On brisk fall day, a Charcoal Gray Jeep Grand Cherokee hustles rather quickly through the suburbs, disturbing leaf piles and cutting sharp corners. Its off road tires give little way to the asphalt below them, as the aggressive treads rumble like a swarm of angry bees, rather than squealing like any normal tire. The 50 years’ young female driver, digs frantically through her purse, looking for her cellphone, instead of watching the road ahead of her . . .
“WATCH OUT MOM!” yells her youngest daughter from the passenger side, attempting to stop short with one arm, and bracing herself against the dash for the impending doom, with her other . . .
The woman jerks the steering wheel at the last moment, then spurts out “Oh honey was just a garbage can, I had another two feet on that side!”
“Well gee mom, I always wanted to spend the first week in junior high, with my leg in a cast . . .” ( the girl is quickly cut off by her mother, before getting to finish the sentence ).
. . .“Yeah, well just wait and see how you end up driving, when you’re old enough to get your permit!”shouts the mother with sarcasm.
In a busy office building in the downtown business district, a receptionist answers the phone that has been ringing off the hook all afternoon. Before she even picks up, she has a very good idea who it’s going to be . . .
“Hello, Mr. Fonda’s office, this is Debbie. And how may I help you?” chimes the rather homely looking young lady, trying to be as cordial as possible.
“Yes Deborah, has my husband come back to the office yet?” asks the woman on the other end, with a noticeable urgent tone.
“No Mrs. Fonda, he has yet to return. But I did manage to find his cellphone sitting atop his desk. I told you he had a lot to deal with this morning, and most likely forgot it!” The receptionist quickly cups her hand over the phone, and waves her free hand wildly in the air to get one of the other secretaries’ attention . . . “It’s Mrs. Fonda again! What should I tell her this time?” The office girl across the aisle from her shrugs her shoulders, without even bothering to look up from her computer monitor.
“Are you sure that I can’t just pass the message onto him, Mrs. Fonda?” The woman waits patiently for a reply.
“No Debbie, It’s a rather private matter. But you will be sure to tell him that I called immediately, upon his return. I am so sorry to be such a pain,” Kathy Lee ends the conversation rather abruptly, by flipping the cover of her phone back into the closed position . . . then lets out an audible sigh. “My god this is crazy . . . absolutely crazy!” She looks over at her daughter in the passenger side with tears in her eyes . . .
“Please . . . just tell me what’s wrong mom!” pleas her daughter, while reaching for her mother’s hand across the seat. “What does it mean?”
As she looks out over the hood of the Cherokee, Christie fights back her tears and watches the urban scenery pass by. She soon begins to recall the events that led up to this mad dash across town. It was less than two hours ago that she mistakenly found a phone number and address on a scrap piece of paper in her older sister’s favorite pair of faded jeans. Bridget, along with her two best friends, had vanished into thin air almost seven months ago this week. The current rumor was that the trio had ran off to Cancun or the Bahamas, leaving friends and family behind. Local Police were left baffled with no leads, eventually calling in the State Police, then the FBI. Only a few long term residence seemed to recall the disappearances of several local girls, and a few more from the nearby college, over the last three decades. Then just a few weeks ago, two more girls disappeared. However, with their mischievous reputations, their cases were written off as just “troubled teens” who would eventually return once homesick. With the exception of three abandoned vehicles found in a wooded area outside of town, authorities had yet to find any signs of violence or a struggle. Outraged parents, family and friends of the victims, constantly pressed city officials, yet authorities refused to accept the possibility of a serial killer.
Christie is startled by her mother’s unexpected hard right hand turn onto Pine Hollow Road. She quickly grabs the armrest on her door, to resist her bodie’s inertia.
“MOM — YOU'RE SCARING ME !” yells the young girl, now wiping the tears from her eyes. “Where are we going, and what on earth, does any of this have to do with Bridget?”
