The Oakhurst Murders Duology

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Lucy was pleased with how her visit with Zack Wild had gone; he had not come right out with a declaration of interest, but she knew when someone was attracted to her, and was sure that attraction would get her what she wanted. He had already agreed to her returning with her manuscript, so he could look it over – she was not vain enough to think that her, as yet unfinished, novel was perfect, it needed work, and that was where Wild came in - and help her make it better. More importantly, he had agreed to get his agent to read it when it was done.

With her mind occupied by her successful visit with Zack Wild, it was no surprise that she was unaware of the Land Rover until it skidded to a halt, practically on her heels, as she took a short-cut home. It startled her out of her thoughts and made her jump; when she came down she spun around to see what had caused the noise – it was a green Land Rover, identical to the one she had just passed in Zack Wild’s drive, though she couldn’t tell if it was the author behind the wheel for the sun was reflecting glaringly off the windscreen.

Lucy remained blinded as the driver’s door opened, and so had no idea who it was that shouted at her.

“w***e! c**k-teasing w***e!”

There was such anger and hatred in the voice that it was impossible for her to be sure who it belonged to. Her inability to tell who was speaking, she could tell that it was a man but that was it, combined with the anger and hatred to make her concerned, even a little afraid.

“What’s your problem?” she demanded as she moved around the Land Rover, so she could start back the way she had come – it occurred to her that leaving the road to cut across the field was not such a good idea, and that returning to it was probably the best thing she could do.

“You. You think people don’t see what a c**k-teasing w***e you are, but they do.” The anger in the voice increased. “You dress like a tart; you act like one as well. You make everyone think they can have a piece of you, if they do what you want. You buy your grades with your body, you buy everything with your body, and you don’t care who you buy it from. You’d f**k Sir Virgil if it’d get you something you want.”

The verbal attack, especially the suggestion that she would sleep with her own great-uncle, struck Lucy like a physical blow and left her reeling. She wanted to say something, anything, to defend herself, but no words would come.

“It’s time you learned what happens to c**k-teasing bitches.”

Lucy wanted to break into a run, she was a good runner, and was sure she could outpace whoever the Land Rover belonged to, but she realised she should conserve her energy until she needed it. She also realised that running would put her in danger of tripping on the uneven ground - she had seen enough horror films to know what happened to pretty, young girls when they were chased by a maniac.

“You’re just like Georgie.”

Lucy felt a ball of cold dread settle heavily into her stomach at that; Georgina had been missing for a week, and now she had the unpleasant feeling she was going to find out what had happened to her fellow teen. That knowledge didn’t help her, though it did intensify her desire to get away before she suffered the same fate.

It was just as well she had one eye over her shoulder, for He suddenly rushed around the Land Rover and lunged towards her. She reacted the moment she saw him get close; pivoting, she slid her bag off her shoulder and swung it with all her strength. Her timing could not have been more perfect, the bag crashed into her would-be attacker just before he reached her, throwing him into the side of his vehicle, from there he fell to the ground at the edge of the waist-high golden corn.

Dropping the bag, Lucy ran for the gate. She couldn’t be sure if she was being pursued, she didn’t dare risk looking back in case she lost her footing, but she believed she was. The thought spurred her on until, after she had covered about a third of the distance to the gate, what she had feared would happen did, she stumbled and fell, her momentum sending her sprawling along the dirt path.

Winded more than hurt, she scrambled to her feet, where she discovered she had sprained her ankle. She was reduced to a hobble after that, and over her own, too slow, footsteps she could hear Him getting closer. She thought about calling for help, but decided she was better off saving her breath for her flight; the only person who might hear her was Constance Hawkins, and that was doubtful given how far away her house was.

She made it about half-way to the gate before being caught. One moment she was moving at a fast hobble, the next she felt a sharp pain as she was yanked off her feet by her hair. She landed on her back and was then spun around to face Him, before being pinned to the ground as he sat on her.

“Think it’s funny d’ya, hitting someone with a bag of books?” The question was snarled in a voice that remained unrecognisable, though there was something familiar about it that time. “How ‘bout this?” He smashed his fist into the side of her jaw. “Think that’s funny? How ‘bout this?” He hit her again, and then reached down to grab her skimpy top, which tore as he gave it a quick yank.

Lucy was dazed by the two blows, but she was a fighter. She couldn’t see clearly enough to be sure of where she was aiming, but that didn’t stop her lashing out. She bucked and heaved, writhed and twisted, but most of all she struck out again and again with her fists as she sought to make Him either get off her or shift his weight, so she could get away.

When her efforts failed to get Him to move, or even to stop his painful groping of her breasts, Lucy changed tactics. Instead of lashing out blindly, landing blows that had barely any strength, she sought to use the only weapon she had that might do some damage – her nails.

Lucy had only a moment to enjoy drawing blood and a quick curse, for her defiance inflamed his anger. He hit her again and again, until he succeeded in knocking out two of her teeth, one of which she managed to spit out before it went down her throat, the other she didn’t. She was unconscious before her jaw broke with a sharp crack, which was a blessing since it meant she couldn’t see the lust-filled expression on His face as he finished tearing her top in two, and then ripped from her the scrap of bright orange that protected the last vestiges of her dignity.