Chapter Seven.

Dana stood outside the back door, listening to the bastard screaming. She walked about fifteen paces away from the house and she couldn't hear him at all. Perfect. She had been here for almost three hours, and she was getting concerned that he might not last very long. She didn't think Rachel had suffered more than maybe a few minutes after he had raped her and stabbed her. The autopsy report said that she had bled out quickly, she probably wasn't even conscious during most of the attack.

Still, he was going to suffer as long as possible for taking her closest friend away from her. He also deserved it for the way he treated women in general, not to mention the beatings that he had given the working girls. They were all sure that he was the one that Lola had been with the night before her body was found in the river.

She had taken three days off. Hopefully she would be able to keep him alive for the entire time, she would need to slow down a bit. The etching fluid may have been a bit too much. The hydrofluoric acid would eat through the skin fairly quickly, causing severe necrosis. Hopefully it wouldn't get to the bones too soon.

Movement near her feet made her look down. A black and white marked cat was stepping cautiously toward her. Dana didn't like cats. She started toward it, stamping her foot. It sprung back and took off into the trees.

Looking up at the sky, the clouds were breaking up a bit. The rain had tapered off earlier before she had followed Amundsen home. She hoped the rain would start again. It felt cleansing and made the world fresh, knocking down the fumes and pollution of the city. She decided that she would need to go back into town, a few new ideas had occurred to her and she needed new supplies. That and she needed some sleep, she didn't want to try and sleep in Amundsen's house, and it didn't feel safe to her.

She walked back to the house. The screaming had stopped, but she could still hear some guttural grunting from below. Looking around the kitchen, there was a table with two metal folding chairs in one corner. She picked up one of the chairs, and took it down to the cellar with her. She bumped against the wall and cursed to herself as she reached around in the dark for the cord to the light. Finding it, she pulled and the bulb illuminated her path.

Donald Amundsen hung from the ropes limply, he had passed out again. Dana took the chair and set it underneath him, she planned on lowering him down onto it and tying him there. With his legs both broken and his hands zip-tied behind his back, there wasn't much chance of him being able to escape. She untied one of the knots and gripping the rope tightly, lowered the heavy body down to the chair. It was just a few feet from the main support post in the center of the basement, so she wrapped the rope around the post for leverage and pulled the chair closer to it. Using complicated knots, she tied the man to the chair and the chair to the post.

He moaned a bit, but didn't regain consciousness. Double checking her knots, she was satisfied he would not be able to move around. She went to the workbench and picked up the backpack. Most of the tools here she would leave, she just needed to pick up a few more things.

With the pack over her shoulder, she left the house and walked back to her car. She could squeeze in a couple hours of sleep, and then go shopping for more supplies.

The road was clear and she pulled the car out slowly, keeping the headlights off. She drove about a quarter mile then turned on her lights. Driving in silence, she made her way to the highway and then on to her still new apartment.


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