28. A Quick Catch - Bonus Chapter

BONUS CHAPTER

Dislaimer - this chapter has a Mm ("gay") focus. To avoid annoying straight readers, chapters of this sort will be mostly published as "twinned" with a "straight" chapter, as a sort of bonus.

“I” Marcus, “you” Robbie

I go up. Dress in my outdoor clothes. Wash well, do my best to minimize the loss of any biological material like hair. Drive off. If I parked in the parking lot I would be on the list of suspects. Once you are gone, and even though it's a big parking lot, I don't want to go that far. My vehicle doesn't have to access the park the usual way, though. I use the path only meant for the rangers, drive well and deep into the forest park. Less then three hours since Laura uttered your name, I actually have my eyes on you . . . Robbie fucking Waskowicz. You're as cute as the pictures on your Facebook page promised. Gorgeous in fact. “Thanks for the tip, Laura,” I silently mouth my thought. It's not every day that I see a boy I'd actually like to fuck, and yet . . . I would not hesitate a second to bend this specimen of a boy over and rape his cute little ass.

I scan the horizon, assessing the situation. Knowing where everyone with a mobile – and that is almost everyone these days – is around you gives one a big advantage. There are quite a few people around. I almost back off. Almost change my mind about this, at least about doing it here and now. For a moment, it seems too risky. I'm about to get up, when you effectively trip over me right where I'm hidden. Dressed like a little trooper, with a paintball rifle in your hand, already with some paint on your clothes from earlier rounds of the game. That's what you're here for. That's why you are out of everyone's view, hiding. I haven't heard any shots, which means this round only just began. I sigh. I can't pray; if there was a God, the best I could hope for would be being stricken by a lightning, killed clean, fried on the spot. And so I just sort of wish, more to myself than anything or anyone else, for this to work out.

My little treasure, Laura, I kidnapped quietly, sneakily, without a hint of violence. With you, little trooper, I opt for a very different tactic. As you gape at me open mouthed, surprised to see someone who isn't playing the game, you lower the rifle and open your mouth – I guess to apologize for stepping onto me, or perhaps to ask what I'm doing there, by myself, spying. You never get a chance to speak. My fist connects with your pretty face, hard and fast. Another with your belly, enough to knock the wind out of you. I tackle you to the forest floor, tape your mouth shut, cuff your hands behind your back and pull a black cloth sack over your head. I run, with you over my shoulders, thrashing and trying to scream. I run straight to the bush by which my car is hidden. I toss you in the trunk and use other prepared things -- straps of leather, pre–tied rope loops that only need tightening, that sort of stuff -- firmly, painfully, to hog–tie you.

"You make any noise at all, boy, and I'll use a rusty razor to make you into a girl," I grunt and briefly grope you between your legs to make my message clear.

I check your pockets . . . and jog off with your phone, which I only touch with gloves. I turn the ring-tone down to make it harder to find, run towards a stream a bit downhill, and with an impressive overhead swing, toss it across to the opposite bank. There's a footpath near there that leads to a nearby town, another place, like the car park, where the culprit of this crime might be suspected and to which I won't even get near.

I drive off. Unseen. Unnoticed. Without having ever entered the park's car park. The path is dry, there will be no good tire tracks. The sack stopped your nosebleed, so there won't be a trace of you left. To track me from footsteps alone on the dry, leaf-covered forest floor would be near impossible, especially since a downpour is coming tonight, if the weather forecast is right. I drive back, avoiding any towns and crossroads with traffic lights that would capture me on a camera. I arrive to the house, two and a half hours later -- heart still kind of pounding, palms still a little sweaty -- drive into the garage and close it.

I pick you up from the trunk of the car. You look like a little fighter, but I tied you really well, so you could not kick efficiently. I tied you so well in fact it seems, that when I enter the surveillance room and the spare cell and drop you on the floor and untie you, you don't even put up a fight. You simply cannot, what with your hands and feet blue, likely in cramps, bruised from the tight bondage. Truth be told, I don't care about you anywhere near as much as I care for Laura, and anyway, you're a boy. I don’t have time to break you gradually, through hunger and the other techniques I’m using with your little classmate.

I come back with a big, sharp bowie knife, and cut and hack your clothes off of you. Every psychological study I’ve ever read says removing a prisoner’s clothes takes a lot of the fight out of him. And that should be especially true in the case of a child.

"Stop moving. I'm after your clothes, but if you wiggle, I'm bound to cut you, idiot," I growl. I have you naked in under a minute. Perhaps nicked and bleeding a little here and there, tiny cuts, like when you shave . . . nothing to worry about. I flip you over, face down. Grab you by your pretty, coppery hair and press the big knife against your throat. You look suitably terrified. Good. No sense in pretending that this is anything other than what it is -- a stranger abduction by a sadistic pedophile with limited patience and limitless capacity to hurt you.

