Sweet Revenge thriller

Chapter Fourteen

MY HAND RESTS ON MY MOUSE for at least five minutes.

Call the fucking thing off. You've paid five months in advance so there are no losers!

You even gave a fake address. No one can track you down.

But, my hand seems to have a will of its own. The instant my digital pings 8 o'clock, I click the web browser and click on the link. My computer cam springs to life and I lurch forward and resist the urge to throw up. I can't get used to it. The dungeon-like room is a smoky haze tonight and the cobbled dark brown bricks seem dryer, less sludgy water seeping down them. I hear distant voices and then a high pitched female screams, 'Don't!'

'What's happening?' I call out.

'Hello,' the girl in the dark room says.

'No one. There's just you and me. I've been waiting for you.'

'I can't see you,' I tell her. 'Come closer.' My voice is barely above a whisper. Will she respond?

I wait. 'Please let me look at you, just once,' I say.

She doesn't.

The pattern is the same this week. I have to relive the past but no new information comes to light. All that happens is I relive the torture of how two masked men storm into my father's chemist, shoot my mother in the head and then my father. The girl in the dark room asks questions and I answer most of them honestly, 'I don't know.'

* * *

Since I set the weekly rendezvous with the girl in the dark room every week runs the same and I put up with the building tension every single week and endure the gut wrenching one hour that pulls at my heart strings and virtually renders me suicidal... no matter how much damage it will do to my dangerously low grip on reality.

Friday night a drunken bawling mess!

Pure relief it's Saturday morning—the previous 8 p.m. encounter, just a foggy memory. But pissed that nothing came of the agonizing one hour ordeal. No more information other than there were two masked me. No clues!

Sunday back at the gym, all day

Monday and Tuesday attempting to forget my personal life and concentrate on the job I'm being paid to do at the temp agency and pretend I'm one of them...normal bitching about the train fares going up and sharing tips on makeup.

Wednesday and Thursday—as each hour passes toward Friday 8 p.m. anxiety takes over. Tension arrives in bucketloads.

Thursday night with yet again a random stranger to give me what I need.

* * *

This morning I awake feeling relaxed. The night before, Thursday, plays like a video in my head. He gave me exactly what I needed...twice! Every Thursday since I'd set up the video link for Friday 8 p.m. I'd head for a bar, the kind of place that attracts men who are looking for a gal like me. Of course they don't realise I only need sex to keep me focused. Most of the gals who frequent those type of establishments are looking for a bit of loving, a man's touch—or females for that matter and a night where they can believe what they are being told, 'you're gorgeous, I could settle for someone like you, my penthouse is just around the corner.' Not me. It's just sex. Getting rid of the pent up tension that builds, keeping me focused so I can handle Friday evening.

During the day, amid bouts of throwing up and stomping around the apartment I evaluate just where I am with my on-line psychiatrist. Nowhere! She's given me sweet nothing for weeks now and I'm seriously about to give up because the anguish it puts me through, I don't think I can continue for much longer and remain sane. I'll finish it tonight! She can fuck off out of my life and string some other poor sod along!