"Cold Day in Spring"

"Cold Day in Spring"

That face--he often saw her face in his dreams. She walked right past him like a specter in her heavy grey winter coat and thick spectacles. He turned and grabbed her arm quickly, dragging her into an alley and throwing her against a wall. No one noticed; it was as if they stood alone, locked in a timeless void. She smelled like musty books and incense, an odd scent, but a pleasant one none the less. Her eyes were so deep and innocent, filled with the striking purity of youth; he knew she was terrified. Her dark grey hair was bound in a tight braid, giving her a rather childish quality. Everyone had grey hair in Criptia; young, old, it made no difference. Her braid looked especially beautiful to him, and in fact, he prized this special kind of beauty in his prey. She opened her mouth to scream, and Leddos instinctively covered her delicate pink lips with his gloved hand. "Quiet. You're coming with me, girl." He growled in his distinctively odd, high-pitched voice. One accidental glimpse of the book in the backpack at her feet made him pause for a moment. It was "Cold Day in Spring," a favorite novel of his. It was South Criptian in origin, and therefore nearly impossible to obtain in North Criptia, which had more or less culturally walled itself off from the rest of the continent. Leddos himself had managed to get
ahold of a translated copy via his father, who could get him anything his heart desired. How this lower class girl managed to obtain a copy was beyond him. "You like this book? It's so obscure!" He removed his hand, forgetting his original intentions with the girl and now far more interested in how she procured a copy of such difficult-to-find forbidden literature.
"Please let me go! I'll give you the book! I can get another!" Delicate, slender tears began to stream down the girl's face. Seeing those tears reminded Leddos of his baser urges, urges which needed to be fulfilled immediately: sadly, literature would have to wait.
"Shh! Be quiet! It's not the book I want, girl. I wonder what you look like under that big coat? I'd love to find out!" He went to grab the dirty, scratched-up buttons on her coat, but she managed to clumsily kick him in the shin. It barely hurt, of course, but it did stun him; seeing her chance, she frantically grabbed her backpack and slipped away like a frightened rat. He tried desperately to follow her, but she was quickly swallowed by the throngs of people on the street. Gritting his teeth, Leddos fiercely whispered obscenities into the chilly afternoon air.

Each time he recalled the incident, it became a bit blurrier. The girl's soft, chubby face looked so sweet and innocent; he remembered it with warm fondness, as if she had been a childhood friend, but he constantly reminded himself that his feelings were based on filthy, avaricious lust, not love. Despite this, he would often fantasize about her: sometimes he would hurt her, and yet others they would discuss literature, and, once in a great while, she would even confess her love for him. The last fantasy somewhat bewildered Leddos: he had never thought about any woman in this way. Rather than trying to analyze it, he concerned himself with the fact that he was fantasizing so often about a girl he'd known for a matter of minutes; this especially troubled him because his intention had been only to rape her, nothing more. The book she was carrying must've meant something: Leddos didn't consider himself superstitious in the least, but "Cold Day in Spring" was a favorite of his, and the fact that she had a copy of this rare foreign book struck him as one hell of a coincidence.

The eyes. Those horrible ghastly eyes. Every time she had tried reading "Cold Day in Spring" since encountering that crazy boy who had trapped her in the alley, she couldn't help but see those wild, cruel eyes leering at her with each flip of the page. She could feel her stomach tensing up, twisting itself into rubbery knots; a couple of times she even had to run to the bathroom across the hall and vomit up whatever she had eaten. What's more, she had a difficult time keeping the truth from her parents. She would always tell them she'd that eaten something rotten or that she was stressed out from studying. Telling her parents what actually happened simply was not an option. They would not place the blame on her, of course, but they would pump her for information and wail about how she might be pregnant and keep her under constant vigilance for the rest of her life. The plan had always been for her to marry a well-to-do man when she matured, grow fat with child, and lead the quiet life of a wife and mother. As for sex itself, she didn't quite grasp some of its finer details, even though she was fourteen and already beginning to blossom into womanhood. Her mother had vaguely explained the notion of "love-making" with flowery, euphemistic language. Mother had always warned her against letting any boys touch her "private spot," but she could only puzzle over what that meant. Occasionally she would bolt awake at night, drenched in a cold sweat, shaking uncontrollably. When she relived the incident in her dreams, she could never escape from her assailant. "Stop!" She would howl at the top of her lungs, struggling as the boy pulled her second-hand skirt above her hips. He would always respond in that otherworldly voice,
"No. You need to feel this." She screamed so loud during these nightmares that she woke her parents. After her mother calmed her down and returned to bed, she would lay awake for some time pondering the same questions over and over. Why had this happened? Was it her fault? What would he have done to her?

