This chapter is the first of possibly many that will feature graphic language that might make some people more than a little squeamish.

You have been warned.

I apologize again for spelling, grammar, punctuation mistakes, etc.


Trisha's head was throbbing in pain, a pain very similar to a hangover she had suffered a few weeks earlier.

What had happened?

Where was she?

Had she been out drinking and passed out somewhere?

Something wasn't right.

She took a chance and flickered open her eyes; she was in her bed. Besides the moon shining through the window, her bedroom was completely dark.

Had she dreamt the whole thing?

She attempted to lift up her head but she could only lift it so far; something was holding her down. In an instant she realized that her arms were bound over her head, tied with rope to the wooden headboard. Her heart started pounding and her breathing became hurried, but she could only breathe through her nose.

I can't breathe through my mouth! What's wrong with me?

"Duct tape," a voice said from the end of the bed. "You haven't been a very good girl tonight, Trisha."

It all came flooding back to her now. The man, the gun, the swelling now forming on the crown of her head, she had not dreamt it at all. This was all very real, too real. He had told her he would shoot her, but she was somehow still alive. She could see his silhouette sitting at the foot of her bed by her feet, but nothing else about him was visible in the darkness. She feebly tugged at her restraints, but it got her nowhere. Her baggy nightshirt was now bunched up around her hips, and she remembered in horror that the only other article of clothing she had on was a pair of cotton underwear.

" I have to admit I wasn't expecting you to be so feisty, so. . .spirited. Your girlfriend Dana hadn't mentioned that during our little outing earlier. Don't get me wrong, I like girl who has a little spice in her. But you're going to pay for that little stunt you pulled." She felt him start to rub one of his rough hands up and down the length of her leg.

What was he talking about? How did he know Dana?

She felt him get to his feet and move over to her desk on the other side of the room, rummaging around for something.

"I would've made it over here sooner, but I couldn't shut her up," he said, pulling something out of a large paper bag. "That booze I bought her didn't help either, not even after we'd started making out in the parking lot. She even gave me her number and asked me to call her, can you believe that?" He shook his head in disappointment as he walked back over to the bed. "You know she actually asked me to go to a motel with her? Too aggressive, not my style, she's crazy about you though."

He sat back down on the middle of the bed by her torso, Trisha could see that he was holding something in his hand out in front of her. What was it?

*FLICK*

Her captor tilted the switchblade in his hand so that the sharp metal edge glimmered in the moonlight. Trisha watched him for a moment then began to thrash her head around wildly, screaming wordlessly into the duct tape. It was exactly the response he wanted, even better.

"Your little friend told me all about your situation; school, work, your brother," he continued to turn the blade over in his hand, slowly. He stared at it, almost as if he were in a trance, lost in his own words.

"She mentioned that it hardly left you time for. . .extra-curricular activities. I asked her if you at least had a boyfriend, but from what she told me, you're as pure as the driven snow, aren't you?" He now took the flat side of the blade and gently traced it over Trisha's leg. Trisha began to tremble violently, sparing a moment to consider kicking him, but decided against it. She was already defenseless, and something told her that he would not hesitate to stab her in the leg if she provoked him.

"I knew right then that I had to be the one; the one that was going to make your first time special."

He stopped tracing circles on the smooth skin of her leg to look at her face.

"Are you excited? I know I am."

Holding the blade in his left hand, he used his right hand to run a hand up and down her leg, his movements slow and deliberate. He wasn't the least bit in a hurry.

Trisha was breathing harder and faster now, taking in everything that he had just said, unwilling to believe what was happening, unable to accept what was going to happen next. She continued to shiver violently, wishing with every fiber of her being that she was anywhere else in the world right now.

His hand continued to travel further up her leg, as if he were trying to read her thoughts from touching her skin. He now moved his large hand up to the inside of her thighs, pinching and squeezing the soft flesh between his thick fingers. The sensation of a strange hand touching her in such an intimate way made her squirm and writhe on the bed.

