Ella Dean

July 16, 2011
I can feel him watching me. He has watched my every move. Ever since I stepped down the ramp into the terminal. He looked up from the newspaper and caught my eye. His greasy black hair fell in thick strands and his stubble was awkwardly sparse, like he had tried to shave but stopped in the middle. His teeth were black with neglect, and I could tell instantly that he was drunk. His amber eyes stared back at me, and I saw hunger in his eyes. I know what he wants. I can’t shake him, no matter where I go or what I do. Sometimes I lose him for a little while, but he always knows where I am going next and what my next move is.
He knows the hotel I am staying at, the room number. He knows that I am about to leave and go to dinner. I can see his silhouette against the window, a shadow blocking the light even through the curtains. He knows I am trapped. He came in earlier while I was unloading the car I guess, because I left the door open. I know he doesn’t have a key. He would have come in by now if he had a key. He disabled the hotel phone, so I can’t call for help. My cell phone is in my car, where I left it. I could scream, but who would hear me? Who would come? Who would care about Ella, the stranger from Oklahoma, the one that doesn’t belong? No one.
I slowly got up. The instant I was on my feet the silhouette left my window. I crossed the room and looked through the peephole. He was nowhere. I parted the curtains on the windows as little as possible and peered cautiously out, but there was still no sign of him anywhere. I was still suspicious, but my stomach rumbled once again. You can’t starve yourself in your room. It seemed to say. I quietly opened the door. Almost instantly something hit me on the back of the head, and I fell limp, nearly unconscious. He pushed me back inside the room, making me fall helplessly to the ground, and shut the door behind him. Then he picked me back up and shoved me against the wall. My heart thudded wildly in my chest. My breathing was ragged. He leaned in towards my neck, and inhaled deeply. I could smell the stench of beer on his breath. “Hmmm . . . you smell good,” he whispered in my ear. “Before anything else, I want to know where all of your valuables are . . . all the ones I don’t know about anyways.” He grinned and looked down at my breasts. I shuddered in horror and fear, and stammered, “I have four twenty’s in my p-pocket and the rest is in that drawer and in the s-safe.” He pressed his hand against my throat, threatening to strangle me. “I swear that’s all.”
“What is the combination to the safe?” He asked me, deathly quiet. “I want to get this part over with quickly so I can move on to the fun part.” I shuddered again, and between gritted teeth told him, “33 left, 27 right, 5 left, 17 right.”
“Wait here,” he said, grinning. He turned away for a moment, but then turned back. “On second thought,” he muttered, and gripped my throat even tighter. He dragged me around the room. He sifted through the drawer and found my wallet, which had one hundred dollars cash, as well as my credit cards. When he saw the complimentary Bible, he shoved me onto the bed, freeing his hands so that he could rip out as many pages as possible. I tried to roll over the bed and dash for the window, hoping to through myself through and save time rather than open the door, but he caught hold of my foot and dragged me back. “Now, now,” he chided, still ripping out pages with his teeth, “don’t spoil all of my fun.”
Next he went to the safe, and found my ruby necklace and diamond earrings. He shoved them in his pocket, and then he turned to me. A savage glint was in his eyes as he came slowly toward me. “Let the fun begin,” he said menacingly. Despite my earlier cynicism, I screamed as loudly as I could for help. He pinned my to the wall before I could get out of the room and his horrible, chapped lips met mine. I tried to shove him away, but he was relentless. He let go of my arms, which he had been holding at my sides, and reached up to my shirt, which he started unbuttoning. I finally succeeded in pushing him away, and I screamed again with all my heart. Then he was on me again, tearing off my shirt with more fervor than before.
Once my shirt was off he turned my around and unfastened my bra. He licked my back, then turned me around and kissed me visciously again. He reached down to my pants and started to unfastened my jeans. He made me lie down on the bed and pulled them off of my legs. He reached for my underwear, but before he ripped them off he paused. He cocked his head to the side, listening. I strained my ears too, and heard the distant thud of footsteps as people came running to help me. I sighed in relief. Hearing this, the man turned to me again, and pressed his lips against my now exposed breast. I screamed again, and he stopped.
“I do wish you hadn’t spoiled my fun,” he said, eyes still glinting with lust. The footsteps grew louder. He cursed, then our lips pressed together again, and I felt his tonge prodding the inside of my mouth. Then he picked my up by my throat and pinned me to the wall again. “Well, I guess this is goodbye, my pet.” He pulled a knife out of the inside of his coat and lunged at me. I was in shock and did nothing to defend myself. He stabbed me at least six times, maybe more. The world became tinted with red once he slashed across my forehead and the blood dripped into my eyes. I felt sort of detached, like I was floating slightly outside myself, watching myself be stabbed. Finally he let up, and I dropped to the floor. He did a running leap at the window. I watched as he crashed through and landed neatly on the roof of the building next over. He didn’t have the knife in his hand anymore and I realized dreamily that it was still stuck in my chest. As the people came rushing into my room, too late, all they saw was a ravaged young girl, a blood soaked carpet and wall, and the remains of the window.
One of them came and held my hand. Told me everything would be okay. But it wasn’t. I could feel myself slipping. I was going away, into the dark abyss. I would not come back. I was going.
I was going.
I was going.

I felt my hand slip out of hers as my soul departed my body.

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Gingeriffic said...
Aug. 3, 2011 at 11:49 am
Thank you very much, Anonymous Reader, for rating this article. I have been feeling pretty insecure about my stories since I am a new publisher and seeing your rating really helped my morale. Again, Thank You.
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