Page 39 of Savage Seduction

The look on his face tells me he means that in more ways than one. He would wait as long as it took tonight, and he was willing to be patient and work toward our future. Without another word, I nod and walk back toward the front entrance where the restrooms are located. When I reach the hostess station, I ask, “Are the restrooms through there?”

“Yes, sir,” she says and points toward the hallway straight ahead. “Gentlemen on the right.”

“Thank you,” I say.

Once I reach the door, I push it open and go inside. Soft traditional-sounding Japanese music plays. The dimly lit restroom, with dark wood walls, and two lines of stalls are empty as far as I can tell.

Walking past the first three doors, I lightly push on the fourth. It swings open with ease. While the stall is small and very private, the walls go a couple feet from the ceiling and floor. This place is nice. I go inside and sit on the lid. With no intention of using the toilet, I don’t bother lowering my pants. I rest my head in my hands and quietly cry. The tears stream down my face and with them so much pent-up rage and anxiety.

A few minutes later, someone else enters the restroom and chooses the stall next to me. I wipe the tears away and blow my nose.I’m going to be fine.

“Excuse me? Sir?” a man in the next stall asks.

“Yes?” I bend forward and see the bottom of the man’s black pant legs and Italian leather shoes.

“Can you believe it? There’s not a square of toilet paper in here anywhere. Would you be kind enough to hand me some?”

“Absolutely,” I say and begin unrolling a few feet of tissue, neatly folding it in two-square increments. “I hate it when that happens.”

“You know what I hate?” the man asks as I offer the tissue under the stall wall.

“What?”

The man grabs my wrist and twists, pulling me off the stool and onto my knees. “When a bitch like you gets away.”

I try to pull away, but my arm wouldn’t budge. Bile surges in my throat as my vision begins to tunnel. White, cold, fear creeps up from my scars into my lungs as I fight to breathe through my rising panic. “What are you talking about?” My words sound pathetic even to my own ears as my mind wagesbattle with my body which wants to flee from the restroom screaming for help.

“What am I talking about? As if you don’t know.” The man laughs and pulls harder, sending pain up my arm into my shoulder. “You might have escaped once before, but not this time. Once I bring you back… I’ll be the hero!”

What was he talking about?The pain intensifies into a pinpoint. Right where the bones of my shoulder come together, I imagine the ligaments tearing apart.

“Cat got your tongue?” The man’s sinister child-like giggle deepens and sounds both threatening and psychotic.

My fear turns from flight to fight, my breathing levels out and my vision narrows. I tighten all the muscles of my arm and clench my fist. Using the man’s leverage against him, I slide my legs around and pull—sliding under the stall to face the attacker head-on.

The man’s surprise emanates from his mouth with a cackle worthy of a horror movie. His dark eyes, so intense and filled with psychotic rage, could have burned a hole through my chest. The crazed man’s trembling sweat-covered face jiggles with effort as he tries to pull away from me. I tighten my grip on the stranger’s wrist and pull hard. Suddenly, he stands, his towering frame seeming to fill the entire stall. He pulls back his lips into a disgusting, yellow-stained, crooked smile. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’re not soon to forget.” With his free hand, the man pulls up his own shirt revealing a red, raised scar across his belly. The ankh shape sends panic through me, causing me to struggle for breath.

The man reaches down and grabs my tie, pulling up hard. I feel my back lift off the ground and the knot tighten around my neck. I kick backwards, but my heels touch nothing, but air. After my attempts to inhale prove fruitless, I start to fight even harder as fear sinks into my bones. Soon, spots float through my visual field and the realization I amlosing consciousness sets in. I roll to the right and find my left arm is no longer twisted. I pull hard as my bicep bulges, using my weight to cause the other man to stumble forward. Before the man registers what is happening and without time to react, I punch him square in the face. Pain shoots through my middle knuckle, but I smile as the nasal bone collapses under my fist with a crunch.

The man closes his eyes and screams, reaching blindly for me as blood drains from his nose and tears from his eyes. He releases me and tries to wipe the blood and tears from his face so he can see. With both hands free, I jump up from the floor and put the man in a sleeper hold. My arm tightens around his neck, and I hear his breathing slow and grow ragged. The man’s legs grow weak, and he stumbles forward, the two of us crashing through the door as the hinges snap under our weight.

We tumble to the floor, but I don’t loosen my hold. He attempts to pull at my arm, digging his nails into my forearm trying to get me to let go of him. He starts hitting my arm, hard at first, but then no more than a swat as the oxygen drains from his brain.

“Stop, dude,” I say. “Stop struggling and I’ll let you go.”

A few seconds pass, he finally lets his arms drop to his sides and his body goes limp. I open my elbow up a little to allow him to breathe with more ease. I hear him take a deep breath, the life coming back to his eyes and color to his face.

“Do you know who I am?” I ask. “We have the same scar, so we’ve clearly met with a similar fate.”

No answer.

“Why are you here? Why did you attack me?”

Again, the man remains silent, refusing to answer my questions.

“Suit yourself.” I stand and look down at the man. “Stay the fuck away from me then. You understand me?”

Who the hell was this psycho? A realization dawns on me. He could be one of those crazy serial killer fans who play out their fantasies by attempting copycat crimes, or even one of The Butcher’s former minions.

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