Chained Down

Chapter Seven

Scanning the kitchen of the abandoned farm house Detective Tom Brown of the Dallas Police Department writes down his thoughts about the crime scene in his notebook. His gloved hands open and close all the cabinets, looking for that one clue that will lead him to the monster he has been chasing for eleven months, but the place is clean. The kitchen is spotless like the rest of the house, no prints, no fibers, nothing.
He walks through the living room and down the hall to the back bedroom of horrors. He takes a deep breath as he enters; he knows the scene by heart. Each one is set up exactly the same, abandoned farm house or basement in the city with a dead girl chained to the bed. Each bed is exactly the same, just a bare mattress and box spring. The chains are always the same at each scene, the same thickness the same lengths and the same style handcuffs padlocked to the chains. The same brand of every piece of evidence has been consistent for each crime scene.
He walks in and takes in the scene. Crime scene techies work bagging and tagging the chains and handcuffs, dusting for prints he is positive won’t be there. Everyone knows their job and doesn’t need to be micromanaged, his team has worked together for more than a decade and everyone is treated like family and the professionals he has molded them into. The girl is still chained to the bed, her arms and legs stretched out to the corners of the bare mattress. She lays naked except for red panties, exactly the same as the other five girls. One thing stands out to him and that’s the girl’s hair, it is short and blonde. The other girls were brunette, the hair falling past their shoulders.
Tom’s partner of five years, Detective David Thomas, walks up to him and says, “Boss, the Medical examiner thinks she’s been dead for eight to ten days. He will get a more exact time when he takes her back to his lab.”
David Thomas is a great detective in his own right and has been with the Dallas PD for eighteen years but still calls Tom ‘Boss’. He does it out of respect for the Thirty five year veteran even though they work together as a team and Tom has let him take the lead on dozens of cases.
“We have got to catch this asshole, David.”
“You mean Mr. Chained Psycho.”
“Mr. What?”
“That’s what the press has started to call him. Stupid name if you ask me, you would think they could’ve come up with something a little better. I guess it looks good in print and makes a good sound bite for TV news.”
“That’s just great; they gave this asshole a name, that’s all we need, people giving him human emotions. This guy isn’t human at all; he’s a sick fuck that gets off on torturing and raping women. You do that, I’ll hunt you down and make you beg me to take you down to Huntsville and let them put the needle in your arm.”
“The press is outside, do you want to make a statement or do you want me to handle them?”
“You go ahead; you know my feelings about the press.”
“You got it boss, I’ll go feed them some information and be right back.”


