Miss Parker vs. The Idiot

Panic. She could find no other way to describe the feeling in the back of her head. Panic pushed her to keep running; though her feet were bleeding and bruised, shoes gone long ago. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed the pursuer was not within sight. She could hear nothing in the distance. Straining her ears, she listened again, still nothing.

A sharp pain met the bridge of her nose and she stopped. Putting her hands to her face, she could tell the bone was still intact, a small laceration produced a trickle of blood. Then a blow to her shoulders and neck forced her to the ground, unconscious.

She woke in the dark, feet and hands bound to bedposts. As her eyes adjusted to the light level, she absorbed what she could distinguish of her surroundings and found she was alone. Aside from the bed and a chair across the floor, the room was empty.

Several other facets caught her attention. Her skirt and blouse were still in place, a bit disheveled, but in place; panties and stockings, however, another story altogether. She rolled her eyes at the thought. Then, made a new, conscious, discovery; her body, itself, had been violated. Now she was angry. Blood ran hot through her veins, flushing her bruised skin. The cords dug into her wrists and ankles when she tried to free herself.

"I see you're awake. Good. It's much more exciting this way. But, I'll give you some advice, don't try to escape. It won't work." Her captor crossed from the door to the sole chair and sat, watching her. She knew he could see everything from that vantagepoint. She tried not to think about it. He just sat there with his hands steepled under his chin, his breathing relaxed. What was he planning to do to her?

To keep her mind off her voyeuristic captor, she tried to determine how she had gotten into this mess. Jarod. She had been following a lead on Jarod, had been so close she could taste it. They had been talking over coffee and he told her he had something for her in his car, a clue to her past. He gave it to her, and slipped away, again. Thinking she knew where he had gone, she had given chase, only to be confronted by some idiot asking for directions. Of course, as it turns out, the idiot was her captor. He had chased her for over three miles. She had run for over three miles, and destroyed an expensive pair of Ferragamo pumps. Now her legs were sore and she had a headache from his vicious attack on her shoulders, not to mention the pain in the rest of her body from the sexual assault.

Rough sex she was accustomed to, but brutal, forceful intercourse while bound tightly to a bed, that she could have lived without forever.

Movement; she heard the man rise from the chair and cross the room to the foot of the bed. He inhaled deeply and sighed satisfactorily. "Something arouses you, my dear. Is it me?"

She groaned at just the thought of him believing that. "Not hardly," she snapped.

Callused fingers ran over her smooth legs, sending shivers of disgust across her flesh. The sensation of those same fingers touching the soft flesh beneath her skirt was even worse. He crawled onto the bed between her legs, positioned himself, and entered her. Clamping a hand over her mouth he gave instructions: "Don't even think about screaming. No one can hear you in here. And, come when I tell you, or you will never see your friend again."

Friend? What the hell was he talking about? Did he mean Jarod? Had he seen her talking to Jarod? Realizing compliance with the idiot's demands and dependence on Jarod might be her only way out of this nightmare, she relaxed as much as possible, and waited for the command from her captor.

The assault was over rather quickly. The idiot had no stamina to speak of and she had to fake her orgasm, though the idiot did not seem to notice. He stumbled off the bed and left the room. "This idiot is an amateur," she whispered into the air, closing her eyes against the horrible reality she had just lived through, now noticing the rancid smell permeating the building. What the hell was that? Where was she? She knew she must be miles from civilization, or someone might have found her, or at least reported the stench of this place. Exhausted, she laid her head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

*

The note he had received was rather cryptic and very disturbing. The man who had handed it to him said it explained everything. Apparently the man did not fully understand the meaning of two words - "explain" and "everything." He was more confused now than he had been before receiving the note. All he could get from the note was that his feisty, dark-haired friend would be released the day-after-tomorrow. Jarod assumed the note referred to Miss Parker. How did this man know Jarod knew Miss Parker? He must have seen them outside the little diner. What had he done with her? Needing the answer to that question, he had followed the unkempt gentleman to an abandoned house near the pier.

The sun was setting and Jarod was waiting for the man to leave again. He heard the side door creak open, then slam shut, the spring a little too tight. He clambered over the wooden fence topped with barbed wire and landed firmly on his feet in the yard. Carefully, he made his way to the door and entered the house. The interior was filthy with a heavy odor of sex and alcohol hanging in the air. Sidestepping a large pile of empty condom boxes, he climbed the stairs, testing for creaks and possible traps or triplines. This man was paranoid and would not take kindly to intruders.

More garbage met him in the hallway, impeding his progress. All the doors were closed, leaving Jarod with only one option: open each door until he found her. Door number four was, ultimately, his destination. He entered the room and found her tied, spread-eagle, to the bed, her clothes torn and stained, her hair disheveled, make-up smeared across her face. Enemy or not, no one deserved this. Jarod loosened the ropes binding her wrists and ankles.

*

She opened her eyes at the sensation of gentle hands touching her. She blinked several times to make sure what she saw was real. Once her hands and legs were free, she threw her arms around her rescuer and held tight, kissing his neck, face, mouth, relieved the ordeal was over, and she would be out of this hell.

The strong arms that held her were comforting, but about the words that met her ears, she was not as confident. "Miss Parker, I'm sorry I was not able to prevent this." She remained silent. He continued: "Somehow I feel this is my fault."

