ThePurpleQuill
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2018
- Messages
- 161
- Points
- 16
“NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”
A frantic shriek pierces the midnight air, its source a young woman experiencing a hellish fate like none other. Her toned naked body, covered in sweat from a constant stream of physical exertion, slams against the hard wooden table she lays upon, her straining muscles struggling valiantly against the thick manila ropes binding her at the wrists and ankles. Strands of dark caramel locks fly in all directions as her head is thrown to and fro, as the poor young woman is merely trying to wake herself from this nightmare that just won’t end. Her powder blue eyes, already drenched in tears of pitiful anguish, glisten underneath the bright yellow spotlight hanging high above, at least when they are not trapped underneath her tightly clenched eyelids, hopelessly questioning just how or when she is ever to escape this fate.
Poor Elizabeth, one minute catching a much-needed ride hitchhiking her way to the next town over, and by the next ensnared by her captors to endure this terrible suffering. And speaking of her captors, three shadowy figures stand ominously over her, with one at each foot, and the third over her upper body. Their formidable fingers forcibly pry her toes back against her will, keeping her soles stretched taut and completely vulnerable as they dig deep into her quivering flesh, scraping every last bit of sanity out of her pretty little head with laughable ease. Up above, the third figure endlessly tantalizes her sensitive nipples, pinching and tugging, tickling them without repose, keeping her on the absolute edge of sexual suffering and ticklish agony.
Her fingers claw hopelessly at the open air around her, trying with all her might to grasp onto something to keep her grounded in this world, but there is nothing, nothing but the reality that she is being subjected to for what has felt like an eternity. She begs for mercy, straining to vocalize just how close she is to being pushed over the edge, but there is none, their nimble fingers playing her body like the melodious instrument it is. Her head becomes lighter with each passing moment, with oxygen being in short supply as she strains harder and harder for each precious breath of air. The bright light above slowly consumes her, as she once again falls out of consciousness, the third time that very night much to the delight of her captors...
The radiant glow of an early afternoon sun basks the quiet countryside in its warm embrace. Endlessly rolling hills, green as the sky is clear and blue, cover the unpopulated landscape in their dazzling beauty. In fact, seemingly the only symbol of mankind’s presence is the asphalt-paved road cutting the land in two, its faded and cracking surface alluding to its half century age. It is here that a sterling white sedan speeds down this lonesome country road, a Mercedes-Benz of unquestionably refined taste and an even higher price tag, with its inhabitants being two young women who could easily pass as sisters, much to the chagrin of the younger of the two.
Jessica Frasier, a college sophomore and captain of her volleyball team, is seated in the passenger seat of this luxury vehicle, and not enjoying herself in it as much as one would think. She is accompanying her new mother-in-law on an important business trip, something her father insisted she do to get them better acquainted with one another. Unfortunately for her, little thought was put into just what she herself would be doing over the next two weeks, as it seemed the beginning of her summer break was going to be wasted for the sake of pleasing her father.
Her shoulder-length blonde locks toss gently in the warm country air, those which usually frame her supple cheeks and smooth natural features now haphazardly covering them. Pale blue eyes scan their way across the endless rural landscape, a fitting setting for the desolation and detachment she feels this very moment. In the passive position she finds herself in, she can only gaze out into the open air for what has been several hours on the road, not knowing if she will ever break out of this feeling of dread and actually enjoy any part of this trip she has been coerced into going on. Seated behind the wheel, Marcy, her mother-in-law, thought a little fresh air would do the girl good, opening her window on her side, yet another decision that was supposedly made for Jessica’s own good.
It has been hard these past five years, after the sudden death of her mother in a car accident, only made worse with Jessica’s father trying his best to raise his only daughter as a single father until he could send her to university this past year. Despite her own pain, Jessica knew her father was growing lonely, hoping to fill the void by taking up the domestic responsibilities her mother had, opting to do all the cooking and cleaning in the house as her father continued to build his business. However, nothing she could have done would have helped to comfort him in the only ways her mother could, and as time went on, Jessica found herself secretly hoping that someone would eventually fill that void, even if they could never be a replacement for the original. Once she noticed the increasing amounts of time her father was spending with Marcy, a new junior manager in his company, Jessica knew that her wish had unfortunately come true.
“I’m sure you’re going to enjoy the amenities at the hotel Jess,” Marcy breaks the silence, using the shorthand version of Jessica’s name despite never asking whether it was okay, another reason for Jessica not to like her. “You can’t drink, mind you. I can’t be responsible for anyone underage digging into the mini fridge.”
“Like I’ll be the one doing the drinking this trip,” Jessica mumbles under her breath, not turning around to verify whether Marcy had heard her, which she hadn’t under a sudden breeze passing by. Before being introduced to her officially as her father’s girlfriend, Jessica had formally met Marcy only once before at the company picnic, feeling flattered the older business woman was taking so much of an interest in her, inquiring as to what sports she played, what subjects she most favored in school, and so on. She thought nothing much else of it, and even when Marcy would find time to stop by her house now and again, Jessica still thought it was just someone trying to be friendly. However, once Marcy was invited out with the two of them on their yearly camping trip, Jessica knew it wasn’t just her the ambitious woman was getting friendly with.
What transpired soon after was a whirlwind of dinner reservations, overnight stays in hotels, and capricious flights to exotic locations, those which, little by little, began to include less of Jessica and more of just Marcy and him. Sitting her down six weeks ago, she knew the news would have been hard for her to handle: they eloped last week, on their business trip to Las Vegas, “for tax purposes” they told her with a straight face, the shock of the news obscuring the utter rage she felt underneath the surface, her stark silence glossed over by their infatuation with their future together. So the next six weeks have been a whirlwind of moving trucks and shifting norms, as her childhood home just got a little bit smaller, as no matter what Marcy tried to do to bridge the gap between them, Jessica was not going to be the one to reciprocate.
“I wonder if your father has tried to contact us by now,” Marcy notes, inserting her hand into her large purse seated just next to her, prying out her oversized cell phone with a jewel-encrusted case courtesy of her new husband. “Damn! Oh, excuse me Jess. I’m not getting any phone signal out here. It must have been roaming for the past three hours, since I’m almost out of power too. We should find somewhere to stop soon so I can find a plug to recharge.”
Maybe you could have remembered to bring your car charger instead of worrying so much about how many types of mascaras you were going to need this trip, Jessica ponders to herself, her face showing little of the utter contempt she had for this woman. She knew nobody could truly replace her mother, and yet, she had hoped her father would choose someone more like an adult and less like a midlife fling. That here was the problem: Marcy was too old to truly relate to Jessica, yet too young to be an authority figure over her. Her infrequent outings with Marcy to grab a cup of tea only reinforced this, the comments of several overly friendly men (as well as a few women) were never reciprocated, but never quite brushed off altogether, a red flag to the overprotective daughter who has seen more than a few gold digging vultures hovering overhead.
No, what was left was a persistent suspicion of Marcy’s motives, believing that she was only there to get further in the corporate ladder, and what better way than to marry the CFO.
Eyes locked on the sudden appearance of sprawling farmland and apple orchards in front of her, Jessica is unable to notice Marcy’s eyes glancing into the rearview mirror, gently twisting and turning her head as to check whether or not she will have to touch up her makeup before her meeting over dinner that night. Her pale green eyes dazzle underneath the sharp black mascara she so diligently applied that morning, with just a touch of blush highlighting her full womanly facial structure. Tucked behind her ears are her long honey blonde locks, stating to the world around her that she was a woman indeed, but that wasn’t going to get in her way. She was someone who took great pride in maintaining her natural assets, and to say she had stunning good looks for a professional of her caliber would only reinforce how hard she has worked to flaunt what she already had.
Had Jessica seen this gesture, she might have chalked it up to pure vanity which, to be fair, may not have been too off the mark from the truth. However, what Jessica didn’t know was just how important it was for Marcy to look her very best for this specific meeting, as it was for the sole benefit of her new husband that she delivered results. After the death of his wife, Jessica’s father suffered greatly in his ability to deliver the returns he had before, letting opportunities fall through his fingers time and time again, putting him on pins and needles with the board of directors who were just waiting to find any reason to let him go. However, it was also known the company had been trying to acquire a new client for several years now, one who would be open to a new business proposal that looked as good as it sounded, if you catch the drift. Therefore, it was Marcy’s chance to ensure her husband’s success within the company and, as a result, hopefully freeing up a bit more time for him to spend with his daughter, someone who has been pulling away from him for these past several months.
Maybe some tunes will brighten her up, Marcy thinks to herself, turning the knob to her radio, only to be bombarded by the cacophonous static of not being within thirty miles of a viable signal, jamming her thumb into the off-button as a result. And so the quiet resumes. Great. She didn’t even flinch. What could she be thinking about? Maybe how much she hates me. Yeah, that’s probably it. Why don’t I say something? Ask her how she’s doing. Oh Hell, I’m never going to get a straight answer out of her anyways. Huh...look at us now Randy: your daughter and I, bonding, getting closer to each other by the minute. How fun.
