A Saint and A Sinner Ch. 06-07

The job came first. His marriage took a header right into the crapper.

He had made the decision then that relationships weren't for cops. Dates were good, they ended either at the door or, on occasions, after breakfast in the morning.

Relationships ended bloody usually with his blood being the one that was let.

Michelle was talking to him and he had missed half of what she had said, caught up in his own morose thoughts.

"... bad idea," she finished up. She turned to look at him, trying for a calm icy front. Too bad it felt like her insides were on fire, her knees were weak and all she wanted to do was push him back on that desk and finish what they had just started.

The eyes that met hers still shot fiery blue flames. She caught a hold of the back of the chair in front of her, willing her knees to not buckle and commanding her feet not to take the extra three steps that would have her in pushing distance.

"Let's just forget this happened," her voice came out calm enough though she could hear the tremor. As if she would ever forget the way his lips felt, or how she went up in smoke when he had whispered erotically dirty thoughts in her ears. Stop it, Michelle.

"Uh, yeah." Now that was smooth, Nick. Why not just show her where you keep your dinosaur bone. Then rap her on the head, take her home and... whoa buddy, not going there. "Uh, we should get back to the lab and I want to run the vic's name and see if she's got any priors or made any complaints."

Michelle needed some space, some time away from him to get her thoughts if not her sex drive back into order.

"Why don't you go and I'll run over to the victim's apartment and see how things are going there. I'll call you with anything I get." Before he could say a word, she was marching out of his office leaving him with his mouth open and his emotions in the dirt.

  Chapter Seven

Time held no meaning for her any longer. The few moments that she had in the light were shadowed by him. The rest of the time, she was alone in the dark with the voices. She didn't know if it were night or day. She didn't know how long she had been held here. And she held no hope that she would ever leave.

The lack of hope was what was the hardest. At least, when she hoped, she could imagine something better, her parents meeting her at the airport with open arms and forgiving smiles. Her ex-boyfriend, the cause of all her pain and troubles, falling to his knees to apologize and beg her to take him back. All those thoughts were gone now, eaten away by despair.

Now she lived for the rattle of keys in a lock and the click of a switch bringing light. Even if that same light also brought the devil and pain.

She heard the faint rattle now and closed her eyes tight. The light was wonderful, the light was warmth and relief from the voices that came from the dark. But it hurt her eyes.

He came into the room, carrying a bundle under his arm. He hit the switch for the lights and the button on the stereo that turned off the cassette player. The tape that he let play while he was gone from his studies was reversible and the tape player automatically flipped it, playing both sides until he turned it off.

The girl needed washing. She had fouled herself while he was gone, he could smell stale feces and bitter urine from where he stood at the door. She had her eyes shut tight against the brightness of the light.

She had been the best so far. She fought him, giving him lots of raw data to mull through later. She was defiant. He liked that. When they gave up too quickly, he got bored and then the rage took over.

He took the blanket off of her and threw it in a corner to be disposed of. He took tiny samples of the filth that lay between her legs, ignoring the stench. The stench was part of the job, it was part of the experiment. The smells were just one more aspect of the 'science'.

"I have a treat for you today," he said as he dropped the bundle on his desk. A sigh of relief. The benefactor not the knife.

She had learned quickly that he hated it when she begged and pleaded. It made him mad. The benefactor was what he called himself in the voices in the dark. He liked defiance. The more she fought him, the gentler he was.

"I don't want anything from you but to go home," her voice was hoarse and rough but she tried to sound tough.

He chuckled, pleased. He stroked her hair, the side of her face and reached behind him for a knife.

It was hard not to cringe away and show her fear but she managed. He played with the knife for a moment, pushing the blade into his own finger tip just enough to leave a welt but not to cut the flesh. He was good with knives, not as good as the other was, but in his own way, an expert.

He reached above her and did something with the knife, surprising her when she felt the ropes around her arms go slack. He was cutting her loose. She felt a pain start deep inside and realize it was hope, a tiny dim light of hope.

He cut her feet loose and pulled her up by her shoulders, letting her sit at the edge of her table and catch her balance. She didn't know how long she had been tied to that table but sitting up was making her dizzy and her hands and feet throbbed terribly. Her arms ached from being held so tightly above her head. She gasped at the pain and swayed, but he held her firmly.

"Come on, Sara," he called her by name for the first time since she had been taken. "Lean on me."

She had no choice. She couldn't feel anything but pain from her feet. He half carried her into the tiny space that she had figured was a bathroom, leaning her against the wall while he adjusted the pressure and temperature of the water in the tiny shower stall.

She stood under the hot water for long minutes, feeling it wash away dirt and his touch down the drain in a swirling wash. His hands were in his hair, rubbing firmly at the greasy, stringy mass that was too matted and fouled to clean easily. He rubbed in some sweet smelling shampoo, rinsing and then repeating the entire procedure. His hands smoothed down her body, massaging aching muscles and rubbing the dirt away.

She hadn't thought anything could feel so good. She would never take being clean for granted again. The water soaked into her skin and into her pores.

When he turned off the water, she leaned weakly against the side of the stall, not understanding why something so trivial should wear her out so much.

He pulled a couple of big towels out of a cupboard and wrapped one around her body, the second he put over her head, gently rubbing her hair to get the excess water out. Then he guided her gently out of the shower. He sat on the toilet lid and pulled her to stand between his legs as he patted her dry.

