14 Born to Make the Kill

(Caution: This scene contains strong sexual violence)

As the rape continued, Natalie Beaumont’s body became consumed with involuntary reactions and she felt like she was going to die anyway. Her heart pulsated with such force she thought her arteries would burst from the pressure. Tightness gripped her chest with such a constricting suffocation, her lungs failed to draw in adequate oxygen. Then a hissing sound, like a relief valve on her mom’s pressure cooker, filled her ears. As the savage beast ravaged her with relentless power, the sound grew louder and she threw her hands up to her ears to thwart the noise without success.

She opened her eyes but her vision had become impaired. It started on the peripheral; gray and black formless objects were floating, bumping, bouncing, morphing, like something from a child’s nightmare; no colors, just various depths of shadow. As the enveloping darkness continued to encroach toward the center of her being, she could see the outline of her attacker, but, the more she concentrated on him, the more he turned amorphous. Her mind falling, turning, sinking into a fathomless abyss, she gave up the fight.

Then, while she felt her life siphoned away, something on her face began to arouse resuscitation. Warm at first but as the cool air in the warehouse brushed across it, it grew cold. Her lungs started to relax; her breathing deepened and the frightening shapes began to float into the distance.

The face suspended over her came into focus. She expected it to be Tony but found Hank’s repulsive visage instead. His hands pinned her shoulders to the wooden pallet and his torso loomed over her. He licked her face like it was an all-day sucker. With the knowledge that it had been his tongue that revived her—and now repulsed her—she reached to his unguarded face and dug her fingernails into his rough, scared cheeks, scraping long deep bloody scratches into them.

“Ah, you bitch,” he shouted, and brought his hands to the fresh wounds. He examined the blood on his fingers, looked back at Natalie and punched her in the jaw.

Her head swung hard to the right from the blow and she had to fight the blackness that threatened to return.

Hank stood upright, withdrew from her and pissed on Natalie’s breasts and stomach. He expelled a vulgar laugh.

As the brine flowed onto her nipples it stung like nettles on bare skin. She couldn’t see the marks but she sensed that during the attack Hank must have bitten and scraped her to the quick. She clenched her teeth against the burn, and would not allow Hank the satisfaction of a scream. With her fingers dug deep into the blanket, she wrapped them tight around the wooden slats underneath it to hold back the quake the sudden the surge of adrenalin forced on her body.

When he finished, Hank pulled up his jeans and began to fasten the buttons.

Tony stood next to her and picked up the .357 revolver by the nickel plated barrel. She knew it was there but it had been just out of her reach.

“You havin’ fun yet, whore?” He swung the butt of the gun and slammed it into her pubic bone.

“Ahhh,” she shrieked. She let go her hold on the pallet with both hands to grabbed her crotch. “Son-of-a-bitch!” she shouted and then turned her wet eyes to Tony. She braced for him to take his turn.

Rudy could hear the attack as he dressed, but couldn’t bring himself to look or intervene. Tony had a pistol and he feared Tony would use it on her just to spite him. This hadn’t been the plan. Tony and Hank could find girls any time they wanted. Why did they need to rape Natalie? Every time she groaned, shrieked or shouted, the guilt of what he had brought upon her felt like white-hot embers seared his bowels. He just wanted it to stop, for her sake as well as his.

He was in love with her even though it, for now, was one sided. Hank had chided him with a word he loathed—obsessed. That made him sound depraved. Infatuated was no better with its immaturity implications. So he preferred love, even though he had no former frame of reference. Even now he believed Natalie would reciprocate his love once she realized how passionate, sensitive and attentive he could be.

Her shout, “Son-of-a-bitch,” drew his hands up to cover his ears.

Natalie closed her eyes while she laid on the solid surface waiting, and wept. Her wounds were too many to count. They all seemed to merge together in one intense distention of agony. The pungent scents of the urine lying in a pool at her sternum and semen brought a gag reflex to her throat.

“You’re up, boss,” Hank said to Tony. “Damn good pussy, if you don’t mind it rough.”

Tony had stood to the side of the pallets and watched her every action. She had shown her willingness by opening her legs to him and even now she seemed to be waiting for him. Tonight she had passed two of the three tests. She was definitely a woman, and waiting meant willing. There was just one left. But whether she was worthy would be a trial proven over time.

“Not this time, Hank, I’ll take her later. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Natalie was relieved but stunned. She thought Tony had let his savage have the taste first before he devoured what was left.

“You sure, boss?”

“Yeah, get her in the car.”

“Okay” he said to Tony. Hank turned to her as he fastened the last button at the top of his black jeans. “Get up, bitch.”

