Into the Basement

By Norm Applegate

Asian, enjoys torture...
Russian, enjoys abduction...
Obsession, sexual slavery...
Bent woman, Kim Bennett...

Into the Basement is Norm Applegate’s first book. It’s a graphic thriller about two serial killers who steal women and torture them in the basement.

You’ll never walk alone at night in the dark! Ever!

Into the Basement is approximately 69,000 words
This book has been formatted for the Kindle

In San Francisco, women are disappearing. Three detectives pull Kim Bennett into the game. The hunt for a killer. She goes missing!

This is a raw dark story of sadistic people that pits Kim's physical and mental agility against one of the fastest rising crimes in America, sexual slavery.

This is an adult story that has been described as "juicy."

Update, Into the Basement was written in 2006. The publisher did a horrendous job. I was disappointed with the release. How could they assign this book to a religious editor? She refused to continue with the novel because of the nature of the story, sexual abduction and abuse. In January of 2010, I got Basement back. It has been re-edited and spruced up. Even to this day some people like enough to give it a 4 or 5 star, others hate it. Enjoy!

Chapter 1:
Abduction:
Someone was hunting a female. Mean, hardened eyes. She left work on time, routine. Susie Smallwood was the target.

Torture:
Then something hit her teeth. Then again.

Murder:
She was helpless. Bound with gray duct tape across her mouth.

The ebook also contains bonus material: Chapter 1 of Shockwave: which is approximately 79,000 words long, and is specifically formatted for Kindle.

Thriller writer Norm Applegate, author of Into the Basement, introduces us to a new character, Jack Dwyer.

Loner Jack Dwyer.
Pretty woman Kelly Paul.
Homegrown terrorists use pipe bombs to kill.
The cause? They want America back.
Violence breeds violence.
Never underestimate a loner!

Shockwave by Norm Applegate
Pipe Bomb. Hostage. Terror.

Books by Norm Applegate:

First to Die
Blood Bar
Into the Spell
Jumpers (short story)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Norm Applegate
• Release date: May 24, 2009
• ISBN: 9781452334752

Norm Applegate

I live in Sarasota, and I write thrillers, horror and paranormal books.I’m also a Mac Fanatic. Smooth Jazz enthusiast. Drummer. Former hypnotist and Horror Movie Fan.Norman Applegate is an author and consultant, with a growing body of work to his credit. Born in Glasgow Scotland, growing up in Toronto Canada and now residing in Sarasota Florida with his wife Cheryl, Norm Applegate works and travels for an international consulting company, then occasionally scares the “heck” out of his family with his thoughts and writings.Bibliography:Novels* (2012) The Prisoner* (2011) Shockwave• (2011) First to Die* (2011) Sadist (Turkish translation of Into The Basement)• (2009) Blood Bar, a vampire tale• (2007) Into the Spell• (2006) Into the BasementShort Story• (2011) JumpersAnthologies:• (2008) From the ShadowsScreenplays:• (20010) Grotto• (2009) Into the Basement (co-writer Nicholas Grabowsky)Norm’s writing began while travelling through New Zealand and Australia as a Hypno-therapist with colorful letters to his family of his tales as a hypnotist and the weirdness it attracts.His early years in Toronto were filled with aspirations of the 60’s Yorkville music scene, and as a drummer in numerous bands led to a short lived career playing the bars and clubs in the Toronto area. The band Photograph, signed to a recording studio, made some noise on the coast to coast CBC radio show, the Entertainers. In 1973 the band worked with Canadian artist & producer Tony Kosinec, (All Things Come From God), and after legal issues strangled them into submission, they went their separate ways. The band members were George Szabo and Stan Meissner, (Stan later wrote for Céline Dion, LeeAnn Womack, Eddie Money, Rita Coolidge, BJ Thomas, Ben Orr (The Cars), Triumph and Toronto). The life of drugs, sex and rock and roll were over, sad but true.After a few years of travel, he had the bug, and entered the world of management consulting to become a road warrior, and is now a 2 million miler with Delta. Away from home and with the desire to write a novel it began. His first book, “Into the Basement,” is a raw, dark thriller, described as "juicy." His second novel of the Kim Bennett series, “Into the Spell,” explores the horror of a copy-cat Son of Sam killer and hypnosis.Early 2008, Norm contributed with a short story called “Jumpers,” into the horror anthology “From the Shadows.”In 2009, Norm developed the screenplay for his novel “Into the Basement,” with Nicholas Grabowsky and director J. L. Botelho of Triad Pictures.In 2010 he released, Blood Bar, a vampire tale and wrote the screenplay for a short horror film, Grotto.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Someone was hunting a female. Mean, hardened eyes.