“ONE SIXTEEN . . .ONE . . . SSS . . . SEVENTEEN . . . ONE . . . EIGHTEEN, (Kathy Lee’s heart rate speeds in anticipation as her breathing gets somewhat heavier). I know it’s someplace here on the right . . . .over here somewhere. (A heavy wooded area passes by until it opens up into a sweeping lawn).“119 . . . RIGHT HERE, ONE NINETEEN!” yells the middle-aged woman in triumph. She quickly recognizes the long blacktop driveway, and neatly kept green grass. However the thick, five foot high hedges and surrounding chain link fence hiding the pool, must all be recent additions.
Kathy Lee’s Cherokee comes to a slow, creeping stop, just ten feet from the garage door in front of her. She shifts the column into park, but chooses to leave the engine running. She quickly scans the layout of the yard, then turns to her daughter sitting beside her. “Now listen to me,” the older woman commands with an unusual intensity.
“But mom, I don’t understand what does. . .”
“JUST LISTEN TO ME, DAMMIT!” yells the woman, startling her daughter. “I’m sorry to yell at you but please pay attention!” Kathy Lee hands her cellphone to Christie. “I will only be a few minutes, so leave the engine running. Stay in the car, lock the doors and don’t open them for anybody. Anybody. If I’m not back in ten minutes, call 911, do you understand? DO NOT OPEN THE DOORS FOR ANYBODY, AND DO NOT LEAVE THE CAR-PERIOD!”
The young girl nods her head in assurance “But . . ?”
“NO BUTS, JUST DO AS I SAY!” yells Kathy Lee as she exits the car. She hits the power door lock button, shuts the door, and quickly walks across the driveway with her low rise sneakers squeaking in protest.
As the woman approaches the front patio and door, she notices how each of the shrubs that line the walkway, are cut perfectly square with the following shrub. There isn’t a single blade of grass, weed, or red wood chip that has managed to find it’s way onto the concrete. “Hmm, nice upkeep of the lawn,” Kathy thinks to herself, as she nervously steps forward to ring the door bell . . .
Bing-Bong-Bing-Bong . . . . , Bing-Bing-Bing-Bong!
Suddenly, the familiar sound of Jack’s mothers favorite door chimes come to life, sounding just as sincere, and yet, as horrible as it did so many years ago. She laughs momentarily, then peeks in the small rectangular windows of the door, only to see that for all intents and purposes, the interior of the house looks just as it did back in the 60's . . .She grows impatient, and presses the doorbell once again . . .
Bing-Bong-Bing-Bong . . . . , Bing-Bing-Bing-Bong!
She watches for any signs of movement through the glass . . .
Bing-Bong-Bing-Bong . . . . , Bing-Bing-Bing-Bong!
“Dammit!” scowls the woman and she turns, and breaks through the perfect row of shrubs, catching one of the branches on her stretchy tan capris. She snaps the branch off with her bare hand, and looks up at her daughter still sitting in the running Jeep. She shrugs her shoulders, as her daughter shakes her head in disbelief of her mother’s odd actions.
Christie watches her mother disappear around the back of the house. She reaches over and hits the power door locks of the Cherokee into the unlocked position and thinks to herself: “Just in case we actually need to make a quick escape . . .”
Kathy Lee creeps along the walk way down the side of the house, until she comes to a latched gate, that is part of the chainlink fence. She lifts the latch up, and lets herself inside. It isn’t until she walks past a basement level garage door, and out to the edge of the in-ground pool, that she looks back and notices the actual height of the hedges that surround the entire pool area. “Now why would a man your age need that much privacy?” Kathy asks herself . She then begins to remember various social gatherings that she and her husband had attended with Jack, and how others would brag of the professor’s ability to attract female students that were young enough to be his daughters . . . or even granddaughters for that matter! She quickly frowns when the thought that her daughter could have been one of them, comes to mind. She flips her shoulder length dirty blonde hair back in defiance, and heads towards the enclosed patio that’s just off the pool. “Thank god I never went through that stage!” sighs Kathy Lee, as she peeks through the smoked glass windows of the enclosed patio, but sees nothing. She checks the handle, but finds it locked. She quickly scans the backyard, then thinks to herself: “Wait a minute . . .The bomb shelter . . . Of course!”