Natalie continued to lay there in silence with her feet on the edge of the makeshift bed. She took a couple of deep breaths to bring her breathing back to normal. Earlier she had been willing to live through it, now, she just wanted to die. No nightmare she could remember compared to being violated so mercilessly. But having to live with this ugly memory was something for which she didn’t know if she had strength.

“Damn it,” Hank yelled again, “I said get up!” He reached for her left arm and yanked her to a sitting position.

He pulled with such might she thought he would dislocate her shoulder. She fought through the tearing pain and opened her eyes as her feet came off the pallet. They fell over the edge.

“You son-of-a-bitch!” she cried out again through gritted teeth. Hank stood in an exposed position right in front of her and she remembered how she had resisted Alex’s attack in the cornfield. It was too late to stop Hank, but not too late to retaliate. With quick simultaneous movements, she swung for the blood filled scrapes on his face with the clenched fist of her right hand and kicked between his legs with both feet.

He blocked her hand with his left forearm just as her feet crash together into his groin.

“Ah,” he shrieked and released his hold. He fell to his knees and grabbed his crotch. “Goddamn bitch!”

Natalie watched him go down and felt gratified that she had been able to strike back. But the glory was short lived. To her side she caught a glimpse of movement as Tony stood. She had no time to react before consciousness was ripped from her.

_____

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13 Born to Make the Kill

(Caution: This scene contains strong sexual violence)

She opened her eyes and sat up on the blanket. Tony stood where he had been standing before the blindfold had been tied to her eyes. He nodded his head with a look of approval. The boy who had just been inside her had picked up his robe and now held the towel out to her.

Hank was gone.

“Damn you bastards,” she said and as she began to slide off the pallets, she reached for the towel. But just before she got her fingers around it, from behind, someone clasped her hair and wrenched her back down to the bed.

“What are you doing, Hank?” Rudy shouted.

Natalie started to rise up to her elbows, but Hank grabbed her left shoulder with his free hand and forced her down again. As her head slammed to the wooden surface the second time, Tony stepped in front of her.

“No!” she screamed. She sensed her vulnerability return and the dread turn to terror.

Rudy dropped the towel and robe and rushed to push Tony away. Tony turned, doubled his fist and met him with a solid blow to the stomach. The force raised Rudy off his feet and he crumpled sideways.

Hank’s rough hands held both of Natalie’s shoulders and pinned her to the table. She drew her legs together and thrust her feet out toward Tony as he advanced. She caught him in the chest and then pulled her legs back to a cocked position like the string of a bow about to release an arrow. She twisted her body without success to get free from the strong hands holding her from behind to the hard wooden surface.

“Oh, you want to play games, huh?’ Tony scoffed.

Hank cackled like a witch behind her and kept her pinned down.

Tony stepped to the side of her and seized her ankles one at a time. Then, back in front of her, he slipped his left arm around her calves and pulled them tight against his body.

Even though she knew it futile, she continued to kick, but being shackled by both men, she had no way to affect any means of stopping the attack. She glared at Tony and the sneer on his face was nothing like she had witnessed before. He had the audacious look of a conqueror.

He reached back and pulled a six round Colt Python .357 revolver from his waistband and with a violent thrust, shoved the barrel into the place where the teenager had been only moments before.

“No!” Natalie screamed and looked to where the barrel disappeared inside of her. The contrast was stark. The boy had been firm with anticipation, but his flesh warm and supple. The steel inside her body now felt cold, inflexible and committed to brutality. She traced Tony’s arm to his face. The wicked snarl on his lips brought a quiver of terror she had not sensed since she stumbled upon a rattlesnake coiled to strike in the chicken coop.

“Either this goes off in you or I do. Your choice!”

Hank, with a sinister laugh, said, “I’m next.”

“No!” Natalie screamed, “Please, don’t do this. Let me go!”

In her peripheral vision, she saw Rudy, still naked, get back to his feet. He closed his eyes and rubbed the side of his head.

“You bastards!” he shouted. “It isn’t supposed to be like this. She was for me.”

He started to run at Tony a second time, but Tony cocked the hammer of the revolver still inside Natalie.

Rudy looked toward the distinct sound and stopped short of his target. His eyes met Natalie’s and then rotated back to Tony. “Leave her alone.”

“You had your turn, now it’s ours.” Tony’s face spun toward Natalie and he continued. “What’s it gonna be whore, me or my gun?”

Hank laughed again, baying like a wolf at the full moon.

“I can’t watch this,” Rudy said. “I’m sorry, Natalie.” He grabbed his robe from the floor, and headed away.

“Please don’t do this,” she pleaded. She squirmed to free herself from Hank’s grip but was afraid to jar Tony’s hand lest she set the gun off. 

Tony pulled the gun out of her, released the hammer, and then slammed the cold steel on her ribs.