Chapter Eight

“Do you mind if I change the channel? I don’t feel like watching a slasher movie right now,” says Michelle sitting on the couch, her leg touching Mr. New shoes, her hair still damp from her hot shower. She is clean and actually feels like a human being instead of a dirty sex doll, there for only one purpose then locked away in a back room, forgotten about until the urge rises again.
“Change it to whatever you want, I don’t care.”
Her chains bang against the wooden coffee table as she grabs the remote and aims it at the TV. She flips through the channels trying to find something other than girls being hunted down by a sadistic killer.
“Stop, go back a channel!”
She jumps at him yelling at her, she didn’t even think he was paying attention to what she was doing. He’s spent most of the evening staring down at the beige carpet. She points the remote back to the TV and switches back two channels where a local news anchor is talking.
“We go live to Melissa Peterson on the scene of what appears to be another victim of Mr. Chained Psycho, Melissa what can you tell us?” says the female reporter blankly into the camera.
Mr. New shoes sits up, moves to the edge of the couch.
“Thank you Mary, I’m live in southern Dallas at the scene of another murder of a young woman. Police believe it is the work of the same serial killer they have been chasing for almost a year, leaving five female victims dead in different parts of the county. Detective David Thomas of the Dallas Police Department just finished up a press conference and told us that the woman was blonde and about twenty six to twenty eight years old. He said they hope to have a positive ID in a few hours. It is significant that he told us she is blonde because the other five victims all had brown hair, he also said she was found exactly the same way as the other victims. We hope to have an update as to who she is after the morning press conference that has been scheduled for nine, Melissa Peterson Local Nine news, now back to you, Mary.”
Michelle looks over at Mr. New shoes as the news anchor moves on to another story. He seems in awe of the news he has just heard. She expected him to be beaming like a proud father but his emotion is more like jealousy or respect, for a hero. Jealousy not on a hate level but on an, ‘I wish it was me they were talking about instead of you but I’m happy for you’ kind of level, she finds that reaction really strange for a serial killer. Everything she has read about them is that they love attention and can’t get enough of their own press coverage.
“Is that one of your girls?” she nervously asks.
“What do you think?”
“I’m not sure; I guess it’s one of your victims, the one right before me.”
“That would make sense, wouldn’t it?”
“You killed all those girls?”
He quickly gets up and walks into the kitchen. He returns a minute later with a glass of water and hands it to her and says, “It’s time you went back to your room, drink your water, you should stay hydrated for all the activities tomorrow.”
She looks up at him shocked for the abrupt end to her night out and takes the glass and drinks the water down. He grabs her arm and helps her up and points to her bedroom. He takes baby steps matching her chained stride, follows her down the hall and into her bedroom.
“Sit down on the bed,” he commands her and walks into the bathroom. He opens the cabinet doors under the sink, pulls out a large chain and two new padlocks still in their package.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
He carries the chain on his shoulder and kneels down at the edge of her bed where the chain for her left arm is padlocked to a bolt in the floor. He unlocks her arm chain and casts it aside; he locks the new chain to the bolt and begins to stretch out the slack the length of the room. He kneels down in front of her, sitting patiently on the bed, unlocks the shackles around her ankles. He places a new shackle around her left ankle, padlocks it to the new chain, he shakes the chain and lock to be sure they are secure, he grabs her old arm chain off the floor and carries it along with her old ankle shackles walking towards the door.
“This chain will let you wonder around your room, it will reach into the bathroom so you can go whenever you want. It stops just short of the window and at your door. The handcuffs and chain stay on your wrists for now. I’m sure you know what will happen to you if you do something stupid with your new freedom, you saw the news report about that other girl.”
“Yes, I understand, and thank you…Mr. New shoes.”
“Stanley, my name is Stanley,” he says staring at the concrete floor, turns and walks out of her room.

Chapter Nine

She sits on her bed stunned that he would give her his name. This must be part of the game? He gives false hope to the girls, pretends to let his guard down so they will try to escape, then he kills them. What’s with him giving his name? What does that do to the game? Questions keep racing through her mind but she decides to focus on her new freedom in her own room. She stands up baby stepping towards the bathroom not realizing she can walk her normal stride, she looks down at her feet and begins to take normal steps that feel anything but normal. She watches the slack in the chain to make sure he was telling the truth and she can actually go by herself when she needs to go. She then walks over to the window but the chain tightens, pulling her left leg back towards the eyebolt in the concrete floor. She reaches out but the window is still a foot or so out of reach. She walks noisily towards the door; the chain tightens once again as she reaches the door jam. She can stand on the threshold of the door but her new freedom comes with limits.
She lumbers back to her bed, the long chain announcing its new presence on the concrete floor. She flops down with her chained hands above her head and her legs spread apart to each corner of the bare bed. She looks down her stomach past her red panties to her feet. She slowly but steadily moves them closer together until they touch, relief swarms her body as she holds hers legs together for the first time on her bed.
She looks up towards the ceiling and moves her arms in sync with each other slowly past her head letting the lose chain run down her face and rests her hands on her stomach, comfort, finally. She shows her beautiful smile to the dry rivers in the ceiling, happy she has been rewarded with some type of comfort. She quickly turns over on her stomach and bounces her toned body on her bed. She giggles to the bare walls like a teenager at a sleep over. She can’t believe she gets to sleep on her stomach, her usual position back at her home. Home seems so far away from the planet she is chained to now. She stops those thoughts as soon as they slam in to her brain, she won’t let herself feel homesick or start missing any part of her former life. Those thoughts will only bring weakness into her brain and she has to stay strong and play the game.
She lets her eyelids slowly fall over tired eyes, smiles to her room, falls asleep, on her stomach, with closed legs.


