Austin Camacho - Damaged goods

Hannibal pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped it round Missy’s shoulders. When it began to slide off he pushed one edge into her hand.

“Hold this,” he said. She did. Was she in shock, he wondered, or heavily doped up? Holding her free hand he guided her toward the door. She didn’t resist, but she seemed in no hurry. They moved slowly through the darkness toward the stairs. They passed one room and were in front of the door to the other when Hannibal heard footfalls behind him.

“What the hell?”

Hannibal spun, leveling the gun in the direction of Derek’s voice. “Just stay quiet and don’t move,” Hannibal whispered, “and you can live through this.” Derek’s breathing was quick and shallow. He was on the verge of making a move. Hannibal took a couple of slow steps backward toward the stairs. Derek moved forward, maintaining a constant distance from Hannibal who had no desire to fire his weapon. If questioned by police, could he convince them that he was in the right? Was he on a rescue mission, or was he guilty of an overprotective kidnapping? Could saving Missy from whatever she had agreed to do merit the use of lethal force?

A roar of rage from his left froze Hannibal for a couple of tenths. It was enough. Rod’s bulk crashed into his side, a speeding freight train that numbed his gun hand even as its momentum smashed his right shoulder through the wall’s plaster. He saw his pistol hit the carpet and tensed his stomach just in time to receive the bludgeon that was Rod’s left fist. Rod’s right smacked across his skull, birthing a flock of blue floaters before Hannibal’s eyes.

“Raiding my stable, eh?” Rod said in a hateful snarl. “Well let’s see what you got when you don’t get to sucker punch me.”

Hannibal managed to block Rod’s next left hook, but his knees were already buckling. He had no space in which to move and his balance was thrown off. Rod had the momentum and just kept throwing punches until Hannibal slowly crumpled to the floor. Then kicks replaced the punches, flexing Hannibal’s ribs in as they landed. He clenched his teeth and kept his elbows in. Each kick rocked his body and spread a burst of pain through him, but he knew the important truth. This kind of thing never lasted very long. A familiar gray gauze curtain slid up over his senses.

Hannibal mentally clawed the gauze aside. Somehow he knew time had passed. His ribs ached, but didn’t drown the pain from rug burns on his knees. His view was narrow, like looking at close objects in a small room through a telescope. His other awakening senses tried hard to assemble a broader picture for him. An odd, hollow ringing in his ears blunted rhythmic grunting, above and too the left. The caustic smell of sex and sweat flared his nostrils. Salt in his mouth? No, that was blood.

Hannibal craned his neck upward, moving his narrow view until a small hand came into view. Missy’s hand, again cuffed to the bed. So he was on the floor not far from the foot of the bed and she was back where he had found her. This time, her hand was clenched around the footboard it was chained to, holding her steady as she rocked forward and back.

He readjusted his view up and over to her face. Missy’s long, straight hair flew forward and back lagging behind her head’s movements. Her eyes were clenched and her lips pressed together in a straight line, stifling what would be squeals of pain if they got out. Hannibal felt his own eyes welling up.

Up and back from Missy’s face he found Rod’s. Focus was difficult. His whole body was pulling back and slamming forward. His eyes were vacant, and Hannibal wondered for a moment where he really was.

“Do her harder!” That came from the other side of the bed in a woman’s voice. Hannibal managed to widen the circle of his view enough to find Sheryl. Her eyes blazed in a way he found at once frightening and sickening. Had she endured the same initiation? And now, was she joyous to see someone else having to take their turn? Beside her, Derek panted like a hungry dog.

Sheryl snapped, “Feed it to her,” and shoved Derek to the foot of the bed. Missy looked up, eyes wide now. Derek lowered his zipper. Hannibal shut his eyes and turned away, tuning out not just Missy’s shame but his own as well. I’m so sorry he thought. The world faded into a gray mist and slowly down into blackness.

Hannibal’s eyes snapped open and the darkness came into sharp focus. A deep breath set off sparks around his rib cage. That was okay. The pain made his mind sharper.

He curled his lips in. The blood on them hadn’t completely dried yet, so he hadn’t been out for very long. The ringing in his ears had stopped. Rod must have given him a mild concussion, but the effects had faded. Now ragged snoring helped him pinpoint the bed. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness he could make out two figures on the bed. The larger one, the source of the snore, lay on his back.

The smaller figure was almost lost in the darkness except for her eyes and small, brilliant teeth. Missy lay with her chin on her overlapped hands, staring into Hannibal’s eyes. How long had she been watching him? While he stared back she mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”

What on earth had she to be sorry about? He was the one who had failed her. The image of her dramatic rape scene made his stomach lurch. He raised his right hand toward her but it moved only inches. He was still handcuffed, he saw, to a leg of the dresser. The dresser’s legs were pedestals ending in wooden balls. No way to slip the cuff over it. At Hannibal’s end, the steel bracelet was clamped tight on his wrist, cutting into the skin each time he moved.

What would Rod plan for him in the morning? Another beating? No, the most logical move would be to hold Hannibal until the deal for the formula was concluded, and then turn Hannibal over to the South American gang lords who made the purchase. Hannibal caught the stench of fear and realized that he smelled himself. South American gangs could be very accommodating to their friends.

Hannibal wasn’t very good with locks and even if he could pick it, did he have enough time? Although he was still chained, he saw that Missy was free. Her restraints, he realized, had been part of the game, just there to enhance Rod’s control fantasy. Maybe they enhanced her fantasies as well. Was the horrible rape he observed in fact consensual? Was she happy about all that had happened to her?

As if she was reading his mind, Missy shook her head in the negative. Then she swung her feet off the bed, moving only inches at a time stopping often to look at Rod. After it up, Hannibal could see her breathing rate increase. Watching Rod, Missy shifted her weight off the bed and onto her legs in tiny increments. The snoring never wavered. Once standing upright, Missy released a shuddering sigh.

Hannibal caught himself admiring her perfect form in rear view, and berated himself, turning his eyes away. He knelt there with his face turned aside until he sensed her kneeling in front of him. Then he heard the soft click of a tiny lock opening. He looked to Rod to make sure he hadn’t moved. Then Hannibal moved his arm enough to be sure of his newfound freedom.

He rose silently to his full height and turned a thankful smile on Missy. She had pulled on white bra and panties that glowed in the darkness. She stood very close to Hannibal, leaning in to whisper into his ear.

“Take me with you.”

Hannibal nodded. They moved toward the bedroom door, both watching the chest of the snoring Rod rise and fall. Hannibal quickly glanced around for his pistol but it was no place obvious.

Again Hannibal and Missy moved down the hall. She seemed much more alert this time. Whatever drugs she had been on must have washed through her system. Still, her movements were as awkward as his. Maybe she was sore as well, from rough use rather than a beating. And here she was, rescuing him.