That Man 3 (21 page)

His phone rang and rang and rang.
Please, please, please pick up, Blake.

My heart sunk to my stomach. He was ignoring me. He didn’t want to speak to me. I
was right; it was all over. Finally, the call went to his voice mail. The sound of
his virile velvety voice sent a shiver to the base of my spine. The phone shook in
my hand as tears trailed down the screen. At the end of his message, I forced my voice
to get past the painful lump in my throat.

“Please—”

My message cut off before I could even say his name. My phone had died. Shit. I’d
lost battery power.

“Chaz, my phone just died.”
Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

“Use mine.”

“No, it’s okay. We’re almost at the house. I’ll charge it up and call him from there.”

“You promise?”

“Yes. I’ll call him.”

“And then you’re going to call me right away and tell me everything.”

“I will.” Trembling, I put my cell phone back into my backpack and pulled out my house
keys.

Five minutes later, we pulled up to the Spanish cottage I shared with Libby. The lights
were off. Chaz helped me out of the car and handed me my crutches. He escorted me
to the front door. The temperature had dropped. A thick cloud shrouded the full moon,
making the darkened sky eerie. A shudder ran through me. It was just like the night
of my sophomore year—the night I was almost raped. I forced the painful memory away
as I inserted a key into the lock.

“Do you want to have sushi with me later?” Chaz asked as I unlocked the door, balancing
on my crutches. “I have a Groupon for Roku.”

Chaz knew how much I loved sushi, something I’d never eaten in Boise. But tonight,
I was in no frame of mind to go out to a chic, celebrity-frequented restaurant where
people went to see and be seen. And maybe, just maybe, I’d see Blake tonight.

“I’ll take a rain check.”

“Deal. When Libster comes back, we’ll all go out—including lover boy.”

“Sure.” I quirked a little smile, covering up my doubts about Blake. I let Chaz hug
me good night before entering the house.

The first thing I did when I hopped inside was turn on the lights. A roomful of shabby
chic flea market finds came into sight and warmed me. It felt good to be home. Away
from the office. I labored over to the couch where I unloaded my heavy backpack. I
grabbed my cell phone and slipped it into a pocket. Crutches made carrying even the
smallest things impossible. My stomach growled. I was hungry. I’d hardly eaten a thing
all day.

I hobbled into the kitchen. It was unusually drafty. I turned on the light and noticed
we’d accidentally left the window open. Closing it, I headed to the counter where
I plugged my cell phone into the charger, attached to an outlet. It would take about
five minutes for a signal to appear. My next stop: the refrigerator. Balancing on
my crutches hands-free, I swung open the door. There wasn’t a stitch of food, but
at least, there was a half-empty bottle of Two Buck Chuck. It would have to do. Maybe
some wine would help me relax and build up the courage to call Blake again. I reached
into the frig and wrapped my fingers around the smooth green glass. As I slid it off
the shelf, a powerful hand clamped my neck. I gasped. The bottle slipped out of my
hand and crashed onto the tiled floor. The sound of shattering glass exploded in my
ear. But I couldn’t look down. A horrific reality assaulted me. Someone was attacking
me. An intruder. My heart pounded and I could barely breathe as his grip around my
neck tightened painfully. Terror filled every crevice of my body.

I wanted to scream, but my vocal chords were paralyzed. What did it matter? No one
would hear my scream anyway. Chaz was long gone. And our house was sandwiched between
a deserted parking lot and an empty foreclosure. No one even walked their dogs our
way.

Shaking all over, I felt my intruder tug at my ponytail, so hard I cried out in pain.
He breathed in my ear.

“You’re finally going to pay for what you did, you fucking cunt.”

I instantly recognized the voice.

“Do you remember this?”

A snippet of dark, silky hair brushed across lips. My hair.

Oh God, no. It was him!

Blake

I
stopped at a flower shop on my way to Jennifer’s house. Not far from my office, it
was one of my mother’s favorites. I had called in my order. A dozen of the most beautiful
long stemmed pussy pink roses they had. And to my amazement, they even had the balloon
in stock I coveted. A big SpongeBob balloon with “I LOVE YOU!” written on it.