Chapter Ten

A woman screaming in pain fills the room and Michelle quickly opens her eyes, she feels groggy, like she slept for twenty four hours straight and could easily sleep for another twelve hours. She raises her head off the concrete floor and looks around her room. Her cob webbed brain tries to figure out how she ended up in the corner of her room on the floor. She uses her hands to push herself up to a sitting position, still hearing the screams of pain that echo off the concrete floor. She looks across the room towards the window, the hot sun barely shines through, it’s seems to be early evening. How is that possible? She went to sleep when the sun had been down for awhile. How long was she asleep? Stanley must have drugged her so she would stay asleep all day. She focuses on her bed. She sees Stanley on top of a girl, having ruff sex with her. She is the pain screaming out.
She stands up, her adrenaline taking over, erasing the effects of her sleep aide. She stands frozen, taking in the scene of her capture having sex with another girl, on her bed. Her chains rattling on the floor causes the blonde girl to look right at her with wide eyes, filled with pain and fear. Michelle stands frozen, not sure what to do. Is this part of her game? Is he starting a new game with this girl? If so then why do it on her bed? This new bitch needs to get her own chained bed, this room is hers, not his, it’s hers and she’s the only girl that gets fucked in here.
“What the hell are you doing?” she screams out. “Get off my bed bitch!”
The girl stares blankly at her, tears streaming down her face. She looks Michelle up and down, focusing on her chains.
“Hey, get that bitch off my bed,” she screams at Stanley.
She takes two steps towards her bed and sees the new blonde girl is chained to the four corners, just like she used to be. She watches as Stanley forcibly thrusts himself between her spread legs. The blonde girl cries out in more pain and more tears flood her face.
Michelle watches as memories race through her mind of her first night on the bed. Confusion, pain, fear and disgust racing through this girls mind just as it did hers almost a week ago. Does she have a cigarette slowly burning on a garage floor somewhere?
“Stop it and get off my bed,” she screams at Stanley, again.
Michelle walks to the side of the bed, tries to push him off the new girl, to stop the horror she is going through but mostly to get this bitch off her bed. He reaches out with his right hand and pushes Michelle down to the ground. She flies back hitting the ‘I love me’ wall, falls to the floor knocking his new shoes and discarded clothes into the corner.
Stanley puts his hands on the bare mattress underneath the blonde girl’s shoulders, framing her torso. He pushes up, extending his arms out straight, in the pushup position. He uses his new position to thrust harder into the girl. He can’t control himself; he is going to climax inside this girl; the thought of violating a helpless woman breaks him through, his muscles tense while he orgasms hard inside her. The euphoria filling his brain makes him blind to the fact that Michelle is standing next to them, on her bed.
His body raging full of pleasure freezes him, he watches Michelle wrap her chain around the girl’s neck, pulling it tight, and the girl’s face turns bright red. The blonde girl gasps for air while Michelle wraps her chain tighter and tighter. She puts her right knee on the mattress, giving her more leverage to pull on her chain, her sexy six-pack tightens as defined biceps; deltoids; quads and calves swell with blood, exposing their strength; showing off hours of sweating at the gym. Michelle shows off her beautiful smile to the new girl, who stares helplessly into her eyes as she begins to die, on her bed.
The pleasure between his legs quickly fading, Stanley remains frozen on top of the dying girl. He looks directly into Michelle’s eyes and sees pure pleasure ooze out of her, she is enjoying every second of this girl’s last breath. He looks down at his blonde victim as she takes her final breath. Her eyes become still, focusing on nothing, her life just ended. Michelle’s victim, not his, is now dead.
Michelle quickly unwinds the chain from the dead girl’s neck, loops it around her right hand and slaps Stanley across the face, knocking him back, off her bed. She walks to the foot of her bed, Stanley lies on the floor, stunned, face full of blood. She rapidly beats his face with her chain. She turns him on his stomach and thrashes his entire naked body, as he cries out in pain her beautiful smile returns to her face.
He painfully raises his bloody head off the concrete floor, trying to focus on what just happened. He can see Michelle from the knees down; he focuses on his new shoes she wears. He stares, frozen, as his new white with red stripes cross trainers fly towards his head, knocking him on his back. He stares up at her as she plants her left foot on the concrete and pulls her right leg back, like a soccer player about to make a corner kick for the winning goal; she kicks the side of his head, then nothing. His mind snaps to black.