"Jarod, get me the hell out of here."

No response. He lifted her from the bed and exited the room. Why was he walking so slowly, she wondered, then glanced at the floor and nearly gagged at the sight. Perhaps this idiot was not as much an amateur as she had thought. "I don't suppose there's another way out of here?"

"There may have to be."

"Why?"

"I think he's coming back." Her feet met the floor as he put her down and searched for another exit.

"Jarod?"

"Can you walk?" His eyes scanned her battered body.

"If it'll get me out of here, I'll fly."

"Come on."

She took his offered hand and followed. He opened a window and kicked out the screen.

"You've got to be kidding." She saw the target below - a dumpster over-flowing with condom boxes.

"It's either that or him."

"Good point." She climbed through the window and slid out, hanging onto the sill with tired, sore fingers.

She heard a sound inside the house and pulled herself up so she could peer into the room. The fear in her face was growing, she could feel it. Jarod was battling her attacker. He already had a bruised eye and blood trickled from his nose, but she could detect no visible injuries to the idiot. Jarod ducked to miss a heavy handed swing toward his head, then threw a fist in the idiot's face, cracking several teeth. He received a knee to the ribs for his trouble. Taking several steps away, he made a quick assessment; satisfied nothing was severe, he continued, landing another punch to the idiot's face, breaking the man's nose. Blood flowed freely, coating the man's dirty, t-shirt, dripping onto the floor. Confidently steady, Jarod kicked high, aiming for the mans head, but catching him in the shoulder.

Miss Parker heard the bones splitting under the force of Jarod's foot. She had slid down the wall, and was trying to pull herself back into the window, to see, even if she could not get herself into the room to help. She had never seen Jarod like this before, angry, fierce, vicious; even after that second kick to the midsection she was sure had broken some ribs. Another loud crack told her the idiot had been successful with a third kick, this time, Jarod's left forearm.

Willing her body to cooperate, she hauled herself over the window sill and into the room, rolling to one side just in time to see Jarod land a hard kick to the idiot's midsection and send him out the window to the dumpster below. Jarod collapsed at the window and looked down, then sighed as he slid to the floor.

"Jarod, is he...?"

"Dead? I think so."

"Are you all right?" She brushed the backs of her fingers over his cheek.

"Nothing a cold pack won't fix." A slightly battered hand wiped the blood from beneath his nose.

She knew he was lying; she had seen the fight. "Broken?"

"No. Just bleeding."

"What about your arm? And ribs?"

"Hospital."

Forcing herself to her feet, she asked, "Can we get out of here? This place should be condemned."

"It is." He pushed himself, carefully, from the floor, favoring his left arm. His right hand, he placed on her shoulder as they stepped through the maze of garbage to the outside.

"He's dead?" she asked as Jarod came around the corner.

"Yes."

"What are you doing?"

Putting the cell phone to his ear, he responded, "Calling the police."

"Why?"

He gave her a look and she was quiet. "Yes. I'd like to report a rape. No, the victim is here with me. Do we have a suspect? Yes, unfortunately he won't be able to tell you much. He's dead..." Finished with the report to the police, he addressed Miss Parker again, "We have to report this. Our fingerprints are all over that house. And that man's body."

"My father can't find out about this. He'd go on a rampage."

"I'll keep it out of the press." The look of gratitude in her eyes did not go unnoticed. "You don't have to go back you know."

"Yes. I do. I still have a job to do. It doesn't matter that you just saved my life. All you did there was buy yourself a few more hours."

"Do what you have to do. I've given the police my statement. And if you don't want Daddy to find out about this, I have to leave now."

Miss Parker nodded and gently put her arms around him, needing to feel his strength one more time. She let him leave quietly. He could run for a couple days, then she would be back, ready to chase again.

*

After the exhausting and invasive trip to the hospital, it was soothing to be back in her own bed, warm and safe. Safe, that was becoming, more and more, a relative term. But with the memory of Jarod's strong arms so willing to help her, she would sleep well, tonight anyway. Maybe.

"What?" Her bark was closer to a whispered growl.

"Are you okay?" his calm voice played over her ears.

"Sure. Nothing I won't live through. How are your broken bones?"

"I'll survive. I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you."

She closed her eyes. "You couldn't have known, Jarod." She wanted to yell at him, tell him if he had stayed at The Centre, none of this would have happened. Something brushed her hair away from her face.

"No, but I could have been there sooner."

His hand was rough, but strong in her fingers. She opened her eys. "Why are you here?"

"I needed to make sure you were all right."

"I can take care of myself."

"Miss Parker, he would have killed you."

"I thought you said he was going to release me."

"Yes. The note he gave me said that. Sort of." He closed his phone, it was resting in his left hand anyway, not being used anymore. "Well, I did some checking. You remember what that place smelled like?"

She dropped the receiver into the cradle. Holding back a wave of nausea, she gave him a nod.

"The police found fifteen bodies buried under the basement floorboards."

"Fifteen?" Miss Parker sat up, clenching his good arm.

He nodded. "Most of them under the age of thirteen. If I hadn't followed him, you would have been victim sixteen."

"Thank you, Jarod." She rested her head on his shoulder and released her grip on his arm.

He put his good arm around her and leaned back against the headboard as she fell asleep. He would be gone by morning, but for now, he would stay.

**End**