tagNovels and NovellasAn Unlikely Romance Ch. 07

An Unlikely Romance Ch. 07


Just one chapter to go after this..........

"The worst reconciliation is better than the best divorce"


"Dr. Hart, you have a visitor."

"I am done for the day. Tell him to set an appointment for tomorrow."

"Actually she's here to talk to you."

Shannon shifted her glasses, "All right send her in."

Monica walked into the office, resolute in her objective of finding out the truth.

"Whatever it is make it quick, I am closing up for the day."

"Did you receive a call from a Simon Chase last week?"

Shannon narrowed her eyes.

"I did. Are you with the police?"

"Yes, now you have to tell me what that call was about."

"Mr. Chase was setting up an appointment with me."

Monica groaned inwardly, she knew it. There was a secret so big that Simon had to visit a psychoanalyst.

"I need to know exactly what happened during that meeting."

"That's doctor-patient confidentiality, I'm sorry but I can't tell you that."

"I'm not asking as a detective. I am his girlfriend, I need to know."

Shannon surveyed her intently over her glasses.

"Nice try but no way, I could lose my license for this."

"Let's try this again, this time I'm not asking. Tell me or else...."

"Or else what exactly?"

"Or else, your dirty little secret comes out. The one you kidnapped twenty years ago, imprisoned in a dungeon under your house and regularly force into sexual favours."

Dr. Hart did not move, her expression was one of shell-shock. Finally, she mustered up the words to respond.

"How do you know?"

"You don't have to know."

Heaving a sigh of futility, she conceded to the inevitable.

"So you want to know about Simon Chase?"

"Start at the beginning."


"No please just go away."

I was sobbing into my open palm.

"What are you waiting for now? She won't come back. You saw what she was doing to that guy. She never loved you, you were only a way to blow off steam."

"She did. It was my fault, I did not tell her about my secret."

"Oh sure, THAT would have helped a lot."

I really had no idea what to do.

"Just pick up your knife and get going."

"No more blood on my hands. I am going to go to a bar and have some hot sex with a girl. Not a hooker, not someone I have to kill."

Leaving my psychotic maternal apparition fuming, I put on my coat and drove off. The lights of the city were unusually bright as I opened the window to let the wind streak through my hair. I had this strange feeling coursing through my body. Freedom, sadness, exhilaration all at once.

"You remember the last time you had this feeling?"

Did I? I did. It was the precursor to some of my most satisfying murders.

"You left the knife in the glove compartment of your car after the last time. It's still there."

The offer sounded extremely tempting. After my breakup, suddenly I was a lot easier to tempt. I could feel every fibre in arm willing itself to unlock my compartment.


I recoiled in disgust, but I could not deny it. The thought had crossed my mind. Just for a fleeting instant-- but it had.

I stopped the car to catch my breath. My heart was pounding in my chest, my eyes bugging out of my head. A film of sweat had formed over my face. The urges were back, stronger than ever.

"That's it. Now pick up the knife and go."

I smiled at her.

"I am going to a bar to pick up a girl. Not a hooker, not someone you can make me kill. I still win."

Leaving her fuming in my passenger seat, I made a beeline for the nearest bar. I was going to unleash several days of sexual and emotional frustration on some lucky girl and she would enjoy it.

Entering the bar, the first thing I noticed was the sheer volume of people inside. With hookers having become scarce on the streets, drunk, single girls at bars were the next available source of sex, a little harder to get and usually less satisfying, but free.

I scouted out the bar for a few minutes before finding my target. She was in her late twenties, with a demure look fixed on her face. Her face was pale and her hands were dainty. I could see that she was trying to ward off the unwanted attentions of some guys. I waited for her to discourage every prospective suitor into leaving. That would be my cue to slide up to her.

I waited all of ten minutes before she finally lost them. She had just ordered another drink when I took the next barstool.

"All right, now play it cool."

For the first few minutes, I did not even speak to her. I casually had my drink as I avoided looking in her direction. It was a time tested fact--girls get curious when a guy is not paying them enough attention.

Soon enough, I could feel her eyes wandering over my body. She was checking me out. I innocently glanced over to see her intently surveying me over the rim of her glass. The trick was working.

