by Mark Stewart
TEGAN SCREAMED at the thought of being burnt alive. She frantically pulled hard on the chain and stared at the exact place where the lit match had fallen. She stopped struggling and walked to the bed. Staring at the smoldering match, she quickly realized the match had gone out.
“Patrick, you creep, this was all a game,” she hissed. Managing a slight smile, she sank onto the bed next to her breakfast and sobbed.
The smell wafting up from the food finally made her stop crying.
“Patrick, I live in hope you haven’t poisoned the food.”
Tegan sat watching the closed door while she ate.
“Milk’s a little warm,” she complained.
After swallowing the last mouthful of bacon and eggs, Tegan examined the chain which tethered her to the bed.
“A chain, no matter what colour, is only as strong as its weakest link. Dad, this gold-plated chain is stronger than the cast iron bed. I need suggestions on what to do?” She chuckled. “Now I’m talking to myself.”
Tegan began to study the almost barren room. There were polished floorboards under her feet and a small window she might be able to squeeze through if she could unlock the chain that was bolted to the cast iron bed. The only other idea of escape was the single door.
“I wonder if the door is locked,” she whispered.
Tegan placed her hands under the cold metal bed frame and lifted. Quietly she started to drag it closer to the door. Each small step she made the bed banged back onto the floor. Her progress took on the speed of a snail.
“I hope Patrick can’t hear any noise,” she whispered.
Every few steps she froze to listen. Hearing nothing she’d repeat the performance. Again, the bed banged back onto the floor.
“A few more lifts and I’ll be at the door,” she mumbled.
Before Tegan could position herself for another lift, noise on the stairs made her wait.
The noise grew louder.
“Footsteps,” she whispered. “Patrick’s coming.”
Tegan hurried to the other end of the bed. She lifted and pulled. The bed moved only slightly. Again, she lifted, and again the bed banged. Her gains were painfully slow.
The footsteps stopped outside the door. A key slid into the lock, and the doorknob rattled.
“Too late to move the bed back to its original position,” Tegan moaned, diving for the floor. She slipped underneath the bed, dragging the chain.
A person wearing black stilettos strolled in. Tegan watched the slender calves, and the thin ankles move around the room. Twice the stilettos stopped at the bed. Eventually, a pair of black closed in shoes was placed on the floor by slender piano fingers. Each fingernail had been French polished.
The feet were pulled out of the stilettos and slipped into the closed in shoes. The stilettos were picked up, and the person walked back to the door. When the woman spoke, her voice sounded like a principle in charge of a school.
“Is anyone in here?”
Tegan didn’t move.
“If you are in this room you will save yourself a lot of trouble by telling me right now.” The woman hesitated long enough to sigh heavily. She walked out of the room, slamming the door shut in her wake.
“Friend or foe, it’s time to find out,” mumbled Tegan. She slid out from underneath the bed. “I’m here,” she yelled. “Please, don’t go.”
The woman’s angry voice came through the door in a high-pitched muffle. “I knew someone was in the room. You are a thief. I am calling the police.”
“I’m not a thief. I was kidnapped, and chained to the bed,” yelled Tegan.
“I do not believe you.”
“Open the door, and you’ll see.”
There was a long pause before the woman talked again.
“What is your name?”
“Tegan,” she stated.
“You sound like a child.”
“I am.”
“If I open the door do you promise to sit and stay on the bed?”
“Yes.” Tegan jumped onto the bed making the springs in the mattress squeak.
A key was inserted into the door lock and turned. The door slowly opened, and a lady’s head poked through the narrow opening. For a long moment, the woman and Tegan stared at each other.
“It is okay little one. I will not hurt you. I heard noises and thought Patrick brought another dog home.” The woman displayed a friendly smile. “Who in their right mind would chain a child to the bed?”
“Patrick.”
The woman braced herself against the wall. “I did not hear your name through the door.”
“I’m Tegan Kendal. What’s yours?”
“Dr. Ashlee Clarke.”
“It’s good to meet you.”
“What nice manners you have.”
“Thank you.”
“I told Patrick off for kidnapping you last night. I suggested he should set you free. He informed me of your imminent release.”
“He obviously didn’t listen.”
“Footsteps, I hear footsteps. Patrick must be here.”
“I didn’t hear any footsteps. Dr. Clarke, I want to go home.”
