Chapter Text
II: Something to feel you closer
Joe’s POV
I
inspect every inch of the second rainbow carefully and now that there
is not even the shadow of an empty spot I can consider myself satisfied.
Oh god, maybe you’re right, Bronte. I’m a perfectionist.
Or rather I really like having all under control.
By the way, why aren’t you back yet?
It’s been a quarter of an hour, probably some more, how long is supposed to be the break you wanted to take?
I’ll reach you upstairs, outside.
You’re not here.
Maybe you already went to our apartment, without even warning me?
I remember all the time you asked me if you could quit the job a bit earlier because you needed to write.
If it’s true that I find it cute, there’s also a part of me who’s very jealous of your damn laptop.
I want all your attention for me.
However, you’re not even in our apartment.
Are you leaving me? Again?
It absolutely makes no sense, not now that we’ve reached such a level of understanding and trust.
Plus your rucksack is here, just like every cloth of yours and your books.
Not to mention your laptop.
Where are you, Bronte?
I call your number and the phone is turned off.
I’m liking this less and less.
Something is just not adding up.
And I have a terrible, very terrible feeling.
I rush outside once more, searching for any kind of clue, but I find nothing.
I rest my back against the half opened shutter, in frustration, and then something falls on the ground.
Something that was stuck inside it and I hadn't seen.
It’s a birthday card… sort of creepy.
First, because it’s not your birthday, Bronte, neither is it mine.
Second, because the deep red balloons on the cover almost remind me of blood.
I pick it up and open it.
Fuck.
That’s even creepier.
There’s a handful of red hair inside.
Not just any red hair.
I would recognize it among a million ones: it’s yours, Bronte.
And the message is even worse, shit:
It’s my birthday, Joe? Who knows? Not-dead people
probably lose their right to have a birthday. But let me give you a
little advice: next time you kill someone, get sure he dies for real;
otherwise they could become a tad revengeful. And I do perfectly know
what your weak point is. I took her away with me, but I felt somewhat
generous, so here’s a little souvenir of her. Have a nice mourning…
Oops, sorry, I meant ‘morning’. Maybe.
I tear that fucking card to smitherens, but it’s nothing compared to what I wanna do to who wrote it.
Son of a bitch. Whoever you are, you’re living on a clock.
I backtrack all my latest victims.
Uncle Bob? I can clearly still hear the noise of his neck cracking under that lasso.
And I know for sure I got the right twin killed. That blow on her temple couldn’t lie.
About the stupid Clayton… I can’t actually think of a more splatter way to kill someone.
Oh no.
My most recent victim.
I’ve lurked in the shadows, waiting for him to get home. Waited
for the perfect moment to strike… Then walked away, without really
checking.
Shit.
How dare that fucking wasting of space being still alive?
How dare that fucking piece of shit taking you away from me?
Right here, under my nose.
And if he already had wicked plans the first time he met you…
I have to stop him, just… how?
I recall the moments when we were painting in the basement. You were wearing your hair down.
No hairpin around it. Especially not the one I gave you.
Probably you chose not to wear it, because you were afraid to
spoil it with the paint… and, sure, I appreciate how fond you’re of my
gift, Bronte; but it would have made things a lot easier for me.
I’m so furious that I need to blow off, but kicking
the wall won’t bring me anywhere, that’s why I rush to my car, heading
to a specific place.
I went there a few days ago, and I still remember the road.
I don’t know what I was exactly hoping to find, going to Dane’s place.
I needed him to put a foot wrong, maybe bringing you here, but he
can’t be that stupid, since he’s aware that now I know where he lives.
I’m toying with the idea of breaking through his apartment and
searching for some clues, maybe a pic of the place where he decided to
take you, or a map, or anything else.
I need to put my mobile on silent mode, not to get any
distractions, but doing so I accidentally click on the Tracking App
related to your hairpin and… wait a minute it’s moving.
Oh, Bronte, my clever, wise girl, so, even if you’re not wearing it, you have my gift with you.
