by Marc Horn
‘Oh...Elizabeth...’
‘It is our eyes that are responsible. I chose you in that bar, because I could not see beyond your exterior.’
I reach out and hold her head in my hands. ‘That is it! You have identified the problem! I am so proud of you, of both of us!’
‘But what can we do...I do?’
‘Educate people, Elizabeth. Let them know that they are blind.’ I break the contact and place my hands awkwardly on my knees. ‘It is all there in your head.’
‘You mean I am ready to leave?’ Fear resurfaces in her face.
I shake my head. ‘No. Your progress is faster than I expected, but there is more to discuss.’ She smiles and relaxes her shoulders. ‘It is such a harsh world,’ I say, feeling emotional as I look at her tiny, precious frame. Right now, I never want her to leave. The thought of releasing her, out there, to them, almost breaks my heart. ‘You learn to love someone, and then you are forced to unlove.’
‘What do you mean, Chalk?’
‘Look at the cycle, Elizabeth. You fall in love with someone, and you both become dependent on one another. And then, when you are old and your partner dies, you have to learn how to unlove in order to survive. Have you ever met an elderly gentleman who cries when he speaks of his deceased wife?’ She shakes her head. ‘That is because he has made himself hard. Because he knows victims have no place in this world.’ I swallow a mouthful of wine. ‘Life teaches you to want something you will have to lose. What is the point, Elizabeth? What is the point?’ I feel my eyes start to water and look away. Unfortunately she has noticed and moves around to face me.
‘Because when you have it you are complete,’ she says. ‘You can either live an empty life, or one that is mostly full.’
‘That’s nice, Elizabeth,’ I sob. ‘All my life I have wanted someone, but now that I have you, I am...afraid.’
‘But I do not have to leave here,’ she protests. ‘We can live here forever!’
‘No we cannot, Elizabeth. We cannot live sheltered lives. I have to convince the world that you are not here, that it is just me that resides here. I will not permit you to exist in these conditions. You have a life ahead of you. And you have to make everyone accept me.’
‘Then why are you afraid, Chalk?’ She strokes my hair.
‘Because I have let you become a part of me, and there is a high possibility that we may never see each other again.’
‘I will not let that happen,’ she says.
‘People are cruel, Elizabeth. They thrive on the suffering they cause.’
‘But you were so positive about the future. Earlier today you said you would be free, and that anything else would not matter.’
I close my eyes. ‘I know I said that. And I meant part of it, about being free, but being kept from you would matter. You are so special to me, a saviour, a ray of light.’
‘I am indebted to you, Chalk,’ she weeps. ‘You have given me deeply valuable, irreplaceable gifts – a sense of purpose, direction, and goodness. And a place in this world.’
She nestles her head against my shoulder and we embrace like lovers. ‘This was not intended to benefit you,’ I say. ‘Not in the beginning. It was exclusively about my ill-treatment. But now I am so honoured, so touched, to have helped you, to be appreciated.’ I press my free hand into her back. ‘It is tiredness and alcohol that makes me this emotional.’
‘No, Chalk, they simply ease your inhibitions, so you reveal the truth.’ She moves away from me and locks into my eyes. ‘And can I tell you something that will shock you?’
I nod. ‘Yes,’ I whisper.
‘You are not ugly, Chalk.’
I splutter and cover my mouth to catch any spit. After clearing my throat I say, ‘That is most definitely the alcohol talking!’
She smiles. ‘No, Chalk, it isn’t. What I see is a warm, inviting face that is full of wisdom.’
‘When you first came here you said I looked wrong.’
‘That’s right. You have had two different people’s opinions.’
I nod, unprepared and suspicious. ‘Why have I always been treated as a freak then?’ I ask. ‘If there is good in it?’
‘Because beauty is in the eye of the beholder...’
That is all I need. With that there can be no comeback. ‘Will you sleep with me, Elizabeth?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ she whispers.
