Held & Pushed (2 book bundle) (38 page)

Beneath their names, there were words written in
lower case and marked with no punctuation.

Way back on the thirteenth of March, Ron had
written the letter C. Beneath that
were
the words
glued eyes
. My blood ran cold as I
stared at those letters, and suddenly I wished I’d never looked at the damn
calendar.

The next day, the fourteenth of March, the woman’s
initial was absent, but the lowercase words were there;
sex
followed by
nose
ring
and
teeth
. I didn’t
need a codebreaker to know what those words meant. They were notes of the
things he’d done to the women that had the misfortune to find themselves in his
basement.

I could easily imagine what he’d done regarding
this particular woman’s nose ring. I’d once witnessed him rip out a woman’s
piercings—all of them—one at a time. And he wasn’t gentle about it.

As for the woman’s teeth, it was no stretch of the
imagination to figure that he’d plucked them from her gums with pliers or some
other tool. Or perhaps he’d knocked them out of her mouth, maybe with a hammer.
Either way, it wouldn’t have been a pleasant experience for her. I could almost
hear her screams as she was pushed over that line, the point where she stopped
begging for her life and started hoping for death.

Unable to read any more of the disgusting diary of
Ron’s crimes, I placed the calendar on the desk next to the laptop, which was
now booted up and ready to go.

On the computer’s desktop was a file entitled
WORK
. I clicked on it, which opened up
a dialog box that contained a list of files, arranged alphabetically. I scanned
the list but wasn’t entirely sure of what I was looking at until I saw the word
HELD
. I knew then that these
were his books, books that Ron had written. There were fifteen in all.

Even more disturbing than the number of books he’d
already written was a file called
NOTES
.
I moved the cursor until it hovered above the file, but I couldn’t bring myself
to click on it. Not yet. I knew that it would contain a much more detailed
version of the calendar, grisly accounts of things he’d done. I wasn’t ready to
see that.

The fact that such a file existed suggested that
he had no plans of stopping any time soon, and it erased any lingering doubts I
had about whether or not I was doing the right thing. I now knew for sure that
I was.

I found the file with the most recent date last
modified and clicked to open it.

While it loaded on the screen, I took a deep
breath, preparing myself for the words I was about to read. But honestly, would
I ever really be prepared to read something like that?

When the file was ready, my eyes began scanning
the words and I knew immediately that I would be skipping lunch.

16

W
hatever
Nicole was doing that was keeping her was not nearly as important as what she
should’ve been doing, which was tending to Ron and his needs. For example, he
needed to relieve himself but he couldn’t because he was still strapped to the
table, a metal table that attracted the coolness of the basement and chilled
him to the bone.

In addition to that, his back ached, his head was
pounding, and the circulation was cut off to his hands and feet just enough to
cause a prickly sensation that was unpleasant at best.

Ron had expected Nicole to come down to the
basement first thing to see him, but as best as he could tell, it was late
morning and she still hadn’t appeared. The thought crossed his mind that she
had left him for good, that she’d strapped him to the table and left him to die
alone, nearly naked and with a full bladder.

But she wouldn’t do that. Not to him. Not to the
man who loved her.

So then the question was if she hadn’t left the
house, what was she doing that was keeping her from him?

The obvious answer to that question was that she
was nosing through his personal things. It infuriated him to imagine her, his
beloved Nicole, intruding upon his privacy, reading things she shouldn’t read
and seeing things she shouldn’t see. Fortunately, he was a man of few
possessions. He had never kept souvenirs of any kind, and not just because he
wasn’t the sentimental type. In the event that he ever fell under the suspicion
of the police, he wanted there to be no evidence whatsoever to support their
claims. Souvenirs equaled evidence. But even though there was very little for
her to find, she should not be sorting through his things. It was beyond rude,
and if he ever found out that she had in fact snooped, there would be hell to
pay.

Left with no other choice, Ron closed his eyes and
tried to sleep. It was the only thing he could do to try to take his mind off
his discomfort and pass the time.

It was quite a while later before the overhead
lights flicked on and he heard the sound of Nicole’s footsteps as she came down
the stairs.

He wanted to yell at her, to scream and call her a
filthy fucking bitch, but he refrained. It was common knowledge that you caught
more flies with honey than with vinegar.

“Good morning, Nicole,” he said with a smile as
she approached the table. “Or is it afternoon?”

She walked right up to the table, stood next to
it, and glared down at him.

“What’s the matter? You look angry.”

In a flash, she drew back her hand and slapped him
across the face.

Ron clenched his jaw to keep from screaming at
her.

“What was that for, may I ask?”

“For being the sick fuck that you are.”

“Now, Nicole. Such language isn’t becoming on a
woman.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d be happy to. If only you’d let me off this
table. Or I suppose I could still get the job done if you’d climb up here with
me.” He smiled and winked, offering up his best flirtations.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“And why is that, exactly?”

“Because you have to be stopped and apparently I’m
the only one with balls enough to do it.”

“What do you mean you’re the only one? Have others
tried?”

He could see her weighing her words, deciding
whether or not she should say anything more.

“I went to the police about you.”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “Did you
now
?”

“I did.”

“Interesting.
That must
not have worked out well for you because I certainly don’t see any police
officers here. What did they say?” He was curious to know. So far, he gathered
from her demeanor about the subject that they’d blown her off. At least that’s
what he hoped had happened.

“They couldn’t find you. They sure as hell didn’t
try too hard either.”

“Well now, Nicole,” he chastised. “Police officers
are busy people. There’s a lot of crime in this city that needs their immediate
attention. They don’t have time to run down every story told to them by some
delusional woman. No matter how pretty she is.”

