Title: What Happens to Girls in Tiny Towns
Author: J Rease
Rating: M/R/NC-21
Disclaimer: Like I'd be writing Fan Fiction for free if I was making that much money off Glee!
Summary: Quinn Fabray's car was found parked neatly in front of her house, the keys on the passenger side seat, and packed boxes in her trunk. When she doesn't come home from Sam's, her mother calls the police. She limps into town a days later, naked, beaten and traumatized, what happened in Little Lima Ohio?
Warnings: Extremely GRAPHIC scenes of a non-consensual nature. Sexual Assault. Kidnapping. Violence. etc etc. Consider this a serious warning, I put flames out with the spit of my furious cursing when people don't read these darn warnings!
Author's Note: I've been working myself up to write a Quinn story. I got on the angst meme and browsed for an entire day… but none of the prompts were enticing enough for me to fill. At a reader's request, I was challenged to do a believable kidnap story (Because for some reason people think I can do believable *Shrug*), and it had to have so much angst that it would literally shatter their heart to irreconcilable pieces. . This will probably be a long oneshot, hopefully I'm not compelled to write a recovery story. The POV will jump back and forth, and I hope I do this kind of topic justice.
Author's Note 2: I am stalling putting up updates for a few of my stories (They are in editing at the moment and I'm contemplating when I'll actually have time to finish reviewing before I post them). I have been getting flames for Stealing Sunshine, Gossip and When the Children Cry (I'll probably get crap for this too). Some people are threatening to report my stories for abuse (I don't know why… so many warnings on those darn stories; as well as an M rating) and I'm currently in limbo as to if the next chapters will push the flamers to report me. I warn of anything triggerish in these handy little author's notes, and all I EVER write is angst—extreme angst, actually. I never do comedy, basic romance or anything as similar as other stories on FF(dot)net. I'm an angst writer because I want to write (and read) stories that are not like other people's… or not exactly like a glee episode. All of my stories probably deal with some trigger, kink, or touchy topic. If that offends anyone… just avoid my stories. I'm tempted to turn off anon reviews, but for now, I fill the space with this personal prompt fill.
So once again. Read the warnings… Heed the warnings. And when you're finished reading… please review. Criticisms can be directed to my private inbox.
The seventh, fifteenth and twentieth reviewers get a oneshot fill for next time (if you accept :) ) I'm avoiding my series stories (angst of any kind… with any character).
Tiny Towns
He hadn't planned on staying in the little Ohio town. He'd been driving since the news broke, and he hasn't stopped driving since. He's been roaming through these tiny towns, taking his time getting to Seattle, choosing to stay off the radar in case anyone started looking for him. He had planned on staying for two days, his jeep too cramped to sleep in. He'd been driving for nearly ten hours, occasionally pit stopping for food or gas. He wasn't on the run per say… but he was running before people had a chance to suspect him of anything. He left the scene in pristine condition; his prints would not give away the crimes he's committed. Nothing could really be traced back to him. The only thing that haunted him now was the fact that she was dead.
He wasn't a murderer. He was sick and selfish and addicted —but he never wanted anyone to die. But Trish Scott had died. She died from an allergic reaction to the tranquilizer he'd given her that night. She was the fourth girl he'd taken. And he was trying to subdue the urge to take anyone else. Things had gotten out of hand and he was responsible for the death of a beautifully innocent girl. They coined him the West Chester Rapist, the first serial rapist to "terrorize the community" in nearly two decades. A day after they found her body, he resigned from his job at the convenience of his dead Aunt Mary in Seattle. He had yet to hear of any breaks in the case.
He wasn't proud of what he's done, of anything he's been doing for the last two years. Those girls… he felt guilt for the things he's taken from each of them. Jenna, Susan, Claire and Trish. He felt dreadful- especially for what he did to Trish. He had been so careful. He had planned each one for months. Usually when the urge took over, he had this insatiable need to prepare. When the planning wasn't enough, he fantasized. When fantasies weren't working… he finally took them. He took them from places he'd followed them to. He took them from parking lots and backyards. He took them without anyone ever paying attention to where they went. And then he raped them.