He had studied her and knew her schedule. Studied her without her knowing. Studied her until he was comfortable.

She left work on time, routine. Parked on the same street, routine. Now he was ready to make his move and Susie Smallwood was the target. That’s how it began.

Behind the bluish-gray of the San Francisco fog he tracked her for a few blocks crouching, hiding in the shadows. Her blonde hair stood out. She was easy to follow so was the scent of her perfume. It hung in the air. He took in her smell; stalked her for another block clinging to the darkness and the poorly lit street hid all movement.

She didn’t look back. Yet a noise caught her attention. Someone was there. Heavy shoes, male, big male, footsteps echoing behind her. Some lonely old man wanting a quick exchange of words was what she thought. She picked up the pace just the same. So did the footsteps. They matched hers. Then a splashing noise. Then more footsteps. They were getting closer. She felt scared. Started to panic and held her arms close to her body.

She took a risk and glanced over her shoulder but didn’t see anything and racing through her mind were the words, get to the car.

Her keys, cold and hard were digging into her knuckles and something was happening. Something she feared. Someone was there.

Then it stopped.

The sound of footsteps disappeared. There was silence. Cold frightening silence.

Susie stopped for a moment, and listened, then took a deep breath. Looked left, then right. Nothing. She took another step. With her car in sight she was home free.

She heard a sound. The closeness of it disturbed her. It was just feet away. She froze. Tilted her head. Quiet, silence. She had to look. She needed to look. Needed to see what it was. Something moved. A blur, a shadow. It was fast.

At first there was pain. Something heavy, hammer like penetrating her left temple. Her brain exploded into a billion lights and then there was a cracking sound. More pain. Then something hit her teeth. Then again. More cracking. Then blood.

Staggering, Susie collapsed. She felt herself falling against her car and sliding down the metal door onto her back, her temples throbbing. Ears ringing, jaw sore. Blood seeped from her mouth. Teeth were missing. Broken, jagged, painful. Motionless, she lay paralyzed. Her eyes flickered for a beat and came back into focus. A male, big male towering above her smiled down.

Ve’re finished playing, yes? The accent was foreign.

Victor Gorsky was a rugged European with growth on his face. He had dark brown eyes, thin lips and no distinguishing marks. His thick black wavy hair curled over his ears and on his neck. He was easy to forget. When described by women, good looking was never mentioned. His dress was grungy, baggy corduroy pants and a plain dark green colored shirt. At five ten and one ninety-five, his stocky build fit snugly into his dark blue windbreaker.

Minutes later a small sports car moved swiftly from the area of the club and turned onto Ivy Street.

The cold wind swept past the rocks of Alcatraz and up the curving side streets, the Mission District felt the chill of the late night air. Traces of eastern spices from Chinatown teased the nostrils but few people were on the street this evening to appreciate it. For those that were, getting out of the damp cold was more important than watching a big man, a Russian.

In the trunk was the assignment; no one had seen a thing. She was helpless. Bound with gray duct tape across her mouth, white plastic police cuffs on her wrists and her hands were twisted behind her back. When Susie woke up she could not believe what had happened. It was so quick and she was so helpless.

A glance in the mirror was enough to satisfy Victor that he was safe and driving out of the city, knew he had picked the right one. Reaching up, he brushed the wet hair from his face and wiped the slick moisture on his pants. He was sweating.

Victor turned and yelled toward the trunk, No sound, yes?

His voice was loud enough to send chills down Susie’s spine. He liked talking to his victims, they gave him their full attention and that didn’t happen often. Nobody gave anything to Victor. He had to take it.

The car edged onto the Bay Bridge and through the tunnel. Forty minutes later Victor pulled into a driveway and stopped. No house was visible.

Opening the trunk and peering down at her, Susie’s eyes were wide open in fear.

She screamed into the gag, Let me go!

But all he heard was the muffled sound of pleasure. Lifting her sweatshirt, the sight of her breasts and nipples stirred a desire deep inside. But not tonight, maybe not ever. She was not his. He stroked her plump breast like petting a soft puppy. It had been awhile since he had felt such a young firm body and sensing her fear, he enjoyed it. Darkness was all around. Emptiness was all he could see. Susie could see nothing.