Marcy Frasier, formerly Marcy Knowles, was a different story than her newly acquired daughter-in-law, something she wished to tell her younger half if she thought Jessica would ever truly listen to reason. It was true that her ambition was not something she intended to hide, driving her to greater heights and achievement in her career. To many, that would come off as behavior unbecoming of a woman, even bordering on bitchiness, a word she has heard under the breath of many of her former colleagues. But, it was only by the fact of her being raised by a single father that taught her how to behave in a world of men, of how to earn what she deserved and hold onto it for dear life lest it be taken away from her. To her, it was the fact she was expected by society to simply marry her way into money that made her blood boil, a thought she tried to resist even when she had that shiny new engagement ring placed on her finger. She knew that, by toiling in the corporate for her keep, Marcy felt she was only paving the way for other young women to earn their own way through life.
This was yet another way in which she identified with her new stepdaughter, as someone who was just trying to make it through the world with the hand they were dealt, and in their cases, the only cards they had left were the men who helped shape them. The fact that they could be mistakenly seen as sisters, if not close cousins, was just an afterthought in her eyes. Even when she would be told so by those strangers in Jessica’s presence, she could only hope that they could use this to see the potential lurking within Jessica to become the same combination of confidence and achievement she embodied within herself every day. It was through Jessica she saw the potential of this young woman, and especially, with the guidance of her loving and committed father. To her, she saw within her new husband the same commitment to his daughter’s prosperity she saw in her own father, and that someone just needing to confirm that he was still a good father regardless of his shortcomings, but that he just needed a maternal force to balance him out when it mattered.
If anything, it felt to Marcy that Jessica was teaching her more about herself than she could teach to Jessica, a revelation she hoped to reveal to the promising young woman once they finally settled down in their hotel room. In their persistent trances, lost in the endless cycles of their internal monologues, the two women can just barely make out the sudden beeping emanating from the dashboard, gradually diverting their gaze to find several lights flashing across the glass display, the emergency symbols changing from orange to red almost as quickly as Marcy’s face as her attention is turned elsewhere.
“Oh God!” Marcy exclaims, tightening her grip on the wheel as the car begins slowly drifting off to the right. “I think we have a flat!” She pumps the brakes, gently gliding to a stop in the dry dirt at the side of the road, the tires skidding against the pavement. Hopping out of the car, her pristine black ankle boots kicking up dust in her wake, Marcy rounds her way to Jessica’s side of the car. She takes one look, and there it is: the front right tire, sinking right down to the flattened pavement, a gentle hiss of air accompanying its descent.
“SON OF A BITCH!!” Marcy yells towards the countryside, still having something left in her to deviate her anger away from her daughter-in-law. “RRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMPH!!” She grasps her phone tightly, placing her hands atop her head as she stomps around for what Jessica timed to be fifteen seconds exactly. A devilish smirk crosses the right side of Jessica’s lips, recognizing this to be Marcy getting her just deserts. It was she who insisted her father remove the spare tire from its compartment, reiterating just how essential it was to have every change of clothes possible for each meeting she would be attending, all for the benefit of the company enticing a lucrative client from China, or Russia, or whatever backwater country she wouldn’t be caught dead in. However, the moment she feels Marcy turning around, Jessica wipes that smile right off her face replacing it with a demeanor of feigned concern.
“It’s okay, don’t panic,” Marcy tells Jessica, turning towards the secretly amused girl, having found just a moment of calm to address her. “We have plenty of time before check-in, not to worry. We’ll just wait for a passing car to help us...sooner or later...ANYTIME NOW!!” Her shrill yet full voice echoes off in the distance, followed by a huff of air as Marcy’s shoulders slump downward, her face turned towards the thin coating of dust across her boots. It was then, much to Jessica’s surprise, she caught a glimpse of something in her rearview mirror: a cloud of dust, followed by the sound of a revving diesel engine, and the sight of a large truck making its way down the country road, right towards them.
“THANK YOU!!” Marcy exclaims, making her way halfway into the street, flopping her arms around to get their attention. “PLEASE! CAN YOU HELP US?!” The truck slowly squeaks and squeals to a stop, a slight hiss exiting the engine block as the driver side door flips open. Stepping out of the car, a mountainesque man makes his approach. His denim overalls chafe over his flannel green shirt, with heavy tanned work boots kicking up several clouds of dust as he slowly walks towards them. Picking up his large trucking hat from up over his eyes, he leers over the sight of these two helpless women, an off-putting smile stretching itself across his face.
They wouldn’t know it then, but hidden just behind a patch of denim over his left breast lies a name tag, one bearing the name Dax Lawton, owned by a man who had spent his entire life in the small town of Mayberry Crossing, if you could even call it that. Over the course of his rural upbringing, Dax has finally found his purpose in the workings of the town, that very purpose being what brings him here today. For you see, as well as being the town mechanic, Mr. Lawton fancies himself as the indisputable businessman of the town, referring to himself as a bonafide “procurement specialist” as though he went to college for it: being an unmarked destination with very few if any tourist attractions, Mayberry Crossing is in dire need of regular outside income in order to fund the few utilities they need to live on, its supply of water and electricity the only thing keeping it connected to the outside world.
So how do you bring visitors to a place they weren’t planning on visiting in the first place? Easy: you simply give them no choice.
Located between two major metropolitan areas, with a midpoint fifty miles away from either one, Mayberry Crossing was in the perfect location to capitalize on those unsuspecting commuters who either ran out of gas or, in this case, forgot to pack a spare tire for the trip. Just what better monopoly there was than providing emergency services to those in the most dire circumstances, Dax could not think of, the genius entrepreneur now the savior of his community. All Dax had to do was rig some puncture strips into the road, park his truck in the brush unseen, and wait for a passing car to spring his trap, offering them much-needed aid that would certainly come at a premium.
But, if it so happens that he comes across a delectable young lady on his exploits, well, he was obliged to show them a wee bit more of that good ol’ hospitality, and lucky for him, he now had two of them standing in his midst.
“Car broke?” he utters, an accent unfamiliar to Marcy despite how worldly she sees herself to be. She turns towards Jessica, flipping her an OK symbol, just to let her know she is going to take care of everything.
“Please, could you help us?” Marcy reiterates, turning on the charm of a poor young woman in need of saving much to Jessica’s dismay. “We were on our way to our hotel when our car got a flat tire just out of nowhere. We don’t have phone service, so we can’t tell how far we are or arrange for a tow truck to pick us up. Is there a town nearby, or some type of settlement with suitable phone service?”
“Town’s ‘bout three mile down road,” he answers, directing his enlarged thumb over his right shoulder, pointing down from whence they came. “Yer best bet be Molly’s Inn for a phone. Best git walkin’ now.” He turns away, just as the blood seems to rush out of Marcy’s face, knowing her delicate skin couldn’t last ten minutes in the direct sunlight, her lack of foresight preventing her from packing sunblock for the trip.
“Pardon me sir?” Marcy calls to him, prompting the mammoth of a figure to slowly turn his gaze towards her. “If you would be a dear and give us a ride to the motel, then we would be ever so thankful for your assistance. She watches as he gazes up into the clear blue sky, rubbing his forefinger just below his lip, emitting an inquisitive hum as he searches for that one speck of concern to let them use his completely bare truck bed for transport. Seeing this makes Marcy tightly purse her lips, her face turning red as she holds back the tongue lashing he deserves for mulling over assisting two high-class ladies like themselves.
“Mkay,” he answers, as Marcy lets out her breath. “Hop in back, but don’t damage anythin’ y’hear?” He begins walking back to the truck, placing his foot on the side as he hoists his gigantic form into the cab, the entire vehicle sinking a few inches as a result.
“Thank you sir!” Marcy exclaims, waving her hand for Jessica to get out of the car. “And don’t worry: we’ll be extra careful with your property. I guarantee it!” Exiting out the passenger side, Jessica shuts the door behind her, hearing the automatic lock engage, giving her what little peace of mind she has knowing their stuff is probably safe on this abandoned country road for the night. Walking behind the truck, she finds Marcy having hoisted herself up unto the truck bed, surveying a spot she can sit down upon with the least amount of dust and dirt.
Leering through his rear view mirror, the man takes inventory of his new procurement: two ladies, most likely sisters as by their similar appearance and close ages, always a pleasure to gaze upon as far as he is concerned. He notes Marcy’s posh gray jacket, lying atop her perfectly pressed black pant suit, extending all the way down to her black ankle boots, surely a business woman with exceptional taste. He can’t help noting the smooth milky skin hiding underneath the sleeve as she extends a hand to help Jessica into the back of the truck, imagining what it must feel like, hoping he won’t have to imagine for long.
Hoisting her daughter-in-law into the truck bed, Marcy takes it upon herself to push the bangs out of Jessica’s eyes, met with a terse swat from the university student that informs Dax that this is more of a mother-daughter relationship, sending a chill of excitement down his spine. He scans his eyes over Jessica, tracing down her body from her gray volleyball shirt, down her sweatpants cutting off just at the ankles, all the way to her slightly beat up white sneakers. The fact that the younger of the two bears so much more milky white skin than her older counterpart pleases their driver, letting his imagination fill in less gaps with every inch. The man revvs the engine up in the cab, the rattling of the muffler accompanying a cloud of smoke and just ejected from the tail pipe.