Kathy Lee squeezes her curvaceous hips between the back wall of the porch and the end-post on of the chainlink fence, then mumbles: “Thank God your still in shape old girl, or that might have been a tighter squeeze than it already was!” She clumsily stumbles through the undergrowth, at one point catching her Kate Jackson edition cotton sweater on a thornbush . . . “DAMMIT ALL!” she yelled out, trying to peel the cotton fabric away from the thorn, while avoiding what would be a certain injury. A chunk of fuzzy pink fabric remains stuck to a branch behind her, as she steps forward a few feet and comes to the familiar spot from the days of her youth. Just a faded blue plastic tarp, and two sheets of plywood, were all that hid the familiar steel doors from the outside world. The desperate woman hefted the plywood sheets off to the side, then peeled back the plastic tarp. Her hopes were soon dashed, as she noticed the fresh master-lock clasping the doors together. “Shit!” she exclaims out loud, then turning to scan the backyard over once more. Nothing but a storage shed in the far corner, and what looked like a few old forgotten automobiles covered with a tarp. Feeling somewhat defeated, Kathy Lee exhales, and stumbles back through the brush towards the rear of the house. Once again, she squeezes her hips between the wall of the porch and the end-post, feeling the cold steel press against the front of her pants. She briefly remembers just how long it’s been, since her husband pressed anything up against her . . . She wiggles her butt out away from the post, and brushes herself off. Kathy Lee’s sneakers squeak their way back across the concrete patio, and she approaches the corner of the house that she had originally came from. She checks the doorhandle on the basement level garage door, and surprisingly, it’s unlocked! Kathy Lee yanks the pull-handle , sending the garage door creaking eerily upwards. The garage is deep enough to fit two cars end to end, with room to spare. The curious woman steps in cautiously. She then lifts a canvas tarp up on the first curious mound, revealing several ten speeds as well as mountain bikes.
“Well that’s odd. Why would he have all of these bikes? Better yet, why are they all girl’s models?” She drops the tarp back down, then steps up to the next lump, pulling that tarp back. A shiny Black BMW sits, awaiting patiently for its owner to return, to take it for a quick ride through the countryside. Kathy opens the door cautiously, waiting for an alarm to go off . . . but nothing happens. She reaches in to manually turn on an interior light, but still nothing happens. “A dead battery on a BMW?” she questions under her breath. She then notices, and picks up an opened cellphone lying on the floor. “Hmm, dead as well . . .” The curious woman then spots a matching jet black Louis Vuitton handbag sitting on the console. “Wow, nice piece . . . but what would such an expensive purse be doing in a BMW as it just sits in your garage, Jack Claussen?”
Kathy Lee’s curiosity gets the best of her, and she opens up the purse and begins digging through its contents. She soon finds the matching jet black leather wallet inside, and opens it up. The smiling face of a young Italian woman, with slick jet black hair (of course), pulled tightly to the back, immediately greets her.
Mia Fargnoli, . . . AGE: twenty six, HT: 5-11 , SEX: F , EYES: BLK , HAIR: BLK, WGHT:112 lbs.
(Kathy Lee looks at the smiling woman’s picture again to confirm), Yes, she looks it . . . that’s our girl alright. But the question is, what on Earth would a gorgeous thing like you want to do with an eccentric, chain smoking, cranky old man like Jack Claussen? Are you a former student?” She starts flipping through various credit cards until she finds a business card : “Cataldo and Cohen, Attorneys at Law”, associate in training : Mia Fargnoli . . .
Kathy Lee lays the expensive purse back where she found it with a look of disgust, and carefully closes the door. She pulls the tarp back over the black beauty, then focuses her attention on what appears like it could be an SUV parked behind it. She pulls back the nylon car cover, and her stomach nearly turns in horror! Her head begins to spin, and she feels almost dizzy at the familiar sight before her . . .
