Everyone goes quiet, and in that chilling silence, I notice it. My daughter has gone quiet also. My body goes numb and cold sweat trickles down my face. My hand releases the coat hanger, and it clashes on the ground, breaking the dead silence.
"Nat—Natalie?" I call out in a choked, sobbing whisper.
Without thinking, I move towards the living room, convinced I will find her small body lying lifeless on the hardwood floor. But Ghost steps in front of me.
"Wha—what have you done to my daughter?" I demand, holding back my sobs.
Not getting any response and believing Natalie is already dead, I throw caution to the wind and turn to Timmy.
"I know it's you, Timmy! It all makes sense now! That weird phone call at your father’s clinic. You were talking to these two, weren’t you? You were talking to someone named Guile!" I tell him.
Remembering they call Werewolf 'G', everything falls into place.
"Is it him?" I ask Timmy, pointing towards Werewolf.
The shock and disbelief at this incredible betrayal make me nauseous. How could he?
"Why? Why are you doing this? To me? To Natalie? You traitorous little shit! Why?" I yell at him.
I wish I could wrap my hands around his tiny little neck and squeeze until his eyes bulge out of their sockets. Timmy frowns in confusion, but something else crosses his eyes. He squints them and gives me an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Does he not understand what I just said? Or is he shocked that I recognized him? He backs away, and Werewolf approaches. He chuckles, seeing me recoil at him reaching out for me. He grabs my arm, yanks me forward, and throws me on Ghost.
"Bring her to the bathroom and stay with her till this whole goddamn mess is over," he tells him, not breaking eye contact with me.
But then he turns to Ghost, slaps the side of his masked head, and pokes him with his index finger on his chest, like a father scolding a disobedient son. The scene is awkward and confusing. Almost embarrassing. But the scene begs the question. Who the heck is the leader of this pack?
"But don't be an idiot! She's off-limits! You understand? You fucking pervert!" he warns him, staring him down.
Ghost gives Werewolf a side stare and pulls me towards the bathroom opposite the closet they put me in. Walking towards the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of Natalie lying motionless on the floor. I go numb, but then I think she might have moved her head. I keep from gasping, and I fight back the terrible urge to run to her. I do not know what they have done to her, but she needs help. Acting out or fighting back right now with the three of them here is stupid. I need a better plan.
We enter the white-tiled bathroom that is quite bright, thanks to the nightlight I keep in here. Ghost closes the door and shoves me to the floor. I manage to land on my hands and knees, but the impact sends a burning pain up the left side of my ribs that takes my breath away. Dizziness sets in, but I know better than to remain close to Ghost, so I crawl away from him and stand up near the toilet seat. Concentrating on regaining my breath, I know enough about these morons not to turn my back on them. Ghost paces to the bathtub and sits on the edge, and glares at me.
The place is a mess. Werewolf or Mummy tore into here looking for God knows what. I notice my pair of red Revlon tweezers in the space between the bowl and the toilet tank. If only I could grab them, but how? He will not quit staring. He will notice me bending over to grab something. But what if he was not looking?
"Mind if I pee?" I ask, keeping my tone polite.
Knowing my daughter is in dire need of my help, maybe even dying, and knowing this fucker had something to do with it, I just want to charge him and rip those eyes out with my fingers.
"No one's stopping you," he answers with a smug tone.
"But would you mind turning around? Please," I add the please with a whisper. Maybe my begging might stir some compassion in this animal.
"Not a fucking chance! You're a troublemaker. A real feisty, bitch! Besides, you ain't got nothing I've never seen before," he informs me with a slight chuckle.
Crap! Alright. I will just have to improvise. I open the toilet seat cover and sit down. I undo my buckle and unzip my pants and start pulling them down while lifting my pelvis just enough to bring my pants down but not too high so he cannot sneak a look. I pretend to slip and bring my hand behind me right on the spot where the tweezers are. I hide them in my hand and slide them on the side of my thigh, and I insert the tweezers in the left pocket of my pants. I am aware that he will be waiting for the trickle of urine hitting the water. So, I just pull my pants back up and stand up. And sure enough, Ghost notices.
"What? Too shy?" he snickers.
"It's hard to go if someone is watching you," I answer him.
I turn around to zip up my pants and make sure the tweezers are not visible through the fabric. Ghost grabs me from behind and puts a hand over my mouth and another across my chest. He breathes into my hair and rubs his cheek against mine while thrusting his pelvis against my butt. He has taken his mask off. He reeks of alcohol and cigarettes. My heart is pounding through my chest. It is obvious what his intentions are. No! No, he won't! I won't let him!
"You say one word, bitch. You make any noise, and I swear to God, I'm gonna send that little angel of yours right back to heaven!" he whispers into my left ear, and it sends shudders up my spine.
But hope also! He just confirmed my daughter is still alive, and now, I must fight tooth and nail to get out of his beastly grip and save my daughter from these animals.
He is pulling on my pants and forcing me to lay face down on the floor. My left hand becomes trapped beneath my body weight and his, but I still have some movement. Reaching and stretching my fingers to grab the tweezers in my pocket, an image flashes in my mind. An image of me as a young girl lying on the ground and fighting off someone. I am sweating and shivering simultaneously, and panic is slowly wrapping its tight grip around my chest. I cannot breathe; I cannot think. All I can do is fight back. Ghost undoing his metallic belt buckle brings me back, and he is now tugging at my pants. With each pull of his hand, my pelvis lifts with his force and gives me just enough time to remove my hand from under me and slide it inside the pocket containing the tweezers. I grab them with the material inside my pocket as well to keep him from pulling my pants all the way down, and I hold on for dear life. I will not let this animal rape me! Tears are streaming down my face and blurring my vision, but I will not give this bastard the satisfaction of hearing me cry, not one sob, not one cry, not one whimper.
