The assailant in the ski mask flipped Carrie Lyn onto her stomach and sat atop her thighs. While she desperately struggled to buck him off or reach around to grab at him with her cuffed hands, he took a loop of rope off of his belt, slipped it under her knees, and worked it down toward her kicking ankles. He kept tightening it as it got closer to her feet, and eventually confined her ankles as she groaned with dismay behind her gag.
"You did get your leg loose downstairs," he said conversationally as he shifted to sitting atop the back of her knees and began to wrap more loops of rope around her ankles. "So you get a point for that. But then, most of my 'dates' manage that much. There was one too scared to move a muscle, and another who was still too drugged up to get it done. The others all thought they were halfway home.
"Getting your hands around in front of you - now that's more impressive. Only one other slut was flexible enough to do that. I especially like flexible sluts."
He chuckled as he tied the knot to finish binding her ankles. "Of course, I could have tied all of you well enough so that you couldn't go anywhere. But it's such a rush to catch you again, subdue you again. Now, let's get those little hands of yours behind your back again where they belong."
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Carrie Lyn was rather ill at ease when she learned that the man who would be trailing her was the tall, scar-faced man who had been looking in at her at the police station. He was introduced to her as detective Price. He was completely professional with her, asking for a schedule of places she planned to go each day, where she generally parked at home and at her office, and so forth. In addition to the items of defense and escape which she had in her purse, he advised her to carry a shrill whistle, preferably looped around her neck.
"If you're in your car, I'll have visual on you virtually every minute, but you can also honk the horn," he told her. "Similarly, I'll be able to see you when you're on foot probably 95% of the time. But if you've just rounded a corner and are grabbed, or are pulled into an alley, a blast on the whistle will bring me there in seconds."
She nodded, but privately had decided that she would reach for her new handgun first. She wasn't happy about the whole situation, and was sure that it would be obvious to anyone watching her that this hulking man was acting as a bodyguard. As the days went on though, she had to admit that he was very good at his job. She rarely saw him either in one of the cars he used or on foot. And when he was in sight, he never seemed to be looking at her.
By the time, a week later, when she attended an evening charity fundraiser downtown, she was no longer even looking for him. She simply assumed he was there somewhere.
She was at her car afterward when there were suddenly two gunshots back in the direction of the meeting. Price suddenly materialized by her side, with his own gun drawn. "Please get in your car and lock the doors, Doctor," he told her. "Don't drive off until I return."
Then he was racing back along the sidewalk, moving with surprising and rather frightening speed for a man of his size. Carrie Lyn stared after him for a few seconds, trying to see or hear something which would clarify what had happened. She was just starting to reach for the latch of her purse to get her car keys when a hand holding a large square of cloth slapped across her mouth and nose. Simultaneously another arm pinned her left arm against her body and grabbed her right forearm as well.
She smelled the chemical on the cloth and almost immediately began to pass out. She was being dragged backward, away from her car. She couldn't move her right hand due to the man's greater strength. She dropped her purse from her left hand and tried to bring that hand up to her chest for the whistle. But how could she blow it now? She then tried to scratch the hand holding the cloth over her face; tried to stomp a heel down on his foot. Everything was blurring. As she collapsed she heard his laugh and felt his left hand release her right forearm and settle on her left breast...
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
The abductor turned her body again so that she was on one side. She had thought for an instant to just try to keep her hands away from him, but that wasn't any kind of a strategy that would lead to escape. Instead her fingers drove straight toward his eyes. The move seemed to take him by surprise, but he was able to move his upper body back beyond her reach before she could do him any harm. One of his hands shot out and grabbed the handcuff chain, and he was able to force her hands up above her head.
While she twisted her body and brought her knees up time and again into his torso, he dug a handcuff key out of one pocket and undid the cuff around her right wrist. She immediately clawed at the hand which still held the handcuff chain, trying to make him release it. But he was still wearing his thin gloves and had on long sleeves as well, which left her unable to do any damage with her nails.
He got to his feet, still holding on to the chain, and dragged her for a few feet by her wrist, building up momentum. Then he planted his feet and swung her around in a half circle. It looked a bit like the "death spiral" in pairs figure skating, but was much more painful to her. She grimaced and cried out into the smothering gag. Forcing her onto her stomach, he dropped to one knee with his shin pinning her left arm to the floor near her side. He leaned forward and caught her free right arm with both hands.
