Page 7 of Grave Possession

“What the fuck for?” I roar. I can’t believe he’s wasting my time with this pointless exchange.

“Can you remove the stick from your ass long enough to think logically?” he says matter-of-factly. I huff, but stay silent, waiting for him to continue. “Am I correct to assume that you won’t be returning to the station to do proper research?”Shit.I nod. “Would I also be correct to assume that you will be staying at her house until she is found?” I nod again. It smells like her, and it’s the closest place to the mill, when I’m not there in person. “Good, so maybe having a computer with access to the police database and satellite images of the surrounding areas would be beneficial, right?” Fuckin’ hell… Why didn’t I think of this? I nod. “Great, now that we agree, we can get moving.”

I open my mouth to tell him about what I found when I was there last but he raises a hand to silence me. “I want to go in blind.” That I understand, so all I tell him is where I found the busted up syringe. He tells me that when I get back from the run to town, I’ll be filling him in on every little detail. I open the car door and exit the vehicle, my truck is only parked around the corner, hidden off the road on a small ATV trail. “Drive safe, and bring me back a coffee. That’s an order!” he yellsthrough the open window. It brings a small smile to my face because it’s something he’s always said to me. I wave as he puts the cruiser in ‘Drive’ and turns out of the lot in the direction of the Pederson house.

The drive back to my house is boring and uneventful, I’ve retreated into dissociation to avoid spiralling out of control during the long commute. However, the second I unlock the door and cross the threshold, bone deep despair swamps me. Safe within the walls of my home I let the pain, guilt, and shame pull me down. It feels like I’m trudging through quicksand on my way to the bathroom, stripping off my clothes and littering the filthy things down the hallway.

I need an ice cold shower to wake me up and refocus my mind. I turn the knob and climb in, the icy water pricks my skin like thousands of tiny needles. It’s uncomfortable, but I suffer through. My uncle’s ability to think logically upset me. I need my mind sharp and alert if I’m going to get the upper hand and save Mallory.

Mallory.

I hang my head and fight to hold back the tears that threaten to spill and be washed away with the frigid streams of water raining over me. A guttural roar of anguish erupts from deep within me and I fight to stay upright, punching the old tile wall of the shower to divert my attention. I cannot collapse beneath the weight of my failure.

My knuckles throb as I scrub my body raw, the skin red from the cold and my aggressive cleaning. Exiting the shower, a chill runs through me as I meet my reflection in the mirror. I can’t stand to even look at myself.

“Where were you?” I whisper to myself.

“Where were you when she was fighting to save herself? Were you fucking sleeping? Following the leads that were handed to you on a silver platter? You fucking idiot! You should have known that was a fucking distraction.” My voice rises as I berate myself through the reflection.

“She’s gone because of you, because you put her second to your fucking job. You stalked her for months, but the second you got a taste of her, you backed off. You should have known she would become someone else’s fixation. Look at how she pulled you in.” My head spins, a mishmash of our time together and the things I neglected to investigate. The man at the post office.Her lips on mine.The masked man she saw in the woods that wasn’t me.The sound of her laugh.The footprints in her yard.Her lips on my cock.The damage done to my truck.Her accepting me, both sides of me.

“FUCK!” I roar.

My fist collides with the mirror, the shards exploding out around me and tinkling down into the sink below. With that single action, all hell breaks loose. It’s like every emotion I’ve been holding inside explodes out of me in a destructive force. I rip the top off the toilet tank and smash it into the sink. The fragile ceramic disintegrates and crashes to the floor. It’s not enough. I need more destruction at my hands to satiate the need to destroy the one who took my little siren.

Naked and dripping, toeing the line of a massive breakdown, I rampage through my small house. I swipe the pictures off the wall in the hallway. Their protectiveglass breaks, the frames lying mangled and broken on the floor. The glass fragments stab themselves into the soles of my feet, but I welcome the pain, I deserve it. I know it’s nothing in comparison to what Mallory is dealing with.

Blood trails behind me as I move down the hallway towards the heart of the house. Flipping the dining room table over, it crashes into the chairs placed around it. They crunch, buckle, and snap as the table rams into them, erratically moving and breaking beneath the wooden table’s impressive weight. I clench a floor lamp in my fist, ripping the cord from the wall, and snapping its flimsy metal frame over my knee. Throwing the deathly sharp pieces like a javelin across the room, they crash into the bookshelf, knocking over books I purchased because of Mallory. I march over to the shelf and push it over on its side, watching as it collapses in on itself the same way my fragile psyche is crumbling before my very eyes. My bloody feet leave a path of crimson over the pages of some of Mallory’s favourite books as I move to stand at the eye of the storm swirling around me. As if I couldn’t hate myself any more, I realize how hurt she would be to see the disrespect I show something she loves so much. The stupidity of my actions only fuels the fire of self-loathing burning inside of me.