“Well...what an eventful start to our little trip together, huh Jess?” Marcy asks her, watching as the girl slides herself into the corner of the truck bed. “I’m sure once we get to the inn, we’ll be on our way in a jiffHEEEE!” The truck suddenly jerks forward, throwing Marcy from her seated position unto the truck bed, coating her jacket in the same grime she was so desperately trying to avoid.
“Hang on tight there girlie!” the man yells from the cab. “Ye’d best sit on da floor, ‘cause it’s gonn be a bumpy ride!” An exasperated huff escapes her as Marcy hoists herself up on her bottom, reshaping her hair into the primped and polished state it once was before trying to dust herself off. She glances over at Jessica, hoping to get some sign of recognition for how she was being treated, but no such luck: her gaze is slightly askewed, gazing off to her left as though she hadn’t even noticed. However, as Marcy looks closely into the reflection on the glass back window, she sees just what Jessica is trying to hide: a smirk, one just on the corner of her face, the hidden delight of her stepmother’s plight now on full display.
So begins the journey seemingly back from whence they came, as the truck chugs its way back up the country road. It isn’t three miles when they come across an opening in a fence, one that Jessica could have sworn was not there the first time they passed it. Such was the curse of the townspeople, suffering under the blight of a complete lack of tourism, yet not even having the common sense to put up a sign telling everyone that they’re there. Turning into the opening, they find a narrow dirt road, one so hidden in the foliage you would have never known about it even if you passed it every single day. Slowly, they weave through the dense thicket, with several branches passing far too close to the ducking ladies until suddenly ceasing as they enter a clearing, revealing the town in full.
“Rustic” would be the term Marcy would use to describe it to would-be investors, as anything more descriptive would have raised the question as to how she even stomached the thought of visiting this town. Rundown shacks, each seemingly in more disrepair than the previous, line the main road, with plywood boards across several of their windows. Judging by the predominant architecture, Marcy could guess these structures were built no later than the turn of the 20th century, having not been updated other than for modern electricity. She had known several mining towns had been established back then, and that this must be the remnants of one of those, with the residents of the town the possible descendants of those hardened folks. However, the further they got into town, the more she recognized something peculiar: a smell, not like anything that would have come out of the underground mines. No, this was a sickly sweet smell, a stench that stuck to the back of her throat the more she breathed it in which, as far as she was concerned, she had no choice but to do exactly that, wondering if Jessica had noticed the same.
They pull up to a small building on the edge of town, one placed just before a set of storage areas that have been converted into makeshift hotel rooms, those which Marcy knows for sure could not be up to code. Coming to a stop, the man waves his hand towards the ladies in back, directing them to exit his vehicle. Rounding the truck’s front bumper, he addresses them one last time.
“Git yurselves sum rest,” he tells them, revving up the engine once more as he backs away. “But naht too much, y’hear? Be seein’ yuh real soon!” He peels off, leaving the two ladies to enter the front building by themselves. The hanging bell alerts to their presence, as an elderly woman in a thick pink robe and fuzzy slippers stands up from the corner of the room, shuffling her way to the small front desk.
“Can I help yuh?” she asks, seating herself in the wooden rocking chair, placing a flimsy set of glasses atop her nose.
“Yes please,” Marcy says, taking the reigns of the conversation like she is ripe to doing. “We broke down on our way to our hotel room, and are in desperate need of a tow truck. If we could please have access to a phone so that we could be on our way as soon as possible, we would be most appreciative. Please, this is an emergency.”
“Phones are in the rooms,” the woman notes, holding out the palm of her hand towards Marcy, eliciting a look of confusion atop the professional’s face. “Checking in? IDs please?” She wouldn’t think she would find herself being bamboozled by the likes of a frail old woman, but where they are now, Marcy doesn’t see she has much of a choice than to play along. Huffing a sigh of frustration, she fishes her way into her front pocket, pulling out her clutch as she removes her driver’s license, handing it to the bespectacled woman.
“We just needed a phone,” Marcy quips, halfway underneath her breath, but just loud enough to let everyone in the room know how displeased she is to spend any more money on this trip than she absolutely has to.
“Phones come with rooms,” the elderly woman shoots back, copying down her information into the stained yellow ledger. “Dudn’t matter for five nights ur five minutes: checkin’ in either way.” Her eyes begin darting back and forth between the card, Marcy, and Jessica, prompting the older of the two women to interject.
“I swear it’s me,” Marcy reassures her. “I know right? Just who would wear tortoise shell glasses with a fuschia top? You know what I mean, but you know, contacts and everything. And the hair? The lighting makes it look darker than it is, but that’s definitely the same color, just different style. It might be difficult to tell from a three-year-old picture, but I assure you, that is me.”
“Yer quite a looker fur thirty-one years old li’l missy,” the woman notes, handing her back her ID. “I’d reckon ye’d be twenty-five at mos’. How old’s yer sister there, by the way?”
“WE are not sisters,” Jessica asserts, clenching her fists at her sides, exerting all the restraint she can not to jump over the desk and throttle the frail figure. “Get it right.”
“Young lady!” Marcy barks, turning towards her daughter-in-law, extending her finger towards her as to make it abundantly clear she is reprimanding her. “You are being extremely rude, and I will not tolerate one minute of it, now I expect you to apologize to her for how you spoke to her, and promise to do everything you can to make amends.” Jessica doesn’t speak, merely staring deep into Marcy’s eyes with a piercing gaze that spoke for the both of them.
“I am so sorry for her behavior ma’am,” Marcy says, turning towards the elderly woman only momentarily before shooting a look back right at Jessica. “My daughter might only be 18, but she sometimes has the manners of a five-year-old, much to my embarrassment.” Marcy’s words cut deep into Jessica’s heart, as they were meant to, with a flame being felt in the volleyball captain’s chest upon being called Marcy’s daughter. The audacity this woman has to claim any amount of maternal responsibility over her is slowly driving Jessica to the point of no return, gradually formulating a response during this brief moment of silent tension between them. However, just as Jessica opens her mouth to give her mother-in-law a tongue lashing like none other, a shrill stream of laughter suddenly breaks the silence, coming from the elderly host, making them both turn around to confront the source of the noise.
“Yer my kinda gurl young missy!” she exclaims, leaning back into her chair to admire the spunk she has come across in these two young ladies. “Spirit’s much appreciated in these parts, always welcome.” The two women look almost horrified at the elderly woman, a mixture of shock and embarrassment from having their internal feud become so visible, especially that on Marcy’s part, always feeling as though she should be in control of the situation, now feeling as though her daughter-in-law had taken it away from her. The elderly woman leans back down towards the desk, scribbling down their room number on a notepad as she points her thumb out the dingy window just over her shoulder, directing her to the very last door on the left.
“Room 11B,” she tells them. “Ye pay when ye leave. Damage anythin’ in the room? Git charged double replacement fee: not fair fur de next guest.” Sighing to herself, a mixture of relief and exhaustion drenching the breath, Marcy approaches the front desk one last time.
“Great...so, where’s the key?” Marcy inquires, looking around the room as the woman does not even look up from the book.
“No key. Room locks from the inside.”
Exiting from whence they came, Marcy and Jessica make their way to the back of the lot, approaching a separate building with two sets of hotel rooms, six on each floor, its peeling facade seemingly as old as the front desk attendant as far as they are concerned. Leading the two of them is Marcy, looking around to find no cars parked anywhere around the building, a good sign as far as she is concerned, meaning there will be nobody around to hear the harsh scolding she is going to lay into Jessica with the moment they settle into their room.
11B? Marcy ponders to herself. There’s only one building. Why do they need...oh don’t tell me: B as in “bottom?” Is that really necessary? It is true, as peering over the banister of the top level, Marcy spots each room ending with a letter T, affirming that they are indeed labeled as such. Passing a small line of lime green doors, they approach their room, fifth door from the left. Following far enough behind is Jessica, wishing to put just enough space in between them as not to give her a chance to strangle Marcy for referring to her as her daughter. She could marry her father, live in their house, and take the family car out on weekend excursions, but the one thing Jessica would never allow is for Marcy to pretend as though she is her mother. That, in her mind, is beyond all comprehension, and completely over the line.
Passing the door second from the left, Jessica notes it being slightly ajar, thinking it had been blown open or not properly locked. Walking up to it to close it, Jessica cannot help but take a quick peek into the room, and is shocked as to what she finds: a hotel room in disarray, with the entire bedspread lying atop the floor, and several picture frames lying on the sides of the walls. Thinking that someone had just finished up a party, Jessica is surprised to find a large hiking pack lying by the side of the bed, along with a set of tan hiking boots strewn around it. She leaves the door as it is, thinking someone must be returning, or else they had just abandoned everything after trashing the motel room and are now roaming around barefoot. Turning away, Jessica catches up to Marcy, just as she affirms that they have reached their hotel room.
