Serial Hunter

"I don't want to die."

I jerked awake and the Bahamas was gone, replaced by a darkened room that smelling of earth and rot. There was no Margarita but the slight trickle of blood from a cut inside my mouth. Jasmine was there and she was still whispering those words.

"I don't want to die."

We were in a small room with no windows, a wooden door in need of repair, and the strains of David Allen Coe fell away to a Merle Haggard tune that came from a radio in the adjourning room. We were trussed up in an unusual fashion. Both our hands were tied in front of us, but my arms were looped around the outside of her waist. Hers were bound and pressed against my crotch. Then we were tied up with another rope encircling both our bodies and another at our feet. We were face to face with a couple of inches separating us.

My trench was taken, along with my cell phone, and any possible weapons and my boots were missing too. All I had on were my Under Armour top and those tights-ass leather pants. She was also in stages of undress, wearing only pajama bottoms and a bra. Her breath had an unusual odor to it. I realized it was chloroform. They must have gotten her in the room. I didn't want to imagine what she smelled on my breath. I could only stare at the tear stained face of my fellow captor, realizing that her fate was also mine. I was also an orphan on scholarship. Who would miss me?

"Blade, how did you get here?"

She was still using my character name. I didn't answer her at first, but tried to get my bearings. It wasn't until a movement of her hands against my groin forced me to look at her.

"Is this some fucked-up Halloween joke?" she asked, eyes pleading for a hint of recognition.

"I wish it were, but I gotta tell you something I should have told you after that first cup of coffee."

I tried to summarize as much as I could being we may have been pressed for time. She kept quiet, but her eyes watered which each discovered fact I released past my lips. I told her about everything leading up to us lying on the floor tied together like a rushed Christmas gift. I couldn't bear to look at her anymore. It was tearing me the fuck up.

"I'm sorry, Jasmine." I pleaded. "I tried to get help, but no one would listen and I thought that if I told you, you wouldn't believe me either." I closed my eyes to hold back any tears trying to escape when I felt her soft lips meet mine.

"You're right. I probably wouldn't have believed you." She kissed me again on my right eyelid. "With all the things I've been through in life, I'm really honored that someone in this world cared enough to watch my back for me."

"But, I didn't watch your back. And now we're both here in this fuckin' root cellar and could be..." I couldn't bring myself to say it.

She gave me a tired smile and said, "But you tried and that says a lot. Hell, you stole a truck and tried to stab Romero."

I felt her hands moving below and while I wanted to believe that she was loosening her binds, my dick was thinking otherwise.

I closed my eyes in embarassment and quickly opened them when I felt my top button give way to see a smiling Jasmine.

"It is what you think it is, Blade."

I tried to stretch my arms outward to give her some positioning room but the outer rope held. Then I thought about a trick I learned on a field trip to a magic show when I was with the orphanage. It was a long shot but it might work.

"Jasmine, on the count of three blow all of the air out of your lungs, it might give the rope some slack. We counted and on three blew out air while at the same time shifting our shoulders in a jerky manner. The rope moved some, but slacked up again when we inhaled.

"I felt it move," she whispered.

"Again."

We kept huffing and puffing and shimmying until the top loop passed my ear. All the while, my cock kept rubbing against her fingertips. Once in awhile she would lightly pinch the head.

"I know we're in danger, Blade." She explained. "But I'm feeling you, babe. No pun."

I grinned at the crazy prospect that I might come and go at the same time. After another ten minutes of blowing in each other's faces, the rope slipped off past the knot and we were semi-free. Without thinking, I leaned over and kissed her full on the mouth. She accepted my advancement and countered with a probing tongue and a firm grip on my shaft. Stroking me with unbridled furor, she kissed me all my face and neck. I shifted my hips forward and searched for my cock's final resting-place. She obliged by moving her hands and pushing the hem of her pajamas down her thighs. Our feet were still bound together, but she pushed her hands out and over my neck.

We continued kissing in the dampness while grinding our hips closer together, until I felt the small thatch of her trimmed pubic hairs tickling the topside of my thickening mushroom. With another lunge, I felt a small trail of wetness slide against my cock as her moistened flower beckoned me. It only excited me more as I struggled to get inside. Using my hands for leverage, I grabbed her apple-bottomed ass and lifted her onto me, until I felt my head break the outer folds of her vulva, sinking in a wet paradise.

Being inside Jasmine for possibly the only and last time was more beautiful than I imagined. The warmth from her pussy took the chill off my entire body, as I pushed deeper, trying to lose myself in her. I felt her contract her muscles, pulling me in deeper. We tried to keep quiet but the pleasure was more comforting than any pain we were to endure in the future. Shifting our hips back and forth on the dirt-packed floor amongst the gloom was better than if we were really in the Bahamas.

"Stay inside me, forever."

