Carl Van Marcus - The tempted bride

His face was white when he looked over toward Andy. "That was Pete. Tony is on his way over."

"Oh, Jesus!" Now Andy seemed to be just as frightened as the fat man. Grace watched them both uncomprehendingly; they looked almost as terror stricken as she had been when she first saw the photographs.

"Where are the boys?" Ricky asked.

"I let 'em go as soon as the cunt started to cooperate with you."

"Get them back, quickly. I don't like Tony coming here like this. There's been a leak."

Both men jumped violently when the chimes sounded. "Don't answer it," Andy whimpered. His fright was contagious. Grace didn't know what was transpiring, but she wanted no part of it. Both men looked as if they feared for their lives. The chimes sounded again and Andy quickly began putting on his clothes. Ricky picked up his robe, but was trembling so badly that it took him several seconds to get his arms in the sleeves.

"What about the cunt?" Andy asked.

"Get your clothes and get into the bathroom. Don't come out until I tell you," Ricky said to her, his voice almost unrecognizable in its fear. Then he added, "And don't urinate. Save it."

Grace was near a state of panic as she quickly grabbed up her clothes and ran toward the indicated bedroom beyond which the bathroom lay. Panting, her heart pounding in new terror, she had just closed the bedroom door behind her when she heard Ricky's voice, sounding jovial, "Well, Tony. Do come in. What a pleasant surprise." She stood there, back to the door, trying to get her breath back to normal.

In the other room, the conversation became staccato, and she could hear the deep tones of another man's voice, saying, "You're small fry, Ricky. You shouldn't have tried to play marbles with the big boys."

"Tony… listen to me, Tony. Andy will tell you. It's all a mistake."

"Yeh… a mistake," Tony said. "A mistake for you and Andy."

Grace shrank back as she heard the shrill scream of pleading from Ricky, "No… Tony! Nooo… oooooo." The sound of two shots was like one explosion, and Grace's body jumped as though the slugs had hit her. Almost immediately two more shots were fired and there was a loud gasp then a thud.

Like a trapped animal, Grace glanced frantically around the bedroom seeking some avenue of escape. Oh, God. If she were found here, she would be executed too. On the side of the room, just past Ricky's round bed, a wardrobe closet door stood open. She ran for it, just as she heard Tony's voice say in the front room, "Take a look around, make sure the place is empty. Hurry."

She shoved clothes aside, jumped in and used her fingernails to close the door behind her, then huddled frightened and trembling in the dark interior expecting at any moment to have the door yanked open and the cruel face of her executioner smile in triumph at her. She tried to silence her breathing, then was sure that they must be able to hear the horrible pounding of her heart.

Footsteps entered the bedroom and she heard the bathroom door and shower stall door being opened. A moment later, although it seemed like an eternity, she heard another's man's voice say, "All clear, Tony."

The front door slammed.

She waited, sure that it was a trick to lure her out, but then heard the distant wailing of a siren. She mustn't be found here, the whole sordid story would come out. And if she were held as a witness by the police, there was a better than even chance that she would be silenced by members of the organization. Her only hope now was to get out and get out fast.

Jumping out of the wardrobe, she yanked her dress on over her head and, carrying shoes and undergarments, ran for the front room.

The sight that met her eyes almost caused her to faint. Ricky, still looking obscene in death, lay in a growing puddle of blood in the middle of his white rug, the whole side of his head blown away. Halfway to the front door where he had been gunned down, Andy stared lifelessly up at the ceiling.

She darted past them, feeling nothing but fright, and opened the front door. The penthouse corridor was empty. Outside, the siren was coming closer, too close. Above the elevator door, a light glowed to indicate the cage was on the way up. Frantically she glanced around, then bolted for the stairs.

Exactly one minute and thirty seconds later, she was walking past the pool carrying her shoes in her hands. No one paid attention to the windblown dark-haired girl; they all were too busy craning their necks and gawking at the two police cars that had just screeched to a halt in front of the complex.

No one would ever know the monumental self-control it took for Grace to continue her slow pace. She fought the normal desire to run and hide, fought her tears, fought the black wave of unconsciousness that threatened to inundate her at any moment.

She had, fortunately, left her apartment unlocked because she had no key and even if she'd had one her hands were trembling so violently that fitting key into lock would have been a physical impossibility.

She opened the door, closed it behind her, and carefully locked it. Then, swaying like a tall tree in a high wind, she fainted, falling unconscious in a soft heap on the floor.

Grace had absolutely no idea how long she had remained unconscious, for she had swum reluctantly toward the surface of reality, afraid that if she did awaken, the horrible nightmare would be there to greet her.

Slowly and painfully she staggered to her feet. She hurt all over – vagina, rectum, head, mind! Dully she surveyed her apartment, not really seeing anything in it. Her brain was trying to tell her something, but she was too weary to know what it was saying.

She felt dirty, but she knew she had on her a dirt now that could never be washed off in a shower. And because it was all really too much to think about at the moment, she went into the bedroom and lay face down on the bed.

The children screaming outside awakened her shortly before ten o'clock in the morning. She felt different. Something had changed. She tried to think of what it might be, then felt the slow growth of new hope in her mind as she suddenly realized she was finally free of Ricky and Andy and the debt. This realization made her sit up in bed. Was it true? Could it be true? Oh, God, am I free of those filthy beasts? Have I escaped their trap? Am I… am I a free woman? Instinctively she knew the answer was in the affirmative. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to shout. She wanted to weep from joy.

Quickly she leapt from her bed and went into the front room, really seeing it now for the first time in weeks. This was her home. She was safe here. Reaching up on the mantle, she pulled down Stan's picture and kissed it. She had neglected him terribly, but she had been sick. Now that sickness, that horrible fever was gone, never again to plague her. She would write him two and three times a day to make up for her neglect. And she would be a much better wife in the future. He would never know the torture she had gone through, never know the horrible things she had done, never know that her traitorous body had betrayed him.

Her loving glance around the room and all the familiar wonderful belongings came to rest on the table beside the door. The mail was there, quite a few letters in fact, for she had been too involved to check the mailbox for the last five days, and the manager must have emptied the box for her and brought them upstairs. Suddenly she felt the need to read a letter from Stan, to mentally hear his voice pronouncing the words of love and concern.

She began rifling through the mail. The third letter down was a brown envelope from the Internal Revenue Service. She blinked, then smiled in wide-eyed delight. Their income tax refund! Why… why, there was almost $600 coming back to them, and she had forgotten all about it! It was a sign from the heavens. A blessing. A good luck omen.