"You like that, honey? I thought you might. You've never been touched like this by a man before have you? No, of course you haven't."

His hand relentlessly moved higher and higher up to her underwear. Trisha once again tugged at the ropes binding her hands above her head, hoping that she could get her small hands to slide out, but the rope didn't budge.

No, this cannot be happening to me. I'm not about to be raped in my own bedroom. I'm still sleeping right now, any minute now I'm going to wake up and realize it's the middle of the afternoon. Wake up! Please wake up.

When his hand reached her underwear he slid his finger along the outside of the waistband, and then along the inside, his finger gliding across the sensitive skin underneath it. He didn't have to see her face in the darkness to know that she was in absolute panic mode now. He knew it; he could feel it in the air. He could actually smell her fear, like a predator just before it pounced on its helpless prey. He loved it, relished in it, he counted on it.

He traced his thumb on the outside of her cotton panties, drawing imaginary circles, enjoying the feel of his current prey struggling at his very touch.

That was enough of that, he had waited long enough.

Still gripping the switchblade in his left hand he put two fingers from his free hand inside of his mouth, using the saliva on his tongue to moisten it as much as possible. Then taking the same two fingers, he plunged them between the legs of his captive, forcing them inside of her as far as they could go.

Trisha shrieked at this invasion of her body, but her cries of protests were muffled under the duct tape. Without thinking she began to kick her legs about, knowing good and well that it wouldn't do her any good. Anticipating this type of response the captor took the switchblade and in one swift motion, slashed a cut about 3 inches long across Trisha's thigh. The young woman immediately screamed again into the tape, a shrill and high pitched noise.

"I wouldn't do that again if I were you," her assailant warned in a dangerous tone. He had purposely made sure that the cut was quick and not too deep, it was a technique that he had perfected during years of practice. After Trisha had stopped kicking he continued to brutally thrust his fingers in and out of her entrance, completely indifferent to her feeble cries of protest. On the contrary, he welcomed the sound; it was music to his ears.

Trisha was breathing harder and harder through her nose, it seemed like she just couldn't get enough air. Her body seemed to be on auto-pilot, reacting to his touch in a way that betrayed her brain. He knew she couldn't help herself, it was only natural. This ruthless assault lasted for several more minutes until Trisha thought that she would burst, when he finally removed his two fingers from inside her. He returned them to his mouth, licking them clean, grunting in satisfaction.

"Works every time," he said with pride. "I think that's enough foreplay for now. I think it's about time we got to the main event, don't you?"

Trisha frantically shook her head in protest, terrified that this wouldn't be the end to her assault.

This monster of a man was now using his free hand to push up her nightshirt, exposing her navel to the cool night air. After giving it another once over with his hand, he leaned his body forward and put his lips to her belly. He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent, and then loudly exhaled again in ecstasy.

She's so soft, he told to himself. Unbelievably soft.

He resumed planting unnecessarily loud kisses all around her exposed belly, stopping every now and then to lick and bite her smooth, warm flesh. At one point he actually began to growl and grunt with pleasure, and the sound made Trisha want to vomit. With his face still buried in her belly he used his free hand to reach underneath her body, and finding the waistband to her underwear, he suddenly yanked them down.

There was no denying it now, this wasn't a dream. This wasn't a movie or a TV show where her hero would suddenly come bursting through the door to save her. She was going to play of victim of every woman's worst nightmare, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The best she could hope for now was that he would have enough mercy to let her survive the ordeal. It was with this realization that Trisha felt hot tears starting to stream out of her eyes. She could only see the outline of his face in the dark, but something told her that he was looking directly at her, watching her for any and every reaction that he manage to get from her. And he knew exactly how to get what he wanted.

He always did.

Without warning he pulled himself up and straddled her tiny, quivering frame, a knee on either side of her hips. Trisha felt nauseous at the feeling of his large man sitting on top of her, it was a feeling she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy.