“Aha,” Natalie said unable to hold back the shriek. Involuntary tears began to well and then released a trickle into her ears. She clamped her legs together again.

“No more games,” Tony shouted.

Natalie hesitated for a moment longer. Tony’s eyes had narrowed and his face twisted into a hideous snarl like every nightmare she had dreamed about Satan himself. Now, she would either have to let this vile monster into her body or die right here. The thought that dying wouldn’t only spoil their sport but it would spare her reliving this violence for the rest of her life gave her pause, but she didn’t want to die, not here, not tonight, not like this.

She stopped struggling, closed her eyes and relaxed her legs. 

_____

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12 Born to make the Kill

(Caution: This scene contains graphic sexual content)

 

Rudy’s Valencia eyes took in her exquisite body. He had seen it before but not like this, not so close and not his.

He was so shy and insecure around girls, he could count the number of dates he had in high school on the fingers of one hand with digits left over. Fear of rejection and an unhealthy dose of self-loathing nourished what little dignity he had. It seemed easier to sentence his soul to relationship exile then to try for a date and end up with some girl scoffing at his nerve.

Up until he dropped out of school, he had friends who were girls, but no one he could say was his girlfriend. In his mind, they knew he wasn’t the forward type. That relieved them of the concern that he might display some unwanted attention toward them and do the unimaginable like hit on them. The older he got, the more frustration built. Just the thought about any one female for too long fueled his unfulfilled desire. To find release and subdue the gnawing beast for a day or so, he invented intimate stories in the night hours.

This was a simple operation and had been in the works for several weeks. When he watched Natalie perform at yesterday’s shoot, however, he knew the time to implement was perfect.

Now he stood wearing a dark blue bathrobe with his hands on the naked flesh of the object of his desire. She waited for him to take her and, within moments, he would have her.

He let his robe drop to the floor behind him and guided Natalie backwards a step. At the edge of the makeshift bed, he steadied her as she sat down and then eased her to her back. She lifted her feet from the floor, and rested them on the edge of the pallet. He placed a hand on each knee to push them apart. At first she resisted, but then he felt her relax.

He leaned in over her body and kissed her lips. The fragrance of her perfume drifted to his nose. He inhaled deep and held the pleasure inside. His left hand found her right breast and then he moved his mouth to the other one. He kneaded it with the tip of his tongue. When he finished, he slid his lips down her body until he reached her golden triangle. She released a gentle moan. She’s probably acting, he thought, but then dismissed it. He chose to believe his tongue pleased her.

He found the place where he knew his pent up urgings would be satisfied and pushed through the portal into her conduit of pleasure; the coupling more erotic than any fantasy he had ever imagined. He leaned forward, placed his hands on her forearms, and began the instinctive lover’s rhythm.

Natalie felt her body secrete an involuntary response. An unexpected urgency in her core embraced a raw determination to move with him, but a cognizance in her mind began to fight back. She was being violated and yet she had chosen this. It was not against her will. With both hands, she grabbed the blanket covering the platform on which she lay. She had to persevere. For Ansell, and her career, she had act the scene and fight Amy’s deliberate effort to sabotage her chance.

She tried to take her mind somewhere else—the smell of the lilacs growing next to the front porch on the farm, a Sunday School class picnic with handmade potato salad and fresh squeezed lemonade, her sister popping her chewing gum and drinking a bottle of Coke after dinner in their secret hideout—the weeping willow. Nothing but her present trauma, though, made any offer to relieve her of the weight of this moment. Physical stimulation on the cusp of pleasure, yet mentally she was under the most degrading attack imaginable.

The awareness continued to mount until her natural instincts were crushed by a voice. It came from her depths and roared more like a possessed guttural growl than a scream. “Stop!” She pulled and twisted her hands to free them from the man’s grip but he held on too tight. “Please no!”

His thrusts deepened and continued. Can’t he hear me? Why doesn’t he stop? Amy Westerhill be damned, this has to end.

“Stop!” She screamed again. “Stop now!”

The man still didn’t listen and the others didn’t step in to help. She reasoned they thought she was performing her role. She was supposed to resist. Tony had told her earlier she could leave if she wanted to, but now his silence and inaction meant the violence continued.

She tugged harder than before against the firm grip on her right arm and wrested it free. She threw her hand to the blindfold and tore it away. The face of the man between her legs jolted her. A boy, rather than a man, hovered over her, his face strained with lust—but not just any boy. It was the boy with the brown helmet hair. He had stood at her dressing room door yesterday at the Xandar studios. She witnessed the spark in his eyes transform from disarming to deceptive and back in a flash. Now, with his head thrown back, he panted like he couldn’t take in enough air. Those same eyes were squeezed tight shut. A smile of ecstasy radiated on his face. This was no screen test. There was no movie deal. Ansell Parker had nothing to do it. She had been lured here like a trout chasing a spinner. It had to stop.

