Pearced

by Ryder, H

  There’s one from me:

  Dear Daniel,

  where are you?

  Tharie Charles: Denim Developer, Milk&Honey.

  ...and another...

  I am worried I haven't heard from you since Japan I have called both numbers and left messages. I really need to see you, to explain. But you’re not here and I don’t know who to talk to.

  Where the fuck are you?

  Tharie Charles: Denim Developer, Milk&Honey.

  I feel a little guilt reading his mail, mostly work stuff, but yesterday there’s one read mail, timed just after he drove away that morning leaving me standing in the street:

  Dan,

  Do as you promised and there won’t be a problem. I’m watching you and her, she’s not safe.

  Dr.GP.

  Doctor? Who was this person? And who is she? I am vaguely aware the hairs on the back of my neck are prickled as it occurs to me she could be me. Suddenly a glass of red seems like a nice idea! The jeans! No they're safe upstairs. I pour a large glass, sit back on the sofa, and think. I swallow hard, yum, that tastes good, and try to calm myself. Looking down at the unit in my hand I decide to press another key, the crossed axes. Straight away a crack sounds from beside me and the low heavy and immovable looking wooden table top separates from its legs and raised above on 20mm metal screws from the posts. As they rotate, the top raises up slowly with a low-level humming, and stops just short of the ceiling. A ker chunk! And the area beneath the table begins to drop including legs and cross beams which double as a rail, if I am right, and I usually am, about what’s about to happen. Take another slurp of wine, set the glass down somewhere the table has gone, no take it with me.

  The platform keeps going slowly, a dim light emanates from the tunnel it’s leaving and it occurs to me it could be a lift to another floor. I grab my bag, keep the remote in my hand, and glad I’m an Asimov fan, jump on the slowly descending science fiction platform, sip the wine, just another day. Thankful for the non-slip rubberised paint on the floor, I stand central on the platform with my arms and elbows locked tight to my body. But actually the space could take probably 5 people down. I know I have guessed correctly when my eye line passes what must be the floor from above or the ceiling from my destination below. In the semi darkness, lit only from above the shaft of available light welcomes a room just like the one I have left, without the bed. In here there is a running machine, and bike and a battleground elastic fenced boxing ring, with the eagle and ship logo in resin on the floor of the ring. Daniels work-out room? Silent except for dripping water somewhere off into the darkness. The sound echoes around the space, I judge to be even bigger than the floor above. I note with a large degree of satisfaction my travelator has remained down here for me, and not automatically returned upstairs, but I still have the remote in my hand. I press a key that looks like the sun and the end becomes a powerful torch, I find a switch exactly as before and the lights pop on. This isn’t ambient light its bright white illuminating every corner from square tiles set in the ceiling.

  It’s an unnerving place, like a hospital ward, I check my phone again, still no bloody signal. I’m on my own down here, I’m not scared, when you’ve jumped an obstacle big enough to walk under without bowing your head on a pony, very few things scare you any-more. True bloody story people.

  I look around, what the light reveals is a sparse gym, a shower room similar to upstairs. There is a cabinet set into the wall with sliding mirrored doors. I look at myself, I haven’t eaten or slept since Daniel disappeared and I look paler and thinner than usual. Do I want to open these doors, this is Daniels private space? I gulp down the rest of the red, nice. I use the flat of my hand to press down and with a friendly little 'click' sound the doors open smoothly. Inside it’s a wardrobe with black Prada shirts hung at the top and RANDom denim folded underneath. It feels like I’m peeking through the keyhole, looking at things I have no right to be. On the floor in a very neat row are several pairs of pointy shoes and boots all black leather. Just in case I wonder? I flick through the rail and catch his smell. Tom Ford, Black Orchid.