I moaned my approval as we ground against each other for our final farewell. Her breathing became more frantic as well as mine as we melded into one being. I felt the pull on my cock become greater and as she bit into my chest to stifle the cries from her orgasm, I had to bit my already swollen cheek to silence mine. I came so hard that each blast inside her forced a reaction of more pressure into my pec. Just when I thought she would come away with a piece of my flesh, her jerks subsided and her breathing returned to normal.

After a while, my dick shrunk back down to normal and fell out, subjecting it to the cold of the room and me back to reality. I held onto my temporary lover tight and tried not to think of the future when I adjusted my eyes to the corner of the basement. I made out what I thought was a pile of dirt and after a closer look realized it was my trench coat and boots, There was also what seems to be a pair of bunny slippers.

"Jasmine, do yo own a pair of bunny slippers?"

"That was the most original question I heard after sex, but yea, I do."

"Baby, we are getting out of here."

We disengaged from each other and semi-crawled over to the corner where to my relief, I was right about the articles. A thorough search revealed my cell phone gone, but my boots unmolested. With a pull, out popped the blade I concealed earlier. Quickly I cut away the ropes at our feet and we took turns cutting each other's binds on our wrists. Once we were free, we embraced and kissed again like true lovers.

"Don't take this the wrong way," I said as I pulled away. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Even if I don't know your real name."

"It's...."

She put fingers to my lips and said, "Tell me when we are long gone from here."

I motioned for her to stay and crept towards the wooden door with cracks of light beaming through. I peeked through one of the larger cracks and found my sucker puncher. Sitting in a plain wooden chair with his gun belt a couple of feet to his right, pants hanging around his ankles was Sheriff Stroh.

He was busily jerking off as he watched a hidden camera video of two coeds fucking in front of the King Tomb. That's how they knew I was there, I thought. I tried to push against the knob on the door and felt it give. I motioned to Jasmine to cover her eyes from the light. I picked up a piece of rope and fitting it like a garrote, slid forward. The Sheriff was still going at it, oblivious to me creeping up behind him. He was wheezing and kicking his legs back and forth as if he could force the nut from his body. By the time he noticed the dark figure in the reflection of the 13in monitor, I already had the twisted rope around his neck and pulling for all I was worth.

"Sucks to be blindsided don't it, Bitch," I screamed as I lay down my weight on the Sheriff's shoulders. He tried to reach for the rope stuck in between the fatty folds of his neck but it was useless. In a fit a panic he stood up, with me still attached, raced over to the card table knocking over the monitor, VCR and the small transistor radio, halting the ballads of Mr. David Allan Coe. He tried to reach for his gun, but a well-placed knee in the back halted his progress.

I felt like I was in the PBC, riding the biggest and nastiest Brahma in the pen. His wheezing reached a crescendo and without warning, Stroh popped his load. He was shooting long arcs of cum, like a malfunctioning water sprinkler. It hit the walls, door and one caught the swinging light bulb. And just as he blasted one in the direction of Jasmine who moved her bunny slippers out of harms reach, Sheriff Stroh keeled over dead. I fell down with him; the circulation in my hands briefly cut off.

I stayed in the prone position on top of the Sheriff for another minute, until the crackle of his walkie-talkie snapped me back to reality.

"Stroh," said the recognizable voice of Romero. "Bring the gal up here and take care of that goddamn Nigra." The words flowed so easily out of his mouth, I would have sworn that Bull Conner himself had risen from the dead.

"You heard the man, Baby." I rose to me feet, careful to avoid the unused seed of the late sheriff.

Jasmine came out of the corner and I handed her the gun. It's a nine-millimeter. This is the safety. When I say, click this button to red. Just in case, shit jumps off. She took the firearm, hefted and sighted it like an old pro before sticking it in the holster and tying the whole thing to her waist.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Blade."

"I can't wait to find out."

We both edged cautiously to the outer door. I pressed my ear to it for any sign of movement, but got nada. I cracked it open and saw a long hallway dimly lit by alternately hanging light bulbs about four feet apart. I took the lead, knife concealed in the palm of my hand, feeling my way down the hall. I paused when I heard what sounded like a female sobbing, consoled by another voice, also female.

"Shhh. Shhhh, " said the quiet voice. " You hush now and it will be all over soon. We had some good times, didn't we?"

The voices came from a door camouflaged to look like the earthen walls that surrounded them. I felt a depression in the walls until I was able to gauge where the door was. I gave a push and it silently gave way to reveal a room somewhat like the one Jasmine and I was imprisoned in. Sitting in a wingback chair, with her back to us was none other than Eva herself, Jamie Lee Romero. Facing out of the corner was a naked and shackled Judith Myers. Ten years older and traumatized, but it was the same face staring back at me from the mugshot in the paper. She didn't try to cover herself up, revealing the scars where her nipples were taken. She didn't register my presence, just continued to sob.

Ms. Romero turned in her seat and shock registered in her eyes, but before she could do anything, I was upon her, hand wrapped around her lily-white trachea.