Kicking the end tables on either side of the couch across the room, one collides with the wall, leaving a massive gash in the drywall. The other table flips from the force, sending the table lamp upon it flying into my huge, flat screen TV. The electricity surges as the metal components touch, but I don’t care. Let it fucking burn. The TVwobbles on its flimsy pedestal stand, and I wait with bated breath for it to topple over. It teeters…then rights itself and I’m annoyed. Storming over to it, I rip it down off the stand with the same force at which I’m being torn apart inside. It falls into the shattered remnants of my living room, the screen lighting up and flashing before turning black.

Nothing. There’s nothing left to destroy. There’s nothing left inside of me.She’s gone.

I’m a heaving beast, gulping down lungfuls of air to try and calm the rapid beating of my heart. I move to the kitchen sink, washing the blood from my hands and feet. My entire body is a live wire, stinging and throbbing in pain. It feeds my need to rescue my woman. Grabbing the first aid kit from the closet, I head to my room.

“Who is it? Who is it? Who is it?” I mumble over and over until I’m yelling out into the empty, ravaged carcass of my home. I toss the bandages onto the bed, my line of sight catching on the half open drawer of my bedside table. Mallory’s sinful black panties are poking out, and I race over to snatch them up. Raising them to my face, I bury my nose in the fabric. Her faint aroma snakes into my nostrils and it’s like the fog momentarily lifts.

In a small sliver of clarity, my brain tries to remember if Mal ever told me any details of the man she saw at the post office. She was so distraught after that encounter, it has to be him…right? The longer I stew, the more confident I become in my hypothesis. The monotonous and methodical act of picking glass from my feet and dressing the wounds has my mind alert once again. No longer clouded by emotions. By the time my hands and feet are bandaged, and I’m dressed, I’m almost positive that man is the one who took her. Especially since my truck was vandalized that day, in what I now realize was a jealousy-fuelled fit of rage. Did he see her writhing on my fingers? Was he leering after her as she came apart on my tongue? The thought both repulses and infuriates me. I’m going to fucking kill him, and I am going drag it out.

Chapter Five

Unknown

Imeet her eyes from across the room. She’s glaring daggers at me from her chained-up position on the floor. Tethered like an animal that can’t be trusted to be off leash for even a moment. I can see it on her face, she’s plotting her escape, or my death in that fucked-up head of hers. My cum has dried on her skin and flakes off like snowflakes every time she moves, sticking to her sweat-slicked and blood-caked skin. The silence is as thick as the tension swirling between us. Anticipation vibrates through me. How does she want it? Does she want to run? I know how the chase feeds her fucked-up desires—they match mine. My dick swells in my pants, and I free it from its denim prison. Her shocked expression forces a moan to spill from my lips. No bitch that came before Mallory compares to her, to the feelings I get from simply looking at her. Does she want to be forced today? To choke and gag on my cock until she’s a spit covered mess?

I fuckin’ hope so.

“Show me your tits, darlin’.” Sherefuses, slowly shaking her head from side to side, but it just makes me harder. “You know I love it when you resist. Do you like knowing that your disobedience turns me on?” She’s silent now, still as a statue. Such a clever girl. “You know, no reaction is still a reaction.” I rise from my seat in the centre of the room, casually making my way over to her as I leisurely stroke my cock. It drips its eagerness out onto the dirt floor, thirsting for the glide of her warm tongue against my shaft. She recoils as I advance upon her, and the urge to play with my food before eating it surfaces.

“Do you know how hard it is to be at your own crime scene while sporting a full chub?” I ask, seeing her face contort in disgust as the confession spills from between my teeth. “Watching everyone flounder about, looking for clues, and picking apart every detail of what I did. Seeing their reactions to my carnage is almost as good as the kill itself.” I groan as my fist tightens around my shaft, holding back the urge to spurt until I’m between her lips.

“You’re sick.” She finally speaks, and it’s a shot straight to my sack. Euphoric giddiness snakes its way up my spine because I finally got another reaction from her.

“So are you, just in a slightly different way.” I inch closer to her and her back flushes up against the stone wall of the cellar. Nowhere to run now, pretty girl. I look down at her. My darlin’s fear is suppressed by her anger, and it does things to me. She refuses to cower no matter how scared she is, and it’s hot as fuck. “Lucky for me, your sickness matches mine. It’s what will keep you alive longer than the rest. You know how to play the part I want, and better yet, you enjoy it.” She’s stone faced as Itap the tip of my length against her lips, nothing but indifference scrawled across her features.

“Open up, darlin’.” She doesn’t. That’s fine, I always get what I want. I reach into my trousers, pulling out my pocket knife. I slide the blade out, and with the speed of a bullet leaving a gun, she tries to run from me. I don’t know where she expects to go…she’s collared and chained to the wall. Such an idiotic move.

It’s always so interesting to see how each woman’s survival instincts kick in, causing them to act erratically and irrationally.

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