Susan was finally alone. Her abductor had left after what seemed like days, but she knew it had in fact only been hours. He had said he was going to make his best Mother a special meal and had asked if she would put on the lovely dress he had bought her for their candle lit dinner. Cautiously, she made her way to the locked door of the bedroom and placed her ear against it. Holding her breath she tried desperately to hear the familiar sounds of her son's murmurs and babyish gurgles. Wanting to weep when all she found was silence. Was her son all right? Did the crazed man take her little baby with him? 

She grasped the doorknob now and giving it a turn, pulled on it with all her might. Over and over she yanked on the solid mass without so much as a budge from its solid frame. Not for the first time, she wished that she had been blessed with a more substantial physique, but God had decided in his infinite wisdom to make her only five foot tall and ninety-seven pounds. If she had been born strong and athletic, like some amazon woman she could try to fight her way out of here, but there was no way she could ever fend off this man's advances. Or could she? He had not had sex with her, but he had caressed her back as he and suckled from her most of the day and her nipples felt raw as they scrapped painfully against the material of her negligee. He had cried and she had had to rock him and reassure him like he was a small child. But although his hands had always been careful not to bruise her, they had still grasped at her desperately as if he was trying to hold on to her, as if she would slip away if he wasn't holding tight enough.

Susan stepped away from the door giving up on that being a viable mode of escape. But maybe there was a weapon she could use, something sharp or heavy that she could use to incapacitate him with when he enters the room. She had seen it in movies a million times. The victim hides behind the door waiting for the bad guy to enter the room and wham she knocks him out. But if she had seen those scenarios planned out on TV and movie plots maybe he had as well. But here her diminutive size could be an advantage as no one would believe someone her size would even try to fight back. Yes, she would do it, and when she knocked him out she would grab the key from his unconscious hands and lock him up in here. While she rescued her baby and found someone to help her get to the police. She could see it now. Wouldn't her husband be so proud of her, and Cameron would grow up knowing that his Mother had taken down the bad guy to save him. She smiled to herself as she moved through the room looking in corners and under the bed. She noted ruefully that the room was absent of even a really sharp corner to push him against. There wasn't a single thing to hit or stab him with.

She thought about if she could stab someone? She had seen this topic on an afternoon talk show. Maybe it was Oprah. Yes she remembered it was about a self-defense teacher, an ex-cop and how he had schooled women to think about whether they could really do things like poke someone's eyes out before they did try to defend themselves rather than run, because most victim reports that had been filed spoke of women who had been victims of a brutal crime, in the end when faced with the option of killing or maiming there attackers, realize that they couldn't take the hard line. He had reasoned that girls are not brought up or genetically hardwired to hurt others, women are the nurtures. So Susan thought about whether she could do it? Would she poke this man's eye out or worse kill him if she had to. She was surprised to find that the answer to that was yes. Susan was a peace loving woman with a kind heart and an avid PETA member. But if it came down to her son, or this mad man, she would take that son of a bitch down every time.

◊◊◊◊◊

The man stepped up to the bathroom mirror and the image that reflected back at him was unadulterated joy. His eyes shone bright in his face and his skin was glowing. The time he had spent with his mother had been a miracle. She is such a good mother not at all like the last or even the first. He was electrified with excitement.

But look at you! Look at your clothes! What is that stain on your shirt?

He looked down to see that his mother's milk had dripped on to the front of his shirt while he had been feeding off of her beautiful breasts. He would remember the experience for the rest of his life. Yes others had held him to their breasts but no mother had ever feed him before. He had felt so safe and cocooned in her arms as he had suckled her. So what if the bad thing had risen in his pants when he had been feeding, she was such a good mother that she had been able to make his sinful thoughts go away.

No mother could want such a dirty boy!

"I'll clean myself, you'll see. I will be born again." he responded to the insistent voice in his head.