“You!” she shouted. She drew her legs back, planted her feet on his chest and pushed him backward hard.

He stumbled as their union parted. In that second, his eyes flew open. Despair and grief tore across his face. The expression was more than being robbed of the culmination of his desire. This was no act of violence for him; he was making love.

Natalie slammed her eyelids closed and wept. Despite his motivation, making love or having his way with her by the seduction of the hope of fame, she had let him invade her body. There was no way to go back. She had been used to satisfy this boy’s carnal fantasy.

She needed to get up—to leave—but the humiliation of letting herself be baited paralyzed her. For a moment she couldn’t force her will to open her eyes sure the men gawked at her nakedness and naiveté in amusement. But all was silent, only the arc of a florescent light’s ballast filled the room. And then an uneasy knot took root in her chest. The longer she lay still, the more dread festered and swallowed the quiet.

_____

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11 Born to Make the Kill

“If you’ll step around the end of these pallets,” Tony said, “you’ll find a place where you can change into the towel. Let me show you the way.”

She looked back at Hank and watched his gaze as it traveled from her bottom to her eyes. The leer had vanished and he stood motionless with a vacant expression. Not the brightest set of headlights on the highway to Hell, she thought, and then turned back to follow Tony.

Behind the pallet wall where they had been standing, the room opened up. A light fixture on a yellow pole illumined a small stack of pallets. It resembled the halogen drop light her dad used when he worked on the tractor after dark. On the pallets, some blankets were spread out in an effort to make it look like a bed and to cover the rough splintery surface.

On either side, a few feet from the set, more appliance cartons rose from the floor. She followed Tony as he led the way down one of the rows between the stacks. The further they walked the dimmer the light became and she felt like the shadows from the towering cartons were giant bodies whose hands reached out to grasp her. At last they came to a place where a refrigerator sized box had been left in the aisle and he showed her around to the backside.

“It’ll be private here. You can change,” Tony said. “There’s a hanger with a towel.”

She looked to where he pointed and saw someone had bent the hanging end of a wire hanger ninety degrees. It poked through the side of the carton.

Crude, but functional. She stepped behind the tan box.

“When you’re ready, just join us back on the set and we’ll begin.” He turned and walked away.

Natalie slipped her clothes off like she had done at the studio so many times, and hung them as best she could on the hanger. She left her boots and purse on the floor. The bone chilling concrete under her bare feet seemed a little price to pay for the potential career reward that might follow. She wrapped the towel around her body. It was just long enough to cover her private areas—not that modesty matters here.

She stepped out from behind the box and walked back toward the set, relieved to escape the cavernous boundaries that closed in on her. As she came to the opening at the end of the stacks of cartons, she saw Tony standing near the pallet bed with his arms folded. Hank, next to him, peered at the monitor on a small video camera pointed in her direction. She stopped and waited for instructions.

“Are you ready?” Tony asked.

She felt like her emotions had possessed her body. This could be the launch of her career, so she had to perform well. Yet, a strange man waited somewhere in the shadows to have sex with her. Tony had been right. This tested both her acting ability and her will. If she could do this, a love scene with Ansell surrounded by a large film crew would be simple. She caught herself trembling and although she wanted to believe it was from the cold floor, she knew that wasn’t true. Insecure Amy threatened control. She had to be banished. Natalie closed her eyes and forced herself to remember a lesson from an acting class about centering. Relax, breathe, focus.

She opened her eyes again and said, “Sure, let’s shoot it.”

“Okay, you’ll walk toward the bed as if you just stepped out of the shower. As you get there, you will see a figure in the shadows and think it’s your lover. Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Camera rolling! Action!”

Natalie walked toward the bed with a sullen expression and sat down. She looked to her right and noticed a figure stood in the shadow at the end of a row of cartons. She couldn’t make out his face.

Why the thought came to her now, she couldn’t imagine, but when the Queen and her court saw her on the screen with Ansell in his new movie—where I’m a star—the roles would be reversed. She would be their envy. All the useless cowing and begging to be let into their tiny circle would soon be a forgotten memory. As a dead girl, she had no reason to think that when that movie rolled, they would recognize her as the one Ansell gave the impromptu kiss, but as a costar with credits and a lengthy love scene, they wouldn’t be able to miss that Natalie Beaumont—Amy Westerhill—had made it big. 

See that boy?

The shock of that vivid memory forced a gasp. It had been years but it felt like yesterday. So unexpected, so distant, and yet so brutal it nearly swallowed her whole. Why now! Not now! To bring her back, Natalie turned to Hank. “Camera rolling,” she remembered Tony saying and then turned her focus again on the man in the shadows and imagined him as Ansell Parker. Her body stirred as she relived his aqua eyes that gently drank her in on the set yesterday. She stood.

