It was cold. Pitch black. The cold was everywhere, the worst of it coming from the hard metal surface beneath her. It seeped into her bare skin, holding tight in an unforgiving grip. Despite all efforts, she was unable to move a muscle, a prisoner of the dark, and the relentless chilled air surrounding her.
She'd lost track of how long she'd laid in the darkness, the cold making its way to the core of her being. From time to time there was a sound, distant and unrecognizable.
Then nothing. Only the dark, only the cold. Her mind kept going back to the last thing she remembered.
It had been just another after hours party at the club where she danced. Some High Rollers from out of town, suck a few cocks, get a big tip, nothing out of the ordinary. The hairy blob she was sucking off was just about to blow his load when some other guys burst in, shouted something in Spanish and started shooting. Hairy Blob jerked and spurt into her mouth at the same instant a bullet tore through his brain and splattered it against the wall. A second later, she felt a sharp yank on her hair. After that, nothing. Only the dark, and the cold.
She tried for another uncountable time to move, to make a sound. To do anything. Again, there was nothing. Nothing but the dark. Nothing but the cold, the cold, the cold.
Her mind tried to drift, to think of anything that would distract from this Hellish and unexplained circumstance. She'd wanted to be an actress once, but those dreams gave way to the harsh reality of low paying Waitress jobs between auditions that never seemed to go any further than a greasy couch in some casting agent's office. The only thing that panned out briefly was when one of the sweaty slime bags set her up with his buddy, another smegma factory who produced low budget porn shorts.
After a month or so of getting her pussy pounded by coked up nameless cocks, she decided to take up dancing. She rationalized that it was acting of a sort, and much more preferable to taking cum shots in the face from walking AIDS sticks.
The money was a lot better than waitressing and the work was steady. Picking up a few extra bucks at the after hours parties was no worse than what she'd already done on some smelly casting couch. It seemed like an eternity ago, in another life somehow, but that was nothing compared to this timeless dark and cold surrounding her now.
Faint sounds reached her ears, growing louder. A few moments later, she recognized them as footsteps. A surge of excitement gave way to an uneasy mix of apprehension as she wondered if the same guys from the club were the ones that had put her here. If so, what would they do to her next?
She picked out two sets of steps, walking briskly. They echoed slightly, as if coming along a hallway. There were two voices, both male. She decided anything was better than staying in here another minute, and tried to call out to them. Nothing came.
The voices and steps grew louder, paused, and then still louder along with the open and close of a door. They stopped near her head.
She clearly heard one of them say, "This is it."
A moment later, there was a click and shards of unexpected light blazed into her eyes, sending stabs of pain along her optic nerve into her brain. She tried to blink, but couldn't.
A loud clack of metal on metal was followed by an abrupt jerk that set her in motion with the sound of metal rollers. Her vision was an opaque blur of greenish tinged light. The motion and sound stopped with a small bump. A searing pain ripped through her neck.
One of the voices said, "Here she is Detective, the Jane Doe from the club."
Her mind tried to wrap itself around this sudden and unsettling chain of events. Why was there a Detective here? What did he mean by 'Jane Doe'? Where the fuck was she? A deeper sense of dread began to build in her.
She realized the greenish tint to the light was caused by its filtering through a sheet covering her face. She screamed, but again there was no sound.
Voice one asked, "Help me get her on the gurney, would you?"
He counted '3' and suddenly she felt herself being moved sideways with another metal on metal sound. Every bump was agony, forgotten as the shock of what she heard next sunk in.
The Detective asked, "Cause of death?" Voice one replied, "Preliminary exam is broken neck, severing of the spinal cord at the 3rd and 4th vertebrae."
The green lifted from her eyes, her view changed to an institutional style ceiling with fluorescent lights. In her peripheral vision, she could make out the two men standing over her. One wore a suit, the other a lab coat. Terror ripped through her as he leaned across the table and she read the patch on his coat. It said 'Coroner'.
An abrupt jerk accompanied by a fresh blast of pain cut through her rising panic long enough for her body to be turned to one side. Her head rolled limply, her mind reeling between pain and unheard screams. Horror and pain fought for and exchanged supremacy.