Putting that smart tag under one of the fletchings is very likely the best decision of my life.
Fuck me for not checking it before, how much time did I lose?
I hope it’s not too much, as I set my car in motion and drive as fast as I can, following the direction, until I see it stopped.
I hope there’s no traffic police around, because I’m not in the mood to be stopped.
I’m approaching some sort of woodland.
Sadly, this is the perfect place for acting wicked.
I clench my fist so much that my knuckles hurt, as I get out of the car.
I run until the signal indicates me to, then I look down, rather disappointed.
The hairpin is here, but you’re not.
You must have lost it. Once again.
Or the bastard must have snatched it away from you.
I collect it, as I take a look around.
All I seem to see is just trees, bushes, tall grass and… Wait a minute, what’s that odd building down there?
Fuck.
Someone is screaming.
Not someone.
You.
I run as fast as I can.
Bronte’s POV
I bring my hand behind the nape, massaging the spot where my hair has been torn so badly.
It’s not a big deal, compared to what is going to happen to me next.
All I know is that I’m gagged in a fucking car with a psycho misogynist who clearly has anger management issues.
Where are we going? And wherever it is, what is going to happen to me when we’ll be there?
Will I see the end of this day?
This might be the last time I see you, Joe, and the last thing I said to you is that you’re a perfectionist…
I bring my hand inside the pocket of my pants, holding something.
The arrow shaped hairpin you gave me.
I know it’s something stupid, sort of childish too, but it makes me feel that you are closer, somewhat.
What could you be doing now?
Did you already find Dane’s message? Did you already figure out I’m gone?
This is not right, not now that we reached such a level of mutual understanding and honesty, and complicity…
The days we got to spend together in such harmony are just too few.
I can’t help crying thinking about it.
“Oh, someone is crying here…” Dane bursts out laughing, scornful.
“Save your tears for later, when I’ll give you a fucking good reason to
cry, bitch. And to scream, too.”
I’m paralyzed with fear now, as I hold the hairpin tighter, trying to stay strong.
Of course, Joe, now I would appreciate it more if you had given me
a knife as a gift, so I could draw it out of my pocket at the proper
moment and do what I should have let you do that day when you tested me.
But even without the knife, I saw where the bastard placed his gun.
Inside the dashboard, along with my switched off phone.
It would take just a quick move and the gun would be in my hands.
And I would know what to do.
But the bastard keeps staring at me, I can’t do anything.
“Don’t worry, you won’t have to wait for long. We're almost there.”
Dane takes my mind away from my dark thoughts as he parks the damn car.
It seems we are in the woods, in the middle of fucking nowhere.
He opens the car door and drags me out of the car so abruptly.
My still aching ankle touched the ground and I bite into the gag, silently cursing.
It hurts like hell and not only once.
Because the damn Dane here doesn’t even give me the time to hop my
way across him, he pushes me forward and I bet he’s even glad every
time I yelp and jolt because I’m forced to put my right foot on the
ground.
And it’s not even the only reason I’m so desperate about.
My hairpin is not in my pocket anymore.
All these abrupt movements made me lose it somewhere here.
With a big effort, I try to kneel down, fumbling with my hands in the long wet grass, uselessly.
“What
the hell are you doing? Move on!” Dane snaps, pulling me up, violently
and pushing me forward again, until I can see a sort of tool shed.
Where are we?
“One of my friends is a hunter and this is his shed.” He seems to
answer my silent question, as he opens the door. “But it’s not hunting
season, so there’s no one around here.”
“You won’t need this anymore.” He growls, tearing my gag away. “No one will hear you here. No one is gonna save you. Hope you’ll like this place, since it’s the last thing you’re going to see.”
Of course I don’t like this horrible place, so narrow, dusty and barren.
But even if we were in a five-star luxury hotel it wouldn’t make any difference.
I don’t even try to scream. I already know he’s right about it; no
one would hear me, so I choose to just speak, to satisfy my curiosity.
“Why me? Why are you so angry with me? I even helped you get out from that fucking cage!”
