Chapter 8

Inside of the dust stuffy cabin, Jim, Lydia, and Mark were all growing impatient. They watched with envy the crowd filling the valley, wishing that they, too, could be down there listening to the music, drinking beer and smoking joints. They stared at each other and then back at Kathy.

Mark slumped against the wall, lifeless and worn; never having had a hangover before, he was convinced he was coming down with the flu. Gurgles and belches rumbled in his empty stomach and he took caution not to move too quickly, for fear last night's liquid dinner would become today's misery. He didn't have to stay, but he had his suspicions, especially after the way Jim had treated Robert, kicking him out like that. And it hadn't been fair, not a bit. After all the effort he'd gone through, he'd wait another couple of hours for his share of the dope.

"Well," sighed Lydia, with a grimace. "This is really a lot of fun, guys. We could sit and count each other's pubic hairs," she groaned with boredom.

"Hey, come on!" shot the blonde-haired leader. "You're the one who came in last night and pulled all your stunts, now just sit tight. If it's excitement you want, we still got a half lid of dope left. We could always give some to Mrs. McGuire here and watch her go crazy to fuck. Bet she'd like that..."

Kathy stiffened from her perch on the mattress. When would these children stop?

"We can't let her go until the connection is made," reasoned Jim, trying to placate his irascible girl friend. "Then, baby, it's fat city!"

"Yeah, well how long is that going to take?" pouted Lydia, sitting cross-legged drawing faces on the dusty floor with her index finger.

"Won't be long... here!" Jim threw her the plastic baggie half filled with dope. "Roll us a couple of numbers... it'll help pass the time."

Lydia obeyed, and handed a tightly rolled cigarette to Kathy who sat cowering in the corner. Kathy hesitated, then recalled the awful perversions of the night before, and accepted. It had not been so bad yesterday, she remembered; in fact the marijuana had had an alarmingly calming affect on her. Accepting it, Kathy inhaled deeply, letting the smoke swirl around her lungs as long as possible before blowing it out again; a strange feeling of peace and well-being came over her. She, oddly, was no longer frightened as she had been before, although it was obvious that she was in greater danger than ever. She was certain, though, through the drug she was taking, that nothing could touch her, nothing could harm her, and she was just as certain that, if she were threatened, she would have no desire to protect herself.

She was content simply to sit on the bed, staring at the mattress, counting the stripes that rippled across it. Even the music that filtered from the valley below took on a certain enjoyable rhythm, and she tapped her finger in time to it.

She heard her name called from somewhere outside, and although it was her husband, Art, it seemed to Kathy that it was the voice of the Angel Gabrielle, inviting her to enter a paradise here on earth. She noticed Lydia start at the sound of the voice; it seemed as loud to Kathy as a cannon shot--and then cup her hand to her ear as it was repeated. Kathy herself heard the words clearly, although they hardly registered. "Attention! Attention!" Art was bellowing. "You are surrounded by the police. We know that you are holding Kathy McGuire."

"What are we going to do?" spat Mark, with bloodshot eyes. A sinking feel, very real and very painful, welled in his stomach. He clasped his hand over his mouth, his cheeks reddening, and held his breath until the warmness subsided.

"Look!" hissed Jim, holding up his hand. "He has no idea who's in here holding his wife... it could be Chuck and his dealer friends, or a bunch of ladies at a lunch club. He's just guessing, he doesn't know. All we can do is fake him out. Just lay low," he gestured with his hands.

A delicate hand reached up to punch out the cardboard that held the glass pane in its ridged cell. In a low, gruff voice, Jim raised his head, just high enough to reach the hole. "Yes, we have Kathy McGuire in here as our hostage. She is unharmed and quite well." Hearing her name mentioned, Kathy grinned, smiled and nodded. "We will not let her go."

Art nodded. He felt slightly faint from the heat and the anxiety and the fear for Kathy that gnawed at him. All the thoughts that he'd had before came flooding back to his mind. Had she been forced to take dope by these wretched creatures, these dope dealers?

He had to get Kathy out of there... now!

He never thought it would come to this, but there was no choice. He would have to offer himself in exchange for Kathy; there was no other way. If he died, at least he would die knowing that Kathy realized how much he cared for her. Raising the bullhorn to his trembling lips, he boomed out his offer.

Jim, on the other side of the wall, grinned triumphantly. It worked! "Okay, here's what we do... when he comes in the door Lydia, you knock him over the head with that old lamp, and Mark, you tie up his hands. Got that?"

The two compatriots in crime nodded, staring at each other wondering if it was really worth it. Wouldn't the concert be more fun then being holed up here in this stuffy old cabin taking orders from Jim?

Jim called out his offer. "We accept your offer. Come out with your hands up and enter by way of the back door."