It was, in fact, a fairly cool spring day when the young girl took the stairs to the room number printed on the tiny scrap of paper. At fifteen, the legal age of maturity, her parents had allowed her to work as a delivery girl for their family-owned bookshop. Although she made no money from the job due to her family's recent bout with poverty, she did enjoy the freedom of walking the city streets completing her deliveries, a luxury denied to most girls her age. The majority of her peers weren't allowed out of the house alone; her parents were from West Criptia, however, and were not so strict. She lamented that she hadn't a bicycle to make deliveries go faster, but her family could not afford one. Still, she had her freedom, and that was most important of all. As she trotted up the stairs in her worn-out brown work shoes and bright blue sun dress, she paused for a moment and wondered why someone who lived in a military
dormitory would order a medical textbook from a private bookshop instead of the local government one. It was simply none of her concern, she finally concluded, knocking on the door to Room 305. The boy who opened the door, presumably the one who had placed the order, seemed friendly enough; he had big, calm brown eyes and baby fat still on his cheeks. She did not think twice about accepting his cheerful invitation to come inside while he got the money together. As soon as she stepped into the small kitchen, she heard that hateful, high-pitched voice again. "My, my, look how you've grown!" Just then, the *clunk* *clack* of the door closing and locking assaulted her ears as well as her dormant survival instincts: she was trapped, and this time there was no escape. She could feel his malicious presence in the air like a cloud of thick, suffocating smoke as he came up behind her and grabbed her waist with one powerful arm, quickly covering her mouth with his free, hand. She had felt his urgent, strangling grasp once before, and she had prayed she'd never have to feel it again; she noticed that this time he wasn't wearing gloves.
"Hey, Cayben, help me get her ugly dress off, would ya?" The one behind her commanded his pudgy-faced friend. The boy called Cayben grinned happily, as if this request were completely normal.
"Sure." He agreed, standing in front of her, looking most complacent. Her captor dragged her over to the white circular table that decorated the sparse dining room, picked her up without allowing her to struggle whatsoever, and slammed her on the table. Now she was on her back facing him: he looked a bit older, with that same long white hair and evil grin. She could tell just by looking at him that there was something strange about him. His mouth was neither curved in a grin nor a frown; his expression seemed almost mechanical, as if he could not afford to relinquish an ounce of self-control. His hair was parted in the middle, with only a hint of bangs in the front. He had obviously prepared for her arrival. He wore the kind of clothes a young man his age might wear on a date, a nice dress shirt and a pair of slacks, and he smelled faintly of lavender, a rather peculiar scent for a man. The very sight of his cruel emerald eyes made her nauseous. His smiling friend stood behind her, grabbing her wrists firmly, but with a gentler grip and sliding a hand over her lips. First, the green-eyed boy carefully pulled her dirty shoes and socks off, discarding them on the floor. Then he slowly, almost lovingly unbuttoned her dress, carefully watching her reaction as each button came undone. She tried in vain to scream for help. Her dress slid off quite easily, leaving only a thin blue slip to hide her body; Cayben tried to remove her glasses, but her captor told him to stop, saying that they made his victim look even more beautiful.