"Don't mess with me, kiddo. You are as good as dead. I can kill you on a whim, and will, if you give me a reason," I growl in my deepest, most awful, scariest voice. I leave a thin line of ever so slightly broken skin on your neck, drawing a small trickle of blood before I pull the knife away.

"You have been kidnapped by a murderous maniac, kid. Life will be simple now, and possibly . . . short. You obey, you live. Otherwise, you die. But before you die, I will flay the skin of off you -- big, nasty chunks of skin, in the most painful way imaginable. I will crush your balls with a heavy boot and cut off your cock with a blunt knife – not the nice and sharp one I just used." I sheath the knife. I command you to stand up. It’s a struggle, as you look pale and tremulous. Eventually, you rise, cowering, fearful.

Your introduction to this place begins immediately. I hit you, punch you, kick your feet from under you. And make you stand up again. And then I do it again. And again. The very first time you refuse to stand up, I grab your hand, jam a needle under the fingernail of your index finger, pull it out as you scream and wet yourself with the agony of it, and pull you up to your feet by the hair and hit you again, hard enough to make you fall over yet again. I tell you the next needle will go through your cock and balls. That keeps you getting up for another while, sobbing and hyperventilating, even as you get punched and kicked down over and over again. There is no subtlety to my approach. It is simply a grown man beating the shit out of a young boy.

Eventually I push a needle through your cock just out of spite -- even though you're almost unable to get up by then and falling into a shock–like, spaced-out, totally out-of-it state. It gets you off the ground though, after a while of screaming and writhing and crying like a baby. I strike you down one last time, pull out my cock and piss all over you. I collect the needles, and everything else I've brought, toss in enough ready-to-eat, snacky food to keep you going for a day or two, and leave you, with a bucket in the corner (toilet locked closed, but tap running), a bare bed with no sheet, but the room warm enough for you not to really need it. At the cost of totally traumatising you and sending you into a state that's very bad and potentially dangerous for your health, I have you as far, if not farther, than I had my girl–slave in three or four days. All that in a little over an hour.

I leave behind a very hurt and broken young boy, bruised so much his secret admirer would not even recognise his face now -- lip split, both eyes black, spitting blood and soaked in piss. I also leave shreds of your clothes, and some pretty decent, yummy food to boot. This was and is a far different approach than I used with your little admirer. No subtlety or delay. But you’re a boy. And to a large extent, you’re disposable.

I shower, check that we don't have any visitors, check the news and all local sources, but no one has even reported you missing, yet. I go and shake Laura awake. All that moving and exercise made me need to go, and so I stir her awake, pass her a glass of water to drink, and wait for a while till her confusion passes before I announce it's punishment time.

Robbie

I was totally excited to play paintball at Rensellaer Forest with most of the guys from my lacrosse team. I love paintball, and I've been dying to try out the new Tippmann X–7 PHENOM Paintball Marker gun I got for my 12th birthday back in March. My Mom wouldn't even let me take it out of the packaging until today. It's f–ing awesome!

Technically, we're not supposed to have paintball wars at the Rensellaer Forest Park. But the ranger basically lets people do whatever they want. I know the high school kids go there all the time to play. My Mom was skeptical when I told her. She even called Devon's Mom to see if it was OK. I didn't think she was going to let me go at all, but finally she said yes. Devon's Mom drove me and T.J. there and dropped us off. And the rest of the guys came in Steven Denton's older brother's pickup truck –– just crammed in there, all seven of them, like totally illegal! I think the real reason my Mom didn't want me to go was because of what happened to Laura Vandahl –– whatever did happen to her. But I was like "Mom, come on . . . I'll be careful. All my friends are going. Puhl-leeease?" Plus I was thinking, like, if some sex maniac kidnapped Laura and raped her and left her body in a ditch or something, it's not like he's gonna do that to a boy –– like duh, Mom, get a clue, OK? Man the Tippman is awesome! 300 PSI, 20 rounds a second, it totally rocks! In the first game I snuck up behind Dave Gannon and hit him like 15 times in the back. He was howling 'cause it stung so bad. I can't wait till we go to the paintball place and play with real teams –– you know, timed games and everything? Open–forest playing is fun, but nobody ever really dies, they just keep coming back in over and over. I've been shot already about 10 times and I have paint all over my black jeans and my Black Knights hockey sweatshirt. It's starting to get dark, and Devon's Mom is gonna be back pretty soon.

I was trying to flank Dave Gannon again when it happened. I knew exactly where Dave was. And I also knew he was playing the far point on that side, and if I got around him, I could take him out and have a straight shot to the tree that Connor Engel was using as his "flag." I went wide around him, up the escarpment to the ridge line, and just as I stepped over it, there was this guy there. I almost stepped on him. At first I thought he was on Connor's team and I was gonna shoot him, but then I saw that he was way older than us. I put my gun down really quick to say sorry, and he like stands up, and punches me right in the face! The last thing I saw was his fist coming right at the center of my face as he stood up. I swear to God I didn't even do anything. He just punched me. He was like huge and tall, and I swear I think he almost knocked me out with one punch. My nose exploded with blood, and then he punched me so hard in my stomach that he lifted me straight off the ground. I went down on my side. I couldn't breathe and I guess I was stunned. And then he was on top of me, taping my mouth shut so I couldn't say anything, cuffing my hands super tight, putting a sack over my head. And then he picked me up, and all I could think of was, this is the guy who took Laura Vandahl. And now he's got me. And even though I couldn't even breathe I was like "no way am I ending up in some ditch somewhere," and I started kicking and struggling and doing everything I could to get away.

