Saving Autumn -- Prelude
Autumn Free awakens in the middle of the night to find that she's been abducted from her home.
Bridgeton, Georgia
November 3, 1972
An abandoned shoe factory
A beer bottle shattered on concrete.
Autumn Elder sprang forward panting and squinted through the black. A constant, sharp pain shrieked through her skull like feedback from a guitar. The bone-cold of the concrete floor seeped through her cotton nightgown as though it wasn't there.
Where am I?
She didn't know. Her memory reeled, but she remembered nothing about yesterday.
Her heart pounded.
She pressed her hands flat against the concrete to stand, but the movement summoned the rattling of chains.
She froze. The thick odor of mildew and rat excrement stained the air.
Something slithered in the corner.
"Who's there?"
She was answered only by a swift metallic scrape followed by the orange flame of a cigarette lighter. The flame lingered for a moment and then extinguished as quickly as it ignited leaving only the orange ember of a cigarette to testify to its presence.
"Ev'nin' Autumn," said a voice that sounded like sandpaper and razorblades -- the words spoken so evenly that the speaker might have only been brushing by her in a hallway.
She sat frozen with her back pressed hard against the metal pole, her hands clinched into fists behind her, and her legs clamped.
The ember of the cigarette glided forward three steps and then stopped abruptly, as if the man behind it had decided against invading her space.
A sudden sinking in her gut.
"What do you want from me?"
There was no answer. The orange ember brightened into red and then dimmed to orange. The cigarette flew off to the right -- the ember razing into sparks on the floor. The tall shadow sauntered lazily as one might haphazardly stroll through the hallway of his house.
And he knelt before her and leaned in close as if to whisper a secret in her ear.
"I want to see you bleed," he hissed -- his shuddering breath hot and sticking to her neck like tar.
His face was hollowed out and pasty white. And wet tresses of curly red hair stuck to the film of sweat on his high forehead. His eyes were sunken in his skull. A sharp goatee of red hair circled his cruel mouth.
A scream caught halfway up her throat.
She knew him.
His name was Aaron, and he was a maintenance man at her apartment. She'd met him a week ago when he'd come into her apartment to change out a rusted-out water heater.
He reached down to touch her, and she lunged at him causing the chains to snap tight. He recoiled, and then laughed at her.
Then he grasped her nightgown by the shoulders and tugged at it. She struggled mightily, but to no avail. The more she struggled the more the garment ripped.
He tore it off her, and searched her greedily. His eyes landed on her breasts, and his breathing deepened to shuddering gasps.
"Tommy's gonna kill you," she sobbed.
The man said nothing.
He stood in the black as if frozen in stone with his hands pressed flat in front of his lips as if he were about to pray.
And the filthy fingers of his eyes were all over her now. The shredded ruins of her blue nightgown lay in a defeated heap at her feet -- the only thing separating her from total nakedness now was a woefully thin pair of panties.
She wondered if she'd ever wear that wedding dress she'd made hanging in the back of her bedroom closet -- if the expensive bottle of Dom Perignon that she'd bought would ever be opened or if it would just sit around for some lucky tenant to find.
The man was moving again. He stood, and his right hand slid down to his crotch. His breathing deepened -- the clinking of a brass belt buckle.
"You sick fuck!"
He stepped toward her. Autumn shrank back as far as her chains would allow.
"You're gonna beg me to kill you."
"Why're you doing this?"
He cackled. Then he stepped forward and knelt at her feet.
She kicked at him, but the chains on her legs and arms jerked tight just short of connecting with his face.
"Fuckin' bitch!"
She kicked at him again. He belted her across the face.
"You don't believe in free love no more?"
She licked the blood off her lips. "Let me out of these chains, and you'll find out what I believe!"
The man grinned savagely and clutched her panties on both sides of the right seam and ripped them apart. Then he reached around to the other side and did the same and yanked them off like a dirty diaper. Then his hands were on her.
