Seven Days In Cell Block 7

Chapter One Olivia Bennington looked up from her legal brief to see that the world around her had dimmed its lights for the night. Aside from her fifth floor office where the light above her desk still hummed, the prosecutor’s offices were dark. She vaguely remembered dismissing her secretary Sasha with a wave of her hand. Maybe she looked up and offered the perky brunette a faint smile, but it wouldn’t be one either would remember. After the conviction of Sonny Sanchez, she’d have to take Sasha and her team to dinner, something fancy, one of those trendy bistros by the park, perhaps. But not until after the conviction. Unfortunately, Sanchez was not going down without a fight—not that Olivia expected the prosecution of the mob boss to go easy. He was a thug, but a smart thug for a change, who’d done a creditable job of dotting I’s and crossing T’s and looking pretty smug about it in court. Beneath Olivia’s cool exterior, where few had ever ventured, was a woman smoldering with enough righteous indignation to slap the grin off the man’s handsome face. Wouldn’t the media just love to record a scene like that! The charismatic Sonny faces off with the beautiful redheaded prosecutor—perfect fodder for scandals sheets and Internet blogs. With a lack of other hard news to occupy their hours, Sonny Sanchez’ trial had been at the center of the news cycle for three weeks, and would likely dominate the headlines for at least the next month. “Oh my!” she sat back and sighed. She pushed away from her desk and meandered through the darkened office to the coffee pot in the lunch room where she poured herself what was left, a thick soup of blackish sludge, the remains of some designer brew Angelica had made much earlier in the day. It would have to do. She wasn’t about to put quarters in the big machine in the hallway, and she certainly didn’t need a fresh pot. Returning to her desk, she set down the mug then headed for the bathroom, returning a few minutes later for what she expected would be another two hours working on her plans for the following day. Her shoulders ached and her eyes hurt, but she had work to get done. Picking up her coffee mug, she took a couple wincing sips, then stared out the window to the street below. Perhaps it was the aching shoulders and the tired eyes that eclipsed the foreign noises and the unfamiliar footsteps, the heavy breathing of the man stalking her from behind. Or maybe the intruder was just that good, able to flawlessly execute his approach until one hand was grabbing her by the throat, the other subduing her around the waist. By that time, her mind was sinking into a vague oblivion that weakened her limbs and made it nearly impossible to fight back. She tried. Oh, how she tried! But she simply couldn’t move, and she could barely utter a sound. Not that there would have been anyone to hear her cries of alarm. Though her assailant’s grip on her throat slackened, through her bleary eyes she saw a glint of steel and her body screamed in protest, though it was impossible to move. Her head grew heavier by the second and she could barely think. Drugged! She had to have been drugged! A new wave of panic clutched at her gut, but any attempts to will her body into action proved futile. In the window glass before her she watched the tip of the knife blade slip between the buttons of her pink blouse. With a quick flick of the wrist the first button went flying, pinging off the glass and dropping to the floor. The second button suffered the same fate. A gloved hand reached inside her bra and pulled her breasts free of the confining lace, and for several seconds she suffered the brutal mauling until her flesh was blotched with red. Her mind whirled with thoughts but nothing stuck except the terror. She tried to scream, but not a sound rose from her silenced throat. Surely when his hand began tugging at her skirt she’d find the focus to scream. But there was not a sound but some vague grunting noises that seemed to be coming from someone other than herself. When his roving fingers found her pubic mound and shoved their way inside her p***y, she jerked back reflexively. Or so she thought. Too numbed by the drug to scream or throw him off she succumbed to the mauling as if she were giving her consent. Strangely, she wasn’t too numb to feel the sensations of arousal arising from her crotch. No no no! Damn you no! she silently cried as she stared at the absurd scene playing out in the glass before her. Her image was little more than a shifting haze, while her assailant remained a dark and indescript shadow. Perhaps she winced or groaned or gave some sign of distress, but she found nothing in her reflection to suggest that she did. Indeed, she looked oddly serene given the intimate nature of the man’s attack. And when the assailant turned his attention from her p***y to her ass, she responded to the insidious violation of her nether hole with the same remote gaze. Suddenly, the man eased off and some of the pressure lifted, but she could feel herself falling into a great and dangerous abyss. “Compliments of the boss,” was the last thing to record in her thoughts before her eyes closed and she passed out. *** “Ms. Bennington…Ms. Bennington…!” Sasha’s voice seemed to scream at her from far away. Small but urgent. Olivia’s eyes shot open, though she saw nothing but a sea of blurred colors until her eyes finally focused on her secretary. “What…what’s going on?” “Exactly what I was wondering, Ms. Bennington,” Sasha stood above her looking befuddled and a little cross. “You must have fallen asleep…?” Fallen asleep? Yes. But she had no memory of passing out on the leather couch. Olivia slowly pulled herself upright and looked down to see her blouse wide open and her breasts popping from her brassiere. She immediately jerked the sides of her blouse together. “I-I guess. Yes, right…” she gazed about her office. “That’s what must have happened. I must have dozed off. But why are you here now?” “It’s nine o’clock, Ms. Bennington. You’re due in court at ten.” “Nine? In the morning?” “Yes, ma’am.” Olivia pressed her hand to her throbbing