Carrie Lyn fought and squirmed, but she had no chance. One arm immobile, her feet tied together, the gag hindering her breathing, and pain lancing through her left arm and shoulder, she could offer only token resistance. The man twisted her right arm cruelly behind her back and held it there with one hand while his other hand grasped her left wrist after he moved his leg. Seconds later her hands were once again handcuffed behind her back.
"I like some fight in my whores," he grated to her, "but not that much. Those knees to the ribs hurt, damn you!" He put his hands around the already tight metal circles holding her wrists and squeezed with all his strength, managing to close them one more "click" and making Carrie Lyn sob with pain into the cloth in and over her mouth.
Glaring at her prone form and panting from his efforts, the man took another coil of rope off of his belt. He doubled it and slid the doubled end between her bound ankles, then brought the loose ends through that end and pulled it tight. Holding onto the rope ends with one hand, he used his other hand to push her ankles back toward her wrists.
"Now where was I before you so rudely interrupted?" he asked. "Oh yeah - the stupid skirts who thought they were getting away. Well, what's interesting is that every one of them, like you, went up the stairs instead of down. Guess that 'up' just has a feeling of freedom or release or something. Well, you're the big psychiabitch - you tell me."
He mockingly put the side of his masked face down near her gagged mouth. "Huh? What? Can't understand a word you're saying, sweetheart. Guess those big college words go right over my head."
He passed the rope ends over the links of the handcuffs and yanked viciously, causing another involuntary moan from his captive. "Hey, now that one I understood!" he laughed.
He brought the rope ends down to her ankles and yanked again, forcing her feet all the way up onto her hands, and then tied off the rope. "If it's any consolation, it wouldn't have mattered if you'd gone down the stairs. No way out there either, unless you have a key. So you were screwed either way."
He turned her body to face him and grabbed at her crotch with one hand. "I guess I used the wrong tense there, huh Doc? You 'will' be screwed. Oh honey, how you will be screwed.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go put on a little mood music before we continue with the foreplay. I think that this time I can count on you to stay put." He stood, smirked as he eyes studied her captive body, and walked away, back to and then down the stairway.
Carrie Lyn groaned and cried into the gag with a mixture of agony, despair, and anger. To have been so close to escape, only to be re-captured and now be more securely imprisoned than ever... Suddenly her hopelessly writhing body stiffened as she remembered a desperation measure which she had prepared weeks before. But could she make it work?
Her bound feet were almost on top of her manacled wrists. She needed the ankles to be close, but first she had to gain access to the bottom of her shoes. The space between her cuffed wrists offered some hope, but she needed more room. Steeling herself against the pain, she kicked with her legs and pulled with her arms against the rope which hogtied her. The ropes sawed at her ankles and the unforgiving metal ground away at her wrists, but she kept trying until she was sure there was no more room to be gained. She hadn't won much - perhaps an inch, certainly no more than two - but it could be enough. She twisted her throbbing hands, the fingers on the right hand scrabbling for and finally finding purchase on the side of her right shoe.
Biting on the packing of her gag, she moved her fingers slowly along the side of the shoe until they reached the arch between her heel and toes. Squeezing her eyes closed against the pain her effort was costing her, she twisted her wrist more, the fingers moving across the sole of the shoe until they rubbed against the end of a small piece of tape. Choking with both triumph and agony, she forced her fingers a little further and began to scratch and pull at the tape.
As the piece of tape began to pull away, more light appeared in the room. The area where her earlier escape attempt had been shown was now hosting other videos. Carrie Lyn twisted her head around to look and gave a small muffled cry as recordings of bound naked women were shown being assaulted by the masked man. There was moaning and screaming accompanying the pictures, although the sound was kept low. Suddenly one of the anguished faces brought another cry and tears from her -- Sharilyn! Oh, God!
She forced her attention away from the violent pornography. Sharilyn was gone; she could do nothing for her now. And she would share her goddaughter's fate unless she moved quickly. The psychopath would return any minute now.
Her fingers pulled the tape off the bottom of her shoe and she let her hands fall back to a slightly less painful position. While her left hand held onto the piece of tape, the fingers of her right hand searched the sticky side of it, finding and pulling away the razor blade she had hidden there days before.
She took precious seconds to think about how the man had tied her. She must be careful to cut the rope holding her ankles together first. If she cut the rope between her wrists and ankles, her feet would still be bound and she would then have difficulty reaching them.
