Well here we go, the actual chapter breaks are a bit much to post so I'll do my best to break things in logical places. Some posts will be longer and others may be a bit short. I had input in writing this from a couple of RN's so the medical stuff is pretty close. Now as we progress the legal stuff may not be too accurate but this is fiction not a legal brief. So without further ado I present Victim 18.
VICTIM
18
By: Maura Alwyen
The story contained in this book is the sole creation of Maura Alwyen. Any similarities to any person, persons, entities, or corporations are purely coincidental. All copyrights are held by Maura Alwyen. Any copying, reproduction, or distribution without explicit written and notarized authorization by Maura Alwyen; or in the case of her demise, by her estate, is strictly prohibited.
Due to the subject matter of this book, it is intended for more mature audiences only. The subject matter should be considered rated NC-17 by U. S. film rating standards.
CHAPTER 1
FUN AND GAMES
It is a bright, sunny, early spring, morning, and the young wild-flowers are still as yet unharmed by the hot summer sun of the months to come. A gentle breeze blows through the grasses, and around the ruins, of an ancient city. It all looks like a perfectly peaceful place: a warm, dancing campfire not far from an overly large canvas tent, with a large stainless steel coffee pot hanging over the fire from an iron tripod spewing a trail of thick, billowing steam from its spout. The rich, full scent of the percolating coffee wafts through the air, hitching a ride on the passing breeze. No one would notice that what appears to be an old, dark, stump—not too far off—is really a young woman looking into the wide foggy valley that separates her new mountain home from the other mountains in the region. She is crying with both grief and relief. The wind is tossing her hair in its small gusts as it leaps up from the valley floor, as if it is trying to dry her tears and to console her with its endless and all-encompassing embrace. Its presence only making the heat of the tears running down her face feel all the more pronounced to her.
Well, it’s done. Three and a half months, but it’s finally done. Now I can finally get on with my life, though I know it will never be the same as it was before. Although only time will tell if that’s a loss or not. In some ways, it’s already kind of hard to remember that life now. So much has happened so fast, it’s like...it was completely taken away from me. It’s as if I was plucked away from one life and dropped into another. So I guess it’s time to just start a new life and not look back on the last one.
But why did I work late that night? For that matter, why did I work late most nights? To help my career? That really went well. After what happened they wouldn’t even give me an extended vacation or sick time to seek help. To buy myself lots of neat toys? Well, those were nice till they were stolen. To make up for the fact that I had no life outside of my job? That was probably the whole thing right there. Well, that can all be different, now that it’s all over…but, will it ever be over as long as I can remember it like it was yesterday?”
Her mind flashes back, back to when it all began…
It is a crisp, early May evening, though it had been warm in the morning when Wren had gone out for her morning run. It was because of the morning’s warmth that she wore that particular suit that day. Was that why it happened? It was her favorite suit, a very pale yellow just a little brighter than fresh butter, with a skirt that just reached mid-thigh, a matching cropped jacket and perfectly matching four inch heels. She knew the white blouse was too sheer for work, that the heels were too tall. However, she always liked the longing glances of the guys. Some people might have thought she was being ostentatious. She knew she was, but liked the look and never really cared what other people thought about it. She had worked late–like usual–and was walking through the empty parking lot to her car, with only the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement to keep her company. She was walking directly to her bright blue Mustang, a car that had muscle written all over it from the hood scoop to the Shelby markings on the side. The engine, pulsing with life, gave off a deep ethereal rumble, and caused the car to feel as if it were throbbing beneath you. Yet it wasn’t the brash thunder of so many other sports cars, it was really more of a deeply contented purr. As Wren approached her car, a girl in a beat up old Dodge pulls up alongside her and asks, “How do you get to Tucker and Thirteenth Street?” As Wren stands there explaining that the two don’t intersect, someone comes up behind her and forces a damp and very foul smelling rag over her mouth and nose. She grabs at their arms and kicks the spikes of her heels into their calves and knees. She couldn’t fight as hard as she knew she could, for as the rag was clamped over her mouth she had instinctively taken a very deep breath. Now she was becoming dizzy and wobbly—her efforts at freeing herself becoming less and less. As she was passing out, the last thing she remembered hearing was one of them saying, “See, I told you I knew where to find an attractive redhead for the guys.”
The next thing Wren knew was that she was being bounced on a hard, lumpy floor. She guessed rightly that she was in the trunk of a car, although she couldn’t see anything in the complete darkness. It was a very small place, and she could hear an engine’s deep, throaty rumble, the road noise, and an annoying radio playing some loud punk rock. Every bump in the road felt as though it would knock her against the top of the trunk, every bass beat felt like a hammer being driven into her skull, and her legs and abdomen cramped with fire. She was being taken who knew where, and it seemed to her like she was in there for days. She drifted in and out of consciousness with nothing but her own thoughts for company, and none of them were very comforting. She was brought out of her thoughts and back to reality by the slowing of the car. Then suddenly her body was thrown hard to the right. The force of the turn crushing her already cramped legs up tighter against her abdomen. The sound changed from the smooth whine of pavement to the crunching sound of gravel under the car. Wren listened expectantly for the sound to stop, guessing the car would soon come to a stop as it had to be some remote driveway, but the sound went on and on. Only now the sound was accompanied by the nerve racking sound of rocks pinging in the wheel wells and off the floor pan beneath her head and the occasional bang of the car’s differential bottoming out in some unseen rut in the road. After a while she came to the conclusion they were definitely on a road as the sounds didn’t change, and the pinging only got louder and faster. Wren started feeling sick as she drifted back into her own thoughts, always returning to the same voice in her head, “See, I told you I knew where to find an attractive redhead for the guys.” Why did that voice seem so familiar? Wren was now starting to feel quite cold, and she was wishing she’d suffocate to get this over with and disappoint the “guys”— whoever they were. It was about this time she felt they were slowing down again, and then the car stopped. She can hear voices, but most of it is hard to make out from where she is. All Wren can make out at first is a male voice and then two women.
“Well, girls, I see you’ve moved up in the world—a late model Mustang. I hope for your sake that’s not the only good looking thing you brought with you. I mean, frankly, the guys have been rather disappointed in the last few you brought.”
“Oh, Clarence, you’re really gonna like this one! She looks just as fine as this car she drove, and I bet you won’t find a bit of fat on her.”
“And get this, Clarence, she’s a lot younger than we’ve been able to get you in a long while.”
“Well, Juliana, for your sake, I hope you’re right or you and Rachel here are going to be the next ones instead. Now, let’s all get something to eat before the fun begins.”
Wren can’t hear anymore talking, just the sound of shoes walking away across the gravel.
“So, I’m in my own car trunk, this is convenient. I know there’s a flashlight in here somewhere if I can find it.”
Wren now realizes that finding something like a flashlight in the small trunk of a Mustang isn’t really hard until you’re inside the trunk with the lid shut. To her it seems like forever, but she finally finds it, for what good it does her. She can’t get at the mechanism to work the latch before the already feeble light goes out altogether. She lay there in the dark shaking the flashlight in a vain attempt to make it work for a few moments before she became despondent and just lay there sobbing.
“Well, Juliana and Rachel, let’s see what you brought us.”
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