Hello and good evening.
Below is an excerpt from the manuscript of my 2nd novel, "Becoming Deadly" (a working title, registered with U.S. copyright), which is the prequel to my first novel, "Devoted, Deadly" published in April 2015.
Note: the lead character of "Becoming Deadly" is a teen girl who runs away from a horrendous and disgusting life situation at home, only to find herself trapped in a worse nightmare. She is definitely a survivor developing into a relentless warrior.
She is also the "Deadly" character from my first novel! And this is her backstory.
Written in the first person, as if I AM HER. It's been a gut-wrenching creative experience!
Thank you SO MUCH for reading!
Decision made, my plan is set. Thursday is go time. I have the equipment I need, thanks to Johnny hardware, and I've got cash. Yeah, my bosses failed to separate me from my original wad, stashed in the creaky boxspring. While men noisily pound my body, I soothe the agony with the knowledge that it's all temporary, that I have cash hidden for a rainy day. And here we are.
Thursday delivers the typical drunk dicks and horny first-timers. I guess it's their last chance before the weekend of lawn-mowing and spending time with those annoying people called spouses. But for a very small handful, I will always know men as assholes. Can probably say the same about women, with Rikki and Maggie as primary examples. Trust no one, ever. Trust your gut, always. And remember that a dog will always be your best friend. Everyone else can go screw themselves.
Randy inadvertently assists my getaway. During his visits I watch him tie the knots for those ceiling hooks. The lasso action takes some practice, but I hook 'em both eventually with the heavy duty rope I bought from Johnny, 50 feet in length. He looked at me kind of sideways but I kept up the chatter to deflect his concern. I throw the opposite end of rope down the darkened shaft. I'm going on the hunch that a door or window waits for me down there. Fingers crossed.
I don't have much rappelling experience, but these are desperate times. I do have enough brains to cushion the palms of my hands with washcloths, and to fold a blanket onto the window ledge, so the rope is not rubbing a sharp edge. Friday, 4 a.m. I stick my head out the window and look up. Stars dot the small rectangle of sky, and hope fills my mind. Out I go.
My athleticism and nimble body come in handy. As I slowly descend I'm able to adjust my equilibrium to the reality of walking down the side of a brick wall, backwards, in the darkness. I fight my brain, which wants to freak out and scream. I count the windows, third floor...second floor...until I reach the rope's end and switch on the small flashlight. It's pitch black but for the light's beam and not as quiet as I expected. Rats scurry and squeal, having no idea how to deal with their strange, gigantic visitor.
Feet on grungy but solid ground, I assess my surroundings as my nostrils fill with an indescribable stench. The rats gather in one corner. I see their escape route. My only exit is a 3-foot by 3-foot gap in the wall with a dilapidated wooden door. No idea what's on the other side, but no way I'm going back up that rope.
Time is short. Rikki and breakfast are less than four hours away. Not much I can do with the thick rope dangling from my window. First lesson learned: improve covering my tracks. Sucks to know that I'll probably have more of these life situations from which to plan an escape. Time to dive into an unknown darkness.
A rusty deadbolt with a lock holds the door in place. One swift kick splits it and the gate swings free. More screeching rats send a shiver down my spine. I cannot see a fucking thing...wait! The flashlight reflects off some type of mirror or glass, 15 feet in; looks like another door at the end of an unseeable gauntlet. Only one direction to move, I crawl into this space, devoid of fresh air, and with no idea what lurks above me or on either side. I'm terrified to point my flashlight in any direction except straight ahead.
I reach the other side, feeling both relief and scared shitless. Dead silence. I slowly scan the space to discover it's empty and that I can stand upright. Next drama, what's on the other side, or worse, who is on the other side of this door? The knob is stiff but it functions as I hear the latch release. Heart in my throat I crack it open. Nothing but more overpowering stench. Smells like death.
Narrow hallway, at the far end is a whitewashed brick wall. Three doors line up along one side. I bury my nose in my sleeve and try the first. It opens to a small closet strewn with a few old paint cans and random tools. My courage strengthens along with my frustration. It seems I'm beyond the rats but getting nowhere. The second door is probably another fucking closet...
The staccato yelp that exits my larynx is no match for the thickness of the foul air that envelopes me. I collapse to the floor of the opposite wall. My hand covers my mouth as I hyperventilate and simultaneously try to arrive at a plan B. The dead body hangs from a large hook, similar to the ones in my former 4th floor dungeon.
Suddenly, and for the first time since being raped in the ass a few hours ago, I hear a low moan. Weak and groggy, coming from behind the third door.
"Is someone there?" He or she whispers, "I need help. can you help me?"