Rebecca Ch. 02

It was about two thirty on an afternoon in June when my life as a middle class young Jewish professional woman ended. The preceding month was one of transitions in my life. After mulling over the three acceptances I had received for law school, I decided to go to the local institution. Wanting to have a little fun before three years of hard work, I quit my job with the brokerage where I had served as a financial consultant and made preparations to backpack through Europe.

The man with whom I was living could not accompany me to Europe and would not countenance his lover being footloose and fancy free over the summer. So we broke up and I returned to my apartment. Having decided to remain in the city for the next three years, I signed a new lease and paid three months rent in advance, as I was not going to be in town until law school started.

Being almost an orphan, I was the perfect victim for Garth. Born Rebecca Milstein in Ukraine, I immigrated to America with my parents and older brother at the age of four. I had few memories of the old country, and knew none of my relatives there.

Although I was happy in suburban Western Pennsylvania, the rest of my family did not adapt well to their new surroundings. My mother became chronically depressed and died of cancer when I was sixteen. My father and brother did not like being cab drivers in America and moved to Israel after I graduated from high school.

They were kind enough to turn over the fifty thousand dollars that my mother's insurance policy paid after her untimely death, and I used the funds to attend college. I wanted to be an attorney, but the money ran out after my four years of undergraduate school, forcing me to make a living as a stockbroker. At the age of thirty, I had finally saved enough to realize my dream of going to law school.

My circle of friends included only my boyfriend, with whom I had just had an acrimonious break up and the people at work. Therefore, given my travel plans, everyone I knew did not expect to see me this summer.

Thus I was quite isolated socially two days before I was scheduled to catch a plane for London. That afternoon I had gotten my hair cut in a little shop located among old houses in a quiet Jewish neighborhood in the city of Pittsburgh.

Just a short distance away, situated on a main thoroughfare, was a bank. It was mid afternoon, just before such financial institutions closed. My car was parked a block away, out of sight from the hair salon.

I was strolling down the side of the street opposite my car and had just opened the doors with my remote when I noticed a tall man walking toward my car on the other side of the street. On his head was a black stocking cap, but the sides of his scalp were shaven clean. His black leather jacket hung open and a gray wife beater covered his chest. He carried a brown paper bag in his right hand.

When the tail lights of my vehicle flickered on, he picked up his pace. If I had chosen to lock the doors of my car and run back to the beauty shop, I would not have been kidnapped. But such a course of action did not occur to me, and instead I raced the man to my car.

I flung open the door and jumped into the driver's seat, but before I could lock the car, the man opened the passenger door and got inside. Before I could escape, he seized my right arm and pulled me back into the driver's seat.

My arm felt like it was in a vice. I bit his forearm, but the cold metal from the barrel of his pistol touching my forehead dissuaded me from further resistance. "Bitch, you're gonna drive me out of here," a gravelly voice commanded.

"Please. Let me go. Take the car."

I trembled as I dangled the keys in front of him.

"You'll call the goddamn police the second I let you out of here. Just start the fucking car."

The gun was pointed at my chest. Tears ran down my face.

"I don't think I can drive like this," I sobbed.

"You have two choices. You can start the car, or you can ride in the trunk after I can put a round from this pistol into your head."

I started the car.

"Where do you want me to go?"

"Where do you live?"

"In a high rise. On Forbes Street."

"Is there a doorman?"

"No."

"How about a back door?"

"Yes."

"We'll go there so I can chill. And if you play any tricks on me, you're dead."

"Are you trying to get away from someone?" I asked, hoping there was a somewhat more benign explanation for my predicament than being abducted by a psycho.

"Just be quiet. I'll do the talking."

He held the gun at his waist, pointing it so that the bullet would traverse my liver before entering my heart.

"Can't you say something that will make me less afraid?"

"You best be taking me to your place. If we're not there in another five minutes you're dead."

"We're going there."

I went through a stop sign.

"Jesus Christ. You're lucky a cop didn't see you. Oh, maybe that's what you're trying to do. Get stopped by a cop. You better not be. Because if a fucking cop stops us, that's the end of him. And you, too."

"My name is Rebecca." I thought if he knew my name, knew that I was a person, he might be less eager to pull the trigger.

