Bottom Feeder Page 4

  Deena finally looked around the living room.

  “I guess the old place did clean up nicely after all, huh?”

  “It is very nice,” Arlene admitted. “Though it is hardly old anymore; the only original part of the house left is the garage and basement.”

  “Don’t you find that remarkably weird?” Deena asked.

  “Weird as all get out,” Arlene said with a smile, and they both laughed. Deena stopped suddenly and shivered as she spotted the basement door. “Do you need anything or are you ready for bed?”

  “Bed sounds wonderful,” Arlene replied.

  It had turned downright chilly after dinner time, but the Kesters left the dog out anyway. It had been barking non-stop for over an hour.

  Deena put her robe on. “I can’t stand that dog’s yapping any longer,” she said almost conversationally.

  Arlene must have heard her as she met Deena at the door to her bedroom.

  “The dog?” Deena asked her guest politely, guessing that she too had been awakened by the neighbor’s dog. “I can’t sleep with that dog barking all night.”

  “Don’t blame me; it’s not my dog,” Arlene responded.

  Deena blushed; her bottom lip trembled shamefully, but she swallowed hard. She was not going to scream at her guest or anyone as a matter of fact. She wasn’t going to cry either; after all it was only a dog. If she could put up with Steve and his abuse, this was nothing. Joseph loved to see her cry; and the last thing she wanted to do was to give him satisfaction, even if the asshole was hundreds of miles away. He had always said she overreacted to the little things; and the Kesters’ barking dog was upsetting, nerve-racking, and most of all, annoying, but it was only a dog. Each yap assaulted her eardrums like a screwdriver to her eardrums.

  Arlene observed her.

  “You going over there, Deena?”

  “No. I just moved in and I don’t want to alienate the neighbors,” Deena said. “I’ll call Mrs. Kester in the morning.”

  “Only you’ll be too tired to call and then the same thing will happen again tomorrow night,” Arlene replied. “I’m sorry, if I’d known…”

  “You would of what…stopped me from renting out the place? That wouldn’t have made your boss happy.”

  “You know the dog isn’t even theirs,” Arlene announced. “It belonged to the former tenants of this house. In fact the dog was the only one to survive the fire.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, dear, did I forget to mention that when I showed you the house?” Arlene was the one blushing now.

  “I guess you did,” shot Deena. “People died when this house burned down?”

  “Three, a husband and wife and their ten-year-old son,” Arlene admitted. “Honestly, I wasn’t trying to hide it from you.”

  “You’ll come with me then to speak to the Kesters,” urged Deena.

  “I’ll do no such thing. I cannot risk anyone seeing me like this,” Arlene said, motioning to her split lip and swollen eye.

  “I’ll just call animal control or Mrs. Kester in the morning.”

  “Animal control won’t be of any help to you,” Arlene reasoned. “Cut backs have only two of them working and most of their time is spent doing paper work. You’ll be lucky if they response with two weeks.”

  Deena stalked out of the room and came back with her boots on. “I’ll do it.” Her heart hammered in her ears, sweat beaded itchily at her hairline, and her palms were moist.

  Deena hated confrontation. What if they became angry? Or worse, what if they released the dog on her?

  “What if they release the dog on me?”

  “It’s a Shih Tzu, for goodness sake. About the size of a football. If you have to, kick it,” Arlene replied with a slight smirk.

  “That does not sound very Christian-like to me,” Deena remarked.

  “Well, even Christians have to sleep; now get going.”

  Arlene grabbed Deena’s jacket and held it out. It was a new jacket from Land’s End, buckskin in color with a light tan lining. Arlene thought how expensive it must have been and that she had never been allowed to order such nice things from catalogs.

  “It will only get worse as the night goes on,” Arlene prompted Deena.

  “Maybe the dog will freeze to death first,” Deena replied hopefully.

  “Nah, it’s not cold enough yet.”

  Deena took the jacket from Arlene.

  “That’s it,” she said. “Be the good neighbor and remember to be polite. Now, go get ’em, Deena.”

