“Isn’t he a lucky man.”
Jennifer felt Mr. Farris as he came up behind her. Shuddering nervously, she started to turn and face him, but suddenly and without warning, he grabbed her from behind and covered her face with a foul-smelling rag.
No. No…no, this can’t be happening.
Had she been unconscious for a few minutes or a few hours? She didn’t know. When she came to, she realized she was sitting propped up against the wall in the kitchen, her feet tied together with rope and her hands pulled over her head, each wrist bound with individual pieces of rope that had been tied to the door handles of two open kitchen cabinets.
Groggy, slightly disoriented, Jennifer blinked several times, then took a deep breath and glanced around the room, searching for her attacker. John Farris loomed over her, an odd smile on his handsome face.
“Well, hello, beautiful,” he said. “I was wondering how long you’d sleep. I’ve been waiting patiently for you to wake up. You’ve been out nearly fifteen minutes.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice a ragged whisper.
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“What do you think I intend to do?”
“Rape me.” Her voice trembled.
Please, God, don’t let him kill me.
He laughed. “What sort of man do you think I am? I’d never force myself on an unwilling woman.”
“Please, let me go. Whatever-” She gasped, her mouth sucking in air as she noticed that he held something shiny in his right hand.
A meat cleaver!
Sheer terror claimed her at that moment, body and soul. Her stomach churned. Sweat dampened her face. The loud rat-a-tat-tat of her accelerated heartbeat thundered in her ears.
He reached down with his left hand and fingered her long, dark hair. “If only you were a blonde or a redhead.”
Jennifer swallowed hard. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me with that meat cleaver. He’ll chop me up in little pieces…
She whimpered. Oh, Judd, why didn’t I listen to you? Why did I come here alone tonight?
“Are you afraid?” John Farris asked.
“Yes.”
“You should be,” he told her.
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
He laughed again. Softly.
“Please…please…” She cried. Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
He came closer. And closer. He raised the meat cleaver high over her head, then swung it across her right wrist.
Blood splattered on the cabinet, over her head, and across her upper body as her severed right hand tumbled downward and hit the floor.
Pain! Excruciating pain.
And then he lifted the cleaver and swung down and across again, cutting off her left hand with one swift, accurate blow.
Jennifer passed out.
