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From: Fanakapan <doneese@ix.netcom.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Elizabeth's Story (MF/F N/C)
Date: Sun, 27 Oct 1996 14:36:56 -0800
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This document describes fictional events of explicit, sexual abuse, and is intended
for mature readers only. If you are offended by such material, or prohibited from
reading such material by local laws, delete this document before preceding further.
This document is intended for personal entertainment and may not be used for
commercial gain.
- Elizabeth's Story -
i
Elizabeth was thirty-two years old, tall and slim. Short, auburn curls framed an
attractive face, her breasts were not large but still nicely shaped, and long, tapering
legs promised an enticing picture when helped by high-heeled shoes and stockings.
She had two children; one ten and one eight, and so there had been ample time for
her body to recover some of its pre-pregnancy qualities. The family was watched
for two weeks leading up to the abduction: Her husband left for work at
seven-o'clock in the morning. At eight-thirty she took the children to school, then
picked up groceries before returning home. At four-o'clock she returned to the
school to collect the children. Her kidnappers broke into the house one morning
while she was out. When she returned, they were waiting for her and she stood
no chance against the three men.
They toyed with her for an hour before driving her away. They took her upstairs
to her bedroom and made her fetch out all of her lingerie. Elizabeth was ordered to
undress and when she had done so, her attackers took turns in choosing items of
clothing for her to wear. She was made to parade around the bedroom in skimpy
underwear that concealed nothing, but titillated her audience. Ransacking the
bedroom, the men discovered Elizabeth's vibrator. Humiliating her utterly, they
forced her to use it on herself, and were not satisfied until she had brought herself
to a climax. Then, selecting a brassiere, pantyhose, and a dress and shoes from
her closet, the kidnappers ordered Elizabeth to get dressed. Finally, she was
drugged and, before she lost consciousness, hurried to a waiting van.
Elizabeth waited in a dark cell for two days before she was taken to the place
where the torture-films were made. Her dress and brassiere were removed, and
she stood semi-naked, her attractive breasts pouting, in front of several men and
women. Two men took her by the arms and Elizabeth watched a narrow belt being
placed about her waist.
"W-what are you going to do?" asked the terrified woman, as the men fastened a
buckle and placed her wrists in cuffs attached to the sides of the belt. Suddenly,
powerful overhead lights came on, bathing Elizabeth in their illumination. A woman
stepped into the light and stood in front of Elizabeth.
"We are going to make a movie - several movies, in fact - of you being tortured in
a number of different ways. Extremely unpleasant ways for you, but very
enjoyable for those who buy the films. And for some of us who make them." The
woman, who was older then Elizabeth, smiled grimly.
"Oh, my god!" gasped Elizabeth. "Please! No! I don't want to be h-hurt ..."
"Of course you don't," agreed the woman. "That's one of the entertaining
aspects of what we do here. The market for scenes of consensual torture is tiny
compared with that for those staring unwilling victims." As she spoke, cameras on
large dollies were being wheeled up and arranged about the spot where Elizabeth
stood.
"Wha-what is g-going to happen?" stammered Elizabeth.
"You'll see," said the woman. Reaching out, she took Elizabeth's left breast in
one hand. The nipple stood large and erect. Elizabeth tried to back off, but the
men at her sides held her secure. The woman produced a cord in her free hand.
The cord ended in a small noose which the woman deftly slipped over the delicate,
enticing tip of the breast. The woman tugged the cord and the noose tightened,
causing Elizabeth to suck in her breath. "Now give me the other one," the woman
said, and moments later she was leading her unfortunate victim forward, into the
focus of the lights, by both nipples.
