Chapter Ten
She was so
beautiful, in her own way as beautiful as Elaine, so rounded and so feminine.
She was frightened at first, of course, but as soon as she realized she had no
choice, she calmed right down. Women were like that. They were a lot smarter
than most men gave them credit for, they knew how to survive. They were the
weaker sex, certainly, but that didn’t mean they were any less intelligent. She
knew the instant she looked into
his eyes what survival would entail.
…
He told her
that he was hungry. She cooked for him, noodles with green onions sliced into
them at the last moment before serving and a few drops of sesame oil added, a
dish new to him but which he liked very much. He said he was thirsty. She made
him coffee, good coffee, too, the best he had had in many years. She fussed
a little when it came time to take off her clothes, but that was only due to
the natural modesty of women.
She lay
still beneath him, like Elaine, Elaine-fair, and kept her eyes closed, the way
Elaine had at first. Her skin was so soft to the touch. He told her to open her
eyes. They were so large, the pupils expanded almost to the edge of the blue
irises. Her breath came in soft expulsions of air that touched his face in
quick pants. Her hands lay at her sides until he told her to place them on his
back. It was fine, so very fine, to be held within those arms again.
She was
weak and he was strong. It was his duty to protect her, it was her duty to
submit. Where he led, she would follow. Their roles had been laid down by God
and the Church many years ago. At last, at last, Elaine had come back to him.
Chapter Twelve
She would
not think of how he had stood looking at her as seconds passed, then minutes,
as she did nothing, said nothing. No protest, no scream for help, she hadn’t
tried to run, nothing. He’d told her he was hungry, and shed made him the lunch
she had planned for Mark. He’d admired her beadwork, and shed said thank you.
He’d told her to take her clothes off, and she had. He’d told her to lie down
on the bed, and she did. He had raped her, and she had endured it, motionless,
unprotesting, her husband’s body cooling in the creek not fifty feet from where
they lay.
…
She shouldn’t
have run off, he had told her reproachfully during the night. She was safest
with him, he would protect her, watch over her, and their children. She almost
came alive at that, but then he spread her legs and raped her again, and again
she went numb.
Chapter Eighteen
She knew he
wasn’t far behind her. She could feel him coming, feel his rage, feel his hands
on her, his penis thrusting into her, and she simply could not bear to endure
that again. Better to die out here in the wilderness.
…
One thing
she did know. The man who had killed her husband and kidnapped and raped her
repeatedly was still after her. Her escape had been an affront to his pride,
and if she had any doubt of his determination to keep her forever, it had been
banished by the sight of those wooden markers. All Elaines. He had called her
Elaine. All those Elaines. Twelve. My god, twelve of them. Twelve women before
her. Had he kidnapped them all? Raped them all? Buried them all?
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