh, you tricky bastard…”

Then occasionally, “Oh yeah? Fuck you, too.” or “Take that, asshole, you think you’re better than me? Huh? Do ya?”

Prescott was ready to start beating the computer tech over the head with what was left of Mia’s laptop, when he said,

“I got him.”

He hit a button, and a long string of numbers printed off his portable printer.

“That’s your hacker.”

“These numbers?”

“Yep.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do with this? This isn’t a location.”

“Sure it is. See that string right there? That means he’s on the West side of town. Probably North West, Urbandale.”

“So are one hundred thousand other people.”

“That’s true. I told you, you wouldn’t get an exact location.”

“So what am I supposed to do with this?” Prescott repeated.

“You go before a judge, and get a warrant and force the telecommunication provider to provide you with the exact location of that string of numbers there,” said the computer tech, pointing to a string of numbers.

“How long does that take?”

“How should I know? You’re the lawyer. I just tap and trace. By the way, that’ll be a thousand dollars.”