"It's nice to meet you, Rebecca. Just call me, 'Fucking Maniac'. That's all you've got to know about me; that I'm a fucking maniac who's going to kill you if you don't get me someplace safe off the street."

We continued our journey in silence. I parked in the lot next to my building and we entered through the back. No one was on the freight elevator when it arrived, and we took it up to my apartment on the fourth floor. When we reached my door, he looked at the mezuzah.

"What's this?"

"Just an ornament for good luck," I replied as I opened the door.

My captor turned on the television after we entered my domicile. A local newsman was reporting on a bank robbery near my beauty shop. He said that two of the robbers were killed and one was at large. Miraculously, no one else was injured or killed.

"Well, it looks like I haven't committed any capital crimes yet. I might have to let you live."

The reporter went on about how the dead men had links to a neo-Nazi group. My pulse quickened as I prayed he would not find out that I was a Jew.

"Do you got anything to drink? Booze, I mean."

"I have beer and wine. What would you like?"

"What kind of beer do you got?"

"Miller Lite."

"That beer's for pussies. Don't you got anything else?"

"Just half a bottle of Chablis."

"That stuff's for pussies too. But I guess you are a pussy, so what should I have expected? Give me a brew."

I took a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator, took the cap off, and gave it to my guest. I looked around to see if there was anything that would betray my background. There was a Chagall print hanging on the wall and my Shabbas candles were out on the kitchen cabinet, and I prayed that the animal who had invaded my apartment was not learned enough to pick up these clues.

The story about the bank robbery was over and a commercial for an Adam Sandler movie was playing. "Do you think that guy's a kike?" he asked me.

"Who?"

"Adam Sandler."

"I don't know."

"Hollywood is run by a bunch of kikes. I bet you he is one."

I spotted a copy of the Jewish Times on the coffee table in front of where the man whom I now surmised was a fugitive sat. I didn't dare move it. But it was only a matter of time before he noticed it if he kept sitting there.

"You can tie me up and gag me. I'm off from work and I'm not expecting anyone until the cleaning lady comes in two days. She has a key, so she'll let herself in and find me. And you'll have a big head start. The police will question me, but believe me; I don't want any more trouble from you. So I'll just give them the basics."

He looked down at the coffee table as he pondered my suggestion. His eyes caught the Jewish Times and his face became twisted with anger.

He grabbed the paper and shook it before my face. "What the fuck is this?"

"It's my boyfriend's; my ex-boyfriend's. He's Jewish."

"Are you a kike?"

I shook my head no.

He looked at the front page. "Israel to get new fighter jets from U.S.A," he read. "Now when my people take over those goddamn hebes there ain't gonna get nothing! You're lucky you're not a fucking Jew. And I hoped you learned a lesson from dating a kike."

My spirits were lifted by his taking at face value my denial of my Judaism. I tried to take the paper from him. "Let's throw this goddamn thing away. The guy's a prick. I thought I had gotten rid of everything of his."

But he held onto the paper and his eyes roamed to the address label. His face again became twisted with anger.

"Was you're goddamn boyfriend named Rebecca Milstein?"

I shook my head no.

"You're full of bullshit. You're a kike!"

I ran for the phone. He pulled the cord from the wall as I lifted the receiver.

I screamed, but he covered my mouth. I tried to break free of him, but his grip was like a vice. I felt the barrel of his gun against my ribs.

"If you make a sound when I take my hand off you're mouth, I'll kill you."

Tears were streaming down my face, but I stifled a sob when he took his hand away from my mouth.

He let go of me and an instant later I felt the back of his hand strike my cheek. The force of the blow caused me to land on the floor.

"Goddamn lying bitch!" he muttered.

I sobbed and expected him to fire bullets into me until I was dead. I closed my eyes and silently thought of the oneness of God as I awaited my doom.

Instead, he pulled me off the floor and threw me onto the sofa. "You thought I was going to kill you, didn't you? But you're not getting off that easily. Jewess, what do you do for a living? Now mind you, no lies. I can get pretty nasty, so you better tell me the truth."

"I work at Merrill Lynch. I mean, I worked at Merrill Lynch. I quit last week. I don't have any keys or cards to get in, so I can't get you any money there."

