I Bind, Therefore I Am
By Alexes Rivers
Yawning and rubbing her tired eyes, Andrea Lesche continued to stare at the bright screen of her computer. She'd been awake for almost fourty-eight hours now; I hate deadlines, she said to herself for the twentieth time. Why did I choose journalism over the Army?
She yawned again, clicking the mouse to change the screen. An image of the first of the crime scene photos sprang up, causing her to wince. Must have been the killing, she admitted as a wave of nausea came upon her.
Andrea stood and stretched her tall, trim body. She brushed her medium-length blonde hair back from her weary brown eyes. "I need to get my mind off this story for a bit," she said aloud to no one in particular. But as she walked over to the bedroom window, all the information she'd been studying for the past few weeks crept back into her thoughts.
Over the past month, almost a dozen mid- to upper-level government employees across the country had been assassinated. There seemed to be no connection between the murders aside from all the victims' employment with the national government; not even the cause of death was the same in any of the killings. Andrea thought she had finally stumbled across a connection a week ago.
She had noticed the same woman at the last two post-murder crime scenes. After some hard thinking, she remembered seeing the same woman at every other site. It wouldn't have been unusual if the woman had been an investigator or reporter, but she didn't appear on anyone's records...anywhere. And none of the other investigators or reporters seemed to know she even existed, but she always turned up, even if only for an instant.
Thinking back to her last sighting of the woman, Andrea recalled what she had looked like. She had been tall and thin, dressed entirely in black clothing that showed every curve, just where it ought to be. Her short, bobbed hair was also black, which set off the smooth, pale skin and icy-blue eyes of her face. She was hauntingly beautiful, Andrea thought, realizing her attraction for this mysterious stranger.
She shook it off immediately, "Just another wierd crush," she mumbled to herself. No doubt it would disappear as soon as the whole situation puzzled itself together.
Andrea looked at the clock on her bedside table, it was 3 AM. Just fifteen hours until the first half of my story is due.... Then again, I could just lie down for a few hours, get up and finish it with my eyes at least partially open.
She flopped down on the bed face-first, not bothering to remove her jeans or tank-top. Within seconds, she had conceded to her fatigue.
No more than an hour later, Andrea awoke to the sensation of warm breath on the nape of her neck. "Wha--" she began groggily when suddenly a slender, black-gloved hand shoved a rag into her mouth, causing the reast of the inquiry to come out as a "Mmmphgh!"
The black-clad hands quickly and deftly secured the gag by tying a strip of cloth snugly around her head. Andrea began to struggle ineffectively as the intruder secured her hands with a plastic zip tie, but she was no match for her foe's iron grip. Within seconds, her ankles had been bound in a similar fashion.
After of few moments of struggling and moaning into her gag, Andrea felt a hand grasp her shoulder and forcefully overturn her so that she was now facing up. A wight settled onto her pelvis as her attacker straddled her, kneeling on the bed. And finally, she saw her intruder.
A sledner, decidedly feminine figure sat over her, clad in skin-tight black leather from the neck down to a pair of boots that could have come right out of the Matrix. But the most noticeable feature was the icy-blue stare framed by jet black locks of hair.
"Hello Andrea," she said silkily. The mystery woman from the crimes scenes! "I've been looking forward to this for a while now," she smirked.
The deadly vixen slid her hands up under her captive's tank-top, caressing her stomach. Andrea moaned in fear...and because a small part of her wanted her captor to explore further. "I can't believe I waited this long," she purred, bending forward and pressing her soft lips to Andrea's forehead.
Abruptly, she stood, causing the helpless reporter to start. "Any longer and you might have exposed me to the world," she sauntered over to Andrea's desk where the laptop still glowed. "And that is something neither of us wants," she said almost absently as she erased all the information about the assassinations from the hard drive before pocketing all the discs.
Who are you? Andrea asked herself, knowing she wouldn't be able to articulate the question.
As if reading her mind, the dark-haired beauty said, "I'm Sarael by the way," as she headed out the bedroom door. She paused at the doorway to look over her should and and wink. "Hope you had as good a time as I did. But do try to be careful in the future...for both our sakes." And with that, she was gone.
