 
### bad dad

### clay spann

Copyright 2016 Clayton Spann

Smashwords Edition

Discover other titles by Clayton Spann at Smashwords.com:

Exchange Rate*

The Line of Eyes

Lord Protector**

Restorer of the World**

Expelled**

Day Nine

Stoned

Two Timed*

Redux

*Prequels to Sure Cure

**Roger Ward Trilogy

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons (except for historical figures), living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

dedicated to judy and jen

"The true man wants two things: danger and play.

For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything."

Friedrich Nietzsche

### winter, 1980

judy

The brunette wheeled from the stream of rush hour traffic. Directly ahead the spires of the Southern Towers complex loomed against a black and frigid January sky. She hoped she could find a parking spot near her apartment building entrance. The radio just warned the windchill had dropped to minus five degrees.

She didn't look forward to returning to the bitter cold an hour from now. She was tempted to skip her evening classes, but so early in the semester she might miss something crucial. Anyway Karen counted on her being gone. Karen would be fixing a romantic dinner for that latest excuse of a boyfriend, and extracurricular activity was sure to follow.

In the complex she searched for a parking place, but cars blanketed the enormous lot. Mountains of plowed snow made the hunt more difficult. A complete circuit turned up only one suitable spot, which lay a hundred yards from her building.

She opened the car door and icy wind assaulted her face. As she stepped out she pulled her scarf up over her nose. She readied to run, then flinched. Along the row of cars a figure moved toward her.

It was an old woman. The parking lot lamps revealed her to be a mighty ugly one. The woman, bundled in an ancient overcoat, plodded with both arms wrapped around a grocery bag.

She shook her head. Someone that old had to be senile to be out on such a night. Well, she better offer a hand.

Before she could speak, the woman lurched and fell. She rushed to the sprawled figure. She pushed back a warning that Ted Bundy similarly lured victims. This was an ancient woman. And she had mace handy in her coat pocket.

She bent on one knee and the woman groped for her offered arms. She tried to lift her. The woman would not budge. Then she was yanked and flipped onto her back. Before she could cry out a cloth pushed against her face.

Her first intake of breath detected a familiar chemical. From chemistry labs she knew exactly what entered her lungs. Chloroform.

She screamed into the cloth. She tried to reach the canister of mace, but a hand gripping like a vise held her right arm immobile. Her legs were also penned.

The cloth did not cover her eyes. The eyes stared at brilliant stars in the ink black sky. Shortly the stars blurred.

She didn't understand. She was floating prone in midair, looking down at a young woman with blond hair on a bed. A pink towel covered the woman from chest to hips. Arms stretched above the head as if part of a great yawn. Judy saw the blonde wore a silver bracelet around each wrist, and a short chain linked the bracelets to a rod attached to a blue wall. The woman regarded her curiously.

Judy tried to sit up. Her legs moved freely, but something restrained her arms. With effort she craned her neck. She saw the same bracelets and chain, and the same rod. On her body lay a pink towel. Under the towel she felt only skin.

The fog in her head cleared some more, and she realized she was looking at her image in a mirror. A mirror on a ceiling.

What was she doing on a bed under a towel? Why did she have blond hair? Was she dreaming? She had to be, otherwise this did not make sense .

Then the fog lifted completely. And she could keep the obvious from herself no longer. She had been abducted. She was handcuffed and undressed and in a strange room.

Terror shot through her. She quivered and gasped for breath.

Who had taken her? That old woman? No, it must have been a man. A well disguised and strong one. Oh, why hadn't she listened to that warning bell in her mind?

She quivered again as she recalled a recent story in the Washington Post.

Los Angeles: Two men in custody already under investigation in the slayings of five teenage girls may be involved in the disappearance and murder of 30 to 40 others. The sheriff's office said in a statement today that the two men had been linked to a recording of a girl screaming and begging for mercy as she was being raped and tortured.

Judy fought for control, but her body continued to vibrate under the towel. She tried to breathe evenly. She forced attention on the room imprisoning her.

Mirror squares covered the ceiling of the narrow room. In the mirrors she saw herself, the bed, and baby blue carpet. Facing the end of the bed was a door and a reflective strip at eye level. The windowless walls were also baby blue. The walls looked made of cinder block.

To her left stood a dresser with a lamp—the room's only light—and a small bookcase. The middle shelf of the bookcase contained a dozen hard cover books.

The titles of the books hit her like slaps. Among the books were The Selfish Gene, General Genetics, A Short Course in Bio-Chemistry, Medusa and the Snail, Recombinant Techniques, and The Eighth Day of Creation.

A sharp click emitted from the door. Judy stiffened as it swung open.

A short man in a black bathrobe entered. He had brown hair. The hair was styled with a pompadour and sideburns. The man regarded her pleasantly from a definitely unpleasant face.

The old woman! Except for the hair, and a wig must have covered that, the features matched. Bushy eyebrows, thick lips, and an overlong jaw. A shovel jaw.

The man smiled. His face was flushed. Her eyes dropped to the tent his robe made over his hips. His feet and calves were bare.

"Good evening," he said. His voice was hoarse.

Still smiling, the man sat on the bed. She smelled a cologne. A hand rubbed her calf. Judy jerked and the towel shifted to expose pubic hair. The pubic hair was blond!

"You are supremely lovely." Stubby fingers crept toward her knee.

"Please..."

She warded off a lungful of screams. Surrendering to hysteria wouldn't help, it might even provoke him.

"Elegant, I think, best describes you: Slender, but with finely developed breast and flaring hips. A classic face which reminds me of Audrey Hepburn in her prime. I don't care for brunettes—that is why I have changed the color—but your tresses have a luster that's quite enchanting. Your ivory skin and aquamarine eyes certainly complement those tresses, whether they be dark or light."

Both hands clutched her calves.

"Welcome, Judith."

Her name!

He grinned winningly. "I know more than your name, Judith Conway. Item: you work in the ER at Alexandria Hospital as a medical technician. Item: you are striving for greater glory by attending grad school at night. Halfway through your master's program at George Washington, I believe. Specializing in molecular genetics, and hope to land a research job at NIH in a couple years."

Judy listened incredulously.

"There's more. You turned twenty-five last November 12, you room with fellow student Karen Rutherford, you are engaged to the stud William G. Steed, rising attorney on Senator Warner's staff. Genealogists know you as the purebred offspring of three generations of naval officers, flagship men all."

"Who are you?"

"An admirer of long standing, I must confess."

"I've never seen you before."

"You'd remember this puss, huh? No, I am a periphery person to your center stage. Actors—and actresses—never notice who's in the audience, only that they have one."

Judy remained rigid under the towel, the flimsy, slipping towel, but she made herself think. The man was speaking conversationally. He didn't seem bent on violence. He appeared intelligent and hopefully sane.

If she were an anonymous woman snatched at random, she might have more to fear. Obviously he had taken great care in her selection.

Possibly he had a crush on her—though in a not very sane way. The protagonist in The Collector came to mind.

Calmly as she could, she said: "No real crime has been committed yet. If you release me now, it will be as if nothing happened."

"I love it."

"What?"

"Kidnapping is a crime, Judith. A life sentence felony."

"No one knows I'm missing. Karen had a date tonight, Bill thinks I'm at class. If you let me go, I'll say nothing. I promise."

"I truly love it. Grace under pressure."

"Look, I don't know you, don't know where I am. I never saw your car. How could I identify you—even if I wanted?"

"That's the girl, keep your head, try to reason with the madman."

"Listen to me!"

"Fantastic. Scared to death, and she can get angry." He squeezed her knee.

Judy swallowed. "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing Bill wouldn't."

She shook her head. "We've never...we haven't..."

"A stud like that? William G. could have girls crawling all over him and you say he'd wait until wedding night?"

"I'm a virgin."

"At twenty-five? In this day and age? Come now."

"I've never been. I swear it."

He wagged a finger. "You must never lie to me."

"I haven't even seen a man undressed." Except for peeks in Playgirl magazine. But she had never seen Bill or any other man nude live.

"Judith, you may curse me, you may vilify me, but never lie."

He reached into a robe pocket. He withdrew a closed fist from which extruded an elastic loop. His hands reached, and the loop went over her hair and ears. Then a rubber bit was pushed into her mouth. The loop held the bit tightly. Saliva leaked from her mouth as she chomped it.

The man stood, fingers at his robe belt. Judy yanked her arms. The handcuffs scraped her wrists, but the chain remained securely inside the restraining rod.

The black robe dropped. She saw a chest and belly thickly covered with hair. He was heavily muscled. Involuntarily her eyes dropped to his pelvis, where an ugly purple cylinder jutted. The cylinder—the thing—was coated with a jell and glistened.

She flipped onto her front. Behind her springs creaked as he mounted the bed. He grasped her ankles and effortlessly spun her over. His hands leaped to her knees. Strong fingers wedged apart her thighs, then he bounded forward. The penis aimed for her exposed crotch.

A knife stabbed the crotch. Pain numbed her still as he settled firmly inside. Then his hips thrust and the knife stabbed again, and again. His breathing grew ragged.

Judy shook futilely to loose him. Only her legs could strike and the blows did no good. Finally she yielded to the horror of it, thrashing, wailing and biting savagely at the foul tasting rubber in her mouth. She was vaguely aware of him yelling.

At last the knife withdrew.

"Glory to God! You are virgin."

She glanced to see blood on his thing. Her blood.

"Blessed art thou, holy virgin."

He removed the gag and released the handcuffs from the restraining rod. Instantly she curled, to shelter her ravaged midsection.

"Sleep well, noble Judith." He hobbled away. The door slammed, a lock clicked, and the light flicked out. Judy sobbed into the total darkness.

arlene

Judy awoke abruptly. A figure hovered over her. She pleaded no, then gaped as a woman, a teenager, patted her shoulder. The teenager wore her honey blond hair in a long ponytail.

Still naked and tightly balled, Judy turned her head to see another woman on the opposite side of the bed. This one looked more her own age and had curly orange-red hair. Both the women were handcuffed, arms in front. Both wore scarlet baby doll nighties. Both had hair that reached to their waists.

As memory of the man flooded back, Judy whimpered and tried to bury herself in the mattress. The women soothed, then made her sit up. Her movement exposed blood stains on the sheets.

The redhead bared teeth. "The bastard."

"We better get her washed off," said the teenager.

They helped her stand. Judy also needed their support to walk. She was sore all over, and it hurt badly between her thighs.

They went into a large room. Judy's eyes swept it. Except for a blue alcove in the center and white ones at either end the room was pink: walls, ceiling, and carpeted floor. The walls were cinder block, and the carpet had no pile. On the ceiling ran several rows of florescent lights.

Two other women watched Judy. They likewise wore scarlet nightgowns.

One girl, sitting at a table, smiled brightly. Way too brightly. Judy chilled.

"That's Dianne," said the redhead. "We'll explain about her later."

The redhead snapped her attention to a short, heavily breasted teenager in the blue alcove.

"Fix Judith breakfast. Something light."

"Please call me Judy."

The girl in the alcove regarded Judy wide eyed. She wore no handcuffs. Behind her was an icebox, sink and cabinets. A microwave oven on a counter had its door halfway open. She held a bowl motionless before it.

"I'm Arlene," said the redhead.

"I'm Susan," said the ponytailed girl. She nodded toward the alcove. "That's Cheryl."

"Mister Marr's faithful cocksucker," said Arlene.

Cheryl pouted.

Judy looked again at the short girl with a pretty if plumpish face. Like the other women her hair was parted dead in the middle. Like the other women her hair, mousy brown, fell to waist level.

Arlene and Susan led Judy to one of the white alcoves. Three gleaming basins lined one wall, and two toilets and a bidet lined the other. At the rear was a shower with several spray heads. Stalls did not shield the toilets nor did a curtain front the shower.

There weren't any mirrors either. She wanted to see how she looked. Arlene and Susan were surprised when she told them the man had dyed her hair blond. They said he hadn't dyed anyone else.

They put her on a toilet. The bidet was next. While they cleaned her private parts, Judy asked anxiously about getting pregnant. Arlene assured she wouldn't; the bastard had a vasectomy.

A long hot shower with plenty of soap and shampoo partly washed away the soiled feeling.

Judy marveled how adeptly the shackled hands of Arlene and Susan worked as they washed her. She wondered how long each had worn the handcuffs.

While they washed she agonized, as she had while sobbing herself to sleep after the rape, about the impact of her disappearance. Karen might not suspect anything as Judy usually was the first out the door in the morning. But she would not be showing up at work, where she was always so punctual. When she failed to appear or call by mid-morning her coworkers would begin to worry.

Bill too would worry. They had planned to have lunch today, and he was going to call beforehand to confirm. When he couldn't reach her at the hospital or her apartment, he would likely check with her parents. That would throw them into anxiety.

As the evening passed without her reappearance Bill and her parents would become frantic. Her brothers too. As tomorrow passed they would become beyond frantic, and assume the worst. Judy especially feared the effect on her mother, who was having trouble recovering from a mastectomy last fall. Her throat constricted.

"You okay?" asked Arlene. "Sorry, that's a stupid question."

"I—do you think the man would allow me to write a letter to my parents? Just saying I am okay? There would be nothing in it to identify him."

Arlene shook her head. "I asked that once. He just laughed."

She would make the request, nevertheless.

"You called him Mr. Marr. That can't be his real name." He wouldn't take a chance on that.

"Yeah, it's probably fake." Arlene sneered. "He says his first name is Charlton. Right. Bet that freak does wish he looked like Charlton Heston."

Judy hoped the name was false. If it were real, he had no intention of ever releasing them.

Susan gave Judy a nightgown. They had her step into it, then helped her pull up the top to just above the breasts. The top stayed in place due to an elastic band. The nightgown—the teddy—was white, strapless, sheer and very short, barely covering her crotch. Her nipples showed plainly through.

The teddies of the other women were not sheer and reached halfway down their thighs. They saw her discomfiture and apologized.

"He specifically ordered you wear it," said Susan. "You're the first to get a white one. I guess that's because—" Susan glanced to where blood had stained Judy's thighs, then dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"What about panties?" Judy asked.

"We don't get them," said Arlene. "Except during our periods. But they're more like diapers."

"What about Kotex?"

"No. We use toilet paper. A lot of it. The diaper gets the rest. And I should tell you, Cheryl shaves ours legs and armpits."

"What?"

"Well, she's got the two free hands. She'll be shaving you daily. With an electric razor. Marr likes perfectly smooth skin."

"He trims our hair himself," said Susan. "But you have a long time before he does that to you. As you can see, he wants it down to our navels."

Judy bit back tears.

"Let's get something in you," said Arlene. "You'll feel better—relatively."

"I can't eat."

"You have to. You're thin enough as it is, and Marr doesn't tolerate scarecrows." Arlene's face turned even more grim.

"You have to say healthy," said Susan.

They took her to the table where Dianne sat. The girl with the flowing chestnut hair continued to smile.

A pink cloth covered the table, which now held place settings. The table was long and wide. Four folding chairs flanked each side. A dark wooden chair with armrests and a ribbed back sat at the head. Judy noticed its chair legs were bolted to the floor.

Arlene put Judy in the wooden chair. Cheryl, shuffling from the kitchen alcove with a tray, protested feebly about using Mr. Marr's place. Arlene told her to shove it.

Cheryl dragged an ankle chain which trailed back to the kitchen. Judy wondered if Cheryl was permanently tethered to the kitchen alcove. Her question was answered when she saw a toilet and sink at the back of the alcove. How cruel.

The smell of steaming coffee awakened Judy's appetite. The sight of grapefruit, toasted bagels and cream cheese revived it completely.

Between bites and sips, Judy further surveyed the big pink room.

She counted six bedrooms along the wall containing the open alcoves. Each bedroom had a little window, a slit really, in its door. The window was likely one side of a one-way mirror. The man must have watched while she regained consciousness before the rape.

Near the far alcove three couches and a TV console were arranged in a square. The couches were pink. Books and magazines littered the coffee table inside.

On the wall behind the TV shelves held books, speakers, a turntable, and blocks of record albums. There had to be hundreds of both books and albums. It also looked like video cassettes were present.

The man must have sunk thousands into furniture and equipment, she thought. Such lavish spending on their welfare had to be a reassuring sign.

Her eyes swung back to the near wall. Five yards beyond the table there was a doorknob. It was hard to discern the door, which was also painted pink. A little box hung on the wall beside the door. The box looked like it contained a security system keypad.

"Forget it, Judy," said Arlene.

Her attention jerked back to Arlene. Arlene, Susan and Cheryl were watching her intently.

"There's a six number code to open the door," said Arlene. "He changes the code every couple days. The door is metal. And behind it is another door, metal too."

Judy continued to stare at the keypad box. She couldn't tell for sure from where she sat, but it looked like the pad had twelve buttons.

A six number code, said Arlene. How any combinations? It'd be twelve to the sixth. How many was that? Ten to the sixth was one million. Twelve to the sixth could be double that. It could take weeks to try out every combination.

Judy's appetite wilted. Despite her best effort, she started to cry. Arlene told Cheryl to fetch some Compose.

"The strongest pill he lets us use," said Arlene. "Oh, for some Valium."

Cheryl delivered the Compose. Judy swallowed a pair, then allowed Arlene to lead her back to the bedroom.

Arlene fluffed the pillow and tucked Judy in. As she finished Judy grabbed her wrist.

For the first time Judy noticed how very beautiful Arlene was. Not pretty, or attractive, but stunning.

"Stay please."

Arlene smiled gently. "Sleep, Judy. We'll talk later."