Art turned pale and bit his lips. An explosion of amplified sound shot up from the valley and Art ducked, certain it was gun fire. He gasped, released his clutch on the tree bough and rose to his feet. He walked mechanically, lifting one foot after the other, putting it down again, lifting it. The short stretch of space seemed to expand for miles and miles. The few minutes it took seemed like light years. Halfway across he paused, taking a deep breath to regain his composure. Then he walked on once more, slowly, steadily. Kathy would be waiting for him, just inside the door. As he entered, she would be allowed to leave. She would fall on her knees, kiss his feet, begging him to let her stay. But with firm resolve he walked on.

Art heard a new command: "Come in with your back to the door." Turning, he walked on once more. He had just about reached the doorstep now... one more step, he told himself, edging backwards.

Then everything went dark.

"Jesus, I said hit him not kill him!" sputtered Jim, watching the hulk of flesh crumble to the floor to lay in the shards of broken lamp glass. A small trickle of blood oozed from Art's forehead, directly above his eye. He moaned, trying to raise to his feet, then fell limp again.

"Good shot, huh?" beamed Lydia, standing over her prey triumphantly.

"Too good," scolded Jim. "Help me drag him inside so we can tie him up."

Lydia pulled on his legs, while Jim and Mark labored over his arms and chest. A buzz of activity hung over the moaning body, all except for Kathy, who sat on the bed, smoking another of the rolled cigarettes. Kathy stared at the three youngsters, thinking what wonderful, happy children they were, working so assiduously over the body of that man who fell backwards on the step. Wondering who it was, she craned forward, crawling over the mattress on all fours. She squinted into the sun. "Art!" she tittered gleefully. "What's Art doing here?" she asked the others.

"Jesus, she is loaded," giggled Lydia, holding Art's hands secure while Mark tied a rope around his wrists.

Kathy looked at Lydia and smiled, as she inhaled deeply on the sweet- smelling tobacco. It made everything seem so beautiful, she thought, so perfect. Nothing mattered except the warm, wonderful sensation of the moment. She wanted to share in it.

Art was alert now, though a bit groggy from the blow on his head. To soothe the laceration, he tried to raise his hands to massage the bump. He tugged, and for the first moment, realized he was tied.

Kathy started to giggle. "What's the matter, Art?" she teased. "Oh, don't be such a grouch," she scolded, playfully. "This is just a game, so don't look so serious."

Art squinted against the pain, his nose wrinkling, his mouth gaping open. What was wrong with Kathy? They'd drugged her... my Cod, his wife was smoking pot! The little bastards, the fucking little snots! He focused on the fuzzy-lipped teenagers working at the rope behind him, at the budding breasted young girl who leered down at him, whispering obscenities in his ears, just to taunt him. They were nothing but kids!

Kathy lay back on the mattress, waggling her hand back and forth at Art. She looked up with a start of pleasure. Jim was a beautiful young boy, she thought, Lydia was beautiful, life was beautiful, and she wouldn't for a moment have changed anything. "Hi," she said, again, grinning lopsidedly, her eyes squinting slightly to focus.

Mockingly, Mark turned. "Hi!" he grinned, waving back.

Kathy squinted dreamily at the others. Art was there, too, she saw. But how marvelous that was. Everything was wonderful! Jim--and in her confused, drugged state, the memory of Jim's hands on her naked body sent her soaring--Jim was here! And Art. And Mark. And Lydia. And everybody! She puffed the cigarette again, inhaling deeply. And when Jim moved forward, walking towards the mattress, she grinned up at him and offered him her joint.

The blonde-haired leader of the gang took one long look at Art, then his wife. It was all over for him anyway... the five pounds, the accomplishments and failures of his first real job. He might as well make the best of it.

He moved forward, then sat down on the mattress, one eye on Art who sat slumped against the wall, struggling to make sense of what was transpiring. He remembered he'd come here to save his wife... but his wife was in no danger, yet.

Jim plopped down next to Kathy, pulling her brutally to him. She giggled, responded with an unearthly thrill. Her entire body tingled with anticipation of the pleasure to come when Jim fucked her again as she knew he was going to do... yes, that was the word--fucked her--just the way he had before, her mouth... her cunt.

Without a word of protest, she let Jim ease his hands under the loose cloth of the dress she was wearing, slipping it down, unbuttoning the front of it so that Kathy sat there before all the world with her lovely rounded white mounds of her breasts thrust out like twin moons, hanging suspended in the open air. There was a burst of applause from the group sitting on the floor, mingled with a groan of fury and agony from Art, and then Jim's hand slid down across the tender, pointed breasts to Kathy's slim waist, moving back and forth gently, caressing the pale skin.