She takes hold of the iron door handle, shoving the thick wooden door with her shoulder, as the rusty hinges squeak upon being released from what may have been several months of not moving. Rubbing her palm over her upper arm, Marcy takes a survey of the amenities their hotel room provides: olive green carpeting lines every inch of the floor, its darkened sheen matching that of the lemon yellow walls that may have once been deemed fashionable a half century ago. A small sofa sits adjacent to the door against one wall, facing a large mirror on the opposite, accompanied by two single beds, each with bedspreads matching the decor. As appreciative as she feels to have the room be so considerate of two guests, Marcy is just hopeful they won’t be staying long enough to use the two beds. However, that thought is usurped by the sight of Jessica approaching the side of the bed.
“Wake me when the tow truck is here,” Jessica says, peeling up the bedspread as though she is going to take a nap.
“Not so fast Jess,” Marcy commands, looming over her stepdaughter seated on the side of the mattress. “What in the name of all that is decent in this world was that back there? Hmm?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jessica denies, turning away from Marcy as she continues to defy her expectations, sending a wave of fury up the back of Marcy’s neck.
“What you did back there was completely unacceptable, talking to that poor old woman like she has time to deal with that sass coming from you. Now you’re going to tell me what’s going on, or I’m going to get your father on the phone, and he’ll be the one to deal with you.” Turning back towards her stepmother, Jessica’s eyes shift back towards hers, giving an icy gaze in preparation for the venom to spew from her lips, the same words that would have been put forth had the decrepit old woman not inserted herself between them.
“And you’d just love for him to take care of it, so you can spend more time focused on nobody else but yourself. Who knows: maybe to punish me, he’ll spank me just like he spanks you. You do know my room’s at the end of the hall, don’t you? I mean, I know Fifty Shades of Grey is probably your favorite movie to watch with him, but that doesn’t mean it has to keep me up at night when I have exams in the morning.”
“Jessica Rose Frasier!” Marcy exclaims, her mouth sitting agape as her cheeks flush red out of her awareness. “That is wildly inappropriate, and I will not be spoken to like that by my…” She is interrupted as Jessica jumps up from the bed, standing mere inches away.
“By your stepdaughter...or your sister?” Jessica yells, throwing her hands to her sides. “Because that’s all I ever hear when we’re together. Can’t you understand what that must feel like? You’re not my sister, and you’re not my mom! You don’t get to scold me like one!”
“Jess, I can’t help it if everyone thinks we…”
“Yes you can! You can help it by not working out six times a week, spending $300 on spa days every weekend, and dressing like you just got out of grad school, and you can help it by not marrying men who have daughters that you look like! It’s disgusting!” Shock is the only word that comes to mind as Marcy tries to formulate a response, but to no avail. All she can do is throw her hands over her head, huff in a display of sheer exacerbation, and begin searching for the one thing they rented the entire room for: a working phone. She turns away, walking towards a small cabinet between the two beds, one where several wires are sticking out of the back, knowing that the sooner they can find a distraction to occupy their time together, the better.
Suddenly, there is a knock.
“Could you please get that Jess?” Marcy asks her, opening the small cabinet door, revealing an old rotary phone tucked in the back. “I’m sure it’s the lady from the front desk, trying to sell us some television privileges or something.” Slowly Jessica walks her way towards the door, just as Marcy places the phone atop the cabinet, hearing a ringing sound coming from inside the phone. Swinging open the door, Jessica is confronted by the sight of three men, each of varying height and ages, all of which looking as though they live in town.
“Pardon me lil Missy?” the oldest of the two asks her, wearing nothing but overalls and large work boots. “I heard yuh be needin’ some maintenance on dat toilet in der.” His accent may be thick, but even so, Marcy understood him a mile away, butting in just as Jessica is about to respond.
“We are in need of no services at the moment,” she calls out, placing the receiver up to her ear, unable to hear a dial tone. “Actually, does anyone here know how to get a signal?”
“Ye be gettin’ no singal lady far as we can tell,” the youngest of the three answers, his stained white t-shirt and jeans not giving off the most professional vibes. “Nawt since our last guest tried n spoil da fun.” A cold shiver runs down Marcy’s spine, especially when she spots the man in the middle reach towards Jessica, that which she is completely oblivious of.
“JESS GET BACK!!” Marcy shouts, jumping over the bed as she leaps towards the door, slamming it shut as she locks the top bolt, running back towards the phone on the cabinet. “There’s got to be a way to get this phone working! Come on!” She looks all around for the phone cord, grasping on the thin gray strand as she begins fishing it out of the wall. Just as Marcy gets to the end of it, her face turns white as a sheet: the line has been cut, and by the perfect slice through the material, it was cut by hand, a deliberate act meant to make sure nobody is there to intervene in whatever is going to go down tonight.
“SHIT!! SHIT!! SHIT!!” Marcy exclaims, as Jessica can only stare at the sight of her mother-in- law crumbling right before her eyes. However, a subtle sound stirs her senses, as the two ladies turn around to find it coming from the lock on their door, that being the screws being loosened from the outside.
“Get over with me Jess!” Marcy exclaims, placing her arm around Jessica, as the university student peers into Marcy’s hands, revealing she is holding a spray can of some kind. “YOU’D BETTER LEAVE RIGHT NOW!! I’VE GOT MACE, I SWEAR I’LL USE IT!!” For a brief moment, a wave of relief washes over Jessica, believing them to at least be safe enough with some form of personal protection. However, as the bolt unlatches itself from its perch on the door, something inside of Jessica tells her to look closely into Marcy’s hands, her world crumbling all around her as she realizes Marcy is holding nothing more than a can of hairspray, without even a lighter in sight.
The door swings open, as the three men are now joined by what seems to be a half dozen more, men and women of all ages, making their way into the small hotel room. Their presence brings yet another into the room: that smell, sickly sweet that sticks to the back of your throat, that which now seems to be flooding the room as far as Jessica is aware, seeming to be emanating from the townsfolk themselves.
“GET AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!!” Marcy screams, holding up the can of hairspray, just as the older man grabs her by the wrist tugging her as she lands face first atop the bed. The same is done to Jessica, as two women grab her by each arm, pulling her backwards as they lay her atop the other bed, her toned physique not enough to resist two figures having their way with her. However, while Jessica’s strength fails her, Marcy quickly taps into that wildcat of a woman resting inside, her weekly workouts giving her a toned set of legs ripe for kicking one of those assailants in the shin, making him bowl over in pain as another steps in to do his job. She swings her leg again, but her hattrick was only going to work once, as the figure quickly leaps out of the way before grasping unto her ankle, pinning it down unto the bed with the rest of her limbs. The howling screams emanating from the exhausted ladies echo off the walls as they are pinned down to each mattress, with one figure at each of their limbs placing them in a spread eagle position. Just as they are fully subdued, a shadowy figure enters the room, that which is revealed to be the elderly front desk attendant herself.
“Like I said: da spirit is well ‘preciated down here,” she says, approaching the young ladies with her hands behind her back. “Let’s see if we can git som mo uh that!” She reveals a small right rag in her left hand, along with a large vial in her right, as she pours the liquid contents of the vial into the middle of the rag. It is then, as the woman approaches her, that Jessica realizes just what that substance is: chloroform, slowly entering her lungs as the rag is placed over her mouth and nose.
“GET AWAY FROM HER YOU CREEPS!!” Marcy shouts, with her voice not swaying them one bit. Jessica tries to hold her breath but, due to the exertion she expelled trying to resist them, she is left entirely breathless, giving them only minimal resistance until she is taking in gulps of the substance. Little by little, much to Marcy’s horror, she is forced to watch as Jessica’s eyes roll into the back of her head, the fight having left her as she falls unconscious, her limp body lying across the bed as they begin to prepare her for the next phase.
“Yer turn lil lady,” the elderly woman says, turning towards Marcy as she pours more of the liquid into the cloth. In a final act of sheer defiance, Marcy purses her lips as the cloth is placed over her mouth and nose, feeling she is capable of holding her breath long enough to think of a plan to escape. However, as it turns out to be, the townsfolk have other plans for her, as the elderly woman interjects her thoughts much to her dismay.
“I knows da recipe to get ya to breathe missy,” the woman says, lifting the bottom of Marcy’s shirt, exposing her toned abs and protruding ribs. With two fingers, the woman snakes her way underneath Marcy’s shirt, pulsating them into the soft flesh in between the young professional’s ribs, making the woman gasp in a moment of shock and...ticklishness? The thought is momentary, as Marcy swiftly takes in a gulp of chloroform and quickly drifts off into unconsciousness right before the eyes of nine strangers, unable to even utter one last word of protest as she drifts off into blackness, her mouth just gently moving one final time as though she were just about to give them a real piece of her mind.
