Jack Ketcham - Right to Life

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Right to Life: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Unlike Jack Ketchum's earlier novel, LADIES NIGHT, his newest one, RIGHT TO LIFE, definitely has the shoe on the other foot as a pregnant woman becomes the victim of a deranged married couple that kidnap her right off the street and hold her captive for several months while she's forced to endure their bizarre SM games. The 139-page novella starts off with Sara Foster on her way to an abortion clinic to do away with the unwanted child that she's now carrying. Before Sara can even enter the clinic, she's grabbed and sedated by Stephen and Katherine Teach-a couple who's unable to have children-and taken to their home where she's held as a prisoner. The couple intends to hold Sara until the baby is born and then kill her. Stephen, however, has other plans for his beautiful captive as well. He's going to get the most out Sara's luscious body by using her to fulfill his own perverted desires. Forcing her to submit in whatever sexual manner he chooses, she's mentally and physically tortured on almost a daily basis. Even Stephen's wife decides to get in on the action by making the prisoner her sex slave when the hubby begins to lose interest after a few months have past. Sara instinctively knows that she has to find a way out before it's too late, but time is her worse enemy as she grows bigger and more powerless with her pregnancy. She also understands that if she does manage to escape, the couple may very well come after her. This leaves her with just one option-to kill them first! RIGHT TO LIFE will shock you to the core as it depicts one's person's attempt to survive unimaginable torture and humiliation in order to keep from being killed. Mr. Ketchum never pulls his punches with the violence and craziness. His prose is fast moving and creates stark images that are mind numbing. The reader is quickly carried into this dark world of depravity and made to realize that anyone can be a potential victim when least expected. The characters are well drawn, but it's the Techs that really steal the show. This is one psychotic couple you wouldn't want to have as next-door neighbors! All in all, RIGHT TO LIFE delivers in full form. Strong in sexual content, it's not for the faint-hearted or those with a queasy stomach. One final note, this edition also contains two extra short stories. The first is "Brave Girl" and it deals with a four-year-old child whose mother has fallen in the bathtub and is now unconscious. The second short story is "Returns" which is slightly different from the author's normal subject matter. It centers on the spirit of a recently deceased man who returns home to his hateful wife, hoping to stop her from killing his loving cat. These two short stories are a nice bonus for the fans of Jack Ketchum.

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He'd done a good job on this one.

The first two tries were failures. The problem was mostly weight, too much or too little. He'd built the first out of quarter-inch ply and when Kath tried it on she pointed out to him that if you pressed your face into the carpeting and held it that way, making space between your head and the back of the box so you didn't bash your brains in, one good slam against a wall could crack the plywood.

She proved this by demonstrating.

Back to the drawing board.

He built the second box of three-quarter-inch ply and it was tough as nails. But the damn thing also weighed about twenty pounds. You fell with that on, it could snap your neck.

The new box halved the weight. Ten pounds was still a lot and he'd have to watch for that but he felt satisfied it was manageable.

Kath had worn it all day long once just to see. She hadn't wanted to but he explained to her that a trial run was a necessity. He knew she hated the thing from the minute he put it on her. Knew it scared her, made her dizzy and sick to her stomach and later she said it pinched her neck all the time she was in there but that was just too damn bad in the long view, somebody had to try it and it wasn't going to be him. Besides the point was could a woman wear it all day long, not a man. Could a woman stand it.

When he let her out at dinnertime her collarbone and shoulders were chafed red and sore and she complained about a stiff neck for nearly a week. Nothing that wasn't going to go away. The point was that yes, it was manageable.

He smiled. If Miss Sara Foster here thought the Long Box was scary – and she obviously did – wait till she woke up again and found herself in this one. He'd have put her in the thing in the first place but he was afraid she might vomit from the pentothol. And vomit was easier to clean off the base panel of a pinewood box than to get out of carpeting.

He'd have to keep an eye on that too. On the vomiting. Kath had said the headbox was stifling and made her queasy in and of itself, never mind the pentothol.

He slipped her wrists through the black leather manacles and pulled each of the straps tight and threaded the ropes through the silver rings attached. The ropes depended from the a pair of pulleys at the top of each arm of the brand-new X-frame he'd constructed for her. Taking the two ropes together he slowly and carefully hauled her up until only her feet rested on the floor, legs slightly bent beneath her. Her head lolled forward heavily so that the box now rested on her breastbone. That probably hurt but as yet, not enough to wake her. He tied the ropes off quickly to the the climbers' pitons hammered into the concrete floor and then stepped forward and slipped a small brass hook screwed into the headrest he'd attached to the X-frame through the corresponding eye at the back of the box so that her head would stay upright and take the weight off the back of her neck.

