Christie Road

Jazz pulled the shower curtain, and closed her eyes as she let the warm water run over her face, washing away the smell of fear that clung to her skin. She hated this, hated feeling afraid, and the fact that Billie was the object of that fear was surreal. Running her fingers through her wet hair, she took advantage of the quiet to think, to reason with herself.

That wasn't Billie Joe, she thought, trying to find some way to make sense of what she had seen. He would never behave that way, especially to a girl. How could he be so vicious? It made her cringe, remembering the snarling fury on his face as he confronted Lani. She knew their breakup had not gone well, but what could possibly explain that kind of wrath?

The washcloth was rough, and she scrubbed herself forcefully, trying to rid herself of the knot of fear that had settled in her stomach. Tipping her head back to rinse the shampoo from her hair, she could still hear the shouting and curses that had echoed in her mind all the way home.

And now she remembered another voice besides Billie's, a feminine voice, that seemed to taunt him. What was it that she had said? She had accused Jazz of liking Billie's roughness, and then there was something else, some ugly epithet...

Whore, she had said. She had called Jazz a whore, laughing in cruel mockery.

Her head lifted slowly as it sank in. Billie wasn't a beast, some enraged psychopath. He was every noble thing she had come to believe he was, right up to the point at which he felt he had to defend her.

This time the monster was on her side.

Over the spattering of the water on the shower floor, she heard something faint, a tapping and someone's voice far away. She reached behind her to turn off the water, and as the last of the swirling remnants gurgled down the drain, she strained to listen more closely, but she heard nothing else. Late night visitors next door, she supposed. You never knew what was going on in this complex.

She stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her, wiping her face and squeezing the dampness out of her hair. She spritzed conditioner, brushed her teeth, smoothed moisturizer on her skin. A cloud of steam whirled out into the bedroom as she opened the door, reaching for the dorm shirt she had tossed on the bed. She pulled it over her head, and slipped her feet into her penguin slippers.

Her phone was lying on the nightstand, and she skirted the foot of the bed, still rubbing the damp ends of her hair. She had to call him, to tell him she understood, and to thank him for coming to her defense. She couldn't bear thinking of the guilty hurt that had flashed in his eyes as he realized how he had frightened her.

She tossed the towel into the basket in the corner, and as she reached for her phone, a hand closed over her mouth, stifling her scream. Another circled her wrist like a vise, twisting her arm behind her. Hot, stinking breath washed over the side of her face, and a barely familiar voice whispered huskily in her ear.

"Hey there, pretty lady. You forgot to lock that front window. Now, you really should be more careful than that. There's all kinds of dangerous people out there." He jerked upward on her arm, and pain blazed in her shoulder, making her grimace. In spite of the pounding of her heart, she looked around, trying to find something she might use as a weapon, but his forearm had her other arm pinned to her side.

He pushed against her, guiding her roughly toward the bed, and he slammed her body down on the mattress, flipping her over to cover her mouth again before she could get a breath. His weight held her firmly, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a black and chrome handle. He pushed a small button on the side and flicked his wrist, and a long, gleaming blade snicked out, locking into place as her eyes widened in fear.

The smile on his face was filthy, a mockery of human emotion. Reaching toward the nightstand, he jerked her phone charger out of the outlet, and wrapped the cord around one of her wrists. She fought to free her other hand from his grasp, but he was stronger, much stronger, and she groaned as he brought it up over her head and tied both wrists tightly together, making her fingers tingle. He wrapped the other end around the headboard of the bed and knotted it firmly, and then rose to his feet.

She tried to focus on the cord, working her numbing fingers as far as she could toward the knot, but every movement seemed to tighten the loops around her arms, cutting into her flesh. His knee held her ankles down, and now he was reaching into his back pocket, pulling out two dirty, crumpled bandannas. He tied each ankle securely to one of the bedposts, and then stood, staring down at her in satisfaction.

The knife had fallen to the floor, and as he bent to retrieve it, she took a deep breath to scream, but he rose quickly, holding the gleaming blade in front of her face and rotating it back and forth to catch the light flashing from its deadly surface.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he growled. "Sweeney here just might get thirsty if you make any noise and startle him."

He rested one knee on the bed beside her hip, and lifted the hem of her nightshirt, sliding the tip of the blade underneath it. With a quick upward motion, he split the fabric up the front, and used the sharp point to push each side away, leaving her body uncovered. She shuddered as his rough fingertips touched the collarbone notch at the base of her neck and slid downward until they reached the waistband of her panties. He lifted the elastic, and the knife went to work again, cutting through first one side and then the other so that he could pull the fabric away and toss it aside.

Jazz tried desperately to close her thighs, but he had tied her ankles so far apart that it was impossible, and she lay completely exposed to his predatory gaze. His eyes roamed freely over every inch of her flesh, making her cringe.

If he'd just climb onto the bed, she thought, maybe I could get my knee up high enough to hit him in the crotch. But he made no move toward her, preferring to stare down at her, his face slack and reptilian. Finally he turned and walked toward the hall that led to the kitchen without a word.

As soon as he left the room, she twisted around as far as she could to try to reach the phone cord with her teeth, but it was too far. She could hear rattling noises in the kitchen, and cabinet doors opening and closing.

Heavy footsteps thudded down the hall and he reappeared in the doorway, a plastic bag dangling from one hand. He sat down on the bed beside her, setting the bag down on the floor, and his fist lifted toward her neck. She flinched, fearing the worst, but felt only intense cold.

He pressed a single ice cube against her skin, sliding it slowly down to the rise of her right breast and circling the pale flesh at the base. Gradually the circles moved upward until the ice reached her nipple, making it harden against her will, and a dull smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he looked down at the erect little bud. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut, and she imagined herself far away, anywhere, on the beach with Billie, somewhere safe.

Still holding the ice in place, he reached down into the bag and lifted out a stubby pillar candle, setting it onto the nightstand. He fished in his pocket for a lighter and flicked it into life, touching the flame to the wick, and then picked up the candle, holding it up to watch the fire dance and undulate. He moved it over her other breast and slowly tipped it over, and a squeal of pain broke from her lips as the scalding wax dripped onto her nipple.

He grunted laughter as she writhed in agony.

He's going to kill me, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. He's going to torture me and then slit my throat. Oh God, Billie, I'm so sorry I didn't trust you. I'm so sorry. I should never have been so stupid, I should have stayed with you, and now I'll never be able to tell you.

The ice moved to her burning skin now, cooling it, and the wax hardened around her tortured nipple. He blew out the candle and set it back on the nightstand, and brought the tip of the knife to her breast. She bit back a scream, but he casually flicked the wax from her skin and again rubbed it with the melting ice.

"See, I know how to make it better," he said with a grin. "Say 'thank you, Donnie'," he ordered.

Her eyes glinted defiantly up at him despite her pain, and she said nothing.

His thumb and forefinger snaked out to pinch her agonized flesh, and this time she was helpless to hold back her agonized cry.

"I said, say 'thank you, Donnie'," he warned.

A lone tear rolled down her temple as she croaked the words. He relaxed, the smile returning to his face, and he stroked her cheek softly. "That's more like it. Now, we're going to play a little game, you and I. And if you're a very good girl, you just might get out of here alive."

She turned her head and sobbed into her shoulder. She doubted very much that he was telling the truth.