“After you’ve eaten, I’ll take you over to see them.” He sat down and watched me. I was so conscious of him this morning that my hands shook and I had no appetite. He had fed me many times, but this was different. Each time I raised my arm he followed my movements with his eyes. I think I spilt more than I ate.
“I can’t eat any more.” I put the tray on the drawers and sat back down on the bed with the coffee, sipping slowly and concentrating on the carpet. It was plain, with no swirls to distract me. “I’d like to have a bath today.”
“I think Olly can arrange that.”
“Can I have the shampoo?” I wanted the smell of coconut. I needed that memory, something, anything to help wash away the scent of him. Immediately he reached into the backpack and pulled out the black designer bag he had given me and handed it over. “Thank you, Will.”
“Is there anything else?” I hesitated. “Anna? You can ask.”
“Please can I have the photo of Oscar?” I blushed, it sounded so stupid. I couldn’t ask for Stephen’s photo, and I didn’t want to see my parents or my brother. I just wanted the comfort that my cat gave me. I missed him. He eventually handed over the photo. “Thank you.” I was gracious.
I finished the coffee and clutched the bag close to me as Will shackled my wrist to his and took me back to Olly’s patch of the town.
Ben was in the kitchen kneeling by a huge metal tub and washing a pile of clothes. He looked up and smiled at me in delight, waving with soapy hands. I couldn’t wave back, instead I grinned.
Will removed my cuff and kissed me gently on the lips before leaving me alone in the living room. The front door closed behind him and I sighed. My heart suddenly hammered and I shook, I don’t know why. Adrenaline surged through me and I had to sit to stop my legs from trembling. What was going on? Without warning I burst into treacherous deceitful tears. I couldn’t muffle my sobs and Ben walked in, a look of horror on his face.
“Anna? Anna? What’s wrong?”
His gentle voice upset me even more and I shook my head furiously, no. No sympathy from Ben, I hadn’t suffered half as much as he had. I still couldn’t stop though: Will’s touch and smell covered every inch of me, clawing and pushing its way inside. I hated it, hated him, why did it have to be like this? Why? I never understood women like this. And now I was one.
Ben came and sat next to me, jiggling his foot. Looking up at him nearly undid me, concern was etched on his features and he threw his arms around me, hugging me. I almost pushed him away, I didn’t want to be touched, not again. But his was so very different to the monster that owned me. He was gentle and caring. Hesitantly I held him back. It helped.
“Oh Anna, what happened?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.” He pulled away and looked at me again in disbelief. “Really Ben, nothing.”
“Ok.” He didn’t believe me, I could tell, but he forced a smile. “Some are off getting you some water for a bath. Will told them to.”
“Thank you.” The thought of washing away his touch and replacing it with a memory made me ache with impatience. “Will they be long?”
“About twenty minutes I think. Want to come and talk to me while I wash?”
I followed him into the kitchen, picked up my clothes and knelt by the tub with him, taking my jeans and scrubbing them. I emptied my mind and concentrated on the sudsy water and my filthy clothes. Eventually Ben shook me.
“Anna, your bath is ready.” I stopped and stared at him, disorientated. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” I dropped my clothes and stood up. “Ben, I’m fine.” Liar. What happened to telling the truth? I couldn’t though. Not to Ben, Ben with the ruined face and life worse than mine. No, this time a lie was easier.
I stripped in the bathroom and sank into the hot water, closing my eyes and allowing the heat to comfort me. I leaned over the side and washed my hair. I was back on my honeymoon with Stephen. I used the shampoo as soap, scrubbing my body and paying attention to the areas he had touched. I couldn’t stay in the water for long: it was filthy in minutes. I hadn’t asked for a towel and in frustration I sat on the toilet seat shivering until I was dry enough to dress.
He followed me for three days before capturing me. Why had he waited so long? I’d seen him hunt: he was controlled, dedicated and concentrated. He wouldn’t have missed an opportunity. Why hadn’t he caught me when I slept?
