Nightmare of Vengeance

Chapter One – Prologue I went to the woods to get away, to a place where the streams were swollen with snowmelt and the first signs of spring were beginning to timidly appear: the trillium, the crocus, the sprouts of wild daffodils peeking out through the warming earth between a thick layer of leaves and dead brush. Even the bare trees that had been left for dead the fall before were beginning to send out small shoots – as if they were scouts making sure the coast was clear before declaring that spring had finally arrived. This was April, a hellish and fickle month. Why I dared go camping on my own during such a feral time of year no one understood, least of all me. But this was not the only recent and impulsive act in my repertoire; I was building up quite a portfolio of foolish deeds. I preferred to think of it as finding myself; that’s what women do, especially at twenty-one. With college behind me and no solid job prospects, no cause to champion, no passion to fulfill, perhaps the woods would give me inspiration, or at the very least ground me; set me solidly into the real world where I had real problems – like rent, food, a car payment I couldn’t afford. Little things like that. I pitched my small tent by the river making sure to build the fire on an elevation high enough so the rising river waters wouldn’t be washing me out in the middle of the night. I liked the sound of the water rushing by me at a furious clip on its way to the bigger river, on its way to the sea. This was what I’d gone there for: the call of nature drawing me into its rhythms, settling me down, taking all the disparate pieces of Kristen Davies and putting them back together into a reasonable form. I’d been a puzzle for months, declining invitations I normally accepted, breaking up with my boyfriend, quitting my job at the brokerage that paid me more than I really earned, and ignoring the piles of letters from potential law schools that I had at one time so greedily coveted. Six months before, my life story had already been written; the book staring me in the face. All I had to do was open the cover and begin to read from the pages. No sweat. No doubts. No youthful angst to complicate what had easily fallen into my lap, what seemed written in stone. Maybe it would have been a good life, but I’ll never know that now. I built my fire in a clearing and put on a pot of water – always my first task when camping. Then I found the hotdogs and buns in my backpack, plus all the condiments in little packages that I’d sneakily swiped from a coffee shop, where just that morning I’d had coffee with my friend Teri. Keep it simple – my basic rule of camping. It isn’t the place for gourmet food. I had cereal for morning, a few snack bars and two apples. Plus there was more of the same easy stuff in the cooler inside the trunk of my car. I had enough for three days, which was all I could spare from my real life. I figured it was just enough to lift my spirits, turn my life around and give me motivation to press on. Tall order, yes. But at twenty-one, I hadn’t lost faith in miracles. Maybe it was too early to be camping in the woods that spring, too cold, too spooky. When night fell, the bottom dropped out of the sky so quickly that I’d hardly stoked the fire high enough to feel the comfort of its warmth. Clouds rushed in during the late afternoon so all the light I had was what I created on my own. In the middle of nowhere, down a faint path, on the banks of the river, alone. Wild dogs howled in the distance. Or maybe it was coyotes or, even better, wolves howling at the missing moon. I shivered cold and grabbed a blanket to pull around me. What was there to do now? I’d set up camp and the hotdogs were already devoured and trying to settle inside my belly. I had nothing to read – on purpose I didn’t bring any books. This trek to the woods was to be a spiritual renewal as much as it was a practical one, so with such lofty goals, I deliberately packed like an Indian on a sacred quest. Sadly, this damp and brooding April night was not one for sacred quests. Goblins jumped from the surrounding shadows, creepy noises bombarded my ears. Tricksters and wood elves seemed far too active for that time of year. Weren’t they supposed to hold up in their caves until the summer’s warmth made it safe for them to surface? I tried shaking off my anxiety but my psyche would have none of that. It chose to freeze up instead, when it really wasn’t all that cold, certainly not with the fire and the blanket. It chose to wrap my mind around dangerous thoughts instead of fixing on the positive. I’d gone camping alone in the woods three times before and nothing like this had ever occurred. In retrospect, I suppose my uneasiness might have been premonitions, nothing tricky about that. And maybe if I’d actually listened to my rampant fears, I might have acted sensibly, packed my things and left. But that night I was operating out of desperation, knowing that I had choices to make. I was determined to make these three days work in my favor. What did it say about my character if I split with the first sign of something creepy invading my mind? I stared at the fire watching my hot breath make smoke in the air and then as the fire’s heat consumed it. I tried to hypnotize my mind, calm my thoughts, sing happy songs inside my head. But even sung aloud in a timid voice there was little effect. Movements. Sounds. Critters in the underbrush. A coyote maybe, but likely just a curious raccoon. Maybe I needed more time. A night’s sleep; a day’s rest. Retreat to the tent and snuggle into the sleeping bag. In the morning, I’d get my bearings, I’d make the campsite a home. I’d do incantations to keep me safe. If only I could have fallen asleep. Only problem, I couldn’t move into my tent, even though it was just a few feet behind me. Minutes later, I was still huddled in my blanket staring at the fire when something brilliant flashed before my eyes, then disappeared just as fast. There