Preparing herself for the increasing pain which would be coming, she used the free fingers of her left hand to pull on the hogtie rope, bringing her ankles closer to her hands. When they were close enough she sawed at the coils around her ankles, occasionally wincing as the razor cut into her skin. It seemed to take a long time, but it was actually only seconds before the strands gave slightly and then snapped apart. She pulled her arms and legs in opposite directions and felt the loops which had connected them lengthen and come apart.
As she relished the partial freedom she had won, the video and sound across the room changed. The screams were more anguished. Torture had replaced rape. The camera focused on torn, bleeding bodies and on beautiful faces contorted into ugliness by unbearable pain. Carrie Lyn saw and heard Sharilyn scream "No, please!" as the man moved toward her with something held in his hands. Carrie Lyn closed her eyes and wished she could close her ears. She concentrated on trying to pull all of the rope away from the handcuff links.
Somewhere deep in her mind there was things clamoring for attention - there was things in the pictures which were "wrong," beyond their repulsive content. But she couldn't find the handle for it. All of the monstrous evil was simply too much and her reasoning capabilities were incapable of analyzing the problem.
By an incredible stroke of good fortune, she opened her eyes and turned back toward the stairs just as the top of her captor's head came into view. She quickly twisted her body around in his direction, pulling her freed legs back behind her.
He walked over to her slowly, obviously savoring the moment, and then crouched in front of her. "Enjoying the show, Sugar Buns? You're gonna get to be a movie star too. Isn't that nice? I know all you whores love getting your picture taken, and I'm gonna make your dream come true. But you can hug me later. For now, let's take a look at exactly what you've brought to the party."
His hands started to reach toward her slowly while his eyes panned greedily across her body. Then he did a double take, his eyes darting back toward her thighs and a length of loose rope behind them.
"What the fu..." he began as Carrie Lyn whipped her top leg, her left, out from behind her and kicked him near his right temple.
It was largely a lucky shot, and possible only because her long gown had hiked halfway up her thighs during her struggling. But then, she was due for a run of good luck.
She scrambled onto her feet, again silently cursing the heels that she was wearing and wishing that her hands were in front so that she could use the razor blade on her captor. He was currently on his knees, stunned probably almost as much by the fact that she was able to attack him as by the kick itself. He was facing generally away from her. She stepped a little more to her left and then kicked between his slightly spread legs. The man's yell of agony momentarily drowned out the recorded female screams.
Eyes flashing as she gasped with rage, Carrie Lyn pressed her advantage with a ferocity unfamiliar to her. She kicked him on a thigh and then again to the head. And when he fell onto his back she tried to stomp her heel down on his face.
But he got a hand up, swatting her foot away and almost causing her to fall. She tried another kick to the groin, from the front this time, but he moved a thigh in time to block it. He rolled away from her rapidly and went up on one knee, blinking his eyes and pulling himself together.
Gagged and with her hands still tightly cuffed behind her, Carrie Lyn harbored no illusions about now being able to win a fight with this man. He might have a gun or knife. Even if he didn't, once he tackled, tripped, or otherwise knocked her down, she was finished.
Perhaps he had overconfidently left the door on the lower floor unlocked. Slim hope, but the best one she had. She turned and ran to and down the stairway, almost falling once. The rope that had been used to hogtie her was still hanging from the handcuffs and was a constant trip hazard.
Reaching the lower floor, she ran quickly toward the door. If this one couldn't be opened, she hoped to get back to the stairs and see what was further below before the Sadist appeared. Just before she reached the door, it opened and detective Ryan stepped inside. They looked at each other with mutual shock, and then as Ryan reached under his coat for his gun Carrie Lyn looked behind her.
"There!" she tried to yell through the layered gag, moving her cuffed hands from behind her back and attempting to point. The masked man had come partway down the stairs but now stopped as he saw them.
Ryan wasn't moving past her with his gun leveled as she had expected. She turned back toward him to see why. And in that instant, in that one second as she turned, the things which had bothered her about the videos she'd been shown suddenly crystalized in her mind.
The camera had moved. It had moved to get clear views of what was happening. It wasn't a case of recordings from two different cameras being edited together. Someone had moved the camera while the women were being attacked.
And the physique of the man who did the torturing was different than that of the rapist. The Seven Counties Sadist was actually two different people.
She finished her realizations just as her widening eyes came back to Ryan. She saw his fist, holding the gun, swinging at her head in a backhanded motion. She saw the rage and hatred twisting his face, making him nearly unrecognizable. Then the butt of the gun smashed against the side of her head, and for the second time that nightmarish evening darkness claimed her.