Anna

by Sammy H. K. Smith

  “Anna?” He knelt down now and his smell hit me like a tidal wave, assaulting my senses, I tasted the pasta again and swallowed furiously. My eyes wouldn’t close, they wouldn’t respond and I could do nothing but watch and feel as he ran both hands down my face and forced me to look at him.

  It was real. He was real. He was there. Those dead eyes stared into mine; his hair was shorter, he was thinner, but it was him, an empty smile on his lips. I blinked away the fresh tears and they rolled down my face. Memories I had tried to lose flooded back. Ribs ached, back itched. He let go of my face and touched the bump, the smile grew and he bent down, inches from skin. I saw the road outside, the open door, and my escape. I just had to move, to yell, to shout, to hit back, anything to show him I wasn’t Anna, I wasn’t submissive and I wasn’t his.

  But I still didn’t. I’d failed to protect my baby. His hand on my top burnt through the material, tainting my flesh underneath.

  “Anna?”

  I found my voice. I swallowed down the pain and shock and spoke: “I’m not Anna.”

  It’s all I could say. Why didn’t I scream? His hand started to stroke my baby, it responded and moved: traitor.

  “No, you’re Kate.” He tilted his head and knelt then, moving my chair to face him and taking my hands in his. I pulled back and a small jolt of excitement rushed through me: I could move, I could do this. But he squeezed my wrists and I stilled, ever the faithful dog. How did someone who I hadn’t seen in so long affect me so? Was I that weak I couldn’t move? My body just didn’t respond.

  “You’re Katherine, and I’m your Peter.”

  Peter? He was Peter? No, no that couldn’t be right. Peter was a teacher, Peter looked after children. He was Will, and Will murdered a boy.

  “Kate.” Gentle and calm. I tried to fight, tried not to give in, but I responded. I looked up as he moved forward. “Kiss me, Kate.”

  PART THREE

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Get away from me, I don’t want you; I don’t want this, not again. Turning my head to the side I refused to look at him and instead stared at my pictures, my home. I pushed back in my chair but the more I struggled, the harder he squeezed until I sobbed.

  “Kate, you mustn’t fight.”

  He held my face and I remembered the way he pinched and twisted my skin, the backhanders to my face, what he had done to my hair, my beautiful hair. Chopped. Gone.

  “You are so beautiful.”

  “Please, let me go,” I begged.

  “Did I not look after you?”

  “You hurt me.” The tears continued, hot and wet as they slid away. “Leave me alone, please, just fucking go, please.” My voice was a whisper as I begged, good doggy, I begged for my master, again.

  “I can’t leave you, you need protecting, our baby needs protecting.”

  My baby, MY baby, not ours!

  “My baby. Not yours. I don’t need protecting.” The words came before I had a chance to think, a primal rush of hatred, anger, violence assailed me.

  Sickness came and I pushed him back and threw up on the floor, the taste of food lining my throat and mouth. Hunched over, he touched and rubbed my back, the scars I tried so hard to ignore were raised and hard against his hands, I could feel the outline and trembled.

  “It’s all right, I’m here now.”

  “Don’t touch me, leave me alone.”

  It was only then I took in what he wore, a pinstripe shirt, trousers and grey jumper. He looked professional, as though he belonged here in my library.

  “You don’t belong here, just leave me alone,” I repeated.

  “I thought Nikky told you.” He continued to rub my back, his other hand on my leg, scalding me, I imagined peeling his fingers away but I couldn’t. “I’m living here now, teaching again.” He paused and I stared at the mess on the floor, ignoring his hand. “I like Nikky, she’s a lovely girl.”

  “What do you want?”

  I had my voice. Now I just needed my strength. He couldn’t hurt me, not here, he couldn’t. I was safe, this was home, my sanctuary.

  “We’re a family.”

