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I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed I would make him angry enough to end my life right there just so the pain would stop.
It was excruciating and indescribable.
I became an empty shell. Devoid of feeling anything.
But this just angered him even more, and it soon became a game to him, procuring items to break me with.
On one of his visits, he brought a lid speculum, like the ones used by optometrists during Lasix surgery. I couldn’t close my eyes even if I wanted to. I was forced to watch him penetrate me over and over again, and I wept as he smiled maniacally.
He had won. I had finally given him the response he craved.
None of these men in the photos Agent Shriner set in front of me held the same darkness in their eyes as him.
After a few days, I resigned to my fate, and I became numb to the pain he inflicted. I was nothing more than a toy for him, something to be used and discarded when he was done.
I was powerless to stop him.
I was dying, and I found comfort in it. The loss of blood from new wounds and the infection in old wounds was too much for my fragile body to take. When he realized he had gone too far, too soon, he carried me upstairs into his bathroom and out of the dungeon of torture he had created for me. His sick attempt to save me so he could keep torturing me.
The salmon-colored bathroom he brought me to was warm and inviting. I pretended to be unconscious when there was a knock on the door, and he left me alone in the bathroom. I do not know where the strength to climb out of the window came from, but the minute my feet touched the frozen ground, I ran.
FIVE
AVA
Iam naked and cold. But I won’t stop until I find someone or die trying.The cold snow crunched beneath my bare feet, sending chills up my spine yet filling me with adrenaline. I ran, moving my feet quickly and lightly over the fresh powder. The bitter cold nipped at my toes, but I ignored the pain and dug deep into my soul for any remnants of strength to get away--strength I didn’t even know I had.
I ran through the thick woods, focused on my freedom as sharp branches tore my face and body apart.
The cold air filled my lungs, and my feet went numb.
I reached a paved road and caught a glimpse of a silver Oldsmobile heading toward me.
I was terrified it might be him driving, and for a moment, I regretted my decision to stand there in plain view. But it was too late to hide, and I was frozen in place.
I waved my hands and cried for them to stop.
The car screeched to a halt, feet from running me over.
I held my breath as the driver got out of the car.
It was an old woman. Her weathered face creased with wrinkles and experience, a mix of shock and concern as she took in my appearance. Her hair was white as snow, thinning, and pulled back into a loose bun. She wore a blue wool shawl, faded and frayed at the edges, wrapped around her shoulders, shielding her from the chill.
I released a pained breath, more of a whimper, and begged her to drive me far away from here. After a few seconds, her face relaxed, and she wrapped her shawl around me and pulled it tight around my tiny frame.
"Come on, girl. You'll catch your death in this cold."
Her name wasGrace.
I thought her name was fitting for the woman who was my savior. If it weren't for Grace, I would be dead. He would have found me, or I would have frozen to death. I was already half frozen when I stumbled onto that road, bruised and bleeding. She took one look at me and ushered me into her car. She never asked who I was or what had happened. Her kind eyes and gentle smile conveyed only concern for my well-being.
My eyes fluttered open as the memory faded away, bringing me back to the present, causing my breath to hitch and my eyes to prick with fresh tears.
“I am sorry.” I choked between sobs. “I just don’t see him.”
Agent Shiner’s face turned bright red, and a deep crease formed between his eyebrows. His eyes narrowed, and his tone was strained when he spoke. “What about this one?”
He pointed at the picture of David Commons. I didn’t know who he was at the time, but in the next few months, I became very familiar with that face. They had found images on Common’s computer. He was a high school biology teacher with a wife and three kids, who apparently had no idea about her husband’s extracurricular activities. On his computer were hundreds of photos of dead women, and in those images were photos of me. Photos of me naked and bleeding, blindfolded and tied to the bed.