forehead. “Oh, my god, I can’t believe I…!” She jumped to her feet with the vague remembrance of the previous night jarring loose from a cloud of anxious thoughts. She remembered going to the lunch room for coffee… returning to her office… then her memory seemed to skip out completely. There was nothing she could make sense of now. She scanned the room for her coffee cup, which was sitting innocuously on her desk. “Is there any coffee in my mug?” she asked the secretary. Sasha checked the mug. “No, ma’am, looks clean to me. I could get you a fresh cup if you like.” Olivia nodded, absently. “Yes, you do that. And um… make it strong. Looks like I’m going to have to get ready here.” “You did finish the brief?” “Uh, yes. I think so. I’ll have to look. Just get my coffee, please, now.” And the befuddled secretary took off with the empty mug. Every passing second plucked a bit of sanity from the disparate thoughts swirling through Olivia’s brain. The fog was slowly lifting, and the efficient attorney settled into the present. Was it a dream? Had she been drugged? Two buttons missing from her blouse? She suddenly darted toward the window to look for the tiny things in the pale grey rug. Nowhere. Maybe if she crawled on hands and knees… but no time for that. She had to be in court and time was ticking by too fast to care about a couple of buttons. The more noxious memory of the assailant’s pawing hands invading her sexually was suddenly front and center in her thoughts… No, no, no! I don’t have time for this now! She pushed the dangerous recollections aside. Later. I’ll think about it later. She was due in court. Moving briskly to the small closet by the door, Olivia found a grey sweater hanging amid the coats and scarves and her blue umbrella. She pulled it from the rack and held it against her. Not a bad match for her navy suit, but not great either. She sighed dismayed. But, since had no time to go home and change, this would have to do. She made a quick trip to the restroom to change into the sweater and reapply her make up. Then after appraising her current condition, she returned to her office to prepare for court. This was not how she hoped to start her day. Later that afternoon… “You’re looking a little tired, Livia. A little off in court.” Bob Thurgood stood before her desk trying his best not to look patronizing as he gazed at her through his horned-rimmed spectacles. The Sanchez prosecution had been his until Director Munson decided that Olivia Bennington was what the prosecution needed for this case. Sonny Sanchez had a way of grabbing headlines and the prosecution needed a little pizzazz in the form of the ‘comely redhead with a dynamite body’—at least that was the rumor that hit the office airwaves following her assignment. After that loose-lipped comment made its way through the gossip mill, it was at least a month before anyone had taken her seriously. But Olivia was up to the task. Fending off these mild forms of s****l harassment was tiresome, but she wasn’t particularly surprised to have to deal with them as well as perform a demanding job. At least she had her reputation to back up her current claims to power—that and the good wishes of Director Munson. The fact that she could intellectually run circles around everyone in the prosecutor’s office made her the perfect choice for this case. She knew that. She also knew how to use her feminine wiles like any ambitious female. The paunchy, balding Bob Thurgood just didn’t stand a chance when they needed every tactic at their disposal to win this case. “I was tired this morning,” Olivia explained simply. “But since these were mostly procedural issues, I don’t think anything suffered. My focus is on next week, where yours should be as well. Do we have that deposition you were working on?” “All set for tomorrow.” “Good.” She gave him a perfunctory nod that sent him on his way. Olivia’s day had gone by at such a rapid pace—as all her days in the prosecutor’s office did—that she barely had a moment to breathe, let alone consider what had happened the previous night. She wasn’t even sure she hadn’t been dreaming. But the missing buttons? This was all too strange. And the feel of a man’s hands on her body all too real. She left work, nudging herself to recall the incident with a little more clarity. When she flipped on the hall lights in her apartment, it seemed as if she hadn’t been in the place for weeks, not a mere thirty hours. She stared around, feeling curiously remote, distanced from things she knew she loved. Pictures, mementoes, books, magazines—the collected artifacts of her life all neatly arranged on shelves and tables. Midge, her interior designer, was a woman with at least once screw loose in her zany head, but she’d taken Olivia’s suggestions and fashioned the apartment Olivia had always dreamed of having—thanks to the unexpected promotion six months before. Now, when she should be happy to be home, Olivia moved listlessly through the familiar rooms unable to connect with anything in a normal way. “What is wrong with me!” she finally blurted out loud. She returned to the living room from the bedroom and moved directly to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Yes. Perfect. She grabbed for the makings of a salad and when that was done, she sat in front of the TV and ate as she watched the headlines on CNN. By the time she was finished, some normalcy had returned to her beleaguered mind. And yet, if even for a moment, she thought to recall the previous night that curious disconnect seemed to sweep over her again. It was just a dream… just a dream… just a dream… Finally, sighing wearily, she moved to the bedroom. What I need is a good night’s sleep. *** Morning came with the sound of the alarm clock buzzing in her ear as if it had been buzzing for nearly a half hour. Perhaps it had. By the time she looked at the clock face, it was already seven am. She’d have to forget the morning workout. The strange feelings from the previous night seemed to have vanished from her thoughts. Her cheery apartment was awash with sunlight and the gloom had disappeared. Rising from bed, she headed