I paid for the martini and gave quite a generous tip alongside. I was on fire, pulling out all the stops for her. I had to be, if I did not get into her pants, the temptation to pick up a hooker (and the knife) would be too strong. Maybe it could become a real relationship sometime later.

It did not take very long before I piqued her interest enough for her to initiate small talk. One of the key points--always let her make the first move.

"So, what is a handsome guy like you doing all alone?"

"Hoping I can drink away the sorrow of my breakup. Just hoping."

"Aww...... you poor thing, come here." she said, nestling her head on my shoulder.

I had just played the extremely potent sympathy card, which has a magical effect on estrogen.

Long story short, an hour later she was in my car as we drove off to her place. In the car, she introduced herself as Jessica. After driving for some time, we finally reached her place. It was a nice manor with a slightly regal feel to it.

She grabbed me and hauled me out of the cab. Smothering me with kisses, she flattened me against her door as she fumbled with the keys.

"Wow, another Monica."

After the door was opened, she forced me inside dragged me up the stairs to her bedroom. It had a large double bed with an intricate tapestry design. Her room itself was majestic in its decorations and size.

Forcing me down on the bed, she undid my shirt quickly and tossed it aside. I tried to help her out with my pants, but she slapped my hand away and undid them in record time. Finally, she stripped me naked and looked me in the eye. There was a look of raw lust on her face, somewhat similar to what Monica's looked like before we had sex.

Perhaps she was the one that finally cleansed my soul and permanently removed the urge to kill.

Then suddenly, she got off me and walked out of the bedroom. I wondered what was happening. She returned a few minutes later pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair. I desperately tried to cover myself up.

"Don't bother Simon."

The man was entirely paralyzed. His wheelchair was attached to an IV bag which went into his arm. He looked at me with an expression of pure hatred, trying to will himself to say something, but he could not. He was beyond livid and a muscle under his eye twitched from time to time. A prominent vein in his temple looked like it might pop from his rage.

"What is going on here?"

"Simon, meet my Dad."

I was stuttering, trying to find the next word to say.

"He is a real piece of work. A real monster. Isn't that right Daddy?" she said in a cruelly mocking tone holding his chin.

"You will not believe what he was like. He used to so possessive about me. I could never have a boyfriend in school or college. Every night, he would have his way with me. Against my will, obviously. Some nights, he beat me so badly that......" Her voice trailed off.

She took a deep breath and gathered her words.

"A few months ago, I finally worked up the courage to push him down the stairs. He didn't die. Can you fucking believe it? The bastard lived. Fortunately, his spine snapped and it left him like this." she said, pointing.

I was still trying to find the right words to say.

"Now, I go to bars and bring guys home to fuck and force him to watch. I just love how angry he gets when he watches his 'possession' having sex with someone else. You get jealous, don't you Daddy?"

Like a twisted soap opera, it went on.

"He is so angry, yet he can't do anything. I just love seeing him like that. Hear that Daddy? Your possession, the one you abused for so long is going to have sex with another man and you're going to watch."

The old man made some unintelligible sounds before his eyes went wide.

Jessica laid me flat on the bed and mounted me. She was in such a position that her Dad could see her front. She roughly sat down on my erection. Her breasts heaved as she moved up and down. I reached to gently hold one of her nipples. Rubbing the areola with my middle finger, I clasped her nipple between my thumb and index finger. She squealed in delight and kept up her pace.

"You hear that Daddy? Your daughter is with another man. Another man is inserting his thick cock inside her. She is no longer your plaything."

The old man kept making those unintelligible sounds of fury. They spurred her on.

Her frantic pace was matched by her continuous babbling antagonizing her father. I tried to concentrate on what I was doing but could not shake the thought from my mind:

"You're just a way for her to get back at her father."

Great! The last thing I needed was for Mommy dearest to show up with her remarks. This time though, she had a point.

But her father was a monster, like me. He deserved what he was getting. I kept pumping my hips upwards at Jessica as she neared her orgasm.

"Ohh, don't stop."