“Is that you, my love?” She tried to inflect desire into her voice, but felt the improvised line came off too cliché.

“Yes … uh.” The man forced a whisper.  “Close your eyes, I … have … a surprise.”

Natalie noticed his words didn’t flow naturally and he seemed wooden and nervous, but she closed her eyes. This was her shot not his. Ansell would see this and she wanted to be as convincing as possible even if the other actor appeared to be an amateur. She felt someone touch her shoulders and turn her about. A soft cloth brushed against her nose and then tightened over her eyes. He tied it behind her head. After the blindfold was tight, his hands touched her shoulders again. He spun her slowly to face him.

She remembered the scene as Tony had described it and reached her hands toward his face.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

She felt him loosen the towel draped around her and it fell to the floor.

_____

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10 Born to make the Kill

Hank Rogers had stayed out of sight until he heard Tony and Natalie begin to talk business. The plan had been executed just as Tony said it would. While Tony kept her occupied facing away, he slipped around the far end of the row of pallets and slunk toward the door. He stayed hidden in the dark corner next to a stack of refrigerator cartons until Tony sealed the deal. They knew there was a strong chance she wouldn’t agree to the scene and walk away, so Hank lurked waiting. If Natalie had taken a few more steps toward the exit, he would have stepped out but when Tony convinced her to come back to the set, he knew force wouldn’t be needed yet.

Henry Plancrest-Rogers’s life until his high school graduation in the mid 70’s had been destined to follow the footsteps of his father into the family’s Boston insurance agency. To the family’s dismay, things changed when he declared he was joining a rock-n-roll band. Profligacy had more appeal than his Acolyte duties at the parish church so when his band signed a recording contract four years later, his brief joy ride on the rock-star glory-train kick started. With the sellout concert tour travelling across the States, he found himself adapting with ease to a different hotel room every night with any girl he chose, preferably more than one at a time, and feasting on drugs—smoking, snorting, and shooting—as long as he stayed high.

The band became so self-indulgent, though, they failed to recognize the torch of celebrity needed to be refueled from time to time. So when they didn’t plan their next break-through album, the group imploded. Once the screaming crowds and the groupie girls vanished, the only thing left for Hank was the sickle-bearing, hooded menace of addiction.

Hank, that has-been drummer in that one-hit-wonder rock band, now turned from the door and looked across the warehouse to where a pretty little ass walked toward Tony. It had been a long time since he had had a piece like that and with the instant stir just below his belt, he grabbed his crotch and walked toward her.

Despite the surprise that Natalie had turned back to him, Tony felt a surge of hope. In doing so she had taken the first step voluntary towards Ma’s salvation. But when she heard the door close, her eyes registered shock, and the risk resurfaced—she might still change her mind and walk. The choice must be hers.

“It’s a closed set,” he said with the suave assurance of a used car salesman. “We don’t want strangers walking in on you.”
 

Natalie looked at him and tried to read his face. In school her naivety led her to be easily conned, but this wasn’t school. This was the real world. His scarred features seemed for a moment a vision of the scowl on her preacher’s face when he ranted about eternal damnation, a myth, now that she knew better, she didn’t buy.

She looked back over her right shoulder. A second man walked toward her. He wasn’t attractive and the closer he got, the tighter her stomach seized. He wore a black baseball cap with crusted yellowish sweat stains above the bill. His thin gray hair hung out from under it, and fell limp on his shoulders. The hair, the stubble on his unshaven face, the soul patch under his lower lip and the scarred, swarthy skin on his cheeks, affirmed he was much older than Tony and had lived a harder life.

“Is this him?” she asked and looked back at Tony.

“Him?” he asked. He paused and then like he understood that her question was about who she was to have sex with, he replied with a laugh, “Oh no! Natalie, meet Hank Rogers. He’ll be our cameraman tonight.”

Natalie felt some of the tension begin to drain from her body. Her shoulders relaxed and the hard knot in her stomach loosened a measure. Hank had come alongside her and held out his hand. She hesitated, but then took the hand offered and shook it.

The flesh felt cold, dry and harsh against her soft skin. A repugnant aroma emanated from him, a cocktail of tobacco, beer-breath, and body odor. He wore food-stained black jeans and a black leather vest with silver, bullet shaped studs around the edge. Under it, a soiled white T-shirt covered his chest. It looked like he hadn’t changed his clothes in weeks, and from the wrinkles in them, they doubled as pajamas.

She gave into a smile, enough to be courteous but measured so it wasn’t encouragement. She couldn’t say “Pleasure to meet you” as that would be a lie and even “Nice to meet you,” would have been pushing it.

