Resurrect Me

Chapter 13

Tacy

My routine this week is as follows: wake up, coffee, get the kids ready for school, more coffee, hug the kids goodbye, drop them off, come home and research until my fingers bleed and my eyes water. With more coffee. Copious amounts of coffee. I’ve taken it upon myself to research this drug that Declan has been so readily promoting. The same drug that my patients have taken.

I discovered a few things: one, that Duselizab was created by Richardson and Company, which is apparently one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the country and in the world. Two, that Duselizab was only tested on rats in two controlled studies before being approved by the FDA and going to market. And three, that a class action lawsuit is being filed against Richardson and Company due to the side effects of Duselizab. At least a hundred women across the country claim they miscarried after being prescribed the medicine by their OB-GYNs for various medical conditions. Of course, they were told the drug was totally safe for them and their unborn babies. But I need to know more. I need to cross-examine the patients’ files from the hospital with other deaths to see if the symptoms match. The only problem is, I’m not a detective and snooping into patients’ files is considered breaking the law – breaking HIPAA. Which could get me fired and my nursing license stripped away.

I’m sitting at my computer in the office devising a plan on accessing classified records, when the power goes out.

“What the Hell?” It’s not storming, and I haven’t seen any power trucks in the area. I check my phone. It’s 10:32 am. I call the power company to report the outage. A robotic machine says they’re already aware of the outage and they’re working on it. With an ETA of three hours. I exhale loudly and stand up, when I hear the alarm module chirping. The outage must have tripped it. I walk down the hallway, when a rustling noise emanates from the kitchen, and I freeze. Someone’s in the house. I debate on turning around and grabbing the gun out of the safe, but my fight-flight-fright response has me momentarily paralyzed. Maybe if I don’t move or breathe, they’ll go away? Who the fuck am I kidding? They broke into my house, knowing there’s cameras all around. It’s the intruder…he’s back to find something else. He probably thinks I’m at work. But my car’s in the driveway. FUCK. He knows I’m here!

I am slowly turning to run down the hallway when someone in all black bursts through the kitchen and makes a mad dash towards me. I scream and take off running. I have to get to the safe. But before I make it halfway, the stranger overtakes me, and we crash to the floor. I scream as the intruder pushes me into the carpet and covers my mouth with his hand. His belt buckle digs into the small of my back.

He presses his mouth against my ear and grunts, “don’t fucking move, bitch.” I can smell bleach and cigarettes radiating from his pores. The combination makes me gag.

I struggle, wriggle, writhe underneath him. Kicking upwards and flailing, trying everything I can to get away. But he’s got all his weight on me and produces a zip tie from his pocket which he uses to fasten my hands behind my back. He’s kneeling on the back of my legs and yelling at me to shut the fuck up.

I scream again. “Fuck you, asshole! Let me go!”

I shimmy my shoulders from left to right and make one last effort to escape when something heavy knocks into the side of my head…and I black out.

I wake up with a pounding headache and heavy eyes. I squint and look around. I’m in a dimly lit, dusty basement. The only light is pouring in from a tiny window on the far wall. There’s a dryer, washing machine, and refrigerator to my right. Garbage bags filled with something soft to my left, next to stacked boxes that have “Yule” and “Ulfblot” written on them with black marker. I’m in someone’s basement. Someone heathen. Most people don’t celebrate Yule or Ulfblot. I know that because of my time in Washington. My time with the cult. It even seems like a family lives here. This is fucking bizarre. I have a gag in my mouth and my hands are tied behind my back. The zip tie is digging into the skin around my wrists. I could scream, or try to, but whoever put me down here is probably right above anyway.

Who fucking did this? Was it the stalker? He promised me he’d never hurt me. It must be the same fucker who broke into my house. How did he know the power had gone out? That he could break in and avoid the alarm? Then I remembered…the alarm system was supposed to have a back-up battery in case of power outages. It should have gone off and alarmed the police when he broke in. The cameras should have recorded the struggle. So, when I turn up missing, they can review the footage and go from there.

