A Maidens Grave

liquid.
    Melanie, sobbing in terror, tried to push away from him, but he gripped the cloth over her breasts with a desperate strength. He threw his leg over her calves, pinning her to the ground as more blood cascaded over her.
    Please, help me. Somebody. De l’Epée . . . .
    Somebody! Please—
    Oh, no . . . . She shivered in horror. Not this. Please, no.
    He tugged her skirt above her waist with his knife hand. Yanked down her black tights. The knife started up along her thigh to her pink cotton panties.
    No! She tried to struggle away, her ears roaring from the effort. But there was no escape. His huge bulk lay upon her and dripped his heavy blood onto her legs. The blade touched her mound, cut through one seam of the underwear. Through the sparse hair between her legs she felt the cold steel and recoiled.
    A hideous grin on his face, he looked at her with icy disks of eyes. The metal sliced the other side of the panties. They fell away.
    Her vision grew dim. Don’t faint! Don’t lose your sight too!
    Pinned to the ground by his weight. Afraid to move anyway; the knife hovered an inch above her pink cleft, the faint hair, the pale skin.
    With his free hand Bear reached down to his crotch and unzipped. He coughed, spraying more blood upon her, spattering her chest and neck. As he reached in his pants the knife dipped and she groaned, nearly gagging on the rag, as the cold metal slipped in between her legs.
    Then the blade rose again as he guided his huge, glistening penis out. She struggled away from him but he let go of himself and once more grabbed her breast, holding her still.
    He rubbed against her leg, blood pouring off his twitching organ and running onto her bare thigh. He pressed against her skin once, twice, and then shifted his weight to move further along her body.
    And then . . .
    Then . . .
    Nothing.
    She was breathing faster than she believed possible, her chest trembling. Bear was frozen, eyes inches from hers, one hand on her chest, the other holding the blade, point down, poised between her legs, millimeters from her flesh.
    She spit the rag from her mouth, smelled his putrid stink, the rich, rusty smell of blood. Sucked in air.
    Felt the cold knife twitch against her skin once, twice, and then it went still.
    It took a full minute before she realized that he was dead.
    Melanie fought down the nausea, sure that she’d be sick. But then slowly the sensation passed. Her legs were numb; his bulk had cut off her circulation. She planted her bound hands firmly on the concrete beneath her and pushed. A huge effort. But the blood was slick, like fresh enamel, and she managed to slide several inches away from him. Try again. Then once more. Soon her legs were almost out from under him.
    One more time . . .
    Her feet popped out and came to rest exactly where he held the knife. Tensing her stomach muscles, she lifted her feet slightly and began sawing the wire against the steel blade of the knife.
    She glanced toward the doorway. No sign of Brutus or Stoat. Her stomach muscles screamed as she sawed against the wire.
    Finally . . . snap. It gave way. Melanie climbed to her feet. She kicked Bear’s left hand once, then again. The blade fell to the ground. She kicked it to Emily. Gestured for her to pick it up. The little girl sat up, crying silently. She looked at the knife, which was resting in a pool of blood, and shook her head no. Melanie responded with a fierce nod. Emily closed her eyes, turned, and groped in the slick red pool for the weapon. Finally she gripped it, wincing, and held the blade up. Melanie turned and began rubbing the wire binding her wrists against the blade. A few minutes later she felt the strands break. She grabbed the knife and then cut Emily’s wire as well.
    Melanie stole to the doorway. Brutus and Stoat were at the windows, looking away from the killing room. Beverly was standing by the door and Melanie could see a trooper approaching with an attaché case. So they were exchanging the girl for something. With luck, they’d be busy for some minutes—long enough for Melanie and the others to get to the dock.
    Melanie bent over Mrs. Harstrawn, who was now soaked in Bear’s blood. The woman stared at the ceiling.
    “Come on,” Melanie signed. “Get up.”
    The teacher didn’t move.
    “Now!” Melanie signed emphatically.
    Then the woman signed words Melanie had never seen before in ASL. “Kill me.”
    “Get up!”
    “Can’t. You go.”
    “Come