But Not Forgotten : But What If?
By
A. Rhea King
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was hit by a 'what if' thought one night and here's the result. If you read the first version of this, the first six chapters read the same, then things go all 'what ify' on ya. What if Chrissie decided not to kill him? What if she did escape the country with him? What if...
DES MOINES, IOWA : ONE YEAR, ELEVEN MONTHS AGO
Gagged and bound to the sides of the coffin, Ryan was helpless. He heard voices: two females and at least four men. They were outside the hearse negotiating a drug sale.
"What's in the other coffin?" the second female asked.
"My pet," the first answered.
"Pet?"
One of the men laughed. "Chrissie decided to keep this cop she has a crazy obsession over."
"Don't call me crazy!" Chrissie snapped.
"Sorry. Forgot."
"Forgot what?" one of the men said.
"You have a cop in there?" another asked.
"He's not a cop anymore," Chrissie said and then laughed, adding, "He's my pet!"
"This I have to see!" the 'forgot what' voice cried.
Footsteps come near the hearse and then the lid was opened. Ryan blinked against the bright sunlight, trying to focus on the dark form at the end of the coffin. When he could finally see him, he didn't even bother trying to ask for help. The man's appearance was enough to tell him this guy was not a savior – his hair was long and stringy and his shirt looked like he'd been wearing it for a week.
"Oooo EEEE!" he laughed. "You really do gotta cop in here!"
The others gathered around. Chrissie smiled, reaching for Ryan's leg. He tried to pull away, forgetting is ankles were tied to the coffin. She rested her hand on his leg.
"My pet," she crooned.
The man started toward him. "I thought you were talking about a dog!"
What happened next was somewhere between a blessing and a curse. Ryan knew what the guy had in mind for him and all his struggling wasn't going to stop the guy. Suddenly Chrissie drew a gun and shoved it against the man's temple. He laughed, looking at her so it rested against his forehead.
"Come on. Isn't that why you kidnapped him? Use him to keep the cops away and get your jollies off?"
"My pet," Chrissie told him, her voice suddenly cold and sinister.
Ryan hadn't heard this tone before but instincts told him that some switch had been flipped and that this guy was perilously close to where her sanity met insanity.
"Oh just let him have him, Chrissie," her accomplice told her. "Maybe he'll stop fighting you if you break him a little."
The man turned, moving toward Ryan again. Chrissie cocked the gun and he froze again.
"My. Pet," she told him. And then pulled the trigger.
Ryan cringed when blood and brains splattered him. The man slumped over the end of the coffin, spilling blood into it.
"CHRISSIE!" her accomplice screamed.
She grabbed the corpse and pushed it out. She turned, aiming her gun at her accomplice.
"My pet," she repeated.
"Okay. Okay, Chrissie. He's yours. We won't touch him unless you say so. Just… Don't shoot anyone else, okay? We need buyers."
"Okay," she said, smiling happily. She turned, laying her free hand on the coffin lid. "Sorry about that, Ryan. It won't happen again." And then she closed the lid.