  Deena should have worn her heavier coat, but she was tired and had been handed this one by Arlene. It was nearly dark; she should have taken a flashlight or at least her cell phone. She picked her way down the driveway to the sidewalk; there was no one else out this early and she walked over to the Kesters’ front porch. The dog heard or sensed her, and began barking immediately. Deena once again validated she was doing the right thing as dull thuds made her think her ear drums were about to break with each yap from the dog. Besides, it was too cold to leave animals, even dogs, outside, she told herself.

  She rang the door bell. The dog became even louder.

  The poor thing was having a conniption and began to throw itself, from the sounds of it, against the fence to the backyard. The poor devil of a creature was going to bust a leg or his head. Pity. If Deena could not get anywhere with the Kesters she’d just call the Humane Society.

  The lights were still on inside, although the Kesters could be outback or busy and not hear or be able to come to the door. At least she could say she tried and move on, if no one answered, and she’d be off the hook.

  The she heard, or rather felt, feet, tiny clawed feet to be more precise, pawing at the door.

  The door started to open; her legs shook with nervous energy, her ankles wobbled. The door swung in, and Mr. Kester stood, backlit from the foyer. He looked at her; she looked at him.

  He was average in height, sallow, and balding, with a fringe of graying, oily-looking hair around his skull. His eyes were a light gray with permanent bags under them, and the whites of his eyes were a little blood shot. He could be just tired or a little tipsy from drinking, Deena imagined.

  “Ms. Hopping, I presume?”

  “Yes, Mr. Kester. I’m so sorry to bother you, but it’s about your dog.”

  “Oh, yes, the dog.” He sounded as if he was already bored and annoyed with her. “Is there a problem?”

  “Um…of course there is…you see the constant, loud barking is keeping me and my house guest awake. I was wondering if you could…”

  “It’s a dog,” he said coldly. “And dogs bark.”

  Her throat was dry as a bone, tight, and talking hurt. Why was this becoming a bigger problem than it really ought to be? “Dogs do bark, but they also don’t have to, as your neighbor is trying to sleep.”

  “Really? I can ask the poor beast to cease but I doubt it would have any effect,” he answered. “The dog does not listen to anyone, it does seem.”

  Deena cleared her throat, hard. “Please, see what you can do. The barking is very disturbing and I have a lot to do tomorrow. I mean…it is rather cold out; perhaps the dog just wants to come indoors. Maybe that will keep him from barking.”

  “It’s an outdoor dog.”

  “I see. But perhaps, for only one night…”

  “It is a watchdog, Ms. Hopping. What good would a watchdog do indoors? Alert us that someone was already inside the house?”

  “I can see what you’re saying…but the weather is…well…brutal. And the dog has not stopped barking in quite some time.”

  “He does stop on occasion. It is ridiculous to claim that he barks all the time.”

  “But he does. From the time the sun sets, he hasn’t stopped. I cannot sleep with that dog yapping like he is, please.”

  “I am sorry, but I don’t see how I can do anything more. Goodnight, Ms. Hopping,” Mr. Kester said and slammed the door in her face.

  She stood in the porch
light with blood raging in her face like a forest fire beginning to lose control.

  He might have well said, Fuck off, lady, because that is what he really meant. The dog was an outside dog and does not listen to anyone.

  Her rage nearly got the best of her. She almost began to pound on the door with her fists, or perhaps rip off the wreath that hung on it.

  She took a deep, slow, long breath, compressing her lips, and the raging forest fire that had spread to her ears and neck, and softened a little. Her legs trembled not from the cold any longer but from trying to keep her emotions in check.

  The dog had begun to bark less by the time she got back to the kitchen, and Arlene was there to congratulate her. She couldn’t bear to tell Arlene the truth after what she’d been through tonight, and told her everything was going to be better with the dog.

  She went back upstairs and to bed. Just about an hour later after finally being able to doze off, the Kesters’ dog began its assault on her ear drums and a peaceful night sleep. Cursing, Deena buried her head in the pillow, trying to drown it out, but to no avail.

