About the Author

Capella Van Ryan was born in Letterkenny, County Donegal, Ireland on

October seventh 1984. Developing a passion for writing at a very young age
after her mother died from breast cancer, finding it a means of therapy and
escapism. Starting her career path as a paramedic instructor, moving onto
become a personal trainer with her own company in the United States, going
on to become an accountant. She travels extensively around the world in
search for new material for her next novels.

Dedication

Without you, my Colin, this book would never have been written or created.
This book only exists, I only exist because of your love, devotion, kindness,
tenderness and constant inspiration and motivation. Thank you for always
telling me that I can do anything I want to do. You have opened my eyes and
shown me the world for what the world rightfully is. Because of all these
special gifts you have enriched my life with, this book I give humbly to you.
As on our wedding day I unveil my true self in these words I have wrote.

For a truly special mother, your loving and devoted daughter, Capella, I love
you and think of you every day of my life. Through me and in me you live
on. You are Gods angel and my soul.

Copyright Capella Van Ryan (2015)

The right of Capella Van Ryan to be identified as author of this work
has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,
without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this
publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for
damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British
Library.

ISBN 9781785541568 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781785541575 (Hardback)

www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2015)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ

Printed and bound in Great Britain

Acknowledgments
If it was not for my husband Colin who works in the medical and security
industry, putting himself in dangerous places such as Iraq and all over the
world and who has spoiled me by showing me the world I would not have
had first-hand knowledge or experience to write the Snowboat. Thank you
for our trips to Switzerland.
Switzerland, because of your marvel and stunning glory, you are the initial
birthing as to why this book has been created. The people are the loveliest I
have ever known. It is a place where dreams are dreamt and sometimes come
alive. It was the place where I was reborn.
The Snowboat, the place where this book was located, the ambience found
within, the friendly and professional attitude of the employees and the
owner. It is a great place to visit and situated in the most breath robbing
location, the foot of the Matterhorn. Thank you for the wonderful experience
and your charm.

Home 1999

As he started to attack me he spoke words of filth, he had the most

horrible voice I have ever heard. A creepiness danced in his sound;
flutters rose in my blood like crows in a pack pursuing chase for
winters food, and tremors in the nights stratosphere shook, creating
an atmosphere of theoretical fear. A fear I have never before
experienced or heard about and it made me physically sick.
Poisoning the oxygen I inhale while polluting my blood. Revolted at
what was to come; how tonight would end; what would happen
before daylight breaks. What silhouettes shall hide. Who I would
thus become because of the happenings of this night. The night when
my life ended and a new type of existence began.
An existence where I belong to the coldness and the darkness.
Never to belong to another. Moving behind the shadows alone.
Shadows are my only company throughout time. While my youth
slips me by. While my smooth taught skin becomes no more but that
of an old used up witch with horror stories to reflect, becoming my
only companion. Embittered. Lonely. Destroyed. Speaking his
unlistenable, unfathomable words in a sick and injurious tone which
made my stomach churn, proud of what he was about to conquer. A
2

hollowness filled. Innocence stolen. A dark and echoing void raped.

The soul need to vomit overpowered what I now considered my
corpus. Acid burned from within. The acid of his disgusting words.
Of his disgusting gift. The bubbling of vileness overwhelmed me and
the mechanics of my body. Vomit soared up through my stomach
into my trachea, lodging in the back of my nose and throat. For a
moment choking. The warmth of his wounding hands warmed my
wrists as he pressed down on me. Harder and harder in sequence with
his thrusts. In sequence with his rejoice. His thrusts felt as though I
were being punched repeatedly. The warmth from his hands felt like
a hot poker being stabbed through my flesh, severing veins, muscles
and tissue. Severing every part of what makes me who I am. Killing
me slowly with each insufferable thrust only a lover should bestow.
Praying silently to die. To end my destruction. Dying this
moment would be mercy granted. Only knowing nobody deserves to
fall victim like I have this night. This very minute. In this very dark
room. Also knowing I dont deserve mercy, and without delusional
hope knowing wholeheartedly mercy wont be granted. It never is.
Not in this world and not for people like me. Decent. Innocent
Trapped within fucked up circumstances. The people who deserve to
walk in the light of day. Feel the warmth of the sun caress my ivory
body. To live and exist with the very alive.
This world is the playground for the corrupt to win and thrive.
And for losers to always remain losers. Never to succeed climbing
out of a cesspit of lies, bullshit jealousy and hatred. Always
drowning in the cruelness of people. And in the darkness of lost hope
and spoiled stolen dreams. Laughter and tenderness escapes me.
My mind and eyes fixated on drowning out his face and voice.
With all my might I tried, then harder and then harder than hard.
Even the echoes of my screams. They echoed like death screams
which have lost their hopelessness. They freighted me more.
Knowing the inevitability without accepting it. When hope is gone
there is nothing else left.
My goal is to pretend with all my heart what is happening, isnt.
Its only one of those terrifying nightmares. The kind which terrorize
3