She said nothing, just stared at him with hate in
her eyes.

“Nicole, if you could be a dear, I really do need
to relieve myself. I’ve been holding it for quite some time now, and as you may
or may not know, that really isn’t healthy. It’s not good for the bladder. So
if you don’t mind, I would love to use the restroom.”

She smirked. “I bet you would.”

He looked at her quizzically. “What does that
mean? Are you not going to let me up so I can relieve myself?”

“No. I’m not.”

“Well how am I supposed to go?”

Nicole shrugged. “I don’t know. And frankly, I
don’t give a rat’s ass. You can either hold it until your bladder bursts or you
can piss on yourself. The choice is yours.”

“Nicole, have I not been nice to you ever since
you broke into my home and began holding me captive? Have I not treated you
with respect and kindness?”

“Need I remind you of all the things you did to
me?
Because I can.
I’ve got nowhere to be and a long
list of grievances.”

“But that was before. It’s all in the past. This
is now. And now I have treated you with kindness.”

“Kindness?
Had I not
turned around when I did yesterday, you would’ve killed me.”

“Now that’s an unfair assumption on your part.
I’ve done nothing to give you reason to believe I would’ve killed you. If I
wanted you dead, Nicole, I could’ve done it long before now. I could’ve done it
when I had you in my home the last time. Or I could’ve done it on any number of
days since you ran out my front door. It’s not like I didn’t know where to find
you. I didn’t kill you because I didn’t want to kill you. I didn’t want you
dead, Nicole. I still don’t.” He wanted to say add
yet
to that sentence, but he held it in and kept it to himself.

“If killing me was so easy to do, you should’ve
done it. Because I’m here now, and I’m not leaving until you’re no longer
alive. That’s a promise you can believe in.”

For a moment, Ron was struck speechless. He could
tell from her demeanor that she meant what she said. Even without the serious
tone, her words were easy enough to interpret. What he couldn’t understand
though was why she would feel that way. Why would she hate him so much when all
he’d ever done was love her? It was a mystery to him, a puzzle that he was
determined to solve.

Trying to keep control of the situation, he
changed the direction of the conversation.

“I see you haven’t lost that spunk that I love so
much.”

She turned and walked away, slowly drifting over
to the wall of tools that hung above the work table.

“You know,” Ron said, trying to keep her attention
away from the tools. “It was your attitude and lively spirit that attracted me
to you in the beginning. Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to you, Nicole. I
always have been. I suppose I always will be.”

“Lively spirit, huh?” she asked without turning to
face him. She pulled a tool off the wall, but from his position behind her, he
couldn’t see which one she had chosen.

“Yes. I found your quick wit to be stimulating.
Conversations with you were always such a joy for me. You have no idea just how
much I pleasure I obtained from playing the many games of cards with you, from
eating all those meals across the table from you, and from your company in
general. I’ve certainly missed you, Nicole, and I’m ecstatic that you’re back.”

“You shouldn’t be, Ron.”

“Why is that?”

She whirled around to face him.

“Because I’m going to kill you.”

It was then that he saw which tool she had chosen.
She held it tightly in her hands with a determined look on her face.

17

I
t
felt good to watch Ron’s eyes grow wide as he noticed the belt sander I was
holding. It shouldn’t have felt good, but it did. I certainly didn’t enjoy
instilling fear into another person, but this was Ron. He didn’t count as
another person. He was a monster who deserved to be frightened.

“What are you planning to do with that, Nicole?”
His question was directed at me, but his eyes remained on the sander.

“Well the way I see it, you can’t be trusted. You
proved that yesterday when I turned around to find you sneaking up on me. I’d
left you upstairs, positive that you couldn’t get free. Yet you did. So to keep
something like that from happening again, I’m going to take preventive measures.”

“What sort of preventive measures?”

I tilted my head to the side and gave him the
attitude he claimed to like so much.

“Do you really want to know, Ron? Wouldn’t you
rather be surprised? Wouldn’t it be more exciting if you didn’t know?”

His jaw lowered and rose but no sound escaped. It
seemed that quite possibly for the first time in his life, Ron was struck
speechless.

I nodded slightly.
“Yeah.
I think so. The element of surprise adds a little excitement to things, doesn’t
it?”

“Nicole—”

“
Shh
. I think it’s best
if we just do it and get it over with. I think you’ll agree that it should be
done quickly, like ripping off a bandage. Or a piercing.”

I plugged the sander into the nearest socket and
turned it on, watching as the belt of sandpaper whirled around and around at
top speed.

The howling began when I pressed the sandpaper to
Ron’s left foot. It started with him yelling my name, desperately trying to
reason with me and convince me to stop. That was never going to happen, and
once he saw that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with me that way, he began to
shout curse words.

To remind him of who was in charge here, I pressed
harder on the sander, forcing the rough sandpaper to dig into his skin even
further.

With his head tilted back, Ron opened his mouth
wide and howled.

It was odd to hear him scream, to hear him beg and
plead for mercy. Normally, he laughed as other people suffered, his guffaws
drowning out their cries and their pleas. It was strangely satisfying to see
the tables turn on him, to watch as he found out what it felt like to be on the
receiving end of such excruciating pain.

If the bottoms of his feet were raw, walking would
be next to impossible for him. And if he couldn’t walk, he couldn’t sneak up on
me. I would finally be able to relax knowing that he was no longer an immediate
threat.

When the many layers of skin had been stripped
from his left foot, I moved over to his right and repeated the process.
Gripping the sander firmly, I held it to his foot, making sure the coarse
50-grit sandpaper really tore into his flesh and ripped away enough layers of
skin to give me the peace of mind I sought.