“Nice work boys,” the elderly woman states, surrounded by the gleeful stares of those around her, a lustful gaze in each of their eyes as they survey their precious catch. “Now the real fun’s to begin…”
End of Part One
A frantic shriek pierces the midnight air, its source a young woman experiencing a hellish fate like none other. Her toned naked body, covered in sweat from a constant stream of physical exertion, slams against the hard wooden table she lays upon, her straining muscles struggling valiantly against the thick manila ropes binding her at the wrists and ankles. Strands of dark caramel locks fly in all directions as her head is thrown to and fro, as the poor young woman is merely trying to wake herself from this nightmare that just won’t end. Her powder blue eyes, already drenched in tears of pitiful anguish, glisten underneath the bright yellow spotlight hanging high above, at least when they are not trapped underneath her tightly clenched eyelids, hopelessly questioning just how or when she is ever to escape this fate.
Poor Elizabeth, one minute catching a much-needed ride hitchhiking her way to the next town over, and by the next ensnared by her captors to endure this terrible suffering. And speaking of her captors, three shadowy figures stand ominously over her, with one at each foot, and the third over her upper body. Their formidable fingers forcibly pry her toes back against her will, keeping her soles stretched taut and completely vulnerable as they dig deep into her quivering flesh, scraping every last bit of sanity out of her pretty little head with laughable ease. Up above, the third figure endlessly tantalizes her sensitive nipples, pinching and tugging, tickling them without repose, keeping her on the absolute edge of sexual suffering and ticklish agony.
Her fingers claw hopelessly at the open air around her, trying with all her might to grasp onto something to keep her grounded in this world, but there is nothing, nothing but the reality that she is being subjected to for what has felt like an eternity. She begs for mercy, straining to vocalize just how close she is to being pushed over the edge, but there is none, their nimble fingers playing her body like the melodious instrument it is. Her head becomes lighter with each passing moment, with oxygen being in short supply as she strains harder and harder for each precious breath of air. The bright light above slowly consumes her, as she once again falls out of consciousness, the third time that very night much to the delight of her captors...
The radiant glow of an early afternoon sun basks the quiet countryside in its warm embrace. Endlessly rolling hills, green as the sky is clear and blue, cover the unpopulated landscape in their dazzling beauty. In fact, seemingly the only symbol of mankind’s presence is the asphalt-paved road cutting the land in two, its faded and cracking surface alluding to its half century age. It is here that a sterling white sedan speeds down this lonesome country road, a Mercedes-Benz of unquestionably refined taste and an even higher price tag, with its inhabitants being two young women who could easily pass as sisters, much to the chagrin of the younger of the two.
Jessica Frasier, a college sophomore and captain of her volleyball team, is seated in the passenger seat of this luxury vehicle, and not enjoying herself in it as much as one would think. She is accompanying her new mother-in-law on an important business trip, something her father insisted she do to get them better acquainted with one another. Unfortunately for her, little thought was put into just what she herself would be doing over the next two weeks, as it seemed the beginning of her summer break was going to be wasted for the sake of pleasing her father.
Her shoulder-length blonde locks toss gently in the warm country air, those which usually frame her supple cheeks and smooth natural features now haphazardly covering them. Pale blue eyes scan their way across the endless rural landscape, a fitting setting for the desolation and detachment she feels this very moment. In the passive position she finds herself in, she can only gaze out into the open air for what has been several hours on the road, not knowing if she will ever break out of this feeling of dread and actually enjoy any part of this trip she has been coerced into going on. Seated behind the wheel, Marcy, her mother-in-law, thought a little fresh air would do the girl good, opening her window on her side, yet another decision that was supposedly made for Jessica’s own good.
It has been hard these past five years, after the sudden death of her mother in a car accident, only made worse with Jessica’s father trying his best to raise his only daughter as a single father until he could send her to university this past year. Despite her own pain, Jessica knew her father was growing lonely, hoping to fill the void by taking up the domestic responsibilities her mother had, opting to do all the cooking and cleaning in the house as her father continued to build his business. However, nothing she could have done would have helped to comfort him in the only ways her mother could, and as time went on, Jessica found herself secretly hoping that someone would eventually fill that void, even if they could never be a replacement for the original. Once she noticed the increasing amounts of time her father was spending with Marcy, a new junior manager in his company, Jessica knew that her wish had unfortunately come true.
“I’m sure you’re going to enjoy the amenities at the hotel Jess,” Marcy breaks the silence, using the shorthand version of Jessica’s name despite never asking whether it was okay, another reason for Jessica not to like her. “You can’t drink, mind you. I can’t be responsible for anyone underage digging into the mini fridge.”
“Like I’ll be the one doing the drinking this trip,” Jessica mumbles under her breath, not turning around to verify whether Marcy had heard her, which she hadn’t under a sudden breeze passing by. Before being introduced to her officially as her father’s girlfriend, Jessica had formally met Marcy only once before at the company picnic, feeling flattered the older business woman was taking so much of an interest in her, inquiring as to what sports she played, what subjects she most favored in school, and so on. She thought nothing much else of it, and even when Marcy would find time to stop by her house now and again, Jessica still thought it was just someone trying to be friendly. However, once Marcy was invited out with the two of them on their yearly camping trip, Jessica knew it wasn’t just her the ambitious woman was getting friendly with.
What transpired soon after was a whirlwind of dinner reservations, overnight stays in hotels, and capricious flights to exotic locations, those which, little by little, began to include less of Jessica and more of just Marcy and him. Sitting her down six weeks ago, she knew the news would have been hard for her to handle: they eloped last week, on their business trip to Las Vegas, “for tax purposes” they told her with a straight face, the shock of the news obscuring the utter rage she felt underneath the surface, her stark silence glossed over by their infatuation with their future together. So the next six weeks have been a whirlwind of moving trucks and shifting norms, as her childhood home just got a little bit smaller, as no matter what Marcy tried to do to bridge the gap between them, Jessica was not going to be the one to reciprocate.
“I wonder if your father has tried to contact us by now,” Marcy notes, inserting her hand into her large purse seated just next to her, prying out her oversized cell phone with a jewel-encrusted case courtesy of her new husband. “Damn! Oh, excuse me Jess. I’m not getting any phone signal out here. It must have been roaming for the past three hours, since I’m almost out of power too. We should find somewhere to stop soon so I can find a plug to recharge.”
Maybe you could have remembered to bring your car charger instead of worrying so much about how many types of mascaras you were going to need this trip, Jessica ponders to herself, her face showing little of the utter contempt she had for this woman. She knew nobody could truly replace her mother, and yet, she had hoped her father would choose someone more like an adult and less like a midlife fling. That here was the problem: Marcy was too old to truly relate to Jessica, yet too young to be an authority figure over her. Her infrequent outings with Marcy to grab a cup of tea only reinforced this, the comments of several overly friendly men (as well as a few women) were never reciprocated, but never quite brushed off altogether, a red flag to the overprotective daughter who has seen more than a few gold digging vultures hovering overhead.
No, what was left was a persistent suspicion of Marcy’s motives, believing that she was only there to get further in the corporate ladder, and what better way than to marry the CFO.
Eyes locked on the sudden appearance of sprawling farmland and apple orchards in front of her, Jessica is unable to notice Marcy’s eyes glancing into the rearview mirror, gently twisting and turning her head as to check whether or not she will have to touch up her makeup before her meeting over dinner that night. Her pale green eyes dazzle underneath the sharp black mascara she so diligently applied that morning, with just a touch of blush highlighting her full womanly facial structure. Tucked behind her ears are her long honey blonde locks, stating to the world around her that she was a woman indeed, but that wasn’t going to get in her way. She was someone who took great pride in maintaining her natural assets, and to say she had stunning good looks for a professional of her caliber would only reinforce how hard she has worked to flaunt what she already had.
Had Jessica seen this gesture, she might have chalked it up to pure vanity which, to be fair, may not have been too off the mark from the truth. However, what Jessica didn’t know was just how important it was for Marcy to look her very best for this specific meeting, as it was for the sole benefit of her new husband that she delivered results. After the death of his wife, Jessica’s father suffered greatly in his ability to deliver the returns he had before, letting opportunities fall through his fingers time and time again, putting him on pins and needles with the board of directors who were just waiting to find any reason to let him go. However, it was also known the company had been trying to acquire a new client for several years now, one who would be open to a new business proposal that looked as good as it sounded, if you catch the drift. Therefore, it was Marcy’s chance to ensure her husband’s success within the company and, as a result, hopefully freeing up a bit more time for him to spend with his daughter, someone who has been pulling away from him for these past several months.
Maybe some tunes will brighten her up, Marcy thinks to herself, turning the knob to her radio, only to be bombarded by the cacophonous static of not being within thirty miles of a viable signal, jamming her thumb into the off-button as a result. And so the quiet resumes. Great. She didn’t even flinch. What could she be thinking about? Maybe how much she hates me. Yeah, that’s probably it. Why don’t I say something? Ask her how she’s doing. Oh Hell, I’m never going to get a straight answer out of her anyways. Huh...look at us now Randy: your daughter and I, bonding, getting closer to each other by the minute. How fun.
