Harvester – Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Lucy was staring up at the van ceiling. She could feel everything. Her lower back was painful, like when you would spend too long in bed on a Sunday morning. The low light to her right had low hum emanating from it. Lucy went to move her head in that direction but her thoughts just remained like that; just thoughts. She was confused, her muscles were screaming, as the lactic acid was rising. What was going on she thought.

She remembered the previous evening walking to her car. She remembered the man in the parking lot. She remembered falling and wetting herself. Then him placing the mask over her face and the familiar smell of the anesthetic gas. Lucy felt weirdly warm. Not cold considering the alarming state she thought she was in. She even felt safe.

There was no doubt she was in a van. She could see the fittings in the thin roof. There was a whirling circular contraption. She guessed it was the other side you see when a builder’s van goes past, driving fresh air into the rear of the van, spinning in the wind. There was a sound from outside.

She sensed someone approach the van. All her muscles remained dormant, but her mind was habitually trying to make them move. She was dead like. She couldn’t scream. She was trying to tense up, but nothing. She couldn’t sit up, she couldn’t even use her hands to protect her modesty. The van clunked, and then the familiar sound of a security system started beeping. The same sound she remembered last night.

The driver's door opened. Lucy felt the wash of cool air lick at her body as the air changed inside of the van. She could hear the scraping of the man's shoes on the tarmac outside. The man heaved himself in with that middle-aged grunt as the van dipped, creaking momentarily on its suspension before the door slammed shut.

There was a pause. The switching of levers and the audible sound of computerized devices. Her hearing, augmented. She could hear everything. The sloshing of diesel in the fuel tank. The lose items in the cubbyholes. If she dialed in, she could even his breathing. It was labored. The inner door latch thumped, and the door opened. The lights, like razor blades, cut through Lucy’s eyes as her irises narrowed rapidly. As the brilliant light started burning the back of her retinas.

Her autonomic thoughts screamed at her to raise her hands to shield her eyes, nothing moved. Her eyes were in a fixed stare, unable to move. She was desperate to see the man that had taken her. Without her eyes moving, it didn’t take long for him to come into view. She could feel him manipulating draws and pressing buttons. Lucy felt him come into her space. Felt his hands on either side of her body. Resting on the trolley. His face came into view. She smelt the coffee; it smelt so good, but Lucy wanted to scream.

His face was calm and gentle, with solid features. But her predicament argued with her rationalizing how the man looked. She was paralyzed on a trolly in the back of a van, THAT THIS MAN HAD DONE! WHY, WHY, WHY...

The man lowered his face nearer Lucy. She thought he was going to kiss her. Lucy tried to reel back, but nothing. She had no clue where this encounter was heading, but wherever it was going, Lucy knew there was nothing that she could do to control the situation. “Lucy, my name is Dale Broc.” He adjusted himself to not lean on her delicate body. He moved closer to her ear. His breath hot, not unpleasant and smell of the coffee strong. In her mind's eye, her eyes widened in abject horror.

“I have taken you. This will not end well for you. In the next forty-eight hours, I will harvest all your organs and then end your life. I know you’re feeling confused right now.”

He went on, “there will be no going back for you now, you must come to terms with your situation. I will try my best to make sure you don’t feel anything.”

Broc lifted himself up and looked into her soul and paused. He held her gaze. He swore he could see her pleading in her eyes. It did nothing to Broc in his consciousness. Lucy stared back at him, trying to fathom what he had just said. On balance, she felt like she preferred being raped and dumped.

What the fuck did he mean, harvest my organs She thought.
Broc looked down.

“Your heartrate is elevated Lucy because your bladder is full. So, I am going to catheterize you. This will make you more comfortable.”

Broc started assembling some items that were needed. Lucy thought this guy has just told me he wants to kill me. Yet he’s taking care of my basic needs? She was confused. “Although you can’t feel it now, I need you to be comfortable.” Broc said out of sight. There was a coldness to his tone. A matter of fact. Lucy’s situation couldn’t get any more surreal. She felt him tug at her panties. The shame Lucy felt as Broc defiled her dignity was palpable.

The panties finally gave and snapped in his hand. He cursed. Raised her right knee with her foot firmly on the trolly surface, and let it gently fall to her right.

Lucy felt compromised in an unprecedented way. She heard the familiar snap of sterile gloves. She was paralyzed, yet conscious, and about to be catheterized in her bladder by a person that had just kidnapped her. Not sixty seconds earlier, the same man had told her that her life was now over.

Broc picked up a swab from the catheter care packaging, already soaked in sterile water. With his free hand, he parted her vulva to expose the inner labia. With the vaginal orifice now visible. She wasn’t a virgin.

Above that was the tiny urethral opening. The hole which Broc was looking for. He mused for a second; Lucy's anatomy wasn’t ruined by the ravages of childbirth. Nor would it ever be.

With the swab in a downward motion, he wiped Lucy’s innermost parts. She consciously winced, she could feel the heat of embarrassment seep from every pore in her body and the drag of the cold swab on her vagina. It felt like wet hands on rhubarb. Scratchy and uncomfortable. Lucy could feel Broc’s fingers probe her femininity. The coldness in his action wasn’t sexual in any way. It was clinical and hideous. As though one of the old matrons on the labor ward were doing it.

Broc inserted the latex catheter. Lucy had catheterized many women in labor and as the catheter slid in, she felt the thicker part, about an inch from the tip scrape through the opening. It felt how she imagined it would when she would perform catheterization herself. The catheter went up to the hilt of the channels at the other end, twenty inches or so. Broc inflated the balloon with a syringe. His knuckles pressed into her vagina as he pushed, causing pain to Lucy.

He then tugged on it and felt the resistance as the inflated balloon inside the bladder bounced freely off the urethral opening on the inside. Broc knew the catheter was in the right place. At the same time, clear urine flowed freely from Lucy’s body into a catheter bag fitted to the end of the pipe. Lucy felt violated in a way she could never imagine. This whole process seemed almost funny, yet horrifyingly real. Broc lowered her leg. Stood and removed his gloves. “That should make you feel much better, Lucy,” he said in an almost caring voice. Lucy felt compelled to thank him.