wallet.
The cicadas resumed their chirruping as the wind picked up and began a mournful dirge through the pale Eucalyptus trees.
The burly man carried Grace effortlessly, and purposefully strode off without looking back. He walked down the thorny, narrow path that led to the base of a hillock. A small mouth of a cave, partially hidden by thick thorny shrubs, lay at the bottom of the slope, along the side of the knoll. He manoeuvred carefully so the thorns wouldn’t hurt Grace.
As he bore Grace into the cave, he paused for moment, balancing his precious burden against the wall, his hip and one arm, while using his free hand to fish out a small flashlight from his pocket. The inside of the cave was quite dark, as the thorny scrub on the hillside not only veiled the entrance on the outside, it also effectively blocked out any light within. The stench of bats that lived in this permanent night state within the cavern was putrid.
A narrow, wooden staircase came into view. Tossing Grace over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, he started the ascent.
The tunnel was damp; the stairs were slippery with algae and creaked with each step. There was the sound of water trickling down an underground stream somewhere nearby.
He climbed steadily for long minutes and the flight of stairs finally reached a narrow circular trapdoor overhead which opened through the floor of a dimly lit room. A naked low-wattage bulb hung from the damp muddy ceiling. The burly, thickset man placed Grace’s limp body gently on an old mattress on the floor and paused to catch his breath.
‘You lazy lump! Shut the trap door! What took you so long? Hurry up and paint your face before she comes around!’ the furious voice cracked at him like a whiplash, and he froze.
The tall figure from whom the instructions had come turned away impatiently, and the thickset man scrambled to his feet.
The entrance via the tunnel had now been sealed shut but the sounds of the outside world filtered through somehow and seemed to echo within the enclosed space.
The room, which seemed like the inside of a dome, was dark and damp. The mud and brick walls were lined with empty wine bottles to a height of about four feet on one wall and from the floor to the ceiling everywhere else.
The room was funky with a thick smell of blood and alcohol. There were only two entries into the room. One, through the trapdoor on the floor, and the second was a small, heavy wooden door at the far end, behind casks of wine.
A musty smell of damp wood and perspiration was the first thing that Grace grew aware of as she regained consciousness, and she moaned. Her throat felt dry. She lay numb and semi-naked on what seemed to be a rough mattress.
She tried to open her eyes, she couldn’t. She could hear the sound of people walking around her, the clink of metal against glass, gruff voices, and the sound of a heavy door creaking open. It finally dawned on her that this wasn’t just a horrendously bad dream, and she struggled to wake up in earnest.
Groggy, Grace felt a sharp pain shoot up between her thighs. The pain made her wake up fully and she froze. She heard herself screaming; a pair of strange hands was fumbling at her bathrobe while another pair had pinned her thighs down to the mattress. She felt a third pair of hands clasp her wrists.
She forced open her eyes and saw three looming shadows with hideous faces around her. Grace’s heart screamed in terror as the reality of her plight gripped her and ripped through her soul – she was being raped.
The ordeal continued for almost an hour, and she helplessly screamed, shouted and wept in vain. The three men took turns to violate her repeatedly. Physical pain and mental anguish vied for dominance.
Tucked away inconspicuously on the ceiling, hidden between the empty wine bottles, a tiny, video camera recorded every detail of the gruesome act. No one paid any attention to it. No one could see it. Probably no one even knew about it.
As two
The cicadas resumed their chirruping as the wind picked up and began a mournful dirge through the pale Eucalyptus trees.
The burly man carried Grace effortlessly, and purposefully strode off without looking back. He walked down the thorny, narrow path that led to the base of a hillock. A small mouth of a cave, partially hidden by thick thorny shrubs, lay at the bottom of the slope, along the side of the knoll. He manoeuvred carefully so the thorns wouldn’t hurt Grace.
As he bore Grace into the cave, he paused for moment, balancing his precious burden against the wall, his hip and one arm, while using his free hand to fish out a small flashlight from his pocket. The inside of the cave was quite dark, as the thorny scrub on the hillside not only veiled the entrance on the outside, it also effectively blocked out any light within. The stench of bats that lived in this permanent night state within the cavern was putrid.
A narrow, wooden staircase came into view. Tossing Grace over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, he started the ascent.
The tunnel was damp; the stairs were slippery with algae and creaked with each step. There was the sound of water trickling down an underground stream somewhere nearby.
He climbed steadily for long minutes and the flight of stairs finally reached a narrow circular trapdoor overhead which opened through the floor of a dimly lit room. A naked low-wattage bulb hung from the damp muddy ceiling. The burly, thickset man placed Grace’s limp body gently on an old mattress on the floor and paused to catch his breath.
‘You lazy lump! Shut the trap door! What took you so long? Hurry up and paint your face before she comes around!’ the furious voice cracked at him like a whiplash, and he froze.
The tall figure from whom the instructions had come turned away impatiently, and the thickset man scrambled to his feet.
The entrance via the tunnel had now been sealed shut but the sounds of the outside world filtered through somehow and seemed to echo within the enclosed space.
The room, which seemed like the inside of a dome, was dark and damp. The mud and brick walls were lined with empty wine bottles to a height of about four feet on one wall and from the floor to the ceiling everywhere else.
The room was funky with a thick smell of blood and alcohol. There were only two entries into the room. One, through the trapdoor on the floor, and the second was a small, heavy wooden door at the far end, behind casks of wine.
A musty smell of damp wood and perspiration was the first thing that Grace grew aware of as she regained consciousness, and she moaned. Her throat felt dry. She lay numb and semi-naked on what seemed to be a rough mattress.
She tried to open her eyes, she couldn’t. She could hear the sound of people walking around her, the clink of metal against glass, gruff voices, and the sound of a heavy door creaking open. It finally dawned on her that this wasn’t just a horrendously bad dream, and she struggled to wake up in earnest.
Groggy, Grace felt a sharp pain shoot up between her thighs. The pain made her wake up fully and she froze. She heard herself screaming; a pair of strange hands was fumbling at her bathrobe while another pair had pinned her thighs down to the mattress. She felt a third pair of hands clasp her wrists.
She forced open her eyes and saw three looming shadows with hideous faces around her. Grace’s heart screamed in terror as the reality of her plight gripped her and ripped through her soul – she was being raped.
The ordeal continued for almost an hour, and she helplessly screamed, shouted and wept in vain. The three men took turns to violate her repeatedly. Physical pain and mental anguish vied for dominance.
Tucked away inconspicuously on the ceiling, hidden between the empty wine bottles, a tiny, video camera recorded every detail of the gruesome act. No one paid any attention to it. No one could see it. Probably no one even knew about it.
As two
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