A smooth, round, horizontal bar pressed against Elizabeth's belly. The bar was
too high for her to step over and she was obliged to bend forward as the woman
holding the two cords continued to move back. She let out a groan, then a plea to
be released, as her breasts and nipples became extended. She was bent almost
horizontally when she saw what the woman intended for her. Then she cried out
aloud for the first time. The woman threaded the cords under metal loops, set
into the top of a wooden stock like inverted 'U's. The loops, large enough only for
a finger or thumb to pass through, were about as far apart as Elizabeth's breasts,
and when the stock was pushed forward until it rested beneath her inclined torso,
her nipples were drawn through. The woman pulled on the cords, eliciting cries of
pain from Elizabeth, until the tan haloes were squeezed through the small openings.
Out of the dimness surrounding the illuminated area, came a man with a mallet.
With two swift, accurately gauged blows he drove the loops of metal into the
stock, trapping the tips of Elizabeth's breasts and causing her to shriek in pain.
Elizabeth bucked, and screamed, but her breasts were held secure and she only
managed to hurt them more by moving. Her head had been drawn back, so that
her face looked up, and fastened in that position by tying off her hair to the band
around her waist. The bar over which she was bent had been raised until her feet
came off the floor, and her ankles secured so that her legs were straight but wide
apart. She bucked again and another agonized sound escaped her throat. In fact,
each time the man standing behind her pressed the tip of the electrically-heated
needle into her clitoris, Elizabeth's body made a vain attempt to convulse, and the
restrained paroxysm was accompanied by a resounding scream. And every
moment of this torment was being captured by the cameras that stared without
emotion upon the scene.
The man lowered the instrument and rested. The muscles controlling Elizabeth's
abdomen and genital region were quivering. A dozen times the needle had been
used on her and she had no reason to assume that more were not forthcoming.
The pain in her clitoris was agonizing, and she sobbed continually, choking out
entreaties to the people who stood watching her. The woman who had bound
Elizabeth's nipples appeared from among the audience. She was carrying a clip-
board. The sounds of the cameras had stopped.
"That was interesting," the woman remarked in an amused tone. "I haven't seen
that before ..."
"Please! Don't hurt me any more," Elizabeth managed to beg in a coherent voice.
"Let me go, for god's sake."
The woman chuckled softly. "Let you go? Of course we're not going to let you
go - not yet anyway. That was an excellent ten-minute short!" The woman
studied her clip-board. "We have you scheduled for another half-dozen scenes,"
she added casually, patting Elizabeth's cheek and walking around the fastened
figure to where the man with the needle stood. As she did so, a desperate wail
emanated from Elizabeth.
The woman stood holding the device the man had used to induce the intense pain
in Elizabeth's clitoris. A long, fine, silver needle protruded from the pistol-grip in
her hand. She was surprised when she pressed the trigger and saw nothing
happen. The man saw her surprised look.
"You were expecting to it glow." he said rhetorically.
"Well, yes," the woman replied.
"If it were that hot, it would have destroyed her nerve-endings. Not much fun.
Just a short-lived burn. Right now, all of her nerve tissue is very much alive," he
said smugly. The woman moved close to Elizabeth, so that she could inspect what
had been done.
The gusset of Elizabeth's pantyhose had been cut away. The entrance to her
vagina was closed, still guarded by the two pairs of lips, but the small fold of
fleshy tissue normally covering her clitoris was pushed back and seemed to be held
like that by something resembling a peculiarly bent paper-clip. Exposed was the
swollen organ, the twelve angry marks on its surface showing where the heated
metal point had entered. The woman pressed the tip of a finger against it, and a
scream filled place.
"See what I mean," said the man. "She wouldn't have felt a thing if I'd charred
it."
ii
The woman directed the crew, having them shift lights and cameras into place for
the next scene.
Elizabeth was still in severe pain and she moaned softly all the time, but, when a
lamp was maneuvered into position above her fastened breasts, she began to
whimper.
"Not there," she pleaded to nobody in particular. "Please, not there. I couldn't
stand that ..." Her voice trailed off and she watched, her terror growing, while a
camera was pushed next to the stock, and a man focused the camera's lens on her
right breast.