  * * * *

  When Rosemary Spiner awoke, she was alone in the basement. She had no idea how long she had been asleep or how long her captor had been gone. Looking around, she saw an unmoving bulk in the far corner. Her heart leapt and she stifled a cry. Then, squinting, she saw that it not only moved, it pulsated. She was even more frightened now. What the hell is that?

  There was a small window in the room, located at head height a few feet from where she huddled in fear, but it had been boarded up so no light filtered in from outside. The only illumination came from a dim overhead bulb which threw long shadows around the depressing space. Across the room, farther than she could reach when she stretched her tether to its full length, was a white chest-style freezer. It looked like a coffin, she thought. The pulsating grew louder, not in sound per say, but in presence. She could literally feel the pulsating down deep in her bones. It was like some massive heartbeat. She ignored this and continued to search the room. Virtually at her elbow was a battered pool table, its felt surface blotched and torn. She saw nothing to give her hope, nothing to make her think she would get out of the basement alive.

  Hugging herself, Rosemary realized suddenly that she was still naked from the waist down and that she was severely cold. The floor and walls were bare concrete, which contributed to the damp chill that seeped into her bones.

  One area caught her eye. At a spot not far away, the concrete on the floor had been broken up and there was a shallow pit in the dirt underneath. For a fleeting moment the word grave popped into her mind, but she dismissed it. The broken spot in the concrete was smaller than a bathtub and not even as deep as one. She had no idea what it was for.

  Letting her shoulders hang down, Rosemary hugged her knees and tried to think about life in the outside world. She wondered if people living in real time were sitting down to a winter feast. That thought reminded her that she was hungry; hungry enough, in fact, to eat a horse—she remembered the saying—not that she’d ever eat a horse.

  As though in response to her thoughts, she heard the upstairs door open and her captor entered unexpectedly; in his hand was a fast food bag along with a drink.

  She looked at it suspiciously. She was hungry, but not that hungry. For all she knew, his offering was poisoned or drugged. He held it out for her. She shook her head. “I’d rather fuck a donkey.”

  “That can be arranged,” he said, turning and carrying it back upstairs. Then he doubled over in pain. “Yes, master…no, I understand. Sorry master…no…I mean yes…no, it won’t happen again…sorry.”

  He immediately handed her the meal and drink. “Go on, it’s all right. Sorry about teasing you. Eat up. You’ll need your strength.”

  He went upstairs, only to return moments later lugging a pick and shovel. The word grave flashed through her mind again.

  Turning his back to her, Marsden began digging at the earth in the spot where the concrete had been removed. First he deepened the hole, and then he used the shovel as a scoop to widen the pit under the concrete that had not been chipped away.

  As he worked, he talked. He told her what he wanted most in the world was to have a great fortune and all the women to do with as he pleased, but that something always happened to ruin his plans. He told her to eat and she did, gladly. He was bitter towards women as he had never quite understood them or they him.

  “I do all the fucking work around here and don’t get to enjoy everything,” he told Rosemary. “All I want is to have beautiful ladies to screw and who do as I wish. I mean…for crying out loud, is that so much to ask?”

  He then lurched forward, striking his head on the concrete wall. Rosemary cringed as she heard a thud and the impact of his skull absorbing his brain.

  It was then that Rosemary heard the voice—the voice that had been controlling Marsden.

  You do as I wish and expect nothing in return. You bring me the dregs of society so that I can feed and I am thankful for that. Do I ask that you not soil them by mating with them? The answer is no. You shall do my bidding and be pleased that I do not feed upon you. Do we understand each other, Frank Marsden?

  Marsden stood, holding his now bleeding head in his hands. “Yes, master. Forgive me. I speak when I should work.”

  Yes. I am hungry. Work, Frank Marsden, feed me.

  “What the fuck is that in my head?” Rosemary demanded.

  “Shut it!” snapped Frank. “My head hurts enough without you yapping away.” He paused and eyed her. “Master, if I could take her once more?”

  Be quick about it and make it your last time with this one.

  Rosemary shivered. He didn’t have to tell her what was coming next.