  The sudden sensation of a painful ache absorbs me, smells do that don’t they? They immediately link you to a person, time or place. Where is he? I pull a handful of shirts to my face and smell them, then suddenly a strange joint in the woodwork at the back wall of the unit catches my eye, and I see a semi concealed doorway in the wardrobe. Who is this man? Jason Bourne? No, he drives like a girl! My belly fluttering wildly with nerves and my chest is tight. I push the panel and it opens easily with a click! A hiss of cold bitter tasting air sweeps over me and I shiver at a blast of very chilled air escaping. I step through like a classic old child's novel only instead of another land beyond I see a white, brightly lit small room with an undressed mattress on the floor. But the thing that catches my attention, which my eyes can’t leave is the sight of a beautiful man, naked except for his Rolex, strap fixed thanks to Baby Chris, laying as if asleep on the ticking stripes of the mattress. Covered in tattoos.

  Daniel.

  Bloody hell, I really need tea now!

  Chapter fourteen, still Sunday:27thoctober2013, mustang

  I step backwards before the door snaps shut behind me as it suddenly occurs to me this might be designed as a one way journey, had I really watched too much crime drama? Maybe, but what I have learned might save my bacon, and I don’t even eat bacon. I jam the door open with the pointed toe of a shoe, shoving it hard under the gap at the floor, and hear the protest of the motor as it repeatedly fails to return the panel back to the closed position. Satisfied that I had fixed that problem, if only temporarily, I tiptoe to the body in the centre of the floor as if he were sleeping. I notice because I’m looking hard, tiny shallow movements in his chest that relieve my brain, he is alive. As I approach, a hiss of vapour escapes from the ceiling above. My instincts tell me to cover my mouth and nose, like I do on the Virgin flight ready to land at Delhi when they spray a fine mist of antiseptic over the passengers, I don’t like it at all. I am quick to respond, so if I have breathed any of this gas in it won’t be much. The mist dissipates quickly and I feel instantly sleepy and a little sick.

  Suddenly I comprehend, Daniel is being kept unconscious here, in this sterile white cell , tiled floor and ceiling all matching, not sure why that’s important. I touch him he is chilled like a bottle of Chianti. The jammed door behind me repeatedly protests loudly at not being able to fulfil its ultimate job of preventing escape from this side of the wall. Quickly I think, I grab Daniels arms, he feels so cold, and with all my strength, honed with much hay bale lifting and strong horse stopping, I drag him into my parka so I can slide his inert body across the short space and out the back wall of the closet. It works, the old khaki cotton twill slides brilliantly across the slippery tile. I fight the feeling of nausea and fatigue and focus to drag Daniel through the door, just as the shoe I have stuffed there becomes dislodged and the secret door slides back into place behind us.

  I lay him on the floor, and as I readjust and re-wrap my parka around his naked body to try to keep him warm. It’s then I notice it, coming out of my muzzy feeling at the drugs in the steam leave my system, my mind becoming sharper, the voices still and I can focus. Daniel has another tattoo on his body. Up his left ribcage from the hipbone to almost level with his elbow still red welted and swollen. A fine black inked piece of Gothic imagery and mystical looking symbols and hieroglyphs, with the central icon. A large eagle with huge wings spread wide, perfect intricate detail, large talons gripping a shipwreck, its sails all ripped and torn, its wooden planks smashed in places. Daniels breathing begins to get deeper, and a faded colour returns to his skin, I wrap him around with olive drab khaki, with the warm lining still zipped in, and hold him in my arms.

  Its then I notice the remote is still in my hand, desperate not to lose the ability to escape I must grip it with all my strength determined not to let it go, it might be the only way out of here. There’s still no signal on my
phone, I put it away for the hundredth time. How much time was passing....maybe twenty minutes before it occurred to me to experiment with this hand held science fiction device. I hadn't noticed before but I was always a little heavy at one end, weighted at the top too much to be just a TV remote. Idly I press the ship icon and just like the outside door to this place, the tiles in the wall and floor in the far corner start to crack apart, collect together and disappear, three angles of sectioned ceramic tile sliding neatly under the floor, all lit strongly from behind fading away as the tiles return in place.

  There is now a massive dark hole in the corner wall and floor.

  A loud motor starts in the dark and I am transfixed, and gliding out from the gloom comes a beautifully shiny and restored 1968 black Ford Mustang, with dark tea coloured leather seats. Old Blackie! I take a sharp breath and my hand flies to my mouth. It’s just how I pictured it. The colour has almost returned to Daniels face and I stroke his hair. “It’s going to be OK babe, I’m here now.” He begins stirring as if just coming out of a sleep.