Leddos caressed the silken material that her flimsy, see-through slip was made of. He placed his hand over her throat, holding her down, while he used his other hand to trace the hem of her skirt, running his slender, oddly feminine fingers up and down her curves. She was quite a unique young lady: her body was a bit disproportionate, with small breasts and thick, flared hips, and her legs seemed a bit chubby, but to him this made her all the more attractive. Cayben had left a few minutes prior to this at Leddos's blunt demand for privacy. The boy had then turned his attention to his prey, explaining that she could scream all she liked, but no one would come to her rescue. "I'm a Torturer here, you see, and sometimes I like to, ahem, deal with my female prisoners in the comfort of my own apartment." The laugh that followed his statement caused an unbearable chill to rush up her spine. "Ah, I never got to introduce myself. I am Leddos Guerra, son of Luura Guerra, Head Torturer of the East Complex. What's your name, hmm?"
"Luura Guerra?!" She gasped, blinking in disbelief. She knew that Luura Guerra was one of the Chiefs of Staff of the military, and a very powerful man. She couldn't believe that this cruel, deranged boy was really his son.
"So you know of my father? Most people around here couldn't care less about my lineage. Strange, yes? Then again, it is kind of refreshing." Leddos smirked, lifting her up and carrying her into his dark bedroom. She hung limp and lifeless like a rag doll, both terrified and unsure of what would come next.

She stared up at the ceiling, lying on his soft featherbed as he dug through one of the drawers of the large dresser which sat on the other side of the room. Naturally, he had locked the door. He wanted no disturbances whatsoever while he played with his victim. Paralyzed with fear and unable to think of a way out, she panicked and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Are you going to kill me when you're finished?" The girl asked curiously, as if she were a child asking where babies come from. Leddos jerked his head around, furrowing his brow, a genuinely astounded expression on his face.
"Why would you ask me such a question? And anyway, shouldn't you be begging for mercy or at least trying to escape?" He nodded his head in the direction of the locked door.
"Well, in the books I've read, the villain never harms the heroine. He certainly never kills her." Her tone was so innocent, so serious that he burst into loud, mocking peals of laughter.
"This isn't a damn novel. I'm going to rape you, and you're going to scream for me. Forget your romantic notions. This is real life, girl." And then, something snapped inside her mind. In a flash of courage it dawned upon her that she mustn't allow him to torment her, to bully her into submission. Who was he to use her to sate his awful desires and cast her away like a leathery husk?
"I won't scream for you, you monster." The words flew from her mouth before she even realized exactly what they were.
"Oh, I think you will. I'm a Torturer, so this is my area of expertise." An arrogant smile crept its way across his lips; her defiance hadn't fazed him in the slightest. And then it occurred to her what he had taken out of the drawer: she noticed a whip, candles, rope, and some other things she couldn't quite make out.
"B-but I thought you were just going to force me!" She cried out, reverting back into the sniveling child she had been just seconds before. The books made it all seem so nice and clean: the villain took the vulnerable girl and then she escaped, only to come back later and exact her revenge. She never thought "love-making" could carry with it such abject cruelty as this.
"I plan to enjoy myself fully with you." The drawer closed with a hollow *thunk*. Overcome by instinct once more, the girl bolted upright and slid off the large bed, backing against the locked door. She panted heavily, her heart racing: she had to get out. The Torturer came closer to her now, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it on the floor. Even in her panicked frenzy, she couldn't help but stare at his pale but surprisingly muscular torso, as this was the only shirtless man she'd ever seen. Blushing and mortified, the young girl averted her eyes from his chest out of sheer embarrassment, but he stood face to face with her and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look into his emerald eyes. "Fight me all you like. I don't tire easily, and really, it'll just make things more fun." Leddos gently stroked her left cheek. "You really think that romance crap is real?" He shouted in her face, a kind of spiteful, outraged tone dancing on his tongue. She responded with silence. "Come on, I want an answer!" Leddos shook her violently, making her small, perky breasts jiggle underneath her slip. At that moment, the girl glared at him with an intense hatred burning in her eyes, refusing to play along and satisfy him with a response. This wicked boy has tormented me in my sleep for two years. He has made it so that I cannot think of "love-making" without feeling nauseous. I won't be afraid. I won't let him win. She thought, a streak of bravery welling up within her again, her lips shut tight. "You look so angry. And just a minute ago you were cheerfully waiting for me to rape you. You're such a tease." Leddos chided her, looking her in the eye as he stroked her face with his slender fingers.

