Gotta Catch The Pretty Ones
© 2011-2014 by Mr. David R. Dorrycott
Chapter Nineteen
It was raining hard the night Sara and Penny were woken by someone pounding on their back door. Grabbing the ancient five shot Webley she had bought, Sara ordered Penny to stay in the bed room. “Lock the door and call the Constable if I shoot” she ordered.
Grabbing the phone a white faced Penny nodded her understanding. Sill holding the phone she dove into the closet, holding it in a death grip.
Without bothering to grab her robe (it would take too long) a naked Sara hurried down the stairs. Rain was pounding on the stone roof, making a din that almost covered the lighting’s thunder but it had nothing over the pounding on her kitchen door. Looking out the window Sara waited until another lighting flashed, illuminating her unwanted guest.
It was a woman, a woman wearing threads of what might have once been a nightgown. Her hair was stringing and rain poured off her in sheets. Hurrying to the door Sara unlocked the inner one, drawing the wooden bolts. In moments a near frozen mass of flesh fell into her home. Another flash of lighting lit up the danger. A horrifying monster was running straight at her with a huge knife in one hand. Without thinking Sara fired. The monster crashed into Penny’s rose garden and began moaning but Sara was too busy dragging the near dead body in and sealing her home to notice. Finally safe again she rolled the woman over.
A bloodied face, small burns on her too much exposed skin and dark bruises everywhere. A frayed rope choke-collar was around her neck. So swollen was the woman’s face Sara couldn’t tell who she was, but the black hair and vaguely almond eyes told her the woman’s secret. This had to be the huntress Patricia O’Donnel. Yelling for Penny Sara grabbed a hand towel and started drying the now comatose woman’s body.
By the time Constable Hendriks arrived the body that had fallen in Penny’s rose garden had managed to stagger off. Not though, without leaving a nasty looking knife behind, one that had obviously seen a great deal of work.
“Do yah know who?” the Constable asked after entering Sara’s home.
“No clue” Sara admitted. “There was a pounding on the kitchen door, when I opened it there was a flash of lightning. All I saw was this huge form and a big knife held high, I just shot then slammed the door and re-locked it.”
“How many shots” the older man asked. He was holding Sara’s revolver, its cylinder open.
“One. Just one” Sara said. It was all she remembered.
“Try three” the Constable corrected, turning the weapon so Sara could see its open cylinder.
“Two maybe” Sara admitted, “but not three. Certainly not three.”
“Three Ms. Richards. Ahn at lest one was ah good hit cause he fell hard. I’ll take ah search party out inna morning. See what we can see, just don open that door till sunrise, hear?”
“Yes sir. May I have my revolver sir” Sara asked. She was still shaking, and she was scared out of her life.
When the Constable returned her weapon he made certain that she replaced the spent rounds, only then did he bid her good night, staying just outside her kitchen door until she had re-secured her home. They would search in the morning, but from the pool of blood whomever it had been wouldn’t be getting too far without help he thought. No, not very far at all.
Sara returned to the bedroom to find Penny in the bath, washing their barely conscious visitor in the tub. Masses of bugs, both dead and alive along with pounds of filth had already come off Patricia’s body. Beneath was a checkerboard of healed, partially healed and new bruises. There were burns randomly over her body, but nothing that wouldn’t heal in time. Her face though, it was a pulpy mass that had been beaten just recently. Offering the woman a glass of warm water Sara sat on the toilet as Penny worked.
“Why didn’t you want the Constable to see you” she asked.
“Look me” Patricia said, fighting to take through swollen lips. “Had me weeks. Don’t wanna see this way.”
“Do you think you might be pregnant” Penny asked softly, squeezing warm water out of her rag to flow down a back that had been whipped more than once.
“Don make laugh” Patricia managed. “Everyplace buh tha. Wait till married he said. Then lots kids.” She spit a bit of old blood into the bath, coughing a bit. “So cold”
“We will get you clean then warm you up. Do you mind sleeping between two women?”
“Be warm?” the huntress asked, now groggy from the counter effects of near freezing rain and a hot bath.
“Very” Penny answered with a chuckle.
“Be fin.” Patricia coughed again. “Alcohol?” she asked.
“Beer or wine” Penny asked.
“Wine” the huntress answered. “Lots.”
“I’ll go pick something out of the cellar, I hope you like cheap because its all our budget can afford right now” Sara agreed. “Patricia, Penny is going to have to shave your hair. It’s a mass of bugs and too tangled to matter.”
“Mah hair?” She tried to reach up, only to have battered muscles fight back with pain. “Gro back?”
“Yes Precious Patricia it will grow back.”
“Kay.”
With that Patricia seemed to lose interest any further interest in talking. She just took a deep breath and let Penny do whatever she wanted. As Sara stood to leave she noted where Penny’s hands were. “Type eight?” she asked softly.
“In a few days” Penny agreed as she carefully sent the huntress over the waterfall. “We need her story anyway so not right now. She needs rest and food, no telling what time in a Pokeball would do to her in this condition.”
“Right. Get her drunk, food, a few days rest, some more food and lots of sex. Then she joins the rest. Is it always this easy for you Penny?”
Her wife looked up, smiling. “So far” she admitted.
Picking up her revolver Sara looked back at her wife who was now engaged in a lip lock on one of Patricia’s breasts. “I’ll bring up the wine then I’ll help you get her into bed. I still have to open the shop in the morning.” She went downstairs now certain of two things. One, her wife was a lot more intelligent and devious than she had thought and two, there was nothing she would not do for her. Even helping capture innocent women.