Lying with the Devil

By Lana Lindemann

Mary is your typical student, your typical homebody. She doesn’t know what to do with her life and doesn’t expect much out of the days to follow until things suddenly change for her. A serial killer is on the loose and kidnaps her off the streets with the intent of ending her life. But then his plans change. Instead, he keeps her like a pet, chained up in his apartment.

Abuse follows as well as the manipulative games he plays. He toys with her, slowly diminishing the hope sh

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781640960299

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Lying with the Devil

Lana Lindemann

Copyright © 2018 Lana Lindemann

All rights reserved

First Edition

Newman Springs Publishing

Red Bank, NJ

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2018

ISBN 978-1-64096-027-5 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64096-029-9 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Chapter 1

Fall of 1982

It was a cool, crisp autumn morning as Mary went to her studies at the public library, and it had become nightfall by the time she left.

It was typical of her, and she felt rejuvenated being surrounded by the old books and musty tomes as she thumbed through some old, almost yellow pages of an occult book based on demons and their markings.

These things interested her more than the typical religious courses offered to her at her college, and she found herself drifting in thought, pacing down the uneven sidewalks, feeling the breeze slip past her while she tugged up the hood on her hoodie.

Her eyelids felt droopy, but the good kind of droopy that meant she was hard at work, and her brain felt like it was running on all pistons. She squinted her eyes at the text, barely visible as she passed under streetlights shining down from above, unaware of the car following close behind her with its lights shut off.

When she finally heard the idle rumblings of its engine, she glanced up and over her shoulder at the car gliding to a halt beside her on the street.

There was a man, smiling eerily at her; though she could barely make out his features in the dark of the vehicle, she could see the mess of hair on his head as he leaned over the passenger’s side seat and spoke out to her through the window.

You shouldn’t be out here in the dark, readin’, all by yourself. You need a ride home?

Mary stopped dead in her tracks and looked at him, brow arched, tucking away the book into her bag.

I’m fine. She said curtly then forced a smile, I’m almost home anyway.

She was lying through her teeth, but she didn’t trust this man; she didn’t trust this situation, realizing she was alone in the middle of an unfamiliar neighborhood without a soul in sight.

Still, though, I should give you a ride. He continued, That’s a nice smile you have. It’s very pretty on ya.

Mary felt uneasy, to say the least, but she shook her head. I’m fine.

Around then is when she noticed the pistol in his hand, hanging just out of sight but coming into view as he became irritated at her persistence at not getting in the car with him.

His voice got deeper, gruffer, and more demanding, I said, get in the fucking car!

With that sudden shift in behavior and his obvious intentions with the gun, Mary bolted down the sidewalk as fast as she could.

The car sped up beside her with its engine roaring, having no issues keeping up with her.

Mary reached the end of the sidewalk and hit the pavement of the street, where the car skidded to a stop right in front of her.

She nearly ran into it as he jumped out and pointed the gun at her.

Mary was trying to find a way out, but he was quick to get a hold of her.

Kicking, clawing, Mary tried screaming, but he put the gun to her head, shushed her with his hand over her mouth, and practically threw her into the passenger’s seat before climbing over her to get into the driver’s seat before speeding off and out of the neighborhood.

Mary sat, breathing heavily, looking straight ahead at the road with the pistol lingering dangerously close to her temple, while he drove with one hand on the steering wheel.

He was calm, cool, and collected, even after that chase and wrestling match getting her into the vehicle.

She thought about barreling out, but he’d pull the trigger before she even had a chance to reach for the handle.

She thought about screaming for help as they were passing people on the streets, but the fear clenching her heart, beating a million miles an hour, caught in her throat, kept her from doing just that, instead staring straight ahead, wondering what the hell was going to happen.

He drove for what felt like forever, further into the city, and pulled into an alleyway.

Mary couldn’t help but ponder the worst when he turned on the radio and sat there for a moment, the gun still pointed at her head as he adjusted in his seat and turned to face her.

He then draped a hand on her thigh. What’s your name? he asked, not looking her in the face, just watching his hand moving slowly toward her crotch, his breathing getting labored as it inched further, while the gun pressed firmer to her temple.

M-Mary, she stuttered, still looking straight out. In her confused and fearful state of mind, she asked, What’s yours?

His brows knitted together; nobody had ever bothered to ask him that before. Michael.