Finally after a good half an hour of intense sex, she had a mighty orgasm. Her juices flowed all over my cock and trickled down onto the bed. My climax was no less violent. She kept it inside her pussy trying to squeeze a few leftover drops of my seed.

"Hear that Daddy? He made me cum, he made your little girl cum. All those nights, when you would come over to my bed and brutalize me, you never once made me cum. I am not your fuck-toy any more."

I hated to admit it, but I felt for Jessica. That man had stolen her innocence and she was now retaliating. He was a monster, just like me.

Only his victim lived through her tragedy and relived it over and over again. It was a close contest, but I think he just edged me out to be a bigger monster.

He had no remorse.

"Come on Jessica, let's give your Dad something to look at. You get on your hands and knees and face him."

The idea sparked something inside her.

"Oooh... yes, that way Daddy can see both our faces. You like that, don't you Daddy."

His eyes were ablaze with rage.

She assumed her doggy style position as I got on my knees behind her and entered her pussy. The force of the initial thrust knocked her onto a different plane altogether. Her moans of ecstasy continued with her constant diatribe against her father.

"Oooh, Simon keep doing that. It feels so hot. Are you watching us Daddy? Are you watching us, you sick, perverted control freak?"

I closed my eyes as I lost myself in the abyss of my pleasure as her vaginal walls closed around my shaft.

I opened them to a distinct surprise. Sitting beside the bed was a young boy. He seemed barely eighteen. In shock, I pulled out of her.

"Who is that?" I said hastily.

"Don't worry. That's my brother Shawn. Daddy forced him to watch when he did me. He is so emotionally scarred now that he has a compulsion to watch me have sex. He's harmless; he won't even play with himself."

This latest revelation pushed me over the edge. I had walked into a sick soap opera and I needed to get out fast. Before she could stop me, I gathered my clothes and ran to the bathroom. Within a few minutes I was gone.

Jessica turned ruefully to her brother.

"Don't worry, eventually one of them will stay. In the meantime, I suppose you have to pick up where he left off. Again."

Still silent, he nodded his head and climbed onto the bed.


Riding in my car, I ruminated on my relationship once more. It was as if I was being punished for breaking up with Monica. My next attempt at a relationship had been a disaster.

"Give up on this relationship thing, son. Your psyche is too scarred for that. No matter how much you may deny it."

"You don't own me."

"I do. Now you and I both know that you're knife is in the compartment. Take it out. You were born to kill."

All those urges, voices culminated in a single massive deluge of suppressed desires. I had been driving for some time now and was near the suburbs. Suddenly, it happened.

At a corner, I spotted a hooker. It was unmistakable.

My urges rose up in unison and commanded me to take the knife out while my mother also egged me on from the side.

"It is who you are."

I stopped the car and sobbed for a few minutes before opening my glove compartment and taking out the knife. I looked at her closely-- she was barely legal and looked so quaint and innocent.

Sometime later, we drew up at a seedy motel along the interstate. On reaching our rooms, she stripped quickly and I undid my pants. Her expression remained the same as she lay down on the bed.

Regretting what would eventually happen, I got in between her legs and slowly inserted myself into her. She wrapped her legs around my neck and kept pushing against me, driving my erection deeper into her orifice. I was intent on making it her best sexual experience.

Our eyes never broke contact as I kept moving back and forth against her thighs, my sac hitting them as my dick was nestled deep inside her vagina. She was placid and cold the entire time.

"Poor girl."

I could feel myself moving towards an orgasm as I increased the pace of my thrusts. Eventually, I had a powerful orgasm and deposited my seed deep inside her. She still remained indifferent and expressionless.

"Now is the time, son. Go grab your jacket."

I put on my jacket and gently moved towards her. This would not end well. The regret of what I was about to do swirled inside my head like a dark tempest.

"You are the Butcher of New York, right?"

I turned to face her quickly. Suddenly, all that regret was replaced by a feeling of panic. How did she know?

"Umm.... No." I said, sounding as incredulous as possible.

Her expression was crestfallen.

"Please tell me you are. Please."

I sat down beside her on the bed.