The woman had wheeled a cart up to the stock, and then pulled a low bench next
to Elizabeth. She sat on the bench, stroking the large nipple at the tip of
Elizabeth's right breast with her fingers. From a tray on the cart, she retrieved a
small bowl of clear liquid and a cotton-ball. She swabbed the nipple with the
liquid. Moments later Elizabeth's eyes widened and she drew in a long, sibilant
breath before allowing a gurgling noise to leave her throat. The nipple grew torrid,
and the volume of Elizabeth's screaming increased. After a few minutes
Elizabeth's nipple was swollen to twice its normal size and the skin covering it as
tight as a drum-skin. Elizabeth's shrieks had become maniacal. For a further five
minutes she thrashed in a fit of agony as much as her bonds would permit,
screaming at the top of her voice. Perspiration covered her naked torso, and her
bare skin shone in the camera lights. The pain climaxed and Elizabeth's voice
became mute for a few seconds before her lips formed a near-perfect circle and
she began to emit a drawn-out 'Oh'. The sound came to and end finally in a hoarse
rattle.
Elizabeth's agony subsided as rapidly as it had mounted, and she collapsed
suddenly; draped over the metal bar, hanging limply by her imprisoned breasts. She
cried pitifully, her words hardly audible or intelligible, begging her torturers to
release her.
It was the Needle-Man's turn to express surprise.
"What is this stuff?" he asked, picking up the bowl and carefully, suspiciously,
holding it under his nose.
"Carbon tetrachloride," the woman informed him. "It's a de-greasing agent. I
removed all of the natural oils from her skin, leaving the tissue unprotected from
the air."
"I didn't know the air was that dangerous," the man replied, quickly putting the
bowl back on the cart.
"The oxygen is. It burns."
"Without doubt," the man concurred. He looked at Elizabeth, who was breathing
heavily but still limp, still uttering her almost silent entreaties. He looked at her
right nipple. The swelling had not subsided; the skin was still smooth and shiny
and taught. He watched the woman take a scalpel from the tray, then carefully
apply the blade to the very tip of the nipple. The skin split with an audible pop,
and a second later, the air was rent by the last sound Elizabeth made before
fainting.
"Cut the cameras!" the woman ordered. "Take five, and start running again
when you see her regaining consciousness." She stood and, with a fingernail,
touched Elizabeth's ruptured nipple, flipping back a piece of loose skin that still
clung to it. Turning to the Needle-Man, she said: "I'll wait until then before
peeling this off. The effect will hold your interest for a while, I promise."
The Needle-Man was not disappointed. Elizabeth's eyes rolled back in their
sockets and the veins in her neck bulged while her nipple and the surrounding halo
were decorticated with dreadful slowness. As the viable dermis beneath the outer
layers of skin was exposed, the pain became so excruciating that Elizabeth fainted
for a second time. She had to be revived with ammonium salts so that she would
suffer the full agony of the procedure.
When the woman had finished, and Elizabeth's pleas for mercy were no longer
understandable, the Needle-Man asked:
"Do you have any more tricks like that one?"
"Of course," the woman told him. She gently placed a fingertip against
Elizabeth's intact, left nipple and went on: "This one will end up just like its mate,
but not in the same fashion. There's more than one way to skin a cat, you know"
she grinned.
"Or a nipple," the man suggested.
iii
The man carefully prepared Elizabeth's labia; going through a well-practiced
procedure developed to expose the two pairs of delicate lips protecting his victim's
vagina.
Elizabeth's pubic hair had been removed, leaving her voluptuous mounds and
hollows (which, the man noticed, had been untouched by the Sun's tanning rays)
as clean and as smooth as polished alabaster. Onto the delicate, depilated skin he
painted adhesive. Then, working with one pair of lips at a time, he peeled the
pliant tissue open, folded it back and held it like that for a minute or so; until the
adhesive had bonded. When he had done this to both pairs of lips, the textured,
rosy inner surfaces were revealed like the petals of a flower. The entrance to
Elizabeth's vaginal canal was presented to him unobstructed. Moving two fingers
into the passage, he pressed the coruscated wall and felt the strong muscle tighten
as Elizabeth reacted to the unwelcome intrusion. For a few moments he allowed
himself the pleasure of exploring the cloister, receiving enjoyment from the
resistance Elizabeth put up in her vain attempt to prevent him from delving further
into her. While his fingers groped indelicately, he dropped his gaze to the shapely,
elegant legs that were pinned open, allowing him the access he needed. His free
hand moved over the alluring curves of Elizabeth's calf and thigh, stroking the
shimmering material of her pantyhose and delighting in the sensual feel of it.