"No...I...how long have you been here?"

"Fourteen months."

"Good God!"

"My feelings exactly."

"Over a year—with him?"

The redhead nodded. "Dianne and Susan came four months after me. Cheryl has been here three years."

"No..."

"Cheryl, much as I despise her, may out—you must be careful what you say to Cheryl. Never confide in her. I don't have proof, but—". Arlene patted Judy's arm. "I'm mouthing off."

"You said you'd tell me about Dianne."

"That should be once you've gotten adjusted."

"I want to know. I have to know what I'm up against."

Arlene studied her, then sighed. "You're up against a monster. It's that simple."

"How—a monster?"

"Three other girls were here besides Cheryl when I came."

"Where—he let them go?"

Arlene's savage laugh jolted her.

"Oh yes, let go. Really let go."

"He—?"

"Still want to know, Judy?"

Judy fought panic. "Why would he—I mean he's gone to all this trouble to get us. And the extravagance. He obviously wants us to be comfortable."

"I don't like to remember. I always stop any remembering. But maybe it's best I tell everything. Having no illusions will help keep you alive."

"Oh, God."

"Nancy was first. Poor little girl. Just fourteen, can you imagine? A hitchhiker, like all the teenagers here. Nancy never adjusted. Always crying, wetting the bed, throwing up. Wouldn't eat. Really gaunt at the end."

"Did she—die of malnutrition?"

"No. One day she just wasn't at breakfast. Marr said he'd released her. We all knew what that meant. I mean we knew he couldn't afford to let any of us out, his face is real easy to describe. A police sketch artist could make a wanted picture in no time and that would be the end of him."

Arlene's words were a shot to the gut. She desperately wanted to believe that after the man had his fill of pleasure he would let her go.

"Pam went next," said Arlene. "She was plain to begin with, not much of a figure. I don't see why he took her in the first place. Pam knew he was tiring of her. She really got afraid. She figured the only way to stay in Marr's favor was to have orgasm with him."

Judy's face screwed.

"You'll live forever if you can manage that. Cheryl does. Only reason that dumpy runt is still around."

Arlene grimaced. "Pam tried, but couldn't. Who could with that reptile? So she faked it. But after Cheryl, Marr could tell the real thing. Pam made it worse by insisting she had come." Arlene bored her eyes into Judy's. "Never lie to him. Ever.'

"Yes—he warned me."

"You can about spit on him, but don't pretend anything. Play it completely up front and you'll be surprised how well it goes over.

"Pam kept insisting she had come. So he put her on 'trial'. With Cheryl his star witness. It was the craziest thing I ever saw. He stayed hidden, had some store dummies set up as the judge and prosecutor. Pam was tied to his chair with a spotlight on her. He kept the rest of the room dark.

"He forced us to watch. We were all tied to the folding chairs, except Cheryl. He had Cheryl in a baby's high chair.

"Marr must have had a mike somewhere. His voice came out of the dummies. The 'judge' read the charges, some crap about high crimes of female deceit. Then the prosecutor asked questions. Pam was terrified, kept denying she'd lied. Every time she said no a hose came out of the darkness and hit her face.

"Then Cheryl said Pam told her she'd faked it. Pam had asked for ways to trick him. I can't prove it, but I've always thought that's what really happened. Cheryl swears she never betrayed Pam, that Marr put the words in her mouth. God knows he could have made any of us say the same. But Cheryl would do anything to get on his good side—that's a joke, isn't it, good side? I didn't trust her before, and I sure didn't after."

Arlene wrung her handcuffed hands. "It was horrible. The dummies kept shouting, the hose kept hitting, Pam cried harder and harder. We were all so helpless in the chairs. Finally she confessed. By this time, maybe after an hour, her face was a bloody mess.

"Then the 'judge' sentenced her. To banishment. The next morning she was gone, too."

Tears dampened Judy's cheeks.

"We were all pretty shaken by it. Especially Susan and Dianne, who'd only been here a month. He captured them together. Susan was worse off at first, but she came out of it. Dianne never did. In a way that was a blessing. I wish I'd been the one out of it for what happened next. To Kasey—" Arlene's voice broke.

"Tell me—if you can."

"Judy, don't ever get any crazy ideas. About trying to hurt him. I hate him horribly, but thank God I don't have the moxie to do anything.

"Kasey—she'd always been the toughest, the one who never let us get too down. She was only seventeen, but she could have been our mother. Or our shrink. She even let Cheryl pour it all out to her. She nursed me through two nervous breakdowns. Never had one herself.

"Was she tough. She drove Marr nuts trying to reason with him. Right to his face she'd analyze him—pretty good, too. A bit more up front than he wanted. But she had a great body, and golden hair, so he tolerated her."

Judy swallowed. Marr had dyed her hair golden blond.

"The trial must have convinced Kasey that Marr was completely bonkers, that eventually he would kill us all. If only she'd talked it over with me. I'd have stopped her even if I'd had to break her arms. But she knew the chance she was taking, and didn't want to endanger anyone else.

"This happened six months ago. It was late in the evening, we were waiting for him to come down and pick one of us for sex. He has a lot of sex, often he comes home for some during his lunch hour. But late evening is special for him. He can take his time. Usually he picked Kasey or me for evenings.

"That night he chose Kasey. Then he locked everyone in their room. He takes no chances. Well, except for Cheryl, she sleeps in the kitchen on a cot so she witnessed it. He took Kasey to her room—that's the only door left open, the one of whoever he's taking to bed.

"At dinner Kasey had put pepper in her hand when he wasn't looking. Just as he went to clamp her in, she threw it in his eyes. Then she kneed his nuts. He doubled up and she brought her handcuffs down on his head hard as she could. He fell and it looked like he had passed passed out.

"She ran into the into the living room and grabbed the wood chair. She was going to use it to break his legs. When he came to she was going to get the code out of him, one way or the other." Arlene's lower lip curled. "I'd been glad to help with that.

"But Marr stumbled out first and went right for her. Kasey was a strong girl. She did a hundred push-ups a day, awkward as it was in handcuffs. She swung the chair and she got him good. She split his scalp and broke some ribs. But he wouldn't stay down. Finally he tackled her and punched her senseless."

Arlene's fists balled. "I will always hate Cheryl for not joining in. Her chain would reach to where they were fighting. It might have made all the difference if she had grabbed a leg or something. But she said she was too scared. Her body couldn't move.

"Marr was gone a whole day—I guess at the hospital. Left us in our rooms. At the time we had no idea what happened. You can't hear much through the doors. I got excited, thinking he'd been in a traffic accident. Maybe the police or his relatives would be coming to the house.

"Then he was back. With his head bandaged. The bastard was grinning, too. And he had a gun. He made us handcuff Kasey's legs to the chair. She still had the handcuffs in front on her arms. Then he bolted the chair to the floor. Then—" The face of the woman with the flaming hair contorted. "He took her arms and lifted them over her head. Then he slowly brought them down all the way to the bottom of her back. That must have ripped the insides of her shoulders to pieces. She was screaming the whole time. Then he used another handcuff to link her wrists to the chair."

Judy thought she would vomit.

"Oh, he was just getting started. Marr left for about five minutes and Kasey told us what happened. Even then she kept it together, though she was in terrific pain. She must have known she was going to die.

"When he came back he had a bunch of syringes. He took blood from each of us. He mixed it, then shot some into Kasey."

"Oh, no." Judy had seen a mistake with blood types during a transfusion. They'd barely saved the man's life. Before they brought it under control he had swollen like a balloon, rashes and hives speckling him. If they hadn't acted fast he would have died in agony.

"Nothing happened," said Arlene. "Nothing at all."

"Type AB," Judy whispered.

"So he brought in some tanning lamps." Arlene's eyes were wild now. "He put them close around the chair. He yanked off her teddy and all night he left the lamps on. It was the only light in the place and we could see everything. Within a half hour her skin was getting red. He made us watch; he had the gun and we couldn't do anything.

"She got redder and redder, everywhere. Kasey screamed, I mean screamed worse than with the arms. It only stopped when she fainted. But before long she would start screaming again. After awhile we were yelling along with her.

"By morning she couldn't even cry. Her hair had turned gray. Her skin—she had big blisters all over. Such a wonderful person, to go like that. I think what had happened even grossed out Marr. He put her out of her misery with chloroform, then took her away."

Arlene fell silent.

Judy felt as if she had heard a tale from a distant age. It couldn't have happened last summer. Not then, when she was on a great high, having accepted Bill's proposal and doing very well in graduate school. During that summer of bright promise a young woman hadn't been tortured to death perhaps just a few miles from her.

"At least that was the end of it," said Arlene. "For six months he hasn't laid a finger on us except to rape us."

abby

Judy fell asleep quickly. Arlene's revelations had exhausted her.

She awoke to the smell of meat cooking. A roast, she guessed. A rush of hunger spurred her up, though she stood with difficulty. Her constricted arms robbed her of balance.

With short steps she entered the pink room. At the same moment the door to the outside opened and the man walked in. He closed the door behind him. Judy froze.

His eyes landed on her. He smiled with delight.

"Judith," he called. "How are you this evening?"

Judy couldn't speak. Though he was fully clothed, in a dark blue three piece suit, and holding an attache case, she saw him naked and hairy, poised to violate.

The man marched to his chair at the head of the dinner table. His arm gracefully beckoned her.

"Judith, you sit here. At my right hand."

Judy wanted to run to her room. But he'd just drag her out, maybe strike her. She forced her bare feet forward, and haltingly approached him.

Around her the others also closed on the table. Arlene, her perfect oval face stone hard, sat on the man's left. Susan brought the happy Dianne, and Cheryl advanced with a platter of roast and baked potatoes. A wooden bowl of salad waited on the table. The man wished everyone a pleasant evening as Cheryl placed the platter before him.

Everyone had a place setting of crystal and china, their grandeur marred by plastic utensils. Judy thought what a good weapon a broken water glass would make. Just as quickly she thought of what happened to Kasey.

The man produced a carving set from the briefcase. The first cut of roast he placed on his own plate. He sliced a square and popped it into Cheryl's mouth. Cheryl also sampled the potatoes and salad, then took a sip from his water glass. She stepped back two steps while he forked slivers of roast onto the other plates. She remained standing when he finished.

Marr tore into his meal. The other girls started on theirs, Susan feeding Dianne. Judy poked hers with a fork.

"A little dry," Marr told Cheryl. "Let's get the next one perfect."

"Yes, Mr. Marr."

Cheryl's child voice prostrated itself. Arlene flicked a disgusted eye.

"Judith, please eat. It's not that dry."

"I..." Judy tasted bile. How could she eat sitting next to him—this torturer? How could any of them be eating this close to him?

"You look distressed," he said. "Have they been telling stories about me?"

Judy's chin dropped to her chest. She flinched as he lifted it.

"Noble virgin, you have nothing to fear. You came to me pure. Would you believe it, not one—not a single one—of the others was chaste? Even those just barely out of puberty. Yes, Judith, I shall honor you."

His hand clamped hers. She squirmed, but the hand with the hairy backside clung.

"Do you doubt my sincerity?"

"I—" She shrugged helplessly.

"You'll feel more comfortable in a few days. I look forward to a fruitful relationship."

The hand released, his mud brown eyes swinging to the others. "So quiet tonight my lovelies. At least you are stuffing your pretty faces."

"And you your ugly one," said Arlene.

Judy gasped, but Marr didn't seem to mind.

"Today I was reading Dear Abby," he said. "Some cunt wrote in about her seventeen year old son. Seems he didn't date much, hasn't ever necked. She asked if this were a big problem." He chuckled. "Good old Abigail. No wonder she's got a national column. She advised that a mother should worry about a boy that age who'd never kissed. I never kissed by then. Should they have worried about me?"

His head snapped to Cheryl and she jerked.

"How about it, big tits? Should they have worried?"

"I would have kissed you, Mr. Marr."

"You'd have kissed a python. Should they have worried?"

"Yes. They should have helped you."

The child voice grated Judy's ears.

He put down his fork. "What about it, Susan?"

Susan turned from Dianne and squared her narrow shoulders. She's almost slender as me, thought Judy. Susan had a narrow face, accented by the sweep of blond hair back into the ponytail. High cheekbones gave her most of her looks.

"Some people start heterosexual relationships later than others," she said. "Seventeen is no magical age. In the Orient—"

"Don't give me that shit! You were heterosexing by then, n'est-ce pas?"

"Yes. But it was with one person." Her eyes lowered. "A very special person."

"None of you would be here if I'd had a special person. Hey, Dianne. Would you have been my special person?"

Dianne was still chewing the last bite Susan fed her. She gave Marr a pleasant, oblivious smile.

"Susan, you better get some life into that cunt. Otherwise gonna have to release her."

A chorus of pleas arose. Even Arlene begged.

"She's gotta snap out of it. Way past time she did."

"She's coming along," said Susan. "I've seen a spark the last week."

"Could've fooled me. Christ, with her it's like screwing a bag of flour. Can't go on."

"I promise she will improve," said Susan. Judy saw white knuckles where Susan was gripping the table.

Marr turned to Judy. "She was a Barbizon model. An average face, but a prime time physique."

He turned to Arlene. "Hey, firehair. What about my being virgin lipped at seventeen?"

"You'd made it to seventy."

Judy shook her head softly to caution Arlene, but Marr waved her off.

"We're open here, noble one. Always be open."

"Would you have kissed me, firehair?"

"I'd sooner kissed a toilet."

"But I fuck you every day. Must be like eating shit from the toilet."

"A hundred toilets."

"There were so many girls like you in college. Delicious, but untouchable. If I'd offered a million dollars, they'd have just sneered. Like you did."

Arlene's throat worked.

"Costly sneer, huh?" He brushed an orange ringlet on Arlene's bared shoulder. She jerked away.

He turned to Judy. "September 1978, it was. A beautiful day, Judith. I'd taken some comp time and gone over to Tysons Corner. I was wandering around, looking at the art displays they had in the halls, when I saw her. She registered one hundred on the peter meter right away. She wore a sleeveless hip hugging dress, her curves about ripping the cloth apart. Sadistic bitch, married, flaunting herself like that."

Arlene hadn't mentioned being married. Neither did she wear a wedding ring.

Judy at last noticed her own ring finger was empty. Anger flared, then she decided a missing engagement ring was the least of her worries.

"Of course she wasn't appraising the art," said the man with the shovel jaw and thick lips. "Too stupid for that. She was merely salivating over an outfit in a store window. I looked at her, nothing in mind, honest, just admiring like you would the Alps. She turned and I smiled. Firehair kind of flitted her eyelashes, sneered, and walked away."

Marr smiled dazzlingly. "Like getting kicked in the stomach. I was in a good mood, such a beautiful day, weekend on the morrow. She kicked me so hard. Probably done it a thousand times. That's the ultimate put down, tells your genes to get lost."

Judy tensed as the man toyed with the craving knife.

"Sorry you sneered, firehair?"

"Sorry I didn't gun you down then and there."

"Just a smile, that's all, and I'd walked away."

Arlene said nothing. Her blue eyes were ingots of hate.

"You thought beauty exempted you from common decency," said the man. "That's what has always burned me about number tens. You draw on your looks like a no limit charge card to abuse and manipulate people."

Susan started to speak. Marr put up a palm to quiet her.

"That's the terrible injustice of it. Those looks give her a free ticket to popularity, a handsome mate, a life of parties and people catering. She did nothing to earn that. Only luck of the draw means she lives happily, while the more deserving don't."

Susan cleared her throat and Marr nodded.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but there are disadvantages to being very attractive."

"Enlighten me, Sue."

"Of course, I'm not speaking from personal experience. I have discussed the problem with women of Arlene's stature, though"

"Can't you ever just piss and get off the pot?" With a hand aside his mouth he spoke to Judy. "She wants to be a lawyer. Jury will fall asleep halfway through her opening statement."

Susan pursed her lips, then went on.

"Beautiful women find it very difficult to evaluate the real intentions of men. They often feel sought after as a possession than a person."

"That's like the rich man complaining he pays too much tax."

"Such women are surprisingly insecure."

"Horseshit!" He waved the carving knife.

Judy leaned back in her chair.

"You speak of injustice," Susan continued, "yet you must admit you were born intelligent as Arlene was attractive."

Marr's eyes receded. The room fell ominously quiet. Judy did not take it as a particularly good sign that he put down the carving knife. He rested his chin on steepled fingers and leveled cold eyes at Susan.

"You're saying I've squandered my assets?"

"No. I merely—"

"You reason a lot like Kasey."

Susan blanched.

"So firehair's beauty is a handicap? Let me tell you about intelligence vs beauty, sweet Sue. I'd trade in an instant. Without looks the only thing smarts does is make you more aware what you're missing."

He shook his head at Arlene. "Some handicap. Only handicap she's got is being an airhead. No awareness of irony, of the bathos and pathos of life. All she knows is she looks great. Doesn't bother her a bit men want to get in her pants first, discuss Plato last."

Marr speared a potato from the platter.

"Like I said, she kicked me in the stomach. So I followed her to the parking lot. Then to her office in Vienna. I waited till she finished work, then tailed her to her home in Falls Church. She picked up her husband along the way."

He smiled. "You should see her old man, Judith. Big fucking wop. Belzano. Arlene Belzano. What an anti-name. Wop is about abut dark as a nigger, hair's just as frizzy. Firehair had her pick of men and she mates with this overgrown nigger-wop."

"He's a man." Arlene spat the words.

Marr laughed "Nigger-wop. Should see their home. A ratty duplex. Big wop's not too bright, I guess. Sure he makes a third what I do.

