His head came up, eyes focusing on the shadowed figure that stood by his door.Before he could identify it, a second, larger figure materialized from the side and rammed a fist into his stomach.The force of it sent him reeling.He had barely hit the snow when he was hauled back up by a third man.Another blow caught him in the ribs.He staggered in pain and tried to deflect the next shot, but it hit him in the gut.When his arms automatically went to his stomach, he took a wallop in the jaw that sent him backward.
The pain was explosive.Time and again he staggered to his feet, only to be slammed to one side or another.He tried to fight back, but with each attempt the pummeling came harder.He couldn’t catch his breath.He couldn’t straighten.In sheer self-defense, he curled on his sidewith his arms covering his head, only to be kicked everywhere else.
At a low sound that he couldn’t make out through the pain, the beating stopped.He gulped for air, unable to open one of his eyes, unable to turn over.That was done for him by the same booted foot that had inflicted such damage seconds before.The sharp movement made him cry out in agony.A lingering shred of sense urged him to catch sight of his assailants, but he was too dizzy to see much.He panicked when his jacket and then his shirt were crudely torn from him.Bare-chested in the December snow and hurting all over, he was dragged halfway up the steps.
“I’ll take that belt now,” came the voice behind him.“And hold him down.”
Dredging for remnants of strength, Cutter wrenched free and stumbled down the steps, only to be caught and hauled back.This time two pairs of boots pinned his shoulders and upper arms to the snow-covered edge of the porch.He tried to get a foothold at the bottom of the steps, but between his bruised body and the slippery snow, his efforts were futile.He was aware of movement by the man on his right, the giant whose fists had wreaked such havoc, but all he could see was a hulking black shadow.
For a long, terrible moment, time stood still.Cutter tried to wake himself from the nightmare but couldn’t.Deep inside, mixed with all the pain, was a stomach-churning fear as he waited in the quiet, snowy night for a punishment he didn’t deserve.
The belt hit him then, and pain exploded across his back.He panted against it, broke out in a sweat, and barelyhad a chance to brace himself when it came again.The pain was excruciating, totally engulfing, simultaneously mind-blowing and numbing.Through a fog of screams inside his head, he heard the voice by his ear.
“In case you’re wondering,” it seethed, “this belt is covered with metal studs raised in rows of fives.It’s going to leave some very interesting marks on your back.I wanted to tell you that now, because you might pass out before I’m done, and since there won’t be any evidence of this visit left behind, I didn’t want you wondering.”
“You’re mad,” Cutter managed to whisper, although even that small effort cost him.
“And you’re through,” returned the voice, with less control now.“Out.As of this weekend, you’ve resigned your job at the mine.You won’t tell anyone why, and you won’t make any accusations.Your phone’s already been disconnected.You’ll take whatever piddling money you have and pack up and leave Timiny Cove, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll never come back.”
“Go to hell,” Cutter wheezed.
In the little time it took for the belt to be swung again, the five rows of metal studs raked another gully through his back.He made a guttural sound and convulsed against his bonds, but they gave no quarter.The belt found him again and again, driving him hard against the iced edge of the steps.Each crack was preceded by a grunt that, in Cutter’s near delirium, sounded obscenely sexual.
His back felt like it was on fire.He was shaking all over.He fought for consciousness, which came and went along with flashes of searing pain, stark terror, and nausea.Finally, wanting nothing more than escape, he let the darkness take him.
But escape wasn’t to be so easy.A handful of snow in his face brought him back to nearly unspeakable pain.Through it came John’s voice, filled with the anger that, once unleashed, could not be restrained.
“That’s for screwing my sister, you goddamned son of a bitch.”He pulled Cutter up by the hair.Through the haze of one slitted eye, Cutter saw the blade of a knife.“And this is what I’ll use if you touch her again.I’ll make it so you don’t ever touch another woman.”
“Should’a done it this time, boss,” said one of the men.
“No way,” John replied through clenched teeth.He pulled Cutter’s head back in a way that would have hurt if Cutter hadn’t been so far beyond pain.“If I did it now, he wouldn’t want her.But he’s gonna want her.He’s gonna be rock hard with it night after night, and he won’t have her, because he knows I’ll do what I say.”He tightened his hand in Cutter’s hair.“You diddle with the St.George family again, and I’ll close the mine, I’ll cancel out Pam’s inheritance, and I’ll cut off your balls.Got that, bastard?”
He gave Cutter’s head a shove.The last thing Cutter heard before he passed out was so sick that only the words registered.Their meaning was left for another time.
He awoke to pervasive pain and tried to steel himself against another round of flogging.When it didn’t come, he lay very still.His mind went dark again; he pulled himself back.Not moving a muscle, he listened for humansounds, but nothing disturbed the whisper of the snow falling around him.
Again he drifted.His body, drenched with snow, sweat, and blood, was so riddled with pain that he couldn’t get his bearings.Reality held no meaning.
In time he felt the cold.He felt the racking shivers that compounded the pain.He felt a deep, dark loneliness.Then fury.Then, out of anger, he regained his will to survive.
Summoning fragments of strength, he struggled to his knees and painstakingly made his way up the steps.He collapsed at the top, but the memory of what had happened there goaded him on.Fighting nausea with jaw-clenching determination, he crawled to the door.He fell against it.When it opened, he fell inside.
Consciousness came and went.He managed to get the door closed behind him before he faded, then regained consciousness long enough to crawl to the bed before losing it again.He didn’t give a thought to the wood stove, or heat, or the blood that covered his back.All he wanted was to bury himself under the down comforter and rest.
He was lying on the floor on his stomach, trying to find the strength to hoist himself onto the mattress, when something touched his shoulder.
Thinking that John had stayed after all, he whipped out an arm in rage and tried to roll away, but the movement cost him dearly.He gave an anguished cry, then broke into a spasm of coughing, and the agony of that was pure hell.He was beginning to think that death wouldn’t be so bad when he realized that the murmur above him was coming from Bumble.
He let down his guard and went as limp as his cold, cramped body would allow.Bumble was there.When he’d been alone and hungry as a little boy, she had come by sometimes with food.She would know what to do.
The hours that followed were harrowing.The pain was relentless, worse at times when Bumble bathed him, turned him, and put salves on his mangled skin.He floated in and out of consciousness, breathing shallowly, swallowing moans that kept coming and coming, but he let her do as she wished.He had neither pride nor modesty.The full force of his energy at any given moment was focused on surviving until the next.
Survive he did, through that endless night, and then for two days during which he was alternately feverish and chilled.By the third day, the fever had broken, and he slept.By the fourth, he was pushing himself to get out of bed.By the fifth, he was beginning to understand what had happened and what it meant to his life.
One thing was clear.He was leaving Timiny Cove.Pam had been right: John was vicious enough to carry out every one of his threats.Lying in bed all those hours, helpless and hurting, he had come to the realization that there were two things he wanted above all others in life.
One was Pam.