toward the kitchen to start the coffee and stopped briefly to give her apartment another quick assessment to confirm that all was right. Suddenly, her eyes lighted on a glass candy dish sitting on a table. Hadn’t it been on the coffee table the night before? And there… what was that on her desk? A cigarette butt squashed into the wood. She never smoked. Anyone who did knew better than to light up in her apartment. Olivia backed out of the room as a wave of fear clutched at her throat. She reached for her cell phone on the kitchen counter, trembling and afraid. Everywhere she looked something seemed oddly out of place and a creepy feeling began to overwhelm any sense of calm. “Someone’s been in my apartment…” she told the officer on duty, hand shaking, knees weak. She rattled off her suspicions to Officer Clancy, who finally said the only thing she really wanted to hear: “I’ll send someone over right away, Ms. Bennington.” “Yes, please do! Make it fast—but please, don’t make it public,” she thought to add. “Yes, ma’am.” *** “You know, I really do have to get to the office. Can we finish up here?” Olivia asked impatiently. She made her comment to Tony Blake with an exasperated sigh. Though she had been slightly annoyed that Tony had been sent to investigate, any irritation had been swept away as soon as she saw her former husband standing at her front door. They’d had a miserable relationship. Tony was as laidback as Olivia was ambitious and energetic, and their three year relationship was doomed from the start. Their only major success had been in bed, where Tony was a brilliant lover, capable of giving her the wildest orgasms of her life. But s*x could not provide enough glue to hold the tempestuous relationship together. While they seemed to agree on the important things like politics and religion, they fought over everything trivial and every routine circumstance of life—like squeezing the toothpaste tube and who took the garbage out, who cleaned the kitchen sink and where to go for an evening out. When the arguing became too tiring for Olivia to endure, she suggested the divorce, and though Tony really couldn’t understand why the small stuff was so important to her, the two ended the marriage amiably. They were still colleagues, and they had no reason to fight once they no longer had to share their lives. Their martial history had no bearing on Olivia’s respect for Tony Blake as an investigator. He was a crack detective on the police force, able to see things in a crime scene that few would note. How he did that, she’d long since given up trying to figure out. But considering the delicate nature of her current predicament, there was no one’s expertise she valued more at a time like this. Plus, she could count on him to get to the bottom of these troubling matters without creating a commotion. The last thing she needed was an uproar just before the Sanchez case went to trial. The media would have a field day with any suggestion that the main prosecutor was being harassed, intimidated or frightened off. “The place comes up clean, sweetheart,” Tony finally announced, as he waltzed into the living room from her bedroom after nearly an hour combing through her apartment. “Except for two cigarette butts and a few misplaced trinkets, I have nothing to investigate here.” “But the cigarettes? How could they have…” “You have a handyman in the building? Maybe he was in here yesterday and you just didn’t see the butts last night. Or your cleaning lady… or that designer you have messing with the place.” “The cleaning lady doesn’t smoke, at least not that I know of. I know Midge doesn’t.” She ignored the ‘messing with the place’—not the time for a pointless argument. “Don’t you think this is a little strange? I swear I am not going crazy.” He shook his head and shrugged. “I’ll bet there’s a perfectly legitimate explanation for the cigarettes, the rest… well, Livia, maybe this Sanchez thing is getting to you.” She instantly bristled, though she controlled the desire to bark back something she would regret. “Oh, for heaven’s sakes, Tony,” she sighed herself, “is that the only conclusion you can come to? Like I can’t take the pressure? Is that what you’re saying? I feel like the whole department with the exception of Munson assumes that I’m going break under the strain.” Tony looked at her as if he might agree. The fact that she’d likely been drugged and assaulted in the downtown prosecutor’s office wasn’t far from her thoughts. But given Tony’s take on her apartment she wasn’t about to mention the incident—if it was an incident at all was still in question. She’d pretty much decided that the assault had been nothing but a bad dream brought on by stress and the lamentable fact that she’d had no s*x for the last ten weeks. Maybe she was under a lot of pressure, but to suggest that she couldn’t handle it? No way would she let that idea gain traction with anyone close to the case. “You’ve bitten off an awful lot, hon,” Tony tried to explain. His big sad eyes looked at her with great concern. “Please don’t patronize me, Tony.” “Okay. You’re the one who called the station all worried about an intruder.” “And now that you’ve checked it out and allayed my fears, how about you get on your way so I can get to work.” “Suits me just fine,” he said crisply, then he came back more kindly. “But hey Liv, you know if anything weird does happen, you be sure to call.” She could hardly argue with his honest concern. “Yes, I’ll be sure to call.” She was practically pushing him toward the front door. By then, she wished she hadn’t called the police in the first place. Enough of the jitters and creeps and odd suspicions, she told herself. This was all the dream’s doing, and she refused to let it screw with her a moment longer—just as she refused to entertain her ex in her apartment for another minute. It never failed that ten minutes, let alone a long hour, in his presence managed to stir up all those deliciously s****l feelings that had drawn her to him in the first place. She could already feel the tickle of s****l excitement in her crotch. Pushing him out the door was her best option.