Marcy Frasier, formerly Marcy Knowles, was a different story than her newly acquired daughter-in-law, something she wished to tell her younger half if she thought Jessica would ever truly listen to reason. It was true that her ambition was not something she intended to hide, driving her to greater heights and achievement in her career. To many, that would come off as behavior unbecoming of a woman, even bordering on bitchiness, a word she has heard under the breath of many of her former colleagues. But, it was only by the fact of her being raised by a single father that taught her how to behave in a world of men, of how to earn what she deserved and hold onto it for dear life lest it be taken away from her. To her, it was the fact she was expected by society to simply marry her way into money that made her blood boil, a thought she tried to resist even when she had that shiny new engagement ring placed on her finger. She knew that, by toiling in the corporate for her keep, Marcy felt she was only paving the way for other young women to earn their own way through life.
This was yet another way in which she identified with her new stepdaughter, as someone who was just trying to make it through the world with the hand they were dealt, and in their cases, the only cards they had left were the men who helped shape them. The fact that they could be mistakenly seen as sisters, if not close cousins, was just an afterthought in her eyes. Even when she would be told so by those strangers in Jessica’s presence, she could only hope that they could use this to see the potential lurking within Jessica to become the same combination of confidence and achievement she embodied within herself every day. It was through Jessica she saw the potential of this young woman, and especially, with the guidance of her loving and committed father. To her, she saw within her new husband the same commitment to his daughter’s prosperity she saw in her own father, and that someone just needing to confirm that he was still a good father regardless of his shortcomings, but that he just needed a maternal force to balance him out when it mattered.
If anything, it felt to Marcy that Jessica was teaching her more about herself than she could teach to Jessica, a revelation she hoped to reveal to the promising young woman once they finally settled down in their hotel room. In their persistent trances, lost in the endless cycles of their internal monologues, the two women can just barely make out the sudden beeping emanating from the dashboard, gradually diverting their gaze to find several lights flashing across the glass display, the emergency symbols changing from orange to red almost as quickly as Marcy’s face as her attention is turned elsewhere.
“Oh God!” Marcy exclaims, tightening her grip on the wheel as the car begins slowly drifting off to the right. “I think we have a flat!” She pumps the brakes, gently gliding to a stop in the dry dirt at the side of the road, the tires skidding against the pavement. Hopping out of the car, her pristine black ankle boots kicking up dust in her wake, Marcy rounds her way to Jessica’s side of the car. She takes one look, and there it is: the front right tire, sinking right down to the flattened pavement, a gentle hiss of air accompanying its descent.
“SON OF A BITCH!!” Marcy yells towards the countryside, still having something left in her to deviate her anger away from her daughter-in-law. “RRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMPH!!” She grasps her phone tightly, placing her hands atop her head as she stomps around for what Jessica timed to be fifteen seconds exactly. A devilish smirk crosses the right side of Jessica’s lips, recognizing this to be Marcy getting her just deserts. It was she who insisted her father remove the spare tire from its compartment, reiterating just how essential it was to have every change of clothes possible for each meeting she would be attending, all for the benefit of the company enticing a lucrative client from China, or Russia, or whatever backwater country she wouldn’t be caught dead in. However, the moment she feels Marcy turning around, Jessica wipes that smile right off her face replacing it with a demeanor of feigned concern.
“It’s okay, don’t panic,” Marcy tells Jessica, turning towards the secretly amused girl, having found just a moment of calm to address her. “We have plenty of time before check-in, not to worry. We’ll just wait for a passing car to help us...sooner or later...ANYTIME NOW!!” Her shrill yet full voice echoes off in the distance, followed by a huff of air as Marcy’s shoulders slump downward, her face turned towards the thin coating of dust across her boots. It was then, much to Jessica’s surprise, she caught a glimpse of something in her rearview mirror: a cloud of dust, followed by the sound of a revving diesel engine, and the sight of a large truck making its way down the country road, right towards them.
“THANK YOU!!” Marcy exclaims, making her way halfway into the street, flopping her arms around to get their attention. “PLEASE! CAN YOU HELP US?!” The truck slowly squeaks and squeals to a stop, a slight hiss exiting the engine block as the driver side door flips open. Stepping out of the car, a mountainesque man makes his approach. His denim overalls chafe over his flannel green shirt, with heavy tanned work boots kicking up several clouds of dust as he slowly walks towards them. Picking up his large trucking hat from up over his eyes, he leers over the sight of these two helpless women, an off-putting smile stretching itself across his face.
They wouldn’t know it then, but hidden just behind a patch of denim over his left breast lies a name tag, one bearing the name Dax Lawton, owned by a man who had spent his entire life in the small town of Mayberry Crossing, if you could even call it that. Over the course of his rural upbringing, Dax has finally found his purpose in the workings of the town, that very purpose being what brings him here today. For you see, as well as being the town mechanic, Mr. Lawton fancies himself as the indisputable businessman of the town, referring to himself as a bonafide “procurement specialist” as though he went to college for it: being an unmarked destination with very few if any tourist attractions, Mayberry Crossing is in dire need of regular outside income in order to fund the few utilities they need to live on, its supply of water and electricity the only thing keeping it connected to the outside world.
So how do you bring visitors to a place they weren’t planning on visiting in the first place? Easy: you simply give them no choice.
Located between two major metropolitan areas, with a midpoint fifty miles away from either one, Mayberry Crossing was in the perfect location to capitalize on those unsuspecting commuters who either ran out of gas or, in this case, forgot to pack a spare tire for the trip. Just what better monopoly there was than providing emergency services to those in the most dire circumstances, Dax could not think of, the genius entrepreneur now the savior of his community. All Dax had to do was rig some puncture strips into the road, park his truck in the brush unseen, and wait for a passing car to spring his trap, offering them much-needed aid that would certainly come at a premium.
But, if it so happens that he comes across a delectable young lady on his exploits, well, he was obliged to show them a wee bit more of that good ol’ hospitality, and lucky for him, he now had two of them standing in his midst.
“Car broke?” he utters, an accent unfamiliar to Marcy despite how worldly she sees herself to be. She turns towards Jessica, flipping her an OK symbol, just to let her know she is going to take care of everything.
“Please, could you help us?” Marcy reiterates, turning on the charm of a poor young woman in need of saving much to Jessica’s dismay. “We were on our way to our hotel when our car got a flat tire just out of nowhere. We don’t have phone service, so we can’t tell how far we are or arrange for a tow truck to pick us up. Is there a town nearby, or some type of settlement with suitable phone service?”
“Town’s ‘bout three mile down road,” he answers, directing his enlarged thumb over his right shoulder, pointing down from whence they came. “Yer best bet be Molly’s Inn for a phone. Best git walkin’ now.” He turns away, just as the blood seems to rush out of Marcy’s face, knowing her delicate skin couldn’t last ten minutes in the direct sunlight, her lack of foresight preventing her from packing sunblock for the trip.
“Pardon me sir?” Marcy calls to him, prompting the mammoth of a figure to slowly turn his gaze towards her. “If you would be a dear and give us a ride to the motel, then we would be ever so thankful for your assistance. She watches as he gazes up into the clear blue sky, rubbing his forefinger just below his lip, emitting an inquisitive hum as he searches for that one speck of concern to let them use his completely bare truck bed for transport. Seeing this makes Marcy tightly purse her lips, her face turning red as she holds back the tongue lashing he deserves for mulling over assisting two high-class ladies like themselves.
“Mkay,” he answers, as Marcy lets out her breath. “Hop in back, but don’t damage anythin’ y’hear?” He begins walking back to the truck, placing his foot on the side as he hoists his gigantic form into the cab, the entire vehicle sinking a few inches as a result.
“Thank you sir!” Marcy exclaims, waving her hand for Jessica to get out of the car. “And don’t worry: we’ll be extra careful with your property. I guarantee it!” Exiting out the passenger side, Jessica shuts the door behind her, hearing the automatic lock engage, giving her what little peace of mind she has knowing their stuff is probably safe on this abandoned country road for the night. Walking behind the truck, she finds Marcy having hoisted herself up unto the truck bed, surveying a spot she can sit down upon with the least amount of dust and dirt.
Leering through his rear view mirror, the man takes inventory of his new procurement: two ladies, most likely sisters as by their similar appearance and close ages, always a pleasure to gaze upon as far as he is concerned. He notes Marcy’s posh gray jacket, lying atop her perfectly pressed black pant suit, extending all the way down to her black ankle boots, surely a business woman with exceptional taste. He can’t help noting the smooth milky skin hiding underneath the sleeve as she extends a hand to help Jessica into the back of the truck, imagining what it must feel like, hoping he won’t have to imagine for long.
Hoisting her daughter-in-law into the truck bed, Marcy takes it upon herself to push the bangs out of Jessica’s eyes, met with a terse swat from the university student that informs Dax that this is more of a mother-daughter relationship, sending a chill of excitement down his spine. He scans his eyes over Jessica, tracing down her body from her gray volleyball shirt, down her sweatpants cutting off just at the ankles, all the way to her slightly beat up white sneakers. The fact that the younger of the two bears so much more milky white skin than her older counterpart pleases their driver, letting his imagination fill in less gaps with every inch. The man revvs the engine up in the cab, the rattling of the muffler accompanying a cloud of smoke and just ejected from the tail pipe.