I search the basement for something…anything. A way out. A weapon. Something to cut through the tie. My mind goes to my kids. They’re in school…or at least that’s where I last left them. I have no idea what time it is. They’ll be so scared when I don’t show up to pick them up. It’s still daytime, but who knows for how long.

“Mfff uhh kerrr!” I let out a muffled curse. I’ll kill this psycho.

I notice a pair of rusty garden shears hanging from a wall next to an unfinished staircase made of wooden planks. Bingo.

I stand from the bucket he sat me on and give myself a mental high-five when I realize the dumbass didn’t tie me down to anything. Ha! I shuffle quietly past the black bags and appliances, careful not to knock into anything. I’m struggling to get a good breath with a plastic ball filling my mouth. My nose is stuffy from the trauma to my head. Or from the dust and mold in this basement. I pause and take a deep breath. Okay. I have to be quiet. I start my trek towards the garden shears again when a door above creaks open. Fuck! A heavy footstep hits the first stair, and someone descends the steps as I bolt for my original position next to the washing machine. I crash down on the blue bucket and close my eyes. Hoping my captor didn’t see or hear me crossing the floor. But I’m sure he did.

I watch as a man wearing jeans, a jean jacket with a gray hood and a bald head plods onto the concrete floor and heads towards me. He’s chuckling. Like someone just told him the funniest joke and he can’t help but grab his stomach to keep from laughing hysterically.

I’m straining to make out his features, since there’s barely any light down here and I don’t have my contacts in. I must’ve lost them in the shuffle. I squint and, as he comes closer to me, his features turn from muddled to clear. He kneels and laughs again as he stares into my eyes. My heart is thumping and scraping against my ribcage, like a wild animal clawing its way out of captivity. I’ve seen this man before. His eyes. They’re dark, almost as black as a shark’s, and there’s a scar above his right eye.

“Wow, they said it would be an interesting job, but I had no idea it would be this interesting,” he says as he reaches up to check the strap on my gag. The same scent of tobacco and chemicals floats off him and invades my nose. I nearly gag again…but tell myself not to puke. If I did that, I would literally choke on my own vomit. I swallow hard and grunt at him. I look at him, and then the steps, debating whether I could outrun him. Could I escape? The problem is, I don’t know who’s at the top of those steps. And I’m not a fast runner. I tried to outrun him in my own house and was instantly taken down. And that was with my arms free.

“Tickk..ithh…outttt,” I try to demand for him to remove the gag.

He understands me and says, “you have to promise not to scream, Tacy. You have to be quiet. You can do that, can’t you? That is, after all, what your name means, right? To be quiet?”

I nod. How the fuck does he know what my name means?

His clammy fingers work to unbuckle the strap, and as soon as it loosens, I spit the ball out of my mouth and inhale.

“Why the fuck am I here? And who the fuck are you?” I ask through grinding teeth.

He’s still kneeling in front of me, crotch exposed. I could kick him square in the balls and make a run for it. But before I can do that, his slimy words catch me.

“Don’t you remember me, Tacy?”

He sticks his tongue out. A tongue ring with a Celtic knot shines in the dim light. The symbol of the Belenos Coven…the cult I ran away from years ago.

My muscles tense and I open my mouth to scream, but he slams his hand over it and clamps another hand around my throat. A move I was once all too familiar with.

“Don’t fucking scream, I said,” he hisses as he pulls a knife from his pocket. The shiny steel glints as he moves it from side to side, threatening to cut me if I try anything.

It’s Orion. The High Priest. My ex-boyfriend. And likely my stalker. And burglar. The realization hits me, and I’m disgusted with myself. For believing my stalker might have been a good guy. Of course, stalkers aren’t good guys.

I straighten on the bucket and bear my weight down on my feet. Stabilizing myself. Trying to gather my thoughts and think up a plan to escape.