"Dana told me your mom and dad were worried about you coming to stay here in New York. I wonder what they would think if they could see you now, their precious baby girl." With that he bent forward and grabbed the hem of her t-shirt, and tore into it with the switchblade. He used his large hands to continue ripping the shirt open up to the collar. Trisha's body was now fully exposed to him, and the tears continued to pour as she heaved a dry sob. She knew weeping at this point probably wouldn't help her, but she didn't know what else to do.

The beast on top of her carefully placed his blade on the mattress and she sensed him removing his shirt and tossing it on the floor, and even he was starting to breathe heavily now. He leaned his body forward and placed a hand on either side of Trisha's head. He clamped his mouth down on hers, forcing his tongue past her lips. Then he took the time to plant kisses elsewhere; on her cheek, her temple, her neck and collarbone, Trisha wriggling underneath him all the while. After several minutes of this, he paused to lick and smack his lips. He placed his head beside hers, his hot breath tickling her ear.

"You know what Trisha, honey? I can taste the salt from your tears. I can actually taste you."

To drive his point home, he ran his tongue across a trail of tears running down the side of her face. He sensed her absolute disgust and he realized that he couldn't ignore the bulge in his jeans any longer.

"I hope you enjoyed that little bit of rest you got earlier, Trish," he proclaimed, adjusting his position on her hips, his hands unbuckling his belt. "Because I can tell you right now, you're in for a long night."


Present Day

Detective Benson dropped her grocery bags on the counter before she could lose her grip on them once again. She then turned her attention to her coffee machine and turned it on.

Coffee. I need coffee. Must have coffee.

While her coffee was preparing itself she decided to treat herself to a Denver omelet, one of the handfuls of homemade cuisines she'd perfected over the years. As she began to assemble the necessary ingredients, her mind bounced back to the chance encounter she had less than 20 minutes ago. The face of a certain stranger materialized in her mind as she cracked the contents of an egg into a bowl.

So you happened to cross paths with a good looking guy, big deal.

A little smile crept into the side of her mouth as she cracked a second egg.

The last thing I need right now is to be sniffing around strange men, especially ones who look like that. This vacation is supposed to be about me relaxing and focusing on myself. I don't have time for that nonsense, I'm not that hard up.

Olivia finished preparing her first homemade breakfast in weeks and savored it in peace. After washing dishes she sprawled on the couch and decided to try her luck again with finding something decent to watch on TV. Using one hand to prop up her head, she used the other to aim the remote at the screen.

Do you think your significant other is cheating on you and want to catch them in the act? Call now to—

Bad boys, bad boys. . .watcha gonna do. . .watcha gonna do when they come for-

On today's list of Oprah's Favorite things, the latest book from New York Bestseller K.L. Jameson, "How To Enjoy Your PMS"!-

Ricardo, ¿cómo pudiste hacerme esto a mí? Me dijiste que me amabas, pero tenía que averiguar a través de mi mejor amigo que estás durmiendo con mi madre. Y mi hermana!-

Midget transvestites and the women who love them, on the next Jerry Springer!

The results of the paternity tests are in. Antonio. . .you are NOT the father-

After about 5 minutes of endless channel surfing, Olivia felt her eyes start to glaze over.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'd rather be working.

After running a hand through her hair in frustration, she contemplated her possible next mode of action, and settled on her earlier choice to go for a refreshing walk in the park. Figuring that she could use a quick shower first, she tossed the remote on the couch and sauntered into her bedroom to look for something more comfortable to move around in, neglecting to turn off the TV. Busy rummaging through her closet, she couldn't even hear the emergency news bulletin on her last channel selection:

"The search continues for a young woman missing from Bayville, New York. 20-year-old Trisha Moreno was reported missing by her brother Donnie Moreno early yesterday evening.