With a chill running up her spine, she slowly opens the driver side door of a red GEO Tracker that looks hauntingly familiar . . . Kathy Lee slowly opens the glove-box drawer, only to find that it has been emptied out. While backing up from her crouched position, her foot brushes up against a set of keys which abruptly crash to the floor. The woman slowly picks them up dangling them in the air. Her eyes begin to well up with tears as she slowly reads the rainbow colored key chain aloud to herself “The Bahamas, your one true love!” Kathy Lee begins to sob as she reflects on the very last trip she made with her two young daughters and loving husband. That trip had been a high school graduation present to her daughter Bridget, and was meant to ease her mind before starting her freshman year of college.
Suddenly in a panic, Kathy Lee begins to feel that she might be in over her head. She thrust the keys to the Tracker in her front pocket, quietly shut the door to the red SUV, and hastily pulls the dusty tarp back over the vehicle. It was only as she slowly pulled the garage door downward, that she wondered if the owners of all of those girl’s bikes, and that shiny BMW, might be missing just like her daughter!
The rush of adrenaline soon overtook Kathy Lee’s body, as she passed through the chain-link gate and rounded the shrubs that hid the pool from view. She breaks into a sprint and begins yelling to her daughter who’s still sitting in the front seat of the Jeep Cherokee, staring out the windshield: “CALL 9-1-1 . . ., I SAID CALL 9-1-1 — DAMMIT! ”
Kathy Lee quickly runs around the corner of the Jeep and yanks the front door open. She slides herself across the seat and quickly jams the key into the ignition. Now frantic, she begins to yell even louder at her daughter.
“FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, DID YOU HEAR ME? I said CALL 9-1-1!”
As the Jeep’s engine barely gets roaring to life , Kathy Lee slams the column shifter into reverse and looks over her shoulder to back up the driveway, Then . . .
She is suddenly blinded by a what seems like a flashbulb from a camera, held by somebody lurking in the back seat! The sudden sensation of paralysis that is overtaking her body is unexpected, to say the least! Her vision turns dark, and the voice speaking out to her seems distant . . .
The figure reaches past her and quickly jams the gear selector into park, resulting in a very loud “Bark” from the tires in sudden protest.
“Kathy darling, I do believe that your offspring’s decided to stick around for awhile; would you care to join us?” asks the professor from the back seat.
Kathy continues to stare back over the seat, motionless, silent, undecided . . .
Claussen climbs out of the rear door, then opens the front driver side door and quickly begins peeling Kathy Lee’s rigidly clenched fingers away from the steering wheel. Once finished, he reaches under Kathy Lee’s armpits to make room on the seat. As he does, a thumb accidentally presses against the swell of the woman’s full breast, resulting in an instant erection. The old man lifts her stiff body and seats her shoulder to shoulder with her equally frozen daughter. Kathy Lee’s body slowly tilts over to the side, until her head innocently comes to a rest across her daughter’s lap. All the while, Christie continues to stare out over the dash of the Jeep, her mind devoid of any conscious thoughts .
The professor smiles thoughtfully at his two unexpected guests, then shifts the Cherokee into gear, and drives it around back to unload . . . .
* * * * * * * * * * * *
LATER THAT EVENING, A PHONE RINGS AT A SALVAGE YARD, IN A ROUGHER PART OF TOWN. AFTER SEVERAL RINGS, A GRUMPY, NICOTINE BURNED VOICE ANSWERS: “YEAH, Monsta’ Joe’s . . .”
“Hello, . . . is this Monster Joe?”
“That’s what the hell I said ain’t it?”
“ Shhhhush, Okay, you don’t have to yell . . .”
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WHISPERING FOR, WHO THE HELL IS THIS ANYWAY?”
“OK, OK . . .Look, It’s Claussen . . .Jack Claussen! I talked to you a week ago about getting some more vehicles removed from my property . . .and, you know . . . properly disposed of.”
“OH, OK . . . Yeah I remember youse. You were over there on Pine Hollow . . .The wing nut! HAH, HAH, HAH, HER-HOOF -COUGH, COUGH , cough. . .hah”, (Then spits up phlegm).