He wasn't the monster the news was painting him to be… he had an addiction. He'd sought help before… anonymously. But nothing changed. And now the only mementos he had were the videos he recorded; and his guilt. He walked around with the fault around his neck like it was a boa constrictor. He would leave the girls with a quiet apology, and they would get up dazed when the tranquilizer wore off; naked and traumatized, until someone else found them and helped them. They would be able to get back to where he took them. They would be able to resume where he picked them up in life. Everyone would resume the lives they were stolen from except Trish. And he would fight with his guilty mind until the urge presented itself again.
He had only planned on staying in Little Lima for two days. He needs rest and sleep before his long drive. He had really expected to drive right through the unnoticeable place. Until he saw her. But when he saw her… the urge raged uncontrollably.
000 0000 000
Because he was staying at the motel, most people paid him no attention. The first time he saw her, she'd been hugging a blonde kid with annoying haircut. He had been standing in the doorway to his room; leaning against the frame, trying to catch a breeze. She looked to be school aged… but she was alarmingly beautiful. He immediately closed his door and tried to control the thoughts he was having. The second day at the motel she returned, around the same time, carrying boxes from her little red coupe. The mop top kid was nowhere to be found, so when she almost stumbled with the boxes, he quickly ran over to assist her. He was wearing a Phillies cap, his dark green eyes covered by the brim, his nose was encased in shadows and he knew he was mysteriously forgettable. He took two boxes off the top of her pile and introduced himself.
"Hi, I'm Justin. I saw you having problems, thought I'd help out."
She flashed him a shy smile before replying.
"Quinn. I thought I could play Wonder Woman with all of these boxes. Thank you for not letting me embarrass myself."
He smiled back at her, following her to that kid's motel room before setting the boxes at her feet.
"Well… it was nice meeting you, Quinn."
She smiled again, ducking her head before speaking.
"The pleasure was mine, Justin. Thank you again… for helping. "
He left her knocking on her friend's door, the urge to take her consuming him entirely. He ran back to his room and opened his laptop. He decides to stay in Lima for few more days.
000 0000 000
He searches Little Lima Ohio for places to take her to when he… takes her. He checks out realty listings, a few abandoned construction sites near the end of town before he finds the decaying building near some woodland by mistake. He usually has more time to plan. But he didn't want to miss out on this. She was special. She was perfect. He couldn't get rid of that need to claim her. The building looks like an old hospital; the atmosphere is quiet and untouched when he walks through it. A lot of the original furniture was still bolted to the dusty tiled floors. He stays the night there to clean a room he found in the cellar. He's meticulous while he cleans. And he listens to the noises of the building, making sure pranksters or squatters didn't interrupt his preparation. He sets up his night vision camera, positions it to face the bed he's wrapped in plastic tarp. When he's finished, he snaps off his latex gloves and palms his bald head. He fits his cap back on and makes his way to his jeep, which he parked inconspicuously behind some brush at the rear of the building. He checked his tranquilizer, counting at least two more doses and six uninterrupted hours with the girl of his dreams.
He leaves the building the way he found it, and heads back to the motel the following day. She arrives at the same time she did the second day he was there, and he waits in his jeep until she pulls out of the parking lot. He follows her home that day, noticing landmarks along the way. The Lima Bean Two- a coffee shop, the police department, the Hummel Tire Shop—and finally Dudley Road. He drives past her as she pulls into her driveway, and he parks his car between two others a little bit away from her house. He spends the night in his jeep, realizing that Quinn only lived with her mother, who conveniently worked until seven. He moves his car before the sun rises, and checks out of the motel by noon. He'd used cash, and he hadn't been seen without his hat since he arrived. He was planning on catching the highway out of time when the tranquilizer wore off. He was also planning on this being the final time.
He felt like she would satisfy all of his urges.