Orion Starkey releases me, and I spit at him. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“And you’re fucked, Tacy Bear,” he bellows and holds the knife out in front of him. He stands and bends over, taking in a deep whiff of the top of my head. “Mmm. I don’t know who you pissed off, but they have plans for you.”

“Don’t call me that,” I growl. “It’s Tacy Rountree.”

“Oh, I know your new name. I saw you talking about your dead husband on the news. Too bad he was elected then offed the same day,” he smirks as he sheaths the knife. “Ain’t that about a bitch.”

“What do you want from me? And why are you here? I thought you lived in Washington.”

“I need you to be quiet for another twenty-four hours until I can deliver you to them. I move where the job requires me to move. There’s plenty of business here, so here I am.”

“What happened to the cult? Disbanded? Did you finally go to prison?”

He scratches the top of his head and smiles at me. I thought I’d forgotten his face. The way he moves. I thought I’d repressed those memories…shoved them down to the deepest depths of my consciousness never to see the light of day again. But when your abuser is standing right in front of you, it’s hard to ignore those memories.

“Got absorbed into something bigger,” he says. “Why would I go to jail? I didn’t do anything wrong, Tacy. You joined of your own free will. And pushed those men off the cliff out of self-defense. And it was a church group. Not a cult.”

“Ha,” I laugh defiantly. “I beg to differ. When you use brainwashing and mind control techniques to force your members to be entirely loyal to you, you’re not a church group. You’re a cult.”

My captor shuffles closer to me, and I recoil. I close my eyes and push my back into the wall behind me, hoping the wall will just envelope me and spit me out the other side. Instead, when I open my eyes again, I’m still sitting on the bucket. And Orion Starkey is leaning over me, smiling that big toothy grin. I shudder. What is he going to do to me? And who is he delivering me to?

“Didn’t we have some good times, Tacy? You and me? Out in the woods. Right on top of that altar. You gave yourself to me. To the Solar Lord. Entirely.” He licks his lips and bites his bottom lip. “And I loved every minute of being inside of you. Possessing you. It was like being in Heaven.”

“You’re fucking twisted!” I yell and my flight instinct kicks in as I rush past him. I’m caught in mid-air, but very near the bottom step. And pulled down onto the unfinished, cold basement floor. On top of Orion. He grunts and wraps his big arms around me again. A move that’s all too successful in keeping me subdued. I was so fucking close.

“Mother fucker!” I scream at the top of my lungs as I twist and turn. Trying desperately to free myself still. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to fight. To liberate myself from this nightmare. But Orion squeezes tighter and grunts out his demands.

“Stop fighting, Tacy! I swear to the gods, I will fucking slit your throat and spill your blood onto the ground. Then I’ll burn you in the name of Belenus. Don’t fucking try it again.”

I stop fighting and rip myself away from him. Stand and make my way back over to the bucket with Orion’s knife held to the small of my back.

“Fine,” I rumble. “Fuck.”

I sit and watch as he walks over to the garden shears on the wall and pulls them down. Walks up the steps with the shears in hand and then returns seconds later with a paper plate of what appears to be a pile of spaghetti. He sets it on top of the washing machine and looks at me. “You hungry?”

I seal my lips and stare past him. Ignore him entirely. God if I had my hands free, I’d steal his knife and gut him.

“You stop fighting me and screaming and shit, and you and I will get along just fine,” he produces a solo cup from a cabinet above the dryer and fills it with water straight from the faucet of a dirty utility sink.

“Just like old times.” He holds the cup up to my lips and allows me to drink. I sip it, because I know I’m dehydrated. Then he uses a spoon to twist a bunch of spaghetti noodles onto a fork and holds it up to my mouth. I pinch my lips shut even more, resembling a child who refuses to talk. I shake my head and turn away.

“Not hungry? Okay, Babydoll,” he says and sets the plate of food on top of the dryer. “It’s here if you change your mind.”