Chapter Eleven

Michelle regains her balance after her game winning kick. Memories of Amy, her Jr. High bully, flood her brain as she smiles down at her capture. He lays unconscious at her feet just like the most popular rich bitch did when she knocked her out in front of the whole school. The kids stood stunned at the action of the poor girl, who they thought had accepted her role as a helpless punching bag for the rich girls that ruled the world. Respect was hers at that moment, she proved to that rich bitch’s loyal drones that she will no longer stand by and take their shit. The shit they shoveled on her just to cure their own boredom and lust for popularity in the world of Jr. High.
She runs over to the corner she woke up in, her chain rattling behind her. Riffling through his clothes she finds his red shorts, pulls the key ring out of the right pocket and quickly unlocks the pad lock holding the chain to her leg. Tossing the chain into the corner she uses the other key to unlock the ankle cuff, freeing herself from her chain that had become a part of her over the last week. She walks towards her bedroom door, her leg chain sitting quietly in the corner, unlocking her wrists and casually letting her chains fall to the concrete, she struts out of her room.
She confidently walks down the hall, wearing his new shoes and her red panties, past the unused bedroom, the unused bathroom and right past the front door without a glance towards the gateway to freedom. She walks past the TV that sits silent on its stand and right past the sliding back door leading to more freedom. She makes her way through the kitchen, through the pantry, opens the door to the garage that has been converted to the master bedroom.
She stops at the door and scans the room, looking over the unmade king sized bed, the dirty clothes pile on the floor and the stacks of old newspapers against the wall. She knows what she’s looking for and she knows he keeps it in here. Her eyes widen as she spots it. Her purse lies patiently on the floor by the bathroom, her clothes lay neatly folded next to it. As she walks towards her stuff she kicks off his new shoes and strips out of the red panties, tossing them onto the dirty clothes pile. She quickly dresses in her faded jeans and blue t-shirt she wore after her shower at the gym, puts on her own shoes, grabs her purse, her dirty red panties and his key ring. She walks calmly back through the pantry and through the kitchen, retracing her steps all the way back to her bedroom.
She unlocks the blonde girl’s lifeless body, grabs her feet and pulls the hefty girl off her bed, her head smacking the concrete floor as she drags the dead blonde bitch into the bathroom and puts her in the bathtub.
She uses her muscular legs to pick up Stanley’s limp body and tosses him onto her bed. Methodically she puts her chains on his wrist, slides her dirty panties over his naked man hood and locks his ankles to her chains at the foot of her bed. She steps back and admires him laying spread eagle on her bed, wearing nothing but her red panties and her chains.
Her purse and key ring in her hand she retraces her steps once again, walking past the front door, through the kitchen, through the pantry, on through the converted master bedroom, straight to the door next to the closet.
She bursts through the door and into the darkness of the quiet country that surrounds the house. She stands for a second, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness from the bright lights of the house, the heat hits her like a sauna even in the middle of the night. She opens the door to his bright red Chevy Camero sitting alone in the driveway. This asshole sure loves red, she thinks to herself starting the car, letting the cool air blast over her sweaty body.
Staring out the front windshield she sees several rings staining the glass. She opens the glove box and retrieves his GPS and sticks it over one of the rings. Pressing the power button she calmly waits for the device to power up. Quickly searching the history she sees her address pop up.
“What an amateur, he didn’t take the time to erase my address,” she says to the steering wheel.
She executes a perfect K-turn in the drive way, turns on the headlights as she races down the long road leading to the end of the property. She stops the new hot rod on the dirt road that connects to asphalt, she looks around, spins the tires on the dirt, creating a cloud of dust that slowly obscures the driveway in the rearview mirror. Leaving the house of horrors behind she points the car north, allowing the GPS to take her, turn by turn, back to her house and freedom from Mr. new shoes.



