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THE LAST DAYS OF MISS PRIMROSE
©C. Smith 2004
1. The Abduction
Damn! He hates to plan these things at the last minute. Too many things can go wrong. But she has to be done quickly and he has, after all, considerable experience at this sort of thing, although never before in haste or with someone he knows. Just means he has to be more careful and more clever. Besides, danger has always been part of the thrill, hasn't it?
So far he's been lucky. The self-righteous bitch was stupid enough to alert him of her intentions. Actually came into his room after all the students had cleared out, pranced right up to his desk so she could tell him in private that she'd been watching him.
"What do you mean, ogling ?" he'd replied, as if shocked at the suggestion.
"Just what I said, Mr. Madden," she'd snapped back. "I've seen you ogling the students — or more specifically, the pretty female students — not only in the corridors but in the cafeteria. You probably do it right in your own classroom, too. It's outrageous! And if you don't put a stop to it, I'm going to say something to the principal."
Something in his look made her change tack slightly.
"It would be for your own good," she had weaseled. "I'm not saying you do anything more than look , but imagine what could happen if one of those fifteen year old Brittany Spears wannabes decided she didn't like the grade you gave her in algebra and accused you of groping her? Do you imagine none of her friends would back her up with recollections of how you've been staring at their boobs and crotches? Never mind that everything they wear is shrink-wrapped. The point is that they wear that stuff for the benefit of the boys their age, not for a presumably grown-up teacher."
Two things had come into his mind. First and foremost, he had better suck up to this trouble maker and go for damage control. Second, he had never before had an opportunity to examine the foxy new English teacher up close. Miss Lili Primrose, he dutifully observed, was a striking beauty. Fresh out of college, she was probably no more than twenty-two or twenty-three, with hypnotic eyes that matched the dark chocolate of her long, flowing hair. She had pert lips, a small, sweetly upturned nose that perfectly complemented the delicacy of her oval face, and a figure that promised to be spectacular, even though it was cloistered, at the moment, in an austere, terribly professional suit.
He had torn his eyes away from her, adopted a stricken look and let his gaze drop to his desk in a convincing display of shame.
"I'm embarrassed," he'd said. "I guess I hadn't realized I was doing that. I mean, I don't really mean to stare at the girls, 'ogle' them, as you put it. But the way they dress these days, it's hard to look away sometimes. But you're absolutely right. It's a matter of propriety. I'll have to be more conscious of . . . of where my eyes are focused."
She backed off a little, her face softening. "They're only children, after all," she went on. Her indignation vindicated, she had slipped into her teacher mode. "We have to make sure they respect us as mentors. It's not appropriate that we appear to be appraising them sexually, even if their hormones are at full throttle. It would break an important trust."
She had gone on, blathering sexual harassment shit, regurgitating the same anal crap the school department threw at them all the time, as if he'd just beamed down from Mars and had never heard it before. But he had kept his mask of shame in place.
"This is terrible. Are other teachers complaining about me," he'd asked meekly.
"No, not yet. But I can't believe they haven't noticed."
"You mean you haven't been discussing it with anyone?"
"No. I don't do gossip. I'm bringing it up with you in the hope that I won't have to go any further with it. But if I see you doing it again. I will report it to the principal. What any one teacher does here reflects on all of us."
"Of course, of course!" he had agreed. "Thank you for your candor, Miss Primrose. I appreciate your telling me all this. I obviously need to control my male impulses better."
She'd been unable to resist another jab. "You need to remember that most of these girls are minors, and as a male you are vulnerable to serious consequences if you overstep the boundaries of your position."
He had looked directly into those magnificent eyes. "Absolutely. Again, I appreciate your bringing this to my attention. I won't forget."
And he has not.
He's been planning ferociously ever since.
She's a loose canon, far too dangerous to his career and avocation to be left bouncing around free. Fortunately, there's still time. The dumb bitch sealed her own fate when she admitted she hasn't yet mentioned her poisonous observations to anyone else. Now he just has to make sure she never does. But in doing so, it would be too bad to waste all that ripe young beauty. No problem. He knows just how to seal her mouth while putting her body to good use.
He happens to possess three bits of information that will make the project easier. He knows she has a boy friend and where he lives. He also knows her routines at the school.
Routine one. Like most suburban high schools, Geoffrey Bartholomew High has barely sufficient parking for the entire body of students, faculty and staff. Miss Lili Primrose had soon discovered that there's always a slot to be found out behind the maintenance building, and that it's not all that far from the classroom complex.