Without warning, he lurched closer, breathing down her neck, threatening to pull the trigger and blow her brains out right there in the car.

He wanted to.

Lord knows he wanted to as she sat there shaking like a leaf under his control, clenching tight to the books in her bag.

But instead, he just stared at her biting her bottom lip, looking helpless, squinting her eyes tightly shut, waiting for the worst, while something inside him stirred that he hadn’t felt before.

Readjusting the gun in his hand, placing the barrel in his palm and the grip outward, he brought it swiftly up then swung down with such a force that it cracked against her skull with a thud, hitting her over the head, watching her fall over, limp, with barely a startled yelp.

He sat there, still breathing excitedly, the rush running through him, staring down at her before pulling a cigarette out of his coat pocket, lighting it up, and then threw the gun on his dash.

Michael started the car, turned on the radio to something more his taste, and headed toward his apartment without knowing exactly why.

Chapter 2

Mary’s eyes fluttered.

Her head ached as she felt something heavy around her neck and wrists, rattling as she dragged them across the floor.

Chains?

She sat up startled and looked around the room.

It was dirty.

The one window was covered in newspaper and trash bags to block out the sun, with one tall lamp sitting in the corner for light.

It was on, and it was blinding without its shade.

The wallpaper was peeling in some places, hued a dark teal with a border of pink around its edges, while the floor was wooden, shelves on the wall by the door.

There was a mat on the floor with a pillow, and save for that, the room was bare.

She could hear some noises coming from the room beside her, it sounded like a television, but she had no idea where she was or why she was chained.

She followed the links upward toward a furnace in the wall with a pipe sticking out of it and with a silver padlock sealing them shut.

It was around then, too, she noticed that she was without clothes, stripped down to just her underwear, bra, and socks.

Hello? she called out, and anxiety built up like a ball in her chest as she heard heavy footsteps in the next room, the television being turned off, and then the sound of locks being jumbled at the door before it opened.

She looked up and saw the man from the car.

He stood there now without his coat, just work pants on, his boots, and a white wife beater, drinking from a tall can of beer with an expressionless look on his face for the moment, which slowly turned into an eerie smile when he came into the room, taking a roll of duct tape from the shelf on the wall beside him.

You’re awake. That’s good. I thought you’d be out longer with the knot I gave to your noggin’ in the car.

Mary just stared at him, chest rising and falling in both fear and anger, tears starting to form in the corner of her eyes.

She started shouting at him through gritted teeth, What do you want from me? Let me go! I just want to go home!

He squatted down beside her, placing the can of beer on the floor, and gently shushed her again while running his fingers through her black curls, Now I can’t have you screaming like that. You might wake up the neighbors.

With that said, he unfurled the roll of duct tape, bit off a piece before slapping it across her lips, while she openly sob-screamed, muffled, into it.

You hungry? I’m gonna make us some food.

He stood up, grabbing his beer from the floor, and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him, leaving Mary on the floor, chained and bewildered, who was yanking at the chains, trying to break free.

But no amount of pulling, tugging, or flexing her wrists could get her out of the cuffs, not to mention the solid steel-like trap he had around her neck that wasn’t going to budge either.

A half an hour passed.

Mary listened to his heavy footsteps the whole time, the clatter of pots and pans, the television being turned on again, and the silly sounds of cartoons playing.

She couldn’t help but wonder if her brother, Kole, had even noticed she was missing, but then again, he was used to her being gone for days at a time when she went off to study.

How long would it be before he even noticed she wasn’t coming back? Before the school noticed she was missing classes?

How long was she going to survive?

These thoughts, and many more, were rolling through her mind when the door opened again, and in walked Michael, a plate in his hand, silverware in the other, seating himself on the floor beside her, a can of beer tucked under his arm.

This is yours, he said, emotionless, and then reached up and yanked the tape off her lips.

It was catfish, or at least it smelled like it.

Mary wrinkled her nose and looked at him then the plate as he started cutting it up for her and began to feed her.

She was perfectly capable of doing it on her own; the chains weren’t restricting her from touching the silverware.

I can feed myself, she mentioned, turning her head away from the fork.

I don’t trust you with a fork and knife, he said curtly, grabbing her chin so that she’d face him, then guiding the food between her lips.

She ate it, just to please him, just to save her from whatever else he had in mind, if he went this far as to chain her up in his house.

She watched him pause to