"My parents hate me, my siblings hate me, and the entire world hates me. I come dressed as a hooker to that corner everyday hoping that one day the Butcher will show up. I am such a failure at everything, I deserve to die."

In the moment, my emotions got the better of me and I wrapped her in a tight hug. Mom fumed from the corner, but could do nothing.

"Can I ask you a favour please?"

I nodded my head and listened closely. She took a deep breath and started.

"Could you kill me anyway? I have even got a knife with me. It will go down as one more for the Butcher. I tried myself, but I can't even........." The rest of it was lost in her tears.

I spent the next fifteen minutes consoling her.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"


"Well Emily, you are such a sweet girl. I cannot see even the Butcher wanting to hurt you. Even a monster like him."

She looked up at me, her tears still visible. I continued.

"Whoever he is, he cannot kill you. If he has any shred of humanity left in him, he cannot go through with it. You deserve better than to be the victim of a serial killer."

Her sobbing had stopped somewhat, I leaned over to kiss her gently.

I took her in my car and drove her to a homeless shelter in Queens. Flushed with success, I got into my car. It was finally over. I had gone into a room with a hooker and come out with her alive. The urges did not control me any more.

I threw away the knife. It was largely symbolic, but I needed it.

I celebrated it with a few too many shots of tequila at a bar. Before I knew it, I had a cruiser following me, asking me to pull over. There was no point hiding how obviously sloshed I was, but I was beyond caring. I had won a battle I had all but given up on.

"A night in the drunk tank wouldn't be so bad."

I happily followed the officers down to the nearest station. My cell had other DUIs, all either asleep or quietly talking to themselves. An officer came by soon enough and took me out of my cell.

"Where are we going, officer?"

"NYPD Homicide. Apparently, Detective Devereaux wants to see you."

Just when I had finally won the battle, I had lost the war. The ghosts of my past had caught up to me and I was going to pay for my sins.


Simon was escorted by the officers to the homicide division. Many people recognized him from his earlier visits. All eyes seemed to follow him as he walked towards his final destination.

"She is waiting for you in Interrogation Room 3."

Room 3. That was where Malcolm Burns was beaten to within an inch of his life. Fitting.

He walked into the room to find Monica seated across the table, her expression rigid and determined. She looked like a woman on a mission.

"Simon, have a seat."

He took his seat opposite to her, pursing his lips, waiting for the moment. Then it came.

"I had a meeting with your shrink Dr. Hart earlier today and she told me everything. I know your big secret."

He had finally run out of luck. Son of Sam was done in by a broken tail-light, Simon by my visit to the shrink.

"So what happens now?" there was a distinct tone of futility and resignation in his voice.

She observed him, for a few minutes. Then she wordlessly got up from her chair and cut the video feed from the room. He mentally replayed what was coming next.

"I should have known; all the signs were there."

He guessed they were obvious in retrospect.

"I am so sorry for not being more understanding. I should have been there for you when you needed me. Please, come back."

Simon looked up in surprise.

"You endured horrifying abuse as a child. I should have known from those burns. Dr. Hart told me that you asked her to uncover those memories last week. That was made you so shifty and uncomfortable all the time."

He kept listening in shock.

"No more secrets, no more lies. I want you in my life again."

She looked at him expectantly. Finally he found the words to say.

"I am so sorry I hid it from you. It's just, those memories were too powerful. I kept having flashbacks, like an endless recurring nightmare that just would not stop."

"I know baby, I understand." She was crying.

"Just one more secret."

She stopped her crying and looked at him.

"I love you more than anything else in the world, always have, and always will. I know that I may have not been the best boyfriend recently but I still love you with all my heart."

Monica literally jumped over the table and engulfed him in a passionate embrace and a torrid kiss. He reciprocated as the swirl of emotions finally settled.

He left the room feeling light headed and strangely happy. He had won the war.


It had been a week since our tearful reconciliation. A week we just spent with each other. Despite my protests, she took time off the case to be by my side all the time. On Sunday, we went to Iridium, the venue of our first date.

Ordering the smoked veal, she dug into it. A few minutes later, she stopped eating abruptly.

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't know. My fork just hit something hard. It seems to be on the underside of the veal."

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