Still inside of me, the intruder's body goes rigid.
There are a few seconds of taut silence. I don't know what to say or do. I can tell he's working out what he'll do and I am terrified he'll act on his word and slit Johnny's throat.
I try to sniff back my tears. Maybe I can convince him everything is all right and send him back to bed.
I lean towards the man and whisper. “Please, let me put him in his room. He won't bother.”
It looks like he's considering it, or considering I can see almost nothing of his facial expressions, it feels like he is. But that only lasts for a few moments as a noise comes from Johnny's mouth.
“MMMMM…MMMM…MMMM…” With each repetition the nonsensical sound gets louder. It's the loudest I have ever heard Johnny. His equivalent of a scream. Sometimes when he's upset he vocalizes, but not to this extent or this volume. People look at him and they think he's dumb. They think he doesn't feel like us. They dismiss him as a “retard.” But he has instincts just like we do. Even though he can't verbalize his feelings, he comprehends them. He understands right and wrong and he knows this isn't right.
“Johnny…shhh!” I try desperately to quiet him. But he gets louder.
The man rips himself away from me and charges toward Johnny with a knife in his hand.
“No, please!” I scream. If my silence can't save Johnny, then I don't care anymore. I'll scream. I'll fight.
He grips Johnny by the t-shirt.
“Please, I can make him stop!” I cry.
A thud. Loud. Coming from my bedroom. Carter must have found his way to the door. It sounds like he's slamming against it, trying to break it open. The thumping is loud and repetitive and adds a layer to the chaos.
It's strange. As frightened as I was, as violated as I was, I felt I could manage this. Things were quiet. I knew I could pacify this stranger with sex. But in seconds, everything I was protecting has dissolved into chaos.
“I'll kill him,” the masked man threatens with a throaty husk. He's gripping Johnny, but he looks down the hall. It's clear he's referencing Carter.
He drags Johnny with him, who is still vocalizing loudly and unrelentingly.
“No!” I yell, chasing after him with my hands tied behind my back, my inner thighs wet from his intrusion. I stop when I see him in front of my bedroom door, holding Johnny tightly against him, the other hand resting at his side with the knife. The door to the bedroom is buckling at the bottom. I think Carter is still bound. Otherwise he would have tried the window. There's a long way to go before it breaks. And when it does, he's going to meet his death. He'll be no match tied up against a man with a ten-inch kitchen knife.
“I'm gonna carve your boyfriend's fucking heart out,” the man growls.
Johnny's going at full volume. There's too much panic. Too much noise. Too much chaos. Where is everyone? How can no one hear the nightmare developing within these walls?
The violator holds the knife to Johnny's neck. “Shut up!” he grunts. But Johnny is in a full blown tantrum, the worst I have ever seen. His crooked lips contort as he tries desperately to speak like the rest of us, but the same pointless sounds come out.
This whole thing is out of control. This man planned everything. He had us bound in minutes. He's lost control and he'll do anything to get it back. So I do what I have to do. We can all die, or they can live and I can give this man what he wants. I don't want to live if that means watching my brother and fiancé die.
“Take me!” I beg. “Take me anywhere. Somewhere quiet. I won't fight just please don't hurt them,” I sob. “Take me with you. It's what you came here for. Please,” I drop to my knees, completely broken, hoping to appeal to a shred of humanity in him. To understand I would rather him rape and kill me than take the life of the eight-year-old boy in his arms. It would be an act of mercy.
“I love you, Johnny,” I say softly, my voice quivering as I restrain the scream of terror that wrestles to escape.
The bedlam drifts into the background like an echo. I have played my last hand. And either way, I will likely die. I close my eyes and bow my head. “Please,” I utter, so low, there's no way anyone could hear me. I don't want to look. I don't want to watch him kill my family.
A hand claws onto my arm, the pain jarring me back to the physical world. The noises, the feel of a hand on my skin, they focus me.
“Get up,” he growls.
I learned about sex from watching the animals. I guess we all have to learn it somewhere. There were stretches of time, long after the accident, when my mother would lock herself in her room, that the animals were my only companions. I fed them. I watched the stallion mount the mare with his huge cock and take her. She would neigh and fight, but he would conquer her. That's how it works in most of nature. The male dominates the female.