He drove to her house around the time he assumed she'd make her way to see her friend at the motel. When he got there, she was loading more boxes into her trunk. He pocketed the clean syringe and slipped on his driving gloves. He walked up to her as she brought another box out to her car.
"Playing Wonder Woman again I see. Do you need some help, Quinn?"
She whirled around to face him, nervously searching the quiet block for neighbors. He cleared his throat before speaking.
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to startle you, I'm actually pretty lost. I was so excited to see a familiar face."
She let out a shaky breath before nodding at him.
"I'm sorry… Justin. I have a few more boxes to load before I can head off to see Sam. You can help if it's not a bother, and I'll show you to where you need to go."
She turned on her heel and gathered boxes at the front door. He talked small talk with her in the meantime.
"So are you and your boyfriend moving in together?"
She smiled, seemingly comfortable with his presence now.
"No, no—Sam and I aren't together… anymore. Sam has fallen on hard times, and my mother agreed to donate my father's old things. Why are you in Lima?"
He grimaced at her, trying to figure out a believable reason.
"Well, I'm a mechanic. I lost my job in Pennsylvania… and I've been on the road looking for work. I was actually on my way to the Hummel shop before I saw you."
He improvised.
He sounded like he knew what he was talking about. He sounded safe and helpful; a gentleman even. He smiled wide for her, and she smiled back, before loading the last box into her trunk.
"Well… I'm glad we can help each other out."
They stood next to the car for a while, Quinn politely finishing the conversation before climbing into the driver's seat of her car. He leaned into her window, and fiddled with the cap on the syringe in his pocket.
"Well, Quinn, I'll follow behind you and you just pull over when we get to this shop? Good? "
She nodded, turning her key in the ignition, and looking away to check her mirror. He sprang into action, jabbing the needle into the side of her neck and watched as she lost feeling of her limbs. He looked around one last time before opening the car door, and pulling her non-responsive body out of the vehicle. Dudley Road was an upper crust neighborhood. There were spaces between the houses and not too many neighbors to spy on what he was doing. He deposited her into his car, and locked the door, barely containing his excitement. He ran back to the red two door coupe, took the key from the ignition and threw them quickly onto the passenger side seat.
This would be the last time. He was sure of it.
000 0000 000
She couldn't move. She was raging against the confines of her own body; she was screaming—demanding him to stop. But she couldn't move. She couldn't open her mouth to scream and she couldn't push the noise through her throat to reach anyone's ears. If she could check, she'd reach her hand to her heart to make sure it was still beating. But she was thinking, so loud, without speaking… and she felt like her body was catatonic to her efforts. She had to be alive… she just didn't know why she couldn't move. He was pushing her into his jeep. It was green and it had Pennsylvania plates. She willed herself to remember. She forced every detail to engrain itself into her memory.
"It's called a wake death, Quinn. It's a tranquilizer." He was smiling at her solemnly, pulling off her block and turning onto a smaller dirt road.
"Just try to not panic. Breathe through your nose and in a few minutes you'll be able to swallow regularly. It's like a concentrated dose of muscle relaxer. You only stop breathing when you convince yourself your insides don't move. Your lungs will fill with air without you trying… Quinn. Blink for me."
Her tears were brimming at the corners of her eyes. She blinked subconsciously, and her tears fell, tumbling to defeat at the bottom of her chin. She could feel the wet of her tears trailing down her face and she realized she would be able to feel everything. She was going to feel anything he was about to do to her. She was panicking; she was flailing behind her eyes, choking on the cries stuck in her throat. The rise and fall of her chest was heavy over her heart… and she realized soon that she might not make it out of this alive.
000 0000 000
He took her down into the cellar after his car was hidden. He pulled off her clothes quickly, and he turned on the camera behind him. He was going to take his time. He was going to cover every expanse of skin on that dainty little body; and for once he wasn't going to feel ashamed, he wasn't going to feel guilty. He needed her. He began kissing her; dragging his open mouth up her foot. She was resisting, he could tell in the shifting of her eyes—they were frantic, dancing around with no escape. She couldn't even look down to see what he was doing. But she felt him. He had all the power in the world. He would drive her crazy and she would go mad in her head, unable to fight.