The heat from his hands, so intense it almost burned, was a shock to her cold skin. His grip tightened and he moved her head so the Detective could see where her neck was broken. She couldn't decide which was worse, the pain it caused or the sound of her shattered bones grinding wetly into each other and traveling through her skull. The Detective looked on, making some notes in a small spiral notepad.
He commented, "We looked all through the club, but couldn't find any I.D. on this one."
Without looking up, the Coroner asked, "I assume you tried running her prints?"
"Yeah" the Detective replied, and added, "We got nothing. No criminal record, nothing through DMV. Just a dead hooker with no name."
The Coroner grunted his agreement and remarked, "There's no evidence of d**g use, no needle marks. Actually this one's pretty healthy looking."
He lowered her head back onto the table, a fresh round of sparks exploded in her neck, continuing as she was rolled back to her original position, staring into the fluorescents. Mercifully the pain began to diminish, calming to a dull roar. She felt the sheet lifting and then sliding off her body.
The Coroner stated, "No other visible signs of trauma. This was quick. Professional. She never felt a thing."
The Detective made a few more notes and asked, "So what happens to her now?"
The Coroner replied. "We give it a couple of days to see if anybody from Missing Persons gets a call. If not, we ship her off to County and they take it from there. Damn shame with this one, she was a looker."
The Detective gave him an unseen odd look. A wash of shame and vulnerability went through her. She could almost feel their eyes on her. In spite of her past, she felt genuinely naked, exposed. The only comfort was the feel of warm air on her skin. It was warmer, and light out here. So much better than being...In There. In the cold. In the dark.
The Detective said, "I'm done here. Here's my card, give me a call if anything turns up."
Over the sound of retreating footsteps, the Coroner replied, "Sure thing."
The door opened and closed. There were a few moments of silence, broken by the Coroner's breathing. He took a deep breath, paused and then let it out.
He mumbled under his breath, "Yeah, I got your card Detective."
She heard him wad it up, a moment later it thunked into a waste can. His face appeared in her vision. It was horribly pockmarked. Deep scars from acne peppered his skin. There was something oddly familiar about it, something from way back, from another life. With a motionless shudder, she realized he was looking her up and down, an uncomfortable sheen in his eyes.
She startled inwardly when his fingertips first brushed and then began to move in circles over her flat, cool stomach. Her skin tried to soak in the heat from them. Emotions collided inside her. Revulsion. Disgust. Shame over the realization that if she could, she would press herself into the grotesque caress if only for the warmth it offered.
His hands moved up, cupping one breast and then the other. She felt sick at herself beginning to welcome his touch, craving more heat. He stopped.
Her mind was relieved, but her skin begged for more. More warmth. More heat.
His face disappeared, footsteps moved toward the door. A moment later, she heard it lock. Anxiety rose in her, why had he locked the door? She tried not to think about it. His face reappeared.
Her memory jogged. She knew him. From somewhere, from a long time ago. Searching desperately, her mind came up empty. Suddenly his eyes looked directly into hers. It was a horrible look, full of malevolent glee. A humorless dry smile creased his thin lips, more of a sneer. Somehow, she felt even colder.
"Well, well, well." He breathed in a spite filled whisper, "Always nice to meet a body from the home town."
He knew her! But from where?
His low hiss continued, "What's it been? 15 years or so? Why I'll bet you wouldn't even know me if you saw me on the street. I'll bet you wouldn't even remember me. You'd just give that same blank stare you're giving me now. Nice to see things worked out so well for you."
Her mind searched frantically. Who the fuck was this guy?
He went on, "Yeah, just look at you. Used to be such hot shit weren't you? Miss 'Gonna Be a Big Star' someday. One of the 'Beautiful People.' Now you're just another dead fucking hooker with no fucking name."
He spit a brittle, smug laugh. His cruel words continued. "You and your little clique. All the cutesy nicknames you had for me. Poindexter. Four-eyes. Pizza face. Yeah, I remember them all. Looks like I got the last laugh though, don't it?"
Her eyes would have bugged if they could as her memory crashed together like a jigsaw puzzle made from broken glass. Larry! What was his last name? Larry...Mill-something was all she could remember.
Larry Mildew is what they'd called him. An ugly misfit that couldn't even fit in with the dorks. He was an ugly k** and had grown to an even uglier man. The fact that she was at the mercy and judgment of a loser like him added another level of humiliation to this unspeakable scenario. Revulsion rolled through her in waves as his beady eyes leered up and down her nakedness, his breaths becoming deeper.