The pink wax seared and stung as it slid down her fair skin. The Torturer had felt he would need total access to her body to truly enjoy himself, so instead of using his bed, he had chained her to the ceiling after savagely tearing off her slip. She resisted as best she could, but he was incredibly strong despite having such a slight frame. He dribbled wax on her with great care, letting it roll down her breasts and back accompanied by numerous beads of sweat. The worst part was that he refused to stop talking. He taunted her viciously and told her intimate details regarding his profession that made her blood run cold, no doubt trying to frighten her into submission. "This is one of my favorites. The aesthetic of a nude girl with wax adorning her body is quite pleasing to me." He mused, pouring a bit on her stomach. She wanted so badly to cry out in pain, but she forced herself to stay quiet by sheer willpower, suppressing a series of moans and wails as her body was slowly singed with wax.

"Marvelous! I can't believe you've stayed silent this long! And I thought you would sing like a bird once I started whipping you! You certainly have a will of steel!" He wore a smile of pure devilish delight on his face, pleased that one of his victims had actually gone this long without howling in pain or screaming for mercy. "There are so many things I want to do to you!" He clasped his soft, delicate hands together, and she found she could take no more of his perversion.
"You sick freak!" She hissed, angry that he was having fun despite her best efforts to deprive him of any pleasure he might receive from torture.
"And I was really starting to enjoy myself. You know, I've been going easy on you because you're cute and you're so much fun to play with." The Torturer frowned at her, truly insulted by her careless remark. Exasperated and sore, she cried,
"I'm not a toy!"
"Of course you are, girl. And I intend to break you." He resumed his arrogant smile.

The girl's screams echoed through the dark, empty apartment. Leddos was surprised that she'd lasted this long, but now the real fun would begin. He had broken her, and she would submit easily. After her rude, inappropriate outburst, he had no qualms about subjecting her to much harsher things than he had originally planned. She had at long last broken her vow of silence when he used the slender handle of the whip to make a woman out of her. He had tried several times to get it between her thick, curvy thighs, but she had kicked wildly at him until he bound her ankles with the rope he had retrieved from his drawer. "You know, if you hadn't called me such a vulgar name, I would've been a bit more gentle. You should be nice to me. I could make things very tough for you." She panted and moaned, sweat pouring down her pained face, too exhausted to fight anymore.
"Take it out, please. It really hurts." She whispered. Leddos's ears picked up her plea immediately. He stared at her stoically and refused. "Please, I-I'll do whatever you want! It hurts!" Those fateful words escaped her lips, making him grin in calm satisfaction. Those were just the words he had been waiting to hear. He decided he would play with her a little more before getting serious.
"You know something, girl, I think you're in love with me. How about confessing your feelings?" His green eyes flashed with that familiar glint of cruelty.
"What?! I hate you!" She hollered, angry and confused.
"Oh, I don't think so. I think you're going to confess your love for me." Leddos said as he ran his fingers through her silky, damp hair. She smelled like sweat and wax and blood and fear, a truly intoxicating scent.
"I-I love you...Le-Leddos..." The words flew out of her mouth in a jumble; just saying them gave her a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, like she needed to vomit. He put his hand over his mouth, suppressing yet another grin, pretending to be shocked by her confession.
"Oh, you do? And why is that? Am I like one of the characters in those romance novels you like so much?" He could no longer feign seriousness; his grin kept getting wider and wider.
"Y-yes, you are! You're so...handsome and...and masculine!" His victim cried in desperation, trying frantically to guess what he wanted to hear.
"You think so? How sweet of you. Unfortunately, I'm, shall I say, married to my work. But I see no harm in showing you a good time." He unchained her wrists and picked her up again, laying her on his bed. His arms were a little sore from all the whipping he had done, but it didn't bother him too much; seeing her limp body sprawled out on his bed quickly made the pain vanish, replacing it with familiar lust. She realized very quickly what was going to happen next, as he finally pulled the whip out.
"No..." Her cry of protest was barely audible.
"Ssh. You need to feel this. A young girl like you needs to experience sex at least once." He echoed the words from her nightmare, unbuttoning his expensive dress pants.

