by Marc Horn
She takes a deep breath. ‘I don’t know how I can change everyone.’ She looks distraught.
I smile. ‘When you leave here, Elizabeth, millions of people will listen to you. It is simply up to you to say the right things.’
She stares at me, incredulous. ‘The...media...’
I nod. ‘Everyone will want to hear your story.’
‘I was thinking of my friends and family. I hadn’t thought on that scale.’
I finish the rest of my meal. ‘Eat up, Elizabeth.’ She returns to her meal, consuming it more slowly. ‘Were you following Big Brother?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’
‘The series has just finished. Pete won. In the final week, Aisleyne made the very perceptive and accurate observation that they were there to make dicks of themselves. This sums up society’s collective state of mind – the programme is such a phenomenal success because it shows people suffering.’ I sit down my tray. ‘That, Elizabeth, is what you’re up against. The world is a cruel place.’
‘I know it is.’
I watch her lips purse around the food on her fork and pull it off. I close my eyes hard and dismiss the erotic comparison. Unfortunately though, I am battling with the knowledge that my orgasm this morning had been the best one I had had for months, if not years, and that was down to thoughts of Elizabeth. Ever since I began masturbating, I have looked for images of girls in magazines, newspapers and online and committed the exciting ones to memory. I have developed hundreds of them into sexual scenarios, and retrieve them along with clips from pornographic movies whenever I am pleasuring myself. I am always looking for new material and now I look at Elizabeth in that way. It is instinctive, probably unavoidable, due to the feelings she earlier aroused. I am not proud of myself and do not make my glances obvious. When she chops up her meal I study her tight cleavage, feeling my body temperature rise. Her firm breasts stretch the sleeveless cotton top. I can make out the shape of her nipples. She is a divine specimen. She looks so much better now – her hair is thick and lustrous, her hypnotizing blue eyes are clearer, her skin purer, her lips moist, and her figure fuller. Her denim skirt is so short...so very short... When she looks up I look away, but, perversely, I almost want her to notice what I am doing. I stand up and walk round the room.
What makes this worse is knowing that she wants me in that sexual way. But she is fifteen! It is forbidden! But only by the government, who have done nothing to alleviate the pain I have felt. They are in control and yet society is more evil than it has ever been. They have ignored me. I run my fingers through my hair. I could have sex with this girl now. I would feel as I have never felt before. But the minimum age for sexual intercourse has been accepted by everyone here in this country. It is the age when an individual is considered physically and mentally mature enough to have sex, and to be of sound enough mind to make that decision. November the fifth is...two and a half months away. She is almost there, a few weeks would not matter! But having sex with Elizabeth would jeopardise my ultimate goal. No one would listen to my tragic plight if I took sexual advantage of Elizabeth. I am not forcing her against her will though, it is what she wants, she has made that obvious. It would always be my fault though, everyone thinks the worst of me. I am a natural victim. So why do I really care? Because I cannot have anything cloud the issues I am tackling. I would be sacrificing acknowledgement of my pain for ten minutes of passion.
‘What is it, Chalk?’
I turn to her. She has finished eating. ‘I am so tired,’ I say. ‘I have not been able to sleep.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because of Victor. Because you and I might be separated.’
‘Do not let that piece of filth haunt you again, Chalk.’
I nod. ‘You are right, he is infiltrating me just like he used to.’
She leans forwards. ‘You are a good person, Chalk. You are sensitive, caring and intelligent. He is too beneath you to deserve your attention.’
I smile. She is so right. ‘Have you learnt much today, Elizabeth?’
‘Yes, I have learnt how selfish we are, how misguided our values are. We are entertained by all the wrong things.’
I nod. ‘Your company, Elizabeth, is much appreciated. I am going to try to sleep for an hour.’
‘Sleep well, Chalk.’
33
I lie on my bed, exhausted, as heavy as a car. I close my eyes but all they want to do is open. All I want to do is stop thinking of myself and return to Elizabeth. She did not want me to go, she wanted me to stay. She enjoys being with me. I let out a despairing sigh. I never thought it would come to this – us, so close. I had resented Elizabeth immensely. She had confirmed to me in the most tactless way why I would never find love. And now, it is that same person who has brought me such joy and turned my life around. Why should I deny that I love her? I slap my hands onto my face. I cannot say that! No, I cannot! She is a little girl!