  He pulled me to my feet and I stared through the open door. I could just see the grey water across the horizon from here, and several figures moved in the distance, a blur of colour, indistinguishable, they could be anyone, friend or enemy. That smell again. I preferred the bitter stench of sickness to him. He pressed against my bump, aggravating baby and touching me. I was grateful for baby, but ashamed at the relief the barrier gave me: he couldn’t pull me close. I didn’t try to fight though. I had nothing to fight with, I couldn’t risk harming my precious baby.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  I nodded automatically, under his control; the puppet, again. I hadn’t stopped crying, the tears still flowed. I’d lost the fight. He’d won, I always knew he’d win, I shouldn’t have left him, not alive. Why didn’t I pull the trigger?

  “I like Kate, it’s pretty.” He kissed my forehead. His lips wet and vile. Nausea rolled again and my breathing became erratic. Hot. It was hot, suffocating. My cheeks burnt and my head throbbed like it was going to explode. My hands, my hands were on fire. Too tight, his grip was like stone.

  “I can’t breathe. Let me go.” He ignored me and stroked my hair again, that rhythmic stroking, why me, why me, why me? “Please, Will, please.”

  “I’m Peter now, you’re my Katherine.”

  “Please, Peter.” I didn’t care, a name is just a word, it doesn’t define a person. I needed air, space, distance. He released me and I stumbled back until I hit the cool wall behind me. The door was near, I could make it; but I couldn’t force my legs to work.

  “Kate?”

  He sounded confused, and wary. I turned to the door and started crying again in relief. I’d never been so happy to see anyone.

  “Deven.”

  He walked over to me, and stared at Peter. “What’s going on? Who are you?”

  There was strength in his voice. How I wished I had that strength. I listened as he explained who he was, and his lies about how he found me throwing up and how he’d scared me by approaching quietly. He never faltered, his mask was perfect. His smile open and warm but his eyes were dead: they were always dead to me.

  “Are you all right, Kate? Do you need the doctor?”

  Shaking my head I twisted my ring, abruptly stopping when he stared at my fingers. His face changed and the flicker of intense possession and realisation passed over his features and his breathing quickened as he smiled at me. Please see him for what he is, please Deven. I couldn’t speak. I wanted to tell him, tell everyone what he had done to me – but the words were stuck, I’d been so quiet for too long that I didn’t know how to tell him. Instead he reached out and shook his hand. I watched in disbelief as he introduced himself and he smoothly replied, glancing over at me and smiling yet again.

  “I don’t feel well, I’m going home.”

  I didn’t wait for their replies; the terror subsided and I walked to the door. My keys were on my desk, but I couldn’t walk past him again and so left them. He was watching me, my back was alive now and each time my top touched my skin it chafed and rubbed.

  I made it home and locked my bedroom door. Lying under my blankets I curled my body and hugged my baby. I was empty. No tears this time, no cries, no pain or wailing, just my memories.

  I ate in my room that night, and for the following three days. I could barely speak. I forced down bread and water for the baby. Hayley worried and cried, and Dr Nicholls diagnosed exhaustion. I just wanted to sleep. To be alone. On the third evening Nikky arrived and lay next to me, telling me about the children and the new timetable. Every time she mentioned his name the lump in my chest expanded and my head pounded.

  “Honestly Kate, I think you’ll really like him. He makes everyone laugh.”

  I stared at the ceiling blankly.

  “Even Alan speaks to Peter, it’s amazing, he spent the whole day yesterday with him. I told him t
hat Alan loves you and was upset you were poorly, so Peter really made him feel special. Alan told him his mum’s name. He’s started opening up, isn’t that great?”

  My head swam and the room spun. I closed my eyes, but his face was there and so I opened them and concentrated on the space in front of me. As Nikky spoke, her voice became white noise and I could no longer distinguish words. Instead, I pictured Peter sitting at a table with Alan. His cold eyes watching and measuring, his smile luring Alan into the belief of safety and security. It was my fault, I’d brought him here, if I had remained alone then everyone would be safe.

  “Peter asked if you were all right, he told me about finding you throwing up and how scared you were. He’s so quiet though, I would have been scared too if he walked up to me when I was poorly.”