"After I knew where she lived, it didn't take much debate. I was gonna snatch her. For her bod and for her sneer. Firehair was the first grab I planned, not just a target of opportunity." He nodded at Judy. "You're the second, I'm proud to say.

"But firehair made it tough on me. I never could catch her alone. She drove the wop to work, went to her own job, lunched with the girls, left at four—that's always broad daylight, even in December—then picked him up and drove home. Weekends they were always together, a lot behind pulled shades." He winked at Judy. "I had no clear shot.

"I almost gave up. I was losing a lot of time scouting her, plus I worried more and more I'd get caught. Why blow everything when I had an excess of pussy already?"

A brilliant smile. "But that sneer. Had to be an accounting for that sneer. I decided I was going to get her or go down trying. And if I went down, I'd take her with me."

Despite herself, Judy listened with fascination. She was ashamed she couldn't wait to find out what happened next in this real life horror story.

"With chloroform in my hand and a revolver in my pocket, I staked out their backyard at night. There were garbage cans right outside their back door. My plan was to jump her if she brought out the trash. If the wop came out to interfere, I'd shoot him and take off. I'd grab her another time."

Arlene sneered, the same sneer she must have given Marr at the mall. "He'd have taken the gun and shot you up your ass."

"He'd tried. I bench press three hundred pounds. What's your musclebound halfwit ape press?"

"He—"

"Shut up!" He poised to backhand Arlene. She flinched.

His smile returned. "But fortune was with me. My second night she carried out the trash. She didn't see a thing till I had the cloth over her face. She went out quick, too. I draped her over my shoulder and carried her warm, warm body to my car."

Tears glistened on Arlene's cheeks. Judy thought it must be like knives in the gut for Arlene to have to relive her capture.

Marr went on. "I got really nervous then, anyone walking a dog or driving by could have put out the alarm. But fortune stayed with me. I got her unnoticed into my trunk...and the rest is history."

He glanced at his wrist watch. "God almighty! Running late."

The man got up. "Tax season starts tonight, girls. Sorry I can't join you for TV, but I'll be back for dessert." He grinned at Arlene. "Be ready, my delicious apricot tart."

The man paused to fondle Cheryl's breasts. She stood flat footed, eyes widening.

"Like it, Cheryl?"

"Yes, Mr. Marr."

"Love it, don't you?"

"It feels wonderful."

He broke off, grabbed his briefcase. "Evenin', you'all."

At the door he turned his back to shield the keypad. Judy heard it beep six times.

A hum and a loud click followed. He grabbed the doorknob and swung it open. Before the door closed, Judy saw the second door, slightly ajar.

charlton

Through the long night after her rape, Judy had hated him. Nothing would have pleased her more than to chop off his gel caked organ. However, her attitude moderated the next day. With first Arlene relating her horrific tales, then Marr at dinner certifying his depravity, desire to appease replaced desire to maim.

Fortunately he didn't take her again that first week—although his need seemed insatiable. Twice he put in appearances during lunch, and both days of the weekend he copulated three times. Mostly he chose Arlene. Judy felt guilty at her escape, but also profoundly grateful.

When he did spend time with her it was to talk. He confessed only she provided him with mature, stimulating conversation. Arlene was capable of no more than back fence gossip, Susan was bright but anal, and Cheryl would agree the Pope screwed nuns. Dianne used to be sharp, but...

Judy took as gospel Arlene and Susan's admonition not to patronize him. She adopted a tactful but forthright policy. Whatever the subject, she addressed him as an intellectual equal. He responded positively, praising her poise and openness.

They explored their mutual interests, which shockingly existed. At times they achieved genuine rapport before the brutal awareness of her situation intruded.

They both liked impressionistic art, Monet his favorite artist, Renoir hers. She of course did not say that van Gogh or Goya better suited him. They both enjoyed classical music, especially works from the Baroque era. He bought her two record albums of Henry Purcell's works after she especially praised that composer. A coffee table tome of Renoir paintings soon followed.

They rated Bellow, Greene and Updike best among modern authors. Hemingway and Dreiser also made their separate lists of top ten American writers. In non-fiction they preferred good biographies, he the Plantagenet kings, she statesmen of the Old South.

She quickly had in hand books on Calhoun and Davis. Surprisingly they were library books, drawn from the Sherwood Hall branch in Fairfax County. She debated slipping in a note. But of course it had to be a test, so she resisted entering "prisoner of whoever last checked out this book", even one letter to a page.

Incredibly, his political views paralleled her own. Like her, he was a Democrat, a very liberal one. They both thought Jimmy Carter was a disaster and they hoped Ted Kennedy could defeat him for the party's nomination. They agreed only Kennedy could carry on the golden legacy of his two martyred brothers.

He said he'd been a liberal since he started work. He despised businessmen. As an accountant he could see them close up, for the tax cheating, expense account padding, employee exploiting, customer conning parasites they were. Only tough government control could protect others from their pathological fraud and greed.

She was shocked when he professed to sometimes help out at a homeless shelter in the District. He said he had nothing against the downtrodden. In fact, he identified with them. They were brethren.

He smiled at her disbelief, and produced a photo which showed him in a line of co-volunteers as they served disheveled men. He in turn praised her volunteering for her church's programs to aid the elderly. He also lauded how in high school and as an undergraduate she had donated numerous hours to service societies.

Judy wondered if it were all a monstrous con, the mutual sentiments and interests. His detailed research on her would allow such chicanery. Then she remembered that many albums on the shelves were classical and the books were by reputable authors. The girls said they'd been there a long time. And that photo in the shelter was obviously not staged.

He also let her write a short letter to her parents. In it she said she was being well taken care of and for them and Bill not to worry. She hoped to be back home before too long. She loved them all. Marr inspected the letter with gloved hands, then said he would drop it in a mail box far from his home. She told herself he would send the letter; the risk to him would be negligible.

Pushing her luck, she asked if he would let her return to being a brunette. He said she looked so much better as a blonde. So much better. By his tone she decided drop the matter. Being a blondie wouldn't kill her; aggravating him might.

Their daily talks lengthened. As she gained his confidence he slowly revealed bits of his past. In spite of herself she grew sympathetic.

As a child, he said, he'd been short and chunky. She wondered how much it bothered him now that she, Susan and Arlene were all taller than he. Judy at five nine was a half head higher. He had inches only on Cheryl.

In grade school they nicknamed him "Porky". He played recess games like he was stricken with Parkinson's disease, and the kids always chose him last for a team. "We get him?" was the oft repeated lament.

In fifth grade he had to get glasses (he wore contacts now). Big, heavy black ones for all the world to see. He'd cried. His father hadn't liked either the crying or the glasses. Both insulted his sense of manhood. His father wouldn't let him wear glasses in the house except for study.

His father was five years dead of a heart attack, but memory of the stern, chill man still intimidated. Pops had been a winner, even with the short stature and the ugly puss he'd passed on. Senior executive with IBM, a hundred grand a year man before the coronary. Competency oozed from him.

Courageous, too. Been a paratrooper in WWII, won a battlefield commission and a silver star for above and beyond performance in the Hürtgen Forest. Ended the war commanding a company.

Judy asked about his mother. An alcoholic. In and out of dry out tanks. She died a couple years before his father from a hemorrhaging liver. Judy said she was sorry and he shrugged. Never really felt much connection, he said. She never mistreated me but she lived mainly in her booze fog.

Again Judy said she was sorry. Again he shrugged. Then his jaw set.

His father made him take ROTC in college. Great training for a management career he said. First time he'd ever had to lead other men, and boy, was he a mess. Should have heard the titters when he put a platoon or even a squad through close order drill.

It took summer camp, though, to write his pink slip. Captain Pogue, his tac officer, saw right away he couldn't cut the mustard. Sure enough, he collapsed during maneuvers carrying two ammo boxes. Pogue boarded him. And the board washed him out. "Entirely lacks leadership potential" was the verdict.

He didn't go home until Christmas. By then Pops utterly detested him and his mother. A son who wasn't going to succeed, a wife who couldn't give him a second child.

I can't believe you're my son, Pops had said at Christmas. How can my blood be yours? I should tattoo "Bad Seed" on your forehead. A defective sperm produced you.

Judy was mortified. When she stumbled—which admittedly was not often—her parents offered only support. Any criticism was constructive. They did the same for her brothers. Those words from his father must have crushed Marr. No wonder he was damaged goods

He turned the conversation to his relationships with women. Judy had wondered why he hated them so. She wondered even more now so, as it seemed his father—and authority figures—should be the focus of his wrath. His mother barely registered in his memory.

In high school, he complained, he always got A's. He rarely got less than 95 on tests or papers. But that was the last thing the pretty faces admired. The better he did, the more depressed he got. What did high marks mean to those with the shapely calves, narrow waists, and pert bosoms? Especially when the genius looked like an Arab with black frame glasses?

You women think men are obsessed with sex, he said. We are, but it's not something evilly willed. The desire is just there, powerful, unrelenting, particularly for a teenager. Won't let a boy alone. And this boy was so helpless with the girls, the ones who tormented with their loveliness.

His eyes softened, almost teared, as he told her of a time senior year in high school. Thank God his father transferred to another state after graduation. He'd never returned to that town and never ran into any of his classmates afterward. He swore Judy to secrecy.

Ann Taylor. A lovely brunette. She sat a chair ahead of him in history class, was shapely as Arlene. One day she caught him looking at her legs. He turned red. But a couple days later she gave him a note, which said to meet her after school in the drama storeroom. She had a key.

In the storeroom she propositioned him. He almost beat his father to the heart attack. She said to get on the other side of a folding screen; she would hand over her clothes piece by piece if he'd do the same.

He was pulling stuff off, popping buttons in the process, giving them to her. He couldn't think with the excitement about choking him.'

Finally she had his last piece while he held her blouse and skirt. Then he heard her scamper, the door open and shut. She'd had extra clothes in her purse. He was left there naked.

He waited in terror. He considered going out the window, but the window was a story up and students were in the yard outside. After a while he struggled into her blouse and skirt, and sneaked out the door.

Around the corner some jocks were waiting. Guess she'd told them. They wouldn't let him by, they were crying from laughing. Finally he got away, ran four miles barefoot, reached home just before his father. Pops would have killed him if he'd seen him in a skirt.

By the next day everyone at school knew. The last semester he got a lot of presents. Purses and bras, Kotex and stockings. Lipstick and mascara. High school kids have real subtle humor.

Judy was outraged. Her anger at the girl seemed to move Marr. Again he made her promise to tell no one of his greatest humiliation in a lifetime of humiliation.

In her moments alone, Judy tried to imagine existence on the other side of the coin. It was difficult. For as long as she could remember she had been loved, respected and popular.

Her parents adored her, the baby of the family, to the point of idolatry. Sibling rivalry never came into play with her twin brothers as they had been born a dozen years earlier. They too treated her with full affection.

Though she moved a lot as a Navy brat, she never had trouble fitting in. She always found herself well liked. In middle school and high school she was elected to the student council. She excelled academically and senior year she made the National Honor Society.

She'd always been pretty. Boys sought her, not she them. Sex was never a preoccupation. Aside from occasional masturbation, she ignored it. She never had trouble maintaining her virginity—hard as boys and men vied to end it.

Her four years at William and Mary were a repeat of popularity and recognition. At the college six sororities asked her to join. She made the Dean's List time after time. Her parents were never more proud of her than when she was inducted into the Phi Beta Kappa Society. Later her senior year she graduated magna cum laude with a degree in biology.

She put off entering graduate school because she could not decide whether to become a physician or a research scientist. She was also tired of the academic grind. Instead she traveled in Europe and South America for a year.

When she returned to the United States she could still not decide. Or maybe she was having too much fun. For the first time in her life she unsettled her parents by taking a job as a receptionist at a ski lodge in Colorado. Plenty of men there also tried to get in her pants, including one William Steed.

Bill was on Christmas break from his final year in law school at Boston College. He had done so well—he was sure to let Judy know—that a K Street law firm in DC had already offered him an associate position. She was initially put off by his total lack of modesty, but he quickly grew on her. He did have charm. And good looks in excess.

After the ski season ended Judy moved to Northern Virginia and took a job as a medical technician at Alexandria Hospital. This allowed her more time to make a career decision, and also to be close at hand when Bill started work in June. They had remained in constant touch since his trip to Colorado.

Life in Northern Virginia and the District was good. She wasn't making the greatest money and had to live in a second rate apartment complex, but again friends and fun were plentiful. Plus she had fallen in love.

Her life was a complete opposite of Marr's. He had suffered on so many levels. Worst for him, she decided, had been the lack of parental love. That would warp anyone. Throw in his social disasters it was not difficult to see why he harbored such bitterness toward the rest of the world. She truly wished she could have lent him a helping hand in high school.

Judy found sympathy harder to come by after he raped her again. Regardless of his gentler manner this time (he did not use the gag and he thrust slowly), it was just as degrading and disgusting. His screaming "Judith, Judith" in her ear, the woolly chest and belly rubbing her flesh, the sticky wetness from his climax thick on her thighs, his lying on her a long time as he recovered, that wiped out any goodwill he had established. When later he sat to talk, rage hummed beneath willed calm. Fingernails pleaded to leap, to ruin the eyes of the beast who'd ravaged her.

Rage vanished following his statement that they were compatible, obviously so. She knew she walked a tightrope over whitewater rapids. He waxed about her sterling qualities and how they meshed with his. Their sensitivity and intellect, their love of culture, their emphasis on the qualitative over the quantitative. If they'd met under different circumstances, they'd hit it right off.

In a line that would have gained Judy an Oscar, she allowed they could have become friends. That pleased him mightily. He didn't expect romance, he said, friendship would suffice. Judy knew better. Romance indeed Marr expected from the noble virgin he had deflowered.

Afterward Judy pondered long and hard her opportunity. Through some strange chemistry she had enraptured him. Seeming affection on her part might purge him of the accumulated poisons. If—if she could climax with him, that might bring him back into the fold of humanity. The raping and killing could come to an end.

During the first terrible night here, she prayed for deliverance, even though she knew the futility of prayer. She learned that futility during the summer between her college junior and senior years. Then her maternal grandmother—for whom Judy was named—was fighting valiantly against metastasized cancer. It had been horrible watching her waste away. Judy begged and begged God to spare her grandmother. God did nothing.

"God helps those who help themselves". That was an old adage of course, but in the wake of her grandmother's death Judy's pastor used the words to purge the bitterness she felt towards God. He said that two centuries earlier prayer did nothing to help those dying of smallpox. Help came when Edward Jenner successfully inoculated against the disease. Help against cancer will come when a current or future scientist discovers a cure. It is God, the pastor said, that has given man the intellect to find the cure. He expects us to use that intellect.

In this prison the "cure" would arrive by action not prayer. If the action involved repeated orgasm with this monster, so be it. She could steel herself to that end. Though Judy did pray that as she climaxed she called out the monster's name instead of Bill's.

Aside from the rapes life in the prison quickly became boring. Judy found she could read just so much, gab so much, listen to music so much, watch TV so much, play cards and board games so much. The hours began to hang.

Marr "encouraged" them to keep their bodies fit. That she initially resisted, but the boredom drove her into the gym alcove. Two exercise bikes, one of the new Total Gym contraptions, and a rowing machine awaited in the white room. No free weights, though, which could have made excellent weapons against Marr. Judy found herself killing at least an hour a day in the gym.

There was also Susan's daily prayer session. Judy initially resisted that too. But Arlene urged her to join in. Arlene confessed that she and her husband rarely attended church, but here worshiping did provide some comfort. Judy agreed that anything that improved morale was worthwhile.

Susan did know her Bible. She was especially expert on the parables of Christ, one of which she asked them to discuss each week. Judy was impressed that this nineteen year old could explain a parable in the context of life in first century Palestine. It was fascinating. During their discussions Judy could momentarily forget where they were. But only momentarily.

The boredom went on.

ira

The morning was clear and blustery as he strode across Prince Street toward the United Virginia Bank building. He had never liked the building. Ersatz, like almost all the structures along Washington Street. Squat pseudo-colonial, its fresh brick and ivyless walls mocking the supposed link with the l700s. Alexandria should give up trying to be Williamsburg.

Pushing through the double glass doors, he headed for the elevator. Alone inside he punched the sixth floor button and tossed aside his attache case. He leaned, then fell. Flexed arms halted him prone with his nose an inch above the floor.

He reached thirty pushups before the bell pinged. His arms and knees thrust inward, and when the door swished open he stood erect. Only slightly spread nostrils hinted exertion.

On the door directly before him gold stenciled letters declared: WESTON, WATERS AND MALLARD. CERTIFIED PUBLIC ACCOUNTANTS. Certified Pubic Accountants, he always read it.

He stepped into the chamber of muted greens, and saw all fifteen associates' desks occupied except his own. The three partners were also hard at work. Or at least the lights shone in their rosewood paneled offices. At the receptionist's desk auburn haired Linda had paused to see who it was, then returned to her typing with no greeting.

Soon after he had triumphantly snatched Arlene he boldly told Linda that her name meant "pretty" in Spanish. She returned the compliment with a twisted smile. So close he came spitting into her indeed pretty face. That evening he raped Arlene twice.

Another evening, perhaps sooner than later, he would rape Linda. As he raped, he would tell Linda that in Old German her name appropriately meant serpent. Then he would strangle her.

He strolled to his desk. He felt supah, as the slimy limeys would say. Let other faces gloomily reflect the gauntlet of sixty hour work weeks ahead until April l5. Not he. He had a song in his heart.