Suddenly his face disappeared, she heard him move toward her feet. A moment later twin vises of heat grabbed just above her knees, pulling them apart with sharp cracking sounds from where her legs joined her body. Each crack brought a small firework of agony. Her feet fell from the table, spreading her thighs even wider when the calves followed. Her knees reached the edges of the table, held open by the dead weight now dangling below them. She felt even more naked, knowing her neatly trimmed pussy was totally exposed to the light and his hungry stare.
Over the hum of the fluorescents boring into her eyes, came the sound of a belt buckle and then a zipper being opened. Her mind vomited what her stomach couldn't as the sounds of him masturbating f***ed themselves into her ears. His sharp jerky breaths became laced with soft grunts as his pace quickened.
"So many nights." he grunted, "So many nights I wondered what you looked like naked. Wondered what so many others knew, what it felt like to be inside you. To fuck you."
He stopped abruptly. There was the sound of fumbling, and then the crinkle of plastic. The table bumped as he climbed onto it, between her legs. Dread filled her as she knew what was coming next. His face reappeared directly over hers, his stinking breath hot on her cheeks.
"I'm finally gonna know." His polluted whisper continued, "I may not be the first, but I'm definitely going to be the last."
A moment later, his condom covered cock jabbed into her, burning as his jerky thrusts pushed deeper until his balls seared against her ass. He pushed harder, trying to go still deeper. She was f***ed to watch his expressions of pleasure as his hot cock started to saw in and out of her. Disgust rode her harder than he did, hating each thrust.
The cold of the table at her back contrasted sharply with the now unwelcome warmth of his body on hers, centered by the heated stabs between her legs. Her body began to betray her, greedily craving the heat of his cock invading her femininity with a nearly epileptic intensity.
Her last shred of dignity evaporated as he began pumping still harder, causing a familiar and unwanted tingle every time he banged against her clit. She tried to fight it, but it climbed, building quickly. She gave up, accepting the fact that Larry Mildew was going to make her come. If she could move, she'd be meeting him thrust for thrust, begging him to finish her. He grunted and sped up, still faster, harder, his balls slapping off her ass, adding another push toward the edge she now desperately wanted. Larry gave a series of high pitched whines, his hips jerking insanely. Suddenly he froze. She felt his cock jerking inside her, inside the condom. The extra heat of his squirting sperm pushed her over. Another silent scream came as her release blasted through her, pushing already ragged limits of what remained of her concept of self and sanity.
She was dimly aware of his pulling out, the sudden loss of heat snapping her back to an even harsher reality. He rolled off, fixed himself, and moved her legs back onto the table. She sobbed mentally at the combined loss of his warmth and any humanity that had been left in her. She thought she'd sunk low before, but now felt it couldn't get any worse than this. His face appeared again, looking down with another sneer. He lifted a cell phone, dialed it, and began to speak. "Yeah, hey it's Larry down at the Morgue. I got one for you. Uh huh, female, early 30's. Nah, total Jane Doe. Uh huh. OK. Same deal as usual, right? $250 cash, I'll take care of the paperwork."
He paused, barked a short laugh, and continued, "Yeah, damn shame how a body can get lost in the system ain't it?"
He laughed again, "Alright, swing by when you can to pick her up, later is better."
He hung up, turning his attention to her. "Well 'Jane' I better get you back into the cooler until your ride gets here."
His next comment told her that things could indeed get worse. Worse than she could imagine.
He leaned in close, his foul whisper burning her ear. "Ya know, I can't decide which I like more. The fact that I finally got to fuck you, or that I let you stay a 'Jane Doe', knowing full well who you are, and that all I had to do was tell the Detective."
Her rising terror and silent screams exploded as he went on, "My only regret is that you'll never know. Never know that I fucked you and sold your dead ass to the Medical School like a hunk of meat where they'll cut you up, piece by piece, until you're all....gone."
With some sharp jerks, she was quickly pulled onto the gurney, wheeled across the room, and placed back on the sliding drawer. Her vision narrowed as he pushed her body into the cooler, the well machined rollers making small vibrations until it clicked into place. The door slammed shut.
She was back in the dark, in the cold. Every sound brought a fresh tide of sickening terror, knowing that soon, there would be two more sets of footsteps.