When he determined that she was dry enough, he reversed their positions, sitting her gently on the toilet lid, making sure the towel was wrapped securely around her. He pulled the towel from her hair and gently brushed through the damp tangled mess. He didn't pull, instead untangling snarls with his fingers until the brush would go through smoothly. And she sat there and leaned into him, grateful to feel clean, to be taken care of even if it was by a monster.

When he had brushed her hair almost dry, the blonde tresses laying like silk against her shoulders, he pulled her back to a standing position and helped her back into the main room. He sat her at a chair that he pulled away from his long desk. She didn't move as he cleaned up the table, long sweeping strokes with a big sponge and some heavy disinfectant cleaning the mess quickly.

He reached into a cupboard and cut some new lengths of rope, measuring it against each other for length and then securing the new bonds where the old ones had been. When he turned toward her, Sara started shaking her head. "No, no fucking way." She hit at him when he got close to her and tried to get up to run from him. Her feet were still too numb and she fell against him, screaming as he pulled her back to the table. "No! You fucking bastard! Get away from me!" Her hand connected solidly with his face, leaving a red mark.

He pushed her onto the table and grabbed her hair in his fist, pulling it as he picked her head up and smashed it back down into the hard surface of the table.

All fight left her as pain engulfed her head. Her eyes rolled wildly in her head as unintelligible sounds came from her mouth. He looped the ropes over her feet and spoke gently to her as he tied her hands back up above her head.

When she was finally tied back to the table, he went to the bathroom staring at the red mark on his cheek just below his eye. She was the first of any of them that had ever managed to leave a mark on him, well besides the scratches that he'd easily explained as coming from a stray cat he'd tried to catch. He touched the redness with gentle fingers, realizing that she had hit him hard enough to leave a bruise.

"This will never do," he muttered to his reflection. "Never do," he repeated softly. He stepped back from the mirror and looked into his own eyes as he made a fist and plowed it into his own cheek, leaving a huge welt that covered the mark that she had made. He stumbled back a step and grabbed the sink to stop himself from falling. His eyes were watering from the pain and he wiped them irritably before he checked his work.

It would do. His wife would believe whatever he told her. She wouldn't care either way anyways. She never did. He was a good looking arm for her to lean on when she went to the many dinners that were so important to her career. He looked good in a tux and he never made any demands upon her time. She never realized that every time he 'yes deared' her he was imagining her tied to his table, the knife in his hands, her screams in his ears. That would be so sweet.

Sara was on his table now, her eyes filled with fear. She had heard the shout that he hadn't remembered making when he had hit himself. His hair was standing up and his clothes mussed from his exertions. His face was contorted from the swelling welt on his cheek. His eyes were wild and huge, making him look even crazier than he had before.

She was terrified. She remembered waking up to him that first day, his assurances that she would be washed before she left him. After he killed her. She couldn't control the tiny animal sounds of fear that were escaping her swollen throat. If today was the day she was to die, she wasn't ready. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to be a nameless body in the morgue, something so foul and rank that even the most hardened professional would turn their nose up and gag at her stench.

She cringed at the thought of being found naked and mutilated. The thought that animals would chew on her flesh horrified her. She would be alone and uncared for, forgotten. She couldn't stop the tears that ran down her face and into her now clean hair.

She was looking at him as if he were an animal. He took a moment and smoothed down his hair, straightening his shirt and smoothing out the wrinkles in his tailored dress pants. He calmed himself, took a deep breath and approached the table.

"It's not your time yet, dear," he said calmly. He pulled the towel free from her body and went to hang it up on the towel bar in the bathroom. When he returned, the calm benefactor was back, smooth and unruffled. He approached the table, sliding his hand up the inside of her leg when he got close enough. He let his fingers slide into her body, first one then two, finally stopping at three. His thumb ruffled the curls that he kept trimmed, fluffing them up until they were the way he liked.

He caressed her stomach with his free hand, looking into her eyes to gauge her reaction. She looked at him with hate and defiance in her red watery gaze, and he threw back his head and laughed.

"I'm really going to hate to let you go, Sweetness. You are the best by far." He lowered his face to hers and kissed her, pushing her head into the table to hold her still while his tongue entered her mouth. She knew better than to bite, had been beaten severely the one time she had tried. He liked to use the knife on her, little nicks in places that caused terrible pain and bled for a long time taught her to allow him the use of her body. He had used her in almost every way possible, had explored darker aspects of sex with her and he had enjoyed it all.

He hadn't cared that he had ripped into her flesh so badly she bled for hours after, that he bit and pinched her until she screamed in pain, getting absolutely no pleasure from his hands. But it was worse when he took the time to make her feel, to caress her breasts, play with her nipples until they hardened. When he would find her clit, stroke and caress it, pinch it lightly until she wanted to beg him to make her cum.

She hated what he could do to her body, at those times, with him lauding it in her face as he would push his meaty shaft between her thighs, she wished he would kill her. He was kind now, kissing and caressing, making her feel those hated things. He climbed on the table between her legs, his mouth close to pink flesh between her thighs, smelling her essences, her freshness now that she was clean. She drew him to her with her sass and her bravery. He wanted to keep her forever.

But the knife was starting to call him. It hadn't been fed in a long time, it hadn't been allowed out. He was ignoring it, not wanting to give this one up just yet. She amused him in ways no other female had been able to. But he knew it would be soon and he understood that he would give her up. Until that time though, he rubbed a rough hand over her thighs spreading her open wider before letting his tongue taste of her, he would enjoy her every chance he could.