The hairs on my arms stand on end. There’s that nickname. It must be him. He followed me across the country, stalked me for a month, and broke and entered my home. Now he’s captured me. God knows what he plans on doing to me. I don’t believe this shit about delivering me to someone else. That’s just a way for him to act like the good guy. Try to Stockholm syndrome me, mother fucker. I don’t think so.

“Don’t fucking call me that either,” I snarl. “It’s Tacy.”

“Now, I’m going to go upstairs for a bit. But you stay down here and be a good little girl. Don’t try to run. There’s three of us upstairs, the door’s locked, and we all have guns. And the others? Well…they’re a whole lot meaner me. I don’t want you to get hurt. At least not until the delivery.”

“Delivery?” I ask. “Are you handing me over to someone else?”

“Well, now, I can’t tell you that,” he hums. “It’s a surprise.” He plods up the bottom three steps then bends over to deliver one last final threat. “And if you scream one more time, I’ll come down here and give you something to scream about. And it will be something I enjoy tremendously.”

“You piece of shit,” I spit at him again. The wad lands on the floor inches away from his boots. Orion Starkey snarls, then ascends the wooden stairs, slamming and locking the metal door at the top behind him.

I survey the room again. I walk over to the window that leads to the outside. There’s absolutely no way I’ll be able to fit my ass through it. It can’t be bigger than twelve inches wide and ten inches tall. I don’t even think my head would fit through. Scratch that. I scan the wall of tools. The fucker took the garden shears and there’s nothing left on the wall except for more zip ties and a rubber mallet. With my hands tied behind my back, a rubber mallet won’t do shit either.

My stomach hurts. But I’m not going to eat anything he gives me that I don’t see him make right in front of me. Why? Orion Starkey, High Priest of the Belenus Coven (a.k.a. cult), has drugged me in the past. More than once. I’m fucking sure he’d do it again. Then convince me I asked for it.

I walk over to the cup sitting on the dryer, lean down and grab the rim between my teeth. Then stand, and tip backwards, just enough to pour the water into my mouth. I choke on it as it hits the back of my throat. But the coolness of the water. The freshness of it. Even if it did come from a dirty tap basement faucet.

I contemplate things I’ve seen on TV or read in books on how to escape a captor. The sun is going down, and I know at this point the kids are terrified that I’m not home. I hope my mother has already filed a missing person’s report. Maybe they’re out there looking for me already. How will they find me if I don’t even know where I am? How far away from home am I? Am I still in the city?

Bingo. Most of the houses in the city were not built with basements. Which means I’m somewhere in the suburbs. Or possibly even farther away in the country. Fuck, we could be anywhere. All I know is, I have to get out of this. My kids can’t lose another parent. Won’t lose another parent.

Hours later, it’s pitch-black outside, and I’m pacing. My feet are sore, my stomach is in knots, but I’ve been listening intently to what’s going on above me. I heard Orion’s voice once, but I haven’t heard any others. Which means he was talking on the phone. I’ve only heard one set of footsteps. So, I pretty much figure out, there’s only one person here with me – and it’s Orion. He lied and told me there were other men up there to keep me quiet. He must think I’m still the dumbass teenager that he brainwashed and abused years ago. Maybe I play that persona up a bit. Act stupid. Innocent. Easy to manipulate. Then sneak by him when he’s least expecting it. I don’t have enough time for all of that, though.

I’m sitting on the bucket again when the heavy door opens and Orion returns. This time he’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and a red hoodie with a football on the front.

“I didn’t know you liked conventional sports,” I chortle. “I thought you were just into blood sport.”

Orion smirks as he pulls something out of his pocket and approaches me. “You always were the comedian, Tacy.”

Standing in front of me, he holds a picture up for me to see. I grimace. My nostrils flare and my eyes dart away instinctively. Though I know I shouldn’t be showing my disdain for this man. I should be acting like I like him. It’s a polaroid from the early two-thousands. From high school. I’m sitting on a log in the woods, beside my best friend and coven-mate (or fellow cult member) and we are topless. Orion is standing behind us, a ritual knife in one hand and a metallic chalice in the other. He’s cloaked in black. We aren’t smiling. We have dead eyes. This is a picture of my initiation.

