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Saturday, August 22, 2015

83 Born to Make the Kill

The side rails of the ladder extended above the bed of the loft by three feet so that climbers would have hand support while they stepped in. She sat down on the hay and kicked at one of the rails with her right foot several times. It had been fastened to the loft securely and didn’t budge. She aimed her foot at the other rail and pounded on the post. This time she felt it move. She hit it again and again. The rusty nails came loose and one side of the ladder swung out from the loft.

“Shit what you doing up there, Whore?” Tony shouted.

Natalie scooted toward the rail and pushed it as hard she could with her foot. It twisted out but she was still unable to budge the other side. Just then, she saw Tony’s hand reach for the rail still attached. As the last remnants of daylight trickled through a hole in the roof and fell across the top of the ladder, Tony’s snarling, acne-scarred face appeared in the light. The rake had caused fresh wounds and blood trickled from his forehead and cheek. He had the look of a madman on his countenance with his teeth clenched together in a Cheshire cat grimace.

Natalie lay on her back and jammed her right foot at Tony’s face. He ducked his head to his right and grabbed her ankle at the same time. His right hand, wrapped around the ladder rail, was exposed and she slammed her other foot against his knuckles.

He quickly let go, balanced only by his feet on a narrow ladder rung and Natalie’s ankle. He held it tight and waved his right arm like a windmill.

She kicked her right foot to disengage his hand and throw him off balance even more. But his grip was like a vice. He pulled himself back toward the ladder.

She felt her body slide toward the edge of the loft and put her hands down into the hay to act as a brake. There was no purchase and she continued to slip forward.

Tony reached out for a rung, just getting the fingers of his right hand around it.

Natalie lashed out again with her left foot. She aimed at his face again. This time the spiked heal of the black leather boot caught him in the right eye. His head snapped backward from the force of the blow. A scream of anguish escaped his lips and he grabbed his face with his right hand. Thick, red ooze flowed between his fingers and down his cheeks.

“Bring it on, Whore.”

That outburst caught her by surprise. Did he need violence to arouse his sexual appetite? Despite the confusion, she sensed a glimmer of hope begin to radiate through her as she realized she could win this battle. Soon Tony would have to slither off into some dark corner to lick his wounds or die.

With his left hand Tony pulled on her foot again and she felt her body slide closer to the edge of the loft. Much closer and she would be suspended over space. She reached for the side rails of the ladder and held on.

He released his right hand from his eye and stretched for the rail. With his left hand, he let her foot loose and reached for the other support.

With her foot free, she kicked him once more. This time the sole of her boot planted in his chest. It didn’t throw him. His hands held tight. She kicked again but he was too close to affect any damage.

“Right where I want you, Whore!” he screamed and stepped up another rung. Blood dripped off his face and into the hay between her legs as he leaned over her body.

She rolled backwards in a reverse summersault and came up on her knees. The hay scratched against the infection and the wound throbbed. But she held her position. Her eyes watched the agonized look on his face turn into a menacing scowl.

He opened mouth, but with the butt of the pen braced against the palm of her hand, this time she was prepared to stifle his retort. Natalie thrust the pen toward the demonic face contorted in front of her. It passed through his snarling lips, and found lodging in the back of his throat. She pushed as hard as she could until she felt the point penetrate his esophagus.



Tony gagged and gasped but couldn’t speak. The blow pushed him back from her. He released his left hand from the ladder and grabbed the pen. With a quick tug, he extracted it from his throat and threw the offense to the dirt floor below. Although the pain in his eye and now his throat was excruciating, she had proved her worth.



Natalie could see his silhouette against the raging hellhole on the other side of the barn. While he had fought with the pen, she had turned around on her knees. Now she eyed her target and kicked backwards into Tony’s chest. He swung out and tried to catch the hand rail again with his left hand, but missed.

She kicked again. This time the sole of her boot slammed into his throat.



The instant her foot made contact, Tony knew his larynx had been crushed. He reached for his neck with both hands and attempted to free the obstruction in his windpipe. Already off balance by the first blow, he fell backwards.

Everything was suddenly out of control. No sight penetrated through his blood drenched right eye and the left, filled with tears, made Natalie’s image at the head of the ladder a blur like an unfocused photo. Oxygen didn’t flow naturally into his lungs despite his efforts to rip the damaged obstacle from his throat. His equilibrium off balance, his world seemed upside down with no hope of righting it.



As soon as she saw him fall backwards, Natalie spun around and looked between the rails of the ladder. Tony plummeted through empty space. From the light of the blaze now overhead, she saw a puzzling look of satisfaction on his face and above the roar of the inferno, she heard him struggle to laugh. Not the sinister screech she had become accustomed to, but a chortle seemed to say he was at peace. Defeated and yet unexplainably relieved.

The sound of the thud when he hit the ground, like a sack of manure tossed over a fence, seemed anticlimactic compared to the perverse language he had used against her. In the fingers of fire light that danced across his crumbled body on the dirt floor, he looked like a discarded marionette among the barn’s decay ridden remnants.
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