A/N: I had to edit this chapter at 1:00 am this morning so that it wouldn't be late. My eyeballs felt like they were going to slither out of my skull.
Anyway, here you go! *Hands you chapter five, piping hot from the Story Oven, and right on time*
DISCLAIMER: I don't own A Nightmare on Elm Street or any of its characters.
WARNING: CERTAIN CHAPTERS OF THE FOLLOWING STORY WILL CONTAIN GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT, GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, AND ADULT LANGUAGE. TO AVOID SPOILERS, THERE WILL NOT BE INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS FOR EACH CHAPTER.
Chapter Five: Try Again
The bus barreled down the highway against the darkened landscape. Plowed fields stretched out to the horizon like a patchwork quilt, meeting the black, star encrusted sky. A few cars sped past Loretta's window, their bright red tail lights streaking the dark and disappearing far ahead. She leaned her cheek against the cool glass, and listened to the hum of the engine.
This wasn't a top-down convertible, and she may not be the one driving, but this was the closest thing to freedom she'd felt in years. If only she could enjoy it without being plagued by thoughts of Freddy waking up alone and confused. Would he be angry? Would he cry?
She swallowed a dry lump.
Would he hate her?
The bus turned onto a narrow, adjacent road, slowing down to comply with the new speed limit. With the noise of the highway fading behind them, Loretta allowed the gentle rolling of the wheels to lull her. Her eyelids drooped shut, but she didn't fall asleep. Somehow she knew that if she did, she would dream about him. So she kept herself awake until they pulled into the bus stop outside Emerson Station.
Calling out their arrival, the driver cranked a lever beside him, and the slim glass doors parted. Loretta filed into the isle between the worn seats with several other passengers. A tall man in a three-piece suit stood in front of her, holding a brief case at his side and constantly checking his wrist watch. They were moving by inches, and Loretta stood on her tip-toes to see what was jamming them up. Leading the line was an elderly woman who scuttled along at turtle pace, stopping every few steps to adjust her yellow head scarf, despite the rising groans from the people stuck behind her.
Eons later, the woman finally hobbled off the bus, and the passengers began pouring out. The business man waited around to help Loretta out when her turn came.
"Thank you." she said, taking his hand as she climbed down the steep stairs.
"My pleasure, little lady." he flashed a charming grin and tipped his pin-striped hat before strolling into the mass of people.
As soon as she realized that she'd been smiling back at him, the shame hit her like a gut punch. She shouldn't be flirting with other men. It was wrong.
No, it wasn't.
She had to stop and correct herself, repeating it in her mind like the vocabulary of a new language. She wasn't married anymore. She'd left her ring on the bedside table, and she was never going back for it. Her life belonged to her.
Finally.
The open air station was packed with nighttime travelers. Three long lines of people led up to the ticket booth windows, but the majority was clustered around the metal grate platform, waiting for the train. A continuous murmur ran through the crowd as men, women, and children tapped their feet, and made idle chit-chat with anyone close by. One particularly loud bearded man was scolding a woman with an infant on her hip, who looked like she was going to pass out from embarrassment. The whole situation made Loretta cringe as she took her place in line.
"Next, please." the blonde haired man behind the glass called her up, trying to keep his exhausted, heavy eyes open. "Where are you headed tonight, miss?"
"Um…" she glanced behind him, at the list of destination points on the wall.
He noticed her hopelessly lost expression, and woke up a little.
"Going on an adventure, huh?" he said, smiling.
"I hope so." her voice was small and tainted with uncertainty.
He leaned towards her on his elbows, as if confiding a secret. "I've heard that the south-eastern side of Central City is having nice weather. And a nicer job market, if you're looking to stick around."
"Then one-way, please." she said, laying the money on the counter.
After sliding the ticket towards her, he gave a half-hearted salute. "Hang in there."