“Yes, just get your sorry ass over here! Meet me out back, and I will show you where they are hidden, then do them just like last time!”
“(Cough, cough) . . .Anything good?”
“I have a low mile Charcoal Grey Jeep Cherokee, a Black BMW with a moon roof and power everything, and a Red GEO Tracker, all in mint condition!” Claussen pauses, then remembers, “and a motherload of bicycles too!”
“Bicycles? What the hell were you doing with a bunch of bicycles? I ain’t got no use for no damned Bicycles!”
“Don’t be a pain in the ass! Just shove them in the back of the cars when you crush them! Now do we have a deal or what?”
“Yeah, Yeah we gotta a deal . . . as long as I get the parts off n’ um first! Yer a strange feller, Claussen, But yer makin’ me some good money. . .(takes a toke off of a chewed up cigar), I’ll be there around Midnight. Later, wingnut!”
As the voice on the other line hangs up, the tired old man rubs his forehead, and wonders how he ever got mixed up with such a shady cast of characters. He reaches in his pocket, pulls out his pack of smokes, then glances at his wristwatch. “Well by golly, I think there is just enough time. . . .”
* * * * * * * *
Soon, the smell of rich coffee fills the otherwise damp, stale nicotine tinged atmosphere of the unorganized work shop, or “studio” (as Claussen sometimes calls it). It is here, behind a secret panel of the bar in the Professor’s retro 70's family room, that his greatest, and most intimate works have been created. And in most instances, his most intimate moments have been shared . . . .
On a stainless steel table in the middle of the shop, is Kathy Lee Fonda, resting on her side and still stuck in the sitting position. Her tan capri’s stretch out over her bent bottom like a form fitting glove. Claussen steps over outdated computer monitors, hard drives and miscellaneous medical equipment as he approaches his long lost love. The old man tips his former classmate upright, so she is now sitting on the examination table. He slowly twists her torso, until she appears to be straight, then begins to work on her arms, starting with her fingers, then wrists, and slowly working his way up to her shoulders. He affectionately kisses her supple lips, but ever so lightly. The professor places a thumb and fore finger upon her chin, then turns her head slowly from side to side and admires her profile. He returns her head to the straight ahead position, then playfully steals another kiss and slowly runs the tip of his nose along her neckline. Claussen picks up a scent on her lower neck as he nuzzles her more. . .
“Obsession, how ironic!” thinks the old man to himself.
He begins to get a sinister smile on his face as he pulls down on the neckline of her sweater to sneak a peak . . . Kathy Lee unwittingly obliges him. The dirty old man soon glides his hands along the swells of her breasts, then working his magic into bigger circles until finally gripping her giant breasts firmly into his hands . . . .
On the inside, Kathy is having the most erotic dream she can recall in years: her breasts tingle then her nipples begin to ache. Her lover seems distant, yet he seems to know every curve, and is always one step ahead of her at all times. She feels as if . . . as if one arm is being raised upward, then the other is raised ever so slowly. The shadow brushes its fingers against her ribs, the leather like skin of this stranger, a harsh contrast to her smooth milky skin. She soon feels as if a huge weight has been lifted off of her . . .
On the outside, Professor Claussen eagerly tosses the heavy sweater off to the side, and it lands on the floor carelessly. He traces the white lace of her bra with his leathery finger tips, the fine silk material slides across his skin. The old man pries his fingers underneath her under-wire cups and flips them up over her breasts, causing them to flop out . . .
“Ah yes, Kathy darling, I see time has taken over. . .” says Claussen, as he cups the bottoms of her breasts and lifts them upward. His thumbs playfully flip at her fully erect nipples, causing them to spring back and forth repeatedly. “Don’t worry my darling, I can give you back the breasts that you deserve . . .”
Claussen picks up the woman by her trim waistline, and lays her on her back, then slowly takes each of her calves and extends them to their fullest points. As he unties her sneakers, and removes them, he continues the conversation . . .