"What do you want?" she squeaked out as I herded her into another corner.

"To see you suffer at least half of what you put Judith through, Bitch." Without warning, I head butted Eva right across the bridge of her nose, feeling cartilage give way. She tried to scream but I stifled her sounds with a little pressure to her windpipe.

"Where in the fuck is your husband?" I allowed her to breathe just enough to tell me.

"At the end of the hall. He 's expecting the sheriff any second." I switched hands and curled the southern matriarch into the crook of my arm and placing my small knife blade against her cheek.

"I guess we are gonna pay him a little visit, then."

I frog marched her out into the hallway when Jasmine was waiting with a look of concern.

"Me and Eva are gonna meet up with Hitler. Judith Myers is in there and I think Simone Carpenter is also here somewhere."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I need back-up."

Jasmine nodded and we strode down to the end of the hallway. With the unwilling assistance of Mrs. Romero, we accessed the hidden door and entered a real chamber of horrors. Romero was sitting a large oak desk, similar to the one in his office on campus. Behind him sat a dozen monitors; each with a different face, but all dressed in business attire. I guess we interrupted him in the middle of his videoconference. To the right was a large space with all types of antique torture devices. The Iron Maiden sat in the middle, next to The Rack and a Guillotine, all of them looking well used. Against the far wall stood a rack of period costumes and a table with whips, dildos, and other assorted instruments of bondage. I tried not to think of what went on here, but the rage inside me would not settle.

"What have you done to my wife, Boy?" roared Romero as he set eyes on the bloody mask of his wife.

"Oh this," I pointed to my handy-work. "I'm just getting started." With that said, I deftly plucked out her eye using the tip of my dagger. Eva screamed bloody murder, wrenched loose from my grasp and ran blindly for her husband. Slipping in her four-inch pumps, she tottered towards the Guillotine and before Wes could shout warning, fell into it, where the blade was jarred loose, promptly chopping off her arm at the elbow.

Romero's faced turned redder than our school colors as he reached in the left-hand side of his desk. I reared back to throw my knife when a shot rang out. I flinched at the sudden sound and looked up to see the great college president grabbing his forearm and squealing like a stuck pig. Behind me, Jasmine kept her gun trained on him. I strode around the desk and found out that he wasn't reaching for a gun himself, but a red panic button. He wasn't man enough to do his own fighting.

I hauled Romero from around the desk, past his wife who was spurting blood like a supersoaker and threw him up against the rack. I quickly bound his hands and feet and prepared to interrogate him, when I noticed that all the monitors behind the desk where still on and each face watching with renewed interest. None seemed taken aback by this intrusion at all.

"Is this what you done with the missing women, you cocksucker!" I screamed at him before pulling the lever down and stretching him out.

His face broke out in the sweat and he began to stink of fear

"Please, Let me explain," He blubbered and began to soil himself. Here was a man who just two hours ago, was willing to sacrifice the lives of unknown and assuming unwanted, but not he's a moaning, pissing machine.

I stepped over to the desk and picked up the phone where I dialed the number to the Houston office of the FBI. I had no idea how far his little bit of power stretched, but I knew that New Orleans might have been tainted with his poison. After convincing them it was no Halloween prank, by sending them a web cam link-up of the freak lab, I hung up and began to undercover the truth about the Halloween missing person cases. Jasmine sat down next to me as I searched his files and found what I was looking for.

Over the years, Romero and his conglomerate of perverts have been abducting women from all over the world, subjecting them to torture and sexual abominations, recording the events and selling them to the highest bidder. When the cost went down on the said victim, a snuff film was made. For Romero, it was on Halloween. As proof, the tape was real, articles of the abductions were provided as proof as well as the body parts. It was easier to cover up with local law enforcement in his back pocket.

As to the whereabouts of Shannon Tate, only Romero and Stroh knew and the sheriff isn't talking. I copied all the evidence onto to backup disks and waited for the authorities. Romero was still blubbering and fouling himself and as I walked over to his stretched form, I began to hear voices. They were coming from the faces on the monitors.

"Do it!"

"Finish Him!"

"Quickly!"

"I'll pay a Million!"

"Two Million!"

Romero sobbed and thrashed about as I approached the lever. Jasmine stepped forward to say something, then decided against it. I gripped the lever in my hand and with the voices on television chanting, Romero pleading, and the voices of those who no longer speak pounding in my head, I made my decision.

Five years later, Klieg Lights bathe the Kodak Theater in the hues of Crimson and White. Flashes from paparazzo bulbs temporarily blind me as I step onto the red carper. Looking back I reach into the car and feel the firm grasp of my wife, Jasmine in my palm as she steps out of the limo. We wave to the crowd and cheese for the cameras as we strode down the walkway. After three years of legal battles, we finally get our story told. Serial Hunt is making it's premiere on Halloween five years to they day of our harrowing experience. You still want to know whether I pulled the lever or not, huh? Well, the premiere starts in five. See you on the inside.