Enormity

by Nick Milligan

  Rose exits the rear kitchen door and moves beneath the streetlight and over to a skip. Behind the large steel box she bends down to retrieve something that’s between the skip and the small flowerbed. It looks like she’s unwrapping something, but she’s facing away from me.

  When Rose stands up, she’s carrying what looks like a bag. A double-handled travel bag. She glances around to see if anyone’s watching. Rose looks directly at me for a few seconds and I wonder if she’s seen me. I dare not breathe.

  Then Rose takes off, stepping briskly towards the street, her flat work shoes slapping the cold concrete. I follow, stepping into the streetlight and over to the skip. Peering around, I see that Rose has turned right up the footpath and is walking towards the city. Giving her a small head start, I dash to the carpark’s entrance and squat down next to the end of the flowerbed and security fence. I can see Rose walking up the footpath on her own. No one around. Not exactly a safe place, but she’s moving quickly and with purpose.

  To my left is the beach and the esplanade, groups of people wandering about, laughing. I look about for somewhere to move to, so I can follow Rose and stay out of sight. There’s plenty of parked cars. A few closed stores and a number of apartments. In between are a few terrace homes, most of which will have security lights that are sure to turn on when I sneak past. But Rose is the only one that will see me. The street is completely deserted. Like a vacuum.

  Rose doesn’t drive, as far as I’m aware. Which explains why she’s walking. Perhaps towards the major bus stop at the end of the block. But that doesn’t explain the secretive travel bag. For someone like me, a stalker in the night, Rose is making herself an incredibly easy target.

  I make a move. I decide to simply follow her on the footpath. If she sees me, I could be easily mistaken for a random pedestrian. As I stand up, a white van swings around the corner into the avenue, heading away from the beach. It’s moving quickly. I freeze, avoiding the urge to duck down and look suspicious.

  It’s not a shiny new van, but it’s been well looked after. I drop down after it passes, pretending to tie my shoe. On the side is the logo for a bakery. A company called Boddie Bread. I don’t recognise it. The tag line, in small cursive, says Still Feeding The Masses.

  It slows down when it catches up with Rose and she notices it and stops. She’s perhaps one hundred metres away. I stand up and begin casually walking towards her. She hasn’t looked back. She hasn’t seen me. The back of the van opens and three men get out. They’re wearing balaclavas and dark clothing.

  Rose doesn’t scream, but looks at them inquisitively. One of them looks like he’s talking to her. Given their ominous appearance, I increase my pace. They’re not wearing t-shirts that say ‘Kidnapper. Beware.’, but they needn’t be. These men are the cause of the severe pain in my ass.

  I’m within fifty metres and Rose is walking towards the back of the van. They have her surrounded and she’s not putting up a fight. When I’m within twenty metres, I’ve kicked into a run. “Hey!” I yell out. “You motherfuckers!”

  The man closest to me turns to look, his eyes wide behind his balaclava. His hand drops to his pocket and in a second he’s produced a flick-knife which, despite the dim light, gleams with inarguable savagery.

  Rose screams and it’s the first time she has seemed alarmed about this situation. The other two men spin around to face me and they both produce the same long, thin flick-knives. Adrenaline kicks in and when the first man swings his blade, I take his wrist, bending the knife from his grasp. Using his arm as leverage, I force a knee into his diaphragm and he silently wails as his ability to breathe leaves him. I scoop the knife from the ground and spin him in front of me, pushing it against his throat.

  The other two men, clearly alarmed, look at each other as they delicately step towards me. The man I’m holding is basically immobilised, but he pushes back against me in terror, trying to wriggle free.

  “I’ll cut his fucking head off,” I say in a low voice. “Put the knives down.”

  The two men look at each other, then both shake their heads. The man I’m holding thrashes again, pushing backward. The movement, which I manage to contain, makes my hood slip backwards. I draw the knife slightly and it cuts the man’s throat. The slice is superficial, but enough to make my captive moan. The other two men freeze, staring at me. Inexplicably, they both drop down on one knee, as if bowing. Rose’s face contorts in surprise. She drops her luggage by her side.

  “I’m so sorry,” says one of the men. “We didn’t know it was you.”

  “Put your fucking knives down!” I yell.

  The two men instantly toss their knives toward my feet. I shove the man I’m holding away and he leaps forward when he’s released. I grab the two knives from the ground, holding them in my left hand. My right hand keeps its knife poised, ready to dice if required.

  The man I’ve released spins around. His eyes widen and he also drops down to one knee.

  “Jack,” says Rose. “What’s going on? I don’t understand!”

  Two more men, not wearing balaclavas, jump from the cabin of the van. “What the fuck is going on?” says the driver. They’re the men that sat at the table in Rose’s section tonight. The boringly attractive rich kids.

  The van’s passenger points at me, “It’s him!”

  They also drop to their knees.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I yell. I turn to Rose. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “They were just collecting me,” says Rose, her voice wavering in the promise of tears. “I don’t understand.”

  “No one is fucking collecting you,” I say. To the men, I yell, “Who the fuck are you people and where are the girls? Tell me where the girls are!”