“Kathy honey, if you only knew how many times I have played this scenario out in my mind over the last . . .what thirty or so years?” Claussen pulls her back off the table and stands her in the upright position. Her underwire bra remains flipped up over and pressing into her breasts, but she doesn’t mind as she waits patiently for more compliments from her admirer. The professor gives her a once over, then leans down and runs his tongue across her slight belly. At first he senses a whiff of body spray, then he briefly notices the camel toe that her tan Capris are causing. Claussen’s middle finger traces the seam that runs down through the center of her crotch, and he briefly feels the warmth between her legs. Placing his hands on her hips, he slowly turns her around for a rear view . . . . Kathy Lee’s hands slightly dangle back and forth, until they lose their momentum. The professor admires the tight fit of the fabric and begins to feel her precious rump . . .
Meanwhile, the unexplained desires building up inside Kathy Lee’s fifty year old body are getting more uncontrollable by the minute, and unfortunately for her, she seems to be coming out of whatever dream like state she may have been in. From behind her, her secret admirer continues to feel her ass, his momentum seems to be getting less gentle, as he grips and squashes her cheeks together. She feels his hands work their way around to the front, unclasp the button, then slowly pulling that zipper down. It is then that she notices a damp feeling in the front panel of her panty, that she hasn’t felt in years. . . .
Claussen grabs a pair of scissors off of a nearby shelf, and proceeds to cut the pants down the ass crack, being sure not to cause damage while doing so. Eventually, he peels the Capri’s down over the woman’s hips, and eventually shimmey’s them to the floor. “Hmm, well that’s to be expected I guess,” says Claussen out loud rather dejectedly. This is in reference to Kathy Lee’s taste in underwear. “I guess if you knew that somebody was going to be this up close and personal, you might have put a little more thought into what underthings you would be wearing! (Instead of a lacey g-string, or something sexy, Kathy Lee was wearing the standard issue, cotton underwear) . . . “That’s ok my darling, I think we can fix you up in that department as well!”says Claussen, now drawing his hand at an angle, and rubbing it up and down the woman’s curve of her derriere.
The old man turns the woman by the hips once again, and snips away the waistband on both sides, to reveal the furry prize beneath . . . and suddenly Kathy Lee feels a bit of a breeze surrounding her.
“Well my goodness, isn’t this the most well-groomed pubic hair, especially on a fifty year old!” exclaims Claussen, running the backs of his fingers against her growth. The old man then presses his middle finger down through her lips, and briefly reflects on the very first time he felt her eldest daughter Bridget, in the same way. The professor skillfully works his magic fingers back and forth finding her nub, until suddenly Kathy Lee lifts up on her tip toes, and lets out an audible :
Her ass cheeks twitch violently twice, and her eyes go just a little bit wider!
Suddenly, as if shocked out of her trance, she can see straight ahead of her . . . “A , a shelf with . . . . old apple computer monitors?” Kathy Lee attempts to move her head to either side, but her body refuses to obey, yet the throbbing feeling in her crotch continues . . . “Is this all part of the same dream?” The woman continues to try to desperately focus on what else is on the shelf, “and what is that musty smell?”
Meanwhile, The professor continues to explore new territory: “You know Kathy, it is a perfectly natural reaction . . .to feel arousal; Bridget would tell you so. When I did it to her for the first time, she literally left a puddle on my bathroom floor!” Just as Claussen finishes his statement, he reaches her spot once again . . .
“Who is this guy and how would he know my daughter Bridg-
AUUGH, AUUGH AUUGHT!
Like a hit to the funny bone, Kathy Lee’s body tenses up, and she uncontrollably bolts upright at attention and twitches once again, moaning aloud! “What the hell is this guy doing to me?!” She thinks to herself, as she feels somebody’s breath on her lower tummy. The stranger begins to run his hands up the front of her thighs, runs along the sides of her stomach then reaches her breasts, taking time to nibble on each one. Her breasts almost seem on fire, as her vagina aches for more.
“Come on, just move your head up so I can see who you are Mr. Lover!”
The stranger begins to work his way up towards her neck until he comes into Kathy Lee’s line of view!
“That’s it lover boy, show me your face . . . .? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Jack Claussen? What the hell?!” screams the woman, silently to herself . . .
