It was nearly noon. Rochelle finally slept soundly after tossing and turning with great agitation. Now, her mind played dream scenes of flowing water, green lily pads floating on top, and ducks swimming about; the most pleasant dream she could remember having in months. In her dream, her long red hair caught the wind and blew across her mouth. She pushed it aside, but the sensation of the hair continuing to be across her mouth made her struggle awake.
The hot stinging bite of a hand slashing across her cheek startled her and her eyes flew open. An electrical shock raced through her. Her lids stretched in fright at the discovery of the diabolical face hovering above her, a face corrupted and twisted with hate and vengeance.
The black beard covering his lower face and jaws left him looking more threatening and dangerous than ever. He smelled sweaty as though he had not bathed in days, and his wrinkled clothing gave further evidence to that fact. Likely avoiding Miami like the plague after learning about the warrant for his arrest; he came straight to Montana from his Colombia trip. Being a hunted man, he knew he had nothing to lose. Killing Rochelle would give him great pleasure, especially in view of the fact he was likely destined to spend the rest of his life in prison, at the least, with Monroe Tatum's testimony against him.
Rochelle had expected the security alarm to ring with his entrance, had counted on it to wake her, to give her time to take action in defending herself. Yet, the alarm had not gone off. How could he have gotten in without it waking her?
Then like lightning, her stupidity dawned upon her. Michael had gone out and she forgot to set the alarm. She hadn't even locked the front door. All Tobias had to do was walk right in.
“You dumb fucking bitch! Did you really think you could get away from me?” His gray eyes, now looking nearly black with venom, drove into her like nails as he slammed a fist against her jaw. Rochelle was certain the sound she heard was shattering bone.
Another crash of his fist caught her forehead and eye, and immediately her eyelid puffed up, blurring and impairing her vision.
Fear rose up in her like a giant hand clutching at her heart, it so strong she could taste it, could smell it.
“Where's the mother fucker who brought you here?” Tobias demanded. “I should have killed that son of a bitch the first time I saw him. He won't get a second chance. I will bury that bastard before I leave here today. Where can I find him?” he demanded, grabbing her hair and giving it a mighty jerk.
Rochelle screamed in pain, then breathing in shallow breaths, she made a poor attempt to reason with him. “Tobias, you've got to listen to me,” she implored.
“Shut your whoring goddamned mouth!” he roared, and his hand struck violently against her face. Blood poured from the corner of her mouth.
The pain shot through her with such force she was certain she might black out any minute. However, the instinct for survival kicked in, and she willed herself to remain conscious. Tobias had not come to take her with him this time. The warning signs of a man completely out of control were all apparent. He was in a rage that left the outcome of her life highly uncertain.
Suddenly, the thought hit her that she didn't want to die. She wanted to live, wanted a chance to make amends with Michael; wanted to feel his arms holding her just one more time. Fear clung to her senses, and she considered the desperate choices she now faced: to kill Tobias, or let him kill her.
How could she overpower this man? How could she kill him before he could kill her? She forced her good eye to remain open, and she saw him waving a gun in front of her face, touching it to her temple, his finger seeming to tighten upon the trigger. She was certain she was going to die.
She wanted to grab for the gun and try to shoot him, but she knew there was no way she could gain the gun and shoot Tobias before he took the first shot. To go for the gun would give away her only means of protection and she would be at his mercy then, would surely die without a solitary chance to defend herself. She had to think, had to figure a strategy, look for an opportunity.
With an effort, she began inching her hand upward trying to ease it beneath the pillow where her gun was, but then her nearly unconscious concentration became diverted by Tobias forcibly ripping her gown from her body, the fabric shredding in tattered remnants. His eyes scorched over her tense flesh, his desire rising with hungry insistence causing him to render to the ultimate brutality that could drive his need to maddening heights.
“Don't do this, Tobias. Please don't do this,” she implored, but his response was another hard crash of his palm against her face.
Her nose ached like splinters sticking in it, and a stream of blood rolled down on her lips and flowed to the corners of her mouth, finally spilling down her chin. She kept her mouth closed, seeing that her pleas had a negative effect on Tobias and her voice only fueled his rage.
