Dark Angels

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

“Your mom called. She wants to know when you’re coming home.”

Mindy sat at the vanity with Lee standing and running a brush through the girl’s hair. A bottle of Old Bushmills sat close at hand.

“Tonight’s my last night,” Mindy said dreamily, enjoying the smooth stroke against her scalp; her eyes closed. “I’ll go home tomorrow. And you still owe me, remember.”

“I thought you wanted the sports car.”

“That too,” Mindy giggled. But you promised to show me the website and how you... you know... Mmm, is stimulate the word you use?”

Lee rested her hands on Mindy’s shoulders. “As good as any, I guess. It’s just that it’s so private. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“That’s what makes it so special. We’ll be sharing. And you promised; you did. Remember?”

“I promise a lot of things after I’ve had a few drinks. It doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll follow through.”

Mindy’ lower lip curled. “But you will this time, won’t you, because I’m your favorite niece and I let that dreadful man feel me up just so you could get your silly contract signed. I need to know.” Mindy’s gut puckered at the thought of the man’s hands on her body. But Mindy had let him run his hands over her breasts because she would do anything for Lee. And because it was what Lee needed her to do.

Lee set the brush down on the vanity. “And for that I share my darkest secret. Go get it while I turn on the computer.”

Mindy squealed in delight and dashed to the drawer in the bureau while Lee logged onto the internet.

They sat together, holding hands, the vibrator between them on the bench. Lee scrolled down the postings until she found one that looked promising. The user name was Driven to Distraction.

Lee scanned the first paragraph. “Mercy. They got her in her own garage.”

“What?”

Lee pointed to the screen. “Yeah. Look here...” She began to read:

Driven had stopped by the grocery store after working late at the office. It was dark but only shortly after eight o’clock when she pulled up outside her garage door. Her husband was home; sitting upstairs and watching a football game on the big-screen. Outside in the driveway, Driven pointed the remote at the garage door and pressed the button. Nothing happened. (“The batteries, again? I had just replaced them.”)

She swore lightly under her breath and opened her car door. She would have walked around to the front of the house but she had three bags of groceries. She got out and struggled with the garage door. It was heavy but she managed to open it and then turned back to her car. That’s when the two men slipped from behind some bushes at the side of the house and darted into Driven’s garage and concealed themselves in a corner. (“They knew what they were doing; had probably done it before. They disabled the automatic door opener with a piece of tape stuck across the sensor.”)

Driven pulled forward, pressed the knob to extinguish the headlights and turned the ignition key. The garage door closed automatically, trapping Driven inside with her two assailants.

Her husband upstairs heard the car pull in and the door closing and assumed his wife was making her way into the kitchen to unpack groceries. He thought no more about it. Dallas was playing and their cheer-leader squad boasted some of the cutest girls in the NFL.

Meanwhile, down in the garage, Driven was leaning into the backseat to retrieve her grocery bags when an arm grabbed her about the waist. She managed one piercing scream before she felt the knife being pressed to her throat. Unfortunately the scream wasn’t enough to attract the attention of her husband. He mindlessly watched the game as his wife was dragged from the backseat; her bum forced up onto the hood of the car where she sat with legs dangling. (“As soon as I saw the knife, I knew what they had come for.”)

Fighting them off would only result in her losing a lot of blood and even so, ultimately, they would get what they came for. She started to sob as they forced her skirt up about her hips. She had come from work and wore pantyhose under her business suit. The knife swept down. (“I thought for a moment they were going to open up my stomach; I had read somewhere that there are men who like to mutilate their victims.”)

But the blade only caught the elastic waistband and while one man held her the other slashed at her undergarments. Her jacket was forced back and the front of her blouse torn open. Her breasts were tugged from the cups of her bra. With her genitals exposed, the man with the knife stepped between her knees and teased her crotch with the tip of his p***s. Driven stifled a sob, turned her face to the side and prepared herself for the inevitable. (“How could this be happening to me?”) There was the wicked thrust and she was nauseated by the sensations of wrenched and twisted flesh.

