Justifiable Homicide

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9

The man came back. In a story like this, the man always comes back.

He went up to her and unstrapped her arms and allowed her to lower them.

Her arms were sore. The muscles had almost locked into place. She wiggled her fingers, trying to get sensation back into them, and felt painful pins and needles come back as precursors to proper feeling. She didn't want to look at the train wreck that was her body from the waist down, but she did anyway. She saw the bloodstains from her leaking vagina. She smelled the piss. She felt crusted blood on her upper lip from when he'd hit her.

The man bent down and unfastened the leg restraints, saying “I bet you won't be a fucking cunt with your foot this time.” Then he stood and smiled and stepped back to look at her. “Feels good to be free, don't it?”

“You call this free?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He laughed like he'd just said something fucking hilarious. “Now come on, we're going for a little ride.”

“Where?”

“You'll see.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

Now she didn't want to die. It had everything to do with the state of her arms and legs, as temporarily insane as that might seem. Because now that her arms and legs were free, she thought that maybe she had a chance. Maybe she wasn't doomed after all.

“Kill you?” he said. “We're going to go have some fun. I've got things to show you. A special place.” He took a gun out of his waistband. She hadn't seen the grip sticking out when he'd come into the cage. Now he was pointing it at her. The gun had a dark black eye at the end of the barrel.

“Come on,” he said. “Walk.”

The cage door was open. She walked out. He was right behind her. It hurt her to walk. Her crotch was chafed and sore and something hot was still aching in her belly and it hurt on every step. She walked across the warehouse toward the door.

It felt like the longest walk of her life.

They got to the door and he stepped in front of her and opened it before gesturing for her to go through first. They went outside.

He pointed toward the car with his gun. Now that she got a good look at it, she saw that the car was a maroon Crown Vic. It looked like a cop car. They went toward it. Selena scuffed her feet. She didn't want him to shoot her. She imagined what it would be like to have a bullet tear through her heart. How it would feel to end that way. To feel herself bleeding from the inside. To cough up blood. To choke on blood.

A bullet didn't have to do much work to end someone.

It wasn't a pleasant thought.

They got to the car and this time he didn't put her in the trunk. He opened the passenger side door and stood aside and said, “Ladies first.” He was grinning.

She thought about this man's mental state. What disease did he have? What rare mental diagnosis? Otherwise, how else could someone be so evil?

She got into the car. She sat down and put her hands in her lap and folded them over her blood-stained underwear.

The man got in on the other side. He had the gun in one hand. He looked at her and said, “This is gonna be all kinds of fun. Just you wait.”

He started up the car.

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