Her first experience was undoubtedly not a pleasant one. Leddos was forceful and unrelenting, ignoring her cries and showing absolutely no compassion for a virgin who had only experienced sex on paper. She begged him to be gentle, to let her rest, to slow down, but he would do none of these. When he was done with her, he let her rest, stumbling into the adjacent bathroom for a shower. As she lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling yet again, her hand brushed over her thighs and "private spot." She suddenly thought of her parents, of all things. What would they think? If she survived the night with this ghoulish Torturer, what then? What would become of her?

Stepping out of the steam-cloaked shower, Leddos toweled himself off, vigorously drying his sopping wet hair. It glistened like a sheet of silver when wet, though it was almost white when dry. He put his underwear on, a comfortable pair of silk boxers he had gotten for his birthday, and began brushing out his hair. It felt refreshing to rid himself of all the sweat his skin had accumulated while he played with his victim. The boy studied himself in the mirror, wiping away some of the condensation from its blurry surface. He was, he knew, extremely feminine-looking. The girl's compliment about his masculinity was a lie, pure and simple. The ideal North Criptian male had a pointy, chiseled jaw, hair the texture of hay, and big ropy muscles. His own face was delicate and slender with a soft chin: women despised this kind of face. They wanted a man built like a brick who would fuck them hard and leave them with child. Leddos was strong, but deceptively so: his frame was small and his body lanky. He smirked at his reflection, muttering to himself, "Masculine, am I? I'll fuck her real hard." Then, abruptly, he ventured back into the bedroom.

She emitted a soft groan as her captor sat down next to her on his bed. Glancing over at him, she noticed a change in both his appearance and mood. He seemed to have calmed down a bit, and lacked that crazed, violent look in his eyes that had made her feel physically ill. His hair was wet and the smell of sweat that had lingered on him had now been replaced with the faint fragrance of lavender. "I've been thinking it over, and you must be somewhat educated to have read 'Cold Day in Spring.' How'd you learn how to read?" Leddos eyed her curiously. This question had bothered him for quite some time, but he hadn't thought to bring it up until now. Most North Criptian women could barely read; education was simply not part of their lot in life. The girl gave him a strange look, remembering his interest in the book on that fateful day long ago. Why is this perverted, cruel boy so concerned with literature? She wondered.
"My parents are from West Criptia. They insisted that I learn how to read so I could educate my children."
"Educate your children, huh? Hmm." Those West Criptians. I'll never understand their damn obsession with families. Still, it's a pity her education will go to waste. He thought to himself, rolling his eyes. His fingers slowly found their way into her hair again. She had the softest hair he'd ever touched, and he could see by the look of dread on her face that touching it made her very uncomfortable.

He killed her a few hours later, but he tried to make her last as long as possible. As he sat beside her fresh corpse, he fondly recalled lying on top of her and thrusting away while she squirmed helpless beneath him. Leddos sighed remorsefully, wishing she had lasted even longer. She was so strikingly beautiful and so very, very weak. He wished he could've kept her for at least a day or two, but alas, his violent urges had gotten the better of him after all. In a few hours he would call the sanitation crew and have them dispose of the body and launder the sheets. They were used to getting calls like this from him, the resident Torturer. He went to take another shower to get rid of the unpleasant odor of sweat once and for all. A peculiar thought struck him all of a sudden. He paused for a second, looking at the girl he had just murdered, and realized he didn't even know her name.