Chapter 1

Soft.

Menacing.

Intoxicating.

A young girl, around the age of 16, sat cross-legged on a stool and listened as a man snaked around her and as the sound of her own heartbeat echoed rapidly in her chest. Closing her eyes, she pictured her safe haven where no one could get to her: a field filled with endless rows of yellow flowers sprang before her eyes and a child with a halo of hair skipped through them, hand-in-hand with an older boy, laughing as he picked her up and swung her around in the air until she was nauseous. She stared into the boy's eyes and he stared right back. As he put her down, his face began to distort as he tried to stop her from stumbling and he grinned at her. Grinned like the devil. It was him. As hard as she tried to escape reality, she knew she never could. He was always there. Watching. Waiting. Hiding.

"Tell me you love me, honey," he tickled her ear with his tongue, and she could smell the strong stench of alcohol on his breath. "Tell me you love me."

"I love you," she whispered, her voice emotionless.

He drew his hand back in the air and she hardly had time to prepare when his fist crashed against her cheek. A small "o" sound shaped her lips as if in a gasp as she fell off the stool. Her cheeks burned and she felt her previous bruises roar in protest against the further damage.

Just pretend you're not here; think of your Father. Just as she had the image of him smiling proud in his army uniform, he hit her again. With more power. His hands wrapped around her hair and pulled until large, round tears sprang in her eyes and she was forced to stumble to her feet.

"Bitch!" he spat bitterly "Tell me you love me, and this time mean it!"

"I love you, my dear,"

"That's better. Now lie down over there," her grinned at her, exposing his sharp teeth. God how she loathed that smile.

"I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be back soon, baby," he slipped through the door out of sight and she released a long breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

What was he going to do to her? Rape her? Probably. Kill her? Definitely. Waterfalls of tears spilt over her eyes as the realisation hit her that she didn't want to die, that she wanted to grow old and buy a house in the suburbs with two kids and a dog. She wanted to grow up and fall in love, but most of all, she wanted to thank her parents. They'd done so much for her and now she'd never have the chance to tell them how much she appreciated them and how much she loved them. Heck, before she'd left the last thing she'd told her Mum was how much she hated her; all over some stupid dress.

Think positive. She was going to live through this, it didn't matter what he did to her, what he said, above all she had to try and stay alive. Suddenly gathering a surge of strength, she tugged hard at the ropes trapping her wrists until a thin trickle of blood came from the cutting of the rope against skin, like a crack in a china doll. She cursed silently and tugged harder, ignoring as her arms screamed at her to stop.

"It's no use. You can't escape." It was too late. He was back.

Something silver glinted in his hands, and grinning sadistically, he turned what appeared to be a scalpel in his hands. He stared at it lovingly and with all the precision of a skilled hunter applied just enough pressure to cut his hand, as if showing what the scalpel could do; its hunger for blood. He walked over to where she laid, her arms still restrained by the ropes.

"Now I'm going to cut you until you scream and until every sin led against me has been repented. Tonight you will die,"

The tears came hard and fast now. So much for God. She was obviously just another pawn waiting to be removed from the chess board in his sick game. Words struggled hopelessly to try and scratch their way from her throat, but no sound was made but a pitiful gasp. If she really was going to die, there was so much she wanted to say to the sick bastard.

He made the first incision. She wouldn't scream. She was not going to give him the satisfaction. She would not submit herself to the twisted bastard. Her tortured soul shrieked in terror as he continued to cut, vivid red blood seeping from the wound like ink. Megan Harris had never been a religious girl in particular, despite her parents warning, but tonight, for the first time in her life, she prayed.