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  “You can drink what you want. But drink it slowly. I promise I will let you have your fill,” Roll said kindly. Carrie nodded up at him. Once more, Roll let her drink.

  She drank more carefully. She stopped for a breath, inhaling in a large amount of air, then once more drank at a slower rate. True to his word, Roll did not take the bottle from her lips until she was

  satisfied.

  * * * *

  Once she finished, he lay her gently back down. He again felt her heart, then pulse. He slipped his fingers between her skin and the bindings, and she realized he was making certain her bonds were not cutting off circulation. When he finished, she was still watching him with trepidation.

  “You didn’t kidnap me for ransom.” It was a statement said tightly.

  “No,” Roll concurred.

  “What are you going to do with me?” Carrie asked.

  “I think you already know, since you haven’t been harmed,” he replied.

  Carrie closed her eyes and shuddered. She rolled to her side away from him and buried her face into the mattress while she sobbed. Yes, she knew. She had heard horror stories of white slavery, sexual bondage. She would be forced to serve her master or

  masters for the rest of her life, any way he or they chose, always fearful of punishment or death.

  She wondered if she were in her own country

  anymore, though she doubted it. She didn't know what day it was. She knew no one would be looking for her. She would not be missed, help would not come; she was all alone in the world. Carrie turned her head and looked up at him.

  “Please, Roll, I want to finish school. I want to

  help children who have nothing,” she cried out. “Please let me go, please give me back my life. I won’t tell. I swear.”

  Roll rubbed her back. “This is always the hardest

  part; it will get easier. Once you are forced to accept, you will not be as fearful. Don’t be afraid. They are not all cruel,” he said.

  Carrie sobbed harder, realizing it would not

  matter how hard she begged or pleaded, or what she promised, he would not relent. She felt doomed. Her body began shaking in despair. Her sobbing was leaving her breathless and she found it hard to breathe. A tight, aching feeling crept into her chest and she groaned, knowing what was to come if she were unable to calm herself. It’s so hard to breathe, oh, not now, please not now!

  A moan escaped from deep within her throat. Her

  eyes widened; her mouth opened wider, trying to expel air as her lungs constricted. She felt Roll’s hands tighten on her and she cried out as once more

  she felt a needle inserted into her arm. “Please no more, no more,” she gasped.

  “It’s better this way, little one,” Roll told her.

  His eyes were centered upon her with concern at her obvious pain. He pulled her body against his snugly; his large hand cupped the side of her face while watching her struggle for breath. She tried in a last effort to make him listen.

  “You don’t understand…what you’re taking from

  me. I want…a real family. I deserve a real…family…after living without one for so long. I want…my own children. I want…someone who…loves…me. I want...I want...” Carrie quieted slowly, her mind clouded; her thoughts became jumbled and she faded into nothingness.

  * * * *

  Her breathing steadied as Roll continued to rub her back. He offered her soothing words while holding her against his chest. After one last shudder she drifted off while in his arms. Two last tears slid down her pale cheeks. Her even breathing held the harsh hint of a noticeable wheeze, which made the large man scowl thoughtfully. He hadn’t anticipated this.

  Feeling a certain degree of compassion for the

  girl, Roll lay her back down and pulled the blanket up under her chin. He knew what she meant about family, her despairing ramblings. He did a great deal of research on his victims before moving in on them.

  He had been gathering information on Carrie for

  nine months. He knew her history, her jaunts. Hell, he even knew what she had for breakfast the day he grabbed her. One of the reasons he had grabbed her was because she had no one.

  Not all of his clients were interested in blonds or

  even beautiful women. They preferred the women to be unknown. No one would even know she was missing. Oh, a few might ask, but after a while the questions would stop. It would be as though she had never existed. Just another missing person’s file that would gather dust in a randomly labeled cardboard box in the deep bowels of some stone building's basement.

  Roll knew his business well. He had been at it a long time. Though he possessed a certain amount of empathy, he never let it interfere in a done deal, although her degree of asthma came as a surprise. There had been no history of illness, no drug record. It was obvious, though, she hadn’t been faking to elicit more sympathy. The condition itself caused her apparent concern and a degree of fear. She would need a gentle handler.

  Feeling thoughtful, he felt perhaps he would change contacts. He had been freelancing when he grabbed this one. A side job. He could approach the buyer of his choice. He had a certain buyer who was not as well off as the others. The man possessed a great deal of compassion. He was an older gentleman who gloried in training the new ones; he would be

  patient. He would not beat her or allow others to cause her great harm. She was, after all, very small. Her china-doll appearance and dainty features would entice the man into paying more than what he could afford. Although he could no doubt find higher paying customers, Roll was feeling charitable. Nodding softly to himself, he rose from the bed and left her to sleep

  once more.

  * * * *

  Carrie lay quietly on the small bed, staring up at the ceiling. Occasionally a tear slid from the corner of her eyes. Roll appeared before her with a small tray. After sitting it down on a chair he dragged closer, he settled himself next to Carrie. She would not look at him. He reached out to stop the flow of another tear.