Routine two. For some reason she always stays late on Fridays, probably helping some dullard student. Unlike Byron. He's always off for a weekend of sport, sometimes the kind of sport they show on TV, sometimes the participatory kind in his hidden retreat.
But not today. Today he's still on the school grounds two hours after classes have ended. The school and the lot are empty. Except for Miss Primrose's silver Toyotta Echo and his own black SUV parked beside it.
Finally he sees her coming around the corner of the maintenance building, juggling her purse and her books, fishing for her car keys. He climbs out of his SUV.
"Hello, Miss Primrose."
"Hi." She looks puzzled. "What are you doing here so late?"
"Same as you, I suppose. Unfinished business."
"Oh." she says, a little guiltily. Perhaps she has underestimated his concern for his students. "I mean, usually this parking area's deserted at this time of day. So you're working late?"
"Nope. I just wanted to show you something. This should be of interest to you."
They are standing beside her car now. He's on her right side and has been palming a huge veterinarian's syringe in his right hand, the type used for large animals, except that the needle has been clipped to a stub. He produces it as if from nowhere, like a magician. "See this?" He aims it at her car, pushes the plunger about a quarter of the way and a tight spray of liquid squirts out on to the door. The paint immediately begins to bubble up. It peels away, hissing and steaming.
"What are you doing?!" she shrieks.
He reaches behind her with his left hand and seizes her outside wrist in a painful grip. Then turns the syringe and points it at her face.
"It's filled with an acid concentrate," he informs her casually, "which will remove your face as effectively as that paint if you utter another word. Understand?"
She holds her breath, terrified.
"Put your other hand behind your back!" he orders, his voice suddenly fierce.
She does so quickly, staring intently at the syringe. A drop of liquid detaches itself from the end of the truncated needle and sizzles on the pavement at her feet.
He clamps a pair of plastic cuffs on her wrists, the type that have to be cut off. With a firm grip on her arm and the needle pointed at her head, he shoves her rudely into the back seat of his SUV. In a smooth motion perfected by long practice, he puts her into a half nelson, removes a chloroform soaked rag from a plastic baggy and clamps it over her mouth until she slumps unconscious. In another minute she is trussed up with belts around her ankles, knees and arms. He shoves a thick cotton sock in her mouth and secures it in place with clear wrapping tape wound around her head three times. Then he buckles a dog collar around her neck, attaches a chain leash to it and pushes her to the floor, wedging her between the front and back seats. He secures her neck to the floor track of the front passenger seat with the leash. A waiting length of rope secures her ankles to the seat track on the driver's side. He throws a blanket over her.
Several minutes later he is cooly passing through the well manicured residential outskirts of town looking for a certain unoccupied house which happens to have a long driveway that sweeps around to the back out of sight. He knows that his passenger on the floor behind him will soon begin to revive from the effects of the chloroform. He spots the For Sale sign he's been looking for and pulls into the driveway, just as she starts to thrash about, making muffled noises into her gag. He rolls past the neglected lawns, around the deserted house, and pulls up close to the garage in the back where a six foot high stockade fence assures visual privacy. He leaves the engine idling. They won't be here long.
He peels back the blanket a little, revealing his captive's eyes, flashing with indignant fury. She's trying to protest this outrage, but the words are mangled by her gag. Sighing, he climbs out of the car, walks around to the passenger side, opens the door next to her head and positions the syringe needle directly in front of her face. Her expression quickly shifts from anger to horror.
"Have you already forgotten the effects of the acid, Miss Primrose?" he asks benignly. "Would you like me to spray a little into your eye to remind you?"
She jerks her head away, turning it into the carpet. "'O, 'o, 'o!" she squeaks through the sock in her mouth.
Sympathetic to her speaking difficulties, Byron tells her he accepts this answer as "no," but warns her that she must remain silent and motionless for the rest of their journey or he will be forced to teach her the folly of disobedience by reducing one of her pretty eyes to a smoldering ruin.
"Furthermore," he elaborates, "it will be a fairly long trip, so get used to your accommodations. And let us hope that we're not pulled over for any reason, because if some cop gets nosy about what's under the blanket, I will be forced to use the semi-automatic hidden in my door pocket to quench his curiosity. That, in turn, will cause me major inconveniences, which will really piss me off. In fact, I'd be so pissed, I would undoubtedly inject the rest of this acid into your lovely little ear and watch it boil its way into your brain. Do I make myself clear, Miss Primrose?"
She nods vigorously, still keeping her eyes buried in the gritty carpet. She causes no further disturbance for the balance of their journey.
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