Moments Lost and Found (21 page)

 “George, please just let me
go. You don’t really want to hurt me, do you?” She wasn’t sure if this was the
right tack to take, but maybe if she said that out loud he’d reconsider.

 “Oh, Samantha, you have no
idea how much I want to hurt you, and how long I’ve been waiting to have you.
So it’s really just a matter of time before it happens. We both know that
there’s no one in the office, no one’s going to come save you. And we also know
that I’m going to win. In games like these, trust me, I always do. So you’re
just prolonging the inevitable.” He laughed again, “or perhaps this is foreplay
for you? I know it’s turning me on.”

As sickening as the conversation
was, the more they talked, the more he drank. He was almost finished with his
third scotch and Sam knew that would be to her advantage. Granted, his anger
might be fueled by the alcohol, but it would also make his reactions slower if
it came to that. And by the sounds of things, it was going to.

 “Samantha, the sooner you give
in, the sooner I’ll let you go. This doesn’t have to hurt. You might even enjoy
it. Though, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He paused as if reliving a
secret memory.

 “It’s always more fun for me
when you bitches struggle. Oh God how I love to hear your little whimpers and
pleas. Just thinking about you begging me is making me hard.” The look on his
face was one of sadistic pleasure. He smiled as he reached down and started
rubbing his cock. Sam could see that indeed, there was a bulge in his pants.
She also knew from Craig’s training not to let the words get to her. It was so
hard given how disgusting they were, but she forced herself to focus on an exit
or anything that could help her.

 “You know what I hear when you
little whores beg me? All I hear is ‘Please, George. Ooh please.’” He raised
his voice to mimic a woman’s. “Between you and me, Samantha, I know you really
want it. All of you little cunts do. You pretend like you don’t, but I know
better. It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone. It can be our little secret.” Sam was
listening. He really was sick and twisted, but she tried to make sure to listen
to see if there was anything in there that she could use to help get her out of
what was escalating into something very, very scary.

She was looking around his office
looking for anything she could use as a weapon. She was too far away from his
desk to grab anything that was on it, and there wasn’t anything obvious like a
letter opener or a paper weight. He didn’t have any vases on his coffee table,
nothing in clear view that she could use. And she wouldn’t be able to make it
to the door without him cutting her off and grabbing her. The only way out that
she could see was to get him into a position that she had worked on with Craig,
and hope that with all that training, instincts kicked in.

She thought of one more tack to
take, “What makes you think that I won’t report you to the police?” She thought
fear of being arrested might knock some sense into him.

He laughed, “Really, Samantha? After
your much publicized affair with Laurent, do you really think that they’re
going to believe that I forced you? It seems to me that sleeping with your
French media clients would look like a pattern to them.” He chuckled and then added,
“in fact, I’ll bet it looks like that’s how you won both accounts. You have to
admit, the similarities are uncanny,
non
?”

Ok, so fear of the law was out. And
the mention of it just seemed to piss him off more. He put his drink down and
apparently was tired of their cat and mouse game around the office. He now
walked straight towards her. Sam was still behind the furniture as she had been
trying to go around the outside of the office, but all that did was make her
closer to the wall.

She finally made her move and ran to
the right thinking he’d come around the couch from the left but he actually
climbed over it and grabbed her, slamming her back against the wall. After the
shock of it, her first instinct was to push against him, which prompted him to smile
and say, “Oh, Samantha, the struggle is almost my favorite part. You women are
so cute, you think you have a chance and you push and pull, and I already told
you, all it does is make me harder.” He leaned in, his face was inches from
hers and said, “Go ahead, beg me Samantha. Let me hear you plead.”