Chapter Twelve

Stanley slowly opens his eyes focusing them on the cracked ceiling above him. He tries to move, looks down noticing his hands and feet are chained to the bed. He shakes his body trying to escape from the chains. He turns his pounding head towards the window; the morning sun is just rising over the yard. He jumps at the sound of her voice.
“Good Morning Stanley, I thought you might never wake up,” She says with her back to him, reading the ‘I love me’ wall.
He quickly turns to see who is talking to him. He sees a girl standing there, dressed in running shoes, dark blue jeans that show off her tight butt and a white t-shirt that reveals her tanned, toned arms.
“Michelle, what the hell is going on?”
“My name isn’t Michelle,” she says taking her eyes off the wall, turning towards him laying spread out on her bed, with her chains, with her red panties, “And your name isn’t Stanley.”
“What are you talking about? What the hell are you doing? How did you get those clothes?”
“I went home, showered about a dozen times and changed into something more comfortable than red panties. I am wearing panties though, I bet you want to see them, I bet you want to know what color they are, are they silk or cotton? I’m betting that sort of thing gets you off. Whatever, everyone has their own fetishes, I don’t judge,” she says leaning against the wall, hands in her pockets and her right foot on the wall, looking like a super model posing for an ad in the latest fashion magazine.
She watches with a smile as he tries to shake the cob webs from his brain and figure out how it is that he is on her bed and she’s standing against the wall, free to do whatever she wants to him.
“What do you mean your name isn’t Michelle? I found your ID in your purse.”
“It’s a fake; I have many ID’s at my disposal. I never know when I might need to use a different name.”
“What?”
“I’m not who you think I am. Actually, it’s more along the lines of, I’m not who I wanted you to think I was. You did a good job of stalking me but don’t get to full of yourself, I left some pretty blatant clues and made it really easy for you to follow me around.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You’re lying, I followed you around for three weeks, you’re exactly who I think you are, just a dumb girl who got herself caught by a serial killer.”
“Is the dead blond girl in the bathroom just a stupid girl too, is that what you think of us? Did you stalk her for three weeks? No, you didn’t because you where here with me for almost a week. Did you forget about her? Did you forget that I choked her to death, right in front of you?”
“No, I remember. I was in the middle of my game until you ruined it all.”
“Your game?”
“Yes, my game. That’s what I do, stalk women I want then snatch them up, bring them back her and play my games until I get bored, then I kill them, freeing me to move on to another dumb bitch.”
“You’re nothing but a copycat, Jeremy,” she says calmly walking, chainless towards her bed.
“What, how do you know my real name? I’m not a copycat; I’m famous, look behind you, at my ‘I love me’ wall.”
“I know more about you, than you do of me, Jeremy Steven Randal,” she says standing next to him, toned tanned arms folded across her chest.
“What, who the hell are you? How do you know that?”
“You are Jeremy Steven Randal, born March 16, 1986 in Dallas. You rented this house a month ago, I’m guessing because you didn’t want me to see that you live at 1468 N. Main Street, apartment 4B, in Plano. You’re an only child to some very rich parents who pay you a monthly salary; I figure it’s a payment to keep you out of their house,” she says walking around to the foot of her bed. “You have no job and spend your days trying to get to the next level of your new game. Your driver’s license says you are 5’9” weighing 182 pounds. We both know its closer to 195 pounds, too much beer and couch time. That one was easy to figure out with your new gym shoes and your heavy breathing I could hear four bikes over.”
“Who the hell are you, bitch?” Jeremy screams at her, raising his head off her bare mattress.
“Who am I? Well, Jeremy, you have known who I am all along. You are just too stupid to figure things out.”
“What?”
She walks over to the ‘I love me’ wall and says, “It’s all right here, you worship me. You want to be me, you tried your best to copy me but you didn’t really think your plan through. To your credit you didn’t know who you were up against. I can’t fault you for failing, I’m excellent at what I do and I’m excellent at stalking my prey. You turned out to be the easiest prey I’ve ever had, I left a few clues and you started following me. That made it easy to figure you out.”
“You’re lying, that person on the wall is a guy, and the press started calling him Mr. Chained Psycho. You couldn’t kill all those girls, you’re a girl, and you can’t possibly pull that off.”
“That’s what makes me such a genius; no one would ever think a little helpless girl could inflict such pain on another human being. A girl couldn’t possibly hunt her prey down like a lioness on the Serengeti, chain them up, torture them, inflicting pain, pain she has felt her whole life, pain brought on by rich bitches who think they rule the world,” she says walking back to the wall, admiring her fame, “It’s my job to rid the world of snotty, rich daddy’s girls, girls who use people until they get bored, then throw them away like last week’s out of fashion clothes.”
“You’re a psycho, Michelle, but it’s not you I was trying to copy, no way would I follow a girl.”
“I told you, that’s not my name. You do follow a girl, you worship me, you try your best to be me,” she says walking towards the door, “That’s why you’re on my bed, in my red panties, chained down with my chains, like a dog and I’m standing here free to do what I want to you.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Jennifer.”
“How do I know if you’re lying?”
“You don’t, try to get comfortable, you’re going to be here for a while,” she says walking out of her room