Andrea waited an excruciatingly long ten minutes before she was sure she was alone. She struggled and inched herself into first a sitting, and finally after a burst of effort, a precarious standing position.
Just got to call for help, she assured herself. At the same time she cursed herself for not having a phone upstairs. Nothing I can do about that now, and she began hopping.
Slowly, hop by hop, she made her way to the top of the stairs. The bottom seemed miles away though. How the hell am I going to manage this? She considered hopping down versus sliding down, neither seemed entirely feasible.
Then, a loud beep sounded from the bedroom. It was only the sound of her cellphone in need of a recharge. My cellphone!
Andrea spun back toward her bedroom in excitement. Suddenly, her balance was gone, and she was teetering at the top of the stairs, writhing in uncertainty. But then it was too late...she tumbled down the stairs. The last hing she noticed in her spinning world was a sharp pain in the back of her skull before everything faded to blackness.
Five days later, Andrea sat at her desk, tryingt to piece back together her story from the backup discs she had stashed in her safe at work.
Her housekeeper had found her at the bottom of the stairs the morning after her fall. A rush to the hospital and multiple tests (including a CAT scan) later showed nothing more than a mild concussion; except the doctors wanted to refer her case to some specialists and have her take some psychological exams as well. Initially, she had refused until her boss had ordered her to comply, granting her a week's extension on her deadline.
A lot of good that'll do me, she complained inwardly, remembering her lost information...and the night it vanished. A shiver of fear ran down her spine...or was it excitement?
She'd been confused over her feelings about being a helpless prisoner at the mercy of a woman who'd killed almost a dozen people. Mostly, she felt the fear, but that small part of her felt excited about being tied by Sarael.
Man that's bent, she admitted. Good thing I didn't mention that to the shrinks, Andrea thought as she stood, straightening her red blouse and smoothing out her black skirt. I've gotta get some lunch and then talk to Johnson to see if he'll let me have a peek at a few of those FBI files.
She pushed all thoughts about the report out of her mind as she left the office, instead concentrating on deciding where she should eat. By the time she stepped off of the elevator and into the parking garage, she had decided on Chinese.
As she approached her car, heels clicking on the concrete, Andrea thought she heard something and stopped to listen intently. Nothing was around, no people, no active cars, not even those unruly pigeons that were usually fluttering about. Shrugging, she continued to her car, chalking the incident up to some rightful paranoia.
At the door of her car, Andrea heard a whuff! noise and felt a prick in her neck. Reaching up, she removed a small dart.
"Wha--?" she managed before collapsing into darkness.
Hours later, Andrea's eyes fluttered open. She reached to rub them but her hands were restrained from responding properly. Fearing the worst, she looked down to see her arms bound in front of her with a criss-cross of soft, but tight rope from wrists to elbows; her ankles and knees were also restrained. Trying to call out, she discovered the piece of duct tape that prevented her from doing so.
After a few calming breaths, Andrea decided she needed to assess her full situation. She was laying on her side in the back seat of car, being taken somewhere. God only knows.... A hauntingly familiar voice came from the front seat just then, "Comfy back there?"
Andrea looked up to see the icy-blue eyes staring at her from the rear-view mirror. She cursed, the obcenity muffled by her gag. "Yeah I missed you too," Sarael responded.
"It's a shame you didn't head the warning," she began. "Now you've forced my hand.
"You've got a few options here. Option one: You come with me to the 'middle of nowhere' and we have a nice, possibly romantic few weeks until this entire situation blows over. Option two: You lie to me, tell me you give up, take your first chance at escape and publish your story. In that case, I don't think I'd like you as much, so I'd probably hunt you down and torture you for a few days before I killed you."
The car stopped and Sarael turned around and pressed a 9mm pistol to Andrea's temple. "The third and final option," she said quietly as her captive began struggling anew, grunting and screaming into her gag, "I kill you right here, right now. Quick, painless, then toss your body over the dam we just parked at. So, what'll it be? Number three?"
Andrea shook her head fervently, tears streaming down her face. Death was the last thing she wanted. "Well, how about number two?" the sadistic kidnapper asked. The helpless blonde shook her head again.
