Another hit by the pipe, this one lands against my stomach and my body feels like it’s being split in two from the blow. I don’t get to recover, before there’s another and then another. Four repeated hits in the same area and I’m close to losing consciousness. I think the last two went higher than I first realized, because my breathing is ragged. Broken ribs? Maybe…I can’t be sure. Donald grabs my foot and pulls me roughly down to the ground. I lie there in misery. I can’t do anything else. Then I see the knife in Michael’s hands. A moment later I feel the cold metal of the blade dance under my stomach. I’m waiting for the red hot fire of the blade slicing into my skin. I don’t get that. I can’t be happy about it though, because I feel the chill of air hit my skin as the blade slices through my shirt and bra.
It’s my worst nightmare come true. Lying on the cold floor, my body exposed to the two men that have violated me, haunted me…destroyed me. Michael puts the blade flat against my face and slides it down my forehead and further to my nose and my chin.
“It’s time for the fun to really begin, Melinda. If you tell me where my money is, I might do you a favor and end you before there’s too much pain.”
I close my eyes and try to pretend I’m somewhere else. It’s impossible with the pain. I can do nothing but cry and scream against the gag, as the knife slices into my stomach. I almost lose it at the white-hot agony that comes with the slicing of Michael’s blade against my skin. It’s familiar, but new and more intense than I remember. Perhaps time had soften the memories after all, I’m not sure, all I know, is that with the second…or maybe it was the third….it all goes hazy. I feel Michael cut from the bottom of my ribcage, down my stomach, and darkness swallows me. I welcome it.
I can’t be sure of what happens next. Which is good and bad. I could have sworn I heard Nicole crying and for the space of a minute, I thought I might have been rescued. Then I feel the far-off dull pain of someone kicking my stomach and the stretching of the cuts on my stomach. I hear crying and it sounds so mournful, so sad. I want to reach out and hug the person for the pain they must be enduring. Then I wonder…if maybe I’m the one who is crying? I hope I don’t give him that…I hope it’s not me.
*
I feel like I’m disconnected from my body. The pain is intense, but it’s almost as if I’m above it all looking down. I keep going in and out of consciousness, so I’m not sure how long Michael has had me. I don’t know why I’ve held on. Maybe I really am stupid like Michael says. Surely a smart person would have already given up and died. I don’t want to live, I’m pretty much done and yet, somehow my body refuses to let go.
I’m being moved. I can hear voices over the pounding in my head. For a brief moment, I thought I felt the warmth of the sun on my body. I’m not sure. I can’t open my eyes, their swollen shut. I don’t exactly remember when that happened, I just remember the repeated blows from Michael. I’m burning up…fever…infection…the thoughts are jumbled in my head, but I know that’s what it is. I’ve lost blood, but nowhere near enough. Michael is a master at going to the limits of what a body can withstand. Still, he wants me dead, so this beating, this punishment is so far beyond anything he’s ever done before.
I hear the slam of a door and then we start moving. A car…I’m not in a seat though. I’m pretty sure they’ve thrown me in the trunk. There’s a moment when they go over something that jars the car and I bounce, causing even more pain than when they moved me. Railroad tracks. I let the hum of the car take over in my head and try to…die. It doesn’t happen. Breathing is getting harder though. Each breath is painful and shallower than the last. Is this a sign that it will all be over soon?
Eventually, the vehicle comes to a stop. I can hear the soft thud of doors closing. At least I figure that’s what they are, because the car rocks after the sound each time. Above me I hear the trunk lid opening.
My left arm is broken and useless, also the hand itself feels…different. The sleeve of my jacket has been split and there’s a large cut in the skin there. My right arm still seems to be working, but I hold it close to my stomach. I want them to believe it is as useless as the left. I also want them to believe I am completely out of it.
If Michael thinks I am unconscious, then I might be able to store up enough energy to use the knife I still have in my jacket. They’ve cut off the rest of my clothes. I don’t know why they left my jacket. Perhaps I have pure dumb luck? Maybe God decided he needed to answer one of my prayers after all and this is His way. I probably am going to hell soon. I don’t see me making it to the pearly gates, but if I do, I intend on filing a grievance against the whole prayer selection process.
Someone is lifting me and the shift of my bones is so sudden that the pain is blinding. My head is hanging down and straining my neck, the pounding in my head, along with the pain from the rest of me is so all consuming that I almost black out. I can’t let that happen.