Elizabeth moaned; the tone of her voice betraying her knowledge that the torture
was about to be resumed. At last, the man withdrew his fingers, though only
partially satisfied that Elizabeth was cognizant enough to understand what was
happening to her. He had been astonished by the amount of pain she had
sustained from the simple excoriation of one of her nipples. But he had also been
concerned that his victim may have become numbed to any further, protracted
agony. In order to repudiate his concern, he pressed a fingernail against Elizabeth's
clitoris. The immediate, convulsive response, accompanied by a gasped shriek,
convinced him that Elizabeth's senses were fully operating. He reached down; his
right hand grasping a dentist's drill on the end of an articulated arm; the other
picking up a cloth that had been soaking in a pan. Bracing his right arm against
Elizabeth's thigh, he started the drill.
The tiny, surgically engineered bit turned twelve thousand times every second,
and carried a little brass-wire brush in its jaw. The raw ends of the bristles kissed
the inner surface of Elizabeth's major lip for only an instant, but during that small
fraction of a second, they stripped a tiny piece of flesh, the diameter of a pencil
and the thickness of a pencil-lead, from the sensitive tissue. The man removed his
drill, then quickly pressed the saturated cloth against the flayed area. The
astringent aroma of a styptic caught in his nostrils. However, the impact the
strong odor on his senses was overwhelmed a moment later as Elizabeth dredged
from her lungs a frenzied, frenetic shriek that assaulted his ears.
The man kept Elizabeth screaming for twenty minutes before what he was doing
to her made her lapse into unconsciousness. He had been able to extend his torture
much longer than the woman had managed. And he reckoned that the cries he had
elicited from Elizabeth had been louder and more drawn out than those she had
offered before, in trade for mercy, while her nipple was being peeled. He examined
the results of his efforts. In twenty minutes, the drill had made its brief encounter
with Elizabeth's skin twenty times; both of Elizabeth's large lips bore half-a-dozen
wounds, while the remainder of the scour marks from the wire-brush were shared
between the two smaller, more sanguineous - and more sensitive - lips.
The woman admired what she saw. Each of the score of tiny injuries, now
flecked with pin-points of blood - but not bleeding, had drawn an animal scream
from Elizabeth. The woman glanced upwards and noted how the lights and camera
had been situated. A satisfied smile crossed her lips; both the cause of Elizabeth's
agony and the effect it had had upon her had been well captured on celluloid. She
bent in order to inspect the mutilated labia more closely, then drew away
suddenly, wrinkling her nose.
"Vinegar?" she said in a startled tone. The man smiled.
"Sort of," he replied. "Dilute acetic acid, actually. In addition to contracting the
blood vessels, the styptic solution has a mild anaesthetic effect. The acid
overcomes that and heightens the pain."
"You don't say," the woman chuckled.
iv
The woman studied the ubiquitous clipboard.
"You've written 'Fiber' on this," she said, addressing the man whose techniques
for torturing Elizabeth she had found fascinating. "But you have a question-mark
after it." She gave the man a quizzical look. The man had disassembled his
drill and was stowing the pieces in small trunk.
"Yes," he replied in a leisurely fashion. "I actually have something else in mind,
but it would take a little co-operation."
"What do you mean?"
"You have something planned for her other nipple, correct?"
"Yes."
"Then go ahead with your arrangements, but load a new film-can into this
camera." The man pointed above his head, to the camera which had been used to
film the agonizing flaying of Elizabeth's labia. The woman looked worried.