  “We don’t understand,” says one of the men in balaclavas, his voice wavering also.

  “Is that right?” I ask. I walk towards him where he kneels and swiftly lunge the tip of the knife into his back, just below the shoulder blade. He roars in pain and shock, clutching at the wound.

  “One more vague response and I start slicing arteries,” I growl.

  “We’ll answer anything,” says the van’s driver. “Anything!”

  “Where are the girls? Where are the fucking girls that you’ve been taking?”

  “They’re safe!” says one of the balaclava wearers. “They’re still where you wanted them.”

  “What?” I ask. “Where? I don’t want them anywhere!”

  None of the men speak. They remain kneeling on the road’s surface.

  “Rose,” I say, and she just looks at me, shaking like a leaf. “What is going on? Do you know these guys?”

  “They’re just collecting me,” she says again. “Like you wanted.”

  “I don’t want,” I say. “I don’t fucking want. What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You don’t want Rose?” asks one of the men.

  “Shut your mouth or I’ll cut your tongue out!” I yell at him. Then I say to all of them, “Let me make this very, very clear. Let go of the girls you’ve taken or I’ll hunt you all down. I’ll hunt you down one by one.” I speak in my most menacing voice and it seems to work.

  “We’re sorry,” says the passenger. “We didn’t know there was a change of plans.”

  “Let the girls go,” I say. “I’ve found you once and I’ll find you again.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” says the man who was my captive, grasping at the bloody cut across his voicebox.

  “Get in your van and get the fuck out of here,” I say.

  The five men stand up. Those wearing balaclavas jump in the back and slam the door shut. The passenger and driver return to the cabin and the vehicle speeds off.

  I turn to Rose. “I’m going to go out on a limb here,” I say, “and suggest that you have some explaining to do.”

  “I just don’t understand,” she says.

  “Really?” I yell. “Well we have a lot in common!”

  “Why didn’t you let them
collect me? I don’t understand. I’ve done everything I was supposed to.”

  I take a deep breath. Looking down at the knife I’m holding, I flick it closed and put it in my pocket, then I close the other two and also push them the back waistband of my jeans. Rose tenses as I approach.

  “Rose,” I say, gently. “Calm down, everything’s fine.”

  She continues to shake. “I did everything I was supposed to. Have I let you down?” she asks.

  “No, no, you haven’t let me down. You’re... wonderful,” I say.

  “But… why? Why couldn’t I go with them?”

  I didn’t expect Rose to be so disappointed with my bravery. “It’s fine,” I say. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Really?” she asks, her voice still shaky.

  “Rose, sweetheart,” I say. “There’s clearly been a miscommunication.”

  “Oh,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry if it’s my fault.”

  “Rose,” I say. “I’m going to ask you a serious question and I want you to think very carefully before you respond.”

  “Ok,” she says.

  “Have you gone mental?”

  “What?” she asks, seemingly confused.

  “You don’t seem like yourself. You’ve given me very negative vibes since our one-night stand and now you’re jumping into a strange van?”

  “Yes, but that’s what I was told to do. To be mean. That was our cover, wasn’t it?”

  Although it was abundantly clear that something quite odd was taking place in this quiet back street, it was now dawning on me that something far stranger has been going on under my nose. I’ve just tripped over the tip of an iceberg.

  “Rose, let’s head back to my place,” I say. “You’re already packed. Let’s just hang out and we can figure out exactly where and how this… miscommunication has happened.”

  “Alright,” smiles Rose. “I’ll go with you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  On the way to my apartment, I hold Rose’s hand. Her other holds her luggage.

  “So you don’t hate me?” I ask.

  “I don’t hate you,” she says, quietly.

  “But you’ve been pretending to.”

  “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  “Who told you that?” I ask. “Who told you to pretend?”

  “I don’t understand,” she says. “I thought I was doing what you wanted. If you’re quizzing me to prove my faith, then I’m doing my best. But I only know what I know.”

  “Rose, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but it has nothing to do with me.”

  “But it does! It has everything to do with you. It’s all about you.”

  “But I know nothing about it.”

  Rose doesn’t reply. She seems broken somehow. It’s hard to digest. This strong-willed girl suddenly seems empty. I don’t know her all that well. I had one night with her, she works at my caffeine hangout and she doesn’t like me. That’s our relationship. Our connection.

  If she’s been pretending to dislike me then I should put her in contact with a few casting directors. You are no longer on that pedestal, she said to me. You think you can treat women any way you want. That’s old-school method.

  I spare a thought for the fact that I’m leading Rose back to the place where I drunkenly brought her to have sex. It was questionable, definitely. We were both messy. I was messier. I think I avoided her afterwards out of shame.

  Rose had come to one of our local concerts, and along with her friends, she appeared outside our dressing room. Girls seem to manage it all the time. Often members of our road crew venture into the audience after our set and invite females backstage. Other ladies talk their way past security guards. A man’s basic philosophy is that you just don't use the word ‘no’ if there are breasts present. A girl’s assets are easily offended by rejection, so you must keep them happy. Smile and nod. Award any desire. Security guards are susceptible to female persuasion, hence the scores of girls that find their way to our dressing rooms after shows. The French back on Earth called it a “buffet”. All you can eat. Pile your plate.