  “I brought you some soup, little one,” he informed her.

  Carrie sighed. Roll had informed her she had been in his possession for three days now. She refused to eat anything. She blinked slowly; she refused to acknowledge his presence. She stared right through him.

  “You’re going to have to learn to take commands readily and eagerly, little one. You had best start with mine. Right now you belong to me. I own you,” Roll informed her.

  When she had first refused to eat, he felt she would when she became hungry enough. All the others had. As the days passed, it soon became apparent to

  him she would be willing to starve herself to death. Roll was dismayed at the thought.

  The weather was too inclement to fly just yet. He

  could hear the rain battering at the front window and the howl of an unrelenting wind. He couldn’t hand her to a buyer half-dead. Usually they were gone from his care within forty-eight hours. If they still weren’t eating it was their new owner’s problem, not his. But from the looks of the storm raging outside, this one might be in his possession for a few more days. If she truly intended to starve herself, she would be half gone before he could deliver her to her destination.

  His mind set, Roll propped her up against the

  wall, though she slumped, and tried to spoon a small amount of the liquid into her mouth. Her teeth were clamped tightly shut.

  He gently, but firmly, pried her mouth open and

  poured a small bit onto her tongue. It dribbled down her chin, mixing with her saliva. Becoming angry, he again pried her mouth open and pinched her nose. He again forced liquid past her lips and quickly clamped her jaw shut. She struggled weakly with him and gagged. Then, overpowered, she was forced to swallow, but when he released her mouth and nose, she promptly vomited.

  “Damn you! I went to a lot of trouble and effort

  to get you. You’re worthless to me dead,” Roll snapped. He could see all of his efforts, his hard work
and money going down the toilet. Over the course of

  three days she had become listless and pale. Her eyes had dulled and her hair had lost its sheen. She was starting to look like a mindless shell. Deep shadows were forming under her sunken eyes.

  Once more Roll held her jaw, spooned more liquid

  into her mouth and forced her to swallow some. She again vomited the moment he released his grip. Roll backhanded her. The force of the blow sent her flying from the bed, landing heavily onto the cold wooden floor. Her hands still tied, she was unable to protect her face. She hit the ground with a solid thunk, and began screaming in terror. Furiously, Roll rose and, grabbing an arm and a leg, he hauled her up off the ground and threw her back onto the bed. Carrie pulled herself into a small ball, as if to ward off another blow. She squeezed her eyes closed.

  “Shit! Now look what you made me do!” Roll

  raged out, frustrated and annoyed with himself and her. He ran a quick hand over his hair. He breathed deeply, trying to control his temper.

  When he had once more regained control, he gripped Carrie and turned her over to inspect the damage he had caused. Her nose was bloodied and her lip was split and already swelling. He felt her jaw and cheekbones gently with a practiced hand. Feeling a great deal of relief, he realized he had broken no bones on her slender face. Her fall had caused more red marks to her arms and legs that would no doubt bruise, but the buyer would be unconcerned.

  It was often a noticeable condition with the new ones until they settled. Carrie was sobbing hysterically, trying to cower away from him, but he held and shook her, not violently, but enough to illustrate his growing intolerance of her disobedient behavior. He hoped that by exercising his complete dominance over her, he could force her to comply and quash her rebellion.

  “You need to eat. You need to at least drink,” he

  told her. After her first initial thirst had been satisfied, she had refused even a minuscule sip of water.

  “I want to sleep,” she whimpered. Her cries had

  begun to slow to a soft weeping; the wheezing had once more started. She coughed, and sucked air in raggedly.

  Feeling an even greater distress, Roll realized she

  was asking to be drugged once more. He realized with dismay she was not being defiant; in her profound depression it appeared she was giving up on her life. This was not a good sign. He released her and she flopped onto her side like a rag doll.

  “If you eat something I will put you back to sleep,” he said, grasping for even a compromise at this point.

  “You should…have...hit me…harder. I could

  be...dead…already,” Carrie sobbed, gasping for air. “You are not going to die,” he snarled. She was

  right, though. If he hit her too hard he could kill her.

  He ran a frustrated hand over his face.

  Carrie was shaking, her teeth chattering. She was muttering softly to herself; Roll heard her pitiful, rasping words. She was afraid to die, she was afraid to live, her chest ached so painfully, why was he doing this to her, why had he hurt her, she had never harmed him.

  “Why is this happening to me?” She was sobbing louder, fighting to get her words out. “Haven’t I suffered enough throughout my life? Haven’t I been through enough?” Her head dropped to her chest. She ceased her rambling. It was too much, and it appeared she needed to concentrate on her ragged breathing.

  Roll rose from the bed and went to the bathroom.

  He returned with a warm, wet cloth. He cleaned the blood from her face. She lay submissively beneath him, her eyes closed. He looked at her thoughtfully, deciding on another tactic, hoping to play a last devious hand for compliance.