He lunged forward several times before pulling out. Bewildered, Driven watched as he gripped her behind the knees and rocked her back. When she realized what he was about to do. She screamed again. (“I realized he was going to do me there, without any lubrication.”) He laughed, and lifting her thighs higher, he invaded her anus and left his gooey mark.

The men traded places.

With an arm wrapped firmly around her neck, Driven had no other choice but to endure the second man between her legs. He took her quickly with long, slick strokes while she wept quietly; resigning herself to the fact that she was now a rape victim, her only concern: Avoid the knife.

Once the second man had divested himself of his semen, they let go of her and she limply fell from the hood of the car, down onto the concrete floor. She curled up into a ball and held her v****a in her hands. One of the men hit the switch for the garage door. It opened and joshing with each other, they disappeared into the darkness at the end of the driveway.

Driven, still lying on the floor, rocked herself, the semen leaking out from between her fingers. She suddenly gasped. Her hips came up, racked by a spasm; the orgasm crippling her lower back. She managed to get up on an elbow and saw the mess between her legs. Then she looked to the end of the driveway where she had caught the last glimpse of the two men running. (“Come back...”)

Lee’s eyes circled wide.

Mindy pointed to the last line. “Crap. She wanted it. She wanted more.”

“She discovered something about herself,” Lee added, feeling strangely sympathetic to the woman’s despair. There was a twinge of guilt at the realization her feelings mirrored those of the rape victim. But then, if you want it, is it really rape? Lee questioned the logic.

They sat staring at the computer screen; each spellbound, but for different reasons.

“How could she?” Mindy asked, bewildered.

Lee maybe understood, but didn’t answer. She clenched her buttocks and pulled the vibrator from between her thighs.

On her way to the office the next morning, Lee dropped her niece off at school. She was partly sorry to see her go; Lee had enjoyed the company but she enjoyed her privacy even more. Lee was a creature of long habit and having a young girl about the house had meant some adjustment to her daily routine.

She was excited about the new sales contract and had brushed aside any resentment she felt toward old Head Bolt and his unorthodox negotiations. In her mind, a three million dollar increase in sales justified just about anything, including the hurt and humiliation. And while Mindy had complained at first, the promise of a Miata convertible had smoothed things over. Lee’s first order of business was to rally her troops and formulate a marketing strategy.

She pushed her morning newspaper aside for later and got on the phone. She called her ad agency, her marketing and sales managers, and greasy Old Ed who ran her service bays.

“Hot dog!” Old Ed shouted, smacking his calloused hands together once the meeting had been assembled. “This will put my boys over the top. I’ve been wanting to expand into full automotive service and now’s the time. Lee, get me a display rack. A fuckin’ big one. I want this stuff in the garage where my customers can see it.”

“You’ll have it. And yes, we are now in a position to expand our automotive department.

Everyone smiled knowingly at Old Ed’s exuberance.

“Exactly what are we selling, Lee?” her sales manager spoke up.

“The full line,” Lee said. “We got a State-wide exclusive on motor oil, both gas and diesel. There’s grease, spray lubricant, carb-cleaner, silicone spray, gearbox oils, antifreeze, three fuel additives and three engine oil additives. Everything.”

“A State-wide exclusive? My... You must have pulled a few strings.”

“You have no idea,” Lee said.

“We’ll need displays, and in-store signage.”

At the mention of displays, Lee’s advertising account rep, an astute young woman named Jenna, reached for her sketch pad. She crossed her legs and dug a high-heel into the carpet. Rolling back the cover, she balanced her pad of paper on a trim knee and started sketching. No, Lee thought. Sketching was the wrong word for it. Sketching implied tentative movements with a pencil. This girl used a slender roller-ball pen and drafted in long, bold strokes.

“When can we expect the first delivery?” her sales manager asked.

“First of next week. Can you manage it?”

“Not a problem, but I’ll need to clear some shelf space. Eye level?”

“Most definitely,” Lee confirmed.

“Good. I’ll hold some staff over for Sunday night, after closing. When the truck arrives Monday, we’ll stock the shelves straight from the loading dock. But I’ll need pricing.”

“Excellent. And you’ll have everything you need. We’ll run an ad this weekend announcing a discount,” Lee replied.

