Page 150 of Love Undiscovered
“And I have to be dead to be out of the picture?” I ask.
“Of course you do,” she says.
“But I’m not in the picture now, right? Because Chance and I broke up. So, I’m not in the way of the two of you being together.”
She stops and looks at me, tapping the barrel of the gun on her lips, as though pondering my statement.
I want it to go off, sending a bullet straight through her brain.
“Yeah, that’s not good enough,” she says, resuming her pacing and shaking her head. “He’s going to feel bad about the bet. He always feels bad. It's his nature. He's going to want to make it up to you. And we can't have that. No making up. So, no, you need to be gone, Mimi. Completely. Gone. Only gone. Dead. Gone. Only dead. Completely.”
I let the Mimi thing go, under the circumstances, it’s clearly the least of my worries. I’m not even sure why it continues to bother me.
“What if I move?” I ask, hoping that will appease her.
“No, I want you to sit over in this chair, actually.” She points to the desk chair that she’s pulled to the side of the room.
“I meant from San Soloman,” I say.
“Sit!”
I move to sit in the other chair.
“I like your obedience, Mimi. It will help with what I have planned.” She resumes pacing and talking to herself. “This is going to work well. Chance will be so excited. Won’t he? Yes. I’m sure of it. Once he gets over it. No. No. Nothing to get over. You’re gone. Dead. And we’re together and happy.”
She grabs something from the floor and throws it at me. “Here, fasten your ankles to the legs of the chair,” she says. I bend down and grab the industrial polypropylene twine she tossed over. Which I only recognize because I frequently receive boxes of lab equipment wrapped in it. It’s strong and hard to cut or get loose.
I start to tie the rope around my ankles and circling the twine on the legs of the chair.
“Above the footrest,” she says. “So you can’t slide it off the bottom of the chair leg.”
She’s smarter than I give her credit for.
“Tighter!”
I pull the strings tightly, then double knot them. She tries to move my legs with her foot, they don't budge.
“Perfect. That’s perfect,” she says. “Now clasp your hands behind the chair.”
I wrap my arms behind me and join my hands around the back of the chair. Not a comfortable position.
She ties my wrists together, so tight I fear the twine is cutting into the skin. She secures my tied wrists to the slats in the chair back. I try to pull my wrists apart when she's through, they don't budge.
She goes into the bathroom and I hear rustling around, then the clink of metal dropping to the floor. Light metal, not heavy like another gun. I don't want to know what she's got, but I fear I'm about to find out. I see the gun lying on the bed and hope that means my life is spared for a bit longer.
She appears back in my line of vision, something thin in her hand.
“Do you know what this is, Mimi?” She holds up a scalpel, her eyes wild.
I nod.
“Did you guess that it's your worst nightmare?” she asks in a sing-song voice. “If so, you'd be right. Oh, but poo, there's no prize. Not for Mimi. No prize except this.”
I watch in horror as she drags the tip of the knife along my left thigh, cutting through the fabric of my pencil skirt. It falls open and I see little droplets of blood pepper my thigh. I didn’t even feel her nick my skin.
“Oh, garter belts, well aren't those pretty.” She slices the elastic strap on the belt, hard, piercing my skin in the process. This time I feel it. The pain is intense. I blink back tears.
“Oops, I'm not being very careful with this, am I? What a pity, you're bleeding on your little skirt. Maybe if we do the other side, no one will notice.” She runs the tip of the knife down my right thigh and repeats the entire process. My legs burn where she’s cut them. Making me wonder if there was something toxic on the blade. I know the feel of a regular cut and this is much worse.
My breath catches as she marks me again. The cuts aren't deep, and maybe only a few inches long, but they hurt.
A lot.
I think about Kat, Lexie, and even Chance, and wonder if I will see them again. Will Helen really kill me or just hurt me? My head throbs. I try to mentally transport myself to another place. A happy place where I can ignore where I am now.
My leg muscles tighten as she cuts them again. My ankles pull against the bindings trying to break free. The blood tickles as it slithers down either side of my thighs. I scrutinize Helen's eyes, hoping to find a hint of contrition. But all I see is pride as she watches the blood trails her cuts created. And then glee as she opens my blouse and cuts some more.
