The Shattered Lens Read online

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  Charlie had worked for Gentron Construction for two years and was currently working on the Piper Mansion across the street. This year had been the year from hell following his shoulder injury from a beam that had fallen off a nearby lift while on the job. With the pain unbearable, his physician prescribed a heavy dose of oxycodone. His shoulder had healed long ago but he now dealt with residual dependence on the drug, forever looking for that peaceful high resulting from swallowing a few pills. Adding to his growing addiction, he found that downing a few drinks after taking a pill intensified the effect even more.

  Two days ago he had noticed the beautiful brunette across the street, stepping out of her bright red Mazda RX8. Beautiful car—beautiful girl. She was in phenomenal shape and made no effort to hide this fact. One of his co-workers told him she was a med student. Although he would love to have the girl, he was more interested in what she might be hiding in her medicine cabinet—like Vicodin or Percocet. Even better, a girl like her just might have something stronger somewhere in the house.

  And so Charlie decided that come Friday, he would watch and wait until the lights went out in her house, slipping in unnoticed while she slept. He had very little experience picking locks, but to his great fortune, popped the front-door lock relatively quickly and quietly. It was knocking that damn vase over in the foyer that had caused the problem. He knew then that he would have to go upstairs and silence the woman—but not before he stopped her from calling the cops. So he disconnected the landline from its base in the kitchen, and in doing so, spotted her cell phone charging next to it. Lucky break—destiny. He may have lowered himself to being a thief, but he wasn’t going to rape the girl or anything. He just needed to silence her, hitting her over the head so he could look around for some cash or pills. But even though he didn’t intend to hurt her, he couldn’t have her posing a danger to him either.

  Fortunately, picking the lock on the bedroom door had been easy enough, and when he pushed the door open, calling her bluff, it was just as he had thought—no bullets flying out at him. He searched around the bedroom, going to the obvious hiding place, the master bath, but she wasn’t there. Then he checked the closet. No sign of her there either. He looked around the room, perplexed. How could she possibly have left the room? He had heard her voice coming from in here.

  He spotted the window. Running over to it, he looked outside. The window was closed and locked from the inside. He turned back around and glancing down, saw something sticking out a bit from under the bed. Bending down, he spotted the handle of the baseball bat, but no one underneath the bed. Granted, the light was low, but he could still see through to the other side with the faint glow cast from the night light in the hall. He stood up, looking out the window for a moment, considering the possibilities.

  That’s when he heard the blast as his leg caught fire. In shock, he saw blood sprayed across the wall and remnants of his leg embedded in the plaster. His leg was bleeding profusely through his jeans.

  “You bitch!” he yelled, spinning around and grabbing his throbbing leg.

  “I could blow a hole straight through your head right now and be within my rights—so you shut the fuck up!” she yelled, fear in her trembling voice. Jillian yanked a chair from beside the dresser and shoved it in the middle of the room. “Sit!” she ordered.

  But he just stood there, noncompliant, as she aimed the gun at his crotch, “Maybe I should shoot something else? Sit—now!” she commanded.

  Charlie did as he was told. Jillian walked quickly to her closet and pulled out a black belt. “Here, fasten this around your leg and tighten it,” she spat at him.

  “Like you fuckin’ care,” he gritted his teeth in pain, grabbing the belt and creating a tourniquet.

  “I don’t want you dead, asshole…at least not yet.”

  Jillian hurried over to the bathroom and continuing to point the gun at Charlie from the door, grabbed a cord that was used to tie back the shower curtains along with her bathrobe belt. She returned to the room, and after ensuring that his tourniquet was tied tightly, she tied his hands securely behind the chair. Finally, she wrapped the belt around him and the chair, securing his feet to the rungs.

  “What are you gonna to do to me?” Charlie asked, grimacing in pain as a sinking feeling settled into his chest.

  “I’m going to teach you that people are not prey—they are not your little toys to terrorize.”

  Adrenaline surged through her body. She felt transformed somehow—almost as if she were someone else. Jillian could never remember having so much energy and being so clear-headed. She felt a sudden piercing desire to take revenge on the lowlifes of society…banish the swill that had plagued good people for so long—people she had seen in the hospital E.R. A thick memory from two weeks ago surfaced, a woman who had been brutally beaten and raped, left for dead in the park. The experience of seeing and helping the brutalized woman hit her especially hard as she remembered the man who had shown her just how vulnerable she was ten years ago—raping her at college, rendering her helpless, filthy and defiled.

  Now she would show a man how dangerous a woman could be. She would not let this man harm her or any other woman he might come in contact with. She stepped up close to Charlie and bent over, letting his face get close to her breasts which were barely concealed.

  Though Charlie was throbbing in pain, it was not difficult to feel an attraction for this angry woman. And here she was flaunting her beautiful body right in front of him. But why? He was baffled by this turn of events—and scared.

  “You want this, don’t you?” she asked, glancing down her body, taunting him. This is why you came here, isn’t it?” she asked.

  He looked at her beautiful chest revealed before him. “Yes,” he said thickly, though this was in fact a lie, as he had actually been looking for drugs.

  She jerked back suddenly. With a saucy look on her face and mustering all her strength, she broadsided his face with side of the 9mm pistol. Blood went flying and a tooth ejected from his mouth, landing on the floor five feet in front of him.

  “Fuck you!” he screamed in pain.

  “You wish,” she said, her voice draped in loathing and kicking him hard in the groin. She hit him hard across the head with her gun, knocking him unconscious.

  When Charlie came to, he saw her sitting on the bed, studying him calmly. He glanced around and noticed a table beside him. On the table was a metal bowl filled with ice water, and his hand was completely submerged in it.

  Charlie's heart began to race, and palpable fear escalated within as he began to realize just what dire circumstances he was in—tied to a chair, leg bleeding and his life in the hands of this lunatic. He felt helpless and completely out of control.