He patted the paper bag that had accompanied him into my car. Smiling, he said, "I don't need no fucking money, at least for the time being."

"I can show you a letter that my boss gave to me the last day I worked. And the pendant they gave me at the party they had for me."

"I don't care what your boss thought of you or about your jewelry."

"I just wanted you to know I wasn't lying."

"You better not goddamn lie to me again."

"I won't."

"Are you expecting anybody to come over here tonight?"

I shook my head no.

"You better be telling the truth. Because if there's a knock at that door, you're going to see whoever knocked get it, and then you're going to get it."

"You don't have to worry. I'm not expecting anyone."

"Don't you tell me not to worry. The whole Pittsburgh Police Department is looking for me. And I'm stuck here with a kike broad who knows I'm a fucking Nazi."

"Look. You said you haven't committed a capital crime. So if you don't kill me, the worst that can happen is that you spend some time in prison. And what I said about the cleaning lady was true. There's not going to be anyone to find me in here for two days. When you're ready, just leave. Take the car. Take my money. Take my credit cards. Just don't hurt me."

He dragged me to my feet. "I best start tying you up then."

I told him where I kept some clothesline, and he cut off a hank. He pulled my wrists behind my back and I did not resist as he tied my hands together. He took the scarf I was wearing and stuffed it into my mouth. He then took a handkerchief, rolled it up, forced it between my lips and teeth, and knotted it behind my head.

"That should keep you quiet while I have my way with you. You didn't think I'd just leave here with your car and money, did you?"

He dragged me over to the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room in my apartment. He threw me over it and my feet were in the air. I kicked him as he grabbed my pants, but stopped when I again felt the barrel of his gun against my rib cage.

"Don't you fucking try to hurt me again," he said as he cocked the pistol.

He then pulled down my pants, exposing the black thong I had chosen to wear that morning.

"Nice," he remarked. "You're not wearing that for some guy, are you?"

I shook my head no.

"You're not lying, are you?"

I shook my head no.

He then dragged my body off the counter and set me on my feet. "You know, it would be a bad idea to fuck you. That DNA stuff, they'd find it in your pussy after you're dead. So if I'm ever caught, they'd know I killed you, and they're much nastier to rapist killers than to bank robbers. I have a better idea."

He undid the gag and pulled the scarf out of my mouth.

"Now why are you wearing the thong?"

"I wanted to feel sexy. I really did just break up with my boyfriend, and I was going to go to a club after I got my hair done. I hoped that I could get some guy to come up here."

"Fucking slut!"

"Please don't make me feel ashamed for telling you the truth!"

"On your knees bitch!"

He put his hands on my shoulders and shoved me to the floor. I knew what he had in mind. I knelt before him as he unbuckled his trousers.

"After I shoot my jism into your mouth, it will go into your stomach, and the acid will dissolve it, and they won't be able to prove that I did anything to you, only that I broke into your apartment and stole your car."

He pulled down his underwear and out flopped his tumescent uncircumcised cock. I had only been with Jewish men and the sight of his unclean organ made me want to wretch.

Sensing my disgust, he asked, "Haven't you ever been with a real man?"

I shook my head.

"Are you a virgin?"

I again shook my head.

"That's too bad. I wasn't going to do anything to you if you were a virgin. It could have made you into a head case or something. Not that you necessarily have long to live."

He cocked the pistol again and aimed it at my head. "Suck my dick, bitch!"

I looked up at him.

"Now!" he exclaimed.

"I'll suck your cock. But please put the gun away. It would be bad for you to shoot me in here, anyway. The neighbors might hear the gun go off."

He released the hammer of the revolver and pointed the barrel away from my head. "Smart fucking bitch. You kikes sure do have something on the ball. Now suck my goddamn cock!"

My hands were tied behind my back and his foreskin still covered the head of his penis. "I can't move away the foreskin," I muttered.

He took his cock into his beefy hand and exposed the head of his penis. I opened my mouth and took his organ inside.

My lovers had all been driven to ecstasy by my skill at fellatio, and I aimed to please the animal that was holding me captive. My tongue danced and swirled over the sensitive area just below the head of his penis, and I was surprised when he gently ran his fingers through my hair. I heard him put the gun down on the counter against which he was leaning. Hoping that I could free my hands and beat him to the gun, I tested the ligature with which my wrists were bound, but the cord held secure.