  I didn’t want to hear about how amazing Peter was, nor how everyone loved him. I wanted to tell Nikky who he really was, what he really was. Yet, all those weeks in his captivity and I knew so little about him. Perhaps now was the time, I could do this, surely.

  “How did he introduce himself to you?” I finally asked, cutting her off mid-sentence.

  “What? Oh, I was in the canteen at the other town, drawing your picture. He’d just arrived there, still had his backpack, and was talking to Simon. He saw me drawing and we got chatting, he asked why I was there and then who I was sketching. I told him, then he told me his name and said he was a teacher.”

  You’re Katherine, and I’m your Peter. Of course. I closed my eyes before the tears betrayed me.

  “Honestly, Kate. I think you’ll really like him. He’s just so amazing with the children, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “You’ve said that. I doubt it.” My voice was flat and listless, I couldn’t summon up any interest, and her enthusiasm for my captor started to eat away at my hope; now was not the time to tell her. “I’m sorry, Nikky. I’m really tired.”

  “I’ll come and see you soon, I miss you in the library.”

  As the door opened I called out, “Nikky?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love my desk, thank you.”

  “Oh, that was Peter’s idea.”

  Of course it was. I didn’t reply and the door closed softly as she left.

  The next day I slept and slept. I didn’t want to be awake. It was real when I was awake. By three p.m. I could sleep no more and left my room to go to the bathroom. Glen had fitted the filter for the water and I ran a bath. Hearing the water roar from the taps was strange, curious and bizarre, and as I stepped into the bath I closed my eyes. I hoped the water would help me recapture some normality, but instead all I could feel and recall were his hands on me, the smell of strawberry shampoo and the touch of his body behind mine. As I bathed I wrote my name in the water and cried before struggling out of the bath and throwing up in the sink until there was nothing left.

  Later, downstairs, I sat reading when I heard Rose’s voice. Looking up, a smile spread across my face as Alan walked into the living room carrying a cake.

  “I made this for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  So I sat in the kitchen with Rose and Alan, drinking coffee and eating cake. With each bite he beamed and I swallowed, ignoring the instinct to throw it back up.

  “Kate, do you mind if I just pop down the road? I need to pick up some knitting, I’ll only be a short while and there’s no one else to look after Alan… I know you’ve been poorly but…?”

  I nodded. Alan then started chatting nineteen to the dozen. He’d missed me it seemed and had drawn some pictures and left them on my desk. I ruffled up his hair and without warning, he threw his hands around my stomach and hugged me, his ear against my bump. The baby kicked and he giggled in delight.

  “Hello baby, I’m Alan Philip Olney, and I’m looking forward to meeting you.” He kissed my tummy and I burst into tears. He looked up at me in concern.

  “I’m okay.” I tried to reassure him.

  “Why are you crying then?”

  “I just feel like crying.”

  “I do sometimes as well.”

  We sat on the sofa and he cuddled up to me. He seemed to like just being held and I found myself enjoying holding him. I thought of Alan when he left with Rose later that afternoon. The serious little boy who had survived the Unlands, managed to walk through the wilderness alone. What the land had left was an innocent and pure child who knew only his name. Three words, six syllables and fifteen letters. Alan Philip Olney. All he had was his name, and yet it was all he needed. It was his umbilical cord and lifeline to the town: something to use as both a shield and a badge, his identity and his safety net. He wanted me to care for him; someone so uncorrupted as he had attached his life to mine.

  Tom arrived, although he didn’t stay long. I still couldn’t drum up the energy to speak in more than one word answers. But he knew it was more than exhaustion. He didn’t question me, other than to ask if it was the nightmares that troubled me so. It was easier to nod. Instead of simpering, he chastised me like a child. I should tell Hayley or Nikky, they could help. When he left I cried again, chip, chip, chip. Perhaps I could tell someone, but there was no one who wasn’t enamoured with the kindly handsome teacher from the other town. No one.

  Chip, chip, chip.

  “You need fresh air, Kate. Just a little, you must be going crazy in here.”