Tobias threw the tattered gown away from her. As he had done hundreds of times before, he ran his hand all over her flesh, cupping her breasts, watching her expression that was nearly grotesque now with her swollen face and eye. He wanted her, and he would take her this last time. Then it would be over.
The thought of killing her when he finished fucking her was an aphrodisiac that spurred him on with raging madness. He had come to a place in life where few things mattered. Knowing there was a warrant out for his arrest in Miami left little reason to care about anything. The thought of spending the rest of his life in prison left no resistance to killing Rochelle. She disobeyed him when she ran away the first time. Now, she had betrayed him with the son of a bitch who invaded his home. Killing her was the only thing that would ease the rage boiling inside him.
With the gun aimed at her temple, he used his other hand to undo his belt. He pulled his pants down with his under shorts. He seemed to be purposely taking his time, enjoying the fear growing in her one good eye. The fear seemed to ooze out of that eye and wash across her face in waves, leaving her once beautiful features contorted and deformed. He wanted her to scream, needed to hear her scream, and he was determined to have that one last pleasure before he blew her away.
When he was naked except for his shirt and socks, he pushed his knee between her thighs, spreading them, taking time to memorize every line and curve of her creamy body. The bright patch of her woman's mound that had drawn his passions hundreds of times over the past years sent his manhood screaming for the enjoyment possible only with her.
As the gun scraped across her temple, Rochelle knew she was going to die, and if she had to die, there was one thing she had to know. Even though Tobias would probably hit her again, she had to ask. “Tobias, I know you're going to kill me, so all I ask is that you tell me just one thing before I die. Did you kill my parents?”
She turned her face as best she could away from him, squeezing her good eye closed as she waited for his blow; but mercifully, it didn't come. Instead, he threw back his head and let out a guffaw of laughter filled with so much venom that it shattered the silence of the room, bouncing off the walls in an awful echo. It was the sound of a mad man, someone totally out of his mind.
“You were always such a naïve and stupid little fool. You believed anything I wanted you to believe. Your father was the biggest fool of all though. He thought he could come up against me.
I warned the son of a bitch. I told him to back off, but he went out and hired a private detective to build a dirt file on me. That son of a bitch died happy with an overdose. I didn't mean for your mother to get it, but she just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time.”
It came as no shock to Rochelle. It is what she suspected. Yet, the realty of certainty churned hate inside her. “Why me, Tobias?
Why did you want me when you obviously had a choice of many women?”
“You had something I wanted, baby, and it was between your legs. You were unassuming—at first—like a kid that didn't need much to keep you happy, except shopping sprees. I liked fucking you, and that's about all you were good for.”
“How can you be so corrupt and evil?” she moaned through the pain sheeting and throbbing across her entire face.
“You're calling me evil, my little bitch? I gave you everything you wanted. I kept you in some of the most expensive clothes and jewels money can buy. I never heard you complain about those.”
“I had nothing else to do, Tobias, but shop. For five years, you made me a prisoner, and kept me locked away in that house. You didn't allow me to go anywhere, unless I was with you or guarded by one of your men. I hated it—just like I hate you.” she spat out the last sentence, bloody saliva spraying Tobias's face.
He stuck the gun to the side of her head and gritted his teeth.
“Keep up your chatter baby, and I'll pop you right now.”
“Just do what you're going to do to me, Tobias, and get it over with. You will be doing me a favor. I simply ask that you make the first shot count. Don't make me suffer.”
He laughed a taunting laugh that clearly demonstrated his power over her. “Don't be in such a rush, baby. You have to make daddy happy just one more time.
He was holding his manhood in his hand, getting ready to stab her dry canal with it. She put her hands against his chest and pushed, wishing he would just kill her instead of putting her through this last degradation. Her resistance drew another fist against the side of her head that caused everything to go black all at once. Her good eye closed and her head lolled to one side and she could feel herself sliding into dark oblivion.
