Hearts on Fire 9: Her Shadows of Light(25)

“That guy is going to kill someone. There are little kids running around this development waiting for school busses and stuff.”

“So we’ll call the police and let them handle it. Call your cousin. He’s friends with Sheriff McCurran.”

Billy shook his head, and as he came around the corner slowly, he saw the van pull into the driveway of an old house, one everyone thought was abandoned. Recently they’d seen lights on inside and knew someone was renting it but never saw a face.

“There, see he lives right there and probably was just in a hurry. Forget about it. I don’t want to be late for first period or Mr. Miller is going to give me detention again. It sucks. Come on.” She tugged on Billy’s sleeve.

He watched the garage door close, and it didn’t sit right with him. If he saw that van again driving recklessly, he was definitely going to call his cousin. He turned around and headed back out of the development and right to the high school.





Chapter 8




Brighid could hardly breathe. The air was so thick and she was sweating so much she was passing in and out of consciousness. Sweat dripped from her brow and down her neck, and she wished for something cold, even just a gentle breeze or an open window. She pulled on the bindings. She couldn’t see them but felt them against her wrists and against her ankles. She realized, too, that she had no clothes on, only her panties and bra. Everything hurt. Her mouth, her cheeks, her ribs, and her inner thighs. It was pitch-black wherever they were. She inhaled and could smell what she could only describe as a basement odor. Cement, mildew, maybe mothballs. It made her feel sick.

She heard a noise, a scratch-like sound, and then she saw the flame.

She heard his voice.

“You keep fighting me, angel of fire. That’s why you pass out. What I gave you this time will make you relax and accept your fate.” He brought the candle closer toward her. He turned it sideways and the hot wax dripped onto her skin, singeing her.

“No. No,” she cried out, but it sounded as though she was talking so slowly, like some weird cartoon show where the voices were slowed down to sound really weird. He pulled back.

“I have to get you ready. You need to accept my power and to know that I have the ability to control, to create, fire.”

She stared at him, her vision not so clear. He had dark hair, big bright gray eyes, and wore no shirt. He had muscles and was lean, but his chest had odd scars on it. They were gashes, lines of burns, and some circular ones, too.

She fisted her hands, and the move made her underarms ache and her elbows scream in protest. What had he done to her while she passed out?

He came closer, holding the candle in one hand then using his other hand to move over her body right above her skin. He didn’t touch her, just came so close she shivered and tightened her belly muscles, which caused her to moan and cringe.

“So very beautiful. Your skin is soft, you’re muscular, and strong though. You’re perfection.” He pressed his palm to her belly and applied pressure to her skin. She felt the pain, the achiness, and knew she was bruised, at minimum. His hand moved lower, and his hard palm pressed deeper, making her feel as if he wanted to cause pain to her gut, but then he eased lower and pressed over her mound.

“We’re going to be one.” He swirled his hand sideways, his fingers grazing her pussy over the panties, and she cried out.

“Don’t touch me. Get away from me.” The tears streamed down her face, and her head pounded as her eyes lost focus. She definitely wasn’t feeling right. He said he’d given her something. He’d drugged her, the prick bastard.

He licked his lips while letting his eyes roam over her breasts. They were barely in the cups of her bra, and she had the feeling he’d touched her as she lay there unconscious. She shivered, her body unable to remain still, as if it remembered the feel of his close proximity and what was to come.

“I’m going to burn you, Brighid. All this practice, this conditioning, is for you so that you can handle the pain of the fire, the flame as it dances upon your skin.”

He caressed her skin. His fingers and palm landed on her jaw. He clenched it tight, looked down into her eyes, and licked his lips. “You are so perfect. The others were nothing compared to you. You’re the one. I just know it.”

He leaned closer, and she tried turning her face away from him, but his grip tightened so hard that she gasped from the pain, the ache in her jaw as his fingers dug in deep. He kissed her. He covered her mouth, plunged his tongue in deeply, and then pulled back and released her jaw as she spit his taste from her mouth. He smacked her. It was swift, hard, and right on point. Her teeth ached, and she cried. But then his hand was on her throat, squeezing, making her see that he had complete power over her like this. She was tied up to the bedposts. She felt the mattress beneath her body. He was going to hurt her, possibly rape her, and there was nothing she could do. She was helpless, and she cried, sobbed until he scraped his nails along her throat and stared down at her skin.