She nodded and went to the platform to wait in the crowd of strangers. Once she was alone with her thoughts, that exact same guilt swelled in the pit of her stomach. But she ignored it, and after a while she heard a loud, steam whistle coming from a distance.
The locomotive rumbled in, its coupling rods passing one over the other, connecting the sets of wheels. They screeched against the tracks as it came to a halt. Porters in identical, double breasted blue uniforms slid open the doors to the railcars, and stepped out to help with the luggage of whomever they reached first. The iron cab at the front was slanted down, with a black chimney pipe sticking out of the roof, and a long chain of black passenger cars in tow. Each was hitched to the next by huge, metal links and pins, leaving some slack between them.
Loretta held her bag close as she followed the others to board the train. The interior was clean, but utilitarian. Straight rows of benches lined the walls, with large windows spaced along both sides. She sat near the back as the floor began to rumble under her feet. The car lurched forward before matching pace with the ones in front. Emerson Station shrank from view as new people congregated on the platform.
She peered out the glass to watch the scrolling scenery. Lush oaks and sycamores threw ovals of shade on the grassy plains as they rustled in the breeze, and the green blades swayed and bowed beneath them. An occasional farm house and silo sat perched on a distant hill, their silhouettes soft against the light grey dawn. With a halo of carmine red and orange hues, the sun crowned on the edge of the earth.
By mid-morning, the countryside had been left behind, and urban buildings had begun cropping up all around them. Tall, brick apartment complexes reached up toward the clouds, with fire escapes cascading down the side over cookie cutter windows. Farther ahead was a skyline of corporate buildings and towering offices that crowded and overlapped each other. Loretta touched her nose to the glass, staring out into the heart of Central City. She smiled, unaware that two railcars down, a man was lounging back on his seat, with the rim of his old brown fedora tilted to the tip of his nose.
And he was smiling, too.
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"What can I get for you?" the middle-aged woman with pinned up blonde curls asked from behind the counter.
"Actually, I wanted to know if there were any waitressing positions available here." Loretta said. She tried to sound confident and professional, but her nervousness had definitely show through. This wasn't Springwood, and none of these faces were familiar. She couldn't help being somewhat intimidated.
"I'll get you the manager, honey." the woman said with a weary smile, disappearing into the kitchen.
Loretta turned her back to the glass display case below the granite counter, filled with cream puffs, caramel-drizzled cakes, and assorted pastries topped with swirls of frosting. In truth, she was starving. But there wasn't much money in her bag, and she had to spend it with caution. That meant buying cheap food to get her and her baby through the day. Not cupcakes.
Still, the sight of all the customers munching on their desserts at little cherry wood tables made her stomach grumble.
A younger woman wearing horned glasses and an apron with Strano's Café & Sweetery embroidered over her chest came out through the same door.
"Hello." the woman greeted her.
"Good evening, Ma'am." Loretta said.
"Samantha told me that you're looking to work here, is that right?"
"Yes," she replied, eyes wide and earnest. "I really need a job. I'd be the best employee I could be."
The woman patronized her with a plastic smile. "I'm sure you would. Unfortunately, we aren't currently hiring here."
Masking her dejection, Loretta shrugged. "That's okay. Thank you for your time."
She left the café, stepping out onto the sidewalk. Beneath a harsh, yellow street lamp, she rubbed her back and huffed. This whole day had been exhausting. She had asked for work at every establishment she'd come across, and not a single one was hiring. She was beginning to think that blonde clerk who sent her here had no idea what he was talking about.
She set off down the road, moving aside to let two cackling drunk men pass her. They craned their necks and whistled after her.
"If you're lookin' for a good time, you're goin' the wrong way, baby." one slurred as he draped his arm over his buddy's shoulders.