"Kohne!"

He turned to see Weston glowering. "Have yourself here—in your seat—at 8:30, not 8:42."

"Caught in traffic, sir. There was an accident."

"I don't care if there's an earthquake. Get here on time."

"Yes, sir."

Weston maintained the glower, then popped back into his office.

Marr caught Saunders smirking. He flashed Saunders a winning smile. Saunders shook his head and mouthed "asshole".

Saunders would make partner; Kohne wouldn't. His production averaged half again that of Saunders, quality always top notch. During tax season, in the trenches time, he got stronger while the others wilted. Last year one associate, married, mortgaged, macho, quit cold because of the stress. But Saunders would make partner and he wouldn't.

The tall, lean, always elegantly dressed man looked like a partner. Hell, Saunders looked like Robert Redford. Smoother than Chivas Regal. The right stuff. Won a client's confidence quickly, no matter his merely adequate level of expertise.

Saunders the stud, Kohne the anti-stud. Saunders the man on the way up, Kohne the one held forever horizontal. From the first day Saunders had sensed him not worth cultivating. Or even treating civilly. Saunders' note would also come due.

Kohne settled into his swivel chair. The heads of four other accountants bowed in a line before him, their right hands clicking numbers into the humped calculators. He stretched and gazed out the the tall thin window. Be a great day, he thought, if it weren't so cold. Still, beats the filthy white air of August and its sauna like humidity. February was clean and crisp.

He plunged into a tax return.

While he worked, he whistled silently. He whistled for Judith. Judith Lynn Conway, well crafted as his Waterford crystal. A patrician, of the elite. Raised finely, lived finely.

He brushed away guilt that he had not mailed her letter. There was little danger, but one could not be certain. Anyway, what good could come from mailing it? Since Judy would not be returning home, why give false hope to her parents? Best they continue to believe she was gone for good.

Kohne knew from the first instant he spotted her last August that she was the one, despite her black hair. He need search no further for his mate. Some women—cockteaser Arlene, for example—might eclipse her beauty, but none her quality. Consciously or unconsciously, she never felt it necessary to flaunt like the Arlenes of the world. She wore her superiority naturally as did a queen wear a crown.

His noble virgin. Intimate with only him. Amazing she'd lasted twenty-five years without succumbing. That required character.

Of course, the prim and proper lass wasn't above playing on his infatuation. He didn't blame her. It was in her interest to dovetail opinions to fit his own—just as he did in reverse. Yet a genuine affinity existed. And in spite of what Arlene must have told her, Judith tried to understand his travails in life.

One subject he avoided with her was religion. She was a determined Christian—at least by the frequency she attended church—while he was a determined agnostic. She had reason to believe in a benevolent God, her life registered high on the enjoyable scale. His had not. At least not until he took control of it.

Christianity was a religion for the weak. Which was why women had always embraced it much more enthusiastically than men. Jesus existed for the submissive, the thwarted, the helpless. For the losers of life it did have potent appeal. But Christianity had no place for those who dared to fight back against the shit flung at them.

Throughout his grade school years his drunk of a mother made him attend Sunday school—likely as a sop to her failure as a mother. So meek was he then he eagerly bought into the Jesus spiel. He liked hearing he would be inheriting the earth and that those who were now first would end up last. He was especially heartened to learn that the worst of the first would burn.

By the time he entered high school he began to understand that Christianity was an alcoholic beverage all its own. Get plastered on the gospels, and one could so much easier swallow the raw deal dealt by life. By the time he left college he knew for sure that Christianity was for pussies. Real men should and must take the opposite tack.

"Hey, Ira." His head jerked up to see the Groucho Marx face of George.

When a child, he hated that name. No other boy owned such a first name, one that ended in an "a" like the girls. It made him even more of a target for ridicule. Grade school wits taunted him with "I are a queer", "I are a turd". He had to take it because he was so klutzy and wimpy. He could not have gotten past the first round with any of his classmates.

Later he learned Ira meant "watchful" in Hebrew. Which he was now. Like the tiger, he watched and waited, then struck with overwhelming power.

George held a form 4255. "Need some words of wisdom. I've got $230 in investment credit recapture, but the guy bought new equipment. Can I offset the recapture with this year's credit?"

He liked George, even though he palled around with Saunders. George never put anyone down.

"Nope. You have to pay the recapture even if there's no regular liability. Only when there's a carryover can you offset recapture."

"Thanks. I may be back."

"No problem." No problem at all. Christ, he must save the partners ten man-hours a week subbing as a Prentice Hall manual. But he'd never make partner.

Kohne returned to his reverie. Judith looked her most elegant in an off the shoulder evening dress and a princess hairstyle. He had photos of her that way. He'd buy the dress and silver barrettes and have Cheryl do the hair .

He and Judith would dine alone, with candle light the only illumination. As they talked he would swim in her bottomless blue-green eyes. Afterward he would remove the barrettes. The golden locks would unfurl, tumbling down her slender neck to creamy shoulders. Then he would help her out of the dress.

Man, he had to quit. He'd never finish this return. With two gilt-edged women in his stable now, he could drool the whole day away. He didn't know whether a regular diet of quality cunt banked or stoked the fires.

Arlene definitely kept his libido going full blast. In heaven Judith would be his wife, Arlene the mistress. Firehair could take him back. Back to his fourteenth year when sex began its tyrannical rule. She gave him that old roller coaster plunge he thought had decayed over the years of gloom.

Their first time, her still tanned—tanned all over except for where bikini top and bottom had left her flesh alabaster—she nearly totaled him. After fourteen months her cruel beauty still intimidated. Her hard sapphire eyes, hard as her heart, especially set his knees a-knocking. No other woman had inflamed him like her, even butter-haired Mrs. Lester, the ninth grade teacher whose flawless face and figure introduced him to the agony of unrequited lust.

Darlene Arlene. Her revulsion just intensified his pleasure. Her gnashing and twisting beneath him were like she was writhing in orgasm. Between her ears find a vacuum, but between her thighs find supreme ecstasy.

Around ten o'clock several associates gathered by Saunders' desk. He overheard them discuss the Bullets' woes, the Terrapins' success. They paused to shoot eyes at Linda as her tart fanny swung back and forth on her way to Mallard's office. They rated her an eight point five.

He laughed. Linda wouldn't make his first team. Those clowns would never know a fuck like Arlene, not even Saunders. Though they might rape mentally, only he had broken through fear to take what he wanted.

Then he saw Penny. She ambled from the Xerox room in her usual roll shouldered gait. She rated two point five. He remembered how she enraged him by making eyes when he started here. Those days he had only his hand to look forward to at night, but he'd sworn to never settle for a pig like that.

And he hadn't.

bill

She tried not to think of Bill, it hurt too much. She missed him terribly. And how he must be suffering. She was gone almost a month now. Usually a woman gone that long—one people knew had not run off—eventually turned up dead. Their remains were found in a distant field or forest.

His eyes lit up so when they talked about their coming life together. She was the one he had been waiting for, the woman of his dreams. Just this past Christmas he said that upon first seeing her he had been hit by the "Thunderbolt", the same incurable longing that stuck Michael Corleone when he first saw his Sicilian wife to be.

During their early dating Bill did try to make moves on her. She was fast falling in love with him and nearly gave in. But she remembered the saying her mother so earnestly repeated as Judy prepared to head off to college: "why buy the cow when you can get the milk free?" Her mother added, "If a man really loves you, he will agree to wait until wedding night."

Judy gently but firmly told Bill she would not lose her virginity until after they married. It was a terrific gamble on her part. She did not want to lose this catch of a lifetime. But she didn't intend to be another conquest either. His true intentions toward her would make the decision.

He decided on commitment. Bless him. She had so prayed for that, even though she had already given up on prayer. On reflection she decided it had been her steadfastness instead of prayer that convinced him she was a woman worth waiting for. God indeed helped those who helped themselves.

Judy pressed her lips against Bill's as she sat on his lap. Her handcuffed arms looped about his shoulders, and her bare legs draped over his thighs. Bill, Bill, she coached herself. Bill with warm, knowing lips, not those stiff and obviously novice.

"Oh, Judith." Bill's eyes mooned as he came up for breath. Bill was enthralled and exited. As she would shortly be, when her love's hands stroked her breast and his tongue dove deep into her mouth. She would get wet as wet could be. And the orgasm Bill induced would set her yelling.

Then her love pulled away, and she feared the charade had failed. No, Bill was just reaching to the dresser for the wine.

He sipped from the half drained glass, then put it to her lips.

She eagerly swallowed the dry white Chablis.

"Judith, before we—well, I think you should be aware of something. All week I've wondered whether to tell you. Please consider what I say with an open mind."

"Of course."

Of course, you long jawed, thick lipped, hairy ape. No, no. This is Bill. It must be Bill. For all the tomorrows, for all the women here, all the women out there. For my mother and father, for my brothers, for Bill, who are hoping against hope that they will see me again.

"South of Staunton I own forty acres on the west slope of the Blue Ridge. You wouldn't believe its view of the Valley. The thing is—I'm going to retire there in five years. Yes, retire. I'll only be thirty-five then, but from the first day I started work I've saved. Plus I can sell this house for at least 130 grand, almost all equity."

His arms spread like an orator's. "Have you seen those articles on underground homes? What I want to do is put one in the slope, with a gigantic wall window open to the Valley. Once built they need almost no maintenance. And I can heat it forever on sunshine and wood. I figure I can live in near self-sufficiency. I could grow my staples, have a hen house for eggs and meat, maybe even raise some goats. No one would ever bother me there."

Judy knew what was coming and braced. She wished she were out of reach of those powerful arms that could surely snap a spine like a twig.

"Judith, I'd like you to live there with me."

Despite herself, she shuddered.

His full lips formed a gentle smile. His right hand reached out to toy with her hair, now loosed from the restraining barrettes. Hair an inch longer than when she arrived, and still blond to the roots. Cheryl had redyed the hair before styling it.

"I know the circumstances of our meeting have biased you, but given time—it'd be so perfect. I would set up a biology lab for you. Best equipment, microscopes, and whatever else they use. Subscriptions to all the journals, you could take correspondence courses. If—if you wanted, you could even have children. Before my vasectomy I had some of my sperm frozen in a sperm bank."

Good God, bear his children! She sought an agreeable comment, but he shook his head softly.

"No, no, say nothing. There's plenty of time to think. I want any decision to be of your own free will."

She would have laughed if she'd dared. Or found his words amusing.

Tentatively his lips returned. The mouth of the murderer touched lightly and hers answered back. His hands strayed to the white cloth over her breast. She willed Bill back into the room. Heroic concentration maintained his image, and her nipples hardened.

Bill's hands trembled. She kissed harder and inserted her tongue. He vibrated. She lifted her bound hands over her head, eyes directing him to remove the dress. With difficulty his shaking hands took hold.

Good God, he was incredibly excited. Oh please, let her keep her concentration. Let them both have a powerful climax.

If she could convince Marr that the beginnings of a romantic relationship were indeed developing, he might begin to drop his guard with her. All she needed was for him to eventually not clamp her wrists before he rutted on her.

Two evenings ago he had briefly passed out after climax. If that happened again and her arms were free, she would jam her thumbs into his eyes. Blinded, he would be at their mercy. One way or the other they would get the door code out of him.

As he had lain unconscious on top of her she tried to stretch her fingers to reach the clamp release. Her finger tips fell an inch short. Even if she had been able to reach the flanges she would need to pull down against springs another inch to cause the clamp to open. And she had no idea how much strength was required. Marr did it effortlessly, often with one hand, but he was very strong.

For a moment she had considered the alternative of pulling her legs free and wrapping them around his neck. If she could grip hard enough, a savage twist of her hips might snap that neck. But what if he revived while she attempted it? Then her neck would be the one snapped.

Even if her hips succeeded, what then? The clamp would still hold her. The other women— tethered or locked in their rooms—could not reach her. With Marr dead they would likely die within three or four days from dehydration. That is everyone except Cheryl, with food and water access in the kitchen. She might last until at last someone came looking for the missing Marr.

Marr pulled the dress off Judy. As his eyes darted over her nakedness, she tugged his robe belt. The swollen purple organ popped out. She repressed a grimace. Even with Bill, she wondered, could she ever desire such a nasty looking object?

She put his hands back on her breast, to begin again his fumbled caressing of her nipples. Each stroke tightened the coils in her hips. When the coils were completely wound, she lay back and parted her knees. Eyes closed, she waited for Bill.

Bill clamped her wrists, then bounded to cover her. He slid in his organ. He began his effort and the bed springs creaked. Shortly he was breathing like he had asthma. She wrapped her legs around him and deep in her pelvis the stirrings of orgasm built.

A girl projected on her drawn eyelids. A teenager tied to a chair, baked lobster red. Kasey screamed silently and ceaselessly. Judy went board stiff.

The thing kept moving on her. The hairy, gasping, sweaty, odious thing. The hairy tarantula. Desperately she moved her hips, begging Bill to return. Bill couldn't dislodge the tarantula.

She opened her eyes to see Marr's brown ones locked with hers. He had stopped thrusting his hips. She could feel his penis losing its erectness.

Judy forced a smile. "Please, go on."

"Deceiver."

"No. I'm just out of breath."

"Thou shalt not deceive."

"Charlton—"

He exploded out of her. Instantly he loomed over the bed, neck muscles corded and his skin white. She remembered reading that one should fear most the angry person whose skin blanched. White meant blood had been drawn inward, to fuel the strike.

She spread her legs. "Come back."

"You loathe me."

"No—"

"Clever, calculating Judith,"

"I'm trying, really trying."

His laugh cracked like a whip. "I bet you are."

"Please—let's talk."

"You told them, didn't you?"

"Told what?"

"About Porky and Ann in the storeroom."

"Of course I wouldn't."

"Firehair must have gotten a kick out of that. She'd have done the same to me."

"I've kept it between us."

The neck cords quivered. "No us. All you want is out."

Her head shook feebly.

"All you want is for the creep to die. Oh, what an asshole I've been. But that's nothing new. I just forgot what was kicked into me a long time ago. Feelings don't matter, trust doesn't matter, honor doesn't matter." He shouted the word honor.

"Charlton—"

He wagged a finger. "Only relative strength matters, Judith, relative strength. The gold standard of human relationship. The greatest philosopher that ever lived said it best: 'we strive to grow, spread, seize, become predominant—not from any morality or immorality but because life is simply will to power.'"

Marr bolted from the room.

susan

A voice woke her. She sprang up, and the sudden rise blurred her vision. Then she saw Susan at the foot of the bed. Apprehension doubly pronounced the high cheekbones of the teenager.

Judy stood. "What's the matter?"

"Arlene's hurt."

Susan caught her elbow as Judy scurried toward the door. "I think she's okay. But—"

Judy pulled away and they swept into the pink room. Cheryl was drying dishes in the alcove. Cheryl said good morning.

They marched past the kitchen to Arlene's room. Arlene lay face down on the bed, covered by a long towel and her arms still secured by the clamp. Susan pointed to pieces of green masking tape around each of Arlene's ankles. Tape ran from the ankles to the bed frame. Arlene looked stretched taut.

"I'm afraid to remove the tape. A lot of skin could come off with it."

Tousled orange locks hid Arlene's face and Judy skipped forward to see if she were conscious. Through a lock an open eye bore into the bed sheet. The eye flicked to Judy, then returned to the sheet.

Susan lifted the towel and Judy gasped. Parallel maroon welts marked Arlene's backside from shoulder blades to buttocks to mid calves.

Susan lowered the towel. "Help me with the clamp. I'm not strong enough."

Tugging and grunting, they pulled the clamp spring down far enough to slip out the handcuffs. Arlene groaned as her arms fell free.

Judy knelt next to Arlene's head. Baleful blue eyes glared back. Her jaw locked tight.

"This morning I found a length of rubber hose on the dinner table," said Susan. "I wonder how long he beat her."

"I didn't cry out—not once." Arlene's choked voice startled them both.

"Oh God, it's my fault. I—"

"It drove him crazy," said Arlene. "But I wouldn't yell."

Judy shuddered. Those muscled arms must have wielded the hose with incredible impact. Though if Marr had wanted to really damage, Arlene's back would be bloody hash. It looked like he had never struck the same place twice.

"I wish we had some salve," said Susan.

"Thankfully the skin's not broken. She might run a fever, though."

"We'll have to get her legs free."

"Yes." They could try to peel the masking tape off the bed frame. Or maybe use one of Cheryl's safety razors to saw through the tape.

Arlene would be in real pain the next several days. It would be difficult for her to sit, and she sure couldn't lie on her back.

But the bastard probably would make Arlene lie on her back. Judy was certain Marr would increase raping her knowing the agony it would cause.

"I'll smash his balls!" Arlene remained on her belly as she screamed the words.

Judy thrust her face into Arlene's. "Don't let Cheryl hear."

"I'll break them open like eggs."

"Shut up, Arlene."

"Let Marr's dog hear. Let her tell him what's going to happen to him."

"Remember the lamps," Judy said.

"Don't say that."

"If you want to hate, hate me. I disappointed him and he took it out on you."

"What did you do?" asked Susan. There was reproach in her voice.

"I—it's none of your business."

"If it causes this it is our business. What did you do?"

"I hope you disappointed him bad," said Arlene.

"I tried to win his confidence. I failed."

The ponytailed teenager continued to cast reproving eyes. Her arms folded resolutely across her chest.

Judy kissed Arlene's cheek, then rose.

