“Don’t move.”
There is a distinctive metallic click of the hammer of a handgun being cocked behind him.
A bead of sweat forms at his hairline, and slowly trickles down his forehead, but he complies, standing motionless. Seconds tick by, seeming to him like hours. He mentally weighs his possible options.
There is only one.
A barely perceptible shifting of his weight, and the night explodes around him. He doesn’t remember dropping, but he is now on his knees in the dirt, one hand braced against the wall in front of him, holding himself up. A light comes on in the room on the other side of the wall, illuminating the window above him, and casting a rectangular glow on the ground beneath him.
Cold steel presses against the back of his neck.
“Don’t. Move.”
He realizes it’s a female’s voice, but the equalizer against his skin convinces him that it’s of little consequence. He becomes aware of the fact that he is holding his breath.
“Sarah?’ Another female’s voice, from the window above him. “What the hel…”
“Shut up Brenda. Call the police. Now!” Sarah says from behind him.
He slowly lowers his head to look for signs of blood from the gunshot, but all he can see is his exposed manhood, quickly shrinking from the erection of a minute ago. Rocks in the dirt are digging into his bare knees, his ankles loosely bound by the trousers and briefs around them.
Click. The vibration of the hammer being pulled back again reverberates through the barrel and into his spine.
“I will kill you, motherfucker.” Sarah says.
“Please,” he whispers, “don’t.” He is shaking now, and feels tears welling in his eyes.
“Shut up!”
From the window above him; “Sarah? The phones are dead.”
“Shit.”
“What do we do?”
“I don’t know Brenda, let me think.”
Long seconds tick past, then they hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. A fine mist begins to fall.
“Bring me the roll of duct tape from the basement.” Sarah tells Brenda.
He can feel the gun shaking slightly in her hand, and it occurs to him that she may be afraid. It is beginning to rain softly as Brenda finally comes with the tape, holding it out to Sarah.
“Put your hands behind your back.” Sarah tells him. When he hesitates, she pushes the gun harder into his flesh. “Do it!”
When he complies, she tells Brenda to wrap his wrists tightly with the tape. She fumbles with the roll, trying to find the end. Finally she begins to wrap it around his wrists.
“Tighter.” Sarah tells her.
The rain is falling harder now, as Brenda finishes wrapping, and tearing off the roll. Sarah reaches down with her free hand, and pulls off his shoes. Then she tugs his pants and briefs off him, dropping them in the mud.
“Stand up.”
She keeps the pistol pressed against the back of his neck as he struggles to his feet, the mud soaking his socks. Brenda is staring at his exposed genitals, and doesn’t notice him looking at her. The rain has drenched her nightie, it clings to her petite frame like plastic wrap, almost as transparent. As he stares at her breasts, the nipples trying to push through the soaked fabric, he forgets about his predicament. Not for long, but long enough for his penis to reconsider its retreat.
“BRENDA!” screams Sarah, “What are y…GET IN THE HOUSE!
Brenda drops the tape in the mud as she spins away, shaken, and disappears into the dark.
Again the night explodes, this time it’s lightning, followed immediately by a roar of thunder that drowns out his scream. He is shaking so hard in the driving rain he can barely breath. She pushes the pistol hard against his neck, and grabs his arm, steering him.
“Move.” she tells him.
He sloshes through the mud ahead of her, and they round the corner of the house. Another flash of lightning illuminates the cellar doors in front of him, and they stop. Sarah reaches down with her empty hand, and the steel door screeches open on rusty hinges.
“Get down there.” she commands.
He tries to feel his way down the uneven steps with his muddy feet, but halfway down he fails and falls forward, crashing to the floor. The last thing he sees before losing consciousness is Sarah at the top of the stairs. She is pointing the gun at him with one hand, the other covering her mouth as lightning flashes again. Her dark hair is plastered to her head, her robe whipping wildly in the wind.
……
“What the hell do you mean there’s no one down there?” Sarah shouts at the cop.
“I’m sorry Ma’am, but there is no one in the cellar.”
“But that can’t be!” she shouts, and runs past him. The screen door slams shut behind her. The cop turns and follows her out. She is staring into the empty cellar, her mouth open, arms hanging limply at her sides. There are no muddy footprints on the steps. She looks around the corner of the house towards Brenda’s window, and the ground beneath it. No pants. No footprints in the mud. No evidence of the night before. She shakes her head.
“This can’t be.” She looks at the cop. “Was the cellar door still locked?” she asks him.
“Yes Ma’am.” he replies, holding out the clasp he had removed from the door hasp minutes earlier.
She takes it from him and stares at it in disbelief.
“I will file a report, and ask the watch commander to send a cruiser by tonight for extra patrol,” the cop tells her, “but there’s not much else I can do.”
When she doesn’t reply, he turns and walks to his patrol car. As he radios in, he watches her. She walks to the window, and stares at the mud under it. She looks again at the clasp in her hand. She looks towards the cellar door. She doesn’t seem to notice as he starts the engine, and slowly drives away.
……
“BRENDA!” Sarah yells up the stairs, for the third time. Still there is no response. She huffs, and stomps up the steps to Brenda’s bedroom door, and knocks loudly. “Are you going to sleep all day?” Still there is no response. She turns the knob and pushes open the door.
Immediately her hands fly to her mouth, but they cannot stem the flow of vomit as her guts wretch onto the floor. Her eyes wide in terror, she gapes at the site of her little sister. She is naked, duct taped to the bedposts, her arms and legs splayed wide apart. She and the bed and the floor are covered in mud, and blood. Her throat is cut, duct tape covering her mouth, her eyes wide open. She is covered in deep, gaping, bloody wounds. There is a partial roll of muddy duct tape protruding from her mutilated vagina. Sarah slumps to the floor, unable to scream, gagging on her own vomit.
……
The cop shakes his head in bewilderment as he watches out the window, the ambulance easing down the driveway, emergency lights flashing. He turns, and surveys the bedroom one last time before leaving. Thick spiderwebs in the corners, a layer of dust covering everything in a young girls bedroom that has been undisturbed for many years. This is the third time he has been in this room, the third time he has responded to a report of a young girl brutally murdered here. The third time he has found the room in exactly this same condition.
He wonders to himself if this time, the doctors at the asylum will keep Sarah where she belongs.