He was so close to her that his
words and his stale scotch breath were making her sick. She took a deep breath
and tried to turn her wrists like Craig had taught her, and she freed her right
arm that way, but he still had her left arm. Her breaking free with one arm
seemed to make him madder as he yanked her left arm so hard she heard a
snap
and felt a sudden shooting, stabbing, searing pain in her left shoulder as he
twisted her arm around and now held it behind her. She was pretty sure her
shoulder was broken or torn or whatever happens to shoulders. The pain was
unbearable. She felt lightheaded from it, and for a moment felt like she might
pass out from the pain, but she had to block it out. She instinctively tried to
pull away again and he took his free hand hit her across her face so hard she
felt her lip split and suddenly felt a rush of blood in her mouth. “Now look at
what you’ve made me do, Samantha. But don’t think that a little blood will stop
me from putting that clever little mouth of yours to use.” With that she looked
him straight in the eye and spat in his face.

He whipped her around and slammed
her head against the wall. She was stunned and momentarily dazed. She literally
started seeing stars.
Focus, Sam, focus. Breathe.
She told herself. She
felt a new throbbing on her left eye. She couldn’t believe how much she hurt.
Her shoulder felt like it had been ripped out of its socket, her mouth was
bleeding and her left eye was starting to close, she could feel the knot above
it swell.

As her eye swelled up, she realized
it was soon hampering her vision more than helping it. Once again, she tried to
regain her breath, so she stopped struggling for a moment, which seemed to make
him relax ever so slightly. He had her pinned against the wall, her back to his
front. Her left arm was useless and he still had it in his grip. The throbbing
in her shoulder and eye was unbearable. The only thing that broke her from
focusing on the horrible pain was feeling George’s free hand as he reached
around and now started feeling her hip, making its way inside her blouse and up
to her breast. She let him continue, as much as it sickened her, she thought
that maybe, once he felt her breast, he’d get distracted enough to let up. She
was willing to suffer this small indignity if she could use it to her
advantage.

His hand was on her skin and she
could feel his hot breath in her ear, panting, “See, Samantha, that’s right, if
you just give in,” he said as he slid his hand under her bra and grabbed her,
“Oh, that’s so nice, see, you’re nipple is nice and hard for me, I think you
like this Samantha.” And as he started to play with her nipple she could feel
his grip on the rest of her relax a little. Not much, but she knew this was her
chance. She tried to control her panting, taking deep breaths, calming herself
as he felt her up. As she relaxed her body, she could feel his grip on her left
arm loosen a bit more, ever so slightly. She tried not to focus on his erection
pushing into her backside and his disgusting breath, hot in her ear. He started
rubbing himself against her, relaxing his grip even further. His hand continued
to knead her breast, his fingers sloppy as they pawed at her skin. Sam took
this time to take stock of everything. Her position with him, where she was in
the office, how much room she had. Her mind had thankfully kicked in and she
focused on what Craig had taught her if she were ever grabbed from behind. She
was glad she was wearing pumps as she lifted her right foot and
BAM!
slammed it down onto the top of his foot.

 “OOOOWWWW! YOU BITCH!” he
instinctively let her arm go as he stepped back and bent over a bit, holding up
his foot which gave Sam enough room to turn around and, with all her might, she
kicked him as hard as she could in his crotch which sent him crashing to the
floor holding himself yelling and yelling, “YOU CUNT, YOU FUCKING CUNT.” He was
writhing on the floor holding is crotch curled up into a ball.

Sam still only had one working eye,
so she had to turn her whole head to find her purse. She grabbed it with her
good arm and, through the throbbing pain somehow managed to run. He continued
yelling obscenities as she ran out the door and down the hall. Getting out of
his office was a blur, literally. Her left eye was completely swollen shut and
her left arm was so painful, but she couldn’t give into it. She had to run, she
had to get out of there fast. She first ran to the elevators, but the thought
of standing there, waiting like a sitting duck, there was no way she could risk
even a second. She turned around and found the door to the stair well, slammed
it open and started running down the stairs as fast as she could. After two
flights, she stopped to take off her heels, everything taking longer than usual
with only one working arm, and then continued running down, now taking two
stairs at a time. She kept trying to listen for him, to see if she could hear
him coming after her, but between her panting and throbbing and the sounds of
her own footsteps, she couldn’t hear anything else. After seventeen floors she
finally made it out into the parking lot and ran to her car, barefoot. The pain
of her feet was nothing compared to everything else.