"I'm going to get three aspirin from Cheryl," Judy told Susan. "That should take enough edge off the pain to let her sleep. Could you get some water? I'm sure she's dehydrated too."

They could give Arlene four doses of aspirin today and tomorrow. Then Judy would cut to half that amount.

Once outside Arlene's room Susan stopped Judy.

"What did you do to upset him so?"

Heat of embarrassment crept into Judy's face. "It's a private matter."

"Did you strike him?"

"Of course not."

"Don't tell me that—God almighty, you tried to have orgasm with him. Are you crazy? You know what happened to Pam."

"I'll talk to him tonight. Don't worry, I'll calm him."

"You had better. Next time it might be you who suffers for your foolishness."

Judy bridled. "He has a crush on me. It's to our benefit I exploit it."

"Don't toy with him. He's smarter than you—than all of us put together."

"I doubt it."

"Doubt it at your own expense. Not ours."

Judy stifled a tart reply. Yes, Marr was cunning even if hideously demented. The worst thing she could do was underestimate him.

She should also not underestimate Susan. The girl had borne the terror of this place better than the others. Fear of the monster man had destroyed Dianne, stripped Cheryl of her dignity, and Arlene despaired behind her hate. Judy bet only Susan still believed she would get out of here.

Dianne wandered out her room and Susan squared her shoulders. Susan stepped toward her smiling friend. A friend since middle school. Those shoulders certainly supported a prodigious burden here, an additional body and soul to keep together. A lot of load for someone only nineteen. It was a load she handled with unflagging compassion.

As did Judy and Arlene Susan had a man out there she loved. A man she yearned for every moment. A man, she must worry, who after all this time might have given up hope and moved on to someone else. The same fear was beginning to gnaw at Judy.

What bitter memory Susan must have of that fateful day nine months ago, when caution betrayed her and Dianne. They passed up two rides with men before the homely old woman motioned them into her back seat. Soon aware that the pieces didn't fit, the pleas to be let out ignored, the seat belts that would not unlock, the helplessness as the "woman" held the noxious cloth to their faces. Then waking up naked, chained on a bed, shortly to suffer rape.

Judy supposed Susan's faith helped her deal with this ordeal. Which was fine, since it kept her mentally strong. But faith did not move mountains. Faith would not transform Marr nor would it unlock the exit door. Only those held captive could do that.

Kasey had tried and failed. Judy, with a different tack, had also failed. Kasey paid with her life, and in place of Judy Arlene paid with a welted back. If Judy failed again Marr would certainly direct his wrath at her instead of a substitute. She would be tortured to injury, or tortured to death.

Judy shuddered.

They fed Arlene the aspirin. Then Judy and Susan each broke a fingernail as they pried the masking tape off the bed frame. They would worry about the tape on Arlene's ankles later.

After the redhead drifted into sleep, Judy wandered toward the keypad by the exit door. She studied the twelve black buttons. They were arranged like the array on a touch tone phone. Ten digits, an asterisk, a pound sign.

As she craned her head she could see the faint outline of fingerprints on the buttons. They—

"You're not supposed to be there."

Judy jerked. Cheryl was several yards away, at the end of her tether.

She had never abused Cheryl, like Arlene did on a daily basis. There was nothing to be gained from it. But now she mightily wanted to curse her.

Judy kept her tone neutral. "I'm just looking."

"You know Mr. Marr doesn't want anyone near it."

"I won't touch."

"Please get away, Judy. I don't want to have to tell him."

You gutless, sniveling bitch, she almost snapped.

"Okay." She stepped back. "I was just curious."

"Best not to be."

Judy nodded and walked away.

punks

It was still daylight when he got out of work. Traffic clogged Washington Street. Through chill air he walked briskly until he reached his car parked four blocks away on a quiet side street.

Stupid fuckers like Saunders parked in the firm's lot. At the end of the day they would exit right onto jammed Washington Street. They were too lazy or blind to take the comfortable way out of Old Town.

Kohne started up the blue Chevy. The four door sedan guzzled gas but it was a safe, sturdy and pedestrian car. His extracurricular activity required a reliable vehicle that did not draw attention.

He had bought the two year old Chevy at half the original price. Stupid fuckers like Saunders got theirs brand new. They picked the flashiest models with all the bells and whistles that pushed the price to highway robbery level. On top of that they paid full freight for insurance and personal property tax.

But Saunders would make partner and he wouldn't. Of course some bad man might chloroform Saunders, take him to deep woods where an already dug grave waited, let him revive, then bury the fair haired boy alive.

Kohne turned onto Royal Street. He had this stretch of Old Town to himself. He began a rhythmic cruise through the four way stop intersections. Very expensive townhouses lined both sides of the street. These three and four story brick residences matched the elegance of the woman he loved.

If things had been different he might live here now with Judith. In the place ahead, maybe, with the wrought iron grilling and walled courtyard.

At the Charles Street intersection a woman and child waited by the curb. The Chevy glided to a stop. He sighed and waved them across. One day he'd signal someone to cross, accelerate, and knock them into low earth orbit.

As the two walked his tongue nearly fell into his lap. Jesus, the mother was a prime piece of ass. The woman's leather overcoat didn't begin to obscure her wealth of curves. As longing gripped his loins, he realized she could have been Mrs. Lester. The same short cut buttercup hair, peach skin, and wickedly shapely calves seared his brain.

He parked quickly. In his side mirror he followed the woman and child as they walked down Royal Street to a townhouse. Fourth one past the intersection, he noted.

Kohne restarted and drove to Washington Street where he joined the creeping ribbon of rush hour traffic. But here he had only one block of it. He tuned to the AM classical station. A Mozart concerto set his hand bounding like a baton.

Ten minutes and he'd be home. He hoped Cheryl hadn't screwed up the cordon bleu. Should have been her he whipped last evening instead of firehair. But you could hit that lard butt for hours, and do a pillow more damage.

He cursed himself. He had no business laying it to Arlene like that. If she suffered a hemorrhage or if he hurt a kidney or something, he sure couldn't drop her off at Mount Vernon Hospital. He must have been nuts to chance ruining his superfuck. She'd be near impossible to replace.

True justice called for Judith to have undergone the hose. He could have confined the beating to her buttocks. Well, the example of what happened to Arlene should drive home to Judith how very much she had insulted him.

Judith would learn to accept him. She'd eventually conclude she had no other choice. She was going to the Valley, regardless. Judith Conway would dwell in his house forever.

He approached the final light before the Parkway. He was a trifle tardy closing up to the car ahead. A green MG darted from the outer lane into the gap, and he had to brake hard, hard enough to squeal the tires. His fist banged the horn. From the passenger side of the MG a hand extended and flipped him the bird.

The light changed. The MG whipped around the lead car and back into the outer lane. He followed the maneuver, his engine screaming as he flashed through four gears. The Chevy's V8 engine gave him plenty of power.

His eyes glued to the low slung vehicle pulling away. He deliberately kept his accelerator from the floor. Any time of day but now, they would have him beat. The MG could squeeze out more MPH. But rush hour traffic would slow them. They'd also need to watch both front and back, while he had everything before him.

As he charged down the undivided four lane Parkway, he spotted the usual knot of cars at the Belle View exit a half mile ahead. The sun was at his back, casting long shadows and probably hindering the prey's rear vision. To his left the silver blue waters of the Potomac spread like a metal sheet. Further up the shoreline trees began, trees where the MG would meet its end.

The MG had to slow at the exit. As it snaked through the double line of cars he closed to within fifty yards. In turn he weaved the Chevy, radial tires deftly maintaining speed. He left the knot twenty yards behind.

A face pressed against the back windshield of the MG. A punk's face, the type he hated most—a teenager with long unwashed hair, wearing a flannel shirt and probably blue jeans. The gas pump jockey wasn't flipping birds now. He gave him a grin.

Beyond Belle View the Parkway began to twist and turn. The MG again pulled away, but another tangle of cars let him close up. He wondered if the punks knew the road well as he. A mile more they'd have their heads in the noose, on the long curve that bent sharply to the right.

He'd wait until then, let centrifugal force do his work. Just a tap on the MG's ass would send them across lanes while he held the curve. Send them maybe into a head on crash, but certainly into the trees. He laughed. The punks would burn, the flaming wreck cleansing their bodies of lice and dirt.

The MG was out of control! It spun wildly, tires smoking, then miraculously drove off in the opposite lanes toward Alexandria. He could smell the burnt rubber. All around horns blared. Then he realized they had pulled a perfect l80.

He stopped at the first available wayside. His limbs were limp, his head a bit light. He sat until twilight fell.

Almost did it, he thought. Almost blew everything. How could he lose all restraint over a childish gesture? Had he progressed no further than that?

So close, you asshole. If the punks hadn't reversed course, by now APBs would be out for a blue Chevy Impala. Someone would have probably gotten the plates, too. Within the hour police would be at his house. And soon discover his hidden harem.

Christ, barbecuing those punks might get him a medal, but he'd get burned alive in turn for those girls.

sam

They sat around the dining table stunned. Susan looked two decades older, Cheryl sniffled, Arlene wrung her fingers, and Judy felt the chill of the grave. They had woken to find Dianne's room empty.

Susan had run from room to room. In search she crawled under every bed, pulled out dresser drawers, overturned mattresses. Half Cheryl's pots and pans were hurled from kitchen cabinets before they cornered Susan. She finally collapsed into their arms with racking sobs.

No more tears left, Susan sat with head in hands.

"This will kill her parents," she said. "If her disappearing hasn't already."

"I hope he's not going back to the old way," said Cheryl.

Arlene snorted. "He never left it."

"You should have known her before here," said Susan. "She had the most cheerful laugh. Silly Dianne, so overextended. She was taking eighteen hours of classes on top of modeling, giving swimming lessons and dating most nights. Such a sweet person, not a mean bone in her."

Cheryl kept sniffling and Arlene slapped her.

"Arlene!"

"She drives me nuts, Judy."

"That's all we need, to fight each other."

"The little whore's no better than him. To come with that puke. I'd die first."

"One day he might put you to the test."

Cheryl's face screwed, but she didn't cry. "I have to, Arlene. I'm not beautiful like you. I'm short and plump and I'd be gone if I didn't."

The child voice did not quaver. "I've been here since fifteen and the only way I'll go home again is to do it with him."

Arlene closed her eyes and nodded.

They sat quietly a moment, then Susan threw out her hands.

"I've tried and I've tried, but I can't understand. How could any human being do what he does? You read about psychoses, but..."

"He's human?" Arlene spat the question.

"He reminds me of David Berkowitz," said Judy.

"Who?"

"You know—the Son of Sam."

"Probably his brother," said Arlene.

"There are similarities. Both had a hostile home environment, outside it they were made to feel worthless. Neither had any success with women. Both ended up psychologically battered beyond repair."

Arlene's back arched. "You're feeling sorry for him?"

"No. I know he's killed and will keep killing. What I mean is, society shares some of the blame, though we don't like to admit it. A few of us were actively cruel to people like them, the rest of us indifferent. They didn't know how to deal with our rebuffs, except by violence."

"That's bullshit. He's just a loser. A yellow loser, too, who can take on only women."

"It's not his fault alone. People have abused him all his life."

"Poor baby."

"I detest him no less than you. But would we be here if someone had seen his plight, wanted to see it? He was miserable and we could have cared less—as long as he didn't kidnap us."

"If he couldn't cope, he should have killed himself."

"That's just the callous attitude I'm talking about."

"Go screw yourself, Judy."

"I can't disagree with Arlene's position," said Susan. "We all have unpleasant things happen."

"He was born so ugly," said Judy. "We can't imagine the handicap."

Susan shook her head. "My grandfather had a nose like Pinocchio. I imagine he was taunted severely when growing up. But he managed to get married and he always treated others decently. I believe people determine their own actions, no one else."

"My father died in Korea," said Arlene. "My mother became a pill junkie. And I've been divorced. But I never pushed my pain into someone else."

"You had greater resources—call it character—to fall back on. He was so helpless."

Arlene laughed ruefully. "Judy, you're playing the same game I did. Trying to make sense out of this place. I thought I was here because I hadn't been religious enough. If God would let me out, I promised I'd be so good. I would even join a convent." Arlene sighed. "No, we're here because he's a sick, gutless piece of crap."

They fell silent. Judy kept from saying that to risk life imprisonment or the electric chair involved a degree of courage. A twisted variety, yes, but courage all the same. That's what made him so dangerous.

Judy's eyes drifted about the room. As her eyes did every day now, they settled on the keypad by the metal door. Excitement tingled in her limbs. The idea had been brewing for a week.

It was possible. If she could wipe the buttons clean each day, the residue of Marr's fingerprints after he next pushed them would reveal the digits used. No matter how often he changed the code, she would soon know the new numbers.

Though not the sequence. Six numbers meant, what, factorial six combinations? One times two times three was six. Six times four was twenty-four, twenty-four times five was one hundred twenty, and one twenty times six was seven twenty. Still a lot of combinations, but a vast improvement over one million!

If she could enter one sequence in five seconds, she could enter twelve sequences per minute. In ten minutes she could do one-twenty. It would take only an hour of finger punching to cover all seven hundred twenty sequences.

By contrast, she would need fifteen hundred hours to enter a million sequences. Even if she entered numbers twenty-four hours a day, it could take up to two months to hit the right one. And that assumed Marr never changed the code.

She would have to be very careful inspecting the buttons. She must operate while Cheryl wasn't looking. After Cheryl's warning Judy had to assume Cheryl would betray her. Fortunately Cheryl had her back to the door while she was preparing meals. She usually took an afternoon nap too.

While Susan wouldn't betray, she definitely might try to intervene. Judy could hear her now: "You're putting all our lives at risk. And you know there's another door right behind. How do you know it's not locked?"

Judy could not falter, despite the guilt she felt over Dianne's death. None of the women had said a thing, even Susan, but they had to feel Judy's failed seduction was partly to blame. Marr had been nonviolent for seven months.

She accepted the blame. She should not have attempted climax with Marr unless she was totally committed to success. No matter the revulsion she should have willed herself to the climax. So much depended on it. If she had succeeded Diane would still be alive.

All the rest of her life—if she did get out of here—Judy would carry that guilt with her. The guilt would weigh till the last breath. She would and should not escape it.

She had to hope beating Arlene and disposing of Dianne had banked the fires of Marr's rage. If not the violence would continue, with Susan would likely the next target. He now raped Susan the least and he addressed her less and less at the dinner table.

This time Judy would not lack for will. She was going get the keypad code. She was going to get them out of here.

mommy

They were watching Magnum, P.I. when the metal door opened. Marr stepped in, carrying what looked like a child. It had to be a big doll, thought Judy.

But no, it was a human being.

"Into your rooms, ladies. And you, big tits, deep into your cubbyhole."

They gawked at him and the platinum haired child. Judy guessed her age four or five.

"Move now. And shut your doors."

They saw bared teeth, and they moved. Judy heard her door locked moments later.

Judy slept fitfully through the night, vision of the little girl tormenting her. What could he want with a child? Sick as Marr was, would he really rape someone that young?

She pondered and decided he was more likely looking to the future. Planning for the day when he holed up permanently in the side of a mountain. Ten years down the line-—assuming any of them survived—they'd all be near or past thirty. A child in stock today guaranteed a virgin fourteen year old then.

Perhaps, just perhaps, the presence of the child could be a godsend for the rest of them. They desperately needed a spark. The gauntlet of relentless boredom and danger was sapping them all. A little girl to mother would provide meaningful activity.

Having a child around might humanize Marr. Miracles—and they needed one—did happen. The women here, raped and terrorized, could only hate Marr. But a child might unreservedly offer him affection. For his part Marr should have no score to settle with one so young and asexual.

Judy would do everything possible to encourage a bond. Someone who loved, especially for the first time, would have to start viewing people as other than prey. That probably wouldn't lead to any immediate release, but she'd settle for an end to the killing.

She was wide awake when she heard the door lock click open. Once into the living room she stopped in her tracks. Marr sat beaming at the dining table. To his left sat the child—and a blond woman clad in only bra and panties. The woman had to be the mother. The mother looked on the edge of hysteria, the child merely bewildered.

"Judith, my sweet. Come meet Kathrine and her progeny Lisa."

Beside Judy Arlene appeared, wide eyed as Cheryl at her best.

Judy glanced at Susan's room. Her door was still closed. Judy knew Susan wouldn't be out before lunch. Despite their begging Susan kept ever more to herself.

Marr pointed to the mother. "Firehair, say hi to butterhair." He called to Cheryl in the kitchen. "Omelets all around, big tits."

"Yes."

"Yes, Mr. Marr."

Cheryl hesitated, then said it.

Judy and Arlene settled warily at the table. The woman with the short but well styled flaxen hair had her handcuffed arms held over her bosom. The child, unbound and in street clothes, regarded them all curiously. Marr wore his black bathrobe.

"Mommy's some piece of ass, isn't she, Lisa?"

The blonde hunched to further cover herself.

"For God's sake, Marr."

"Shut yo' mouth, firehair."

Cheryl handed out plates of cheese and sausage omelet. "I cut yours up for you," she told Lisa. No one made a move to eat.

"Yes, mommy's pretty tough stuff. Aren't you, mommy?"

"Let her go, please," said the woman. "She'll die if you don't." Terror laced the soft, cultured voice.

"Isn't mommy pretty?" Marr asked the child.

"Keep me," said the mother. "But let her go, I beg you. I have only a week of insulin left."

"Don't hurt mommy," said the girl.

"I won't do anything to mommy that daddy wouldn't. I promise."

