Chapter 5

"Okay, bitch," Rebus said. "Put your blouse on. We're going to the house." "Can't you just take me home?" Erica asked. "Didn't you get what you wanted?" "Hell," Rebus said. "I've just started. Now put your fucking clothes on." She tugged down her skirt and pulled her blouse around her as well as she could. He started the truck again and drove her down to his house.

"Get out," he commanded.

She climbed wearily out of the truck. A woman came to the door. She was about ten years older than Erica, but she looked twice as tired. She was attractive but in a weary way.

"Why did you bring her here?" she asked. "I found her on the road," Rebus said. His wife's eyes went to the bare expanse of flesh that was exposed by the ripped blouse.

"But you had your fun," she said. "Now why did you have to bring her here?" "Because I'm going to have some more fun," Rebus said. "We're going to keep her here for a while-" "No, we can't-" "What?" Rebus' voice grew hard. "Are you telling me that I can't keep her here?" It looked as if the woman were still going to refuse. Her face grew hard, but her lips trembled. She raised one hand and pointed it at Erica. "You whore!" "Please," Erica said. "I'm not. I-" "Bring her in," Mrs. Turner said. "Bring the little whore in.

Rebus pushed her and Erica stumbled forward into the house. The house was clean and comfortable-looking, with big, overstuffed chairs and soft carpets on the floors.

"Your clothes won't do," Mrs. Turner said. "We'll have to find you something else. I think one of my bras would fit you, although her may be just a little bigger than I am in the tits." Erica found herself alone in the bedroom with Mrs. Turner. She had no idea where Rebus had gone. She noticed a bedside phone.

"I-I can't stay here," Erica said.

"Yes, you can," Mrs. Turner replied. "My husband said you're going to stay." "But you don't understand. I must get home. I must. People will be looking for me." Mrs. Turner gave her a sympathetic look. "Maybe you're not a whore, but there's nothing I can do. You're have to stay until he says you can leave." Erica looked longingly at the phone. If only she could get Mrs. Turner out of the room for a few minutes, she might be able to get to the phone. Then she could call the police. She wouldn't tell them anything, but they could help her get out of the house.

"Have you got something, to drink?" Erica asked. "I feel a little weak." "Sure," Mrs. Turner said. "By the way. You can call me Betty. We might as well try to get along if we're going to be here for a while." Betty left the room. Erica waited until the door was shut and then she made a grab for the phone. She dialed the emergency number.

"Police," a sharp voice said.

"I'm being held pri-" The phone was jerked out of her hand. Erica tried to turn around, but a heavy fist crashed against the side of her head. She fell against the bed. He hit her again and opened the cut on her lip once again.

"Bitch!" he said violently. "Bitch! I see I need to teach you a lesson." Erica couldn't say anything. She was only dimly aware of the fists that kept smashing against her body. Finally she was only aware of a dull thudding in her brain.

"Goddamn bitch!" The beating stopped. Erica closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was lying on the floor. She brushed her hair back and found it caked with blood. Her blood. She looked in the mirror and was shocked by what she saw. Her face was black and blue and crossed with a dozen cuts where his knuckles had drawn blood. Her full breasts were also bruised.

"Oh God. Oh dear God. What have I done to deserve this?" She heard the door opening. Betty Turner came in and knelt beside her. She had a basin of warm water and she began to wash Erica's cuts.

"I couldn't warn you about the phone," she said. "All the girls try it, and he never lets me warn them." "You mean... you mean he brings other girls here?" "Yes," Betty admitted. "He's brought many here. He teaches them manners, or at least that's what he says. What he really teaches them is how to wait on him." "I don't understand?" "You will," Betty said. "Before he's done, you'll be his most willing slave." "Never!" Erica said fervently.

"Yes, you will," Betty said.

Betty finished washing Erica's cuts. She put her arm around her.

"Can you stand?" she asked.

"I think I can. But I feel a little weak. My legs are hurting." "No wonder," Betty said.

She helped Erica to stand. She walked her into the bathroom.

"There's hot water already in the tub," Betty said. "Soak yourself for a while." Betty left. Erica stepped into the tub. Her clothes had already been taken off and she wondered if Rebus had fucked her again after he had beaten her. Probably he had. Erica sank down into the tub.

She washed herself thoroughly. She then soaked in the tub until Betty came back. She stood up.

"Drink this," Betty said, handing her a dark-colored drink. "It'll make you feel better." "What is it?" "Just drink it," Betty said.

Erica took a long drink and felt it warming her insides. Betty was right. It did make her feel better. Betting gave her another of her sympathetic looks.

"I see I was wrong about you. You're different from the others. Most of the girls were just whores. You are different." "I'm a teacher," Erica replied.

"A teacher?" Betty asked incredulously. "How in hell did you meet my husband?" "I was raped by some boys and left in tile woods," Erica explained. "Your husband found me.

"You poor thing," Betty said. "You poor, poor thing. Come with me. A good night's sleep will do you good." Again Erica looked at the bedside phone as she walked into the bedroom. Betty caught her glance.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Betty said. "He's a hard man. The beatings get worse. Next time you won't be able to move for a week or two. He'll hurt you bad." "How would he know?" Erica asked.

"He'll know. And if you could get away, he'd find you and things would be worse for you. Why don't you give up any idea of escape? He'll let you go.

"When?" Erica asked.

"When he's tired of you." Betty shrugged.