“Oh yeah, you helped me, sure,” He laughs in my face. “Too bad that then you’ve sent your boyfriend after me, for killing me!”
“I… what?!” I frown, as my mind tries to process that shocking information.
“Don’t play innocent with me, bitch! That’s why you needed to know all my whereabouts…” He goes on, angrier and angrier, as I try to back off, stumbling on every object that’s scattered on the floor.
“But
your boyfriend was in such a rush that he didn’t even bother to check
if his task was fully accomplished. Lucky for me, a couple of old ladies
found me on the ground, more close to death than alive, and called the
ambulance. It took a long operation and lots of morphine to endure the
pain after that, but… here I am, still alive.”
Saying so, he lifts his T-shirt, showing me a long, large scar crossing his stomach and abdomen.
I stare at it with consternation.
Oh, Joe, what the fuck did you do?
You had promised…
What about our mutual trust?
“And craving my revenge.” He adds in a growl. “I can’t believe Joe stopped believing in our cause, in order to protect you…”
What fucking cause did you and him ever believe in? This man is so deranged.
But
I can’t run anywhere, not with my leg not working, not in this
panic-stricken state… I can barely back off, until the wooden wall stops
me.
“Why? What do you have so fucking special? I’d have to verify it. Maybe it’s the way you kiss?”
He pushes me against the wall and bends quickly over me, his awful lips pressed against mine.
I clench my teeth and keep my mouth closed, but the bastard covers my nose until I have only one way to keep breathing.
And when I do it, he forces his disgusting tongue in my mouth.
It’s horrible, I wanna puke.
I try to push him away, but he’s so much stronger than me.
So I scratch his face with my nails and bite his tongue with my teeth, so violently that I draw blood in both cases.
“Aaahhh! You, crazy bitch!” Dane roars, before slapping my face,
so hard I lose my balance and fall on the floor, among dust, straw and I
don’t know what else kind of dirt.
I try to get up, no matter how the hell my fucking ankle is aching, but he doesn’t let me.
He pulls my sweatshirt away.
“It’s not the kissing, so it must be something else!”
He puts both of his filthy hands on my T-shirt, tearing it off.
“There we go, does Joe like holding your little boobs?” He laughs, cupping my breast still trapped in my bra.
It’s already disgusting like this, but Dane wants more.
He draws out from his pocket a pen knife and uses it to cut the straps and the hooks behind my back.
My
bra falls all the ground, as helplessly as me, as this horrible monster
brings his hands and his awful mouth on my breast and my nipples.
I scream at the top of my lungs.
“Yeah, scream as much as you want, bitch. No one can hear you anyway and I’m loving this.” He laughs, pinching my nipples, mercilessly.
“Stop it, please, stop it!” I yelp, as I try to crawl away from him, but he holds me so tight.
So intentionally tight. He just wants to hurt me in every possible way.
I can feel bruises on my ribs, on my abdomen, on my hips.
My skin is getting more blue than pink.
“Now let’s get to the funniest part.” He sneers, undoing his belt.
And I just wish I could die before he starts doing what he plans to do.
“Get the hell away from me, you, fucking, slimy maggot!” I growl, trying to kick him with my only working leg.
“Shut up, bitch!” He snarls, hitting me with the knife handle. “Get ready to take me, all of me, like the whore you are!”
My vision is so blurred by my tears and the blood that’s tickling down from my wounded eyebrow; as he’s trying to pull my pants down and I offer every possible resistance.
From behind his back, I see a figure slowly approaching, as silent as a thief.
A familiar figure.
The blow must have been harder than I thought and now I’m having a vision.
There’s no possible way you, my Joe, can be here.
The vision!Joe gestures to me to keep silent.
Who am I not to obey a vision?
Especially if he’s holding a mallet.
In the meantime, the bastard managed to cut the middle of my sweatpants.
But
before he can start that horrible thing I can’t even bring myself to
name, the mallet lands on his temple with military precision.
Or rather a book fixer precision.