  "What are you going to do?" he asked cautiously, looking down at his hand again.

  For a time, Jillian just sat looking at him, still and emotionless. Then placing the gun on the bed, she stood up and walked over to her closet where she took out a clothing iron. Plugging it into the wall near his chair, she placed the iron upright on the floor so it wouldn't touch the carpet. Then she reached down and picked up something hidden just out of Charlie's view on the floor next to the table. Still bent down, she asked softly, "Tell me—how many times has that hand violated someone's privacy? How many atrocities have been committed with that hand?"

  When she stood up, he saw that she was holding a pair of hedge clippers. Panic took residence in his chest. He struggled against his restraints but felt extremely weak due to his injuries. Looking down at his leg, he saw that it was not bleeding much, and the woman had placed a small plastic bin under his foot to catch any blood. He tried to kick the bin away, but found he couldn't move his leg.

  "Please," he pleaded faintly, "Whatever you're thinking, I swear—all I came here for was oxy. Just some oxy!"

  Jillian was stoic, cold. In a low voice, she said, "You can't talk your way out of this. Words are nothing. The only suitable retribution fo
r someone like you is sacrifice."

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he growled.

  Jillian didn’t respond. She bent down, lifted his hand out of the ice water and picked up a plastic-tie wrap sitting behind the bowl on the table. Wrapping it around the base of his thumb, she pulled it tight, then opened the hedge clipper and placed his thumb inside, looking straight into his eyes.

  “Wait—please—please don’t do this!” he begged.

  An audible snap could be heard as she cut his thumb off at the base just above the tie wrap. She was surprised by the amount of blood, much less than she expected. Charlie screamed out in agony. Despite being somewhat numb from the ice water, the pain was excruciating. “You fucking bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he yelled.

  Jillian walked over and casually picked up the gun off the bed, holding the barrel to his temple. “Unless you want your pretty little brains to decorate my wall, I suggest you shut your mouth. For once in your life, act like a man instead of the pig that you are. A man—though I know it’s something you have very little experience with,” she said in disgust, spittle flying from her mouth.

  Charlie bit his lower lip so hard he could taste blood. Jillian proceeded to cut off each of his remaining four fingers—a loud ‘snap’ followed by a ‘plop’ as they dropped into the bowl of ice water. By the time she cut off his pinky finger, the pain was so raw that he was on the verge of passing out—but somehow, he resisted.

  She bent down and grabbed the iron off the floor. Pressing it hard to each of the stumps, they sizzled as she cauterized them one by one. The nauseating stench of burning flesh filled the room. When finished, she sat back on the bed and let her hands hang between her bare legs casually, blood spatter upon them.

  Finally, she looked back up at Charlie, his face paling white with pain. Jillian cocked her head to the side, looking at him as a dog might look curiously at its prey. “You do realize there is one last thing you need to give—the ultimate sacrifice—the only way to ensure that you will never again hurt another woman.” She glanced down between his legs, then back up, a twisted smile tugging at her lips.

  “No—no! Please no!” His sobbing was out of control now. “Please…” was all he could say.

  “I have no choice. You leave me no choice,” she said in a matter-of-fact manner as if totally detached from what was about to happen.

  “I swear to you—I just wanted oxy! I have only ever touched one woman in my life without her permission—only one!” he groaned, desperate for relief from his pain.

  Jillian sat still, studying him, feeling as if she were in daze—in some alternate reality other than the one she was in. It occurred to her that she should be asleep or watching music videos or something…but here she was, looking at this slug of a man, punishing him for atrocities that she was certain he had intended to commit against her or had in fact done to other women.

  Charlie’s cries continued. “I swear, I swear to God—I only forced one woman…and I really didn’t mean to…”

  Jillian looked back down at her hands, studying them for a moment, trying to gain some composure, as if seeking something within to prevent her from the ending of his life. Her mind jumped back to the time a man had raped her at FSU—had brutally violated her, ripping her pinstripe skirt from her body. She recalled crying out, begging for her mother to save her, a fleeting subconscious plea.

  She snapped herself back to the present, reaching for a some remote part of her psyche that might prevent her from doing what she was prepared to do, what she needed to do.

  Charlie continued his pathetic, out-of-control confession. “I remember her screaming…begging for me to stop—but I couldn’t,” he said bawling. “And she kept crying out for her mother…”

  Jillian sat bolt upright, a sudden death-grip on the Glock held loosely in her hand before. “What—what did you just say?”

  Choking back tears, Charlie continued. “She kept begging for her mother—begging for her to help. I’m so…so sorry…really…I just couldn’t stop myself.”

  “Where—where was this?” she asked. Her eyes had a wild predatory glint to them now.

  But Charlie didn’t respond, and so she slammed the gun’s barrel into his shoulder. “Where?!” she screamed.

  He looked up at her crazed face, sensing that he had unwittingly spoken the words that would seal his fate. “Where?” she repeated, in a tone akin to a growl.

  Charlie spoke in a voice barely audible. “Florida—Florida State University. On campus.”

  Jillian’s eyes narrowed. “What was the girl wearing, you piece of crap?”

  He began crying again. “Some sort of striped skirt and…I don’t know…I don’t know—it was a long time ago!”

  She jumped up and slammed her bare heal into his groin. Placing the gun between his tear-filled eyes, she pressed it hard against his forehead, and without hesitating, pulled the trigger. The blast echoed through the house as his thoughts ejected through the back of his head and sprayed across her wall.

  Jillian fell to her knees on the floor, dropping the Glock beside her on the blood-stained carpet. Her sobs were lost in the backdrop of the siren as a strobing blue light from a police cruiser filtered through the window and pulsated across the blood-spattered bedroom wall.

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