Chapter Fifteen
My dreams were filled with confused images. A hand shoved violently through the side of a cage, the places between the fingers becoming bruised and raw with every thrust. I could hear the muffled sound of bone snapping again and again, as my dream’s vision was flooded by images of raw earth and the drunkenness of unbridled rage.
I looked down at my own hands, and saw deep bruises between the fingers. I saw blood beneath my fingernails: Margaret’s blood. I saw my fingertips disappearing into Vic’s sensual mouth as his tongue coaxed the dried crimson deposits from every inch of my skin.
When I woke, it was dawn. Pale light came through the windows, and my vision was bleary. Vic was behind me, his arm draped over my waist. He was naked and clean from his shower. I could feel his manhood pressed against my leg, nothing between our naked bodies except the nightgown which had become gathered around my hips during sleep.
I tried to slip out from under his arm, but his hold instinctively tightened around me. His fingers found my breast, and absently toyed with my nipple.
I took in a sharp breath, and felt his erection grow rock hard against my leg.
“You’re up early,” he murmured.
I felt his hands reach down and position the tip of his cock against my entrance. In a few quick, hard thrusts, he entered me, before establishing a solid rhythm for which my body was playing catch up.
I felt him maneuver his hips, and he pushed my shoulder forward, so I was lying flat on my stomach, the side of my face pressed against the pillow. He lingered over me, his hips working out a staccato rhythm. The feeling was slightly uncomfortable, but the sensation of giving into his desires completely was undoubtedly attractive as a prospect.
There was something to the way he touched me that seemed deliberate.
I thought of Matthew’s hands on Edith’s wrist.
His palm moved roughly over the back of my head, his fingers becoming entwined with my hair. He made a fist and took my shoulder in his other hand. Vic lifted me to my knees, pulling my hair so that my back was arched against him, his cock moving upward with a force that exhausted my reticence with every thrust.
He released his hold and I sank back to the bed. His hands found my hips and tugged them against him, his cock quickly shoving back inside me and resuming its rapid, rough thrusts, shaking the bed and causing the headboard to slam repeatedly against the wall.
His movements became wild and uncontrolled. I felt the hot spurt of cum inside me, and the slackening of every muscle in his body as he lay down on top of me, still buried deep inside.
He pressed a kiss to my cheek, before standing up and walking to the bathroom. Before Vic came back, I decided to go to my own bedroom to clean up. There was only the bath, but I rinsed off as best I could, before brushing my teeth, washing my face, and putting on subtle makeup.
He had wanted to give me time to think over his proposal without the interference of sex. However, there was something so natural in these moments, stolen against the cruel background of Margaret’s disappearance and Edith’s death, that it made his insistence easy to forget.
It seemed he had forgotten too.
I went down to the kitchen, and started the first pot of coffee. I leaned against the counter, as the slow drip came to fill the pot. I made toast and a cup of tea for Theresa, setting them on the wooden tray previously used by Margaret.
I left the coffee to finish brewing, while I brought Theresa her breakfast.
I walked up the stairs to the attic. Vic had not yet emerged from his room, though I supposed I would see him again soon enough.
I opened the door and walked up the steps. The morning sun was stronger now, and the light that came through the attic windows provided more than enough light. I set the tray down on the table, surprised to see that Theresa was not yet in her rocking chair by the window.
It seemed she was still in bed, the sheets drawn up around her shoulders. I could only see her white hair on the pillow, so I drew a little closer.
The bed beneath the blanket was saturated with crimson. I rushed forward, and yanked the sheets from her. Her frail, thin body was clothed in a simple, cotton nightgown, which had become completely soaked with free-flowing blood. She was lying on her stomach, and I rolled her to her back.
The front of her hair was matted with blood, and one of her eye sockets was heavily swollen. It seemed she had been beaten nearly to death. Were it not for the wet rattle of her breathing, I would have assumed her killed, given the extent of her injuries.
A metal pipe, coated in blood and white hair lay on the floor next to her bed.
I ran downstairs, and burst into Vic’s bedroom. He was standing in the middle of the room freshly showered. A towel was low slung around his hips, and he turned to me as I entered, his expression of pleasure morphing to horror as he took in my aspect.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked, moving towards me.
He took my wrist in his hand, and drew me closer.
“We need to call the police. Someone’s beaten Theresa nearly to death,” I cried.
He ran out of the room and up the steps to the attic, while I followed behind him. The muscles rippled under his skin as he climbed the stairs, holding the towel fast with one tight fist.
He went to Theresa’s side. He turned her face towards him, frowning as he took in the significant damage to her face.
He glanced at the window, which I now noticed was broken, and the floor strewn with shattered glass.
“Nadia, run downstairs and call the cops. Tell them there’s been a break in and an assault. They need to send an ambulance.”
I nodded and turned to leave.
“Let them know it might be related to the threatening letter Margaret left,” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
#
Within an hour, the small house was swarming with police. Because they were searching for an intruder who might still be in the house, they even did a search of the basement. I waited at the top of the steps, anxiously listening to the murmur beneath. I expected at any moment to hear a cry, for someone to call for a medic.
But the call never came. They had searched the basement and found no sign of any intruder or anything amiss.
I turned back to the foyer, where Matthew was speaking quietly to a cop.
“I think whoever broke in must have stolen it. I keep it in a safe downstairs, but I leave the keys on the table. Never had a problem until now,” Matthew said.
The cop was writing in a notepad.
“Alright, just get us the info, and I’ll do an additional report. Hopefully, the gun will turn up soon.”
“I feel like you may not be grasping the seriousness of the situation. Someone broke in, assaulted a defenseless, elderly woman, and stole a handgun,” Matthew said. “They’re probably still in the area.”
“Not to mention, we received a direct threat from a former employee,” Vic said, stepping seamlessly into the conversation.
“Like I said, I’ll write a report, and I’ll make sure the detectives working the case have all this information,” the cop said.
“Who’s in charge here?” Vic asked.
“She’s upstairs at the moment, but I’m sure she’ll be down shortly,” the cop answered, his words artificially clipped.
“Fine,” Vic said, walking across the foyer to the other side.
There was nothing left to do but wait. That night, I fell asleep in Vic’s arms, lulled by his quiet breathing just behind my head.