She didn't respond or look back as they continued in their respective directions. Their laughter and off-key singing faded around a corner, leaving Loretta alone on the quiet street. She passed the marred faces of rundown town houses, built so close together that there was barely enough space between them for someone to fit sideways. Their windows were smashed, with the remaining shards pointing inward from the square, wooden frames like fangs. The soles of her shoes tapped the cement at a steady pace. When she stopped for a second to scratch her ankle, she heard a different set of footsteps a block behind her. She'd thought it was just an echo of her own, but with the sound now isolated, she could pick out the differences. These steps were farther apart and heavier.
The sound that large work boots make.
She continued walking, keeping her ears keen. Whoever it was had gotten closer, sending a wash of unease throughout her body. She took longer strides. The urge to run gripped her hard, but she shook it off, following a stronger instinct: the sense that if you run, you will be chased. She tried to convince herself that it was paranoia getting the better of her, but that didn't stop the sweat from breaking out on her forehead as the footsteps grew faster, closing the gap between them. They were a few yards behind her, but felt like they were at her heels.
And the steps weren't just getting closer. They were getting louder, harder.
Angrier.
They were no longer evenly paced, but out of control. The footsteps of a crazy person.
The panic cord snapped in her chest, and she clenched her fists, prepared to either fight or scream. Or both.
But when she spun around, there was no one there. Just a vacant street and a blinking red traffic light at the corner.
She threw glances over her shoulder the rest of the way, until she reached the seedy little inn she'd seen earlier.
In buzzing, blue neon letters, the sign read "Flower Motel". Below that was a wiry red rose that had shorted out, along with half the lights dotting the border. It didn't look very hospitable, with its puny parking lot littered with cigarette butts and other refuse. The few bushes lining the white office building were poorly kept. Scraggly twigs stuck out from them with shriveled, dead leaves. A police siren wailed from one of the back streets as she pushed through the smudged glass door. She was greeted only by a tarnished ash tray on the front desk, with a dozen tiny filters half-buried in grey soot. The stench of smoke and body odor filled her nostrils, and she involuntarily wrinkled her nose. By the time the source of the smell, the sweaty manager, trudged up from the employee bathroom to take her cash and hand her a key with a plastic number 16 attached to it, she felt like she was going to vomit.
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The surface of the dark water rippled, reflecting the small floodlight mounted to the back of the motel as Loretta kicked her legs beneath it. She sat at the edge of the in-ground swimming pool, with the gentle waves she created lapping at her knees. It was late, and she knew she needed to sleep, but she was restless. Her arms were in at her sides, palms flat on the rough, blue painted cement.
Since no one was around, she began humming a slow, soft melody to herself, to calm her nerves. She didn't want to think about what would happen if she couldn't find a job. Her roll of dollar bills was shrinking, and it wouldn't last to the end of the week.
Lifting her gaze from the water, she looked out over the small, square courtyard, draped in shadows. A rusty chain link fence surrounded the pool area, standing straight and sturdy everywhere except at the far end, where it lay flat on the ground in front of a long alley that stretched between two brick buildings.
Her humming faded on an odd note as she attempted to see beyond her bleak situation. Maybe she would find employment. Then she could have her own apartment, or even her own house. She could go back to school, and get a better-paying job to support herself and her child. It wasn't going to be easy, but they could make it all by themselves.
That's what she kept telling herself.
She jolted at the sound of something toppling over from deep within the alleyway. Her eyes snapped towards it, but all she could see was the faint outline of a dumpster with its lid opened against the brick wall. Everything beyond that was like a black hole. A glass soda bottle rolled out from the darkness on a curved path, stopping at the downed railing of the fence.
She pulled her legs out of the water and stood up. With tentative steps, she moved around the pool. Swollen droplets ran down her calves, sprinkling around the wet footprints she left behind her.
She wanted to call out to see if anyone was there, but couldn't force the words past her throat. Instead, she walked over the rattling chain links, and stared into the wall of black that was thicker than the brick and mortar on either side of it.
It had probably been some stray cat, long gone by now.
As she was relaxing her shoulders, the dumpster lid slammed shut a few feet in front of her.
