Trapped

tangled sheets.

“Here’s one you were particularly fond of, from just last month. Tonya Johnson. All set to straighten out her life, start fresh. Then I brought her here. She doesn’t smell so fresh now.”

Tonya’s skin hit Sara hard, with a slapping sound. It was still moist, and left a pink, wet splotch on Sara’s sweater.

“Martin… no more.”

“No more? But we’re just getting started, Sara honey. I’ve been forced to live a lie with you these past six years. Ever since the procedure, do you know how difficult it was to restrain myself? To push down my urges? I had to pretend to be a responsible, upstanding adult, a caring psychologist, and a decent husband, while all the time thirsting for my next opportunity to cut someone apart.”

Martin rushed at her, making Sara cringe.

“I…I love you, Martin.”

His smile was demonic. “And I hate you, Sara. Hate you with every fiber in my body. Hate you so much, in fact, that I’ve got something really special planned for you. Remember Paulie Gunther Spence?”

The memories came hurtling back. Being eleven years old, locked in the trunk with Louise, forced to hear all of the horrible things he did to her.

“I read the coroner’s report, Sara. I know all about what he did to your friend. And I know how you were locked in the trunk of the car, listening to every atrocity. Unfortunately, I don’t have a car here. Too tough to get it up the stairs. But I do have this.”

Martin grabbed her with both hands, one tangling up in her hair, the other tugging on her sweater. He yanked her off the bed, and she hit the floor on her knees, hard. Then he began to drag her toward—

“Martin... please… don’t.”

“It’ll be just like old times, Sara. A blast from the past.”

He pulled her to the old chest in the corner of the room, and popped open the top.

“Nice and dark in there. Dark and cramped.”

Sara struggled, contorting her body, not letting him get a firm grip. But he did, yanking the rope so hard her shoulders felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets, lifting her up, and—oh jesus, oh god no—dumping her face-first into the trunk.

The lid closed, catapulting Sara into absolute darkness.

She screamed; a muffled, constricted sound that was so intimately familiar to her.

Martin knocked on the top of the trunk.

“So here’s what’s going to happen, Sara. I’m going to leave you in there. I don’t know for how long. Maybe a few days. Just like with Paulie, I’m going to make you wait for so long that you’ll be happy when I finally open it up to kill you. That’s what you used to tell me, those nights when you couldn’t get to sleep. You told me you wanted him to open the trunk and kill you, just so you didn’t have to wait anymore. How fucked up is that?”

Sara looked all around, seeking a crack in the chest, a seam, something that might allow a sliver of light in. But there was only darkness.

“I’m going to make you wait even longer, Sara.”

No. Please not that.

“Then when I finally take you out, I’m going to finish what Paulie started. I’m going to do to you what he did to Louise. I’ve even got all the same props. The hammer and nails. The battery acid. I found the same model power sander, though it’s been discontinued for many years. Apparently it was recalled by the company. Due to—and you’ll love this—being unsafe. But it sure worked well on Louise’s knees, didn’t it? You heard it. You know how much it hurt her.”

Sara felt like the world was spinning too fast. She found it hard to breathe.

“I’ve also got something really special. Something you’ll really love. Remember the knife he used? The hunting knife, with the jagged back? I’ve got one of those, too. Can you picture it, Sara? You used to get woozy when you saw a steak knife whenever we went out to eat. Can you imagine Paulie’s big ole hunting knife?”

Sara could imagine it. It was the only thing in her head, blocking out everything else.

“Well, no need to answer me right now. You’ve got plenty of time to think about it. And then, later, much later, you can tell me how it feels when I try it on you.”

“Please,” Sara whispered.

“Did you say something, hon?”

“Please. Martin. Don’t leave me in here.”

“Would you prefer I let you out, get started on you right now?”

Sara couldn’t believe here response, but the word left her mouth. “Yes.”

She waited for Martin to answer. The seconds ticked away.

“Martin?”

There was only silence. Silence, and smothering darkness.

“Martin!”

And just like with Paulie Gunther Spence, Sara heard a faint chuckle.

Georgia opened her eyes. They were dry, raw, like someone had rubbed sand into her tear ducts. She closed them again, touching her eyelids, and that made her realize the paralysis had worn off.

She was in a warm bed, beneath a thick blanket. With a yawn she sat up, the blanket falling away, exposing her bare breasts. Georgia saw she was naked. It didn’t bother her at all, and she wondered why. Much as she tried to delude herself, Georgia knew she had body image problems. She didn’t want anyone to see her without clothes on. Even with Lester, while having sex, Georgia had nagging doubts about her looks, her performance.

But her appearance no longer mattered to her. In fact, for the first time ever, she felt proud of her body. She slipped out from under the covers and padded over to the window. Dawn had come, flooding the outdoors with light. Georgia walked past, coming to a dresser with a mirror on top. She stopped, stared at her saggy belly, her large hips.

But instead of shame, Georgia felt strangely proud. More than proud. She felt strong, powerful. Like she could conquer the world. She let the fantasy take hold, Georgia sitting on a throne perched up on top of a mountain, and beneath her on all sides, crosses. Crosses with people nailed to them, screaming and begging for mercy. Crucifixions as far as she could see. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions.

Then the fantasy switched. The crucified morphed into the impaled. Georgia remembers reading about Vlad the Impaler, how he would place people on tall wooden stakes. Gravity, and struggling, would cause his victims to slide down the pole, piercing organs and tissue until it eventually came out of their mouths.

The image made her tingle all over.

She rubbed her eyes again, considered the procedure Doctor Plincer had performed on her. Not a pleasant memory, but the pain was gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of self. Sleeping with Lester had shown Georgia how strong she could be. But even that paled next to how she now felt. That old Georgia was a weakling. This new Georgia was unstoppable.

With this newfound feeling of absolute power came an overwhelming urge to hurt somebody. Anybody. Hurt them horribly.

Georgia walked to the metal door. Locked. She scowled, irritated that she was stuck there, unable to indulge in her newfound desire. Then she noticed the package next to the door.

It was the size of a shoe box, wrapped like a birthday present in bright red paper with a big white bow on top. Next to it was a smaller box, wrapped in the same paper. A card taped to the top of the larger present read:

TO GEORGIA GIRL

FROM LESTER

Georgia plucked off the bow and tore into the large package first, revealing a steel cage. Inside, complete with matted gray fur and tiny black eyes, was the biggest rat she’d ever seen.

Rather than flinch, which is something the old Georgia would have done, the new Georgia eyed the creature with something akin to hunger. It was so weak. So vulnerable.

She opened the slim package next. Inside were a roll of duct tape and a pair of long, sharp scissors. There