I sit on the edge of my bed. ‘No she is not,’ I say aloud. ‘She is a young woman. She is more mature than the rest of them.’ I know she will achieve amazing things. I do not know exactly where I will fit in, or what my fate might be, but I am certain that I will no longer be a victim. Wherever I find myself, be it prison or elsewhere, I will always be a martyr in my own mind. I have done what our leaders could not. Elizabeth will captivate and influence an audience greater than any they could imagine, and in ways they could only dream of. Well done, Chalk, well done. I am so proud of myself. I am close to the end now. I can be forgiven for my moments of madness – they were consequences of this difficult and awe-inspiring journey. I cannot regret them, as I am happy where I am. And, similarly, I deserve to accept what I feel inside, feelings this voyage has nurtured... I am in love with Elizabeth. I am eleven years her senior, and her captor. It is bizarre but beautiful, inadvisable but indescribably gratifying.
I had kidnapped Elizabeth out of desperation. I enjoyed punishing society through her, but the overall goal was to sow a conscience and be understood. When that happened, love would finally find me. That it has happened now is unbelievable, but it has to be dealt with. I know I must resist it, at least for now. I have to finish what I started. Emotions will impede me. That is why females and homosexuals are not permitted to join the infantry. When these soldiers go to war they must do so without the distraction of attachment, as it would greatly hinder their effectiveness.
I rise. Despite what I have just thought about, I proceed to secure Elizabeth in her seat and then head off to a charity shop. I feel terrible tying up Elizabeth now, as it reveals my inner doubts about her and about my own progress. But at the back of my mind I tell myself I have to do it; that if she escaped it would destroy me.
I travel to a town I rarely visit. In the shop, I buy Elizabeth two pairs of jogging bottoms and two t-shirts. I cannot bear seeing Elizabeth in the same clothes every day. Though they are revealing and appealing, it is not suitable attire for the basement and is not fair on her. These garments, though basic and unflattering, will offer comfort and warmth. And purchasing them from a charity shop poses little risk for me – there are no cameras or savvy staff.
When I hand these items to Elizabeth she is overjoyed. ‘Thank you, Chalk! Thank you so much!’
It is an awkward moment when she steps forwards to kiss me, but then thinks better of it. I am glad she refrained, as I don’t think I would have moved away.
I honour her request to shower before she puts them on. The clothes smell of softener, so Elizabeth rejects my offer to clean them first, even after I have told her where I bought them. I wait outside while she showers. Elizabeth now has access to toothpaste, disposable razors and shaving gel. I also left a box of tampons on the shelf. I stay still when I hear something odd. I press my ear against the door and verify my suspicions – she’s singing! I concentrate for a few seconds. It is a soft, melodic tune, quite moving, and the sweetest thing I have heard in this house. I do not recognise the song, it may be just a high-pitched hum, but it leaves me we
ak. After twenty minutes Elizabeth leaves the bathroom sporting her new clothes. ‘I left my old clothes in the bathroom to be cleaned. Is that okay?’
‘That’s fine,’ I say. ‘You look good.’
‘They feel so comfortable. I am so grateful, Chalk.’
I choke a little. ‘You have become such a nice person, Elizabeth. Would your old self have worn second-hand clothes?’
‘Never.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because they would have damaged my superior image. I made sure people knew I wore the newest fashions.’ She looks at her feet. Her voice is soft. ‘I made myself up to beat the competition and I only socialised with popular people.’
I briefly squeeze her shoulder. ‘How does it feel to be alive, Elizabeth? All that is behind you now.’
‘It feels...it feels...’ Her head is still bowed and she starts to sob. ‘It feels, I feel...free…’ She meets my eyes. ‘Because of you, Chalk, because of you...’