"Number one then?" there almost seemed to be a bit of lustful hope in that voice. Andrea nodded, ready to do anything to prevent her untimely demise.
"Wonderful!" Sarael exclaimed, leaning over the seat and kissing Andrea's taped lips. "You've made me very happy," she sat back and opened her door. "I'm just gonna get some air, you sit tight now."
As soon as the door closed, Andrea's eyes desperately searched the back seat for anything that could help her escape. And then she saw it, her salvation had arrived in the form of a small, collapsible shovel laying on the floor in front of her.
Cautious in her movements, she awkwardly positioned herself and grasped the tool before rolling back. She then slowly and methodically began sawing at her ropes with the sharp end. Seconds dragged on like minutes and minutes like hours. Suddenly, two frayed ends separated at her wrists causing the entire network of criss-crossed ropes to unravel.
Moments later, her arms and legs free, Andrea cautiously peered out the window. Sarael stood several yards away, staring out at a glorious sunset and thoughtfully smoking a cigarette. Her back was to the car.
With near silence, Andrea extended the shovel and opened the car door. She didn't dare remove the duct tape that gagged her, fearing she'd shout curses and obscenities, giving away her freedom. The assassin still had the gun after all.
Quietly, step by step, foot by foot, she crept up behind her tormentor. It seemed to take an eternity to get within striking distance.
Swinging with all her might, Andrea brought the shovel down hard, hitting Sarael right between the shoulder blades. Despite the force of the blow, the assassin was only staggered; she turned, drawing her gun. The frightened reported drew back her weapon, determined to strike again before she was shot.
Sarael took a reflexive step back, losing her footing. Without a sound, she stumbled and toppled over the guard rail. Stunned, Andrea took a tenative step forward and looked down.
Nothing but raging foam and water looked back.
A month passed, and there was still no sign of Sarael. The authorities combed the area, desperate to find their only lead on the assassinations (at least they had stopped), but found next to nothing. The only evidence discovered was the 9mm pistol that the killer had carried. There were no prints, but it matched the size and type used in one of the murders. Soon after, the investigators listed the prime suspect as deceased, case closed.
Meanwhile, Andrea was back on the fast track. She had turned her story into a harrowing true-to-life fight for survival, becoming the woman who'd survived and encounter with one of the world's deadliest killers. Despite constant other offers though, she mostly remained out of the public spotlight. Part of the reason was the fact that she had gone through a traumatic experience, she'd caused the death of another human being. Another part was her personal problems; the doctors and psychologists were still studying her test results from the series of incidents. And finally, she didn't want to be well-known because part of her mourned Sarael. She had been a strong young woman with so much potential, but some bad decisions and one reporter's actions had cut her life short. Andrea could not help but feel sorry for her.
A few more weeks dragged on, until Andrea recieved a letter in the mail from her doctors, she sat down at her desk to read it.
"Dear Miss Lesche," it began. "We are writing to inform you of the findings of our team of doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, and specialists. According to your psychological examinations, you suffer from a unique form of Schizophrenia. This was diagnosed about the same time that your CAT scan results revealed some unusual activity in your brain. None of the team could explain why the normally dormant area of neural tissues pulsed with energy and activity. After much speculation, Dr. Trenton Vargas, a renowned paraneurologist, stepped forward with the answer. The active area of the brain allows gifted individuals to use extraordinary abilities he refers to as 'psionics'. This includes variations of telekinesis, telepathy, and psychokinesis. He further theorizes that these abilities, coupled with your unique Schizophrenia, allow you to create a physically-interactive alter ego, complete separate from you, but 'real' in almost every facet. It is my recommendation that you seek immediate psychiatric and medical help for your own safety. Sincerely, Dr. Janice Toome, MD."
"What the --?" Andrea said aloud after she finished reading, "This can't be...."
The sound of tape tearing off the roll came from the doorway. She looked over to see a tall, slim woman, dressed in black leathers; her black hair framed those icy-blue eyes. The woman smiled, her expression full of danger and excitement as she held a silver roll of duct tape in her hands.
"Miss me?" Sarael asked.
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