Annie (Short Story)

The cars traveled silently into the setting sun, a pilgrimage of mechanical ingenuity. The mountains watched without care, was nothing to them. They had been there for millenniums. She wasn’t listening to him. She hadn’t for the last fifty miles. He bored her. Their arranged marriage had angered her. Of course in America arranged marriages were not practiced, except in the deep confines of the Appalachians, and they were heading out of the cocoon.

"You know, my daddy always said it aint fair to shoot a squirrel while he’s sleeping. Hell, I shot me plenty of them whilst they were in their tree homes." Art was rambling, but he didn’t care. Annie hadn’t said anything for an hour and he was bored stiff. "Annie, what’s wrong with you? You aint said nothin’ for some time now."

She didn’t want to say anything to the illiterate bastard. What could she say that would make sense to him? "Got nothing to say." She muttered.

Art placed his hand on her bare knee and tried to slide it up a little more than proper. She slid his hand away brusquely. After she did it, a pain of guilt crossed her, but not for long. She knew what he was expecting on this their wedding night. Her stomach tossed with the idea, not that it was new or anything. She had done it with Frank Laughton in the football stadium underneath the bleachers while the game was starting to peak excitement from the fans.

"Hey, how about a little leg action? Damn, aren’t you a little excited?" Art was turned on. She could see his bulge increasing in dimension. Annie was about to gag with revulsion.

"Not till we get to the hotel." She said.

"That will be in about five minutes." She could hear the agitation in his voice. She had known Art most of her life. She knew what kind of sick bastard he could be. Once when she was about twelve she had seen him beat a dog until it was bloody and broken, just because the dog had urinated on one of his spinner hubcaps. The dog later died, lucky dog she thought. She would not be that lucky. Soon, he would be groping her and hurting her. Annie quaked with fear. "There it is." He pointed to the small neon light with two letters unlit. It blinked "ote" insanely in the pitched night. Art pulled the car up to the office. "I’ll check us in."

Annie knew she had to move fast if she was going to escape. They were just outside of Pittsburgh and she was certain she could get lost in the city. Annie had money. She would need it. She would have to wait for Art to fall asleep and she knew what that would mean, sex. He would have his grubby hands all over her, but he would fall asleep eventually. She would make him wear a condom. Annie didn’t need to be packing a child around with her in a strange city.

The room was small and cramped. The bathroom contained an old rusted toilet and a shower-tub that looked to be older than the room. Annie let the hot water run across her body. She was lucky Art had let her shower. He wanted to throw her on the bed and molest her the minute he unlocked the door. The showerhead was ancient and nearly clogged shut, just a smattering of water fell across her breasts. When she toweled off, a feeling nausea rushed up her throat and she fell to her knees in front of the toilet. He was waiting.

"Come on Annie." He yelled. "I’m going to have to beat-off pretty soon if you don’t get the hell out here and service me." His laugh was hideous and vulgar. She opened the door cautiously. What she saw next made her weak-kneed. Feeling the blood leave her head, Annie thought she would pass out. Art had placed ropes on each corner post of the bed. She knew what would be next, a horror she had not wanted to happen. It was something that had been below her conscious, hidden in recesses of fear. "I created a little something for you. Do you like it this way?"

"I don’t know…what is it for?" Feigning gullibility, she tried to smile shyly. She tried to pretend she wasn’t scared out of her mind.

"Lie down here and I’ll show you what for." He laughed fiendishly again. She did as instructed knowing that to do otherwise would be certain punishment.

He ripped her brand new nightgown off revealing her youthful breasts. He groped them and began to slobber on them. She stiffened as he clumsily tied each ligature to her. Her position on the bed was religious looking, but Jesus’ legs weren’t spread on his cross. Art ripped her panties off her with one movement leaving her darkness exposed and easily accessible. Surprisingly, Art stopped. He stared at her with disgust. "You hate me don’t you?" He yelled. Reaching for a bottle of some kind of whiskey, he chugged several times. Annie for a moment was frozen with curiosity, never seeing anyone drink almost half a bottle of booze with one flick of the wrist. Her curiosity turned to horror.

"No, Art honey, I don’t hate you." She lied, but not good enough.

He slapped her. "You lying little whore." He slid his belt out of its loops and wrapped it ceremoniously around his hand. "Think I’m gonna beat you?" His eyes were glazed with anger. "Not that easy, slut." He swung his hand with the belt wrapped around it and hit her square in the face, splitting her nose wide open. Annie passed out and felt nothing. She awoke in cool darkness. She was lying in the bathtub, naked with Art’s belt wrapped around her neck. She couldn’t breathe through her nose. She lay silently and listening. Annie could hear Art’s heavy snoring in the bedroom. She moved quickly.

In her overnight case by the rusted sink was a rope, which had already been fashioned into a hanging noose. The bastard would never know, she thought. The snoring continued as she placed the noose around her neck and tied the other end to the old showerhead. She stood on the edge of the tub and jumped. Art the monster did not hear the crunch of her neck and when he found her in the morning he did not notice the blood soaked map of Pittsburgh lying at the bottom of her overnight case.