She clinched her legs together. He grasped her knees and ripped them apart. His strength was almost otherworldly. Then he began thrusting, and forced himself inside causing white-hot surges of pain to shoot through her. She felt as though someone was raping her with sandpaper.
Autumn clamped her eyes shut, and turned her head, sobbing.
A car door slammed shut somewhere outside.
He stopped, and he looked around now listening hard -- looking like a stray dog sniffing the air.
The sounds of footfalls crunching on gravel. . . .
"Help!"
The man reached down to his ankle and pulled his hunting knife out of its sheaf and held it up to her face.
She shrieked; she couldn't help it the pain and the terror were on a level that she'd never felt before.
"Shut your goddamn hole," he hissed into her ear pressing the cold blade against her throat.
But she couldn't help herself. Her shriek only became louder.
He stabbed her in the throat just below the Adams apple, and her scream drowned into a gurgling sound.
Autumn couldn't believe what had just happened. The pain was immediate and intense, but it felt no deeper than it might have if she'd just crashed hard into a sharp object cutting the flesh and knocking the breath out of her lungs. She looked down and her eyes bulged with terrible surprise.
She gasped for breath, but her lungs could find none. It was as though she were trying to breathe in a vacuum. And there was a strong coppery taste in her mouth.
She felt the knife leave her body, and then she saw the man shove it in again, but this time she felt no pain only the blow itself. As a matter of fact, the other wound didn't seem to hurt anymore either.
Perhaps it hadn't even happened. Maybe her eyes will pop open in a minute and she'll find herself lying in her bed with the morning sun warming her sheets. -- She'll close her eyes again and roll over, and her hand will find Tommy's chest, and she'll feel his strong heartbeat below it.
And she'll open her eyes and look at him. His lips will be parted slightly, and the corners of his mouth will curve up in a smile.
Maybe this was all just a terribly vivid nightmare -- a subconscious fear that has been there all along and has just finally rooted its way out.
The kind of nightmare that leaves you more exhausted than you were before you went to sleep. The kind of dream that leaves you tired all over.
So
Profoundly
Tired.
*** Coming 2/13/2010 Part One: Two Houses Connected***
November 3, 1972
An abandoned shoe factory
A beer bottle shattered on concrete.
Autumn Elder sprang forward panting and squinted through the black. A constant, sharp pain shrieked through her skull like feedback from a guitar. The bone-cold of the concrete floor seeped through her cotton nightgown as though it wasn't there.
Where am I?
She didn't know. Her memory reeled, but she remembered nothing about yesterday.
Her heart pounded.
She pressed her hands flat against the concrete to stand, but the movement summoned the rattling of chains.
She froze. The thick odor of mildew and rat excrement stained the air.
Something slithered in the corner.
"Who's there?"
She was answered only by a swift metallic scrape followed by the orange flame of a cigarette lighter. The flame lingered for a moment and then extinguished as quickly as it ignited leaving only the orange ember of a cigarette to testify to its presence.
"Ev'nin' Autumn," said a voice that sounded like sandpaper and razorblades -- the words spoken so evenly that the speaker might have only been brushing by her in a hallway.
She sat frozen with her back pressed hard against the metal pole, her hands clinched into fists behind her, and her legs clamped.
The ember of the cigarette glided forward three steps and then stopped abruptly, as if the man behind it had decided against invading her space.
A sudden sinking in her gut.
"What do you want from me?"
There was no answer. The orange ember brightened into red and then dimmed to orange. The cigarette flew off to the right -- the ember razing into sparks on the floor. The tall shadow sauntered lazily as one might haphazardly stroll through the hallway of his house.
And he knelt before her and leaned in close as if to whisper a secret in her ear.
"I want to see you bleed," he hissed -- his shuddering breath hot and sticking to her neck like tar.
His face was hollowed out and pasty white. And wet tresses of curly red hair stuck to the film of sweat on his high forehead. His eyes were sunken in his skull. A sharp goatee of red hair circled his cruel mouth.
A scream caught halfway up her throat.
She knew him.