  So Rose, a sweet, shy and innocent thing, came back to my dressing room, astonished by my presence. Mesmerised by the sight of me in her vicinity. And I exploited it. Boy meets girl. Boy meats girl. It’s such a time-worn, romantic cliché.

  Though it’s close to midnight, there’s still security outside my building. One of the doormen opens the entrance for us and we step inside.

  In my apartment, Rose places her bag on the breakfast bar and looks around the open-plan design.

  “Do you remember this place?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she says. “I was drunk, but not that drunk.”

  “You seemed that drunk.”

  Rose just smiles. “I’m sorry I panicked before. I just didn’t know what was going on.”

  “That’s fine, don’t apologise,” I say. I change tactics, deciding I might leech more information from her if I play along. “Sorry I confused you on the walk here. I just didn’t know who was listening. You should have been informed about the change in plans.”

  Rose turns to look at me. “That’s ok. I’m not angry, I’m just very grateful to have been chosen.” She smiles, with the threat of a blush.

  “You’re very special to me,” I smile. “I hope you know that.”

  “Thank you,” she says, and sits on my couch.

  “Do you want something to drink?” I offer.

  “Wine, if you have some.”

  “Maybe later. How about some water?”

  “Sure, whatever you think is best.”

  I pour us each a glass from the fridge and sit on the couch next to Rose. I haven’t slept well all week and I can feel my mind begin to hit a wall. But I need to tread carefully here. I require my faculties to function. To fire on all cylinders. I take Rose’s hands in my own and we sit there for a moment. We occasionally escape each other’s grasp to lift our water glass to our lips, but then we return our hands to their comforting union. The fingers she uses to lift the glass feel cold every time, but I warm them between my palms.

  We both sip our water, contemplatively. Then Rose breaks the silence. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are your plans for me?”

  “Plans?” I ask.

  “Yes, you didn’t let them collect me. To join the others.”

  “Because you’re special, Rose. I’d like you here with me.”

  “Oh,” she says, definitely blushing. “Thank you.”

  “Where are the other girls?”

  “The other girls? I’m not sure. They’re at The Disciplinary, aren’t they?”

  “Good,” I say. “Yes, they are. Do you know who they’re with?”

  Rose looks at me, a perplexed expression shaping her face. “Are you testing me?”

  “Sort of,” I reply.

  “Oh,” she says again. “They’re with The Discipline.”

  “The Discipline in The Disciplinary. Makes perfect sense,” I say.

  “They worship you,” adds Rose. “I worship you.” I’ve heard that comment a few times lately. Worship. Dylan turned up at my apartment ranting about it. Everyone worships you, he said. Natalie made a point of saying she didn’t.

  “Have you met their… leader?” I probe.

  “Leader?”

  “Yes, the person looking after everything when I can’t be there.”

  Rose shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry… I thought you were the leader.” She smiles, sheepishly, as if worried she’s answering incorrectly.

  I try to gather my thoughts. It’s like pulling twenty helium balloons into an airtight embrace. Big ideas cradled by inefficient arms. “Sorry about all of these questions,” I say. “I just need to make sure there’s been no more miscommunications.”

  Rose smiles and nods. Her mindless, agreeable expression makes me a little uncomfortable. I prefer scorned Rose. Hard-to-get Rose. The Rose I drunkenly tried to fertilize.

  “I just wa
nt to say,” she says, leaning towards me. “I think it’s so amazing that you’re here with us. Walking amongst us and giving us the gift of your music.”

  Religious rhetoric. Unmistakable. A horrid feeling creeps into my bones. I swallow the rest of my water. Putting the empty glass on the coffee table, I move closer to her.

  “Rose,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “I have to ask you an important question…”

  “Yes?” she asks. “You can ask me anything.”

  “Who do you think I am?”

  Rose leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder, her delicate hands still between my own. She whispers an answer that makes my chest tighten.

  Chapter Twelve

  I break into a sprint, hurdling the fence as if it’s barely there. Across the clearing, with my heart racing, I move like a frantic streak of beige. A second later I’ve passed beneath the clothesline, snatching a pair of pants in my left hand and a shirt in the other. They pull from their pegs with little effort and the brisk bend and hum of the line is only a whisper by the time I’m gone.

  I never turn to look at the mansion, terrified I might see something. Perhaps someone casually gazing out one of the many windows, not expecting to see a hairy, wild man wearing a pajama-like, off-white one-piece outfit, and a backpack, tearing across their yard like greasy lightning. Maybe there’s a ferocious family pet sitting somewhere out of sight, whose day I’ve made by dragging my sorry carcass through its playpen.

  I leap the fence on the opposite side, dash to the tree line and only stop when I feel I’m out of sight. I finally look back, my chest heaving with exertion. I see no one. No sign of alarm. The country estate stands as if deserted.

  On the twiggy floor of this outcrop of trees and shrubs I quickly drop my pack, strip down from my one-piece, pulling it off over my boots, and change into my newly acquired attire. The shirt is a little big, but the pants are drawstring and I’m able to tighten them to an appropriate diameter.