Victor slowly focused his eyes and looked at her. For me the assignment has come to an end, for you, it is just beginning. Then he paused making the sign of the cross on his chest, Let’s go.

Chapter 2

Did you do what I asked? Wong Lee was direct and straight to the point with Victor.

What did you ask? Victor shot back, thinking to himself, when the hell have I ever failed you. I do everything you ask, everything you want and you still show no respect for me. A few more assignments and I will walk away forever.

Let’s see what you have. Wong Lee said as he strained his eyes to peer into the trunk.

And why do you always answer a question with a question?

What do you mean? Victor smiled to himself.

Wong turned sharply and stared for a moment but his attention was drawn elsewhere. It wasn’t worth the effort; he was excited and a new toy meant new pleasures. He hid his emotions well. Even at a moment like this he would not show his true feelings to Victor. He had known him for a year but didn’t trust him. Chinese don't wear their emotions on their sleeves like Americans. Wong despised the American arrogance. It frustrated him when he thought of how loud they are in public places and yet unaware of their disturbance. They showed no respect for anything foreign. At least Victor knew his place, most of the time.

His concentration was broken as Victor pointed to the trunk, proud of what he had taken. In his mind Victor could feel sorry for these girls if he let himself go there, but this was survival...his survival.

Lifting her University of San Francisco blue sweatshirt he looked at Wong, She’s pretty, isn’t she?

You could have done better. Wong nodded his head making his angular chin seemed more pronounced as he turned and looked at the house.

Could you put her in the basement? Then he paused and smiled. If you wouldn’t mind?

He spoke in a calm tone as if talking to a child. He had no respect for Victor. He was just too basic.

Victor made a gruff sound that only a Russian could understand, and shrugged.

Silently moving forward, Wong’s head upright and shoulders square, was tall and lean with jet-black hair combed straight back. Victor eyed him nervously as he lifted Susie out of the car. With her over his shoulder, they walked around the side of the house and into the back entrance. She didn’t struggle. She was frozen with fear.

The fragrance of the evening blooms would normally be soothing. But it reminded Suzie of food and at the moment the thought of food made her sick.

The San Francisco area had long been a haven for Chinese immigrants. Wong Lee had taken full advantage of his heritage to intimidate and extort from these new Chinese Americans. They didn’t understand the ways of this new country. More importantly they didn’t understand the ways of someone like Wong Lee.

Born in Hong Kong but growing up in the USA, he learned how to live on the dark side. He had graduated quickly from street punk to wealthy businessman not by accident but by skill.

His brick ranch-style house overlooked a valley. It was a scenic area off the highway south of Walnut Creek. Wong lived alone in the large four-bedroom house. The basement was well decorated with expensive furniture and unusual brass artifacts. The soft leather sofa and chairs were well placed around the room and the walls were covered with thick red and gold embroidered material. It was neatly organized and Asian.

It was completely finished and at one end of the tile floor stood two large dark carved doors. Their polished surface of rich heavy wood with brass hinges looked like an entrance to a temple, but was really something much more. Engraved into the wood were ancient Japanese figures of men and women in bondage.

Both men walked through the carved doors and into the room.

Victor, Wong said as he turned back and pointed at the doors.

You’re aware of the four kinds of torture aren’t you?

Victor shrugged his shoulders not really that interested in the history of S&M, I thought there was just one. Death.

This door you just walked through is very old. Waiting for a response from Victor but there was none, Wong continued.

Carved in the 1740s during the Tokugawa period it defines the four tortures we know today as BDSM.

Looking at Victor and realizing he had no culture, Wong decided to give him a brief overview of the ancient history that had been passed down to the initiated.

Whipping, pressing stone, bending by rope and hung by rope, my friend these are the crafts that have been bestowed upon me.

Looking at Wong, Victor could see he was a million miles away in another land and another time. Victor stood there in silence waiting for Wong to return.

Wong finally flicked on the lights. The room was filled with unusual devices. For the first time Victor saw just how vicious he could be.

You play wicked games, Victor commented and prayed he would not see these things used.

Do they remind you of home? I think Stalin used this one.

Pointing to a wooden contraption for torture, Wong smiled and laughed. He often thought his humor was funny.