When she finally got to her car, she
was sucking in air, gasping and panting, spitting blood every few breaths. As
she went to find her keys, she realized she had to put her purse on the ground
so she could dig in it with her one good hand and look with her one good eye to
find them. Staying still like that terrified her, her heart pounding with fear.
She had no idea how long she had before George would come after her. She was
shaking, searching, scrambling in her purse for her God damned keys. Finally,
she felt them, pressed the unlock button and opened the door.  She threw
her purse onto the passenger’s seat, jumped in, and then leaned over with her
right arm to close her door. She shoved the key into the ignition with
trembling hands, put the car into gear and sped away as fast as possible.

She drove for a few minutes before
pulling over so she could find her phone, and dialed 911.

 “9-1-1, what’s your
emergency?” the operator asked, just like in the movies, Sam thought. Only this
was real. Horribly, horribly real.

 “I wath…” she tried to speak,
but her tongue wasn’t working, and her lips were so swollen, and it hurt, it
hurt just to speak. And she was trembling.

 “Ma’am?” the operator
prompted.

Sam tried again, “I wath justh
attacked.” She tried so hard to enunciate. She was still panting.

 “Ok, ma’am, where are you
now?”

 “I’m in my car,” her breathing
labored, “I got away.” She tried to suck in air, she tried to talk, “But I
think my sthoulder ith broken and I can only thee out of one eye and,” at this,
finally, Sam started crying, sobbing, heaving. She was so scared and so alone
and in so much pain.

 “Ma’am? Ma’am, are you there?
Are you alone? Ma’am?”

In between sobs, Sam found the
strength to answer, “Yeth, yeth, I’m alone.”

 “Ok, ma’am, I am going to send
an ambulance to your location, I need you to stay where you’re at.” The
operator was calm and professional but firm.

 “NO!” Sam yelled. The operator
tried to interrupt with a few more “ma’am’s” but Sam just kept saying “NO”
until she calmed enough to say, “No, I don’t want to sthay here. I can’t just
sthit here.”

 “Ma’am, if you can only see
out of one eye and only have one arm working, I cannot advise you to drive.
Please ma’am, please stay put.”

 “NO! I am not sthaying put.”
The thought of sitting on the side of the road so near to George’s offices
terrified Sam. After what she just went through, she was not going to feel like
a sitting duck. “I am a couple milesth from St. Joeth, I’m driving myself to
the emergency room, but I want the police there. I want to make a sthtatement.
I want thisth asthhole arresthed.”

 “Do you know who attacked you,
ma’am?”

Oh God, this was really happening.
She was really giving the cops George’s name. “Yeth. Histh name isth George
LaRue. Histh officthe isth at…” and Sam somehow found the strength to give the
operator the address. She just hoped he would still be there so the police
could arrest him.

 “Ok, ma’am, I am dispatching
officers to that address. I am going to stay on the line with you until you get
to the emergency room.”

 “No, I have to call sthomeone,
I have to warn them.”

 “Ma’am, please don’t hang up,”
was the last thing the operator said before Sam hung up and dialed Laurent’s
cell. It was the first time she called him in over a month. She wasn’t
surprised when he didn’t answer. She tried to sound as calm as possible, but
between her split lip and a trembling voice, she knew she wasn’t doing a great
job. She probably sounded drunk.

 “Laurent, it’sth Stham. George
might be coming for you. I don’t know if the policthe got to him in time.
Pleasthe be careful.” Was all she said. She didn’t want to leave a message that
he attacked her. She just wanted to warn him. If George was so hell bent on
hurting Sam, the person he really wanted to hurt was Laurent.