It is now a tug war for these pants, but he is much stronger, and the cotton pants do not stand a chance. Fabric tears, my chest tightens, and my breath comes in short, shallow gasps. Another terrifying image flashes again, unexpected, horrifying. Someone is on top of me in that basement, and I can now see his face! It's Lou! The dim light of an old lantern paints his face red and makes his features devilish. The rest of the place is just darkness, darkness surrounding me, while my dad’s best friend does the unthinkable. I try to scream, but his hands around my neck prevent me from making loud sounds.
The image is so vivid, I scream. These are not hallucinations triggered amid all this terror. These are memories gushing back to me. Terrors of my present unlocked the terrors of my past.
Ghost reacts to my scream, and pushes my face down sideways on the cold, white tile with one hand, and pulls and tugs down his pants with the other. To do so, he gets on all fours and pulls down his black jeans. His left leg is rubbing against my thigh. It will not be long now; it will not be long until, once more, someone is violating my body.
Taking advantage of my vulnerability. Taking advantage of the fact I am a much smaller person who is not likely to put much of a fight—a person who was caught off guard. For a split second, I contemplate letting him do it. To just lie here and cry. Cry while this animal tears at my body and soul and my mind. And my sanity.
But then, the image of Natalie lying on our living room floor stamps itself on my mind, and a new surge of energy invades my body. If I do not do something to get out of here, this horrible night will end with my cold, dead, ravaged body on our bathroom floor and Natalie either dead or missing. To think that only a few hours earlier, we were carving pumpkins, happy and safe. And now this. I do not know what takes over me. Is it anger, disgust, hatred, or murderous rage? I cannot tell. Maybe a combination of all of those. But my sweaty hand wraps around my tweezers and jams them in his left thigh.
He immediately pulls back away from me and lets out this half scream, half enraged grunt. I crawl away, noticing the sutures near the pocket on the left side of my pants are now ripped, but my pants are still holding. I desperately scan the bathroom for another weapon. I wounded the beast, but my blow was not deadly. Any injured animal who has not received a severe blow only gets more dangerous.
There is pounding at the door and shouts from Werewolf demanding that Ghost open it. Ghost locked the door behind us. The bastard had planned this all along. He stares at the door for a moment, then reaches down and pulls the tweezers out from his thigh. He looks back at me, and he has murder written all over his face. His face, which I can see with crystal clarity now, is that of a young man. Probably in his early twenties. A goatee sprouts from his chin, and his dark, auburn hair is army-style short.
His somewhat chubby cheeks are flushed red, and beads of sweat are coming down from his forehead. I examine his face, but I do not recognize him. Where in the world did Timmy meet these horrible people? He gets up with a wince and a grunt, and there is a moment of hesitation. I am unsure if he is heading for the door or me. Deciding not to wait for the answer, I stand up that instant, run to the pharmacy, and open it. The metallic glimmer hits my eyes, and I grab the pair of stainless-steel scissors my husband keeps there for trimming his beard and turn just in time to come face to face with Ghost. I jam the blades into his chest with both hands shaking. The scissors go in like butter.
He stumbles backwards, and my grip on the scissors is so hard I stumble with him and fall on top of him to the floor. He stares down at this chest wide-eyed wanting to grab the scissors, but I jam them even more into him with all the weight of my body. He makes this awful gurgling sound while still wanting to reach the scissors, and then he stops moving. His chest stops rising, and he stops breathing. His eyes, wide open, are missing something. His features relax, and his brown eyes lose their menace, their rage. An eerie calmness washes over his face. Recognizing he is dead, I get off from him, shaking violently. Bursts of sobs emanate from me, and cold sweat drips from my pores. Both the horrors from my past and present invade me. It’s too much for my body.
Werewolf and Mummy break down the door with a kitchen chair and freeze at the scene that greets them. Ghost is lying dead on the floor with a pool of blood already forming around his body. His vital fluid's deep redness is made the more evident over the white tile it is flowing on. It is gory and gross and disturbing, and I know I should be repulsed, but I am just numb.
To my surprise, Timmy lets out a girly cry and runs to Ghost's side. He cups Ghost's face with both hands, then clenches his shirt and shakes him. Getting no response from Ghost, Timmy rests the top of his bandaged head over Ghost's right shoulder and sobs. Somewhere in the pit of my numbed heart, the part of me that is fond of Timmy twinges with empathy. I guess I am still human. I think I am still me.
Snapping out of his stupor, Werewolf looks at me with the same murderous stare Ghost gave me after I stabbed his thigh with my tweezers. Do I have any strength left in me to fight them off? I doubt it. My head hurts, my body will not stop shaking, and my vision is a little blurry. I think I am still crying.
I back away, searching for something, anything else in this bathroom I can use as a weapon. Most of the things from the pharmacy are scattered here and there. It was a miracle those scissors were still in their place. Nothing, there is nothing! Crap! Panic seizes me, and adrenaline rushes through my veins once more. I back up near the toilet seat. Maybe I will have time to grab the lid of the water tank and smack his face in. I put my hand on the cold, wet, white porcelain. Sweating, shaking, I doubt I will have the strength necessary to lift the damn thing and provide enough force to the blow to be able to knock him out.
My right fingers slip underneath the heavy lid. Werewolf, perhaps blinded by all the red he sees, overlooks my actions. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for yet another battle. But a familiar and unexpected sound breaks the tension—the doorbell rings.