Seeing her eyes closed in defeat, resignation, and near unconsciousness, he slapped her again, not as hard this time, letting his hand swing lightly from side to side, just enough to jar her awake. “Don't you pass out on me, you bitch. I want you to feel every bit of me in you, and I want it to be the last thing that will ever cross that brain of yours. Open your fucking eyes!”
Forcing her one good eye open with what little strength she still possessed, she stared, watching the rage on his face, the hate that was eating him alive and turning him into a wild animal intent upon consuming its prey.
Then with animalistic ferociousness, he plunged into her with such reckless and violent force that the scream he craved shot from her mouth in a blood-curdling gurgle. He sexually pounded her as never before, his violence driven by the need to make her pay while she was still alive to feel his retribution.
She laid there unable to move, choking on her screams, his weight pressing down upon her, and his brutal thrusts tearing her up inside.
Pumping in and out of her, he didn't have long to wait for the rising heat that blinded him, sending his body shooting out raging wild fire and bursting tensions that tightened then released in his groin and in his brain. At the instant of his release, his eyes shut tightly as he felt the rise of a shuddering climax crashing over him, followed by violent, satisfying jerks of passionate release.
Barely conscious now, but seeing this as the only chance she might ever have again, she made the most desperate choice of her life. It would be Tobias and not her. When his eyes closed during his climatic moment, when his seed was spewing deep inside her, Rochelle reached beneath her pillow and felt cold steel against her hand. She pulled the gun out, and in one motion, lifted it to Tobias temple and squeezed the trigger.
The noise deafened her.
Her last vision was of Tobias's eyes jarring open in that tiny fraction of a miniscule second between the sound of the explosion and just before the bullet plowed into his brain. Shock and incredulity froze forever in his eyes as his life shut down almost instantly.
Blood, bone, and brains exploded from his head, spraying down over Rochelle and the bed. Her hand fell limply by her side, and her good eye closed. Her face was a bloody mass of exploded and mangled tissue, and her limp fingers continued to curl about the gun.
She passed out beneath Tobias's weight, which was forcing the air from her lungs and nearly cutting off her airflow.
Finally, darkness seeped into the last moments of consciousness and closed in around her.
“THIS ONE'S STILL ALIVE,” shouted a medic.
“Oh my God!” Mabel cried from downstairs at the foot of the stairway from where she had heard the man's voice. “Please let it be Rochelle,” she prayed aloud fervently. She glanced toward the living room where Michael sat with his arms balanced upon his thighs, his head bent and resting in the palms of his hands, his shoulders shaking in emotional agony.
When the paramedics first went upstairs, word trickled down that Rochelle and Tobias were both dead. When Michael tried to vault up the stairs, two police officers stopped him and forced him to remain downstairs.
Mabel was the one who found Rochelle and Tobias.
Michael had asked Mabel to stop by after lunch and check on Rochelle. When she rang the doorbell several times, panic rose in her throat. With her hand on the doorknob, she reluctantly turned it.
Seeing it was unlocked, she pushed the door back, gazing inside.
“Rochelle?” she called out in a timid voice, not wanting to startle her. When no answer came, she called louder, her voice rising each time she called Rochelle's name. Then with a speed unnatural for her buxom weight, she took the stairs two at a time until she stood in the door of Rochelle's room.
The sight was so staggering, she crumpled to her feet, nearly passing out before she mustered enough control to go downstairs and call the police.
Dazed with shock, she sat in the living room until the police arrived, followed by the medics and an ambulance. The house was soon overflowing with uniformed figures. Finally, when she could think a little, she called Michael and shared the sad news with him that Rochelle was dead. After seeing her lifeless figure beneath Tobias's dead weight, and all the blood on her and Tobias, any other conclusion seemed impossible.
“Get a stretcher up here! Hurry!” yelled a frenzied shout from upstairs. Then feet were running in mad unison to obey the command.
At the sound of heavy feet just outside the living room, Michael looked up in time to see the men hurrying upstairs with the gurney.
“Michael, I heard them say one of them was still alive,” Mabel cried and took one of his hands in hers. She had never seen him looking so distraught, so vacant and dead looking.