"Check my purse if you don't believe me. It has an insulin bottle and a syringe."

"Thou shalt not deceive." He glanced at Judy.

The blonde started to cry. Her daughter clung to her.

"You can release the child," said Judy. "Someone that young can't identify you."

Marr kept his eyes on the woman.

"I burned for you all night, butterhair. You should have woken up." He turned to the others with an apologetic smile. "I must have used too much chloroform. Hard to get it just right."

"Please let her go," said the mother between sobs.

"Don't you know any other litany? Do you think I'm Pharaoh?"

"Marr." Arlene addressed him with only a trace of venom. "I'll go down on you. Whatever you want...if you leave both of them alone."

Marr chuckled. "What noble creatures. Aren't you touched, mommy, by their willingness to sacrifice? But perhaps they want to keep my volcanic cock to themselves. Ask big tits how she loves my lava flow."

He cued Cheryl with a nod, but she didn't answer.

"Speak, big tits, or I'll have you flayed."

"Mr. Marr, she's not more than five. You can't do that to her mother with her here."

Judy touched his arm. "Charlton, take me this morning. I want to try again."

Marr grinned. "Noble cunts."

He stood. "Come, mommy. Let's make daddy limper than wet spaghetti."

The blonde's eyes pleaded.

"If you prefer, butterhair, I'll play daddy with Lisa."

The woman shot up. The child continued to clung.

"Judith, look after the minicunt while I help mommy to her room."

Judy came over and pried the child loose. The girl started squalling.

"Go with the nice lady," the mother said. "I'll be right back." A terrible smile formed beneath tear tracked cheeks.

"You two stay in the living room with the minicunt," Marr said to Judy and Arlene. "Either of you set foot in the bedroom while mommy and I go at it, I break fair Kate's neck. Then I come after you."

He hooked a finger around the handcuffs and guided the tall blonde toward Dianne's bedroom. The doorway remained open after their entry. He had pushed the door flush with the inside wall.

They heard him say he'd be right back. "I want you naked and lying face up on the bed when I return."

Marr reappeared. He was naked himself, with a full erection. He smiled at the women. Judy held her hand over the child's eyes.

"I'm taking my chair to hook under the doorknob. So don't try anything."

How could he take the chair? It was bolted.

Judy watched the muscles of his backside ripple as he bent, twisted, then yanked the chair free. With one arm he carried the heavy chair like it was balsam. He disappeared into the bedroom.

She wondered why he did not lock her and Arlene in their rooms while he committed the rape. Why expose himself to attack?

The answer was obvious. The sick getting sicker bastard wanted them to hear—and watch, if they wanted—while he violated the newcomer. To strut his mastery over them. To rub it in their faces.

Arlene looked at Judy. Judy knew they shared the same thought. What if they could shut and lock the door? If they trapped him inside she could go to work on the keypad. The latest code was composed of the numbers 0, 2, 5, 6, 7, and 8. Judy had let Arlene in on how she was trying to capture the code and Arlene heartily approved.

Judy was tempted, but she shook her head. "He'll have an eye out for us," she said in a whisper.

Arlene whispered back. "Wait till he's dropping his load. He won't be looking then."

It was not the moment for distaste, but Arlene's terminology repelled Judy. As it often did. Again Judy was reminded that Arlene stood just a cut or two above white trash even if she had become a good friend.

Judy chided herself. A person's worth was not in how they spoke, but in how they behaved. Arlene was a brave, spirited person that had kept her dignity in extremely trying circumstances. Judy was lucky to have her as a trusted companion.

"We'll never get a better chance to stop him," said Arlene. Her eyes begged.

Again Judy was tempted. But the chair was heavy. Even if he was in the middle of climax they could not wrench it free before he'd be on them. And "dropping his load" would only marginally reduce his terrible strength.

"We'll fail, and he'll torture us. Probably not to death, but we could end up crippled for good."

Hope drained from the face of Arlene. She started weeping, then fled to her room. Judy called after her to no avail.

Beside Judy the little girl continued to whimper. Judy took the child toward the TV while she spoke soothing words. As she did she heard a choked "she needs insulin" and a cheerful "I'll get her some if you'll climax".

Judy led Lisa to the sofas and turned on the TV. She desperately sought a child's program. But the child was much more interested in looking back at where her mother had gone. Thankfully from this angle only blue wall was to be seen through the doorway.

Shortly Judy heard the rhythmic creaking of a bed. And muted sobs. Judy turned up the volume on the Today show.

bible

It was strange. Luscious Linda had never brought him coffee before. She did the partners—and Saunders, whose sperm she'd lick off the floor—but never him. Now she stood smiling demurely, bosom pert beneath a tight maroon sweater, holding out the mug of coffee.

T-thanks, Linda, he babbled.

She stumbled. Coffee splattered on his shirt and pants. Amazingly the steaming black liquid didn't hurt. It only wet, wet like long ago in first grade when the teacher wouldn't let him out and he made a yellow puddle on the floor.'

A badly disguised smirk registered on Linda's lips. Sorry, Ira, she said. My heel caught. Those at desks around him also smirked.

Hey cunt, he said as he rose. Now everyone looked, and the office went dead silent. Hey cunt, you wet my pants.

Linda stared incredulously at the nerd who always answered a gibe with a fool's smile.

Saunders sprang from his chair with fists balled. What you say, Kohne?

I said cunt. Place where you put your prick—if you had a prick.

Saunders advanced, eager to thrash the ugly one who had too long defiled the offices of Weston, Waters, Mallard and (Saunders).

The edge of his palm felled Saunders. A kick scattered Saunders' teeth like dice. Blood flowed from the flapping mouth onto the moss green carpet.

He bounded to catch retreating Linda by her auburn hair. A yank and her upper vertebrae snapped cleanly. Arms and legs awry, Linda floated toward the carpet.

Weston was out of his office, indignant. Work had been disturbed.

Then Weston saw the Eyes of Kohne, and knew his fate. Weston bolted for the exit. Kohne glided to cut him off.

Weston said he'd be fired.

You mean I won't make partner now? His hearty laugh filled the room.

Weston grabbed a paper weight. Weston swung, always missing. Kohne judo flipped the silver haired man that had given him so little respect, then kicked Weston leisurely, like Mark Mosley practicing field goals. Bones and cartridge cracked melodiously.

The morning coffee break over, he sprinted for the window. At full speed he hurtled. He was free at last, in the air six stories over Alexandria.

Kohne jerked awake. In the blackness he fought for orientation, then he saw the familiar striped pattern of blinds that the street lamp threw on the bedroom wall. As he sat unmoving, his pulse thumped hard in his ears. Sweat filmed him.

He flung off the sheets and rolled from the air mattress onto the floor. He switched on the lamp. His clock read three a.m.

Cursing, he hopped up. His feet were cold on the wood floor as he paced. He had plenty of space to roam, the room bare save for the mattress, lamp and two open suitcases serving as dressers.

No shit, he thought, he could very well end like that. A trivial incident had triggered the MG affair. Why not go over the red line at the office, where he had suffered so much real injury? Son of Sam had been planning a similar exit.

He went into the living room. He flicked on the overhead and took a magazine from the pile on the floor next to the telephone. In the old days reading always helped him get back to sleep. Drawing up his knees with back on the wall, he dug into the Smithsonian article about the battle of Agincourt.

His concentration faltered. All day he hadn't been able to think, and now Kate and her child intruded again.

It wasn't fair. Kate was wiping him out even worse than Arlene. Oh, the unbearable agony of the pleasure. Little Lisa gave him such leverage. Just a hint of threat to the daughter, and mommy cooperated quicker than Cheryl.

Mommy had become a fine actress. In the scenario he must have jerked off over five hundred times, she recited Mrs. Lester's lines perfectly. Having him report after school, accusing him of admiring her legs, demanding he undress, then initiating him.

As he thrust in her he was really was screwing Mrs. Lester, really returned to 1965 when he was fourteen. Best of all he had gotten butterhair to climax; she was achieving multiple orgasms now, to insure he obtained the insulin.

It wasn't fair.

Mommy was nuts if she believed he'd get some insulin. It'd be the same thing as turning himself in. The cops would have definitely tipped doctors and pharmacies in a two hundred mile radius.

Speaking of the fuzz, spooky how not one word had appeared about mommy and her daughter in the papers or TV. Surely after Arlene and Judith the gumshoes must see the pattern of attractive adult females going missing. (Vanishing teenagers could always be dismissed as runaways.)

But not a peep. Could be the police didn't want to encourage the bad guy with publicity. They said Son of Sam had press clippings all over his apartment.

On the other hand the cops might be playing possum. Maybe they had stakeouts all over the area hoping he would attempt another abduction. They could have even placed decoys. The next Kate or Arlene to catch his eye might be one.

Kohne bet they'd called in FBI shrinks to work up a psychological profile. He wondered how closely he'd fit the bill. He was a single man in his early thirties with no girl friends, ever. In his favor he did not have an arrest record.

He ought to cool it. Phase out the whole operation. Most criminals who got caught did so not knowing when to quit. But some cunt lured him everyday with lustrous mane and hourglass curves. Could he take knowing they'd be out of his reach forever?

The terrible debate of four years ago popped into his head. By March of 1976 he had the basement converted, the disguises prepared, the chloroform ready. Maybe it was conscience, more likely lack of nerve, that led him to paw through a Bible. Everywhere the Man promised fire for sin.

Then he had reached for his other bible, a summary of the works of Friedrich Nietzsche. He was first exposed to Nietzsche in a college survey course. He remembered how the class professor derided the "God is dead" philosopher as a misanthrope who had inspired the Nazis.

As he had reread Nietzsche, his spine stiffened. The Will to Power sounded its trumpet. Take what you can and not let the "slave morality" of Christianity hold you back. Rise above the "herd". Let envy spur rather than deter you. Overcome self imposed limitations. Arrive at the state of the liberated "superman", who charts his own unchained course.

The next evening, refortified, he attempted his first kidnapping. He botched it. He was a damn fool to forgo the planning and precautions he employed afterward. He selected the teenager on the fly as she walked alone in a suburban neighborhood.

His disguise—a crippled man—didn't fool the teenager at all. The young blonde took off running. He should have fled the other way. But he was too excited at the prospect of getting inside his first female.

Fortunately for him she tripped on a rake left on the sidewalk. She went flying and landed with the breath knocked out of her. But there was still plenty of resistance left in the bitch. Her hands flailed as he straddled her. His hands did not flail but stuck full force as the butt of his palm battered her unconscious.

What to do now, his mind screamed. They were a good fifty yards from where he had parked his car. And he saw a man walking a dog a block and a half up. It was only by the grace of God that the shadows amid the street lamps had kept the man from seeing anything. But another few minutes the man would be upon them. With his big dog.

But he would not be denied his first fuck. He'd waited ever since puberty for it. So he dragged the bloody faced girl by the legs across the lawn to the side of the closest house. He could hear a TV on inside.

She girl remained out cold. No wonder, he'd really pounded her. How he had enjoyed that. It was good as an orgasm. Maybe better.

After the man and the dog passed, he stripped the girl, rubbed and licked her all over, then thrust into her very tight vagina. He came in a couple of strokes. It was a so-so orgasm.

He got up and looked at the naked girl. Even in the darkness he could see she was shapely. Her face, though, was a mess. He wondered how badly he had injured her. Even if he dared getting her to the car, he doubted he would want someone so marred.

For a long moment he debated kicking the inert girl to death. Kick and kick until he was out of breath. He had a lifetime of frustration with these tormenting creatures to get out of him. The dead didn't talk either.

But he had left the girl. Now, four years later he wondered what became of her. He bet reconstructive surgery had only a quarter or half repaired his damage. That was one cunt that would never tease cocks again.

Kohne sighed. Reminiscing did nothing to help with his current dilemma. Time was running out on little Lisa. Only three or four days of insulin remained. After that death was inevitable, probably within another three or four days. From what he read the girl would go through hell on the way out.

He would not get insulin, period. That was written in stone, no matter what he had promised butterhair. He would not put his head in the noose.

It was axiomatic that butterhair would hate him with insane ferocity when her daughter died. Unlike the other women here, the hate would overwhelm her instinct for self preservation. She would try to kill him, consequences be damned. He could also kiss goodbye her playing Mrs. Lester.

She would have to go.

But he was not quitting. There would be other butterhairs. Ones that by hook or by crook he could force to be Mrs. Lester. He would also replace Dianne. And Kasey. He would put an occupant in all six bedrooms.

He would ride the tiger to the end. However he finished, he had via will to power tasted of the forbidden fruit. Whatever they did to him, they couldn't cancel out what he'd done to them.

kicks

Judy strained futilely against the masking tape which bound her arms and legs to the chair. Beside her, in a neat row, Arlene, Cheryl, and Susan likewise struggled. They all wore gags with the rubber bits.

Close before them Lisa lay on her side in a large plastic tub. She fit in easily because Marr had used more masking tape to truss her. The terrified child was absolutely immobile save her head, which she could move upward only a few inches.

On an end table beside the tub Marr had stationed a ten gallon water jug. The jug had a faucet located at its bottom, and the faucet was aligned to empty into the gray tub. At the moment the faucet was closed.

Two yards to the side of the tub Kathrine stood stark naked on a stool. Her arms were handcuffed behind her back. A loop of nearly taut piano wire ran from a ceiling hook to her neck. The wild eyed woman begged for mercy. Mercy for her child.

Marr playfully slapped her buttocks with a hand that wore a yellow rubber glove, then he forced her feet apart. From a box of cotton balls he grabbed a great wad of white. The gloved hand pushed the cotton into her rectum. Two additional wads followed.

He tied one end of nylon cord to a stool leg. Marr secured the other end to the facet handle. Judy jerked violently as the mechanics of his scheme became clear. A pulled stomach muscle abruptly halted her effort.

Marr tossed aside the glove and faced them in a lecturer's stance.

"For today's lesson in anthropology," he said, "we will study the depth of the female's devotion to her offspring. To what extent is she committed to their welfare? Philosophers can speculate, poets can rhapsodize, commoners just 'know', but we of the scientific community must rely on experiment to determine the truth."

He turned the faucet handle, which pulled the nylon cord taut. A few drops trickled. Then he unscrewed the cap on top of the jug, and water flowed. It splattered on Lisa. The child shrieked as she watched the flow.

Judy wrenched again, but the pulled stomach muscle restrained her more firmly than the tape. About her the other chairs vibrated with their occupants' attempts to get free. Arlene shook violently enough to totter. Marr crossed swiftly to right her by her hair, then slapped her.

Water slowly rose and the child wiggled helplessly. On the stool Kathrine did a tap dance. She rasped pleas for her daughter's life, the piano wire cutting into her windpipe as she gyrated.

Beside Judy Cheryl passed out. Marr pulled up his wooden chair, and sat with legs politely crossed. Judy remembered reading how Hitler enjoyed watching films of people he'd ordered hanged.

The water reached Lisa's mouth. The child lifted her head sideways to escape. The lethal liquid soon reached her mouth and nose again.

Water broached her lips. The little girl clamped shut her mouth and valiantly tried to keep her nose above the water line. Judy now ignored the excruciating pain in her abdomen as she put full effort into breaking her bonds.

The stool hit the floor like an explosion. Instantly the nylon string jerked to close the faucet. Only feet from Judy a woman now dangled in mid-air. The wire noose had vanished into folds of her neck.

The woman's face grew purple. Her eyes bugged. Her tongue darted in and out of her silent mouth. Her legs kicked wildly and she swung like a pendulum.

The woman kicked long minutes. Several times she spun around and Judy saw the cotton had turned brown. After a year of minutes she went still.

Marr stood up. "Noble cunt," he told the hanging corpse. He turned to the water jug. He flicked the faucet back on and exited the room.

scum

Judy tried hard to stay away. For awhile she recalled only a form that appeared to feed her or carry her to a toilet. Obviously the form was her doctor, tending to her illness.

She made every effort to retain the shielding fog. Reality, rising like the sun, burned it off. In the end she knew the truth of Arlene's statement about the aftermath of Kasey's death: either you come out of it or you don't. There's no choice in the matter.

One morning she was back for good in the blue and pink rooms. She had escaped nothing. The chamber of horrors remained intact. Even the ceiling hook from which Kate had dangled was still in place. With nonchalance that surprised her, Judy debated the merits of suicide.

No doubt the others weighed the same option. Arlene, the last person she would expect to slash wrists, now rated the most likely candidate. Their first encounter after Judy recovered shocked her. A gaunt woman had lifted her head from unwashed sheets and hissed to be left alone.

At least aside from a few bedsores Arlene's body bore no marks. Susan hadn't been so lucky. Beatings with the hose had puffed her face a sausage red. Most of the day she curled up on a couch, trying to read, but her eyes drifted in quiet terror. Twice Susan's hands trembled so badly Judy had to feed her.

Cigarette burns spelled "PUTA" on one of Cheryl's thighs, but to her he was still Mr. Marr. Cheryl alone of the three talked, constantly, and Judy eagerly submitted to learning every detail of her life—up to and including the day she hitchhiked one time too many.

Cheryl of course did not have much of a life to relate. She was just a month past her fifteenth birthday when Marr kidnapped her.

She was the third of four sisters. Her father was a journeyman plumber, her mother worked in a beauty salon. Cheryl was an indifferent student who had no life plan beyond a vague hope she would one day become a fashion designer.

Cheryl already had sex at thirteen. It was with a high school dropout that rode her around on his motorcycle and said he loved her so much. She also loved him, this person that paid her more attention than anyone else. She was considering dropping out of school too.