“You see why it’s so dark in here? You’re going to see when I raise the lights slightly that fire has no shadow. Its light glows from the power within me and the strength I have to defeat all in my path trying to stop me from achieving my goals. I’ve chosen you to join me.”

His nail scraped along her throat to her cleavage. He applied pressure between her breasts and let his finger dip into one cup and then dip into the other. He leaned down, and the candle he held in his hand burned bright, giving off an evil, morbid glow to her surroundings, which would, most likely, become her grave.

She inhaled deeply and felt her stomach concave as he kissed her skin.

“No. I don’t want to join you in your darkness. Pick someone else. Leave me alone,” she screamed at him.

He slammed his forearm down along her throat, making her gasp and lose her breath. He got up off the bed and flicked on a light, which only slightly illuminated the room. She could see they were in a large basement and that there was a doorway. There didn’t seem to be any windows. If there were, then they were covered or hidden. She pulled on her restraints and looked down to see the welts along her skin of her thighs and on her hips and belly. She could see bruising and redness on her ribs. There must be some broken ones. She could hardly take a full breath.

Her head felt fuzzy but not as bad as when she’d first awoken. Could whatever he had given her be wearing off?

She stared at him, the monster that inflicted the pain, as he glided his hand over her skin, right above it, barely touching it. Yet her body reacted. It convulsed and shook with fear of what was to come.

“The perfect canvas for my work.” He started breathing a little more rapidly, and it freaked her out. The man was insane. He was a total nut case, and she was going to die here.

He pressed his palm over her skin on her breasts and her belly.

“Perfect, clean, soft, and ready for my touch. No blemishes or scars, no freckles or markings, a pure, clean canvas for me to mark you as my own. Brighid, we’re going to be a team. I’m not going to move too fast, no matter how much my need pushes me to that edge. I’m going to take my time, angel.” He squeezed her hip and then stared at the flame of the candle and smiled like a screwball.

He reached back for the candle that continued to burn. He moved it over her body and used his other hand to part her skin.

“You need training to prepare you. That’s where I went wrong before. The others needed time to adjust to the pain, but I was desperate to achieve my wants and desires. With you, I’ll go slow, Brighid. I promise.”

He spread her skin on her belly then tipped the candle, making the hot wax land on her belly.

“No. No.” She cried out, but he continued to drip the burning-hot wax over her skin.

“Get away from me. I hate you. I hate you, and I won’t be yours, ever.” She cried out in anger and protest as she pulled on her restraints, causing her wrists and her ankles to burn as the rope cut through her skin. The ache brought the focus off of the hot wax as he continued to move it around her, even over her breasts.

She pooled saliva in her mouth and then spit it at him, stopping him.

“You’re not like the others.” He shook his head and stood up.

Oh God he’s talking about the women he killed.

He gave a soft smile, and then it turned to an angry one. “They weren’t like you. They were nothing like you. It just took me this long to figure out exactly what I needed, wanted, to fill that gap, that emptiness I’ve had since I was a child.” He reached out and ran a finger along her jaw, which ached and was surely bruised.

“I want to show you something. Some special reminders of what I went through to get here to you. How I nearly faltered and made some mistakes. I’m sorry, Brighid, but I thought they were perfect, too. But they weren’t. Don’t be angry or jealous. We’re together now, and that’s all that matters.” He brought over several pictures of different women. Young, pretty women with red hair. He started naming them and talking about who they were and what he had done to them.

She saw the images. The ones when they were perfect, pretty, smiling, and happy. Then he showed the ones where they were bruised. They looked scared but had posed on their knees, hands on their thighs and stared at the camera smiling softly probably because he’d threatened them. He kept showing her more and more, and with each passing photo, the bruises, the fear, the tears, and pain, then blood and burns, attacked her eyes, her mind, and her body. He was going to do the same thing to her. He was going to burn her.