Two days, that’s all I had left before he would want, and undoubtedly take, even more from me: but what was the point in trying to escape? I was weak and submissive. I was Anna.
Chapter Eight
In silence he led me away from both Kat and Ben and out of the town settlement across the fields and up a hill. Peering through my badly cut hair we passed a long disused farm; a huge rust coated combine harvester stood in the centre of a field, with crops starting to rise from the split ground and throw the wheels.
Outside the old farmhouse he reached inside his jacket pocket, dragging my arm through the air as he did. I ignored the grinding and gritty pain, it didn’t matter now. I didn’t see what he withdrew, but he held it so tightly that his knuckles went white.
Knocking twice on the door, we waited. Finally it opened and a large, portly woman holding a shotgun greeted us, and a waft of antiseptic and cotton hit me. It was a welcome smell. “What do you want?”
“Just here to see the doctor, Sue.”
That gentle and placating voice of his. It grated like metal on metal. He smiled at the scowling woman and held out his hand. A ziplock bag full of white pills nestled in his palm. “For the doctor. One hundred morphine tablets in payment for her services.”
She relaxed then. The barrel of the shotgun wobbled slightly as she looked into the street.
“We’re alone,” he added. Satisfied, she ushered us into the hallway and snatched the pills from my captor and walked away.
“Wait here. And don’t touch anything. I’ll know if you have.”
I looked around. There was nothing to touch anyway. That smell of antiseptic was stronger now, but then so was the smell of urine and blood, both sharp, both acrid, and yet so different. There was a stain on the once-cream carpet by the door. Sanguine. I pictured a woman then, opening the door to guests and in her haste to greet them dropping her glass of wine.
But I knew the mark was too large for wine, and the tell-tale drips that trailed into the closest room allowed the words to form in my mind, brightly coloured and bold: stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet.
The woman called Sue returned, her shotgun at the ready still. “Doctor wants to know what else you’ve got.”
There was a long silence, I counted to forty-three before he reached in again and withdrew an old tobacco tin and threw it at our hostess.
“Two hundred morphine tablets, and five needles. Nothing more.”
“That’ll do nicely,” and with that she beckoned us through. I followed, how could I not? My feet were not bloodied, though my hope was blasted.
Perhaps once a sitting room of sorts, it was now a large light and sterile space that stretched from the front to the rear of the building. With tall ceilings and ornate coving it reminded me of my mother’s house. Not a welcome memory.
Sue left the room, and with the click of the door I found myself staring at the slim middle-aged woman seated at a desk. Her nose was slightly too large for her face, and her pockmarked skin was caked in foundation, yet she had the prettiest eyes I had seen in a long time. We didn’t move until she indicated the two plastic chairs in front of her. The trail of red had disappeared, and badly fitted grey linoleum covered the floor. I wondered then what else it hid and as I started to form the images, she spoke, shattering them.
“What can I do for you both?” she asked in a concerned and pleasant voice. A perfectly manicured hand covered in expensive rings lay poised with a pen above a pad as she looked as us both.
“I need Anna fit and healthy. She is in pain, it makes her
slow.”
“Where is the pain?”
He slid his eyes to mine and indicated the doctor. I turned and she nodded to me encouragingly.
“My back,” I whispered, the colour rising to my cheeks.
“I want her checking as well,” he added, unlocking the cuff that bound us and standing. “For sexual infections and anything that looks untoward. I’ll be outside.” He ignored my blushing.
Outside? He left and in stunned silence I stared at the UPVC door at the far end of the room.
“Now now, there’ll be none of that. Let’s get you sorted shall we?” With professional authority she led me to the examination table and handed me a gown. “Strip off and pop this on.” There was no curtain, and the gown smelt faintly of cheap washing powder.
She didn’t leave and I knew why. The door was twenty feet away and I had spotted the silver key in the lock. It called to me, the sunlight lit it up like a beacon.