She didn't wait to see what it was, or feel the hairs rise on the back of her neck. She turned on her heel and sprinted back to her room, fumbling with the key at the door. After rushing inside, she closed it, flicked the dead bolt, and worked the brass chain lock into its slot.
Her chest was heaving when she sat on the side of the bed. She calmed herself, and came to the conclusion that it was the wind, or the same phantom cat that had knocked over the bottle. She was overreacting. No one was out there.
She turned down the blankets and slipped under them, hitting the light switch for the bulb in the ceiling fan. A short lamp sat on her night table, and she reached under the yellow shade to tug the string. It lit a small area, barely extending to the other side of the mattress, but it was enough to make her feel safe. She drifted off to sleep within minutes.
That didn't last, though, and two hours later she was awake again, tossing back and forth to get more comfortable. With an exasperated huff, she sat up and propped her head on her hand. Her eyes lingered on her tan canvas bag, and she grabbed it off the table, digging through it until she found what she wanted.
She hated herself for bringing these, but she couldn't help it. Her gaze rested on the stack of photographs as she shuffled through them.
The first was of her and Freddy smiling in front of an ornate carousel, with laughing children straddling the painted horses at different heights. Their pudgy fingers clasped the golden, spiraled poles. His arm was around her as she held up the porcelain faced, stuffed rabbit that he'd won for her at a prize booth. In her other hand was a double-scoop ice cream cone, smothered in chocolate syrup and a generous topping of colorful sprinkles.
The next picture showed them again, outside the courthouse right after they'd gotten married. Freddy wore a white collared shirt, and she had on a knee length, purple dress with a meager lace trim at the neckline. One of the secretaries had offered to snap some shots of them to commemorate their "special day", but the woman was certainly no photographer. Caught in the background were two men in expensive suits arguing on their way up the stairs to the main entrance, and a greasy, crumpled fast food bag skidding along the parking lot.
She'd only brought a few other photos, most of which were from when they were dating. Cycling through to the last one, she tucked them back into the bag and buttoned it closed. The back of her throat was dry, and she swallowed to try to ease it. When that didn't work, she got out from under the covers and flicked on the ceiling light.
And her heart stopped dead.
Two halves of the brass chain lock on the door hung straight down, cut in the middle, with pieces of a crushed link scattered on the matted beige carpet. She ran to check the dead bolt, finding that it had been locked again from the inside.
She hadn't seen him on the porch step, watching her sneak down Elm Street, or seen his truck following five cars behind the bus, or seen him in the crowd when she bought her train ticket.
And she didn't see the coat closet door opening behind her now.
"Where are you going to run this time, Loretta?" Freddy asked.
As she whipped around to see him, a sharp pain wrenched in her gut. She heard liquid splattering the rug, and her vision blurred as her legs buckled. The glare from the overhead bulb expanded, engulfing everything in white.
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The muffled voices were far away, becoming clearer as she floated up from the bottom of a silent, murky lake. It had seemed so remote, but in an instant the surface was rushing towards her.
Loretta's lashes stirred. She could hear the two men conversing, but only one of them was familiar.
"She's going to need a lot of rest, as well." the voice was articulate, succinct.
"I won't let her out of bed."
The sound of Oxfords clicking on the waxed linoleum floor.
"She's waking up."
Papers shuffling.
"Loretta?"
She stared first at the white ceiling, then at the person leaning over her. He had dark, combed back hair and a trim mustache.
"How are you feeling? My name is Dr. Harris."
After the man spoke, she noticed the white cot she was lying on, and the paper nightgown on her body.
"You're at Anderson Memorial Hospital. You were brought in a few hours ago by your husband." Dr. Harris explained.
"What happened?" she asked, regaining some clarity of thought.
The doctor shifted his eyes, and spoke in a soothing tone. "You're lucky to be alive, Loretta."
