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“We are going to go finish setting up the brain,” Agent Matthews turned towards Agent Buchanan.
“Thank you.” He nods towards them.
Once they are gone, I sigh, fighting back the tears that prick my eyes. So much for keeping my composure. Agent Buchanan notices, and a look of compassion is expressed on his face.
“We can do this later. I understand this is difficult for you.” He offers, sensing my hesitation.
“No.” I shake my head. “The longer we wait, the more women he will kill.” I swallow the lump in my throat and meet his gaze. “Where do you want me to start?”
“At the beginning, if you could. Anything you can remember.” James responds and gives me a reassuring smile.
I let out a whoosh of air and wiped my sweaty, soaked hands on my jeans. “The beginning. Let’s see, I was 19 and was going to school at Boston State University. I was in my second year of medical school. I worked at a local gentleman’s club, as I am sure you saw in my file. Med school was expensive, and I didn’t have rich parents to pay my tuition like many students who were in the program with me. My parents died when I was eighteen in a car crash, so it was just me. I was leaving work around 4 a.m. on a Saturday. Normally one of the bouncers walks each of the girls to their cars, but that morning, they were busy. I can’t say any of us really had a fear of leaving alone. It was a college town, and most of the guys that had been at the bar had already gone home with other dancers. It was just the normal ebb and flow. I was nineteen, and it’s not that I didn’t fear anything, but I think at that age, you just don’t have the capacity in your brain to think about being kidnapped. I mean, what was the likelihood of that happening to anyone, really?”
I pause for a second, my mouth dry, and take a sip of my coffee before continuing.
“Over the years, I kept replaying that day in my head. Did I miss something? Was something off? But I keep coming back empty. Nothing was out of the ordinary that morning. Nothing felt different than usual.”
I rubbed my hand down my neck, pushing away the tension that was creeping up.
“I had spent the night in the VIP section, which was typical for me. I had my normal creepy and handsy customers, but no one made me feel fearful for my life. I remember when I left, it was raining out. There was a hurricane coming in from the east coast. Isabella, I think they called it. The parking lot was empty except for the dancers and bouncers' cars. I parked in the second row but still within view of the front door. I made it to my car and was about to unlock it when I felt a hand wrap around my mouth and a sharp pinch in my neck. Everything went black. And when I woke up, I was in what looked like a cellar or something or a dilapidated basement. It was dark, and I didn’t see any windows. The floor and the walls were rock, and it was cold. Bitterly cold. I was completely naked. My arms and legs were tied to the metal spokes of the bed. I tried so hard to pull my hands free, but the chains didn’t budge. They didn’t even loosen just a bit. The spokes were solid, like they were cemented to the bed. I thought if I could give myself a little room, I might be able to slip my wrists out and free myself. I exhausted myself trying. The only thing I could see was this stainless-steel table with all of these tools on it. Different types of knives and needles. My throat was on fire, and my head felt like it was going to explode. I could hear the rain, and there was water that was dripping somewhere in the room. The rhythm of the dripping was enough to drive me crazy. I pulled at the chains for what felt like hours. And then I heard him laughing. He had been in the room with me the whole time, watching me from the dark corner of the room. I begged him to let me go. But he just walked towards me without saying anything. He had this sick smirk on his face. There was no feeling behind his eyes.”
I shut my eyes, forcing myself back to that day. I hadn’t returned to that memory in a long time. I felt the abhorrent suffocation like no time had passed. I could still smell the air that carried a musty smell, hinting at years of neglect and dampness. I could see the walls made of rough, weathered stone illuminated by the light underneath a metal door. The eerie silence consumed me. I could still feel the cold air that caused chills to run down my spine. My fingers and toes were numb from the chains that bound me. The way the floor was uneven, covered in a layer of dirt and worn-out wooden planks. Cobwebs were hanging in forgotten corners, swaying gently in the stagnant air. The only sound I could hear was the distant drip of water. The darkness was almost tangible, as if it were carrying a weight of its own. Shadows dance and flicker, playing tricks on my imagination. It was a tomb that he had created for me. I knew I would never escape.
But I did.
I felt Agent Buchanan’s eyes boring into me. He listens attentively, hanging onto every word I say, waiting for me to continue telling my story. He doesn’t look at me with pity. Not at all like everyone else. It seems more of an expression of understanding, as if he has personal knowledge of the trauma I carried with me. I am not sure why I find comfort in it, but I do.
I hadn’t spoken about what had happened in so many years. And if someone asked me to talk about what happened, especially in the early years, I am not sure if I could have without falling apart. Talking about it now, after years of therapy and medications, it felt only a little bit easier. What began as a faraway memory that I had tucked away in the deepest recesses of my mind became familiar again, like I was back in the dungeon he created for me.
