Nothing to Report Read Online Free PDF Page B

the woman who accompanied us into the room began to scream.”
    Lt. A. took another drink of his coffee and ran a trembling hand through his dark hair. He sighed quietly then continued.
     
    Hanging from the huge, blackened, middle rafter by a rope, which was tied around her bleeding ankles, was the crying woman’s daughter, Barbara. She was completely naked, her clothes in a rumpled pile several feet away. Human feces covered her back and hair, which was heavily matted from a combination of excrement and urine. It didn’t take long for the stench to flood into our noses, attacking us without mercy. Small, liquid piles of feces littered the ground directly below the young girl’s head, which hovered about two feet above the urine-soaked floor.
    The nearly unrecognizable girl was moaning softly. She sounded like a dime store mama’s doll but only much, much weaker. As I stood there watching her, I realized this young girl who had made the monumental error of bringing home a bad report card was completely unaware that her salvation for such a grievous sin was almost at hand. It was almost surreal.
     
    She was actually quite beautiful in a weird, disgusting way. She had huge, bulbous breasts, but even though she was hanging upside down like a pig after slaughter, her breasts did not sag from the gravity being exerted upon them. The way they protruded through the air was amazing and truly inexplicable. Both nipples were hard and erect and looked like a pair of very wide, thick buttons. She had one of the largest pubic hair areas that either Frank or I had ever set our eyes on. Although we had both heard stories about how Eastern European women from the Slavic countries never shaved under their arms, neither of us were prepared for the massive bush jutting out from the region just inches below this young girl’s belly button.
     
    Lt. A. took another drink of his coffee, now getting cold, and grimaced before he went on.
     
    I found a chair in one of the attic’s corners. It was old but sturdy enough to accomplish the rescue at hand.
    As we looked around the rest of the attic, Frank and I slowly realized it resembled a medieval torture chamber. There were chains, whips, ropes and leg irons scattered throughout the room. Barbara’s mother found another light switch and soon there was enough light for the three of us to cut down the bound young woman. As Frank grabbed the girl’s body in an attempt to steady her, I stepped up on the chair and cut the rope which bound her ankles together. The sobbing mother cradled her daughter as if she was a newborn infant and we gently lowered the girl to the dingy, wet floor. Barbara’s mother quickly covered her with an old, dusty quilt she had found in an old chest of drawers, probably left behind from a previous family years before.
     
    The mother began speaking in her native tongue and it was easy to guess that she was cursing her husband. We listened to her for a minute or two then Frank quietly explained that he was going to go down to the floor below and use the phone to call for an ambulance. Thankfully, the mother quietly acquiesced. After a nod to me, Frank quickly descended the steps, found a phone and called 911 to request that a bus respond immediately.
    While Frank was calling for the ambulance, I tried to explain to Barbara’s mother that her husband was going to have to be placed under arrest. This might be hard to believe, but after everything this poor family had been through, the mother was reluctant to press charges against her husband.
     
    Lt. A. paused as he looked out the window for nearly a minute before he added, “This is when I realized that the monster below really ruled the house with fear.”
    He described how he found it necessary to explain that they were still going to place Barbara’s father under arrest, even though her mother was reluctant to press charges. They knew they could arrest the man based upon their own observations of the abused girl