“Well...what an eventful start to our little trip together, huh Jess?” Marcy asks her, watching as the girl slides herself into the corner of the truck bed. “I’m sure once we get to the inn, we’ll be on our way in a jiffHEEEE!” The truck suddenly jerks forward, throwing Marcy from her seated position unto the truck bed, coating her jacket in the same grime she was so desperately trying to avoid.
“Hang on tight there girlie!” the man yells from the cab. “Ye’d best sit on da floor, ‘cause it’s gonn be a bumpy ride!” An exasperated huff escapes her as Marcy hoists herself up on her bottom, reshaping her hair into the primped and polished state it once was before trying to dust herself off. She glances over at Jessica, hoping to get some sign of recognition for how she was being treated, but no such luck: her gaze is slightly askewed, gazing off to her left as though she hadn’t even noticed. However, as Marcy looks closely into the reflection on the glass back window, she sees just what Jessica is trying to hide: a smirk, one just on the corner of her face, the hidden delight of her stepmother’s plight now on full display.
So begins the journey seemingly back from whence they came, as the truck chugs its way back up the country road. It isn’t three miles when they come across an opening in a fence, one that Jessica could have sworn was not there the first time they passed it. Such was the curse of the townspeople, suffering under the blight of a complete lack of tourism, yet not even having the common sense to put up a sign telling everyone that they’re there. Turning into the opening, they find a narrow dirt road, one so hidden in the foliage you would have never known about it even if you passed it every single day. Slowly, they weave through the dense thicket, with several branches passing far too close to the ducking ladies until suddenly ceasing as they enter a clearing, revealing the town in full.
“Rustic” would be the term Marcy would use to describe it to would-be investors, as anything more descriptive would have raised the question as to how she even stomached the thought of visiting this town. Rundown shacks, each seemingly in more disrepair than the previous, line the main road, with plywood boards across several of their windows. Judging by the predominant architecture, Marcy could guess these structures were built no later than the turn of the 20th century, having not been updated other than for modern electricity. She had known several mining towns had been established back then, and that this must be the remnants of one of those, with the residents of the town the possible descendants of those hardened folks. However, the further they got into town, the more she recognized something peculiar: a smell, not like anything that would have come out of the underground mines. No, this was a sickly sweet smell, a stench that stuck to the back of her throat the more she breathed it in which, as far as she was concerned, she had no choice but to do exactly that, wondering if Jessica had noticed the same.
They pull up to a small building on the edge of town, one placed just before a set of storage areas that have been converted into makeshift hotel rooms, those which Marcy knows for sure could not be up to code. Coming to a stop, the man waves his hand towards the ladies in back, directing them to exit his vehicle. Rounding the truck’s front bumper, he addresses them one last time.
“Git yurselves sum rest,” he tells them, revving up the engine once more as he backs away. “But naht too much, y’hear? Be seein’ yuh real soon!” He peels off, leaving the two ladies to enter the front building by themselves. The hanging bell alerts to their presence, as an elderly woman in a thick pink robe and fuzzy slippers stands up from the corner of the room, shuffling her way to the small front desk.
“Can I help yuh?” she asks, seating herself in the wooden rocking chair, placing a flimsy set of glasses atop her nose.
“Yes please,” Marcy says, taking the reigns of the conversation like she is ripe to doing. “We broke down on our way to our hotel room, and are in desperate need of a tow truck. If we could please have access to a phone so that we could be on our way as soon as possible, we would be most appreciative. Please, this is an emergency.”
“Phones are in the rooms,” the woman notes, holding out the palm of her hand towards Marcy, eliciting a look of confusion atop the professional’s face. “Checking in? IDs please?” She wouldn’t think she would find herself being bamboozled by the likes of a frail old woman, but where they are now, Marcy doesn’t see she has much of a choice than to play along. Huffing a sigh of frustration, she fishes her way into her front pocket, pulling out her clutch as she removes her driver’s license, handing it to the bespectacled woman.
“We just needed a phone,” Marcy quips, halfway underneath her breath, but just loud enough to let everyone in the room know how displeased she is to spend any more money on this trip than she absolutely has to.
“Phones come with rooms,” the elderly woman shoots back, copying down her information into the stained yellow ledger. “Dudn’t matter for five nights ur five minutes: checkin’ in either way.” Her eyes begin darting back and forth between the card, Marcy, and Jessica, prompting the older of the two women to interject.
“I swear it’s me,” Marcy reassures her. “I know right? Just who would wear tortoise shell glasses with a fuschia top? You know what I mean, but you know, contacts and everything. And the hair? The lighting makes it look darker than it is, but that’s definitely the same color, just different style. It might be difficult to tell from a three-year-old picture, but I assure you, that is me.”
“Yer quite a looker fur thirty-one years old li’l missy,” the woman notes, handing her back her ID. “I’d reckon ye’d be twenty-five at mos’. How old’s yer sister there, by the way?”
“WE are not sisters,” Jessica asserts, clenching her fists at her sides, exerting all the restraint she can not to jump over the desk and throttle the frail figure. “Get it right.”
“Young lady!” Marcy barks, turning towards her daughter-in-law, extending her finger towards her as to make it abundantly clear she is reprimanding her. “You are being extremely rude, and I will not tolerate one minute of it, now I expect you to apologize to her for how you spoke to her, and promise to do everything you can to make amends.” Jessica doesn’t speak, merely staring deep into Marcy’s eyes with a piercing gaze that spoke for the both of them.
“I am so sorry for her behavior ma’am,” Marcy says, turning towards the elderly woman only momentarily before shooting a look back right at Jessica. “My daughter might only be 18, but she sometimes has the manners of a five-year-old, much to my embarrassment.” Marcy’s words cut deep into Jessica’s heart, as they were meant to, with a flame being felt in the volleyball captain’s chest upon being called Marcy’s daughter. The audacity this woman has to claim any amount of maternal responsibility over her is slowly driving Jessica to the point of no return, gradually formulating a response during this brief moment of silent tension between them. However, just as Jessica opens her mouth to give her mother-in-law a tongue lashing like none other, a shrill stream of laughter suddenly breaks the silence, coming from the elderly host, making them both turn around to confront the source of the noise.
“Yer my kinda gurl young missy!” she exclaims, leaning back into her chair to admire the spunk she has come across in these two young ladies. “Spirit’s much appreciated in these parts, always welcome.” The two women look almost horrified at the elderly woman, a mixture of shock and embarrassment from having their internal feud become so visible, especially that on Marcy’s part, always feeling as though she should be in control of the situation, now feeling as though her daughter-in-law had taken it away from her. The elderly woman leans back down towards the desk, scribbling down their room number on a notepad as she points her thumb out the dingy window just over her shoulder, directing her to the very last door on the left.
“Room 11B,” she tells them. “Ye pay when ye leave. Damage anythin’ in the room? Git charged double replacement fee: not fair fur de next guest.” Sighing to herself, a mixture of relief and exhaustion drenching the breath, Marcy approaches the front desk one last time.
“Great...so, where’s the key?” Marcy inquires, looking around the room as the woman does not even look up from the book.
“No key. Room locks from the inside.”
Exiting from whence they came, Marcy and Jessica make their way to the back of the lot, approaching a separate building with two sets of hotel rooms, six on each floor, its peeling facade seemingly as old as the front desk attendant as far as they are concerned. Leading the two of them is Marcy, looking around to find no cars parked anywhere around the building, a good sign as far as she is concerned, meaning there will be nobody around to hear the harsh scolding she is going to lay into Jessica with the moment they settle into their room.
11B? Marcy ponders to herself. There’s only one building. Why do they need...oh don’t tell me: B as in “bottom?” Is that really necessary? It is true, as peering over the banister of the top level, Marcy spots each room ending with a letter T, affirming that they are indeed labeled as such. Passing a small line of lime green doors, they approach their room, fifth door from the left. Following far enough behind is Jessica, wishing to put just enough space in between them as not to give her a chance to strangle Marcy for referring to her as her daughter. She could marry her father, live in their house, and take the family car out on weekend excursions, but the one thing Jessica would never allow is for Marcy to pretend as though she is her mother. That, in her mind, is beyond all comprehension, and completely over the line.
Passing the door second from the left, Jessica notes it being slightly ajar, thinking it had been blown open or not properly locked. Walking up to it to close it, Jessica cannot help but take a quick peek into the room, and is shocked as to what she finds: a hotel room in disarray, with the entire bedspread lying atop the floor, and several picture frames lying on the sides of the walls. Thinking that someone had just finished up a party, Jessica is surprised to find a large hiking pack lying by the side of the bed, along with a set of tan hiking boots strewn around it. She leaves the door as it is, thinking someone must be returning, or else they had just abandoned everything after trashing the motel room and are now roaming around barefoot. Turning away, Jessica catches up to Marcy, just as she affirms that they have reached their hotel room.