He returned a broad grin that revealed a number of missing teeth. The ones that remained were crusted with tarter. The longer he glared his expression became a leer as he ogled the exposed cleavage beneath the lapels of the rose-colored blouse she had left unbuttoned for that reason. His tongue protruded from his mouth and he licked his lips like a dog lapping up the remains of a meal.

“Can’t wait, huh? You’re going to see it all in a few minutes, you pervert,” she wanted to say as she took her hand from his. She rotated back to Tony and resisted the urge to pull her coat over her exposed chest.

“Be good now, Hank,” Tony said. Then to Natalie, he continued, “He’s harmless, just doesn’t know how to behave around a lovely girl such as you. Are you ready to sign the waiver?”

She paused to reflect a moment over the last few seconds and then stepped forward with resolve to review the document. As he had said, it looked standard. She scanned it quickly and saw the name of a production company she didn’t recognize with Ansell Parker listed as the president. She took the pen Tony held out and signed her name on the line provided. When she finished, she offered the pen back, and watched him sign his name next to hers.

_____

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9 Born to Make the Kill

“Oh, this?’ He pointed to the document with her name. “This is just a waiver. It states we have the right to capture your image on tape for our use but not for commercial distribution. Standard stuff. We’ll get to it in a minute.”

Next to the waiver, Tony studied a much larger well-worn document—dog-eared in many places.

“Okay … Is that the script there?”

“Yes, but we’re not going to use it tonight. Tonight will be about … ” he hesitated and turned his acne-scared face to hers, “improvisation. You improvise don’t you?”

“Of course.” She put just enough assurance into her tone to show him self-reliance but not overconfidence. “I just need an idea about the character and the scene.”

“Well, the character is a woman,” he began, twisted his body to face her, and crossed his arms over his chest, “who has been separated from the man she loves for many months. She’s home one evening and has just finished showering. When she steps into her bedroom with just towel, she sees a figure, a man, in the shadows. She believes it’s her lover come home to surprise her. So, she loosens the towel, lets it drop to the floor and walks to the bed.”

Tony expanded on the story and then concluded, “While they’re having sex, she realizes this man is not her boyfriend but an intruder. Her body so craves intimacy, though, she gives in and becomes a willing partner in her own rape.”

“Wow, that’s intense … I take it there’ll be nudity?”

“That’s also in the waiver. You don’t have a problem with that, do you? You’ve been naked in front of the camera before, haven’t you?”

“Well, yes but … usually I’m dead, Tony.” She arched her eyebrows and allowed her dimples to blossom as she smiled.

Tony laughed. “Well … you don’t want to be dead for this scene.”

Tony paused and she felt his eyes bore into hers. She wanted to break the stare but feared this was part of the test, so she kept her smile bright and waited for him to continue. 

“There will be sex, too.”

Tony weighed her expression. Her smile diminished and she replaced it with a hesitant look of shock. For her to back away now would ruin the plan—but it has to be her choice.

Since his Ma was a hooker, Newark, New Jersey’s finest didn’t waste time looking for the drunk who brought her premature and violent end. It was as if they said, “Good ridden to bad trash.” So with her life cut short without finding redemption, Tony knew her absolution rested in his hands.

That was something Tony could resolve. Someone had to pay, to stand in the gap for her. He thought he found a way through an act he could commit without fear or remorse. Yet, even though causing the lights to go out in a man’s eyes released for a moment the raging inferno always mounting in the core of his brain, over time, he knew his actions had fallen short. Something was missing in every human sacrifice he proffered and Ma was still in the Hell to which she had been abandoned.

Like the Abraham and Isaac Bible story Ma used to read him, he had looked for someone both willing to climb on the altar and worthy to pay the price. Only after meeting Natalie yesterday did he acknowledge that what she embodied gave light to the final requirement. It had to be a woman. However, before Tony could rest in the assurance that Natalie represented the perfect union of the three requisites, she had to be tested. Tonight he would discover if she was willing. The road to Ma’s pardon would begin when Natalie became Ma.
 

“Actual sex?” The unexpected announcement caused Natalie, even though she restrained a shout, to speak louder than she wanted. She wrestled her emotions and brought control to her voice. “You want me to have sex with someone?”

“It’s what Ansell needs. The scene you’re playing tonight is direct from the script and Ansell himself plays the role of the intruder. The film is very explicit and will leave little to the viewer’s imagination. Natalie, doing a sex scene on film with dozens of crew watching can be intimidating for some people. I’ve seen actresses under contract choke and end up quitting which costs the production company. So Ansell insists that the screen test include you in the actual act of sexual intercourse. He wants to gage your ability to relate to the different emotions this scene demands while distracted by what is really happening to you.”