  “God Daniel, that’s my car, Old fucking Blackie!” I laugh.

  “I’m hungry” he manages,

  I laugh, suddenly realising I hadn’t eaten either, “me too,” I stroke his hair from his face, he's so beautiful, “and tea too.”

  “I thought I’d never see you again,” he mumbles in half consciousness eyes still closed. “I thought you’d gone.” He looks hurt, in agony, his face pinched and he winces in pain at the thought. “Did you leave? I thought...” he shakes his head “I thought you’d gone.” he’s not making any sense, must be the aerosolised drugs in his system.

  “Stop thinking a moment, I’m here.” I whisper to him close to his ear, kissing the shell of his lobe and I suddenly connect with him again. My whole body spasms awake. “We need to get out of here Daniel.”

  He speaks without opening his eyes, “what's happened?” He slurs his speech and mumbles.

  “Shhh now, you've had a sedative Daniel, your brain won’t be working properly yet.” I look down into his clear pale gooseberry eyes, so handsome, I have missed him deeply. His mouth curls up is a beautiful weak half smile.

  Laying his head gently on the floor I can’t help wanting to see this car, “this is my car”, I giggle, “These plates are my plates!”

  How did this happen? My head is now swimming with chattering self-inflicted questioning, it starts to hurt, I need tea. I check my phone, the field security cameras cover the driveway, I will be able to see it if it’s there.

  No signal. Damn. I snap the elastic around my wrist. Stop it!

  That's better.

  As I look up I notice an outline crack of light large enough to be a garage door. I go into the darkness of the inside and the space illuminates instantly, it's a fully stocked garage with tall red metal boxes on wheels containing many narrow drawers.

  Undoubtedly filled with mechanics tools all neatly arranged and wiped clean. There's another car in there, Daniels Range Rover all clean and shiny except for a smashed driver’s side window and a deep gouge in its door. On the driver seat is Daniels phone, I grab it and rush back into the room. There is a double door at the far end and I open it using the remote with the key icon. A gentle sloping concrete driveway is revealed and I quickly decide to get Daniel in my car and drive us to the outside world. Into the wonderful daylight, everything is better in the daylight. Ain’t that the truth?

  Far and near and low and louder,

  On the roads of earth go by,

  Deep breaths everyone. Except Mr Housman of course.

  I open the passenger door, and as I get to Daniel is semi-conscious. I grab him round his waist, “help me Daniel, we've got to get out of here, right now!” I really need a cuppa.

  “I’m naked.” a question rather than a statement.

  “Yes I noticed” smiling, “and very nice it is too,” I attempt a jest.

  “Is this my house?” his eyes partly open...”my other house?” He is straining to look around.

  “No Daniel, this is some kind of spooky secret prison,” I am supporting most of his weight, “and you’ve been in here I suspect for three days, since Tokyo.”

  I am out of breath, I pull him into the seat, wrap and button the parka, strap him in with the seatbelt, not inertia reel, it’s too old for that. Something about its refurbishments have been kept as close to the original version as a homage to its creator, and some things have been modified, it's like Captain Kirk dressed as a cowboy in an old wild west episode! It's just as I would have done it. The nylon herringboned strap needs adjusting to fit. I shut the door and get in. Keys, I don’t have keys.

  “Remote.” Daniel whispers, clearly using all his energy to keep awake. Worth a try I think, I point the sensor at the steering wheel and press the key button again, and my beautifully restored Mustang purrs to life with a throaty rumble, I rev the engine, it growls, nice. You have got to be kidding me! Who is this man? Old Blackie, indeed. “Happy birthday Tharie” His face alight and happy, but still he can only whisper, and his eyes shut again. Shaking my head in wonderment, I jam my foot on the accelerator too hard, wheel spin and shoot up the ramp. It’s longer than I realised but the sunlight and the street aren't far in front. This car is gorgeous, and its humming growl sounds and feels a perfect pitch and vibration, and the leather smells new.