“I’ve kept this for years, Tacy,” Orion lulls. There’s a smooth, steady pace to his voice. As if he’s singing a nursery rhyme to a child. Trying to get me to fall asleep. “Look at you. You were so beautiful. You still are.”

“Thank you,” I say through grinding teeth. What I want to say is fuck you. My body is trembling now. I can’t control the adrenaline filling my veins. I can’t believe he kept that picture after all this time. I had hoped he’d forgotten about me. Started a cult with new members. Or had been incarcerated.

“You were always my favorite, you know,” he says and holds the picture into the light so that he can examine it closer. “Remember that day we discovered that creek in the woods? Behind the old cabin?”

I nod my head and watch as he pulls the ball gag from his pocket. Not again.

“I haven’t screamed,” I say as he moves towards me holding the rubber ball out in front of him.

“Oh, I know. You’ve been on your best behavior,” he coos. “Unlike the old Tacy. She was a wild one. I kind of prefer her over this new Tacy.”

“When is the guy coming to take me?” I ask and change the subject. I’m tired of revisiting the past with this sick prick. It’s taken me years of bottling up my memories and controlled BDSM with my husband to even start healing from the things this mother fucker forced me to do. I’d rather not relive them in this disgusting, trashy basement.

“Tomorrow. In the morning,” he says and re-pockets the gag. “If you promise to stay quiet, I’ll keep this out of your mouth.”

I nod my head but say nothing. Orion approaches me slowly, his hand rising inch by inch, as if he was a lion tamer carefully making his way over to a lion. He stands right in front of me, crouches down so that we are nose to nose, and caresses my face with the side of his hand. I withdraw and nearly fall off the bucket.

“Next time you scream or try to run, I’ll fuck you senseless.”

He grabs my shirt and pulls me towards him, then shoves his tongue in my mouth. He tastes like beef and stale coffee, and I want to scream or bite off his tongue, but I can’t do anything. I’m just comatose. If I fight him, he might do something worse. Flashes of the altar in the woods flood my mind. Jab at my brain like an ice pick. I cringe and allow him to rub his tongue over my palate, tastebuds, and teeth. Then a hand grabs my breast, and I pull back.

“Please don’t,” I beg him. But he squeezes my breast harder, grabs the back of my head, and covers my mouth with his again.

I realize I have a clear shot to his crotch. I could knee him and run for the stairs. If I hit him hard enough, he’ll go down and I’ll have enough time to outrun him. Make it up the steps and lock him out.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One! I jab my foot into the bulge between his legs, and just as I hoped, he falls over sideways, grabbing his balls and cursing me. I leap over him and sprint for the stairs, bounding, skipping every other step. I make it to the top and realize my hands are still tied, so I have to turn around and feel for the knob with bound hands. I feel the metal in my hand and turn, just as Orion hits the bottom of the steps. FUCK. I jiggle the knob but it’s not turning.

“Come on you son of a bitch, open!” I yell.

Orion’s almost at the top when the knob turns and I fall through the door, with my captor once again falling on top of me and gaining control.

“FUCK!” I scream. Every ounce of me knows I can’t win this fight, but I have to try anyway.

He's breathing in my face, sweating and panting, and threatening to end me. He withdraws his knife, and the serrated blade gleams in the dim light. We’re in a hallway next to a dingy kitchen.

Orion takes his time showing me the size of the blade then he presses it to my throat. The tip of it digs in just enough to break the skin. I shriek.

“That’s it, bitch. I’m sacrificing you to the gods. But not before I gut you like a fucking animal and eat your intestines in front of you. I’ll bet their tasty, like every other sweet little part of you,” he grunts.

