hyperventilating. Blood was pooling and the cold metal bit down and into and deep and she was bleeding and the knife was inside .
Lydia Barsowich wasn’t crying. She was screaming. And he’d forgotten the gag, so she was screaming loud. She wasn’t crying yet, but she would be. Because Mr. Murray liked her skirt. And he liked lifting it up. And he liked pulling her underwear down.
Lydia cried.
She stopped screaming.
And when he was done he made damn sure she could never scream again.
The cement talked about how he came home smelling of smoke. The soot on his skin slipped down the drain, and the blood on his knife was cleaned diligently, and at night he dreamed of them, all milky flesh and bruised thighs and unwilling wet heat and flesh parting on his blade.
And the police didn’t know. They would never know, because Mr. Murray had a clean record, nothing extraordinary or horrible about him, except all the things that were. And maybe he hadn’t always been like this, but he was now.
His eyes had gotten darker, something growing inside of him. He’d gotten meaner, became surly and sharp like broken glass.
Monster .
The cement whispered it over and over and Sandra watched shadow movies in the lamplight and cried and screamed until she nearly made herself sick.
In her dream he pushed into her, and it hurt so badly, while in the real world Sandra waited, arms tied down to the cold cement with her lips slowly turning blue.
“Do you think they’re looking for you, those parents of yours?” Mr. Murray asked, when he returned.
Inside her head, Nikki screamed and Sandra shuddered.
Mr. Murray offered water again and this time Sandra swallowed it down. It tasted coppery, elements and minerals all mixed together. Her mouth was cracked but it tasted so good.
“Careful,” he said, happy all over again.
No , Lydia pleaded. No .
Lydia cried, but Nikki only silently screamed because she had the gag in her mouth and they were her and she was them and—
“Stay with me,” Mr. Murray tapped her on the cheek, not hard, but jarring and Sandra flinched, then flinched again when the ropes bit into her arms. “Are you with me?” His eyes were black. Sandra thought they had used to be blue.
The wounds on Nikki’s stomach burned.
“No going away. Not yet.” His fingers swept through her gritty hair, tugging it out from behind her back and over her shoulders, around her head. Sandra wished her boys would find her. “We’re going to some have fun, Miss Daron.” Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
“Shhh,” Mr. Murray said again and worked the gag back between her parched lips. The fabric tasted like dust and dried all the water away. “Lydia got too loud,” he whispered to her, like it was a secret. “She almost gave me away.” Sandra choked back a sob and turned her head as far as possible, unable to stop her wrists from tugging against the rope despite the rubbing pain. When he rose, her gaze followed his shadow across the room, pleading that he’d go back upstairs.
No no no no , Lydia screamed. Please Mr. Murray . Please don ’t . Please no, please no .
The lamplight flickered, long shadow moving back and forth, morphing the room into long shapes of dark. He moved again, and the dim light seared Sandra’s eyes. There was a glint of metal and she went rigid, fighting hard. Mr. Murray grinned. “We’re going to have so much fun,” he said.
He turned, clomping up the stairs and Sandra breathed hard into her gag, choking on her tears until everything went black.
~
They’re coming , Sandra told herself. They’re coming .
Behind her eyes, Mr. Murray cut the jeans off her legs. He sliced ribbons into her skin. He liked her hips and traced the bones. He smeared them red. He liked her all over, but he wanted her to last. He couldn’t trust himself not to take too much too soon. He left her sweater on. But when he did…
Shhh , future Mr. Murray said. It’s just like going to sleep . There’s
Lydia Barsowich wasn’t crying. She was screaming. And he’d forgotten the gag, so she was screaming loud. She wasn’t crying yet, but she would be. Because Mr. Murray liked her skirt. And he liked lifting it up. And he liked pulling her underwear down.
Lydia cried.
She stopped screaming.
And when he was done he made damn sure she could never scream again.
The cement talked about how he came home smelling of smoke. The soot on his skin slipped down the drain, and the blood on his knife was cleaned diligently, and at night he dreamed of them, all milky flesh and bruised thighs and unwilling wet heat and flesh parting on his blade.
And the police didn’t know. They would never know, because Mr. Murray had a clean record, nothing extraordinary or horrible about him, except all the things that were. And maybe he hadn’t always been like this, but he was now.
His eyes had gotten darker, something growing inside of him. He’d gotten meaner, became surly and sharp like broken glass.
Monster .
The cement whispered it over and over and Sandra watched shadow movies in the lamplight and cried and screamed until she nearly made herself sick.
In her dream he pushed into her, and it hurt so badly, while in the real world Sandra waited, arms tied down to the cold cement with her lips slowly turning blue.
“Do you think they’re looking for you, those parents of yours?” Mr. Murray asked, when he returned.
Inside her head, Nikki screamed and Sandra shuddered.
Mr. Murray offered water again and this time Sandra swallowed it down. It tasted coppery, elements and minerals all mixed together. Her mouth was cracked but it tasted so good.
“Careful,” he said, happy all over again.
No , Lydia pleaded. No .
Lydia cried, but Nikki only silently screamed because she had the gag in her mouth and they were her and she was them and—
“Stay with me,” Mr. Murray tapped her on the cheek, not hard, but jarring and Sandra flinched, then flinched again when the ropes bit into her arms. “Are you with me?” His eyes were black. Sandra thought they had used to be blue.
The wounds on Nikki’s stomach burned.
“No going away. Not yet.” His fingers swept through her gritty hair, tugging it out from behind her back and over her shoulders, around her head. Sandra wished her boys would find her. “We’re going to some have fun, Miss Daron.” Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
“Shhh,” Mr. Murray said again and worked the gag back between her parched lips. The fabric tasted like dust and dried all the water away. “Lydia got too loud,” he whispered to her, like it was a secret. “She almost gave me away.” Sandra choked back a sob and turned her head as far as possible, unable to stop her wrists from tugging against the rope despite the rubbing pain. When he rose, her gaze followed his shadow across the room, pleading that he’d go back upstairs.
No no no no , Lydia screamed. Please Mr. Murray . Please don ’t . Please no, please no .
The lamplight flickered, long shadow moving back and forth, morphing the room into long shapes of dark. He moved again, and the dim light seared Sandra’s eyes. There was a glint of metal and she went rigid, fighting hard. Mr. Murray grinned. “We’re going to have so much fun,” he said.
He turned, clomping up the stairs and Sandra breathed hard into her gag, choking on her tears until everything went black.
~
They’re coming , Sandra told herself. They’re coming .
Behind her eyes, Mr. Murray cut the jeans off her legs. He sliced ribbons into her skin. He liked her hips and traced the bones. He smeared them red. He liked her all over, but he wanted her to last. He couldn’t trust himself not to take too much too soon. He left her sweater on. But when he did…
Shhh , future Mr. Murray said. It’s just like going to sleep . There’s
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