Profile of Evil (10 page)

The man unlocked the padlock and flung open the cage door. With long arms, he reached for her as she edged away from him.

"Come here," he growled. "It will be much worse for you if you don't."

Alison's heart jumped to her throat, and her pulse beat erratically at the threatening tone of his voice. "Please don't hurt me," she tried to say.

Suddenly he lunged, clamping his hand around her leg and pulled her out of the cage. "You will obey me, slave, and call me 'Master. '" She winced when he pulled a sharp knife out of his pocket. He sliced the duct tape that bound her ankles and wrists, then pulled her roughly to her feet.

Her legs numb, Alison stumbled as he led her to a wooden chair. The man ordered her to stand on the chair. Terrified, she obeyed.

"Lift your arms up above your head," he ordered. When she hesitated, he shouted, "Now!"

Alison jumped down and tried to bolt from the basement, but he caught her easily and slapped her so hard across the face that she fell to her knees. She heard whimpering and looked toward the second cage into the hysterical eyes of the other captive who was watching in horror.

Yanking her up by her hair, the man shoved her toward the chair and she climbed on top of it. Stretching her arms toward the ceiling, she felt him secure her wrists to an overhead pipe with a leather strap. As he slid his hands down her naked body, she could feel him trembling with excitement. What was he going to do to her? The question formed a cold, hard knot in her stomach.

Swiftly, without warning, he kicked the chair out from under her, hanging her from the ceiling like a ragdoll with her legs wildly thrashing the air. Minutes that seemed like hours passed as he stood before her, thirstily drinking in each part of her body. Nausea rushed to her throat as the leather restraints pulled painfully on her wrists.

Dragging a magazine out of a box, he found a page, and then splayed the periodical out on the floor. It was a dirty magazine like the ones she'd found in her stepfather's dresser drawer. One of the pages he'd chosen featured a naked woman hanging from a ceiling just as she was.

From the area behind the sheets, she saw him pull out a video camera connected to a tripod that he set up directly in front of her. He turned the camera on.

Moving out of her sight, she heard him searching for something in a box, and then footsteps as he moved back to her. 'Crack!' A fiery burst of pain cut across her back, then another. Alison wanted to scream out in pain, but couldn't. She realized he was using a whip. She thrashed her legs as if she were running in mid-air. 'Crack!' Pain leapt from her back to her stomach. 'Crack!' The whip bit into her flesh again and again, until her body went limp as she silently sobbed against the duct tape.

Alison braced for another slash of the whip but suddenly she heard a loud pounding on the door at the top of the stairs. The man froze. The hammering against the door started again. Cursing, he threw the whip to the floor and ran up the steps, slamming the door behind him.

<><><>

Once upstairs, he found the kitchen empty and screamed, "Slave!" He and his sister were careful to never use names when slaves were in the house and to keep their faces covered by ski masks.

Erin came into the room, and he shoved her against the wall, so hard it knocked the wall clock down and the glass splintered into a million pieces.

"How many times do I have to tell you never to disturb me when I'm in the basement?" He was so furious he could barely speak.

"Master, there is something you should see," she said quietly as she led him into the living room. Mounted on the wall was a large flat screen television. Erin lifted the remote control and turned up the volume.

"Though the sheriff's department has not confirmed, a number of shallow graves have been discovered on farmland outside of Perrysville. This is the same site where police recently discovered a burning car with the bodies of two murder victims inside," reported the news anchor. A video that was obviously shot from a helicopter scanned a farmer's field that was filled with searchers and CSI technicians working under makeshift tents.

He grabbed the remote from Erin and turned off the television.

"How did they find the graves? Were they searching the woods because you stupidly left the burning car there?"

"The farmer's kids were playing in the woods and found a human skull," she answered. "Then the sheriff's office was called. I am so afraid they will find something that leads them to us."

"They'll find nothing but a shitload of bones," he declared as he began pacing. "Good luck identifying all of them. I'm smarter than Sheriff Brody Chase and his band of idiots."

"Yes, Master," Erin uttered, her eyes glued to the floor.

"Besides, those little bitches deserved what they got. Each one of them disobeyed the Master and discovered the consequence." Still pacing, his anger was accelerating, igniting a white-hot fury.

His sister nodded fearfully like a frenetic bobble head on a dashboard. He sensed her fear, felt a rush of power and relished it. He'd always had a mean streak, just like dear old Dad.

"The local sheriff's office is a joke. The Chase brothers make me want to puke. Do they really think they can find or stop me? Those boy scouts have no clue. None. Do they realize what it takes to manipulate, dominate, and control a slave? No! They don't have the balls to do what I do. They'll never find me. They are not even worthy adversaries.
I'm
the Master."

A vivid image formed in his head. He was aiming his assault rifle, and in the cross-hairs of the scope was Sheriff Brody Chase on his knees in submission, begging for his life. The vision was delicious, and his sex was throbbing like a toothache.

<><><>

Brody turned onto a paved driveway, pausing at the security gate to punch in his code. He continued driving until a massive redwood and stone house appeared. It looked more like a lodge than a home with huge glass windows and a million tiny lights lining the driveway, entrance, and lawn.

"You live here?" wondered Carly.

"Yes," answered Brody. "My dad was the county coroner before he died. The house took five years to build, but Dad was in no hurry. He oversaw every aspect of the building process. He and Mom had a dream to turn the house into a bed and breakfast or a nature lodge when they finished raising Cam, Gabe and me."

"It's huge."

Brody smiled, "Yes, it is. There are six bedroom suites within the main house and a small guest house in the back. I'll show you the inside of the house tomorrow."

"I'd like that."