“Yes, of course, you do. I will go downstairs and square everything. Patrick should understand. When I return in a few minutes, I will have the key to the padlock.” She smiled and walked out, closing the door behind her.
Tegan sat on the bed listening to the doctor’s footsteps fade.
Then there was silence.
She listened to the silence for a long time. Eventually, there was muffled voices from somewhere downstairs. The mumblings became louder and louder before turning into a full-blown argument. Tegan again dragged the bed towards the unlocked door. By the time she twisted the door knob, the argument had sounded to be in full swing.
“I hope the door doesn’t squeak,” Tegan whispered.
When she opened the door, there was no squeak. The muffled voices quickly cleared.
Tegan grinned, gathered the chain into a neat pile, dropped to all fours and crawled out of her small prison-like room. The chain slowly unraveled making minimal noise as it slid across the polished floorboards. Lying prone on the floor, she could see downstairs. The doctor was standing in the kitchen doorway waving her arms around and yelling at someone. The tightened chain prevented Tegan from seeing the other person. She quickly glanced at her surroundings and found the doctor lived in a plain two-storey house. There was a scarce amount of furniture. A fake wood heater appeared to be hard against the lounge-room wall; an average size TV sat snug in an oak coloured wooden unit and the silver framed glass top coffee table was near the TV. In the middle of the table was a crystal vase full of red roses and several women magazines were neatly stacked in one corner. Tegan’s survey of the house was interrupted by Patrick’s angry voice.
“What did I tell you about kidnapping Kendal’s daughter?”
“You said I shouldn’t have,” yelled Patrick.
Tegan pulled on the chain and craned her neck in an attempt to see more. Disappointed she let the chain go slack.
“Keep going?” yelled Dr. Clarke.
“You ordered me to set her free.”
“Why did you not listen?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“You should listen to what I say.”
“No. I’ve made up my mind I’m never going to listen to you again.”
“You have no choice. You have to listen to me. How else can I keep covering for you?” questioned Doctor Clarke.
“Hey, never tell me what to do.”
“My advice is for your own good. I want the girl gone. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I will leave you to it. After you have done what I ask, come back for dinner, and I will cook your favourite meal, vegetable pie. Patrick, do not forget after I am gone get rid of the kid. Now escort me to the front door and see me out.”
Tegan’s eyes widened. She bit her bottom lip. Her face drained of colour. She hurriedly gathe
red the chain, crawling backwards into the small room. After closing the door, she marched to the head of the bed. In desperation, she lifted the bed head up and towards her as she tried to walk backwards. The bed banged and scraped the floor. Again, Tegan lifted the bed, and again it banged and scraped. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead from the exertion. She hesitated only momentarily when she heard Patrick groaning as he climbed the stairs.
The doorknob rattled. Tegan saw the knob turn. Patrick pushed the door open, so violently the doorknob dug a hole in the plaster.
Tegan’s shoulders sagged. She froze, dropped the bed and faced her warden.
“Aren’t you an enterprising little girl,” Patrick growled. “I lost count of how many times I heard you drag the bed and allowed it to bang on the floor.”
“You have to let me go.”
“Why? The rules say no.”
“Dr. Clarke said to let me go.”
“I’m not listening to her.”
“She’ll be upset.”
“I don’t care. You’re a hostage in my game.”
“What’s the game called?”
Patrick stepped closer. “Chess; you’re a pawn in my chess game.”
Tegan squealed. Trying to get away she needed to pull hard on the chain.
“You can’t run too far,” laughed Patrick. He stepped forward towering over the girl. “You can’t stop the inevitable.”
“I thought we were playing Fire Games.”
Patrick grabbed the girl by the hair. “You’re too clever for your own good. It’s going to be a pleasure seeing the fire roaring towards you.” He let her hair go and produced a key.
“You’re freeing me?”
He gave a sarcastic smirk. A gloved hand reached out and unlocked the padlock.
Tegan watched in silence. She even managed to smile.
“Thank you. I won’t tell a soul about this place.”
Patrick pulled a pink cloth from his pocket. Faster than lightning he shoved it under Tegan’s nose. One breath and she had slumped unconscious onto the bed.
“Ether; what a medical break-through. Don’t you worry, Doc, I’ll get rid of the kid.” Patrick relocked the padlock. He leaned close so he could whisper in Tegan’s ear. “When I return, it’ll be time to quench the fire’s hunger.”
CHAPTER EIGHT