  As we get halfway up the signal in our phones and the car kit come to life and Stan is instantly on speaker phone, “thank Christ, you’re there!” He said momentarily forgetting his professional usual demeanour. “I have you on GPS, I’m swinging the car round to meet you, follow me Daniel are you driving?”

  “No Stan, it’s me, but don’t worry I can drive, and this is my god-damned car!” I still can’t believe it. Sailing over the ramp end into the deserted street, and steered into the inevitable skid at the road end, take control and drive straight in a classic Starskey and Hutch manoeuvre, deep calming breaths. Look in the rear-view, no one is following us, I calm down, slow down.

  “Miss Charles, is that you?” The voice comes over the speakers, I suddenly miss Slipknot.

  “Tharie Stan, call me Tharie, yes it’s me, I can see you ahead, just hang on.” I change gear, the synchromesh of its new gearbox is behaving beautifully and the ride is smooth and I almost forget the beautiful man sitting next to me. Almost too late I slow down behind Daniels black car, Stan takes off at speed and I follow. Daniel is now fully conscious, I have opened the windows to let the fresh air in and help unclog his mind.

  Drugged, can you believe it? I say to myself. What the fuck is going on?

  Suddenly remembering, I shove the clothes at Daniel I had grabbed from the wardrobe before leaving. Without hesitation Daniel unclips himself from the confines of the seatbelt that held him firmly in place and moves to the back seat where he gets dressed. He hasn’t said a word.

  I’m concentrating on my driving. Stan steers like a professional driver and drives very quick, I’m an advanced driver myself, so I’m excited by the speed and keep up. Plus driving this car, my car, I’ve always wondered how it would feel if it ever got finished, and the power and vibration is incredible.

  I always did like horse-power eh?

  The dashboard lights up and beeps, an incoming call alert, I say hello, and my car answers the call for me, connecting me to the caller through speakers in the window frame. “Tharie, it’s Stan, I’m pulling into Danny’s driveway, keep close to my bumper, it’s a concealed entrance.” He sounds like he’s imparting a secret, of course it’s hidden, its Wayne bloody Manor.

  “Not a surprise there Stan, I’ll follow you in,” it's like I’m driving Bruce Wayne! As it turns out it is a surprise, Stan obviously has a remote like mine and as we head toward a row of trees. He just drives straight through the branches, they are fake, and soft like feathers as we push through, and down a ramp not unlike the one we just escaped from, into a friendly looking version of the clean rubber painted room. The walls are pale grey and the w
hole place is lit.

  Both engines switch off and three confused but in-control people step out and meet half way between the two vehicles. I’ve never seen Stan casual, and watching him with his hands thrust into his pockets, weight favouring one leg, confidence in a tricky situation. Clearly he is used to thinking on his feet, not just a regular chauffeur, another thing that’s not how it seems. Bet he went to Pony Club too eh?

  “Are you both OK?” Stan speaks first, his obvious concern for his boss Daniel

  My brain thinks randomly as a response, “I’ll have a one-way for the 96 to Romford please,” I naturally keep my travel plans to myself, don’t want them to think I’m odd, there’s enough time for that later!

  “Let’s get inside Daniel finally speaks, we’ll put the kettle on.” Yes, that’s the ticket alright, I am falling in love with this man. Bloody hell. What do I tell Mum? Bloody hell.

  Did someone say tea?

  Chapter fifteen, yes, it's still Sunday:27thoctober2013, the mystery

  Sitting for the first time in Daniels place, in a hygienic sparse and very Daniel kitchen, we watch as Daniel goes through the mechanics of making tea. A calming ritual for him too. We all take comfort in its routine. “I feel a little strange, have I been dosed?” he asks. I suddenly think of honey cake and honeysuckle tea, weird, even for me. Must be lack of sleep, yes, that’s it alright. Daniel places three white cups on the worktop and spins the handles round so they all face exactly the same angle toward him, and they sit equidistant waiting for hot brown liquid. None of us take sugar.

  My last dreg of battery, I make a contact.

  TC: “Daniel is back” don’t ask me what’s happened.

  PF: “Fuck sake, what happened?” Well, she’s only human.

  TC: “He was at the office” not a lie but not exactly the truth either.