As he stripped off his clothes he began to hum. And run his hands over his body. He needed it to be perfect. He stood up and reached for the electric razor on the pedestal sink. Slowly and still smiling in the mirror, he brought the clippers to his head, running it through form the front all the way to the nape of his neck. He shaved a strip of hair off his head. He watched as the first strip of hair slid down the side of his head and off his shoulder to the floor. His hand shook with excitement as he brought the clippers through his hair time and time again. Until there was nothing left. Running his hands over his now smooth head he stopped to admire his handy work.

Yes, he would be perfect for his mother. He opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the shaving cream and a fresh new razor. Methodically he began to make the rest of his body as smooth as the top of his head. He loved this part; he would be as soft as a baby for days afterwards. It would help him to live over and over the ecstasy of his mother's gift to him in his head as he ran his hands all over his new body.

He walked around the kitchen pulling the silver from the hutch drawer. He was going to make her the most delectable meal, for her last supper. He was going to be born again. He could almost feel how pure he would be, and just maybe this Mother would be the one to keep him cleansed from sin for good. He did a little dance around the solid oak kitchen table. Then he could live out his life like a good person should and have a family to share this big house with. Not for the first time he thought about keeping his Mother. He knew that she loved him and that he had at last done something right. What if he kept her? After she took him into her womb, what if he didn't go through with his plan? She was a good mother she could keep him from doing the bad things that he couldn't seem to control, and he would be such a good boy for her. Oh, he knew he could never replace her real son, but he could try every day to be good enough to make her forget the other place.

Then, he heard the insidious whisper of the first Mother's voice inside his head saying piercingly

You? You could never be good enough, you'll never be enough. You weren't good enough for your real Mother.

The man whimpered as he spoke to the empty air and held his head moaning, "Please Mother you're wrong. I can be better."

No you're wrong! She threw you in the trash and left you there to die. Twenty seven hours you were in that dumpster; until your father found you and brought you home. He had this crazy notion that it was a sign from God that you were meant for us. He could see her now leering down at him hissing her words of accusation into his young face as she dragged him over to the closet door and locked him in. How many times as a child had he swallowed his sobs and had listened to her footsteps as she walked away proclaiming loudly. But I know you for what you really are: trash, nothing more than trash. My trying to make you into anything more will always be my cross to bear.

The man shaking and sobbing softly slumped to the kitchen floor. "I'm sorry Mother. I'm so sorry." He knew that he had to bear out his plan or he would never find peace.

A good cry and an hour later he set the tray with the braised lamb chops complete with mint jelly on a bed of jasmine rice and lightly roasted asparagus stems. He placed the crisp stems atop the cutlets for just the right effect on the tray. He had changed and now wore a new powder blue dress shirt and a light sport jacket ideal for the late august night. The cooling evening breeze caressed his freshly shaved skin and the delight of that sensation made him shiver in anticipation. He lifted and felt the tray almost slip from his sweaty hands as he righted his grip and let a sigh escape his lips.

You see you almost dropped it. Will you get anything right?

That was close. He had almost ruined everything with his clumsiness. He would remember to try to stay calm, even though his heart was racing. Pivoting on his heel, he turned and walked out the kitchen door. Making his way through the yard and into the field, he soaked in the darkening sky and appreciated the approaching dusk as the sounds of the chirping crickets in the distance serenaded him. He wished that he could complete the cleansing here in the open air with his mother's last sight to be him new and reborn.

After their meal he would spend some time with her perhaps he would drink from he again, he could still taste the sweetness of her Mother's milk on his tongue. They would sit quietly enjoying their last meal together. He mustn't think about it. He knew if he did he might not do this act, but he had no choice. Placing the tray down, he reached for the pin and popped the trap door open. He had to take a deep breath he must hide his feelings so that nothing ruined this last night with his mother. She would see he was worthy. 

Thanks for reading. Please vote, comment, share, or add this book to your library. If you like it please suggest it to a friend, but be forewarned this book will get gory, especially the next chapter. It will contain graphic descriptions and disturbing content. Read at your own risk, but for those of you who love edge of your seat creep factor. You're welcome.

Cheers my lovelies.

Deborah