4 Mexico (2/2)

But you are still warm, and so tight ...?

The voice died in a deep sigh. Sam stepped mechanically into the middle of the room. She felt her cold sweat trickling down her back in slow rivulets. The sight that offered itself burned indelibly into her memory. She felt like a bad movie.

With her back to her stood a fat man with his pants down. His wobbly buttocks jerked. He stood wide-legged at the foot of the bed, blocking her view of what lay ahead.

She stepped aside two steps and saw Jessica. Her beloved Jessica, for whom she felt responsible. Jessica's eyes were dull, her throat a single raspberry-red swollen mass, her small breasts littered with scratch marks, bright red blood on her sheets between her splayed legs.

Sam's heart seemed to be pumping cold in jerky waves through her veins until she felt like a block of ice. Her teeth clattered against each other. At the sound, the fat man's head jerked in her direction as fast as an arrow. As he turned, she saw that he had one hand tightly closed around his steeply erect penis. As he turned in her direction, he tangled himself in his dropped pants and tripped stooping in her direction. The ice broke.

Sam swung the baseball bat against his head with both hands. When the bat clapped against his left side of the skull, there was a sound as if a raw egg fell to the ground. The man broke down immediately. Under its enormous weight, the wooden floor shook. Sam let go of the baseball bat and rushed to Jessica.

She dropped to her knees beside the bed and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead with trembling fingers. In a budding hope she shook Jessica by the shoulders. The girl's head rolled back and forth like a doll. How long she had crouched next to Jessica, holding her cold hand in her numb fingers, she could not say.

Sam's immobilization lasted until she heard a low groan behind her. With a jerk she jumped up and hurried out into the garden. Frantically, she looked around. Her eyes fell on a rusty hedge trimmer lying on the stained table outside on the porch. She grabbed the scissors and severed the clothesline, which was stretched over half the porch.

The rusty thing worked - good. She hurried back to the arbor. As she passed, she closed her fingers around the top rung of an old wooden chair and placed it behind Jessica's tormentor. As the fat pig sat up dizzy, she pushed him into the chair and tied his upper body with the clothesline to the back of the chair.

Sam stepped in front of the man to take a closer look. He was in his early fifties, with tight-set, dark eyes in a rough face. Particularly striking were his full, beaded lips.