Minutes later we are in bed together, fully clothed. I had told her that neither of us could undress, nor make physical contact. It is too hot to lie under the covers, so we both lay exposed on the mattress.
‘Chalk, may I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’
‘When I turn sixteen, will we make love?’
‘It depends.’
‘On what?’
‘The situation. November the fifth is a little over two months away. Almost certainly you will be out there with them. I will have to assess public opinion before we do that. If they believe that you are still brainwashed at that time, and therefore disregard everything you say, then we cannot–’
‘You think I am brainwashed?’ she asks, rashly.
‘No, of course I don’t, but they will. They will look for negatives remember? Out there, to succeed, you will have to be strong and determined. They will try to knock you down, to make you “see sense” and disown me. They will ridicule what I told you, they will rubbish me and brand me a bitter, twisted loser. It will take considerable resolve for you to alter that perception. Only then, once that is done, can we meet again. And then, finally, we can enjoy each other.’
‘What if that happens before my birthday?’
I laugh. ‘I like your optimism, Elizabeth, but to take your question seriously, the answer is no. If you had adequately influenced them before then, having sexual intercourse with me at fifteen would tear apart any respect you had earned. I told you this before. Surely you would not want that? All of this would have been pointless.’
‘No it wouldn’t. We would still be in love.’
‘Yes. But I would like to live my life as an equal.’
36
When I wake, I look over at Elizabeth. She is fast asleep, but her angelic face leaves me feeling dirty. She is fifteen years old. What was I thinking? We did not touch one another, but we spoke of sex and shared the same bed. During the night, she must have felt cold and pulled the covers over her. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and push myself up. I manage to quickly overcome any self-disgust and approve the idea of making us both a coffee to drink in bed. We are lovers waiting to happen. In just a few months our love will be without restriction. Right now we are in the early stages. We may as well get ready.
When I return with the mugs, Elizabeth is stretching. ‘What’s the time, Chalk?’
‘Half past ten,’ I say. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes. And you?’
‘Like a log. I feel fresh for the first time in several days.’ I hand her the mug, slide my pillow against my headrest and then sit up in bed.
‘The alcohol helped you relax.’ She sips from the mug. ‘I enjoyed last night. Thank you for a lovely meal.’
I sniff. ‘You are easy to please. Most would not consider a pizza romantic.’
‘I am not “most”.’
I smile. ‘This is so surreal.’
‘Us in bed together?’
‘Yes, us in bed together. I am your captor!’
Elizabeth smiles. ‘You may want to look away. I took off my top in my sleep and I need to use the bathroom.’
‘Okay.’
I turn away. She gets out of bed and puts the t-shirt back on. Disgustingly, I watch her reflection in the small TV screen mounted in the far corner of the room. She heads off to the bathroom, and I cringe, ashamed of myself and the excitement I feel. But they are exquisite, her breasts, and I have the maddening need to masturbate. I do so, beneath the covers, cautioning myself that I must stop when she returns, but feeling the terrible compulsion to have her
catch me in the act. When I hear the chain flush, my morals triumph, prompting me to spring up and close my jeans. When she returns I am as I was when she had left the room.
‘You have a nice house, Chalk.’
‘Thanks to Wickinton.’
‘Did you pay for it in full?’ She sits up against the headrest and reaches for the mug of coffee on the bedside cabinet.
‘No, but I left a large deposit. The repayments are manageable on my wage and I have over one hundred and fifty thousand in the bank.’
Elizabeth’s mouth opens. ‘Wow.’
I sip my coffee, desperate for my arousal to diminish.
‘I was just thinking about our children,’ Elizabeth announces.
‘Our children?’
‘Yes. Think what wonderful lives they will have with us as their parents.’
‘You are thinking too ahead for me.’
She turns to face me. ‘Really?’ she says. ‘You have never been attracted to the idea of bringing your own child into the world? Think how proud you would feel in steering them on the right course, ensuring that they don’t suffer as you did.’