Her brow creased as she sat up.
"Why am I here? What happened?" she repeated as she searched his eyes. They flashed apprehension.
"When Mr. Krueger carried you in, you were hemorrhaging severely." Dr. Harris said, holding the clip board against his sterile white medical coat. "Your nervous system was over stressed, and you were malnourished."
She glanced back and forth between him and Freddy, who hadn't moved from the other side of the room.
"I'm so sorry." he went on, "We couldn't save the baby."
The words were clear and unmistakable, but she didn't even blink at them. It was like he was talking about someone else's child.
Not hers.
Any other baby could die. Every other baby could die. Just as long as it wasn't hers.
But when she put her hands on her stomach, she knew that it was gone.
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The truck doors swung shut, one after the other, and Freddy held Loretta's upper arm as he walked her toward the house. It rose above her, with its perfect coat of white paint and blue shutters that no longer looked welcoming. The blacked out, circular window in the front door watched her like an eye.
The hospital had only kept her twenty-four hours for observation, and had turned her over to her husband just after midnight. Their street was quiet by the time they'd arrived, except for the chirping crickets hidden in the grass. All their neighbor's houses were dark, with children's toys and bicycles scattered across their lawns.
He released her through the front doorway with a shove, and placed his keys on the coffee table.
"Get upstairs." he said, undoing his shirt cuffs to roll the sleeves up to his elbows. She climbed the steps, stopping at the end of the hallway as he grabbed the back of her neck. He threw her into their bedroom door, which opened on impact, letting her stumble inside.
She rubbed her arm, and kept her wary gaze fixed on him as he stalked towards her.
"Haven't I taken care of you?" he said, his voice low and filled with disdain, "Isn't this house more comfortable than that ratty, piece of shit motel?"
When he reached around to tangle his fist in her hair, she shrank back.
"Well?" he growled.
"Yes. Yes, it is." she stammered, flinching.
"Then why did you leave?"
His glare was unrelenting, searing into her.
"I'm sorry, Fred."
"I don't give a fuck that you're sorry." he snarled into her face, "Sorry isn't going to undo what you did, you stupid bitch."
As he lifted his other hand, poised for a slap, she kicked him in the side and tore out of his grip. He clutched at his gut where she'd struck him, broken strands of her hair sticking out from between his fingers.
She ran out the door, into the first spare room on the right. A high stack of boxes walled off the corner from view, and she ducked behind it, trying to hear beyond her own ragged breathing. She listened as Freddy stepped out of their bedroom, and onto the smooth bathroom tiles. The plastic shower curtain crinkled as he dragged it over to one side. The weighted stomp of boots worked its way through every room, as he tore their home apart searching for her. Doors were flung open so hard, their knobs cracked the dry wall, and everywhere he went, the noises followed him.
Crashing. Toppling. Ripping.
Then it stopped. She sank lower to the ground when she saw the shadows of his feet under the door. It creaked open, and the shadow extended over the wooden floorboards, climbing the back wall as he walked forward.
"Come out, Loretta." he called, "You're only making things worse."
He circled the room, checking in the closet.
"Oh, I get it. I'm scaring you, aren't I? Is that why you're hiding?" his voice sounded gentle, but she could hear the sinister edge it carried. "Don't worry, I promise I won't hit you."
Loretta looked out the window behind her, considering the drop to the front lawn. But what if it was locked? He'd hear it for sure. Even if she could make it out, the fall would break her ankle.
Before she had turned back, a pair of rough hands grabbed her arms and hauled her over the boxes, knocking the top one off the stack. It fell open, and spilled the folded sweaters inside onto the ground.
A scream ripped from her throat. She batted at him, thrashing against his bruising grip as he dragged her down the hall. He kicked the bedroom door open and tossed her onto their bed. The mattress creaked and bounced, recoiling from the force against it. He climbed over her and flipped her face-down before twisting her left arm behind her back.