It is a dangerous moment that I must end, so I turn and head to the basement. I hear her follow behind. ‘I’m afraid I could not risk purchasing new underwear, Elizabeth, and I would not buy any from a charity shop.’
‘I am not wearing underwear,’ she replies. ‘I left them in the bathroom...oh! I forgot to clean my knickers!’ She turns around and heads for the bathroom.
‘Stop, Elizabeth. I will clean them in the machine. You do not have to do that anymore.’
‘Thank you.’
Both of us sit down in the basement. ‘I never appreciated feeling clean before,’ she says.
‘That’s because you have never been dirty. This experience has made you humble and worthy.’
‘I am so lucky. So lucky I met you. I know I did a terrible thing to you, but had I not, then I would not feel this way.’
Now it is my turn to wipe away her tear. ‘And I am glad you did it to me, Elizabeth,’ I respond. ‘Educating you has been a true joy.’
She looks up, alarmed. ‘You are not letting me go now, are you?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘And when I do go, will we...will we see each other again?’
I swallow a lump in my throat. ‘I don’t know what will happen to me,’ I say. ‘But it will not matter. Like you, I will be free.’ I feel tears form in my eyes, but I do not want Elizabeth to see them as I know where that might lead. I stand up and walk behind her.
‘I cannot imagine not having you in my life, Chalk.’
The tears spill out of my eyes. I rub them aggressively with the palms of my hands and struggle to control my voice. ‘I am a part of you now, Elizabeth. I will always be with you.’ I want to hold her so badly, to squeeze her tight and tell her how I feel. Instead I run upstairs and splash my face with water. Then I collect something from my drawer and present it to Elizabeth. She reacts numbly, staring vacantly at the photo. ‘How does that make you feel?’ I ask.
‘I feel nothing, Chalk, a little sorry for my parents perhaps.’
‘Not sorry for your friends?’
‘No, they are too selfish to deserve sympathy.’
An excellent response. I removed Elizabeth’s missing person photo from a telegraph pole late one night.
She smiles. ‘See this, Chalk?’
‘What, Elizabeth?’
‘What it says – “Missing Person”... I was missing. A person was missing from that body.’
I laugh. ‘Brilliant! That is so acute of you! You had no soul! Perhaps I should amend the poster to read “Person Found” and then return it to the telegraph pole!’
Elizabeth laughs too and then her smile quickly vanishes. ‘No, Chalk, you mustn’t do that as you might be caught. It was foolish of you to remove it in the first place.’
‘I know, but I wanted to show it to you and gauge a response.’
‘I understand, but you have to balance the profits against the risk.’
‘Trust me, Elizabeth. I know what I am doing.’
She nods. ‘You didn’t sleep then? You went out to buy these clothes.’
‘I couldn’t sleep. I have become an insomniac.’
‘But I thought you were going to forget about Victor.’
‘The anxieties are deep rooted, but soon they should be gone.’ I look at her concerned face, rub my eyes and yawn. ‘Sorry, I do not look my best,’ I laugh. Suddenly I think of her…her...between her legs. She is not wearing underwear. It is there, just inside the jogging bottoms! I let out an involuntary yelp and become erect. This is intolerable! I masturbated this morning. That should curb my sexual needs! ‘Would you like something, Elizabeth?’ I ask, desperate for her to respond in a sexually provocative way. She holds my stare, hypnotising me. I am drawn to her, as if she lives beneath quick sand I have stepped on. She understands these responses. She knows when men are attracted to her. I am just a novice. She will read me with considerable ease.
‘May I have a cup of tea?’
With this, the spell breaks and I am off, heading for the kitchen. I lean on the counter as the kettle boils. Maybe it is futile to resist. It seems things are meant to lead to this. If that is so then I should just let them happen. But I cannot, I must not compromise my plan. I am in a unique position that has bestowed upon me huge responsibilities. If I succeed I will have what I always wanted. And I will be remembered forever.
But...no one wants me to succeed. Everyone will look for reasons to not just dismiss my actions, but scorn them and have me hung. Once the mind-blowing orgasms have ended I will have to suffer their impact. I am not that stupid, that weak. Elizabeth may be sensual and seductive, but that is absolutely trivial in the big scheme of things. I know that. I know it. I have to create a barrier between us. I pour boiling water into both mugs, stir, add milk and return to the basement.