After listening, Judy could no longer dislike the girl. She felt pity. Pity at what Cheryl's life was developing into before the kidnapping, and pity for her ending up here in what could well turn out the literal dead end.

Judy did summon some admiration for the girl. Cheryl had completely kept her sanity the past three years, even though she had witnessed atrocities and lived under the constant threat of atrocity happening to her. So far she had survived Marr intact. Which was no mean accomplishment.

But Judy still didn't trust Cheryl. Judy would confide nothing in her, count on nothing from her. Judy did not enlist Cheryl in the escape plan.

After Dianne disappeared Judy had greatly intensified her daily exercise. That stopped when Kate and Lisa were killed. After she recovered she returned to the grueling regimen of dozens of leg lifts, deep knee bends, situps and pushups. She also cycled and rowed. Most importantly she bounced on the balls of her feet until her feet and ankles begged for mercy.

In the late evenings, behind her locked door and with the lamp off to preclude chance spying by the tarantula, Judy practiced the maneuver that would determine her fate. She began by lying face up on the bed with arms stretched to the clamp. Keeping the arms rigid, she brought knees to her face. Then she unfolded her legs to grip the clamp release flanges with her toes. She quickly learned that steady pressure rather than tugs compressed the release best.

But she needed greater strength. Her toe and stomach muscles always gave out before the lever compressed enough to open the clamp.

She began performing her exercises twice a day.

As Judy grew stronger Arlene grew more emaciated. Her once stunning beauty was melting away, and with it obviously her survival prospects. Judy screamed at her to eat. She wouldn't. All Arlene wanted was Compose.

When Judy told her she'd flushed away the pills, Arlene cried. But even the sobs were halfhearted. The woman that had become the best friend of her life was giving up.

Judy brought a tray with soup and sandwiches to Arlene's room. Arlene, lying face up on the bed, shook her head and returned to watching the ceiling mirrors.

Arlene was a sorry sight. The bloom had faded on the cream complexion, the once sparkling hair was a tangled dull thicket. She smelled from not bathing.

Judy bent with the soup.

"This goes in you—by the mouth or intravenously."

"Let me be, Judy."

"He won't let you die of malnutrition. It'll be a lot grimmer, for his entertainment."

"I don't care."

"You're going to eat!"

"It's over. You know it is."

"Not yet."

Arlene managed a smile. "Thank you for trying."

"We're not dead until we're dead."

"You know it won't matter if you get the code. There's that second door. It won't be open if he's not in here, and you can't subdue him if he is in here."

Judy would subdue him. She wasn't going to tell Arlene how. Arlene might let something slip in anticipation. Judy must catch Marr completely off guard.

"I'm sorry you had to be here," said Arlene. "You're the type that would have reached the top."

A shudder caused Judy to spill some soup. She put down the tray and faced Arlene nose to nose. She had to breathe spirit back into this woman.

"He'll make a mistake. One day he'll fuckup. Because that's what he really is—a fuckup."

"Please..."

"A hundred things can happen. A traffic accident, a fall down stairs, somebody seeing him kidnap. A meter man getting nosy."

"Don't torment me, Judy."

"You're going to get out of here. I promise it."

She was almost prepared. Preparation was one thing, of course, doing another. Fear could paralyze. Just practicing the takedown had brought her close to throwing up.

Judy prayed she could summon the great courage that would be needed. She knew that if she did not try, he would kill them all. Gruesomely, too.

"There's no way," said Arlene

"You're going to see Joe again. I'll see Bill. And when we do, we're going to live normal lives. We'll have children, even enjoy sex. We are. The excrement won't rob us of a thing."

Arlene moaned.

"You have to hate him. Like you used to."

"I can't anymore."

"You're a million times the person he is. Don't hand him your life "

"I'm so tired."

"I know. But you have to go on."

"There's nothing left in me. I just want to sleep forever."

"Dammit, you will!"

"Good."

Judy shook her. "Hate! Hate! Hate for brave Kasey. Don't let her have died for nothing."

"Stop it!"

"Remember Kasey's night of agony. Is the scum who roasted her to death not going to answer for it?"

Arlene's jaw stiffened.

"Hate for Dianne who he killed twice. Hate for poor Kathrine and little Lisa. Hate for the others, too. Someone who knew them has to live to talk to their parents."

Hardness had crept into Arlene's blue eyes.

"And hate for me. I need you here. I'll go under for good if he kills you."

Judy rested her head next to Arlene's.

"Hate the scum. We'll see him dead."

columbus

The feces in the seats before him would not shut up. He gripped the armrest hard.

On the movie screen Jan-Michael Vincent was trying to sweet talk Marsha. He wanted to hear what Jan-Michael was saying to the piece of ass in the low cut dress. He hoped they screwed before the movie ended so he could see more of her body.

Shut up, shut up, you little bastards, he ached to scream. It'd be so good to shout. But then heads would whirl, an usher appear.

The usher would in turn tell him to shut up and he'd mash the usher's face and the police would arrive and see he fit the profile.

Couldn't he enjoy anything? He paid four bucks for this bomb, and he couldn't sit in peace. The little bastards.

Another flurry of squeals erupted, which fell away to murmuring. He bit till his crown squeaked, then sighed. They won. They always won. He left the theater and pushed out into the early night air.

The balm surprised him. March 16th, and he could walk around without a coat. Spring and summer were knocking, though a brief cold spell was forecast for later in the week.

Some music drifted from the shopping center parking lot. He spotted a boy and girl laughing in a car several rows back. Yes, it was beginning again. When the warmer night air returned for good, they'd all be out, the happy twosomes.

He hated the summer. Summer was the beach and bathing suits, the smell of milkshakes and pizza and french fries, cruising cars and pulsing rock. Summer was bicycle trips, hikes and picnics. He'd never picnic with his girls.

The night fell on him like a weight. This coming summer, like all the others, there would be no Goodbye Columbus. No pool pickup of a beautiful brunette, no sunset tennis rendezvous, no night parties with skinny dipping, no triumphant coupling in her parent's attic. So what if September brought disillusionment? The glory of the long, sweet summer affair would have warmed him forever.

No, no tall, saucy, spoiled, spirited Ali MacGraw for him. Only four women who probably hated him more now than he did Ann Taylor. They'd kill him quick if they could, even Cheryl.

Though he was intimate with each, it meant nothing. Every morning he woke up as alone as before.

The Will to Power had never really worked. It was all counterfeit. When he terminated he'd leave nothing behind on this planet. No wife, no children, no legacy. His life would sum to zero. At his funeral there would be no one, just as there was no one now.

It'd been so much better if he'd been born female. That would have given him a chance. Athletic ability didn't matter for them, shyness was an asset. His father wouldn't have given a shit if his daughter couldn't bark orders, was weak, or wore glasses.

Girls never had to prove their girlhood. Sex didn't torment them, either. Even an ugly girl could get all she wanted if she kept her figure in shape.

But he was male. And utterly alone.

He could see only one way out. That is, other than suicide by cop after shooting up a singles bar.

They said America was the land of the second chance. That forty acres in the Shenandoah would be his second chance. He would not wait five years, either. Two more years would do it if he was willing to accept a greater degree of austerity living in the Valley.

He would use use his stored sperm to impregnate each of the remaining women. He would begin fertilizing this spring. Four babies should arrive next winter. He would let the women nurture their infants for a year. Then he would have a big decision to make.

Which of the women would he take to the homestead? Cheryl was the most compliant. Susan was becoming another Dianne and would be useless. Arlene had that mean beauty and the delicious body that still half killed him. Judith was still Judith, cream of the crop.

Cheryl would come with him. He would need her to mother the kids. He would also need her as an occasional lay if the others didn't go. To make sure she didn't run off he could do like that Indian did in The Stalking Moon when he cut the woman's Achilles tendons.

Susan would not come.

Arlene would not come. She hated him too much. He could sever her tendons and blind her her, but she would still be a danger. At the least she would be sure to poison the minds of the growing children against him. Of course, if he also cut out her tongue...

Judith was the big question mark. She was supremely dangerous. She was smart as he was, as disciplined, and she knew she still had a hold on him. She too would be watchful. Years watchful if necessary, until the moment he dropped his guard. Could he live always fearing that?

She was the only woman he had ever valued for more than her looks. How he wished her kiss could turn the frog into the prince. How he wished they could live happily ever after on that hillside overlooking the glorious Valley. He and she, raising their brood with Cheryl their faithful servant, far from the cruel world below.

Alas, that was not going to happen. He could trust her less than Arlene. He would get her with child, have her birth the child. Then he would kill her.

Gently, of course.

judy

On the last day of winter they were having lunch when Marr rushed in. "To your rooms, ladies," he bellowed. Judy, Arlene and Susan scurried to their bedrooms and Cheryl went into the kitchen.

Judy heard him turn the lock on two rooms and knew he was coming for her. She fought down the acrid bile that surged to her throat.

He entered her bedroom with his tie and vest already off. His fingers worked on the buttons of his blue dress shirt. As she made to lift her teddy she found it hard to manipulate her fingers. She was sure she was going to lose courage again.

"I'll do that," he said. He was looking at her grimly. Did he suspect?

"Yes, Charlton."

He took off his trousers and hung them neatly over the end of the bed frame. His underwear he tossed on her small bureau. He proudly stood in all his muscle and hairiness.

He did not coat his erection with gel; he rarely bothered with that any more. Judy—and the other women—had taken to spitting onto fingers and using the saliva for lubrication. He had sneered as they did that, saying if they got hot with him wetness down there would take care of itself.

"Been concentrating on exercising your legs?" he asked, not unpleasantly.

A shaft of ice thrust through her. She managed to speak without a catch in her throat. "Yes, Charlton."

"Keep it up. Your calves are getting quite shapely. Only flaw in your figure was that, legs not enough curve in them."

"I'm cycling thirty miles a day now." More like fifty, sixty. And throw in scores of jumping jacks and deep knee bends.

She had never been in better condition. So why did her limbs feel like jelly?

"Excellent."

Judy let him pull off her teddy then she reclined on the bed with arms held back to the clamp. With one hand he depressed the release and with the other slipped the handcuff chain in place. Immediately paralysis crept upward from her ankles. Before it reached her waist she had trouble breathing.

The ugly face worked its long jaw in anticipation.

She had to decide now. After the next few seconds the opportunity would pass. Two times already she had put it off. She could back out again. But someday there would be no again.

If she went ahead, she had to get the job done. To fail nobly like Kasey was worse than staying a coward. She couldn't rely on God, or luck, or even guts. Just execution.

She took slow, deep breaths. Concentrate, she told herself, concentrate. The only thing that exists in the world is the target.

Marr mounted the bed and she drew her knees wide apart. As he crawled forward his testicles bobbed below his purple organ.

Judy slammed her knees together. His testicles perfectly cushioned the impact. She was sure she had crushed them.

A gasp exited his gaping mouth as he hung stiffly above her. Then he toppled over the side of the bed and thudded out of sight. Instantly she swung her feet to the clamp, her toes curling around the release flanges.

His first screams tore loose her grip. In the small room the force of his demonic cries boomed against her eardrums. Cursing, she tried again.

The springs gave slowly.

"What's happened?" Cheryl's shout barely made it through the nonstop screaming of Marr.

Judy ignored her. Cheryl's tether would let her get only halfway to Judy's door. Which was probably a good thing, since there was no telling if Cheryl would help or hinder her. The tether would definitely keep Cheryl from interfering at the keypad as Judy entered the code.

A hand slapped the mattress inches from Judy. Fighting terror, she pulled hard with her toes and the metal flanges cut into flesh. His fingertips brushed her thigh. At last a gap appeared in the clamp and Judy jerked her hands free.

His fingers dug into her thigh. She wrenched away. Then the bed no longer supported her, and she was falling backwards. Her right hip hit the floor first. She distinctly heard bone crack, then she was screaming along with Marr.

Pain broke her in two as she rolled onto her front. Digging with elbows, she made for the doorway. Pain amplified to bring her near unconsciousness. The voices of both Marr and Cheryl dimmed. Then a surge of adrenalin cleared her head.

Marr continued to howl. His blind hand still groped on the bed. The bed shielded her from his eyes as she churned through searing pain toward the open doorway. She kept quiet as she could to hide her location.

The plan had been that once free she would bound to her door and lock it shut. Now she was on her belly with a broken hip inching toward the door. Momentarily he would realize she was no longer on the bed. Crushed testicles or not, he would be coming after her.

She reached the doorway. Behind her he still screamed even as one hand kept groping on the bed. Miraculously he still thought her held by the clamp. A chance remained to trap him in the room. She poked her head into the living room.

"Judy! What's happened? Why's he yelling?"

She turned to see Cheryl, at the end of her tether, several yards away. Fright distorted her plump face.

Damn her. Cheryl would alert Marr that she was no longer on the bed. Judy put a finger to her lips but Cheryl kept shouting questions.

Judy looked to see Marr's hand continue to paw the bed. Through his own pain and screaming he must not hear Cheryl.

She reached with her left foot to pull on the door as her elbows propelled her forward. The door followed her as she got her torso into the living room. A vista of pink carpet rolled all the way to the exit door.

Excitement vied with fantastic pain as her elbows dug harder. Just another three feet and she would have the door pulled shut. Then, no matter what the pain, she would get to her knees and turn the lock.

His cries had stopped. She hoped he had passed out. That would seal his fate. She looked back to instead see him crabbing towards her. His hand thrust to land only inches from her foot. Fury contested with agony on his vomit flecked face.

"You're dead," he rasped.

Judy yanked her foot forward. Which meant abandoning hold of the door. But if she tried to keep contact and he'd have her ankle with the next grab. Then he could reel her into his maw with no problem. Despite her exercise he was still vastly stronger.

Somehow she did not panic. She should have. She did not see how she could get to the keypad without him catching up seconds later. And if she didn't get out of this dungeon he would eventually chase her down.

But she was not going to die by his hand. This scum would not prevail. She would have all her tomorrows and he would not.

Judy dug her elbows. The searing pain was irrelevant now. She elbowed for the dining table. Once there she would rise to her knees, grab a folding chair and wield it. The thousands of pushups would let her wield with force. He would not expect that.

He would try to grab the chair as he kept his head out of range. That's where she would aim, for his arm. If she could break it, or just the hand, he was beaten. With squashed balls and only one good arm he was done.

But Marr accelerated. He gripped the foot of her bad leg as she closed on the table. Judy screamed at Cheryl, a wide mouthed spectator to this point.

"Help me! Get a chair! Hit him!"

"Stay put big tits, if you want to live." The rasp of his voice was terrifying. Cheryl remained fixed.

Judy banged his hand with her other foot. His grip lessened enough for her to jerk free. She crawled away. But he was instantly in pursuit.

"Cheryl! Hit him! I can get us out. I know the code." She did. "It's the date the Titanic sunk. Ask the scum if I'm right."

Astonishment passed over his pain twisted face. He dug even harder for her.

Then one of the folding chairs struck his head. A leg of the chair, that was. The blow hardly bothered him, and his hand flicked out to grab the leg as Cheryl tried to strike him again. He yanked it away from her.

"Get another!" Judy yelled as she headed toward the exit door. "Hit with the heavy end. Lift the chair over your head and bring it down hard as you can. Keep hitting him!"

The raspy voice issued again as Cheryl lifted a chair high. "Stop now and I'll spare you. Judith gets tortured to death."

Cheryl did not hesitate. For the first time Judy saw hate in the short girl's eyes, hate for her long time tormentor. Marr saw it too. He rolled onto his back with hands raised for defense. He roared with pain as he turned over.

Now Judy saw his groin area. His scrotum had swelled to the size of a grapefruit. It was a horrible blue-black.

This time Cheryl stuck with more intelligence. She hit hard on his legs. Marr screamed anew as one blow landed on a kneecap.

Judy was almost at the door. The keypad waited a mere two yards away. By now she hardly felt the pain though she must be doing enormous damage to her hip. But that was trivial to getting out of here alive.

She reached the door. She grabbed the door knob. Pain tried to consume her as she hoisted to her knees. She fought it off.

For all the tomorrows!

With mucus pouring from her nose, she entered the digits. 041512. April 15, 1912. No hum and click. That was okay. She entered 150412, the European format for dates. No hum, no click. Goddammit to hell!

She glanced at Marr and Cheryl, still battling. Panic had replaced fury on his beet red face. He was emitting shrieks as he tried to ward off the blows on his legs. Judy hoped Cheryl could land one on the grotesque bag at his groin.

The code had to be a variation on the sinking date. All the other six digit groups she had gotten, eight of them now, translated to dates. Or least they could be. There were always at least three digits below four and most of the time at least one zero.

Five times she was able to specifically link the date. The first one was easy, the attack on Pearl Harbor. As was another, the assassination of John Kennedy. She was pretty sure the other three were the Jonestown massacre in Guyana, the San Francisco earthquake, and dropping the atomic bomb on Hiroshima. The remaining dates probably linked to other disasters.

She reentered both formats for the Titanic's sinking. Nothing. If Marr had jumbled the six digits, that meant over seven hundred more combinations existed. Which could take up to an hour to enter. Could Cheryl hold him off even a quarter that long?

Judy decided to give the date another try, except this time she would invert it. That would make more sense anyway. Inversion would give a layer of security. She prayed that was the only layer.

She entered 215140. A hum and a click sounded.

Marr also heard. As Judy pulled on the doorknob she glanced to see him lunge to grab a chair leg. He shrieked with the effort. Cheryl did not instantly let loose of the leg and suddenly she was falling towards Marr. Cheryl emitted her own shriek.