"Get off me," she cried.
He didn't respond, leaning over to pull out the nightstand drawer. With the bottom half of her vision obscured by the pillow, she watched him take out her gold ring, and felt the cold metal slide onto her finger.
Then he reached into the drawer again, lifting a long piece of thread with one end pinched between his fingers. Dangling from the other end was a thick, gleaming needle.
"Fred," she whimpered, shaking beneath his crushing weight, "Stop,"
The tip pierced her sensitive flesh, leading the thread through before sinking into her again. She let out an agonized wail, her finger twitching as drops of blood surfaced around its base.
"Please," she begged before biting the pillow. It soaked up her tears and clear snot, becoming damp and cold. Thin rivers of blood trickled into the lines of her palm as he held her still and worked the stitches into the other side of her finger.
Not once did he tell her to shut up. And the only time she'd craned her neck far enough to catch a glimpse of his face, she saw a smirk stretched across it.
He enjoyed the tortured sounds she was making.
When her vocal chords could no longer handle the strain of her screams, she let out low, pathetic groans. A puddle of drool spread from the corner of her mouth.
He tied the string, and leaned down to bite off the excess, releasing her wrist. She curled her arms in and cupped a hand around the bloodied one. Red threads crossed over the ring, securing it in place. The needle rattled as he discarded it on the table.
Freddy flipped Loretta onto her back, but she squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to look at him. He touched her moistened lashes, and trailed his fingers over her tear-smeared cheek.
"See? I told you I wasn't going to hit you." he said, "Even though you deserve it. It's your fucking fault the baby's dead."
"I'm sorry," she sobbed, her voice hitching, "I'm sorry."
"Stop saying that, or you're really gonna piss me off."
She sniffled and closed her mouth.
"It's over." he growled, "We're just going to have to try again."
He undid his fly, leering down at her. She braced her hands against his chest to keep him off, but he easily overpowered her and pressed their bodies together.
"Stop it!" she yelled, beating her uninjured fist into his arm over and over while he tasted the side of her neck. He seized her wrists with a vicious grin, holding them to the mattress above her head. All her struggling and bucking only excited him, and with a single hand, he ripped open the front of her dress. He reached underneath the skirt to tear off her underwear, tossing it behind him.
Fresh tears spilled over the outside corners of her wide eyes, and trailed into her ears.
He rolled her dress up over her head, leaving it tangled around her arms as he raised himself to his knees and peeled off his own shirt. With one soft thigh in each hand, he pulled her against his hips, licking his teeth. Her lower back was off the mattress as he rammed into her. He clutched her slim hips, looking down over the slope of her pliable body.
Her panting filled the room, timed with the slapping sound of flesh on flesh. An exhausted whimper escaped her, and she let herself go slack, taking the pain with no recoil. Soreness and dry friction burned her insides.
She waited for it to be over, but it felt like hours passed before he went rigid. He ground into her a few more times, and dropped her on the mangled bed covers, rolling onto his sweat-slicked back like a sedated animal.
With her legs sprawled the way he'd left them, she lay flat and motionless as she stared at the ceiling. Then she slowly curled away from him on her side, drawing up her knees.
That wasn't rape. She told herself the rest of the night: he was her husband, so it couldn't be. Things like that didn't happen to her.
In two weeks, she found out that she was pregnant again. But they didn't celebrate and choose names this time.
Freddy already had the name picked out.
A/N: Chapter 6 will be posted sometime between June 11 and June 14, and it will be the last one.
I know, I know: I'm one sick puppy. But that was Freddy showing his true colors, so it had to be brutal. Actually, brutal is an understatement. That last scene was a Crime Against Humanity. And I would love to know what you think about it, so feel free (and welcomed!) to leave a review.
And in case anyone was wondering about this, the birth year I'm using for Freddy in this story is 1940. Loretta is three years younger than him, so you can figure out their approximate ages in each chapter. :)