He'd thought of everything.

He stood back and looked at her. All his creation.

You couldn't see her face and that was good. Control was important. And she was very pretty.

He needed to control himself now.

The only thing that remained at this initial stage was to finish undressing her but he'd wait until she woke for that and was able t fel the cold blade of the knife cutting away her slip and panties. That kind of control was very important too.

Afterwards he and Kath could come down and have some dinner and watch her, see how she took it all and he could go over again with Kath what the next step was supposed to be so there'd be no fuck-ups, no misunderstandings. This he'd do daily. There was a progression of events to this that he needed to be sure Kath would follow. They could speak as freely down here in front of her as they could upstairs. Sound not only didn't get out of the box it didn't get in much either.

FOUR

1:15 p.m.

And now there was nothing in her life but terror.

Her legs and arms were manacled and she knew what that meant. She'd read enough in papers and magazines. Seen enough on the evening news. She was in the hands of some sex freak and dear god, she was probably not the first. Not the way he'd worked this out. There was somebody out there beyond her own vivid dark who liked to hear screams and pleas and whimpers. Before they killed.

Invariably they killed.

She knew that too.

She was aware of the terrible frail vulnerability of her body, of her cold nearly naked breasts, her exposed bare arms and legs against the scratchy wooden beams. Inside the box her eyes could not accommodate the dark. The heavy air was suffocating. She could smell her own breath. Sweat stung her eyes. She blinked to clear them and finally closed them while her body heaved with sobs that were wholly beyond her control wrenched from deep inside her. She heard her own quick gasps for breath. They never seemed to satisfied her aching lungs or still her pounding heart.

She felt the heavy weight at her collarbones.

The chafe of leather on wrists and ankles.

Then the cold touch of metal just below her right wrist, sudden, seemingly out of nowhere. Felt it travel from wrist to elbow-joint and stop there. Then from elbow-joint to armpit, slowly, a sharp prick at the delicate flesh there of a knife or sharp scissors and then travelling again, exploring the slope of breast to pause and prick once more at her fear-swollen nipple, her body jerking back then and the blade moving down again sliding over her trembling stomach to her navel and stopping to poke her harder this time at the tender fleshy remains of what once had linked her to life and then moving on.

She felt rough fingers graze her shoulder pulling away the strap of her slip and then felt that side go slack against her breast and fingers on the other shoulder and then the slip falling softly away across her thighs. The blade inserted itself thin and cold between her panties and the flesh of her hip on the right and she felt it pull and cut and now she was completely exposed to the room and the knife and the man who was doing the cutting, the fingers were a man's fingers she thought, felt herself choking inside the box on tears and mucus, then felt the left side go.

She was naked but for the box. But for the insanity of the box.

Naked and against all reason ashamed to be.

She was glad he couldn't see her face reflect her shame.

And feeling that shame despite the fact that her body had done nothing to cause it, that she had done nothing to cause it, feeling that made her angry. So that the first harsh access of fear began to bleed and blend and fade into stubborn black anger and finally to a strange defiant pride which was the other side of shame.

She hung suspended. Open.

Waiting.

***

"Lady's got guts," he said.

Kath agreed. Though she said nothing, merely watched him take a bite of the half-eaten tuna sandwich, chew and swallow. And then munch at the potato chips which surrounded it on his plate.

The cat sat in front of them near the X-frame, glancing back at the woman naked on the frame and then nervously at each of them, interested in their sandwiches, wondering who to try to hit up for a bite of tuna, but also clearly interested in this strange new arrival standing here. Stephen was eating while Kath as yet was not. She figured the cat would eventually make her move on Stephen.

It was just The Cat. It had no name. Last summer there'd been moles in the back yard ruining the lawn and they'd noticed the occasional water rat down by the brook. So they'd got the cat from the ASPCA to drive the moles and rats away and the cat was successful at that in an amazingly short time so they decided to let her stay, figuring that if moles tried once they might just try again. The cat was the color of champaign with streaks and spots of white, with one almost-perfect circle of white behind each of her front haunches. Neither of them really cared much for cats but they fed her and paid for her shots and put up with the dead or dying birds or mice she brought home now and then, dropping them on the back porch like some disgusting present.

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