Goldfish on the Mountain Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

The smell of smoke jolted Molly awake. Her eyes fluttered around the room as she was looking for the source of the smoke. There he was, sitting by her side. He had placed a sand candle on her bellybutton. His words pierced her ears. It took her a minute to realize he was reading from a book of poems she had written years ago.

“Ah, about time you have awoken my darling,” Drake said. “I found this little book of yours. Oh how you were such an unfaithful whore even back in your youth!”

She closed her eyes trying to blink away her tears, ignoring his words.

He gently brushed his finger around the candle on her flesh. She knew he was going to let the candle burn her flesh. She winced in pain as the heat from the candle began to sting her flesh.

As the hot wax began to drip onto her skin she screamed out in pain.

“You sick fuck!” she screamed as the wax burned into her stomach.

He brushed her hair back, licked his lips before turning the page.

“My heart was burning like a flame from a moth, he ran his hand down the small of my back like cloth” he read. “This stuff is so rife with childish fantasy my dear Molly. No wonder he hated you so much.”

He raised his voice louder as he kept reading from her book. He tuned out her screams.

This was the longest Molly had been awake during any of her torture sessions. Ever since she resolved to fight back, she had gotten better at subduing the pain and staying awake. She tuned out the pain and drifted back in her mind to the day her ex-husband showed up to reunite with his daughter.

Since years had passed since her divorce. Molly couldn’t think of a reason why her ex-husband would want to see her now all of a sudden. He had phoned her the night before saying he was coming over and to be ready. When she asked what he wanted he ended the phone call.

There was a knock at the door. Molly walked through the living room heart racing as she made her way to the front door. She stopped before she opened the door and checked her appearance in the mirror on the wall. She wasn’t sure why she did it now that she had a second to think about it.

She reached for the door heart pounding out of her chest.

There he was standing there as handsome as her wedding day. Why was she suddenly attracted to the bastard that left her with her child?

“Hello there Molly.” George said. “Where’s the kid?”

She placed her hand on his chest preventing him from walking into the house.

“Hold on there just a second Mister,” Molly said. “I want to know what brings about this sudden interest in the daughter you abandoned?”

“What’s it to you, this doesn’t concern you, bitch.” George said. “I don’t need a reason to see my child on her 15th birthday do I?”

She sidestepped his use of bitch as she was well aware of his hatred for her.

It was just days before Melody’s fifteenth birthday and he claimed he wanted to spend some time with this daughter before it was too late. Molly had her reservations right from the start, after all he had shown no interest in his offspring for so long she hardly believed he had suddenly developed into a dad. Still Molly was once a teenage girl herself and she knew that if there was one thing Melody wanted more than anything, it was a meaningful relationship with her father.

Looking back on it now Molly knew there were warning signs and her gut instinct told her to just slam the door shut on him and be done with it.

As a mother she wanted nothing more than to know her daughter was still alive and had been spared from the life she feared had befallen her. Molly hated even thinking about what had become of her cherished child, having vivid memories of seeing the video tape her husband showed her that night he kidnapped her.

The video tape clearly showed a bunch of Venezuelan smugglers handing George a suit case full of money and escorting Melody, hands tied behind her back, bound and gagged they shoved her into the trunk of a very large car and drove off into the distance.

She recalled vividly the remainder of the images on that dreadful tape. They played over and over in her mind constantly, a reminder of how her life had taken a dark turn.

After the smugglers were gone the video tape then cut away to a shack where a woman had been bound and had her face covered by a gunny sack. This was the part where Molly’s ¬†memories began to fade. She watched the woman covered in blood, beaten and torn sitting on a chair she was tied to struggling for her life.

There was a quick cut and then there was Molly sitting in the same chair, tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes wide in fear as she was looking into a video camera where her husband was telling her that her life was about to end.

He then cut Molly up and tore pieces of her bloody clothes and tossed the shreds all over the room. She was drugged and dragged out of the room. She would not remember the next part as all she remembered next was waking up here, tied to this bed, her bones broken and bruises all over her body.

The very first thing her ex-husband and his demented brother showed her when she regained consciousness was the tape they filmed the night before. In the video she watched as they shoved that poor woman head first into the wood chipper. She was wearing Molly’s bloody clothes. They rigged it so police would think it was her who had been killed. Molly never learned the name of the woman whose life was sacrificed in her former lovers twisted game.

These two men had conspired against her for crimes she had never committed. In their warped, twisted minds they came to blame her for atrocities she had nothing to do with. They felt that somehow she didn’t deserve the life she was living.

Molly replayed the images of the night her life came crashing down in her mind as the hot wax from the candle continued to burn its way into her flesh. He finished reading from the book of poems, tossed it aside and rubber her inner thigh.

“Sweet dreams princess,” Drake said as he walked away.

Published by

Stephanie Bri

A transgender writer who also does podcasts and videos. If you like my writing please consider helping me survive. You can support me directly by giving money to my paypal: thetransformerscollector@yahoo.com. If you prefer CashApp my handle is @Stephaniebri22. Also feel free to donate to my Patreon. I know it's largely podcast-centric but every little bit helps. Find it by going to www.patreon.com/stephaniebri, Thank you.