Claussen’s ugly mug comes into view, yellow stained teeth, onion breath, greasy hair and all! “Hello Kathy Lee, can you hear me in there, beautiful?” He begins undoing his belt buckle, and drops his pants to the floor. Grabbing his trusty jar of KYB jelly nearby, he smears it into the woman’s palm, then forms it into a grip hold. He locks her willing hand into place and begins manually stroking her hand back and forth continually for several minutes, until reaching his edge, then would stop.
All this time, Kathy retains her fixated look, still focused on the shelf across from her, with one arm at her side bobbling occasionally, and the other pleasuring the moaning creep in front of her. . . .
Claussen, now breathing heavily, and with a dripping erection, turns Kathy Lee’s frozen frame around in the opposite direction . . . .
She helplessly turns around for the man . . . “Hey a room with a different view!” The woman’s eyes focus on a figure that stands upright on a pedestal about ten feet away from her. “Wait . . .is that, it couldn’t be Christie? Christie honey- Christie SPEAK TO ME HONEY! Christie what did he do to you?!” screams Kathy Lee in vain, but nothing comes out.
Christie, her youngest of two daughters underwent the “conversion” process just a few hours before, much like her older sister did so many months ago. She obediently waits to take her position in the newest display with Bridget. She stands trance-like, with no particular expression, her arms at her sides, dressed in nothing more then the powder blue bra and briefs that she put on that morning . . .
“My god, if I find out that he so much as touched my daughter, AND HOW ON EARTH DID SHE GET UNDRESSED? And what the . . .oh no, oh god” Kathy Lee’s heart begins to race as the dirty old man begins to smear the jelly in between her butt cheeks!
“Now, now . . . this shouldn’t hurt a bit Kathy darling. Besides, it’s not going to even come close to when I have to slide the mounting post inside there!” Clausen works quickly, but cautiously. As he smears in one last swipe, he turns Kathy Lee around once again, and notices a tear running down the woman’s cheek. “Hey, Hey now, come on . . . this should be a celebration, there are no sad faces around here!”
Claussen sees the sadness in the soon to be doll’s eyes, then looks up and notices her lovely daughter standing in the background . . .
“Oh, but of course, you don’t want Christie to see us! How rude of me. . . darling I’m so sorry for being so insensitive,”apologizes Claussen, now wiping the tear away from the woman’s face. He turns Kathy Lee back around in the direction of her daughter. “I was about to put her away to cure.” states Claussen.
The old man leaves the room momentarily, then returns with an upright shipping cart. He carefully picks up the young teen under the arms, and leans her against the back of the cart. Picking up the clear plastic sheeting, he leans Christie’s stiffened body forward against his chest, and tucks the plastic sheeting behind her. The professor leans the girl carefully back, then drapes the plastic cover down over the front of her.
“There now honey, I have to put you away for a spell. But I promise, you won’t feel all alone,” assures Claussen, brushing his hand down over the top of her head, causing the plastic to make a crinkling sound.
“My god she will suffocate under there! Honey are you OK? HONEY, MOVE AND SAY SOMETHING!”
Kathy Lee’s thoughts continued to get angrier, and more terrified all the same! “She looks like a damned mannequin in storage!”
Claussen wheeled the girl over to a large door in the back corner of the shop. He lifted the creaky handle, and swung the heavy stainless steel door wide open. A rush of fog and cool air came tumbling out, as Claussen wheeled in the newest edition to his latest project. In the corner of the same cooler, two of Christie’s former classmates, shared a similar clear plastic tarp. Standing back to back, with arms at their sides, perfection forever preserved, their curing process was completed months ago. They would all now wait patiently together, to take their positions in The professor’s wildest creation yet . . . .
Claussen emerges from the cooler rubbing his hands together quickly, then grabs his open can of goop. “ So now then. . . .” Claussen pauses, waiting for the full attention of his latest victim. He then bends the woman over at an angle, turning her arms at angles for support against the table in front of her. “Now my darling . . . where were we?”