"I can do that. But I need twenty-minutes of action from the next two scenes.
You're asking me to make them run concurrently."
"Don't worry," the man urged. "We'll get that long - at least. Just let me know
when you're ready to begin, and then give me a few moments to finish my
preparations. You'll find this quite entertaining."
"As long as the customer does, too," the woman said, acquiescing to the
man's suggestion.
The man rested his elbows against the smooth cheeks of Elizabeth's bottom. In
his fingers he held a short length of steel wire that he had snipped from a coil. The
end of the wire, left purposefully jagged, was located at the entrance to Elizabeth's
urethra. Using his fingertips, the man began to rotate the wire, urging the sharp
extremity into the highly sensitive vascular duct. He felt Elizabeth's body stiffen
and heard her sudden intake of breath. He continued turning the wire while
introducing it further into the narrow, flexible passageway. Elizabeth cried out,
begging him to stop. The man knew that the pain he was currently causing was
only acute; as soon as he had scored the entire length of the integument and
removed the wire, Elizabeth would stop screaming.
Until, he told himself, she urinated.
The woman sat in front of the stock that still held Elizabeth's breasts. Her hand
was poised. Her fingers held a spigot from which a long hose fell in a loop to the
floor. She watched the man hold a bag aloft, until its contents had drained through
a catheter into Elizabeth's bladder. She saw him step sideways - clear of
Elizabeth's body - and remove the catheter. After a few moments, she saw a thin
stream of liquid arise from between Elizabeth's thighs, and watched it describe a
graceful arc. But, before the first drop of fluid touched the floor, she heard
Elizabeth's strident squeal. Then she saw the emanation abruptly cease and,
shifting her gaze to Elizabeth's face, saw a look full of pain, astonishment, and
utter disbelief. Moments later Elizabeth screeched again; a high-pitched, shrill
piping that accompanied a second attempt to evacuate her more-than replete
bladder.
The woman waited, watching Elizabeth's mounting effort to control herself. Then,
when the woman gauged that all of Elizabeth's concentration was focused upon
not urinating, she pressed a trigger on the spigot. She saw a short, thin, nebulous
stream emerge from the tip, heard the attendant hiss, and aimed the spigot at
Elizabeth's left breast.
She quickly drew the jet of steam from the edge of Elizabeth's aureole to the tip
of her nipple. Almost immediately, the path of the steam became visible; betrayed
by a narrow line of skin that turned pearl as fluid built up instantly inside the
blister.
When the pain reached Elizabeth's senses, she lost her concentration and cried
aloud because of the new agony. Her bladder began to empty involuntarily,
sending caustic liquid into her urethra. She closed her mind to the searing pain at
the tip of her left breast and, with almighty effort, clamped the sphincter that
controlled the evacuation of her bladder. She was rewarded with a second white
line on her aureole and nipple.
The man had been right. The scene of the combined tortures had lasted twenty-
two minutes. Elizabeth had endured the double agonies for almost half that time
before passing out with flecks of froth staining the corners of her mouth. Then the
liquid remaining in her bladder had flowed freely. The summit of her left breast
was covered with a pattern of red and white lines, all beginning at the
circumference of her tan-colored halo, and converging to the tip of her attractive
nipple. As before, the woman had waited for Elizabeth to regain consciousness
before proceeding to remove the skin. That had consumed another ten minutes,
while the woman pierced each blister, and squeezed the fluid from inside before
lifting the sliver of skin free. Elizabeth had screamed continuously, lasting until the
woman swabbed the freshly exposed tissue with saline solution.
"I don't believe she can absorb much more of this treatment without a respite,"
the woman said.
"Not if you want to keep her viable," the man pointed out. "Besides," he went
on, "the last scene is mine; I need her taken off of this contraption." He pressed a
finger against the bar over which Elizabeth had been bent for nearly three hours.