“I don’t know about this,” she said and took a step back. She had made a promise to herself when she moved west that she would pursue a legitimate career in film. She knew with her body, she could have found plenty of lucrative work in the pornography industry. In fact, her agent had suggested soft porn as a way to get in front of the camera and earn credits, but she had turned him down. To take her clothes off in front of the film crew was one thing, and uncomfortable the first few times, but performing sex on camera was something she couldn’t see herself doing—ever.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she continued, “but I think I’ll have to walk away. Please, thank Mr. Parker for the opportunity.”

She turned and strode toward the door.

“Ms. Beaumont,” Tony said, “I do hope you’re not making a mistake. Opportunities like this only come once and there are no retakes. If you want to take a pass, though, you’re free to go. No one’s stopping you.”

Natalie came to a halt twenty feet from the door.

“I’m sure there are any number of girls,” he continued, “who would be willing to make this sacrifice for a chance to play opposite Ansell, not to mention the fame that’ll bring.

She continued to stand still, her back to him. She could hear her own words echo in her head, “Whatever it damn well takes.” She knew she had to make a tough choice for her career’s sake and it had to be now. Dreams had been made and destroyed in moments like this. If she walked away, Amy Westerhill won, and Natalie might regret it for the rest of her life. If she submitted, however, this would be a decision she could never unmake.

In high school she had experimented with sex. One afternoon after school, she stood up her chores at the farm and went with a boy to the barn behind his house. There in the loft, he was so anxious—and she so nervous—it was over too fast. In a way she felt relieved.

But an unexpected pain tore deep in the place where he was inside her. The raw ache brought an uncontrolled squeal to her lips and silent tears spilled into the hay beneath her head. She had had “the talk” with her mom, but somehow her mother left out the part about popping her cherry. So when the blood flowed, not only was she shocked and nauseous, but she thought something had gone wrong. Maybe “the wages of sin” had caught up with her like she had been taught at church—punishment for premarital sex. But after some research in the school library, she found out it was a natural and a onetime event.

Up until today, though, Natalie had only been with guys she knew. Whoever this actor was, he was a stranger. How can I let him into my body?

She turned and looked across the room at Tony. She couldn’t read his expression but he smiled. Unlike the stone face she witnessed the first time they met, this smile seemed welcoming. It’s only sex. I know how to do that, and it’ll be over soon. I’ll never have to do this again. She hesitated a moment longer. The memory of the warmth of Ansell’s hand on her face and mouth on her lips yesterday made her heart leap. With the tempting thought of the hours it would take with their flesh pressed together to shoot a complete love scene with him—maybe even more than one—she felt her body lean forward. But, as she put one foot in front of the other tracing her steps back toward Tony, behind her the door through which she had entered the room a few minutes earlier groaned and shut.

_____

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© Jearl Rugh 2012

All Rights Reserved

8 Born to Make the Kill

The closer Natalie Beaumont drove to the address, the worse the neighborhood looked. She had followed Tony’s directions so she knew it had to be near, but the ramshackle houses with dirt yards, broken down cars and chain link fences brought back the keep-your-distance feeling she had when she first met Tony. Street after street of unseen barking dogs in the yards of dark houses with streetlight shadows on steel bars over doors and windows added fuel to her despair, but she pressed on until a warehouse district appeared.

The surroundings there weren’t much better, but she could feel the threatening air begin to lift. As she rounded the last corner, she saw the building Tony had given her as a landmark. Voices in her head shouted, “Turn around and get out of here,” “Stardom is too far a reach,” “What if he is an ax murderer?” but she refused to listen. She had come too far. She wanted this too much and was determined to make it happen.

She pressed on through the gate.

Above the man-size door, she saw the address numbers Tony had given her—“9797.” This is it, she thought, and her heart skipped with both anticipation and anxiety as her mind raced forward to the scene she was about to do for Ansell’s approval. The sweep of her car’s headlights fell on the only other vehicle in the parking lot, a large dark sedan she judged, at first glance, to be at least forty years old, maybe older. She saw that much of the brown paint had faded or rubbed away to bare metal, and some of that had been replaced with gray primer. The body, the lower edge eroded with jagged rust holes, also presented with dents and scratches under a fresh coat of LA smog. As Natalie glanced at the old classic, she felt that something about the car didn’t set right. But with the next step in her career waiting, she pushed the warning and uneasiness aside. She proved she could take care of herself the day Alex attacked her in the cornfield and, as self-sufficient as she had been over the last two years, she could do it again now. It’s just nerves, she convinced herself.

 

While the others made the final preparations, Tony Alonso stood at the make shift desk and shuffled papers. With the hungry look in Natalie’s eyes in the studio parking lot yesterday, he knew what he tendered would have been beyond mere temptation for her, there was no other decision she could have made. So her confirming phone call came as no surprise. With that knowledge, he could induce her to do anything he wanted, but if she was the chosen, she would volunteer to begin the passage.