me when Im most relaxed and in my safe haven, the kind I cant

wake up from until it has its fun. My hands and legs bounded to the
bed, spread apart, as though I were welcoming him into my sacred
temple. As though this attack was voluntary. Sanctioned. But I know
the truth. He knows the truth, yet he continues and goes on and on,
disregarding reality and my faithful wishes. The handcuffs tightly
cupped around my wrists and ankles so much so the true flesh colour
skin typically has, could not be seen as it lies thickly under blood as
they crack and bayonetted my flesh below. Gradually I could feel the
contaminated air collide with my broken flesh. Blood escapes. Flesh
dies. Infected with a nameless virus. A virus destroying everything in
its way.
The smell of cologne and alcohol, a most detestable combination.
Cheap and lowly. Lingering in the invisible air, the same air I have
no choice but to breathe stinks of stale cigarettes and decomposing
ash left too long to putrefy. Transforming into an unrecognizable
element. The room he keeps me in against my will stinks of abuse,
tears, hurt and cruelty. And if I breathe in deep enough and hold it
for a moment longer than the rest, I can smell imploring. The
strongest fragrance of all was the smell of his enjoyment and
excitement. The thrill of it all. The thrill of being in control. Robbing
my soul. Robbing my ability to say no and walk away, to be free
again.
In this small and unimpressive prison, inside me he reigns his
empire. Reaps his glory. A scent I will only ever relate to him now,
when I am forced to remember by a lingering odour or when the cool
dark nights wont let me be. Forever in badnesss clutch. This will be
a fight for the rest of my life to run away from, unable to escape my
mind.
As he presses on me and hovers over me, the knowing that
someday it is inevitable I will go out of my mind. Im already
starting to, I can feel reality losing its grip, I enjoy its dizziness and
welcome it to consume me whole, and he hasnt yet concluded his
attack. The attack he would categorise as play. In my mind I am not
present. I find an escape in a place nobody can ever tarnish or find
me in. Its a place no one knows exists because it only exists in my
mind.

This night will continue to haunt me for the rest of my days on

this earth. All I can hope for is that death will end the remembering
and the shame. I am the ruining of a mans reprehensible game of
glory seeking. I pay his price. A price which is altogether too high.
The persistent torture breaks me down. My mind weakens. My
limbs tremble. His nauseating saliva sprinkles over my face entering
my eyes and mouth. Now I am in every way invaded. Lesser than the
woman I was a few moments previously before he forced me on my
back. I want to scream, I need to cry out desperately in despair and
pain but I dont dare. It will be his motivation to continue. To cause
me merciless pain. The aphrodisiac he desires to heighten his
enjoyment. To reach his climax.
Enjoyment is the only thing I am capable of taking away from
him. The only thing He grunts like a pig. Moans like a sick and
sweaty pervert. Only blackness in an indescribable shape is all I can
see. All I permit myself to see. Closing my eyes so tightly and hard
that it hurts. And I enjoy the pain. It is my barrier between me and
what is invading my body. The only thing I dont want to see his
features, his profile. That would be too personal. A stranger he must
forever remain. A nameless entity of no significance. This way I
wont be running from shadows of my abuser for the rest of my life.
Seeing his face in a million other men. Imagining. Believing things
which arent there. I cant see him if I never see him. What else can I
do? Nothing, this is the only thing. My only protection. The only way
I can function in the aftermath. There will be life after this. He cant
fully destroy me. No one can. I refuse to allow anyone that power.
He has no power over me I delude myself into believing. Flirting
with the idea. Though he does things to me no stranger has the right
to subject any victim to.
I couldnt hear his words, switching off my brain, hoping it
would eliminate the pain he was about to inflict onto my body.
Again. Yes for the second time tonight. For the last time I can only
hope. Internally and externally I am made use of as though I do not
own the body I am in. As though my body belongs to him and for his
pleasure only despite my agony. Closing my eyes tighter now. The
pain he inflicts breaks my body. Turning my head to the side to allow
the vomit to flow freely out. Almost choking. Distracted to his
torture. His body becomes ridged. His breathing alters. A moan. A
gasp. A scream. I know what it represents, men are such predictable
5