“This won’t take too long. Are you on any medication? Do you have any illnesses or conditions?” I shook my head as she put the thermometer in my mouth and checked my glands.
The questions continued, my family history, my childhood illnesses and vaccinations. I was tempted to fabricate something that would mean I was unwanted and surplus to requirements but that fear and want to survive refused to let me lie. And so I answered truthfully and stared at the ceiling. As she probed and prodded I bit back my tears. I had tried so hard and yet failed. My legs started to close and she rapped on my knees with her palms. “Open them up, just a little more. That’s it… hold it there.”
She was so close, her fingers probing and pulling.
“Everything seem fine? No pain on urinating?”
“No. It’s fine.”
“Itchiness? Burning?”
“No.”
It was building: the pool of humiliation welled and bubbled. The heat flooding my face. She checked for disease or a sign that I was unsuitable. I wished that she would find something, but there was nothing to be found.
“And when was the last time you were sexually active?”
Squeezing my eyes shut I replied. I didn’t want to see her. “Nearly three years ago.”
“He can’t hear us, dear. What went on before doesn’t matter now.” Her voice was patient and yet there was an underlying tone of disbelief.
“Nearly three years ago.” I didn’t want to repeat myself again. “My husband, no one else since.”
She didn’t reply, but continued to probe and then inserted the speculum. One hot tear slid down my face and I fought the urge to wipe it away. She didn’t believe me.
“I can see you menstruate, yes?”
“Yes.”
“No problems there? Excessive or irregular bleeding?”
“No.”
Withdrawing, she sat me up and checked my arms. “Were you on any form of contraception?”
“No.”
“Good good.”
She checked my mouth then. “Any ulcers, unusual redness or soreness?” I shook my head. “Excellent, you have lovely teeth, dear,” she added, before asking me to remove my gown. I stilled.
“Come on now, you don’t want me to call Sue in. I need to make sure there’s nothing untoward going on.”
Shaking my head in refusal, she sighed and slapped my face. The sting scorched my skin and flinching I allowed her to check my breasts, stomach and thighs as I stood shivering. She checked every freckle and mole, and every scar and bruise received meticulous care and attention. I had seen the physical effects of those infected not just with disease from the land and water, but also the sexual diseases. The purges and culls had almost eradicated the incurable, yet precautions were still in place. If I had shown any signs then I would have been put down like a sick animal.
“Excellent. Now there’s a relief, nice and clear. There we go, all done. Now, pop back up and flip over.”
She then examined my brand. There was just one sharp intake of breath, followed by a tut, and then she worked in silence. I didn’t squirm. The stinging and ache as she injected my fragile skin sent a warmth along my spine. I could see the thin silver straight lines of self harm on her calves through the tan tights.
“Have you been with your man long?”
Your man. Surely she knew what he was? What I was?
“Not long.”
“I see the way he looks at you. You will be fine. Not like some that come here. Oh no, thrashing and kicking, screaming and fighting. Right little madams. Ungrateful too. I clean them up, and they still fight. Some of them though… well, riddled they were. Horrible way to die, much kinder to put them out of their misery.”
Swallowing my anger and bitter reply I stared blankly at the floor. Anna, I am Anna, only Anna.
“Now, are you sure there hasn’t been any fumbling I should know about out there? If I know, I can help you see. Unless it’s one of the incurable, of course.”
“No one since my husband,” I repeated.
“And was he clean? No HIV? Syphilis?”
“No. He was conscripted.” The conscripted were all of perfect health, carefully screened and chosen for strength and stamina.
“Good, good. Right well. I think we’re almost done. This is good, the right way for things.”
“The right way?” I mumbled, a cross between sarcasm and incredulity in my voice.
“If we all sacrifice just a little bit, give just a little bit then it helps the greater good. A fairer deal for us all. This is our new start.”
