Open House

byMistress Maria©

"Just to make you understand something very important. I want to you to know what I am capable of doing should you breathe a word of this to anyone. And I know where to find you or your loved ones anytime I want."

"I won't tell a soul, I promise!"

"Soul? What a strange choice of a word." Dave mused. He got up off of me and pulled up his jeans. He cut the tape from my wrists. He stuck his knife back into his boot and walked toward the sliding glass door. He paused and turned to me. "He got in this way. When he left, he threw the ax into the pool." And with that, Dave smiled and left, disappearing into the darkness that overcame the overgrown back yard.

I got up and pulled on my pants and panties. I was able to salvage my ripped blouse and put it on. My blazer was able to cover the damage as I put it on over my tattered blouse. My slashed bra was a lost cause and I stuffed it into my purse. Once I got myself together again, I looked to see if Dave had really gone. He was no where in sight. I was compelled to use my cellular phone and call the police, but I thought against the idea. Anyway, I checked my purse and found that my phone was missing. I closed and locked the sliding glass door. I grabbed my purse, put the lock box on the front door and left. I constantly looked over my shoulder to see if he was following me. I could not tell. I swung by the Chinese restaurant, picked up dinner and went home. It took a lot for me to put up a false front before Paul after the ordeal that I had been through, but I was able to pull it off. I told no one what happened to me that night.

In the following weeks I wondered about Dave. Was he the mad psychopathic killer that murdered a whole family? If he was, why did he spare me? Was he an avid fan of the killer like he said? Perhaps he was a potential "copy cat killer" that studied the details of the killings and went to the house to pay homage to the site of the brutal massacre. And while there, he found an opportunity in me by taking me against my will at the place of his evil shrine of terror, blood and death. It was his personal Mecca and I was sacrificed for his deviant sexual sacrament.

About month later, I was showing a house on the West Side to a young couple. On the drive over I received a page. I read the text message, which said, "C/B Dave 555-6284." My heart sunk in dread as I read it. It was my private home phone number!

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