Mabel's words registered in his dazed skull, causing him to glance sharply at her, a touch of hope sending a spark to his dull blue eyes. He came to his feet, hurrying out into the foyer, his eyes pealed upward at the landing. Sounds of movement and confusion came from upstairs. Michael kept his eyes trained, unblinking, bewildered perplexity shadowing his face, while delicate stirrings of hope fed the heartbeat in his chest. He continued to watch as the stretcher rolled down the hallway to the landing, and the medics carefully transported it down the stairs. The sheet-covered figure lying upon it was still and unmoving.
Then Michael saw her face beneath the oxygen mask. Swollen all out of proportion, the skin around one eye puffed up like a ball.
Bruises forming on one entire side of her face, and a puffy cheek distorted any resemblance to Rochelle. Her broken lips swelled out of proportion, while cuts from Tobias ring were all over her face. A stream of blood ran from her nose down to her lips, sliding down from the corners of her mouth to her chin.
Michael's body reacted with a violent shudder as he stepped back out of the way of the stretcher and the paramedics. He and Mabel both followed in their wake, their faces frozen in dismal shock. The thought kept ringing in their minds: She's alive. She's alive.
Michael managed to keep a semblance of control, despite the fact he felt like he was coming apart. He held back as the medics put Rochelle in the ambulance, turning and glancing toward the house.
He was thinking about Tobias lying dead in the same bedroom where someone killed his father and Tina. He wanted to follow the ambulance to the hospital, but he also wanted to learn exactly what happened up there in that room.
“Mabel, wait here. I'll be right back,” he said and took off back into the house.
No policeman was on the stairs just then, so he ascended quickly, darting toward the bedroom before anyone could stop him.
The sight that met his eyes staggered him. The medics had shoved Chandler on his back, and he was naked except for his shirt and socks. His penis and groin area were soaked in blood, and Michael knew it was probably Rochelle's blood. Another puddle soaked into the bedding where her hips had been. Tobias's temple was already becoming crusty with dried blood, and a white pulpy stuff that was likely brain tissue oozed from the wound. He held a gun in his right hand, and the thought hit Michael squarely that Tobias had meant to kill Rochelle this time. Another gun, bagged now, lay on the bedside stand, and while Michael had no idea where she had gotten it from, it had to be the weapon that killed Tobias.
“Michael, what the hell are you doing here?” Sheriff Rollins quaked, catching sight of him. “Get out of here. Fulbright, get out there and don't let anyone else up those stairs.”
Michael had seen enough. Hanging his head, he made his way back down the stairs where Mabel still waited.
“The son of a bitch was having sex with her,” Michael said stormily to Mabel when they were in his car.
Mabel sent him a disbelieving, disapproving look, shaking her head. “Mikey, you can't possibly still be jealous of him after what you've just witnessed. My God, give the girl some credit. You have no idea how much suffering she's been through, and you damn sure didn't help any with your puckish jealousy.”
“Lay off me, Mabel. I can't take it right now. My opinion of myself is bad enough without having you lay yours on me, too.”
“Mikey, he has mentally, emotionally, and sexually abused her for years. He victimized her so long it is a wonder she is still sane.
He was evil through and through, and I am glad the bastard is dead and won't be able to hurt her anymore. Maybe, finally, she'll have some peace and contentment in her life if she pulls through this.”
AT THE HOSPITAL, THE WAITING ROOM, where they sat for at least two hours, was quiet—almost reminiscent of a peaceful atmosphere. Michael was looking at his watch when a doctor stepped into the room. “Are there any family members for Mrs.
Rochelle Chandler?”
“Yes, we are,” Mabel replied. She jumped to her feet in unison with Michael.
“She's going to be alright. Although her face is in bad condition now, it will heal. There were no broken bones, which is a miracle.
She lost a lot of blood and we've had to give her a transfusion.”
“How long will she be here, doctor?” Mabel asked. “And how long before we can see her?”
“She's very weak from loss of blood. She is going to need some recuperation time. Perhaps you can drop by tomorrow and see how she's doing.”