Jannie Peirce was not surprised when she was abducted from the bench at Quiet Water Park.  She would have been devastated if someone had not taken her.  Not to be wanted by the “Despicables of Humankind,” who could survive that?  Why would anyone want to live after humiliation on that scale?  To bear your soul and have it rejected.  Nothing could compare to the depths of a person’s uselessness than that.  But still, Jannie felt even at her lowest lows, her abductor was obligated to her.  Even when the thief takes from someone, he owes them.  Enjoy Jannie’s perception of life.


We’re Not Lovers.  And You Owe Me.


JANNIE PEIRCE DID NOT look at the man when he told her to face ahead.  She stood still when he put the blindfold over her eyes.  She removed her clothes as he told her—slowly and all of them.  When he tied her hands behind her back, she did not resist.  She never reacted as he stood behind her pleasuring himself.

He repulsed her.  Several times she swallowed the vomit that burned its way up through her esophagus into her mouth.  She tried not to ruin the moment.  Involuntarily her body lurched a few times. 

None of it phased her abductor.  His needs were all that mattered.  He continued to completion.  She understood she was a participant in this depraved act.  The “why” did not matter. They both had their roles to play.  Her instigation of the events obligated her to his whims and he to hers—regardless of their perversions.  She hoped he would remember that. 

When he took her by the shoulders and guided her face down across a Chaise Lounge, she followed his lead.  She hated everything he did to her.  To get through it, she focused on the toys in the room ahead.  There were plastic cars on the floor.  Several large dolls that looked expensive were in a chair.  A pair of women’s Nike running shoes were on the floor. 

He had a family, she thought.  Good. 

During all that he did, she forced herself not to put up a fight.  Her focus was on the end result.  Not his.  Not pleasure.  Because it was not pleasurable.  But the end result was required and needed.  And based on what she saw in the other room, he had no choice but to follow through.

Unlike her abductor, whose end result was a brief, intense moment of ecstasy, hers would be permanent.  She was certain it would be.  Logic indicated it would be permanent.

What criminal who was married and had children would abduct a twenty-one-year-old woman and rape her in his house and let her live?  Even though he blindfolded her, there was a chance she got a glimpse of his face when he approached her on the bench by the White Oak Trees.

The man finished with Jannie some three hours later.  Her thoughts were jumbled when he made her shower.  He even helped scrub her clean.  To her shock, he helped her dress.  Then he walked her back to where he abducted her.  At which time, he said, “I assume you have a car nearby.” 

“I do,” she said.  The anticipation made her feel as if she was about to hyperventilate.  Get on with it was what she wanted to say. 

“Thank you for not looking at me,” he said.  Her back was to him.  That is how he positioned her.  “It was better for us both that way.”

Tears streamed down her face.  Her body had no scent.  It was as if nothing happened to her.  She knew it did.  She could still feel it.  This was wrong.  Everything was going all wrong.    

“Look, don’t cry,” he said.  She nodded.  Her back still to him.  “You’ll be okay.  You’re tough.  No hard feelings.  No pun intended.  But you were asking for it.  Right?”

“Yes, I was,” Jannie said.  “And more.”

“Sorry about the more,” he whispered, patted her on the back, and was gone.

Those events took place three weeks ago. 

Jannie was now back near the bench and the White Oak Trees.  It was two a.m.  She stood twenty feet away from them in the weeds.  She had come back to the same place, every night, for three weeks.  Her theory was basic and thought-out.

A predator who gets away with something and does not understand what he got away with will do it again.

Through the darkness, with night vision binoculars, she saw a man walking down a path.  His walk was similar to the man that took her that night three weeks ago. 

She rubbed the side of the twelve-inch bowie knife against her pants.  The blade was sharp as a razor.  It should have been.  She sharpened it for three weeks.

I hope you enjoyed this part of the short story.

If you did, pass it along to a friend and follow me on my blog.


Stephen Wallace

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