Always at the base of Tony’s thoughts, Ma demanded his attention. Over time she had revealed enough truth about his beginning to know he was no accident. The rest grew from a distorted view of his truth.

Ma had only been a girl when John Lennon recorded “All You Need Is Love.” She took it literally. Her search became both her obsession and her addiction. Her abusers—johns, pimps and dealers—substituted for what she needed, but didn’t fill the void.

Then, from the depths of her exploitation and hopelessness, the answer opened itself like a fresh spring tulip. It seemed so simple, so obvious. A baby! In her work, no shortage of men could provide the missing element—the seed. Not only would he never know he fathered a child, but she wouldn’t know who the father was. The plan was perfect. No one would ever vie for what she created, what she craved. Conception would cleanse her. Birth would bring forth that one perfect thing.

Her anguished drive, though, had a perversion all its own. Love was an act she sold to any man with a wallet. But her quest could only be fulfilled by spawning someone who must give her the unconditional love and utter dependence for which her soul ached. No other human relationship could bring her to the heights of nirvana.

But the bondage to her daily work trumped the dream. No matter how much she willed otherwise, her weakness couldn’t control the damage she heaped like blazing coals on her only child. By the time Tony could form sentences, so she wouldn’t be fettered to the needs of the boy, she forced him from her studio so the parade of men could tramp at will up and down the stairs of the brownstone walk-up.

Tony pulled a document from a manila envelope just enough to expose the heading and studied the name written across the top—“Natalie Beaumont.” He thought, Could she really be the one?

The squawk of a dry hinge pulled his attention away from that thought. He realized it was most likely the signal that Natalie had stepped inside. His tan, tweed jacket lay in front of him. He slipped his arms into it, and then reached to the small of his back to make sure the coattail concealed the pistol tucked into his waistband.

Meanwhile, Natalie stepped inside and let the door close behind her. With a dull thud, it slammed to an abrupt stop on a small stick wedged into the doorjamb. Her mind, focused on her future, dismissed what should have appeared as an apparent breaking and entry, and glanced down the long stark hallway. It was poorly lit by incandescent bulbs in steel mesh fixtures suspended from the ten foot ceiling. At the other end, some fifty feet away, she could see light stream through another door opening.

She began to walk.

The click of her black boots on the concrete floor and the swoosh of leather against leather as the arms of her black jacket swayed forward and back with each stride, made a confident sound. But self-assured she was not. With each step fear, like that fourteen year old standing in front of the contemptuous cheer-squad queen, washed over her. She wanted to do her best tonight, to capture the scene perfectly so when Ansell viewed the tape, he would know he had discovered his next costar. But, like the nightmare where the pursued needs to run but each step pulls deeper into quicksand, Natalie felt that with each tread her legs gained ten pounds. Her heart responded with heavy throbs under the strain.

When she reached the opening, another man-sized door, she stepped into a large warehouse room out of breath and exhausted with emotion. She stopped just inside and allowed her eyes to adjust to the brighter light.

Her heart slowed to normal as she took in the room. Around the walls she saw rows of appliances in brown cardboard boxes. The sizes of the cartons varied. Some large enough to contain refrigerators and freezers while others were small enough to protect washers and dryers from shipping damage. They were stacked on top of each other and reached high enough to almost touch the rafters. Some of arrows on the “This Side Up” stickers pointed towards the floor. Can this be a sign? she wondered.

She focused on the middle of the room. Several neat stacks of pallets piled at least ten feet high formed a row across the center of the open area. At the far right end a shorter stack rested. She recognized the tan jacket and dark ponytail of Tony Alonso. He stooped over the pallets like a work bench.

“Come on in, Natalie,” he said without turning around.

She hesitated for a moment longer and then walked with purpose toward the lone figure. She stopped a few feet from him, like last night in the parking lot, just out of easy reach.

“Mr. Alonso.”

“Tony, please. Here for your screen test?” he asked with his back still toward her.

“Interesting place for a shoot, Tony,” she said, and took another look around the room.

“Yes, but if you use your imagination, it’ll be the perfect setting. Won’t you step over here?”

She took three steps forward and could see he had several papers spread out on the makeshift desk. Her eyes fell on a manila mailing envelope with a document partially exposed at the open end. It looked much like contracts she had signed under the guidance of her agent. Enough of it was exposed so she could see her name at the top.

“Are we signing a contract tonight?” she asked, and couldn’t thwart the hope that eased her soul.

_____

Can’t wait for more; go to Amazon.com to add this to your bookshelf.

For more about me, visit http://www.jearlrugh.com/ or Facebook

 

© Jearl Rugh 2012

All Rights Reserved