Victor heard what was said but he wasn’t amused. He thought about Wong’s need to satisfy his ego and controlling people gave him just that.

The walls, you decorate the walls? Victor, rather sarcastically said loud enough for Wong to hear. After the words came out he wondered if it was wise to test Wong’s limits.

I have whips of all types, ropes and chains, things one does not want to become too familiar with, Wong glanced at him. So don’t press your luck.

His eyes were riveted as he stared at Victor. Wong’s anger was not to be played with. This was the side of Wong Victor knew to be wary of. His tone had changed.

In the corner was a six-foot wooden cross with a video camera mounted a few feet from it. Victor knew better than to speak out loud but he couldn’t help himself.

These things, lots of pain, he said, scanning the room as if looking at artwork in a gallery, glancing at the paintings, but never looking at the detail.

Yes, the girls that you bring me will find no peace here. But it’s none of your business. I pay you well.

The money is good. Yes, Victor mumbled trying to stay on Wong’s good side.

Pointing to a place on the floor Wong demanded Put her there.

Looking into Susie’s pleading eyes as he laid her down, he quickly glanced away. Fear was frozen across her face. Wong turned without saying a word and killed the lights, Victor followed behind. Darkness scared Susie and in this room it was dark. No sound crept in. No sound escaped. It was built like that. This meant they were alone. Susie was terrified. Wong was happy.

Walking to the car, Victor asked out of curiosity,

The last girl? I mean what happened?

Wong Lee snapped and moved like a snake. A blade was at Victor’s throat before he knew what had happened.

Don’t ever ask me questions like that again, he ordered.

Let me tell you something my Russian friend. In an earlier time I would have sliced your face off.

You think you’re that fast? Victor snapped back. He had his breaking point too and Wong was pushing it.

Earlier in my day I was known for moments like this. At one time I wore razor blades along the side of my sandals. I was quick at slicing a face and nobody fucked with me. If an argument started I could draw blood before anyone knew what had happened.

They stared at each other in silence. Wong’s eyes were black and showed no emotion.

Victor moved first making a gruff sound. He grabbed the envelope from Wong Lee’s hand and jumped into his car. Wong smiled as Victor drove down the long driveway and said in Chinese, He who moves first loses.

Getting comfortable with a glass of red Jekel, he watched the late evening news and grinned as the story unfolded of a young stripper whose body was dumped behind the Hilton in Concord.

She was found on the running trail that stretched alongside the ravine. Her naked body appeared to have multiple bruises indicating she had been tortured. Police were unsure of the cause of death and her name was being withheld until the next of kin had been notified.

Pity, he said out loud. In his mind he was hoping Susie would last longer than that one.

Wong thought about the time he spent with her and recalled the final look on her face. His reward was a collection of films showing her gruesome torture. Her little moaning cry was so delightful. Not all of his slaves could excite him the way she did. It was unfortunate she had to die so soon. He was going to miss her. Maybe this new catch would be just as good, maybe better. It was time to find out.

Chapter 3

Kim Bennett entered the hallway. Walking close to the wall her head low, prepared for what pain lay ahead. Muffled yelling could be heard echoing off the marble floor and a familiar voice was coming from one of the rooms a few steps away.

Not again, come on, hold yourself together. Kim said to herself and took a deep breath as she inched forward.

The last few months were catching up to her. Kim’s eyes were scratchy and heavy as a nervous blinking took over. The running back and forth to the nursing home and taking care of her mother was taking its toll.

She immediately broke out into a sweat, felt her stomach tighten as she watched white uniformed nurses and orderlies rushing into the ward. Things were out of control in the Hillcrest Nursing Home again.

Where’s my daughter? Where is she? Bernice shrieked like a hyena. Her hair, messy and tangled covered her face.

Kim could feel everyone’s eyes dart toward her. It was embarrassing.

Relax Bernie...relax, she’s right here, an older nurse said as she stroked Bernice’s hair away from her face.

I want my daughter. My daughter. Bernice continued, slamming her fists on the bed like a child.

Tears slowly welled up in Kim’s eyes like an ice cube melting. Few things can bring a tear to my eye, she thought, but seeing my mom like this does it.

Entering the room as if running from a fire, Robin Caruthers stepped forward.

I’m right here, Mom, shoo... I’m right here, she said, smacking away on her chewing gum like a teenager.