But the guy was super strong. I mean super, massively strong. He put me down in something and I could tell it was the trunk of a car, and I was still trying to get away, but he pulled my arms back so hard I thought they were gonna come out of my shoulders, and then he tied my hands to my feet in like 10 seconds, and I was all kinda bent over, on my stomach. And I was really, really scared, because I knew I couldn't get away. And I'm like, "Is he really gonna kill me?" And then he says he's gonna cut my dick off, and he squeezed my junk fucking hard! Man did that hurt. And I was so scared, like shivering and stuff, and this is probably when I wet myself for the first time. I'm not really sure, but I know when he said that it scared me shitless. I still remember he said he'd do it with a rusty razor. A rusty razor so it would hurt more. That scared the shit out of me 'cause he was dead serious. Dead f–ing serious.

And it got even worse after that. If you ever rode tied up in the trunk of a car, then you'd know what I mean. The dude tied my hands and feet so tight that I couldn't even feel them. And every time he turned or hit a bump or something, I was rattling around in there, flopping from side to side on my stomach, with my legs and arms behind me. And he drove for like six hours, without stopping, and I couldn't feel anything from my shoulders or knees down –– not even tingling needles. It was the most uncomfortable I've ever been. When we parked and I heard the garage door closing I knew I was really, really far away from home. And that made me really, really scared.

When he opened the trunk I tried to fight him –– I didn't want to go with him, wherever he was taking me. But my legs could barely move. I struggled as much as I could, but he just picked me up, and carried me, first up some stairs, then down even more stairs, and then he just dropped me on the floor from like three feet in the air, knocking the wind out of me, and starting my nose bleeding again. The next thing I know, he's uncuffing my hands, and using a knife to cut my clothes off me. I'm like "No way!" and I start trying to struggle, but my arms and legs weren't working real good. He's like just hacking my clothes apart. I can hear them tearing and ripping, even my pants, and he's cutting me, too.

Then he flipped me over and mashed my face into the floor, really hard. I'm naked, and he put the edge of the knife against my throat and I'm like, "I'm gonna die, he's gonna kill me," so I just liked totally stopped moving. And then he's just sliding the knife over my neck and I can feel it cutting into me and I think I peed again because I was so f–ing scared. When he said he said he was a murdering maniac I think I turned white as a sheet. I was so scared my entire body was shaking. I think I almost passed out when he said he was gonna cut the skin off my body in big chunks and stomp on my balls.

That's when everything got really bad. He made me stand up, and I could barely make my legs work because they were still half asleep from being tied really tight. I stood up, but I was like totally naked so I'm holding my junk and he just punches me, again, and kicks my feet out and knocks me down. My head is killing me and he made me get up again. And then he just started wailing on me, beating the shit out of me. And I tried to stop him, but he's huge –– way bigger than me. Every time I got up he punched me and threw me to the ground again. I was hurting so bad. I couldn't get up and he . . . he . . . he grabbed my hand and he jammed a needle in my finger, like right under the nail, and I couldn't help it and I screamed. It hurt so f–ing bad. I mean really bad. I know I peed on myself when he did that.

I don't know how long it lasted, but he kept beating and kicking and punching me. Making me get up. Hitting me again, really hard. Then he jammed a needle in my dick, and it hurt like an f–ing bitch and I was screaming, screaming. But he kept beating the shit out of me, pulling me up, and wailing on me some more. And I just lost it then. I didn't even care. Every inch of my body was killing me. I was crying and writhing and screaming for my Mom, crying out for help. I know it sounds like I was being a baby but he just kept hitting me, and it hurt so bad, I thought I was gonna die. And then I couldn't get up anymore –– it hurt too much. That's when he stood over me and peed on me, on my face and head –– everywhere –– and all I could do was hold my head and cry, sobbing naked on the floor at his feet. It probably took about 45 minutes before I could manage to get up, and make my way to the bed in this little, tiny room. All my clothes were destroyed, so I couldn't get dressed even if I wanted to. Everything hurt so bad. I think I cried myself to sleep.

All this stuff happened two days ago. And I've been here, alone and naked, in this little room ever since. I've still got a little food, but not much. I've been going to the bathroom in a bucket and it really stinks. I'm really scared. Really, really scared. I don't want the dude to come back, but if he doesn't, I'm gonna starve to death in here. He probably wants me to suck his dick or something gay. He's probably into kids like that. I already thought it through and I'm pretty sure I'm gonna end up dumped in a ditch somewhere. I've been crying a lot.

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