There was the sound of paper being torn from a pad.

Lee looked up in time to see a sheet of vellum glide onto the surface of her desk. There was the outline of an in-store display along with a human figure to give perspective and scale. “This is very good,” Lee said out loud. She looked across her desk but her young ad rep was busy on the next page of her art pad; Jenna’s pen moving deftly across the paper. It was as if the concepts had already been designed, in her head, and it was just a matter of recording them; getting them down on paper so the others could see.

Lee passed the sketch across to her marketing manager then re-focused on her ad rep. Jenna was a petite little thing, had a tight figure and good shoulders; a blue-eyed, reddish-blonde with a short, fashionable, but business-like haircut. A wholesome looking girl with just a touch of makeup.

From nowhere, an illusion hardened in Lee’s mind but was gone again an instant later. Lee sat up. Startled. Damn, where had that come from? She blinked then shook her head; scrambling to reassemble her thoughts:

The chairs had been pushed back and in the vision, little Jenna was flat on the carpet, struggling against the hands of the two department managers. Old Ed, with a c**k the size and dimensions of a Budweiser can, had Jenna’s business skirt up about her hips, her pantyhose down, and was assaulting the dusty moth-like wings which Jenna usually kept tightly closed between her thighs. Jenna’s high heels were dug into the carpet as she braced against the strain of the invasion into the small opening.

Lee struggled to recreate the images. She wanted a closer look at the force of Old Ed’s thrust and to study Jenna’s face; twisted in pain and the humiliation of having her nudity placed on public display. But the image came and went in an instant leaving Lee anxious and frustrated, and dealing with an uneasiness between her legs.

“Lee?”

With a sense of dread Lee realized she had lost the thread of the business conversation and her sales rep had asked a question. All eyes were turned her way.

“Sorry,” Lee confessed. “I was thinking about how best to stretch the advertising; the budget, I mean.

“Don’t worry. Jenna can handle it,” Lee’s marketing manager said.

“Yes,” Lee replied, “I’m sure she can.”

The meeting lasted another hour and the managers emptied her Mr. Coffee twice before things wrapped up. Lee watched the men sauntering down the hallway, the cute ad rep scurrying to keep up, see-sawing awkwardly on the four-inch heels she wore to up her height advantage rather than to look glamorous. Little Jenna; always one step behind.

Lee was satisfied with the results of the meeting; it had gone well. She rewarded herself with a cup of coffee and reached for her newspaper. Flipping through to the business pages, she almost missed the story on page one of the Metro Section. She caught the words Assaulted At School, froze a moment and then fearfully turned back the pages. The full heading read: “Teen Girl Sexually Assaulted At School”

Lee quickly scanned the article. Had Mindy been found out? Had she confessed everything to her mother? Had her mother gone to the police, lusting for blood?

No. Lee let out a breath: Different girl, different school, different part of town.

Lee took a sip of coffee, smoothed out the newspaper and began reading; from the beginning and more slowly. A grade ten student, the paper mentioned her by name, was just leaving her final class of the day. She had lingered behind to place her books in a backpack. When she went to leave the classroom she was surprised to find the door was being held closed from the outside. Feeling frightened, she had run toward the windows but before she could open one and cry for help, a man entered the room. At first she thought it was one of the teachers but then he ordered her to disrobe.

When the girl refused, she had been beaten, stripped, and sexually assaulted.

Those were the only details the reporter gave: beaten, stripped, and sexually assaulted. He was being discrete, of course. Lee could understand that but it did little to alleviate her burning curiosity. And did absolutely nothing at all to quell the wanton hunger she contained inside.

She read through the article once again. The only other information provided was the fact that the police had a description of the assailant; an arrest was imminent. And the girl had been admitted to Women’s Hospital with undisclosed injuries.

Undisclosed my ass. Lee folded the newspaper. The reporter wasn’t giving up much but Lee was smiling. She knew the way to Women’s Hospital and it wasn’t far.

In a well-appointed condominium apartment on the other side of town, another women was reading the article on the front page of the Metro Section. And she also took her time, gleaming what few facts had been provided. Her name was Margaret Keller. But the women called her Red Margo.