‘Thanks, Chalk,’ Elizabeth says as I hand her the beverage.
‘You’re welcome. I would like to discuss mankind with you.’
‘Good.’
‘There is a constant behavioural pattern that I want you to recognise. Not now, not perhaps for a few days, well, not until I ask you. I want to discuss my observations before you answer.’
‘That’s fine.’
I sip the tea. ‘Look at the way we treat animals. We kill animals that aren’t pets. So why can we kill wild animals?’
‘Because pets belong to us.’
‘Yes, they are our possessions, and therefore are protected by laws. So, to summarise, as the most intelligent of the species, humans consider the species beneath them as either targets or status symbols. When you think about that degree of self-importance, it is no surprise that we treat each other so unfairly, is it?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Look at the national lottery. Everyone wants to be rich. There is more chance of one’s plane crashing than winning the lottery, yet all these people buy a ticket to give themselves a chance of winning and spending millions on themselves. If all these contestants paid their fee to an illness charity instead, we would probably have a cure sooner.’
‘But some winners would give most away to charity.’
I smile. ‘You are being dense, Elizabeth. Whose money are they winning?’
She closes her eyes. ‘The public’s, sorry...’
‘People do not care about one another. They aspire to outdo each other, just as you did.’ Elizabeth nods. ‘You would think you could find loyalty in football fans,’ I continue, ‘but if a forward scores thirty goals in one season, and then fails to score during the next season, he would be booed by many of his own fans. If a team wins the premiership one year, and then gets relegated the next, they too are booed by many. A lot of supporters are there to taste success. They will endeavour to destroy any player who fails. Remember, we love to kick a victim while they are down.’ I blow on my tea and then sip it. Then I scratch my head. ‘Back to less intelligent animals. Humans love furry, cute and cuddly ones–’
‘Except you, Chalk. You like snakes.’ Fear creeps over her face.
&nbs
p; ‘I don’t own one, Elizabeth, you can relax. Eddie’s presence was a figment of your own imagination.’
‘But...’
‘No, Elizabeth, accept what I say. There is no snake in this house and there never was. That is it.’ She nods cautiously. ‘Why should pigeons suffer and not swans? Homing pigeons can travel great distances to return to their home and we do not yet fully understand how. In the past they have been used to carry messages between cities. Yet it is the far less talented swan that wins our affection, all because of its appearance. The list goes on and on. Squirrels have the remarkable ability to bury nuts in over seventy different locations and remember where each is, yet they are now considered vermin. Can you explain why, Elizabeth?’
‘Because they tear open bin bags.’
‘Yes, they make a mess of our gardens, land we stole from them. We force them out of their habitats and then brand them menaces when they return.’ I curl my free hand into a fist. ‘The most intelligent species – rubbish! We took over the planet to destroy it and each other. We are the most destructive life form on earth. Look at weapons, wars and territories. Look at global warming. Look at the fact that we have enough food to eradicate starvation, but choose not to distribute it fairly.’
‘It is disgusting,’ Elizabeth hisses.
‘I remember a particular strip in Calvin and Hobbes. Calvin said something to the effect that the reason there has to be more intelligent life than us, is the fact that they don’t visit us. Ingenious! What a superb thought! All we do, all we have ever done, is seek to be more powerful than the rest, and willingly destroy everything that obstructs our pursuit of that goal. The price of intelligence is stupidity.’ I look at Elizabeth.
‘You are so wise, Chalk,’ she says.
‘Your eyes are open now, Elizabeth. You can see what we are doing. The other week I travelled on a bus. I knew the route. It was a scenic one that offered a wonderful view of the Thames as you passed over a bridge. On that particular day it was raining and window condensation denied me that view. I likened the restricted view to you, Elizabeth. At the time, your view was limited – you did not care what was beyond your mist. I thought how much you had never seen that was infinitely more rewarding than the beauty you knew.’