That was what the posters had said. Almost a decade ago we had been told to sacrifice just a little each month to help those suffering. I recalled how the price of rice based goods had risen sharply, and how my parents had voluntarily given ten percent of their wages to the government war fund that was meant to help orphans and those in need abroad, but unsurprisingly we never received confirmation from the government as to exactly where these donations went.
“… once a day.”
“Sorry?”
“This antibiotic cream needs to be applied once a day to the inflamed area. I’ve given you a tetanus injection and a mild painkiller, but the wound must be kept clean and allowed to heal naturally. Don’t pick or scratch. You have a small infection.” She spoke quickly, changing tone and subject too quickly for me to gauge her.
“Will it scar?” Stupid question.
“Well yes of course, but it’s neat and cut well. He’s no butcher that man of yours.”
Those words again. “He’s not my man.”
She ignored me and, as I dressed, she dropped the used speculum and tissues in a small plastic bag and neatly tied the waste. Waiting until her back was turned I ran to the back door and fumbled with the key, pulling at the handle. I was too slow, I knew that the moment I had failed to turn the key. She dragged me away and I fell to the floor. Pointless.
“Stupid girl. It’s worse out there than it is in here. Try again and I’ll call for your man. I’ve got a reputation. No one leaves unless I allow it,” she hissed, kicking me once with force.
There was no point arguing. Instead I pulled myself up and sat back on the plastic chair by her desk. The pain in my shoulder rippled through me.
There was a tiny framed photo of a boy soldier, about sixteen years old, dressed in brown and black fatigues with the military police emblem proudly displayed on his chest. He had the same large nose and thin lips as the doctor. As he held his gun across his body with one hand and gave the thumbs up with the other, I recognised the silver ring he wore. The doctor now wore it on her right thumb.
“Now. He’s paid well for me to make sure you’re fit. Is there anything else? This is all in confidence, of course.” The last part she added with an earnest smile.
“Is that your son?” It wasn’t what I wanted to ask, but it’s what came out of my mouth.
“Yes. This is Thomas, he’s one of the Enforcers now in a community near here.”
I swallowed and covered my surprise. I had presumed
him dead.
“Are you married?”
“No. His father died when he was young and I’ve not found another man.” A genuine smile this time, her eyes crinkled and she sank back in her chair. “These aren’t really the sort of questions I had in mind.”
“And yet you are bound by no chains.” I ignored her last comment and let this one slip, looking up at her face. Her gaze pierced mine.
“I worked hard for my son, long hours, little reward, precious time with him lost, and then the wars started. I was needed. People needed me, my country, my friends, my son. So I did what I could to ensure I would always be there for him when he needed me. Whatever the cost. I worked hard for this, all of this.”
The words were spoken pleasantly enough, but a hard feeling resonated within them.
“Do you see your son often?”
“Not as much as I would like. He travels a lot; mostly through the towns like ours and the new communities and settlements. When he returns we spend time together. Family. It’s important you see, that’s something we all forgot. When things go wrong, it’s family that matters.”
Another poster, another lie. I nodded meekly and remained quiet. The doctor then called to Sue who stood by me as she spoke to my captor in hushed tones. He kept his gaze on me the whole time, his face blank and hard. I allowed myself to be chained to him again. I would fight him, of course I would, but I needed strength and hope and I was drained of both.
He returned me to the town. The day wore on and the hours passed too quickly. I didn’t want them to; I wanted to drag each hour out for as long as I could. Each precious minute away from him a gift. We played more games, Scrabble, Cluedo and Pictionary. I let Ben win, I wanted to make him happy.
Not once did he pry into my past and instead would deflect questions away when he realised I didn’t want to talk. I couldn’t help but ask him then if he was happy.
“It’s not so bad here, Olly tells me of stories in the towns of how things are worse, how the trades work. I sometimes watch the traders from the bedroom window, some are nice and bring presents and games. Others just walk by. There were two that looked like police used to and a soldier a few weeks ago. One looked up at me, I waved but she ignored me, I know she saw me. Some can be rude.”
Anna Page 7