Friday, January 29, 2010
This week's #fridayflash is part three of the Jo Carter series. For previous instalments, click here.
by Lily Mulholland
Jeremy rose smoothly to his feet, face set with a stiletto smile.
‘Dickless bastard? Josephine, we both know better than that now, don’t we?’
He approached the gurney upon which Jo was shackled and ran his index finger up the inside of her naked thigh, pausing in the dark patch of hair that was the only privacy she had.
Jo realised she was supposed to be scared, scared of being raped, abused, tortured. But she wasn’t; she felt empowered, strong, angry. She stoked the fires of rage with memories of their time together. How he'd strung her along, taking her out to the coolest places in town and showing her off like a pet peacock. By now she’d figured he’d targeted her at university, no doubt to get to her father. Jeremy had been a guest lecturer in one of her international relations classes and had invited the whole class out for drinks that night. She’d gone along with a dozen or so of her classmates and had felt so mature and intelligent when he’d singled her out for attention. She’d been drunk on ego and felt the shame of it still.
Her cheeks must have coloured; she felt Jeremy’s fingers thrust forcefully between her legs, threatening the soft skin lying bare beneath the fuzz.
‘Just like old times, my dear,’ he said with a leering note, 'except I see you've had a haircut.'
Jo met his look with one of sheer hatred; recoiling, Jeremy pulled his hand away. He regained his composure almost immediately, but not before Jo notched up a win to herself. She had him. He still wanted her. He was a dickless bastard and now she knew it.
‘So. It’s time to do business. Tell me who your handler is.’
‘Or what?’ Jo was feeling feisty.
‘Or I’ll kill you. But you must appreciate that Josephine. You’re not as stupid as you look.’
Was he playing that old game? He must think she was still that silly young girl, easily impressed by an older man in a flashy car. He’d done the training; he must know that she’d be impervious to these basic tactics. But, there it was again. He wasn’t thinking straight – he wanted to fuck her. God, men can be so stupid sometimes!
‘Well you’d better get it over and done with, Dickless, ‘cause I’m not telling you anything.’
‘Fine. In that case, I have someone I want you to meet.’
The door opened and in walked a man in a white coat. A white coat? You’ve got to be shitting me. So fucking stereotypical.
‘Josephine, I’d like you to meet Dr Engadeen. Dr Engadeen, this is Josephine.’
Dr Engadeen didn’t bother to look at her. He merely laid his case on a steel table adjacent to the gurney, opened it and began removing a number of small items with the care of a surgeon.
‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up, doc.’ Jo couldn’t help herself. The sarcasm hung in the air.
‘I’ll leave you to it, doctor. I’ll come back in ten minutes – I trust that Josephine will be more cooperative by then.’
An affirmative nod passed between the two men. Not a talker then. And I’m being watched. There must be a camera in here somewhere. Jo made a quick scan of the room. She couldn’t find the camera – it had to be hidden in the ceiling or wall somewhere. There was nothing for it. She was going to have to fight her way out.
Dr Engadeen, or whatever his real name was, approached Jo with a large syringe filled with what she could only guess was sodium pentothal. Aim for the neck you bastard.