creatures. Sick and pathetic. One dimensional. Yes, I could feel him
working his way up into a climax. He climbs higher and higher. The
pain intensifies. I break further and further down. The grand finale.
The conclusion of my pain for a short time at least is here.
The memories of rape I wont allow myself to remember. Yet his
evilness rapes my mind. The bruises I will see when I look in the
mirror in the morning light, I will pretend dont exist. Im not
tarnished. Im not lesser than I was. Im the same as I have always
been. I wont allow him to destroy me. Break me down. Divide my
being. Multiple the hell. Minus the soul I once owned. Or add to the
agony. The remembering. I wont. I wont. I cant. I would sooner
die.
Avoiding my image indefinitely if that is what it takes to forget.
To pretend. At least to pretend to forget. Tonight the darkness is
casted over, turbulence blows and wolves howl in the deepest
mysterious forests, coldness felt, sun buried beneath, shivers up my
spine creating paralyzes, it feels like a million years till morning. I
wish I possessed the power of a wolf so I could sever my attackers
head from his body with my jaws in only one impressive movement,
leaving him to be supper for the rest of my starving pack.
I will suffer gravely tonight; but in a matter of hours the night
will fade, saying goodbye to my attack. To him and to my sorrow
and shame. The brain is a marvellous machine, selective memories is
the equivalent to an archangel and prayers granted. Tonight, the
thrusts I endure, the slaps he collides with my face will be a memory
locked in a box inside my mind, with no key ever designed to unlock
the badness I suffer in my life, the badness I have just suffered,
tonight, it is bolted inside this box, deep inside my mind.
As I lay on a rape filled floor, smelling of sex and horror, still
naked and exposed he looks over me. I feel no shame like I thought I
would. I feel only one sentiment. Only one. I cant see him, I wont
allow myself to see, not even now. I can feel his eyes burn into me
like lasers. Like hells a blazing flames. My skin crawls as though
millions and millions of maggots crawl over my body. My
womanhood throbs with revenge. My heart races with determination.
6

My blood pumps hard with desire. My mind runs mad with design.
And my hands burn to execute. My attack is over. The only thing I
am sure of is there wont be any more repeated episodes, because as
lay here I make up my mind, I made the decision to become a killer.
Revenge those who have done me wrong. Revenge he who rapes me.
An eye for an eye I truly believe in. A knife for a knife I believe in
more. There is only one thing for me to do. Only one. His blood will
run freely downstream. By my hands. By my very own innocent
hands.

The feel of death is almost as joyous as the feel of a lover for the
very first time. Excitement anticipated. Adrenaline sorrowing.
Blushing expected. Silliness felt. Blood bouncing. Uncertainty
experienced. Skin prickles. The splendid wonder of the unknown.
Breathing becomes laboured. The climax worthwhile. The same
rigidness to a body, but only one body experiences it. Wanting more,
dying for my fix, then more is never enough.
Murder is like heroine: one taste youre hooked. No way of
whinnying off. The only way to give it up is to die. Die or enjoy.
Give in and go with it. Moving quickly like a panther in the night,
beneath the midnight moon using his own knife to inflict
righteousness, above all justice. Piercing his lung from behind, he
gasps, he falls into my arms. Hes vulnerable now like I was. He took
advantage and so shall I. Dividing his neck into two from the side.
Ripping his neck apart, I felt such power. Power and glory. Blood
spills freely downstream. Showering him and showering me. I could
feel his death enter my body through my mouth. Through my flesh.
My very being is overshadowed. It was the greatest experience I have
ever known. Complex yet stunning. Powerful and amazing.
Collectively these words combined are not powerful enough to
accurately describe the sensation of death. No word has ever been
created yet to fully describe its beauty. As I hold his useless kicking
body in my hands, I hear gushing water like that of a waterfall in the
deepest forest on a spring day. I smell its cleanness. It lasts merely a
moment. I feel the heat of the sun burn my skin. Looking down, it
8

was the heat of his dying blood. Flinging his dead motionless body in
a heap. Kneeling down over him like he once did me, I saw and saw
until his head comes free. Till I am looking down his windpipe.
Exactly how I imagined. Covered in my attackers blood, dripping
with revenge. It is only the weak who remains the victim. Beneath
this midnight moon I become the wolf and the panther the revenger
and all things strong. An existence where I belong to the coldness
and the darkness.

10

Wednesday 3 December 2001

It was a freezing December morning with misty skies and a hazed

over morning moon. The air smelt light and clean. The usual in
Geneva this time of year, when I awoke in my extra-large bed, in the
most beautiful junior suite hotel room I have ever laid eyes on, at the
Four Seasons Hotel George V, located in the centre square of the
city. Making me feel as though I were a person of importance, when
in actual fact I am nobody of any significance. A person lost to this
world of billions of people, more important than I. More worthy than
I. Why I was even born I do not know. But on a morning like this
negativity was the furthest thing from my mind. There isnt anything
with the capability of dragging me down today. Not this day. I could
smell the goodness and exhilaration in the air. It smelt sweet, like
summer roses on a warm June day. Today is going to be good. Very
good. I can feel it in my bones. In my gut. Today belongs to me. The
only clothing covering my petite body despite the freezing
temperatures was a sheer black Gucci negligee, with lace trim and
shining sequences. Perfect for strutting assets. Perfect for seducing.
Not exactly suitable for the time of year with the freezing
temperatures declining rapidly, as the new snow falls and the harsh
winds blow. Regardless, looking sexy and looking my best was what
I was about in those days. Attempting to be sexy in a conservative
11