While the jovial florist artfully arranged the roses in a large crystal vase, I wrote
a note. I had thought about what to write in the car and just knew it was going to
blow my tiger away.

My beautiful Tiger~

There once was a player named Blake,

Who found true love over Christmas break.

But when the stupid boy fucked up,

The girl he loved simply bucked

And left the poor bloke with a major case of heartache.

Be like your hero, SpongeBob, and accept me with all my faults. Love me with your
heart the way I love you.

♥nly yours~SpongeBlake NoPants

Beneath my note, I drew a picture of a SpongeBob look-alike. SpongeBlake. Instead
of wearing those dorky shorts, he sported a big cock. I scribbled a few more hearts
around my drawing and then admired my creation. You know what? Maybe I wasn’t a Picasso
or a poet, but I had talent. I couldn’t wait to take my tiger into my arms.

The florist slipped my note into a tall plastic card holder and inserted it into the
vase. The SpongeBob balloon, held down by a weight, soared in the air, almost touching
the ceiling.

Eagerly, I dipped my hand into my slacks pocket where I always kept my credit card
and iPhone. My pulse quickened. The credit card was there all right, but my phone
wasn’t. Damn it. I must have left it at my office. I quickly paid for the flowers
and then hurried out of the shop with the vase in my hand. I couldn’t be without my
cell phone over the weekend. Carefully placing the vase on the floor below the passenger
seat, I put my Porsche in gear and headed back to my nearby office. Zooming down traffic-free
Olympic Boulevard, I got there in no time.

Sure enough, the phone was on my desk. I hastily checked my messages. There were a
dozen new e-mails and texts. All of them from my Vegas affiliate manager, Vera Nichols.
And all of them marked URGENT, asking me to call her. Perplexed, I immediately speed-dialed
her number. She picked up on the first ring. Her voice sounded panic-driven.

“Oh, thank God, you called me, Blake. I’ve been trying to reach you for the past half
hour.”

“What’s up?”

“Don Springer escaped from jail this afternoon. I just found out.”

My heart slammed against my chest. “Fuck.”

“There’s a massive manhunt out for him.”

“Do they have any idea where he is?”

“No. He stole a car, and he may be armed and dangerous.”

“Vera, I want you and your family to check into a hotel immediately. Don’t worry about
the cost. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you, Blake.”

“Where’s Eddie?”

“He’s still in the hospital.”

“Call the hospital and tell them what’s going on. Order security. And take care of
his ex if she’s still there.”

“Will do.” She paused. “Blake, he could be anywhere. Be careful.”

“I will.” And then an alarm went off inside me.

“Call me if you hear anything.” I ended the call and immediately called Jennifer.
She needed to know. And I needed to know she was all right.

Her phone rang and rang. No answer. Fuck. She was ignoring me. Or maybe, just maybe,
she’d misplaced her cell phone like I had. Or it was turned off. I couldn’t blame
her. She thought I was a prick. As I despondently slipped my cell phone into my slacks
pocket, a horrifying thought crossed my mind. My heart hammered.

Jesus Christ. Had he gotten to her?

I raced out of my office to my car.

Jennifer

H
is repulsive tongue licked my inner ear. I squirmed, but his powerful grip around
my neck held me fast. Oh God! The man who had almost raped me in college was back.
And I’d just made a startling, mind-shattering discovery. It was Don Springer! To
my absolute shock, they were one and the same person. Blake had told me he was in
jail, but he must have escaped.

He buried his head in my hair and inhaled. “Cherries and vanilla. Right?”

I nodded.

“Say it, bitch!”

“Yes. Cherries and vanilla.” My voice was so small I could hardly hear myself.

“How could I forget?” He inhaled again. “So, it looks like you had a little accident.”

“Y-yes.”

“Soon you won’t
ever
be walking. And you won’t be needing crutches.”

He squeezed his arm around my neck, so tightly I couldn’t breathe. My heart was beating
a mile a minute and my mind was racing.
Think, Jen, think!
An impulsive idea flew into my head. It was worth a shot. I had no choice. He was
suffocating me. Gasping for air, I silently prayed for my life. Then as hard as I
could, I stabbed the tip of my right crutch onto his foot.