She takes hold of the iron door handle, shoving the thick wooden door with her shoulder, as the rusty hinges squeak upon being released from what may have been several months of not moving. Rubbing her palm over her upper arm, Marcy takes a survey of the amenities their hotel room provides: olive green carpeting lines every inch of the floor, its darkened sheen matching that of the lemon yellow walls that may have once been deemed fashionable a half century ago. A small sofa sits adjacent to the door against one wall, facing a large mirror on the opposite, accompanied by two single beds, each with bedspreads matching the decor. As appreciative as she feels to have the room be so considerate of two guests, Marcy is just hopeful they won’t be staying long enough to use the two beds. However, that thought is usurped by the sight of Jessica approaching the side of the bed.
“Wake me when the tow truck is here,” Jessica says, peeling up the bedspread as though she is going to take a nap.
“Not so fast Jess,” Marcy commands, looming over her stepdaughter seated on the side of the mattress. “What in the name of all that is decent in this world was that back there? Hmm?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jessica denies, turning away from Marcy as she continues to defy her expectations, sending a wave of fury up the back of Marcy’s neck.
“What you did back there was completely unacceptable, talking to that poor old woman like she has time to deal with that sass coming from you. Now you’re going to tell me what’s going on, or I’m going to get your father on the phone, and he’ll be the one to deal with you.” Turning back towards her stepmother, Jessica’s eyes shift back towards hers, giving an icy gaze in preparation for the venom to spew from her lips, the same words that would have been put forth had the decrepit old woman not inserted herself between them.
“And you’d just love for him to take care of it, so you can spend more time focused on nobody else but yourself. Who knows: maybe to punish me, he’ll spank me just like he spanks you. You do know my room’s at the end of the hall, don’t you? I mean, I know Fifty Shades of Grey is probably your favorite movie to watch with him, but that doesn’t mean it has to keep me up at night when I have exams in the morning.”
“Jessica Rose Frasier!” Marcy exclaims, her mouth sitting agape as her cheeks flush red out of her awareness. “That is wildly inappropriate, and I will not be spoken to like that by my…” She is interrupted as Jessica jumps up from the bed, standing mere inches away.
“By your stepdaughter...or your sister?” Jessica yells, throwing her hands to her sides. “Because that’s all I ever hear when we’re together. Can’t you understand what that must feel like? You’re not my sister, and you’re not my mom! You don’t get to scold me like one!”
“Jess, I can’t help it if everyone thinks we…”
“Yes you can! You can help it by not working out six times a week, spending $300 on spa days every weekend, and dressing like you just got out of grad school, and you can help it by not marrying men who have daughters that you look like! It’s disgusting!” Shock is the only word that comes to mind as Marcy tries to formulate a response, but to no avail. All she can do is throw her hands over her head, huff in a display of sheer exacerbation, and begin searching for the one thing they rented the entire room for: a working phone. She turns away, walking towards a small cabinet between the two beds, one where several wires are sticking out of the back, knowing that the sooner they can find a distraction to occupy their time together, the better.
Suddenly, there is a knock.
“Could you please get that Jess?” Marcy asks her, opening the small cabinet door, revealing an old rotary phone tucked in the back. “I’m sure it’s the lady from the front desk, trying to sell us some television privileges or something.” Slowly Jessica walks her way towards the door, just as Marcy places the phone atop the cabinet, hearing a ringing sound coming from inside the phone. Swinging open the door, Jessica is confronted by the sight of three men, each of varying height and ages, all of which looking as though they live in town.
“Pardon me lil Missy?” the oldest of the two asks her, wearing nothing but overalls and large work boots. “I heard yuh be needin’ some maintenance on dat toilet in der.” His accent may be thick, but even so, Marcy understood him a mile away, butting in just as Jessica is about to respond.
“We are in need of no services at the moment,” she calls out, placing the receiver up to her ear, unable to hear a dial tone. “Actually, does anyone here know how to get a signal?”
“Ye be gettin’ no singal lady far as we can tell,” the youngest of the three answers, his stained white t-shirt and jeans not giving off the most professional vibes. “Nawt since our last guest tried n spoil da fun.” A cold shiver runs down Marcy’s spine, especially when she spots the man in the middle reach towards Jessica, that which she is completely oblivious of.
“JESS GET BACK!!” Marcy shouts, jumping over the bed as she leaps towards the door, slamming it shut as she locks the top bolt, running back towards the phone on the cabinet. “There’s got to be a way to get this phone working! Come on!” She looks all around for the phone cord, grasping on the thin gray strand as she begins fishing it out of the wall. Just as Marcy gets to the end of it, her face turns white as a sheet: the line has been cut, and by the perfect slice through the material, it was cut by hand, a deliberate act meant to make sure nobody is there to intervene in whatever is going to go down tonight.
“SHIT!! SHIT!! SHIT!!” Marcy exclaims, as Jessica can only stare at the sight of her mother-in- law crumbling right before her eyes. However, a subtle sound stirs her senses, as the two ladies turn around to find it coming from the lock on their door, that being the screws being loosened from the outside.
“Get over with me Jess!” Marcy exclaims, placing her arm around Jessica, as the university student peers into Marcy’s hands, revealing she is holding a spray can of some kind. “YOU’D BETTER LEAVE RIGHT NOW!! I’VE GOT MACE, I SWEAR I’LL USE IT!!” For a brief moment, a wave of relief washes over Jessica, believing them to at least be safe enough with some form of personal protection. However, as the bolt unlatches itself from its perch on the door, something inside of Jessica tells her to look closely into Marcy’s hands, her world crumbling all around her as she realizes Marcy is holding nothing more than a can of hairspray, without even a lighter in sight.
The door swings open, as the three men are now joined by what seems to be a half dozen more, men and women of all ages, making their way into the small hotel room. Their presence brings yet another into the room: that smell, sickly sweet that sticks to the back of your throat, that which now seems to be flooding the room as far as Jessica is aware, seeming to be emanating from the townsfolk themselves.
“GET AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!!” Marcy screams, holding up the can of hairspray, just as the older man grabs her by the wrist tugging her as she lands face first atop the bed. The same is done to Jessica, as two women grab her by each arm, pulling her backwards as they lay her atop the other bed, her toned physique not enough to resist two figures having their way with her. However, while Jessica’s strength fails her, Marcy quickly taps into that wildcat of a woman resting inside, her weekly workouts giving her a toned set of legs ripe for kicking one of those assailants in the shin, making him bowl over in pain as another steps in to do his job. She swings her leg again, but her hattrick was only going to work once, as the figure quickly leaps out of the way before grasping unto her ankle, pinning it down unto the bed with the rest of her limbs. The howling screams emanating from the exhausted ladies echo off the walls as they are pinned down to each mattress, with one figure at each of their limbs placing them in a spread eagle position. Just as they are fully subdued, a shadowy figure enters the room, that which is revealed to be the elderly front desk attendant herself.
“Like I said: da spirit is well ‘preciated down here,” she says, approaching the young ladies with her hands behind her back. “Let’s see if we can git som mo uh that!” She reveals a small right rag in her left hand, along with a large vial in her right, as she pours the liquid contents of the vial into the middle of the rag. It is then, as the woman approaches her, that Jessica realizes just what that substance is: chloroform, slowly entering her lungs as the rag is placed over her mouth and nose.
“GET AWAY FROM HER YOU CREEPS!!” Marcy shouts, with her voice not swaying them one bit. Jessica tries to hold her breath but, due to the exertion she expelled trying to resist them, she is left entirely breathless, giving them only minimal resistance until she is taking in gulps of the substance. Little by little, much to Marcy’s horror, she is forced to watch as Jessica’s eyes roll into the back of her head, the fight having left her as she falls unconscious, her limp body lying across the bed as they begin to prepare her for the next phase.
“Yer turn lil lady,” the elderly woman says, turning towards Marcy as she pours more of the liquid into the cloth. In a final act of sheer defiance, Marcy purses her lips as the cloth is placed over her mouth and nose, feeling she is capable of holding her breath long enough to think of a plan to escape. However, as it turns out to be, the townsfolk have other plans for her, as the elderly woman interjects her thoughts much to her dismay.
“I knows da recipe to get ya to breathe missy,” the woman says, lifting the bottom of Marcy’s shirt, exposing her toned abs and protruding ribs. With two fingers, the woman snakes her way underneath Marcy’s shirt, pulsating them into the soft flesh in between the young professional’s ribs, making the woman gasp in a moment of shock and...ticklishness? The thought is momentary, as Marcy swiftly takes in a gulp of chloroform and quickly drifts off into unconsciousness right before the eyes of nine strangers, unable to even utter one last word of protest as she drifts off into blackness, her mouth just gently moving one final time as though she were just about to give them a real piece of her mind.
“Nice work boys,” the elderly woman states, surrounded by the gleeful stares of those around her, a lustful gaze in each of their eyes as they survey their precious catch. “Now the real fun’s to begin…”
End of Part One
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