"That's okay," the woman told him. "As long as I can have the film in the
editing-room by tonight." She looked at her watch, then turned to one of the
crew. "Get her out of this and take her back to the cell. Let her stay there for a
couple of hours." Then wiping her forehead she added: "We all need a break."
On the way out, the man said: "I'll need a Delivery Table. Do you have one?"
The woman looked at him, mildly astonished.
"You mean a table from a hospital delivery-room - the maternity department?"
"Yes."
"They're not in much demand in this place. We have a GYN table, though. Will
that do?"
"Does it have stirrups."
"It did, the last time I saw it."
"Then it'll do fine."
The two reached the foot of the stairs and the outside door.
"By the way," the woman said. "If I hadn't agreed to running the two scenes
together, what was your other plan? What did 'Fiber' mean?"
"Fiber-glass," the man replied. "Fiber-glass insulation comes in sheets about as
thick as your finger. Rolled tightly and inserted into the vagina, it is quite
diabolical"
"Why?" the woman inquired.
"The fibers are only as thick as a human hair, but they are brittle. When they are
brushed against the vaginal wall, the fibers break off and become embedded under
the skin and in the muscle. This creates an irritation that gradually evolves into a
burning sensation. I've heard that women tortured in this way have gone insane
after a couple of hours."
"Quite diabolical," the woman commented.
"Where shall eat?" the man wanted to know.
v
The device was simple, but cruelly effective; a length of flexible tubing
surrounded by an inflatable bladder near to one end.
The man partially inflated the bladder and oiled its surface. The black rubber
object resembled a thick pipe. The man placed the end of the tube in the entrance
to Elizabeth's vagina and pushed gently. The opening opposed the bladder at first,
but gave way under slight pressure. After that, Elizabeth's muscles allowed the
object to intrude without further resistance, and the man inserted the bladder -
carefully and slowly - ensuring that the lubricated surface did not bind and fold, or
wrinkle. He encountered no difficulty until the end of the tubing reached
Elizabeth's cervix.
Elizabeth emitted a sharp groan when she felt the object reach the
innermost extent of her vagina. She lay on the examination table, firmly secured
by her upper and lower arms, unable to raise her body. Her feet had been placed
in the stirrups and fastened there; her legs were hardly more capable of movement
than the rest of her. She could, with utmost effort, raise her hips enough for a slim
hand to slide freely between her bottom and the surface of the table. The top of
her pantyhose was missing; cut off around her thighs, creating the appearance that
she was wearing ordinary stockings.
The man turned the bladder, maneuvering the end of the tube passed
Elizabeth's cervix. It entered her womb. The man began to inflate the bladder
further, slowly dilating Elizabeth's vaginal passage, increasing her pain.
When the man was satisfied that he had created a seal between the rubber
and the wall of Elizabeth's vagina, he stopped the flow of air into the bladder.
Then her started pumping air through the tubing into Elizabeth's uterus.
Elizabeth's womb expanded. In just a few minutes the man created an
effect that took Nature nine months to produce; Elizabeth's belly was hugely
swollen. Her screams reverberated. Only the whites of her eyes showed. Her
back was arched and every muscle in her body strained. The abdominal expansion
was clearly excruciating, her agony augmented by the awful dilation of her vagina.
But not forgotten entirely were the lacerated and denuded nipples, the scorched
clitoris, the wounds in her delicate labia where the flesh had been macerated in a
score of places, or the biting pain left over from the fluid that had burned her
urethra. Elizabeth was the perfect picture of applied torment. The camera lenses
saw her agony and the microphones heard her screams. All of this was faithfully
recorded.
Now, the man would show off his coup-de-grace; the denouement.
When he supposed that Elizabeth was reaching the limit of what she could
stand, he released the air from the bladder; slowly at first and then more rapidly.
Elizabeth's vaginal muscle contracted, maintaining its grip on the deflating and
unwanted intrusion. But when the bladder began to shrink more rapidly, the
muscle, which had been stretched for too long, would not relax fast enough.