“OW! You fucking cunt!” Moaning with pain, he let go of my neck and bent down to rub
his throbbing instep.

Yes!
Clutching my crutches, I escaped, hobbling away from him as fast as I could. I had
to get to the front door. To safety. And scream for help outside. Maybe even drive
away. Then I remembered my car keys were hanging in the kitchen. I thought about dropping
the crutches, but wasn’t sure if hobbling on my bad foot with its boxing glove sized
bandage would be any easier. Or faster.

Panting, I made it into the living room. Heavy footsteps were approaching from behind
me.

“Get back here, you cunt!”

Oh God. He was after me. If only I could make it to the front door. I heard my phone
ringing in the kitchen. It stopped and then rang again. Shit. Why hadn’t I taken it
with me? I could have called 911.

I was only steps away from freedom when he tackled me. I fell hard, flat on my face,
crutches and all, trapped under his thickset body. Dazed, I tried to free myself,
but his weight and strength made it impossible. He had me pinned down. Fear like I’ve
never known consumed me. All I could do now was whimper.

“Shut up, you little slut. I only want to hear you whimper when I fuck the shit out
of you.” He painfully pulled my ponytail again. “Understand?”

I nodded my head, biting down hard on my quivering lips to quell my sounds. Torrid
tears poured from my eyes onto the hardwood floor.

He tugged again, this time so hard I winced. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Y-yes,” I stuttered, my voice thin and watery.

“Good. You know, I could fuck you like this, but I want to see your pretty face when
I rip you apart and come inside you.” In one heart-stopping motion, he rolled off
me and turned me onto my back. For the first time, I faced him.

Dressed in ill-fitting sweats, he was wearing leather gloves and a ski mask, just
like he had my sophomore year. His insipid eyes shone through the holes, and I could
see the evil smirk on his face beneath the fabric. I still couldn’t believe my rapist
and Don Springer were one and the same.

Holding my head down, he fisted my ponytail and dusted the ends across the openings
for his nostrils. He inhaled deeply.

“I was positive I knew you somehow when I first saw you on the set of
Wheel.”
Wheel of
Pain
, his disgusting, sadistic game show.

He sniffed again. “That cherry vanilla smell of your hair always stayed with me. It
took me a while, but I figured it out. It all came back to me.”

As my phone rang again, the horrific memory of that college night flooded my brain.
Of him shoving down my jeans, tearing off my panties, and unzipping his fly. And then
snipping off my hair. I was shaking all over. It was going to happen all over again.
If only I had my pepper spray.

“That wasn’t very nice of you to spray that shit in my eyes. Or make me lose my job.”

He slapped me hard across my face and I winced.

“And it wasn’t very nice of you to stab my foot.”

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered.

“It’s a little late for an apology, sugar.” He pulled out a large pocketknife and
switched it open. I gasped. The razor-sharp blade was at least six-inches long.

“P-please don’t hurt me,” I whimpered.

He laughed wickedly. “This isn’t going to hurt. I just want another little souvenir.”
In the skip of a heartbeat, he chopped off a three-inch snippet of my ponytail. He
took a whiff of it and then put it in his pocket. The knife stayed in his hand.

I couldn’t help it. I began to cry. He pressed the tip of the knife against my neck.
Oh, no! He was going to kill me.

“So you want to cry?”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Not yet. But I’m going to make you cry harder.”

I was too frightened to say a thing. Just sobs. I bit down on my trembling lip.

“Now pull down your skirt.”

I was too paralyzed with fear to move.

“DO IT!”

Shivering with cold sweat, I undid the button and slid the skirt over my hips. With
his free hand, he shoved it off my legs. Then to my utter horror, he took the knife
and slashed off the buttons of my blouse. He tore it open and sliced my bra apart.
My breasts quivered as he ran the sharp blade across my nipples. Goose bumps spread
across my trembling body.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I sobbed. “I’ll do anything you want.”

Through my tears, I could see him smirk again. And then he moved the knife to my crotch.
Oh, God. I squeezed my eyes shut and just let the scorching tears fall. Expecting
to feel unbearable pain, I instead heard another slash. I blinked my eyes open. He
had cut off my panties and was holding them to his nose. After a deep inhale, he tossed
them.