My ribs crack under his weight, but I’m more focused on the steel entering my flesh. I beg him one last time, “please. Orion. For old times’ sake. Don’t do this.”

“You had your chance, Tacy Bear,” he whispers and slides the knife in a little further.

I cry out again and close my eyes, waiting for my throat to be cut. Everything starts to turn red and then black. It’ll happen any second now…

Orion rolls off me. I open my eyes just as someone puts a bullet in Orion’s forehead. Right between his eyes. The blood sprays out behind him, soaking the open basement door and the tan linoleum floor.

I sit up and scream. The sheer shock of what just happened overwhelms me, and I don’t know if I want to puke or run. Whoever this masked man is, he just saved my life. Or was this the guy coming to pick me up?

I stare at this masked intruder, who’s wearing a pair of black fitted joggers and a black henley with black boots. And, to top it off, a red devil’s mask that covers his entire head. He’s just standing there in the kitchen, next to the fridge, gun at his side, staring back at me.

I squint and barely make out his eyes. They’re green. He’s silent.

“Are you here to take me?”

The red mask nods up and down.

I pull my knees to my chest as the tears rush out of my eyes. They roll down my neck and sting the open wound there. “I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

The devil just gawks at me and shakes his head. Then discovers a small white board on the fridge beside him and writes, “Trust me. You’re safe. I’m going to take care of you.”

He motions for me to get up and follow him. I don’t know what to do, but I’d rather not stay here in this house with my ex whose brains were just turned into spray paint. I slowly stand and take a deep breath. Looking down at myself, I’m covered in dirt, debris, chunks of brain matter, and blood.

I turn and say, “please untie me. I promise I’ll follow you and I won’t run.”

The masked devil cuts the zip tie with a blade from his belt, and I exhale as my plastic bonds fall to the floor. He grabs my hand and leads me through the back door and out into the yard. I pull my hand loose but follow.

The night air is cool, and there is a sky full of stars. They’re not this bright where I live in the city. With this little light pollution, I bet we’re in Greensboro about forty minutes north. A small suburb that’s rural with corn farms and breweries on every corner. I could really go for a beer right now. Maybe even an entire bottle of jack. My whole body hurts. I rub the bruises on my wrists where the zip tie was. Then run a hand over the knots on my scalp.

Why won’t this guy say anything? Is he deaf? Should I even trust him? I debate on running from him but change my mind.

There’s a truck idling in the distance, next to a wooded area. At the edge of the property. I look back just once and see a nineteen-seventies rambler behind me. All the lights are still on, but only a dead man is home.

We cross the yard and close in on the Ford F150, and I’m wondering why he still hasn’t said a word to me. I reach for the handle to the back seat when he jumps to open it for me. Like a…gentleman?

I climb into the back seat and lay down, in the fetal position, shivering and sobbing. I release my tears and sobs just as the truck’s wheels roll out the long gravel driveway. The devil who saved my life stays quiet but turns up the heat and points the vents at me. The coldness that had invaded my bones dissipates, along with most of my fear. I decide to try to talk to him again.

“Where are you taking me?”

He points to a sign as we hit the highway. It says, “For Ranchera, Take H91 South”. He’s taking me home.

“Oh my God, thank you. Thank you so much.”

Now the tears are falling out of relief. I fucking survived a kidnapping and I’m going home. I’ll get to see my kids again. And, if it wasn’t for my masked hero, I wouldn’t be alive right now. And my kids would be orphaned.

I stare at his gnarled, scarlet face in the rearview. The bright red bumpy plastic, the black lined triangular eyes, and the double horns remind me of Tim Curry’s devil character in that old nineteen-eighties movie called Legend. For some reason, the devil in that movie turned me on. This one was starting to grab my attention too. I sit up and buckle my seat belt. I look down and notice the wound on my neck has bled onto my shirt.

He throws me a clean white rag, and I take it and press it against the wound.

“Thank you,” I mumble. “Are you my stalker?”

His eyes meet mine in the mirror for a second or two, and he nods.