was movement and murmuring voices, and then nothing. Before I could make myself respond, my eyes were blinded by whatever scratchy thing that covered my head, and two strong arms lifted my body from the ground. Over a man’s shoulder. I could tell this was a man by his strength and by his scent: a musky, masculine odor that seemed to take my breath away. I tried to scream. I also tried to move my arms and legs in frantic motions. That’s when I discovered that my feet had mysteriously been tied together and my hands were also trapped inside the woolen blanket. I could barely budge, and my screams became no more than muffled shouts, while the hand that clamped itself against my back was hard and unyielding. Running now, we seemed to bounce along, darting this way and that to avoid the trees, my ride more terrorizing by the second. The only sound was that of boots slashing through the underbrush, at least two pair, though the details were as fuzzy then as they are to me now. My head bumped into trees at least three times, the instant headache compounding my horror. My bouncing ass and legs took a pounding with my captor seeming to weave recklessly as if he were drunk, while through my jeans I could feel sharp branches rake across my skin. In my mouth, the rancid taste of the sour smelling blanket turned me dangerously nauseous. My captor finally slowed to a walk; perhaps we were out of the woods. But the sound of a door banging startled me further; although there was nothing to ease me, nothing but panic further ransacking my fractured psyche. Dropped, my shoulder banged hard against a floor. I struggled to remove myself from the blanket, but I was tied up like a Christmas package. My hands were useless, having been locked to my sides and bound with rope. My shoulders suffered the same fate. And of course, my feet were tied together. All I could do was flail uselessly against the floor like a fish flopping on dry land. I soon gave up. I tried to calm and catch my breath, but soon the strident sound of, “Please let me out of here!” burst from my mouth. A harsh rebuke from my captor followed: ‘Shut up, b***h!’ then a hard kick to my ass stopped this second furious battle. I tried to breathe again. “Please don’t hurt me…” I weakly ventured this time. “I said shut up!” the mean voice sounded off again. Another kick in the ass and I dared not utter a sound. The ropes that tied my arms to my hips were loosened, although the relief was only temporary. Someone grabbed my hands, swiftly buckling my wrists in sturdy cuffs that would not give. Then my jeans came down, yanked over my hips and down my legs and finally pulled completely off. Somewhere in the melee of my capture, I’d lost my boots, although the brown boot socks managed to stay in place. Invading fingers started probing my crotch with no respect for decency. Decency? What the hell did I expect? The thought of decency was absolutely absurd under these conditions, especially when staying alive was my most urgent concern. “Well, won’t you look at this!” a snarly voice piped up, “No panties and a wet hot snatch.” His warm, thick fingers began to poke inside my cunt, no ceremony, no mercy. If I hadn’t already figured it out, I knew for sure that I would be raped. I tried to snap my legs shut only to have them pried apart again by these ruthless hands. “You picked yourself a randy b***h,” the man snarled again, while further mauling my crotch and jabbing fingers in both my p***y and my ass. I seized up when he breached the dry backdoor and bucked hard against the invasion in my ass. Not that my efforts did any good. “No! Please!” I screamed. “Not there, please!” I hated anal, but that wouldn’t matter to these thugs. My life seemed to be slipping from me fast. How ironic that just as I resolved to get my act together, everything would be taken from me. My scream was met with a hard smack on my left ass cheek, then another on the right, then back and forth like a good old-fashioned spanking until the two orbs were scorched and stinging, and I was squirming to get away. “Don’t you get it, b***h?” the man said when he finally stopped. “Keep your trap shut!” “Maybe she needs to be gagged,” another voice offered up. Another tussle ensued with my resistant body, then the ropes at my shoulders were at last untied. When finally the blanket was drawn away, a blindfold was quickly slapped over my eyes and secured behind my head, giving me not even the merest glimpse of my captors. Maybe that was good. I couldn’t see a thing, not even a rim of light at the edges of the blindfold. I’d been cocooned in darkness, enveloped in the rich scent of leather, the feel of it soft against my face. At least I could breathe. One huge gulp of air drew in the smells of pine and sweat and bacon grease. A breath of fresh air followed. Rushing in from somewhere the draft of cold air made my skin chill and everything about me shiver. There was no gag, but thick tape was slapped over my mouth and the sticky stuff instantly fused to my face. Stripped of the remainder of my clothes, I was positioned on the floor and readied for the eventual rape, with my shoulders shoved into the hard wood and my cheek resting on the gritty surface. Then that pair of huge hands lifted my ass, tucked my knees beneath me and spreading them wide, exposed my rear cleft from my asshole to my p***y below. A wild, stabbing pain attacked me in the gut and then moved downward. Though tough to admit, lurking in my psyche since I could remember were brutal scenes like this one which had the power to arouse me sexually. I’d never known where they came from or why I had to be plagued by such depraved thoughts. It would be nice to say that I was so petrified by the danger I faced that I couldn’t possibly get horny, but my entire body was painfully aroused: heart beating, p***y throbbing, desire so palpable that I could taste it on my tongue. If I were not gagged, I imagine that I’d have been licking my lips in want of a c**k between them.