According to Mr. Moreno, he returned to the home he shares with his sister early Saturday morning, believing she was asleep when he found her bedroom door closed. A few hours later he grew concerned when he knocked on her bedroom door and got no response. When he entered her room he found it in total chaos with furniture and various belongings knocked to the floor or completely destroyed. Authorities believe that Trisha Moreno was abducted from her bedroom sometime between late Friday evening and early Saturday morning. Trisha is 5 feet 5 five inches tall and weighs 130 pounds. She has waist length textured black hair and is of medium complexion. Both of her ears are pierced and she has a scar on her lower right abdomen from recent surgery. Police are asking that if you have seen Trisha Moreno or have any possible information concerning her whereabouts, please contact your local police department as soon as possible. All information is confidential."

"If anyone has information on what could've happen to my sister, please contact the police. If Trisha's abductor is watching this. . .just please, don't hurt her. I'm willing to cooperate, I'll do anything it takes to get Trisha home safely."


9PM later that evening.

He strolled leisurely down the sidewalk humming a little tune to himself, not in any particular hurry to get to his destination. The night was very pleasant and clear, a beautiful night for a walk. Surprisingly there weren't too many out and about at this hour, people tended to turn in early during the middle of the work week.

His attention was suddenly drawn to a loud commotion coming from a building at the end of the block; it was coming from the crowded bar at the end of the corner. The tall man shifted his heavy paper bag of wares from one arm to the other as he stared inside the window of the establishment to see what all the fuss was about. Everyone inside appeared to be either cheering or jeering at the large TV screens behind the bar: Monday night football. No wonder the block was so quiet, not that it bothered him in the slightest.

Not really a fan of football himself, he spared a few minutes to stare at the spectacle. When one of the teams scored a touchdown, the bar erupted with both cheers of celebration and groans of frustration. No longer even semi-interested, he continued walking down the block. The only person who noticed him was an older gentleman walking his German Shepard. The man continued to walk further and further up the block before he crossed the empty street to get to a side street behind the main road, where there were no streetlights and his tall frame could stay hidden in the shadows. He finally made it to his intended destination, an abandoned house at the end of the block. When he had scouted the building earlier, the boarded up doors and windows and fester of grass and weeds growing in the front yard did little to deter him. Letting his eyes adjust to the dark and using only the light of the moon to guide him, he walked through the gangway of the 2-story brick building to the small stairway that led down to the cellar door. The wood plank he had torn off of the doorway had been promptly discarded in the tall grass in the backyard. Feeling his way down the stairs he maneuvered his bag of items to his right arm then placed his left hand on the doorknob, turned it clockwise, and leaned into the heavy wooden door with his shoulder to pry it open. He gingerly shut the door behind him and bolted it shut.

He carefully counted his steps as he walked to the center of the room, his boots scratching against the cement floor. He reached out a hand and found the string hanging from the single light bulb in the dark basement. He tugged it and the room became immersed in the soft light.

"Hey Trish, I'm back. Sorry it took me so long, traffic was a real bitch today. I don't see how you New Yorkers deal with it. Some guy plowed into me and I kind of broke your brother's sunglasses, had to toss 'em. I managed to buy all the supplies we needed though. Thanks for letting me use your credit card by the way, that really saved me a lot of trouble. " After placing his bag on top of a hardwood dresser close to the door, he turned his attention to the person he had been speaking to. His current hostage was now lying bound and gagged on a mattress on the floor by the wall furthest from the door. She was fast asleep, unable to resist the cocktail of liquor and sleeping pills mixed together in her empty stomach. It was the only source of escape from the pain that had been racking her body for nearly 3 straight days.

"Aww, how sweet," her kidnapper whispered to the silent room. "The poor baby is all tuckered out."

He slowly strode over to the mattress then crouched down beside it, reaching out a hand to stroke the long tresses of the sleeping woman. He petted her gently, as if caressing a small, harmless animal. He stared into her face carefully, as if looking for something. Then as though he had had the answer with him all along, a sadistic smile spread itself across his face.


I hope that wasn't too painful, this was an extremely hard chapter to write. I'm giving everyone a little break in the next chapter, which will be focusing more on Olivia.

Tell me what you think! Thanks for reading!