The seal was suddenly compromised. The air trapped inside Elizabeth's
womb found its deliverance. Filling the gap between the bladder and the tissue, it
began to escape. At that moment, the man stopped the bladder from deflating
further. The vaginal muscle closed around it, threatening to shut off the airway
once again. But the pressure of the air was too much. Elizabeth's stomach
collapsed in one enormous muscular effort and her vaginal passage dilated in an
instant.
In a fraction of a second, the extensible tissue comprising Elizabeth's vagina
was stretched to the very brink of rupture. Elizabeth was overwhelmed by the
shock of an agony far worse than anything she had ever known. Her eyes
widened, her mouth opened and her lips formed a gaping 'O'. She passed out, the
unuttered cry of the demented hanging silent in her throat.
The place was quiet for an eternal moment; quiet for first time in a long time
so it seemed. Only the sound of the whirring cameras broke the silence.
"Cut!" shouted the woman. "Wrap it up!" She paced around in a tight
circle. "Perfect!" she exclaimed. "Perfect! Perfect! Perfect!" She stared at the
man, the disbelief at what she had just witnessed obvious. "Did you see the look
on her face!" she shouted, then stopped, turned and threw her head back and
called to the man in the boom high above the GYN table. "Did you get that look on
her face?"
"You bet I did, lady," asserted the cameraman. The woman walked across
to the man, who was cleaning the bladder with a cloth.
"That was the most fascinating scene I have ever put onto film. It was
damned perfect. I could watch you do that to her all night."
"I don't believe she'd last that long," the man chuckled. "But the trauma is
not as bad as it might seem. You want to see it again?" He stopped wiping the
bladder.
"There's no point in filming the same thing more than once, but if you can
wait around until all this is cleaned up. . . ." She made a sweeping movement with
her arm encompassing all of the studio equipment lying about on the floor.
"Sure. I can wait. She can handle it again. Perhaps a couple more times."
"I don't know if I can," the woman smiled. She patted the front of her skirt
at the base of her belly.
Old Jake stumbled and tripped. It was still early evening, but almost dark
beneath the viaduct. He groped around in the gloom for his lost bottle. Then he
found the body. That was strange. Old Jake was usually the first of the local tribe
of winos to arrive looking for a dry place to spend the night. He peered into the
face. "W-who are you?" he asked in a curious rather than demanding tone.
Old Jake climbed the embankment and scanned the parking lot above. With
distance vision much better than his reading eyes, he located the familiar black and
white car. He ambled towards it, but the patrolman saw him coming and got out
before Old Jake approached too closely.
"Hold it there," the patrolman said when the wino was still ten feet from the
car's bumper. "What's up?"
"Better come looksee," Old Jake replied. It was too early for his speech to
be unintelligible. "Some woman. Babbling. Says her name's Lizabet or
something. Can't understand her."
"Is she hurt?" the patrolman wanted to know.
"Don't look it. She ain't drunk, either. Been taking other stuff, I reckon."
Old Jake turned and made his way slowly back to the embankment. The
patrolman locked his vehicle and followed the retreating figure of Old Jake.
"Yeh. Female. Five-feet-eight, five-feet-nine. Hundred-and-thirty pounds.
Light brown hair." The patrolman was looking down at Old Jake's discovery, and
talking over the radio to his duty officer. "No, no identification - I can't see a
purse. No, I haven't moved her. No obvious signs of injury, but you'd better get
the paras rolling. And ask Jeff to send his big boys. If she's been stuffing
hallucinogens, she could more than a handful of trouble. . . What's that? . . . Yeh,
a red dress, black shoes . . . Let me look . . . Yeh, she's got a mole on the left
side of her mouth. I guess we've found her. How long's she been missing? . . .
Probably just got bored and went on a spree. . . . We'll probably find she's been
popping ecstasy pills for the last three days . . .."
Postscript: This concludes Elizabeth's Story. I realize that I promised six parts,
but, after drafting, I elected to recompose chapters 4 and 5, combining them into a
single section that I entitled part four. Author's prerogative.
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