His name was Aaron, and he was a maintenance man at her apartment. She'd met him a week ago when he'd come into her apartment to change out a rusted-out water heater.
He reached down to touch her, and she lunged at him causing the chains to snap tight. He recoiled, and then laughed at her.
Then he grasped her nightgown by the shoulders and tugged at it. She struggled mightily, but to no avail. The more she struggled the more the garment ripped.
He tore it off her, and searched her greedily. His eyes landed on her breasts, and his breathing deepened to shuddering gasps.
"Tommy's gonna kill you," she sobbed.
The man said nothing.
He stood in the black as if frozen in stone with his hands pressed flat in front of his lips as if he were about to pray.
And the filthy fingers of his eyes were all over her now. The shredded ruins of her blue nightgown lay in a defeated heap at her feet -- the only thing separating her from total nakedness now was a woefully thin pair of panties.
She wondered if she'd ever wear that wedding dress she'd made hanging in the back of her bedroom closet -- if the expensive bottle of Dom Perignon that she'd bought would ever be opened or if it would just sit around for some lucky tenant to find.
The man was moving again. He stood, and his right hand slid down to his crotch. His breathing deepened -- the clinking of a brass belt buckle.
"You sick fuck!"
He stepped toward her. Autumn shrank back as far as her chains would allow.
"You're gonna beg me to kill you."
"Why're you doing this?"
He cackled. Then he stepped forward and knelt at her feet.
She kicked at him, but the chains on her legs and arms jerked tight just short of connecting with his face.
"Fuckin' bitch!"
She kicked at him again. He belted her across the face.
"You don't believe in free love no more?"
She licked the blood off her lips. "Let me out of these chains, and you'll find out what I believe!"
The man grinned savagely and clutched her panties on both sides of the right seam and ripped them apart. Then he reached around to the other side and did the same and yanked them off like a dirty diaper. Then his hands were on her.
She clinched her legs together. He grasped her knees and ripped them apart. His strength was almost otherworldly. Then he began thrusting, and forced himself inside causing white-hot surges of pain to shoot through her. She felt as though someone was raping her with sandpaper.
Autumn clamped her eyes shut, and turned her head, sobbing.
A car door slammed shut somewhere outside.
He stopped, and he looked around now listening hard -- looking like a stray dog sniffing the air.
The sounds of footfalls crunching on gravel. . . .
"Help!"
The man reached down to his ankle and pulled his hunting knife out of its sheaf and held it up to her face.
She shrieked; she couldn't help it the pain and the terror were on a level that she'd never felt before.
"Shut your goddamn hole," he hissed into her ear pressing the cold blade against her throat.
But she couldn't help herself. Her shriek only became louder.
He stabbed her in the throat just below the Adams apple, and her scream drowned into a gurgling sound.
Autumn couldn't believe what had just happened. The pain was immediate and intense, but it felt no deeper than it might have if she'd just crashed hard into a sharp object cutting the flesh and knocking the breath out of her lungs. She looked down and her eyes bulged with terrible surprise.
She gasped for breath, but her lungs could find none. It was as though she were trying to breathe in a vacuum. And there was a strong coppery taste in her mouth.
She felt the knife leave her body, and then she saw the man shove it in again, but this time she felt no pain only the blow itself. As a matter of fact, the other wound didn't seem to hurt anymore either.
Perhaps it hadn't even happened. Maybe her eyes will pop open in a minute and she'll find herself lying in her bed with the morning sun warming her sheets. -- She'll close her eyes again and roll over, and her hand will find Tommy's chest, and she'll feel his strong heartbeat below it.
And she'll open her eyes and look at him. His lips will be parted slightly, and the corners of his mouth will curve up in a smile.
Maybe this was all just a terribly vivid nightmare -- a subconscious fear that has been there all along and has just finally rooted its way out.
The kind of nightmare that leaves you more exhausted than you were before you went to sleep. The kind of dream that leaves you tired all over.
So
Profoundly
Tired.
*** Coming 2/13/2010 Part One: Two Houses Connected***
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