  I shook my head and tucked my feet further underneath me. I had been inside now for days. I couldn’t go back out there: not when I knew he would be waiting, watching for me.

  “Kate, please, just a short walk to stretch your legs, clear your mind.” Rich continued to badger, his voice steady and firm. When I looked up there was simply all-encompassing concern in his face. His lips made a thin line and his eyes, so like mine, flitted between me and the back door.

  “Stop, Rich. Please.” My voice was quiet, but I scowled. “I don’t feel like walking.”

  “Please?”

  He was gently persistent and I didn’t have the stamina nor true will to resist. Eventually I nodded and agreed to walk on the beach. It was two p.m.; Peter would be teaching. I would be safe.

  After changing I stood at the back door and looked down the gravel path to the road and beach. It wasn’t far. My heart hammered so hard that my chest was cracking under the pressure and as I walked down on the stones I held my breath and looked around. Though I couldn’t see another soul, I still didn’t relax. It was humid and stale outside, even by the water there was only the lightest of breezes. I moved as quickly as I could, out of sight and along my now-familiar path, following the natural curve of the sand past the rock pools. Rich stayed by my side, his presence an irritation but also a strange comfort. I walked further and for longer than I intended until the heat became unbearable. Searching out a patch of shade, I gratefully sat gazing at the bluey-grey water. We had barely said a word.

  “Do you think people can change?” I asked eventually, shifting and kneeling on the sand, my head bowed as I now stared at my swollen belly. He was quiet for a while and I stole a glance at his face. It had clouded over and he narrowed his eyes, deep in thought.

  “Yes, people can change, and they do change. Sometimes for the worst, but they can change for better. I did.”

  I looked at him openly then, and he mirrored my expression. Anxiety rose; they say that you can feel danger before it approaches, like a sixth sense. It wasn’t danger I felt, but apprehension and dread. I didn’t want the truth of his past to taint what I believed him to be.

  “I wasn’t always a vicar, there was a time when I was a lost and angry man. I did terrible things, Kate. Things I don’t like to speak of, they shame me, but I have repented, I seek forgiveness. We’re not perfect creatures, Kate. I don’t want and will never allow myself to be that person again.”

  I wanted to ask him so many questions, but I didn’t. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.

  I considered telling him then, pouring out my grief on to the sand and watching it sink away, but no
matter how I tried to form the bubbling words they wouldn’t come.

  “Are you all right, Kate? Do you look for forgiveness?”

  I started to shake my head, but then thought of my husband. He deserved better. I nodded.

  “I cheated on my husband. His name was Stephen and he was a good man. I hurt him more than I ever thought possible.” I had to give him something, some part of me. He stayed quiet, nodding, his eyes still on the water.

  “No one is perfect. That’s why understanding is so important,” he said.

  With precipitance, I pressed on.

  “I was captured… out there. For over two years I’d lived alone, looked after myself and survived, and in one… stupid fucking moment it was all gone.” I trailed sand through my hands, not daring to look up. “He took everything, everything, from me. My freedom, my belongings, my hair, my name. Everything. He beat me, over and over again. Pretending to love me all the while, telling me I needed him. I didn’t need him. I was fine on my own. He…”

  I trailed off, I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Rich touched my hand and I didn’t pull away. The warmth of his touch a balm I didn’t know I needed. “He forced himself on me and I let him. I was disgusting and let him do it, but I couldn’t stop him. At the start I tried but he always won. I was so tired, so… broken. Coming here was the only way I could be sure of safety, for both of us.” I placed my hands on my bump. “But I’ll never be safe. We’ll never be safe. The past haunts me and I’ll never be free of it.”

  The final words were on the tip of my tongue but wouldn’t come. I wanted to just tell him about Peter but I couldn’t. The fear of disbelief, of rejection and ostracization muted that final admission. I needed this place, for my baby, everything was for them and though I craved to scream it, to be believed, I just couldn’t. Still so shamefully weak. This was what he had done to me.

  When he did finally reply, through tears of his own, he said just two words: “I’m sorry.”