Mysteries and fiction by Jim Perkins available for ereaders on Kindle and at Amazon Exciting "Can't-Put-It-Down" Fiction: Death in the Gallatin Valley

Death in the Gallatin Valley

Someone was climbing the stairs. She could tell because of the creaking of the tired old wooden treads. The person ascending the stairs seemed somewhat hesitant, like he was trying to put down as little weight as possible with each step. Her husband Paul was thoughtful that way when he came home late at night. Normally, she could recognize his footsteps as he climbed the stairs to their bedroom, but tonight, because she was groggy from her migraine medicine, she couldn’t tell if it was Paul or not. But if the footsteps weren’t his, whose were they?
She had gone to bed around 8:30. She wondered how long she’d slept, but she couldn’t tell if she had awakened late at night or early in the morning. She felt like she had been asleep several hours. She believed she’d heard noises, which must have wakened her, but maybe she had just been dreaming.
The dim figure of a man appeared in the bedroom doorway. She couldn’t see who it was, because she was lying on her stomach and couldn’t get a good look. Was it . . ? Surely he wouldn’t come in the middle of the night. The risk would be too great.
The figure came to the side of the bed.
“Paul?” she muttered. There was no answer.
Before she could turn over a hand clamped tightly over her mouth.
Another hand began to grope her body. She started to protest, but her head was roughly yanked around and duct tape was stuck over her lips. She wondered if she should try to scream. Was Paul playing some kind of weird game with her? They’d talked about spicing their sex life up with some role-playing, but she had never contemplated doing anything like what was happening now.
What was happening she wondered as she was rolled roughly onto her back? A cloth bag, which smelled like an old flour bag, was pulled over her head and tied in a knot at her throat. Her hands were tied to the bed posts. She started to kick her feet a little to protest, but they too were quickly tied to the bed.
It sounded like something heavy was dropped to the floor. Then her nightgown was ripped open - with a knife? She couldn’t tell. She suddenly felt very vulnerable. She was starting to feel very afraid.
One hand continued to grope her body. She tried to remember if her husband’s hands felt like the hands touching her. Why couldn’t she remember? Her migraine medicine made her so groggy.

She heard what sounded like someone undressing then thought she heard clothing dropped to the floor. She waited to feel her husband slide into the bed beside her. But next thing she felt was the man mounting her, roughly pushing between her legs, forcibly entering her and hurting her. She realized she was being raped. She arched her back and bucked in protest straining to break loose of her bonds. But she was not able to free herself and she could not rid herself of whoever was on top of her.

After a few moments of frenzied thrusting and heavy breathing an ecstatic moan escaped the man’s lips and he dropped down on her heavy and sweaty. She thought he did not smell like her husband. But did she recognize his smell?
Then his hands were at her throat and she began to experience difficulty breathing.
“Bitch!” the man cried out. After awhile she couldn’t breathe anymore.
If she felt the knife plunge into her heart it was too late. She never knew when her attacker rolled off her, never heard him get dressed, never heard the whoosh of the fire he set as it began to consume her bedroom, never heard her attacker run down the stairs and out the back door.





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