Chapter One
Chapter One
Reign of Terror
For a third night in a row, the sirens began at midnight, the solemn peace of the neighborhood shattered with the mind-numbing sound of evil screaming into the clear cold air. The eyes of the slumbering shot open, though few would stir from their beds. Certainly not Susanna. She lay at her husband’s side, muscles clenched in panic, her fingers moving with the stealth of a mouse seeking the warmth of Kevin’s body. She clutched his hand in terror.
“They’ll be gone in a few minutes,” he quietly whispered.
She lay inert, her husband’s sentiment echoing through her body, an ardent prayer.
As the sirens grew louder, the sound became more vicious. Most nights the fervent clamor moved on to some unlucky place beyond their home.
But now... in the neighborhood...on the street...just down the block...and, dear god, stopping... but where? The instant the earsplitting sirens died her heart leapt up in anguish.
A second later, the street below exploded with the din of chaos: floodlights, voices, boots hitting asphalt. The air astir...panic reached up to grip her throat.
She’d seen them once, when she’d been brave enough to climb from bed and race toward the window at the first sign of commotion. How they ran like swarming beetles, fanning out like cockroaches into every nook and cranny of the neighborhood as the raid commenced. If doors refused to give, they were ripped from their hinges like a child’s toy; there aren’t enough locks and chains and deadbolts to keep the long arm of the law from entering the sanctuary of a person’s home. There is no right to privacy when the State is in danger from subversive elements. Once before the patrols had raced up the stairs of their apartment house; right past the second floor; to the Talley’s in 310. Janice Talley was never seen again. Most mornings after a raid, they would wonder... who was missing? Who’d been taken? But not that morning...they already knew.
Please, dear God, let them pass! Susanna trembled silently.
But they did not pass that night.
A sudden second explosion crashed through her consciousness as the apartment house was breached. Boot-kicking patrols in full SWAT gear, stun guns in their holsters, clubs in hand, clambered up the steps to the second floor. As the old wood shuddered under their weight, Kevin grabbed Susanna from behind and held her tight.
“They’ll be gone soon,” he whispered again.
But he was wrong this time.
No warning, no knocking like good neighbors do. Their apartment door burst free of its hinges and their home filled in seconds with angry black specters zeroing in on their target. Rushing into the bedroom, they looked toward the bed where two pairs of terrified eyes stared back through the darkness at the encroaching forms.
“No!” Susanna screamed a moment later. But as soon as her shrill voice let loose the cry, a hand came down across her mouth, gripping her face so fiercely that not another sound could escape. The hands that grabbed her from her husband’s useless arms felt clammy and cold, like a March wind, driving icicles all the way to her heart.
On the other side of the bed, Susanna watched defeatedly as two patrols held her husband against the wall, while she was pulled from the mattress and landed with a thud on the old oak floor. She managed to scramble from their grasp only to be jerked back and pulled to her feet.
She’d once vowed to kick and scream and bite until the hands of her assailants bled if she were ever taken. But fear does strange things in times of stress. She stood in her nightshift immobilized with fear, her limbs too heavy to move on their own and her heart beating at such a frantic pace she thought she might pass out.
“No please!” she tried to reason with the devils. “You have the wrong woman!”
These were the last words she’d say before the ballgag was forced between her teeth and the strap drawn tight behind her head.
There’s no walking out of one’s own volition. With their target heaved over the shoulder of a burly captor, the men moved from the Petrucci’s apartment, down the stairs and into the street.
Pushed again, Susanna fell against the gritty and unyielding asphalt, landing on her right hip where the shock of it settled into a throbbing pain. The others had already been taken. Regina Seles was one of her best friends. The pretty blonde Paige, who she knew only by her first name, lived in an apartment house two doors away.
Dear God, please spare us!
Lying face down on the street in a neat line, the three were surrounded by patrols waiting for their next orders. A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, while many others looked down from the apartments above.
An urbane voice suddenly slipped into the chaos and silenced the lingering clamor with his crisp command. “Strip them, bind them, and throw them in the van. We’re not done tonight, gents. Now let’s get on with it.”
Six men pounced on them with knives, ripping the bedclothes from the women’s bodies. Susanna’s white nightdress drifted on the breeze until it finally settled into the gutter. Suffering a similar fate, Regina’s pink silk pajamas were slashed to ribbons before being tossed aside. And Paige, who was already half naked when she was taken from her lover’s bed, had her tiny thong torn from her hips without the use of a knife. Some souvenir- hunting patrol would furtively stuff the thong in his pocket and keep it with his stash of keepsakes from previous raids.
Six months before, the patrols had dispensed with rope, finding it too unwieldy...despite the crude impact of rope on flesh that many savored. Instead, they opted for duct tape, which was both easy to carry and quick to immobilize without a lot of fancy rope work necessary. Although, the only way to efficiently remove the tape was with a good swift yank. The pain that followed for the victim was a positive side benefit for sadistic officials who pleasured in the pain of others.
The three females were bound at the ankles, knees and wrists, then while they lay on their stomachs, their duct-taped hands were jerked back and taped to their feet, effecting strenuous hogties that successfully ended their crude gyrations and feeble attempts to flee. Their mouths had already been stuffed with ballgags, a new regulation to end the screams that normally accompanied these terrorizing raids. Complaints from law-abiding citizens had forced the change.
Each neatly bound package of naked femininity was lifted from the ground and roughly heaved into the back of the van. Although there were no markings on the sleek, black trucks, the vehicles were well known, emblematic of the reign of terror that had begun nearly seven years before.
Heavy chains attached to the inside of the cargo compartment were drawn around the women’s waists and pulled tight in order to keep them from tumbling at will along the hard steel floor. With the trio of crying females secured, patrols returned to their vehicles and the convoy of vans began to move. Sirens blared, lights flashed, and within seconds the street was dark again. Deserted. Those who had briefly crowded into the street to witness the spectacle had disappeared like frightened mice, in fear of being caught up in the hideous events. Neighbors looking on from windows above moved back inside the shadows of their homes, while for several minutes after the vans vacated the neighborhood the sirens echoed ominously in the cold night air.