To be only a vision, he did a flawless job, since now the bastard is lying on the ground, senseless.
But I’m afraid I’m only imagining this…
“Bronte…”
Maybe I’m already dead…
“Bronte… Louise… It’s me. I’m here. I got you.” The soothing voice of the vision is gently skimming my hand.
Oh.
I can hear the voice.
I can feel the touch.
“Joe?” I barely utter, in my still catatonic state.
Joe’s POV
Seeing you like this, so half naked, so utterly helpless and vulnerable; it’s killing me.
Not to mention the bruises all over your body, your swollen ankle, now even more inflamed… My poor baby.
I was so tempted to smash that bastard’s head with my mallet,
especially when I saw from the window what he was doing to you; but I
would have granted him a quick death that he doesn’t deserve for sure.
Still trembling for the anger, I rudely move away your passed out aggressor.
I kneel before you, afraid to do anything that can shock you even further.
I start calling your name, both of them, softly, hesitantly bringing a hand over yours.
“Joe?”
Your voice is barely a whisper, but I can hear you.
You startle, shaking off the numbness.
Your faraway eyes turn to me and they seem to regain their awesome light.
“Joe!” You repeat, louder, more awareness in your tone.
You throw yourself into my arms, and I hug you tight, wishing I could comfort you with every fiber of my being.
“There, there. It’s over. Everything is over now. Fear no more, my love.”
You are trembling for the cold, for the shame, for the scare, for the shock.
I take off my jacket to wrap it around you.
You cry all your tears as you hold tighter to me, wetting my shirt.
It’s okay, these are going to be your last tears.
I promise.
“I got some blankets in the trunk of my car. Be right back.” I explain, as I sweetly part from you.
“No, please, Joe, don’t leave me alone with him!” You plead, still sounding so heartbreakingly scared.
You even try to get up, but I prevent it, holding you and making you sit down again.
“Trust me, sweetheart, he won’t recover so soon. Plus, I also need to take something to deal with him.” I convince you to let me go.
I rush towards my parked car, where I take the blankets, a bottle of water, some ropes and something else that could come in handy.
When
I enter the shed again, you’re still in the same spot where I left you,
staring at your aggressor with pure terror in your eyes.
But as I’ve predicted, he’s still unconscious.
“This will make you feel better.” I hand the blanket to you, along with the water.
You let the plaid warm you and cover your still visible nakedness, as you stare at me, so intently.
I’m not gonna ask you something lame and stupid like: ‘How are you?’
Of course you feel like shit.
I prefer to let this comforting silence speak for us, as you sip some water.
“How… how did you manage to find me?” You decide to ask the main question.
I draw the hairpin out of the pocket of my jacket that you’re still wearing.
“You tend to lose it way too often.” I smile, gently placing it on your hair.
You smile brightly.
“Oh. You’ve found it. Thank you so much, Joe, but… it doesn’t answer my question.” You frown.
I smirk.
“Well, it does, if you think a little about it. Do you remember what I told you when I gave you that?”
“That it was something to feel you closer.” You reply, as you
start to figure everything out. “Oh. So actually it was something to
make me feel closer to you… or rather checked by you.”
“I know I shouldn’t have… but I couldn't resist the temptation of putting a tracking device inside it.”
“Fuck Joe , it’s as creepy as hell!” You reproach me. “But… I
thank you for that. This actually saved my life. You, sneaky, little
stalker!”
You even attempt to smile at me, despite all this awful situation.
This is the strong girl I hopelessly fell in love with.
“I will always find you, Bronte, Louise Flannery.” I murmur, holding your hand.
I would like to do more, but, of course, it’s still too soon.
“Can’t wait to bring you back home and take good care of you, making you forget all of this nightmare, but first…”
I get up, lifting the bastard up and placing him on the only chair available.
“I have to deal with him.” I growl, as I tie him to the chair with the ropes.
You first look at me, then at him, then at me again and there’s a light in your eyes I’m not quite sure how to decipher.
But I like what I see.
TBC