My head was bouncing up and down as I pleasured him with my mouth and the taste of his pre-ejaculate became stronger as he neared his climax. His penis began to throb. My guess that he was about to ejaculate was correct, and my mouth was soon full of his hot, salty, viscous semen.

My tongue continued slathering over his penis as he ejaculated, and it seemed as if his orgasm would never come to an end. I wondered when he had last jacked off or been with a woman, and then it occurred to me that I might be his first. When he finished ejaculating, he lifted me to my feet and kissed me passionately, unconcerned that my mouth was still laden with his semen or that he was displaying affection to one of his mortal enemies.

He then led me to the sofa, to which I waddled with my pants straddling my ankles, and at his behest I sat down on the middle pillow. I could not help glancing at the pillows that rested at either end, wondering if he intended to forego pumping me full of bullets and instead settle for suffocating me.

But he crouched before me and pulled my pants from around my ankles. Before I could consider what he had in mind, he took a piece of clothesline and tied my ankles together.

"You have quite a kick. Do you play soccer or something?" he asked me.

"I work out."

He retrieved my scarf, but instead of stuffing it into my mouth, he merely inserted it between my lips and teeth.

"That's just so you don't get any ideas about screaming if you hear someone walking down the hall."

He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bagel. "Kike food," he mused, adding with a smirk, "You don't have to try to answer that."

I watched him tear into the bagel, chewing with his mouth open. I began to grunt.

He came over and pulled the gag out of my mouth. "Do want some?" he asked.

"No, I'm not hungry."

He took a swill of beer, and then let out a large belch. "Well then what do you want?"

"People cut the bagel in two and toast it, and then put cream cheese, or jam, or lox on it."

"You don't mean people. You mean kikes like you."

"Lots of people who eat bagels aren't Jewish. And look. I figure I'm going to die tonight. And I even pleasured you. So why do you have to be so mean to me?"

"OK, thanks for the blowjob. It was great. And now I'm going to put that gag back into your mouth so these stupid mind games will end."

I did not resist as he gagged me again, and then watched as he tossed the mangled bagel onto the floor, took out another one, cut it in two, and placed it into the toaster oven.

He stood before me as he waited for the bagel to toast. He waved the pistol as if it were an extension of his right hand as he told me, "Just because I defiled myself with you, a kike, doesn't mean I've gone soft. But we're going on a trip. And I don't want any shit from you. I can guarantee you, if I you give me any shit, people are going to start getting killed. And number one is going to be you."

The alarm from the toaster oven rang and he returned to his meal. I watched as he searched my refrigerator and took out a tub of cream cheese, which he slathered onto the bagel.

I stared at him while he sat at my kitchen table and consumed my food, until he caught my gaze and chastised me. He finished his beer, took out another one, and turned on the television. He surfed the channels until he found NASCAR, and then idiotically gazed at the screen as souped-up cars circled an asphalt track.

My kidnapper found the stash of beer my boyfriend had left in my refrigerator and neglected to retrieve after our break up. My captor downed bottle after bottle until he fell asleep.

After he began snoring, I made my move. I arose from the couch and began hopping to the phone in my bedroom, remembering how movie heroines would knock off the receiver and find an ingenious method to call the police.

But before getting to the bedroom I stumbled over the coffee table and went down to the floor. One of my captor's beer bottles fell onto the coffee table and he awakened with a start.

"What the hell are you doing?" he bellowed, seeing me on the floor.

Breaking my pledge not to lie, I mumbled, "I had to pee." Whether he heard me or not was irrelevant. He arose from the sofa and an instant later I felt a sharp pain in my right chest as his foot impacted my rib cage.

He then lifted me up by the hair and threw me onto the sofa. I landed on my stomach. "Kike bitch!" he cried out as he pounded my back with his fist. The blows suddenly stopped and he ran to the bathroom from which horrid noises emanated as my captor emptied his stomach of my food and alcohol.

"Bitch, this is your fucking fault!" he exclaimed as he stormed back into the living room, where I was cowering on the sofa.