I laugh. ‘That was my parents’ mentality and look what it did for me! That’s why I never had a sibling to turn to and why I never progressed with sports. My social exclusion wasn’t entirely down to my appearance. I was an experiment for my parents – they didn’t care where I would end up. Now we don’t even speak to one another, which suits me fine.’
‘And your response is to dismiss the idea of parenting altogether?’ She sounds frustrated.
‘I have never thought enough about it to dismiss it. The inability to acquire a partner rendered such long-term plans pointless.’ Still, she looks disheartened. ‘But now that you have raised the topic, I feel...that it’s a decision that must not be taken lightly. It’s a huge responsibility.’
‘It’s also natural, beautiful and rewarding,’ she says.
‘If done correctly.’
‘There is no tried-and-tested formula, Chalk. You raise them as best you can.’
I shake my head. ‘But I would have to have at least two children, and would have to involve them in social activities.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘It was my parents’ strategy.’
‘Then they cared for you more than you thought they did. They would not have you repeat their own bad experiences.’
‘No!’ I shout, facing her. She backs away. ‘It was not caring of them, they never cared for me!’ I feel my temple throb. ‘I was never encouraged, or praised. They never gave me a fair chance. They had a duty that they abandoned.’ My coffee has spilt on my shirt. I ignore the burning sensation. ‘I was a loving son to them! I was a thousand times more than they deserved!’
I feel Elizabeth’s hand resting on my shoulder. ‘But, why...? Why were they so mean to you?’
‘Because they’re the same!’ I roar. ‘They rejected me as soon as they saw me!’ I hurl my mug against the wall. It smashes into pieces, and brown trails race to the skirting board. Elizabeth is not scared, instead she hugs me. I cover my eyes and suck in air. ‘I was a gifted child. I always knew they did not accept me because of my appearance, but I never confronted that knowledge. I couldn’t. I had to believe that someone loved me.’
‘That is tragic, Chalk...but it is over. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course I know that. I made that happen.’ I remove my hands and stare blurry-eyed at the ceiling. ‘Their closed-minded approach to parenting fragmented into nothing as soon as they gave birth to me. I would never do that to my child.’
‘That is why, Chalk, you would be such a wonderful father.’
I sit up. Elizabeth slides away. I swallow and take control of my voice. ‘Now is not the time to discuss it.’ I need time to think alone. Elizabeth’s company is uplifting, but right now I have an overwhelming need for space.
She is a superb companion, with an intelligent mind, but she is too loyal and biased to offer an impartial view of my plans, and, similarly, I have become too besotted with her to objectively appraise her opinions. The kidnapping has been a success. Right now, I need to capitalise on that approach. Only I can safely dissect and reform my ideas. ‘I am going out, Elizabeth.’
‘Where?’
‘Where my thinking is at its clearest – on public transport. I will return in a couple of hours.’ I look at her awkwardly.
‘Shall I go back to the basement?’
Thankfully, she neither looks at me nor speaks in such a way that puts me in a difficult position. Had she looked or sounded sad, it might have upset me. Still though, I find that I cannot answer. ‘I...I should,’ I say, ‘but I trust you implicitly, I promise you.’
She looks expectantly at me. I cannot tie her up! She is my love! But I cannot risk her leaving the house again. I know she had no intention of escaping, but I would not be able to concentrate if I knew there was a chance that she might step out the front door. It would be foolish of me to let her roam free. I gulp. There is distrust in me, even after all we have gone through together. How will I be able to present her to the world if, at this stage, I do not think she will be here when I return?
‘Tie me up, Chalk,’ she says, ‘I understand. I know what I mean to you. It will ease your anxieties.’
This makes me feel a great deal better. ‘I just will not be able to think freely if I am conscious of the fact that you could leave the house again. Yesterday, during those few moments that I thought you had gone, I felt worse than I ever had. I know it is paranoia. I have always been paranoid, but as you say, it is simply for my peace of mind. Please know that I think the world of you.’
