“Exactly. So you see, when you think I’m trying to make out with every living woman on earth… well, I am. But beyond that, I’m really providing nourishment for your souls. Enriching your lives.”
Hannah wasn’t convinced.
“But when I have a bad hair day, or a hard night’s sleep and my face is all puffy and my eyes are red, I have dark circles under my eyes and look like a raccoon. On those days I don’t feel pretty at all. If you came along and told me I was beautiful then, I wouldn’t believe you. And what good is false flattery if it’s obviously false?”
“Ah, but see, that’s the beauty of it… if you’ll pardon the pun. You’re always beautiful. It doesn’t matter that your hair’s not perfect or that you discovered a new wrinkle. You’re still the greatest creature God ever created and the reason we’re all here. And that, woman of my dreams, is beautiful.”
Hannah smiled.
“Joel, I think your father was a brilliant man.”
Mark wasn’t so complimentary.
“Joel, what I think is that you’re making the rest of us clowns look bad.
“You said your father also taught you baseball. Let’s stop all this beauty nonsense and talk ball for a while. Now there’s a beautiful subject.”
Chapter 15
For the first few days after they made it back to the Huckabees’ farmhouse, Martel wondered whether he’d hit his new woman too hard.
He’d gone through all the trouble of tying and gagging her thinking that at some point she’d come to and struggle with him.
Or, at the very least, starting screaming her head off for help.
But she never stirred, not at all. Not all the way to the pickup, and not after he dumped her unceremoniously into the pickup’s bed, like she was nothing more than a deer’s carcass.
When he got back to the farmhouse and tossed her back over his shoulder she whimpered a bit but nothing more.
He dumped her on the floor, still naked and tied at the hands and feet. But she was no more animated than the couch behind her.
The first hour he sat in a recliner and rested. He wasn’t getting any younger, and he hadn’t lifted weights in years. In prison there wasn’t much to do, so he spent his hour of rec time each day doing bench presses. His shoulders and back had been strong and broad, his biceps and triceps matching those in muscle magazines. In those days, he felt as though he could lift a Mack truck.
But those days were long gone now. He was still stronger than most men, and had the stamina to beat most men half his age.
But carrying the woman through the forest over his shoulders, as small as she was, still took a lot out of him.
As he rested, he made a promise to himself to start spending some time on the free weights he’d found in the farmhouse’s basement.
After an hour he stretched and wondered if she’d come to faster if she was more comfortable.
He got up intending to pick her up and place her on the couch.
As he approached her, though, her body decided it could wait no longer to relieve the pressure on her bladder.
Beneath her body, a round circle of urine darkened the light brown carpet.
“What the hell?”
Had Martel known a bit about physiology, he might have known that his victim’s mind somehow knew she wasn’t just sleeping. Her mind knew her body was injured and needed to recover.
And that she wasn’t going to be waking anytime soon.
But Martel wasn’t that smart.
A powerful scent of urine permeated the room, and Martel turned up his nose.
Instead of moving her to the couch and having her soil it, he knelt down beside her and slapped her face.
“Wake up, bitch. I didn’t go through all the trouble of bringing you here so
Hannah wasn’t convinced.
“But when I have a bad hair day, or a hard night’s sleep and my face is all puffy and my eyes are red, I have dark circles under my eyes and look like a raccoon. On those days I don’t feel pretty at all. If you came along and told me I was beautiful then, I wouldn’t believe you. And what good is false flattery if it’s obviously false?”
“Ah, but see, that’s the beauty of it… if you’ll pardon the pun. You’re always beautiful. It doesn’t matter that your hair’s not perfect or that you discovered a new wrinkle. You’re still the greatest creature God ever created and the reason we’re all here. And that, woman of my dreams, is beautiful.”
Hannah smiled.
“Joel, I think your father was a brilliant man.”
Mark wasn’t so complimentary.
“Joel, what I think is that you’re making the rest of us clowns look bad.
“You said your father also taught you baseball. Let’s stop all this beauty nonsense and talk ball for a while. Now there’s a beautiful subject.”
Chapter 15
For the first few days after they made it back to the Huckabees’ farmhouse, Martel wondered whether he’d hit his new woman too hard.
He’d gone through all the trouble of tying and gagging her thinking that at some point she’d come to and struggle with him.
Or, at the very least, starting screaming her head off for help.
But she never stirred, not at all. Not all the way to the pickup, and not after he dumped her unceremoniously into the pickup’s bed, like she was nothing more than a deer’s carcass.
When he got back to the farmhouse and tossed her back over his shoulder she whimpered a bit but nothing more.
He dumped her on the floor, still naked and tied at the hands and feet. But she was no more animated than the couch behind her.
The first hour he sat in a recliner and rested. He wasn’t getting any younger, and he hadn’t lifted weights in years. In prison there wasn’t much to do, so he spent his hour of rec time each day doing bench presses. His shoulders and back had been strong and broad, his biceps and triceps matching those in muscle magazines. In those days, he felt as though he could lift a Mack truck.
But those days were long gone now. He was still stronger than most men, and had the stamina to beat most men half his age.
But carrying the woman through the forest over his shoulders, as small as she was, still took a lot out of him.
As he rested, he made a promise to himself to start spending some time on the free weights he’d found in the farmhouse’s basement.
After an hour he stretched and wondered if she’d come to faster if she was more comfortable.
He got up intending to pick her up and place her on the couch.
As he approached her, though, her body decided it could wait no longer to relieve the pressure on her bladder.
Beneath her body, a round circle of urine darkened the light brown carpet.
“What the hell?”
Had Martel known a bit about physiology, he might have known that his victim’s mind somehow knew she wasn’t just sleeping. Her mind knew her body was injured and needed to recover.
And that she wasn’t going to be waking anytime soon.
But Martel wasn’t that smart.
A powerful scent of urine permeated the room, and Martel turned up his nose.
Instead of moving her to the couch and having her soil it, he knelt down beside her and slapped her face.
“Wake up, bitch. I didn’t go through all the trouble of bringing you here so
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