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Chasing White Rabbits

By Hamish Hoosen Pillay All Rights Reserved ©

Thriller / Mystery

Chapter 1

She felt herself falling through the groggy clouds of unconsciousness to awaken in total darkness. Her eyes strained and she breathed heavily. She stopped and held her breath, listening for some clues. She tried moving. Her arms were bound tightly behind her back. She could couldn’t see anything. It was pitch black in front of her. Her eyes were covered with a blindfold. She tried looking down her nose. All she could see was black. She moved her body. Her arms were tied around the square pole behind her. She tried standing up but her legs felt weak. She stopped moving and listened again.

She couldn’t remember how she got here. There was fuzzy haze over her mind. Images and memories seemed disjointed as she tried piecing together how she ended up here. Her head hurt. The skin on her neck burned. She pulled at her binds instinctively to try touching her neck. She remembered putting her son down in his cot. She remembered feeling a sharp burning on her neck as she was leaning over into the boot of her car to pick up the bottle of floor polish which had fallen out of her bags and found its way to the back of the boot. She couldn’t remember anything else after that. She began to panic. She had no idea where she was and how she got here. Her world was beginning to lose its haze and she began to grow increasingly panicked the longer she thought about what had happened to her son.

She pulled at the binds around her arm. She pulled at them until she could feel her skin bruise. Where was her son? Oh god what had they done to her son?

“Malik? Malik? Baby can you hear me? Baby? Can you hear mommy?” She called into the dark. It was a futile exercise. She didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t hear Then she stopped. What was she doing? They would hear her and they would come. She had to be quiet. She couldn’t hear anything. Everything seemed fuzzy. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. She could hear the loud sounds of her heavy breathing blocking out her surrounds. She tried to calm herself down. She tried controlling her breathing She didn’t know where she was. She had no idea who had brought her here. She tried her hardest to stop panicking.

She pulled at her binds again. It hurt now. She pulled harder, hoping to overcome the pain, but it grew worse. She groaned with frustration and fear.

“I tied it myself.” a voice said behind her. She stopped. She stopped moving. She held her breath, frozen in her lungs. She sat listening and waiting. She could feel the heavy pounding of her heart increase in intensity.

I want to tie you up with my satin scarves and tease you until all you can think about is having me

“I’ve been watching you.” the voice hissed low. “But as normal you never noticed me.” he said with disgust.

I want to see your face while you’re touching yourself

“Who are you?” She asked confused. The voice rattled at some vague memory of hers, hiding in the cloud of confusion she was experiencing. She couldn’t put a face or name to the voice. She closed her eyes trying to nudge her memory. It rang familiar, hinting at an image of a face and name. She was still groggy. His voiced teased her memory, the identity frustratingly just out of reach for her.

“Exactly.” he said spitefully. He walked around to face her. Disappointed footsteps approaching her on the floor. Naked foot dragging behind naked foot on the dirty floor, slapping sounds one after the other.

“Its your kind that gives all women a bad name.” he said without even attempting to hide his pain.

You make me feel amazing baby. I think I love you.

“Why? Why couldn’t you just be honest with me? Why did you have to be one of those confused cunts, using and abusing me, didn’t I mean anything to you?” he screamed at her. His voice was bitter with spite.

She didn’t know who he was. She tried to identify the face, the name. His voice rattled familiar in her mind, teasing her. She could feel it teetering near the edge of her conscious mind.

“Who are you?” She asked.

The question ignited a moan. A growing moan that became a howl of disappointment. He stood up and stomped off around the room, talking and chastising himself all at the same time, his feet slapping against the concrete floor. He blamed himself. He consoled himself. It was all her fault. It was typical. It was his fault. He was too good. He refused to see people for who they really were. She was just another shallow bitch looking for a free ride taking advantage of his good nature. Using him. She used him. She was making a mockery of him.

“I fucking told you she was just using you. You never listen to me. You always do this and you always end up disappointed. Why are you always going for the cunts? The users? What’s the matter with you? There’s no point being angry, she’s just a stupid cunt.

He stomped up to her. She felt his heavy steps on the floor as he approached her, naked feet slapping against the dirty concrete. He bent down and faced her. She could feel his breath on her face. She could smell the sour smell of decay on his breathe. The dying odour of his cologne. An incongruously pleasant smell fading since it application. She could hear him wheezing. He reached out to put his hand to the side of her face. She flinched. If her inability to recognise his voice had offended him, her flinching had only fuelled his raging anger. He repulsed her. There was nothing worse than being the object of repulsion. He ran his open hand down her face, her neck, over her breasts, down the side of her body stopping over her left thigh.

Do you like when I run my hand between my legs? Do you imagine it’s your hands?

He pressed his hand over her thigh. She felt firm under her blue sweatpants. He had removed her matching top and left her with the white vest. He could have taken her then. Taken what he wanted from her. Taken what she had promised him.

I want you to have me, I want you to have all of me, tell me how much you want me.

She was helpless and she would have done whatever he wanted. But what would the point of that be. She wouldn’t be doing it because she wanted him. She would be doing it out of fear. It would be one sided. He would enjoy it. She wouldn’t. She would be complying. Doing what she needed to do. Conniving. Plotting. Scheming. Discarding how he felt for her, trying to blind him with her sex in spite of her obvious repulsion. There was no end to their deception. Leading him on, using him, taking advantage of him and then discarding him as if he was nothing, as if he would disappear into nothing when they were done. Then she would try to escape knowing full well he wouldn’t hurt her afterwards. Manipulative bitch! Deceptive whore!

He pulled out a knife. The man at the store said it could skin a crocodile if he wanted. It was a hunting knife. No one asked questions about knives. The blade was black with just the edge showing silver, its handle plastic and flat seemed to fit his hand as if it was made for him. He held it in his palm. It was a good three fingers longer than the his middle finger. He looked at her, her eyes covered with the scarf he’d found around his neck. She was so beautiful. That was her weapon. She used her beauty as a weapon. How many other men had she laid to waste with her beauty? He plunged the knife into the side of her abdomen.

I want you inside me

She let out a scream. A stunned scream. The pain registered slowly as the second and the third stab pierced her, one after the other in rapid succession. She felt warm rushing down her body, over her thighs. She felt shortness of breath soon after. She wanted to plead with him but the fourth and fifth stab reduced her ability. Tiny guttural noises left her mouth as she felt him ripping off her clothes. Her eyes began closing as she grew weaker and he removed her blindfold. Her heart beat faster as she finally recognised the man who was hurriedly removing her underwear.

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