Her voice was catching in her throat, and she was crying, the tears flowing down her pretty cheeks. She wasn't even wearing make-up. And all he could really think was that she was so beautiful. He let his hands roam her skin until one of her pert little breasts were cupped. Her strangled words tried to climb up her nonresponsive muscles, and she wound up choking quickly on the liquid in her mouth. He abruptly turned her to the side and patted her back.
"Now, Quinn, the more you cry- the higher chance that you'll suffocate. Just relax… and let it happen."
He took off his driving gloves, and dismissed his usual latex ones. He needed to feel her flesh under his. He rolled her onto her back and spread her legs.
000 0000 000
His hands were skimming her most private places. She felt his fingertips drag over her hips and dip between her spread thighs. She could feel the cold of the bed and the bittersweet tears falling from her dry eyes; sore and puffy from crying. The worst feeling was knowing that she couldn't look down at him. She couldn't see where his hands were roaming, but she felt every single invasion. She couldn't fight him physically, and she couldn't prepare her body for any assault he was about to commit. She could feel the feeling of his palms ghosting over her breasts as he kissed her inner thighs. She had no sense of self until she felt him. She didn't know her body until he touched it and the feeling registered. And all she could do was scream at him with the voice in her head.
And that voice was roaring now.
She was sobbing in her mind, and her airway was constricted with all the dread building in her chest. She felt like she was hyperventilating, and her body was just obeying under his touch. He was gripping the insides of her thighs, rubbing the skin with his thumbs. She couldn't see past her own chest, the bed seemed at an odd angle. Before she could register the feel of what he was doing she felt it. His tongue was sliding between the lips of her vagina, settling on her clit.
If her body was mobile—she would be arching. She would be running away from his tongue, and bucking at his attempts. But she stayed still as he flicked the tip of his tongue sideways, tip tapping against the sides of her clitoris. The sound was unnerving, and she could feel the vomit force its way up her throat before she could swallow it. He felt her sputtering, and he climbs to her side before aiming her off the bed. He waited until she finished, her body involuntarily jerking through the retching. She was close enough to see his erection, and her stomach unsettled onto the floor. When she was just dry heaving, he rubbed her back and lay her back down.
He wiped her mouth with something warm and wet.
"It'll be good, Quinn, I won't be violent. Just relax. I don't want to have to sedate you completely. It'll just hurt more when you wake up."
He was between her legs quick enough. He was busying himself with her clit. She was overwhelmed and numb—the overstimulation made her tingle and soon it started to burn. She was happy for the loss of sensitivity only for a moment. He slipped a slender finger into her and it ripped her back into reality. Had she anything left she'd throw up again. He pulled out and pushed in effortlessly. She felt the wet, she felt the stroke, and she felt the response of her body. She heard the noises around her when his mouth went back to her now very sensitive bundle of nerves.
The noises were loud in her ears. She could hear his lapping, the slurping… the sucking. She could feel the tip of his tongue padding against her, and the squishing noise his finger made pumping into her body. She began praying to a God that she was beginning to believe had abandoned her. And then she heard a scarier noise.
He pulled his zipper down.
There was a frantic cacophony of clothes falling to the floor and he stood next to her head. He turned her at the neck and put his thumbs between her teeth. All she could hear was the sounds of her breathing, her heavy rough panting into the bulbous head of his erect penis. All she wanted to do was fight. She didn't even get a chance to stop what he was about to do. She was helpless. This would happen to her without any resistance. She held her breath. And she waited for the taste.
000 0000 000
He was inside her mouth. He was inside of her hot tight, little mouth and it felt wonderful. It was gratifying even. He pulled out often enough to let her breathe. He could still taste her on his tongue and he was fantasizing about what it would feel like to be inside her soon. He took her breath away, stroking into the back of her throat, and when he felt himself swell and pulse in her mouth, he pulled away from her completely. He went back and nestled his hips between her thighs, and started to rotate to the rhythm of his kissing. He pecked her lips and trailed down her neck and slowly began spreading her legs as wide as they would go. He could feel his heart banging in his chest. He almost didn't notice she wasn't crying anymore.
