## Archive-name: rain

"If you insist on burning in hell, John Michael, I can't stop you, but I won't have this done in our home. If you must do this, keep it outside, or take it to one of your wicked friends' homes. It won't go on here" Rebecca sternly told her husband, her hard eyes showing that on this point there would be no concessions.

"Alright, woman, we'll do it in the barn. But we've got other things to do now. Here, Billy, bring her over to the edge of the porch. That's not in the house, is it woman?" her husband shouted back at her while his cousin Billy lead the captive woman to the porch, tugging on the rope around her neck.

A short time ago she had been driving to an overdue visit with some college friends she'd not seen since graduation five years before, enjoying the lovely vistas from these mountain roads, quite happy that she'd asked the auto club to select a scenic route for her. She'd left the motel she'd stayed in after the first day's drive about 4:00 AM and driven for several hours through these hills and mountains before stopping for breakfast in a little town, a wonderful meal enlivened by the friendly people in the local diner. She was used to strange men approaching her, and practiced at politely deflecting them, but the people had been so friendly and engaging that she'd found herself staying and talking much longer than she expected. Finally, she had to pull herself away and get back on the road. A few miles outside of the town a truck was stopped in the road, blocking traffic. She blew her horn a couple times, without effect, then got out of her car to see if the driver could move the truck a little, just enough to let her pass. When she looked into the driver's side window, she got the barrel of a shotgun pressed below her nose, and several men appeared behind her. Two seized her arms while a third bound her wrists tightly behind her back. She started to protest, but when she did the shotgun was pressed harder against her face, and she took the hint and quieted. Then a canvas bag was placed over her head and a rope tied around her neck, securing the bag in place. Someone removed her flats, then forced her feet into the 4" heels she had in a bag on the floor of her car and buckled them. With a combination of a hard, round object pushing her between the shoulder blades and a tug on the rope around her neck, it was made clear to her that she was going for a walk.

It was hard for her to estimate how long or far she had walked. It had seemed like an eternity, most of it uphill over uneven ground, her captors pushing her to move quickly, unsympathetic to how often she fell, prodding and dragging her onward as she sweltered and struggled for breath within the darkness of the bag, the rising heat of the day making it unbearable, but there was nothing for her to do except bear it, though she was sure she would soon suffocate or drown in her own sweat if she didn't get out of it. Her tasteful blouse was soon wet and clinging to her body, displaying the wonderful curves of her slender form. Her feet ached, as did her bruised legs and hips, as did her lacerated wrists and swollen hands and the elbows that seemed to find every rock or tree that they could strike.

At last the ground leveled off, and soon after that they stopped, and the bag was pulled from her head, and as the captive reveled in the simple joy of filling her bursting lungs with air some part of her struggled with the contradiction of feeling such gratitude for being allowed to do something as basic as breathe. If she'd been more attentive to her surroundings at the point she'd have seen the stern women standing on the porch of a farmhouse, and seen the disapproving glare in their eyes as they observed the young woman with her tangled blonde hair and flushed face and half-closed eyes, whose firm breasts stuck obscenely to the thin fabric of her shirt and drew every man's eyes to their rhythmic movement. Why, they thought, couldn't these hussies with their high heels and short skirts stay in the city and stop leading the decent Christian men of these parts to perdition?

After John and Rebecca's tense exchanged, the captive was lead to the front of the porch, and Billy tied the rope to the top rail, pulling it up until there was no slack. John steadied her, settling her feet on a flat rock that provided a level space on the sloping ground that fronted the porch before binding her ankles. He ran his hands over her pretty legs, watching his wife from the corner of his eye to be certain she saw his hands slip up under the bound woman's skirt. "Now, we've all got things to do, so you just stay here, honey, and when we get back we'll have a real good time" he said, loudly.

"Please...." the captive whimpered.

"Ah, sugar" John said, "that's so sweet of you, but you don't have to ask 'please can I come to the party', you're the guest of honor. You just be quiet and don't bother the ladies till we come for you". Then he and the other men departed. They knew enough of her schedule to know that no one expected her until tomorrow, which gave them the rest of the day to chop her car, select which of her possessions to sell and which to destroy, and get to the next city on her route so Jessie from the diner could run up several bills on her charge cards before anybody started wondering about where she was. By the time anyone started looking for her, her torn and battered body would be in a ditch full of quicklime at the bottom of an abandoned coal mine.

When they were gone, the young woman began crying, "Please help me ! Let me go please, please let me go...".

"You hush" Rebecca said. "You think we're going to let you get our men in trouble with the law for the likes of you?"

"I won't report it, I won't tell anyone, please just untie me and you'll never see me again, please, I swear," the captive woman replied.

"Even if I believed a tramp like you, I couldn't, my man would be furious with me, and I won't risk that to keep you from getting what you've got coming to you" Rebecca said.

"What do you mean? What have I done? Why do you hate me so much?" the captive asked, her voice trembling. "What <sob> have I done, <sob> what have I done?"

"You save your act, missy. A thing like this would never happen to a decent woman, only to a slut like you. Now you might as well save your breath, cause I'm through talking to you, and there ain't no one here going to listen to you" Rebecca said before returning to the house and closing the door and the front windows so the occupants could more easily ignore the pleas and sobs coming from the porch. But it remained difficult, and the women of the house went about their business tense and stone-faced while the faint sounds tore at them, until a storm came up, and while the screams for help and pleas to know what she had done rose in volume, the winds and rain drowned out the sounds. The wind and rain lashed the house, shaking the windows that opened onto the porch, which was taking the brunt of the storm, but no one considered stepping onto the porch for the moment it would have taken to close the shutters.

The wind whipped at the helpless woman who stood in its path, thrusting her light body from side to side, causing the leash to become a noose tightening around her bare throat, while the rain pounded her, stinging her face and at times nearly drowning her in it's fury, her slight frame being pressed by the thick streams of rain that thudded into her chest, bringing her even closer to asphyxiation. When the wind pushed her off her perch on the rock the rope tightened even more, and she had to twist and turn and struggle to get her high heels back on a steady surface.

The downpour was bouncing off the house and porch, some of it rolling off the porch and over the prisoner's soaked head, all of it rolling away from the house and forming temporary rivulets little streams which rushed quickly away from the house, loosening the dirt before it, washing away the loose dirt where recent digging had occurred, and then more ground gave way, and the heavy rock on which the young woman stood gave way and slipped down the hill, and she started to strangle again, shifting her bound feet to gain some steady foothold, but never managing to keep any, her sharp heels sinking into the soft mud.

Then, as suddenly as the storm had come, it passed by, and there was quiet and sunshine again, and the captive struggled for a foothold, briefly obtaining one, and with her last strength called out, "Help me, please, I'm dying". Shortly afterwards, Rebecca tentatively stepped out on to the porch, and glanced down at the sopping and mud covered woman, her hair plastered over her discolored face; hardly a temptress now. The woman was looking up, and seemed to be mouthing "please".

"I'm sorry, dear, but really, this is better. It'd be much worse for you if the men had their fun with you. This is for the best," Rebecca said as she turned away and went back to the house, trying to tell herself she didn't hear the little, strangled, "no" behind her.

The woman turned and squirmed and tried to find more secure ground, but all her efforts made the rope encircling her neck tighter, and then a large chunk of mud slid down the slope, and she slid down a couple inches, her numb hands unable to grasp anything, her bound feet now squirming in empty air. After a few moments the squirming stopped.

Steven S. Davis sdupland@delphi.com sd@hedonism.com

Last modified (12/24/96 16:11:12) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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