  * * * *

  “If you’re going to die anyway I might as well get something for my trouble. You needn’t die a virgin,” Roll said, watching her carefully.

  Carrie’s eyes snapped open and she looked up at him, horrified. She understood the implication clearly, as he suspected she would. He was a very large man, and it would be her first time. He narrowed his eyes upon her shaking form to express

  his annoyance. He clenched his massive fists, hoping to add to his sinister appearance.

  He purposely allowed some of his great bulk to

  press her into the mattress; she groaned in discomfort. He wanted her aware she would be hurt if he became brutal. Her chin quivered and he grew hopeful for a split second, until her face grew fiercely alarmed with a clear revelation.

  “Whether you do it or not it will still be done to

  me. Now or later, what’s the difference? Will you please be gentle, and kill me when you’re finished?” she begged up at him in earnest.

  Roll rose from the bed and slammed his fist

  through the wall.

  * * * *

  Roll sat in the chair watching Carrie as she slept. She remained completely motionless except for the slight rise and fall of her small chest. He had not drugged her. She was getting weaker. Her chapped lips were a sure sign of dehydration. When he pinched at her skin, the elasticity was gone.

  She had not had anything to eat or drink in four

  days. He had removed her bonds to aid her circulation, though her limbs were unmoving, and he placed her arms by her sides. He had settled another blanket over her as her teeth chattered and she whimpered of cold. She had not asked to use the bathroom in the last twenty-four hours.

  Roll had never come across such a stubborn

  female. Usually his victims were begging for food before he handed them over. For water, a gentle word or kind touch he offered willingly. Carrie had only asked that he hit her harder.

  Sighing heavily, he rose from the chair and went

  to lie down on the couch in the other room. His mind was tired of thinking of ideas. It no longer mattered the weather had finally calmed enough for flight. He needed to get her well before someone would take her. He couldn’t fly her out while she remained conscious and he was afraid to drug her, fearing without enough sustenance in her system she could become comatose.

  Most of his buyers demanded a three-day waiting period while certain tests could be run. He would not be paid if she did not awaken. Roll was at a loss. Threats had not worked. Compromising had not worked. Bribery had not worked. What the hell was he to do? He honestly did not want her to die. He couldn’t simply return her, she would talk. He didn’t want to kill her and he loathed the idea of watching her die right in front of his eyes, day by agonizingly slow day.

  The area he had flown them to was completely

  secluded. You needed a seaplane to enter into it; the only communication available was on his plane. The cabin he had constructed was small, yet convenient for his needs. Disposing of her body would not be a big problem if the need arose. Angry at the thought,

  he closed his eyes, not wanting to think anymore. Nine months of hard work for nothing. Side jobs weren’t all they were cracked up to be. Roll slept.

  * * * *

  Carrie opened her eyes cautiously. She had watched under lowered lashes as Roll rose from the chair to settle onto the couch just visible in the next room. From her prone position, she remained unmoving, watching him as his large chest slowly rose and fell. As his sleep deepened, he began the loud, telltale, chainsaw-like snore which had kept her awake night after night until she could have screamed in frustration.

  She was starving and parched; her body felt so weak and tired. She waited until she heard Roll’s snoring increase dramatically; no other sound would be heard within the small cabin while he caused such a ruckus.

  Trembling and rising carefully, lest she fall, she grabbed the ratty sheet off the small bed and rolled it into a tight ball; she stuffed it up her shirt, leaving her hands free to steady herself against the walls and doorframe. On shaky feet, she headed for the tiny kitchen.

  She opened cupboards, grateful the hinges did not squeak. She pulled a tinned can of brown beans and a large box of crackers down. Working swiftly, she stuffed those items and
a few other things into a small backpack of Roll’s. Then, grabbing up Roll’s own

  windbreaker, she stealthily made her way to the wooden door.

  Trying the doorknob, she turned it slowly, and felt

  elated. It was not locked. Carrie exited, closing the door behind her. Stumbling from lack of food and water, she made her way out into the pitch dark, densely forested area. She was certain she ran for her life.

  Chapter Two

  The blackness soon closed around Carrie until the small light from the cabin became nonexistent. She moved cautiously, tripping often on the ground still slick with rain. Once out of sight of the cabin, she opened the box of crackers and stuffed one after another down her throat, trying to remember to chew first before swallowing. She gagged often, as her tummy was not used to food after being deprived for so long.

  She opened one of the bottled waters she had grabbed, fumbling for a brief moment with weak hands on the tight cap, and drank, the water spilling from her mouth to drip from her chin onto her shirt. She shivered from the coldness inhabiting her body, and threw Roll’s jacket on. She scrunched her nose up, noting it smelled like him. A necessary evil, she surmised. The jacket was huge on her slight frame, hanging well past her hips and behind. Its warmth and protection were welcome against the bitter chill in the night air.