He stopped momentarily.
He looked into her eyes, and saw her breaking. It was such a unique moment to see a person finally quit. The loss of hope was a beautiful event. It aroused him. She was surrendering. She was his. He thrust into her seconds later, and furiously pumped into her body. He lost track of time quickly, and he indulged in every part of her before release. It never felt better.
He cleaned up around her when he was finished. Washing surfaces with the bottles of water from his truck. He knew he left traces inside of her… on her skin. But he wouldn't mind his carelessness. She wasn't fighting anymore. He didn't think she would have anything left to seek him out. He cleaned in her silence. When the room was empty, and she lay naked on the bed, he kissed her goodbye, and whispered in her ear,
"I'm not sorry, Quinn… not this time. Not with you."
And he left her there.
000 0000 000
The first part of her body that regained feeling was her left foot. It was groggy like it woke up from being asleep, and she rotated her ankle and willed her other body parts to move. Each one that regained mobility forced her to become reacquainted. Each part of her felt like an imposter. Like a stranger to her psyche. Her arm, her other foot, her hips, her fingertips. Each new part broke her a little more. She felt her skin crawl and scratch to get away from the memory. And when she felt her face twitch, she forced her back to prop her up and she cupped her hands against her burning crotch. She twisted her face as she cried. She worked each muscle she had to sob on that stripped bed. She cried for as long as she could. She cried because she could move. Because she had to get out the screaming she couldn't let go when he was there. Because he was gone. And he stole something from her she would never be able to get back.
Her body felt like a prison now. She was prisoner to all the places he touched and tasted. She was sore and naked and hurting. She hated that she could feel every inch of him knowing that her body had succumbed. She screamed out loud into the quiet until her throat was raw and she twisted on the humid, sheet less bed. She sobbed just to feel her chest rising and falling and she clawed at her hands to make sure they were able. That she was capable. That had she the chance this wouldn't have happened…not to her. She cried for so long that she grew tired. She felt exhausted from the emotional torture. She cried for so long that she slept.
And somewhere between the dreamless purgatory, day came. And she stood, naked, and began walking. She wasn't far from town. She limped for half an hour before a black sedan came to a stop. She was aching and she was bare. There were bruises of his fingertips all over her body, dancing over the places he had to force to keep in place. She was happy when she heard her team mate's voice.
"Quinn! Quinn look at me!"
She shook her head, covering her breasts with her crossed arms, the tears falling from eyes she thought were bled dry. She watched as her friend opened her trunk to pull out an old blanket. She wrapped it around her body and hugged her close.
"Quinn, nobody knew where you were… we have to—we have to take you to the hospital. You have to go to the police okay?"
She nodded her head.
"Santana…"
She began sobbing, choking into the other girl's chest. Santana was rubbing her back, trying to comfort her, but Quinn knew that she was crying too. She moved her to the car and buckled her into the front seat. Santana buckled her own belt and laced her hand through Quinn's.
She cried all the way to the hospital.
And denied them when they offered her the sedative to calm her down.
000 0000 000
He was driving through some little town. Some place nowhere anyone would notice him. He had only planned on staying for a day or two. Until he saw her. It had been six days since Quinn. And he's been raging since leaving Lima. There hasn't been any news yet, but he's sure his carelessness will get him caught soon. His urge is all consuming now. Like he tasted heaven and couldn't come back to Earth. It would only be a matter of time he'd be caught, but for now he had to satisfy the need. And when he saw her, at the counter at the grocery store in some tiny town, her nametag glinting against the fluorescent lights:
Terri.
And that's when he saw her. And he knew he had to have her.
000 0000 000
I am looking for a beta for a few of my stories… if anyone is interested, please PM me. Please…no flames.