She smiles. ‘I know that, Chalk.’
We go to the basement. Elizabeth sits in her chair, and, with tremendous guilt, I secure her to the seat. As I do this her happy face makes me want to cry, drilling into me the unbearable feelings that I am betraying her, and that she is brainwashed. I struggle to apply the tape on her mouth, but eventually reason that if I have gone this far I should go the whole way.
‘Get over it, Chalk,’ she says, and this strengthens me.
‘Society is responsible for this,’ I say, ‘but you are mending me, Elizabeth.’ Those sweet eyes deliver the same smile, and reluctantly, I leave her.
Outside, I relish the fresh air. I board a bus that takes thirty minutes to travel into central London, and sit beside a healthy-looking girl in her twenties who is reading a book. As the bus pulls away, I shut out detrimental visions of Elizabeth, and think instead of positive things, of our relationship and the future. Last night was the most memorable occasion of my life. Elizabeth is not brainwashed. She was, she needed to be, but now she is pure and re-educated and her thoughts are her own, and they are beautiful.
I shudder when I think of her against the world. It feels impossible, unfair and dangerous. I will not have her harmed in any way. I turn my head to look out the window, but turn back after a second, conscious that the lady I have to look past will think I am staring at her. Uneasy, I gaze at her reading material. It is a self-help book. I fidget uncomfortably when I realise that the book is advising her to make contact with me. It encourages her to ‘spread happiness to the world’ by saying something positive to a stranger. A jolt of panic forces away my head. After a few seconds, though, the anticipation of such an act warms me. It is inspiring to receive such friendly treatment. If everyone projected themselves as this young lady is hopefully about to, then people like me would not feel excluded.
I freeze when she turns to face me. In my peripheral vision I am aware that she is about to speak. But then things don’t develop as they should. My heart sinks as that repulsive, dismissive glance penetrates me again, that automatic look of displeasure upon the sight of me, that makes it absolutely clear to me that I am unworthy of such close proximity to her, or anyone else. With urgent desperation she turns back to her book, no doubt praying that I do not engage her. Such is my disgust and despair, that I
choose to do just that. ‘I will complete the task for you – you look very well, in perfect health in fact.’ She flashes an awkward smile, avoiding eye contact, her fingers white as they grip the book. ‘Perhaps spreading happiness is a step too far for you, do you not think?’
‘Excuse me,’ she says, getting up, and I stand to let her pass. She does not apologise, but just walks to the front of the bus and stands near the driver. I shake my head and sit back down, overcome with a numbing depression. Can I really win this war? Does Elizabeth really stand a chance against these creatures? This thing in front of me is presumably someone who wants to help make the world a better place, and yet she stalls at the sight of me. Subconsciously, she placed me beneath the rest. As Elizabeth had said, ‘All that narrow-mindedness is bred from what we see’. And worryingly, perhaps she was right when she said that removing the mist would leave just a reflection. I had purposely ignored that remark and skirted around it, as it would render my solution impotent. I feel sweat form on my forehead and back. What other answer can there be? There is none...but...but no, this cannot all have been futile. I have cured one sick mind; I can do that to the rest. How? How, Chalk? I cannot brainwash billions of people. I can only spread a message to millions through one of their own. But even people that want to change will not accept me!
I stare at the thing who has now closed her book and looks for her stop through the windscreen. Then I think of Brandy, a Californian, who was one of my online dates. I spent several hours cyber-conversing with her and she had seemed refreshingly human, frequently expressing to me her exasperation at her state’s obsession to achieve the perfect physical form to parade around the beach. She had appreciated my deeper, thoughtful persona, and my admission that her appearance did not matter to me had apparently moved her to tears. But, unbelievably, when we exchanged photos I received the following response: ‘I’m sorry I kept this from you, but I have a boyfriend and cannot communicate with you again. I promise it’s got nothing to do with the photo! Ha ha!’