"You said in Florida that you liked to run. Cam, Gabe, and I do, too, so we made running trails around the lake and through the woods. The property is three hundred acres of woods, hills, valleys, a fishing lake, and miles of trails with absolute privacy."

"A couple of years ago, I was on surveillance, and my partner asked me what I thought was an ideal vacation," Carly said. "I told him I yearned for a place where I could have absolute privacy: no phones, and no computers—just my thoughts and nature. I think a lot of people yearn for the lodge your dad envisioned."

When Brody drove past the house onto a gravel road, Carly asked, "Where are we going?"

"I told you that there's no hotel for you to stay in, but I have something better."

Soon they approached a smaller house. Like the main house, it was built with redwood and stones with floor-to-ceiling windows. A porch, complete with white rocking chairs, graced the front of the house; another porch was in the back. Brody parked behind the house. By now it was nightfall and the wooded surroundings were difficult to see.

Brody got out of the vehicle and pulled Carly's luggage from the back. She followed him to the back porch and watched as he slipped a key into the lock. He opened the door to a living room with large windows gracing each wall, except for the one where the stone fireplace stood from floor to ceiling. The living space was open and included a living and dining room. An open staircase led to a loft and additional bedrooms upstairs.

At the front of the house was an open kitchen with new white cabinets and dark granite counters.

"Our housekeeper stocked the kitchen so you should be good with food for a week or so. If you don't mind company, I'll make dinner for us tonight."

"Sounds great," Carly exclaimed. "So you cook?"

"Actually, it's Cam's turn to cook, and he has the steaks seasoned and ready for me to toss on the grill. Hope you like steaks."

"Love them."

"Welcome to the Honeymoon Cottage. Dad built this as a wedding present for my mom. They lived here until the main house was built. I was the only son born while they were living here," explained Brody. "My brothers and I have a project every year, and last year's project was to give the cottage a new kitchen and bathrooms."

"I love it, Brody. Thanks for letting me stay here."

Brody picked up her suitcases and led her up the stairs. "There are two bedrooms up here, as well as the loft. Which one would you like to claim?"

"The loft. I want to sleep in the loft with all the windows so I can watch the stars at night."

He grinned and laid her suitcases on the bed in the loft. Then he pointed to a large adjacent bathroom with a shower and a garden tub.

"Our housekeeper stocked the bathroom, too, so you should have everything you need," said Brody. "I'm going to the main house to give you time for a shower and for me to get cleaned up. I'll be back in about twenty minutes with our dinner."

<><><>

Alison hung from the ceiling; a hot painful strain on her wrists radiated shards of pain to her shoulders. The man had left her like that for what seemed like an eternity. She sobbed quietly, wishing this were a nightmare from which she'd soon awake. Her regrets were many and started with running away from her problems at school and her stepfather. She should have trusted her mother enough to confide in her.

Thoughts of her mother were painful. By now her mom was fully aware she'd run away. Was she looking for her? Did her mom contact the police?

Earlier Alison heard shouting from the floor above her. But it was quiet now, and the only sound she heard was the drone of a television and the soft breathing of the young girl in the cage behind her.

Suddenly, the upstairs door flew open, and soon the man appeared on the lower stairs wearing a black ski mask like before. Her blood turned to ice and her heart raced. What would he do to her now?

"Oh, I see you're still hanging around," he said with a bitter laugh. Walking around her, he went to the camera and removed the DVD recording of her beating and stuck it in his pocket.

"A guy's gotta have a little entertainment," he said, as he reached for her wrists, loosened the restraints, and let her drop to the floor like a ragdoll. Alison had no feeling in her arms, her legs were rubbery, and her body ached painfully from the beating. She struggled to stand up, but she fell to the floor in a heap.

"Get up!" he shouted, as he jerked her to her feet and pushed her toward the cage. "I had so many plans for you tonight, my slave," he said with disappointment and a chilling smile. "But they'll have to wait. But then, we have time. Don't we? It's not like you're going anywhere."

Alison crawled to the far end of the cage and curled into a ball. He pulled a couple of quilts from a box and tossed one into her cage, and the other into the cage next to hers. On the last step of the stairway, he picked up two plastic sandwich boxes and bottles of water, one of which he set at the front of her cage, locked her in, and then moved to the next. Finally, he slammed the girl’s cage door closed, secured the heavy padlock, and looked around the room as if he feared he was forgetting something. Finally satisfied, he headed back up the stairs, closing the door behind him.

The second he was gone, Alison pulled the duct tape from her mouth, took a deep, cleansing breath, and turned to the girl in the cage next to her. "Are you okay?"

Two or three seconds of silence passed and Alison repeated her question. "Are you okay?"

The girl crawled closer to Alison. She was a pretty African-American girl with dark hair and wide eyes the color of chocolate. She might be Alison's age. Finally, she whispered, "Yes, but please talk very quietly. If they hear us, they will put the duct tape back on our mouths and wrists, and beat us."

"They?"

"Yes, there are two of them, always wearing a ski mask to cover their faces. A man and a woman."

Alison shuddered. There were two of them. Where was the woman, and what role did she play? Was the woman as cruel as the man? She wondered why such evil existed.

"What's your name?"

"Jasmine Norris," the girl quietly replied.

"My name is Alison Brown. How long have you been here, Jasmine?"

"Seven days, counting today," Jasmine said with a sigh, her eyes brimming with tears. "Do you think anyone is looking for us?"

There was such sadness in her eyes that Alison had to look away. Jasmine was losing hope, and hope was all they had. "Yes, I'm sure our families have reported us missing, and the police are searching for us. They will find us, Jasmine. We have to believe that."