Hearing those words crushed Kim. Robin wasn’t her daughter, she didn’t like her and the noise from her chewing irritated the hell out of her. Her mother’s dry dull eyes passed over Kim and embraced Robin. She didn’t recognize her anymore.

Bernice smiled as Robin rocked her back and forth. Watching, Kim was jealous, she should be the one holding her mom.

Relief spread through the room. In an instant there was calm.

Sorry, Kim. She just doesn’t recognize you anymore. Shit she doesn’t recognize me, a husky male orderly whispered saving Kim more humiliation, as he turned and walked away.

She’s tearing me apart, Kim mumbled. In that quick exchange of words, she felt more alone than she had ever felt in her life. Each visit to the home cut deeper into her heart. Kim’s mother, Bernice Bennett, has Alzheimer’s.

Watching Bernice being comforted by Robin hurt. She was a third wheel and could only stand it for a minute, but leaving was never easy.

The manager, Laurel B. Stewart, forced a fake smile as she watched Kim walk toward her. The office door was open and she was sitting at her desk with crooked smirk on her face.

Well Mrs. Bennett, how are you? she said in a tone Kim was all too familiar with.

I don't need her shit, it doesn’t help and I don’t like her. Kim thought to herself.

I’m just the happiest little bitch in the litter. Kim fired back.

Don’t be like that; you’re the biggest bitch in the litter. You come in here every week feeling sorry for yourself; you’re not the one who is sick.

I hate her.

Sure feel sorry for yourself. She is still your mother. She needs you.

My mother. She needs me? What do you know about need? You’re as cold as a brick of ice when it comes to your mother. No offense.

Kim felt like telling Mrs. Stewart to go fuck herself but didn’t want to make things worse than what they were.

You know Kim; you always seem so unhappy when-

I see you?

Funny. No, when you come in here.

The two women stared at one another eye to eye then Laurel took a deep breath and smiled.

Tell me about yourself.

You wouldn’t be that interested, Kim said.

Try me.

Kim didn’t know why but she opened up and let her have it. She was having a dark moment and spilled her guts.

I remember waiting up at night for them when I was about twelve, Bernie and my father. They would be out drinking. The lights would be off in the house. I didn’t dare turn them on. I didn’t want them to know I was up. I would lean against the living room window resting my head against the smooth glass and just stand there for hours, waiting to see their car’s headlights come around the corner. Usually about two or three in the morning I would see them and run as fast as I could into bed, roll on my side, and close my eyes pretending to be asleep. She never came in to check on me. That’s all I ever wanted was for her to come in and tuck me in, maybe a kiss on the forehead. It never happened.

Sorry to hear that Kim, very sorry.

Needing to change the subject, Kim felt there was no point in talking to her.

How much money do I owe you? That’s what this is about isn’t it

Laurel Stewart opened a large burgundy leather book on her desk, adjusted her glasses toward the end of her nose and studied the transactions.

Well Kim, you are two months behind, she said shaking her head with a little smirk on her face.

How much is that, twenty dollars?

Really Kim knew how much it was, she didn’t know why, but she was playing dumb.

Try eighteen hundred.

Nodding, Kim smiled and pretended not to be surprised. But her mind raced to calculate how much money was in her account. It would be embarrassing to not be able to pay, and opening her wallet, Kim gave her a Bank of America card.

A minute later Laurel asked, Is this a debit card?

No it’s a set of car keys, what do you think it is?

Well, your car won’t start. It’s been declined.

Kim swallowed hard; she knew exactly what had happened. Billy, her boyfriend, had just cleaned out her bank account. The little fuck, Kim thought and reaching into her wallet, pulled out a stack of crinkled bills, and began counting.

Here’s seven hundred.

No sooner had she said that, from the corner of her eye Kim saw Robin in motion, her hand reaching out handing Laurel her credit card.

Laurel gave Kim a quick glance like get your shit together.

Kim could have shrunk into the chair and disappeared. Of all people, Robin was bailing her out. She was too ashamed to look up at her, and as she left, Kim felt terrible. Shit, I couldn’t even say thanks, she realized. What a bitch I am.

Kim began looking through her purse trying not to make eye contact.

You usually wear such nice jewelry, Laurel said in a sarcastic tone.

Yeah, not today my fingers are a little swollen. What Kim didn’t say was she had pawned them to pay for her mom’s stay. She was never