"Roll away from him!" Judy yelled as she pulled the door open.

But Marr had Cheryl in his grasp. His hands clamped her neck as she clawed his face. One finger got into his eye and she appeared to gouge it. He screamed but his grip did not release.

He wrenched his hands and Judy heard Cheryl's neck snap. He flung her aside. Cheryl landed facing Judy. Her eyes were wide open, her body lifeless.

Marr turned towards Judy. Blood flowed from one eye. From the other eye flowed pure malevolence.

The second door was ajar. She gave thanks to God.

Returning to her belly, she launched herself forward. She crawled onto the cold concrete of a basement floor. Pain, pain, pain. But the excruciation did not matter as she saw stairs several feet ahead. And the doorway at the top of them was open.

It was so brightly white up there. Like the doorway to Heaven.

Judy reached the stairs. They were open board steps, thankfully, she could use her arms to pull up. But they were steep.

The first two steps went smoothly enough. At the third she had to lift her hips onto the boards and the agony exploded. Vomit spurted. For a moment she gagged on the acrid fluid. She spit it out.

Wrapping both arms around the fourth step, she pulled. Even worse pain. Dimly she thought the medieval rack must have been like this.

Six steps, seven, eight. She perspired heavily now, the slipperiness hindering and helping. It made gripping more difficult, but eased the slide of her torso upward.

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Then her hand touched floor, a wooden floor. She craned her neck to see a front door only yards ahead.

"Judith!"

Down below a head had poked from the double doors. A head dark with engorged blood, its one good eye still radiating malevolence. The head of Lucifer, she thought. Behind the head slithered a naked body, arms elbowing it forward. A hoarse groan accompanied his every movement.

Judy turned on her good side and gripped the frame of the doorway. Pain ripped as she pulled herself fully onto the foyer floor. Her elbows slipped on the smooth floor and she could move only half as fast as on the dungeon carpet.

She made it to the front door without his head appearing at the top of the basement stairs. Judy rose to her knees and found herself staring at a deadbolt. She turned the lock knob and it clicked. She turned the doorknob and pulled.

The door would not move! She pulled violently. No movement.

Then she saw the second lock. But she faced it from the side where a key had to be inserted. What was this?

Another security measure. She shouted her frustration as she looked behind her. No head yet, but she could hear him laboring on the stairs.

Judy made for the room to her side. In her terror she was beyond pain now. Through the terror pushed the command to find a telephone, dial the operator, shout she was a captive of Charlton Marr, tell the police to hurry.

She entered the room shocked. There was almost nothing in it. Not a table, a desk, even a chair. Just some stacks of books. And a telephone!

The rotary dial telephone sat on the floor in the corner beyond the picture window. Sunlight streamed in through the couple inch gap between the bottom of Venetian blinds and the window sill. So long since she had seen sunlight.

She crawled toward the telephone. On the bare wooden floor her elbows again slipped more than gripped. Each pull forward gained only inches, and her muscles were getting spastic.

Rasping!

Judy turned and saw Marr had reached the foyer. His good eye locked squarely on her. The other eye was a mass of clotted blood.

He crabbed toward her. For a moment she watched, unable to move. Only twenty feet separated her from his hairy hands. Hands that would wring her neck just like Cheryl's.

She crawled away along the wall. Panting, muscles spent, pain thundering, she paused halfway. Marr stopped also, and she saw a big grin. She knew, and he knew, even if she reached the phone she would not get a chance to use it.

"I'm going drag you back downstairs, Judith." He grunted out the words. "Then I'll hang you by your heels. That way you can't pass out from pain. And oh, how you're going to know pain."

Above her the sill of the picture window jutted. She could just reach it with her hands. She pulled up to a kneeling position.

Marr dug for her.

Judy bent her good leg and rose to a crouch, then ducked under the blinds. With her arms on the sill, she rocked. As Marr closed, she lowered her head and dove. A fingertip brushed her big toe.

Knives slashed her scalp, face, shoulders, arms, chest. As she floated in mid-air, she vaguely sensed cold. Then she landed. On something soft. It was a small bush. Momentum rolled her from it and pain exploded anew.

She looked up to see a head poking out of the broken window. The head looked at her, but no longer with triumph. Dread had replaced anticipation of revengeful torture. Then the head withdrew.

Through the fog of pain she for a moment thought she lay on a wet carpet. Then she realized the carpet was grass and the wetness blood. Her blood.

The withered grass rolled away to an empty street, the street gave away to more grass, then a house. Two toddlers were looking at her from that lawn. One ran back toward the house, and Judy thought he was screaming for his mother.

### Intermission

toast

The three women sat in a booth at the Four Seasons restaurant on Van Dorn Street. It was half past two on a Friday in early May. The restaurant was only a quarter full and fairly quiet. Judy liked the quiet.

These days they tried to get together at least twice a year. When they did meet, they rarely discussed their time in the basement. Today however they could not avoid the subject.

"You're writing a book?" asked Arlene.

"Yes," said Judy. "Under a pseudonym."

"What's that?" asked Arlene.

"A pen name," said Judy. "I'm changing all the names."

"Even his?" asked Susan.

"I will use his alias. Charlton Marr."

Arlene scowled. "He'll fry under his real name. And we'll be there to see it."

Judy was beginning to wonder if that day would arrive. The endless appeals were pushing the execution of this sadist further and further into the future. She had once been such a supporter of the ACLU. Now she hated them.

Almost as bad was that they had let Kohne marry. Judy had vehemently protested, but the state said that was his right. Right? Rights applied to humans, not beasts.

Fortunately consummation was prohibited. The state also saw that his seed in the sperm bank was destroyed. Kohne would not be leaving any children.

The woman was insane as Kohne. This was her third marriage to a serial killer. It was reported that at one of the executions of her husbands she had to be removed due to histrionics. Judy would do everything possible to prevent her attendance at Kohne's end.

"Do you have a publisher?" asked Susan.

"I have an agent. She's seen the first draft. She likes it." Judy grimaced. "I suppose 'like' is not the proper word."

"Why are you doing this?" asked Arlene. "For the money? That stuff is best left buried. The trial was bad enough. I sure don't want reminding."

The trial was difficult. It helped that a change of venue moved the proceedings to a remote part of Virginia, but there had been publicity enough. For awhile reporters would not leave any of them alone. Arlene, with her beauty, got special attention.

Testifying against the scum had been searing. As each of them sat in the witness box Kohne relentlessly grinned. His one good eye (pirate's patch over the other) also brimmed with mirth. The grin spread especially wide as Judy with her ruined face told her tale. She somehow kept her composure.

Arlene had not. After ten minutes of testimony she bolted from the box towards Kohne. She screamed blood curdling obscenities. Her husband joined in as he too tried to reach Kohne. Fortunately the bailiffs intercepted them both. Kohne in coat and tie grinned through it all.

"Any money the book makes will go to the families of those who died," said Judy.

"You should have checked with us first," said Susan.

"I won't publish unless you two okay it. You can read the final draft."

Arlene sighed. "Jesus, Judy, leave it be. However good your intentions, a book will just egg on other perverts. Nobody else will be able to stomach it."

Judy had thought long and hard about that. But it was a story she must tell. It had been welling seven years now. The story was coming out no matter what, just like the child inside her.

"I don't want his victims forgotten. Especially Cheryl. None of us would be sitting here if not for her bravery."

"You mean if not for yours," said Arlene.

"Yes," said Susan. "We'd be long dead."

"And you aren't using real names," said Arlene. "How will that honor them?"

That was a dilemma of course. Cheryl, Dianne, Kate, little Lisa, Kasey, Pam, Nancy. Their families deserved privacy. As did Arlene and Susan.

"The book will remind everyone that monsters like Kohne lurk out there. Young women will be doubly careful. What happened to Kohne, and what will happen to him should deter the similarly minded."

"Maybe," said Arlene.

"What's the title?" asked Susan.

"What Kohne's father called him. Bad Seed."

"Fits," said Arlene.

Susan nodded. "He was certainly that."

They sat silently, then the waitress returned with their orders. All had chosen salad meals. The waitress did not look at Judy as she served the dishes. Judy got that a lot, people's eyes avoiding her face after the first glance. Children however would stare.

"When is your due date?" asked Susan.

"Five weeks from tomorrow," said Judy.

As for emphasis the child in her belly kicked. She had been thrilled to become pregnant, but by now she was ready to eject the little bugger. One that would have to be delivered by C-section due to the damage to her hip. (The doctors said the climb up the basement steps and the fall out the picture window had greatly compounded the initial fracture. They marveled she had been able to take the pain on the stairs. She did not tell them fleeing the clutches of Kohne made that easy.)

For so long she had thought she would not become a mother. Or a wife. Bill had dumped her three weeks after she escaped Kohne. The gutless bastard informed her by note passed along by a nurse. "I sincerely regret what happened to you, but I've known for sometime that it was not going to work out between us. Best of luck in your future endeavors."

That had broken her heart. As a perfect complement to her broken body. As she lay helpless in a hospital bed in a full hip cast his ditching hurt more than the pain that intruded when they tried to back her off the morphine.

Bill probably made his decision right after learning the full extent of her injuries. Oh, he probably could have lived with someone who even now walked with a cane. But the extent of bandages hiding her glass torn face and chest told of the welter of scars to come. Plastic surgery had marginally lessened the welter. Judy still got repulsed herself looking in the mirror.

She was sure there was also the matter of getting repeatedly raped. Bill had to consider her soiled. He would not be sticking his organ where a brutal killer had put his. Not his fiancée's fault of course, but a gigantic turnoff nonetheless.

Before Kohne she had not been a hater. Afterward for a while she had feasted on hate. She more than halfway contemplated a "future endeavor" of smashing Bill's balls. She abandoned her church and charity work. She quit the master's program. She was mean to everyone, including her devoted parents. Only to her fellow survivors did she show any semblance of good will.

It was Susan and Arlene that weaned her off the hate. They were so steadfast through the year it took to get her back to normal. That is, normal as possible for what they had been through. To this day she was still a very wary person, still ready to use the .38 special she carried even into bathrooms.

Susan had used her faultless logic, Arlene her fierce emotion, to return purpose to her life. Susan said you have a duty to develop your talents. I have seen you in the worst situation possible and I tell you, you were not found wanting. You have too much to give to the world to quit on it. Arlene said stop crying in your milk. Get out there and show the world what you're made of. If you don't, Kohne wins.

Kohne would not win.

She went back to school, this time as a Ph.D. candidate in molecular biology at Johns Hopkins. She did not let her disfigured face keep her from being warm to everyone she encountered there (she said her scars resulted from an auto accident). People—save a few—responded in kind. After several months her face was almost just another face.

Two years later the miracle of her life took place. Shortly after she passed her qualifying exam, a new postdoc arrived in a neighboring lab. During that summer she and Colin became fast friends. During the fall they fell in love.

Colin was a decent looking man, too. Not dreamy handsome like Bill, but appealing enough. In every other way he was miles above Bill. This was a kind and sincere person. She joked being vegetarian was his only fault. That he could look past her face into her heart was astounding.

He proposed shortly before Christmas. She accepted with the proviso they wait for matrimony until she got her doctorate two or three years hence. She wanted plenty of time to make sure it was real this time. For him and for her. He agreed.

She was terrified the first time they made love. Not over the act—she was determined that Kohne would not rob her of the pleasure and intimacy of sex—but she so feared her scarred chest would mute Colin's desire. The last thing she wanted was for him to soldier through it.

Judy begged they do their first time in the dark. He settled for semi-dark. He did not falter a bit. She was able to achieve the climax she never could with Kohne. She was proud she screwed his head off, too.

She wondered if before Kohne she would have considered someone like Colin for a mate. She didn't think herself a superficial person, but she doubted she would have seen Colin for the prize he was. She would have accepted him as a friend only.

Bill was flamboyantly bold, devilishly charming, and tough as nails. He turned Judy on from head to toe. What a fool she had been for this fool's gold.

Colin was cautious, straightforward, forgiving. He was not "tough"; he was instead tender and true. He had his foibles like all people, but they were just nicks in the man of solid gold that so fortuitously happened upon maimed Judith Conway.

"Do you know the baby's sex?" asked Susan.

"We decided to make that a surprise."

"Picked any names?" asked Arlene.

"If it's a boy we'll name him after Colin's father, Thomas. A girl gets my mother's name. Jenna."

Judy really wanted to name a girl after Arlene, but that would hurt Susan's feelings. It had been tradition in her family anyway to name babies after their grandparents.

Arlene smiled. "Be ready for a whole new ballgame once it pops out."

The still lovely redhead had three children. Susan had two. Judy was glad to join the club.

Judy started to cry. She apologized.

"They are tears of joy. I had thought I'd die a spinster, childless. Now I'm giving life and have a wonderful husband."

Arlene patted her hand. "I'm so glad for you."

"I am too," said Susan.

Judy lifted her water glass. The other two women, not currently pregnant, lifted their wine glasses.

"To us, the life givers, and our husbands and our children."

Susan's face clouded. "And to those who couldn't be with us today."

Guilt bit Judy. She should have included the victims. Especially Dianne. Stoic Susan had recovered quickest of the three survivors, but Judy knew loss of her dearest friend still haunted.

"Of course. To all of us."

"Amen," said Arlene.

Silently Judy added: and to the electrocution of the scum, who would roast in hell forever for what he had done.

chutzpah

They had just pulled aside the dark blue curtain.

"Well, well, the gang's all here," said Kohne. He couldn't see them of course, as he was on the reflective side of a long one-way window. Nor would he be able to hear them. But the troika could see and hear him.

He was sure Judith, Arlene and Susan were regarding him with all the hatred they could muster. Oh, if looks could kill. He chuckled.

They had him well strapped down. He could move only his head. Nevertheless he lay quite relaxed on the gurney in this chamber that resembled an operating room, with its bright lights, muted gray walls, and gloved and gowned technicians.

His arms were spread out—Christ like—on side supports. Into each arm was stuck a big needle. It was comical they had swabbed his skin with alcohol before inserting the needles. They were worried he might get an infection?

They had started the saline drip. Soon more serious chemicals would flow into his veins. He knew them well now, sodium thiopental, pancuronium bromide, and potassium chloride.

The girls were of course disappointed that he would escape electrocution. How they would have thrilled to see those volts and amps jolting him. If it were botched—as the guards back then promised—they would have seen smoke rise from scorched skin and blood drip from the face mask. Sorry girls.

It would begin momentarily, the flow of the drugs. The first to render him unconscious, the second to paralyze skeletal muscles, the third to stop his heart. A month ago the guards said they would dilute the first so he couldn't pass out. He would be aware he could not breathe after the second drug took effect. They would let him suffocate long as possible, then administer the fiery death blow of potassium chloride.

He spoke to his legal team about this. They raised holy hell with the state attorney general, and a new team of guards had been assigned. His lawyers promised he had nothing to worry about. The prison authorities knew their heads would roll if his execution went wrong.

His devoted lawyers had delayed this day for seventeen years. Seventeen years! How passionately these fools had fought for him, he who killed six women and one child. Three of the women died in prolonged agony and it had not been a picnic for the child. Yet his team battled to save his life as if he were a saint. Failing that they wanted him—the torturer—to die peacefully.

He had also gained the devotion of that creepy nun. The spirit of Christ is with you, she breathlessly informed him during her visit to his cell yesterday. No, sister, even Jesus wanted Ira Kohne fast on the way to hell. From her few words of sympathy for the victims but so many for the brutal killer.

The nun would be out there in the witness room, close to his girls. He wondered if Arlene would throw herself at the sanctimonious cow like she tried to do with him at his trial. Kohne hoped Arlene did. Rip off those glasses with the saucer sized lens and tear her eyes out.

Then there was his "wife", Dory Cole. Fortunately for everyone she had been banned from the witness room. An absolute nut job. He wondered how many murderers she would marry before the Grim Reaper tired of her farcical existence.

But Dory had proved useful. She found the only child he ever produced, a son that had already murdered though no one could prove it. A son to whom she would shortly carry his three page letter.

The nut job had also transmitted another letter, this one five years ago. A letter to the greatest fuck of his life. No offense Judith, it's not you. The cum smeared letter went to firehair. Just thinking of her glowing white body on the bed with legs spread still inflamed him. That would be his time in paradise, the seventeen months of screwing her.

Judith was still the one, though. He loved her, always had. He was proud he never struck her. Even in the extreme pain and fury of that day, he doubted he would have harmed her once he got her back downstairs. Of course there would remain the matter of her damaged hip and his own destroyed testicles and eye. Overcoming that without summoning medical help would have been near impossible.

Speaking of the near impossible, she had defeated him. Fair and square too. What a blend of patience, intelligence, courage. He admired her so for not giving up like the others had. A worthy mate.

If only he had been able to get her to the homestead in the Shenandoah. They could have had a life together, especially once there were children. If he had been more vigilant they would be there now.

"Do you have any final words?" The grim faced man in suit and tie was looking down on him.

Kohne grinned. "I sure do."

The man flinched at the grin. Silence reigned a moment. Kohne could hear people in the chamber breathing harder.

"Speak!"

"Okay. To my girls, I wish them well. I have not forgotten the pleasure you provided. I—"

"Another taunting word, we cut you off."

"Okay." He wet his lips. "Let me conclude my life with this quotation from the Gospel of Mark: 'Thou art my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.'"

Let them puzzle over that. Then he broke into a belly laugh that continued until blackness took him away.

to be continued

in

GOOD SON