  Marsden put down his shovel and walked to where she was sitting. Unzipping his pants, he pulled his penis out and ordered her to take it in her mouth. After a few minutes he thrust it in her vagina and pumped away until he climaxed. Then he went back to work digging for a few minutes before quickly coming to the end as he had with her. He went back upstairs.

  Left on her own, Rosemary started working on the nuts on her shackles. With some effort she freed her left ankle, giving her mobility to scurry around the room as far as the chain would allow—about twelve feet. She went to the window and started working on the covering until she pried it open enough to see daylight. Desperately searching for a tool, she found a cue stick under the pool table and used that as a lever to force the covering back so she could open the window. Then, boosting herself up, she wiggled through the opening into the backyard. She crawled as far as the chain would stretch and started screaming.

  She soon realized that her voice was gone. She screamed yet nothing came out. It was hopeless. She pulled on the chain. She began to pound on the ground, hoping beyond hope that someone would hear her. Someone did hear her.

  Frank Marsden heard her.

  Red-faced, he raced into the yard and silenced her completely with a backhanded slap. He then tried to push her back through the hole she had climbed out of. She went limp and he couldn’t get her back in. So he ran back inside, down the stairs. Grabbing the chain, he started hauling her in like a marlin. Once he got her inside, he heaved her into the pit in the floor and dragged over a piece of plywood to put over the top. However, the hole wasn’t deep enough to hold her. Even with her legs folded against her chest, her head stuck up too much for the board to lie flat. She started to push against the plywood and scream, again silently.

  “Take that, bitch!” Marsden bellowed. “You like that?”

  Frustrated, Marsden shoved the board aside, grabbed her by her hair, and yanked her out of the pit. Then he picked up a stick and started beating her. When she whimpered surrender, he shoved her back in the pit, pulled the board over the opening and forced it down, making her bend her neck until her chin was on her chest. He put several bags of dirt on top to hold it in place, then left her alone again.

  Rosemary began to shed te
ars. She could feel the earth moving all around her, except on top. The pulsating grew closer. A wave of frustration and depression swept over her. Never had she felt so frightened and dejected. For the first time she could ever remember, she cried with all her heart. She knew what was happening.

  It was feeding time and she was on the menu.

  Chapter 3

  The weather changed, wind shifting from east to west, and it was sunny and in the forties when Deena went outside to get the newspaper.

  Deena looked out the kitchen window at the field behind the house. The dog was at it again, barking away, but it was the morning and she silently vowed not to let that dog or her neighbors get under her skin today. Wind blew the heads of the daffodils in the field; they bobbed in clumps around the small shrubs. Soon winter would be gone and perhaps she’d even find a new man by then, who knew?

  Not a minute too soon, since she was halfway through breakfast, Arlene came downstairs, looking more bruised than the night before. Deena bit her tongue.

  “I suppose I ought to head on home,” Arlene said reluctantly.

  “If you feel up to it, there’s no rush to leave,” Deena answered politely. “I do have to head out myself in a little while. I have some supplies to pick up. Do you want to come along with me?”

  Arlene gave her a look that said I shouldn’t, and then said: “No, I have to face him sometime; might as well get it over with. But thanks for the offer and the bed. I should be heading home and let you get on with your life. You don’t need some middle aged, punching bag dragging you down along with her.”

  “Stop that,” scolded Deena. “You’re not a punching bag.”

  “Just middle aged?” Arlene said, managing a smile. Suddenly the two women began to laugh.

  “Sorry,” Deena replied.

  * * * *

  About an hour later, Deena had driven to PaperClips in nearby Glendale. She passed staplers, folders, reams of paper, pens, pencils, markers of every sort and color before she stopped at the laptops. She would need a good laptop and word processing program if she wanted to write. Though, she told herself, there wasn’t anything wrong with the old-fashioned pen and paper. But Deena wanted to be a modern writer and they used computers. Joseph hadn’t allowed her to take their laptop when she left him in Florida. Deena had believed this to be due to his large files of porn on it. Anyway she was starting over without Joseph. A new house, a new life, and new career (hopefully), and a new man (someday)—two down and two to go, Deena urged herself.