Fuck.
The memories were acid in my throat, burning my tongue and stealing my breath. I was so immersed in them I didn’t realize that he had slid a glass of water in front of me. I graciously accepted it and drank several gulps, a feeble attempt to quell the painful desert in my throat.
I give him a small smile and then continue.
“For a while, he would watch me struggle to get free. He never said a word while he watched me. He just watched me like I was an animal in a trap and, like any predator, waited for me to exhaust myself before he attacked. Sometimes he sat in a chair beside the bed, touched himself, and masturbated. I tried to drown out the sounds of his arousal, his grunting and panting until he came. That was when he covered me in his semen. The hot liquid splashed over my eyes and mouth, and he laughed. I gagged and was barely able to turn my head to throw up. I begged him to stop. I promised I would do anything. I would give anything if he just stopped. He just laughed at me. I was his amusement. I screamed until I lost my voice.”
I pause, putting my hands in my lap to hide how badly they were shaking. After a minute or two of silence, Agent Buchanan softly spoke.
“Why don’t you take a break?” he says, his voice deep and smooth.
I rolled my hands in my lap in an awkward attempt to comfort myself. I shook my head, unsure if it was in response to him or myself.
“When I could no longer scream, he started touching me. At first, he would shove his ice-cold fingers inside of me. Then he started using the knives and tools he had on that table. He would cut into my skin with small cuts and put his mouth on them, drinking my blood until it clotted. Then he started raping me. It happened over and over again. I tried to focus on something else in the room. A fly that had landed on the wall or a stream of water flowing down the wall. Anything I could to leave the hell I was in. And when I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see his face while he fucked me, he became enraged. The rage that would overtake him… I called itTheBeast.There was nothing human about what he did when The Beast came out. When he walked towards me with a broom, I had no idea what he was planning to do. Until he shoved it inside of me. Fuck.”
My breath hitched, and I was nauseous. I abruptly stood and headed into the kitchen, my head was dizzy, and my hands tingled. I ran them up and down my thighs, a nervous habit, and grabbed the first whiskey bottle I found.
“I need something stronger than coffee,” I said to no one in particular.
I return with two glasses and the bottle of Jameson, pouring both of us a glass. I don’t wait for him to drink his before I down mine and pour another. He watches me, giving me the time I need. When I realize he is not going to drink his, I drink his glass too.
“Okay, where was I?” I sipped at the new drink in front of me and gathered my thoughts.
“He was not pleased when the broom no longer caused a reaction in me. I don’t know if it was because I laughed at him or because I was not reacting the way he thought I should in the way that brought him the most pleasure. He had caused so much damage that I just stopped feeling. I was exhausted, and in my mind, I thought if I just ignored him, and didn’t let him know he was hurting me, maybe he would get bored and leave me alone. Maybe he would let me go. I mean, this is what it was all about for him, right? He wanted to cause pain. He wanted to watch me cry and beg him to stop. He was sick. Worse than a sadist. I knew that, but sometimes sick fucks like him need a certain reaction to feel like they are in control. I guess I just kept thinking if I just shut my eyes and stayed still, he would tire of me. I was so fucking wrong. I just angered The Beast again. Worse than I ever had before. I don’t know what it was that he grabbed, but this time he shoved it in my ass and shoved it in there over and over. He was ripping me apart, and I was comforted by the heat of my own blood. I was so cold, and my own blood was the only thing keeping me warm. Isn’t that fucked up? I wanted to bleed because, for a few moments, it was warm. It was mine. And it was all I had left.”
He nodded his head, encouraging me to go on.
“Down there, I had no concept of time. I didn’t know how many days had passed or how many times he had raped me. I closed my eyes and refused to look at him, so the next time he came, he brought a lid speculum with him. He made sure I couldn’t shut my eyes then. I watched him pull his greasy hair back into a ponytail. And the crazed look in his black eyes. I thought he would never stop. I silently begged for death. I lay there dying, but it eluded me. I thought, eventually, he was going to let me die in peace. Maybe during the times he would leave through the metal door. I could feel the blood I lost caked to my thighs, dried underneath my body. I honestly don’t know how I survived as long as I did, and for what felt like an eternity, it never came. But then, one morning, I felt a shift in my body. My heart raced, my stomach sick. I couldn’t stop the chills from wracking through my body. I was weak and could barely move. It was then that I knew I was going to die, and I was joyful because I knew that the pain would finally be gone. My body started shutting down. My hands and feet were numb, and I knew enough to know that I was going into shock. And all I could think was, I hope I hurry up and die before he comes back and tortures me again.
