by Becky Cairns
‘But it’s y-your name.’
What is happening? Why has he turned on me like this? What have I done wrong?
‘It’s not, so don’t ever call me that again. I do not want that word to pass from your lips ever again. Do you understand me?’
‘No, no I don’t. It’s your name. Zoe said that was your name. You are him, the guy in the flat. You are Mark!’
‘I am not him, never was and never will be! I will never be him!’
‘So who does that name belong to?’
‘It was my brother’s, okay!’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Your… What?’
‘My brother,’ he sighs, closing his eyes and looking away. Cigarette still caught between his fingers.
I do not get this man one bit.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I don’t expect you to. How could you.’ He draws a hand over his forehead, hooding his eyes. ‘My life is complex. I wish I never got you involved.’ The last is barely audible.
‘Then why did you?’
‘I had no choice. My conscience couldn’t leave it be. It wasn’t right.’
‘Your conscience?’
‘I’m a burdened man, Alex. I’m covered in scars from my past. I have no life, not really. Not one worth living at any rate.’
I don’t know what it is but something about the last comment strikes me deep. I can feel his pain, his suffering. Before my eyes stands a defeated man. He has so many layers but one by one they are peeling away. How many will I have to tear off before reaching the centre of this man?
‘I’m trapped in a cycle,’ he continues. ‘Events happen in a sequence and when I reach the end it starts all over again. A few times I’ve tried to get out, but I’m always sucked back in. It’s like the plague. Once you’ve been infected it eats away at you bit by bit until there’s nothing left.’ He turns to lock eyes with mine. ‘I don’t want you to have the same fate.’
‘Then let me go,’ I whimper, holding out my bound hands.
‘I can’t, I’m sorry.’
‘Why?’
‘Because…’ Nothing else is forthcoming and he begins pacing, erratically taking deep lungful intakes of nicotine. His body is rigid, he’s losing the hold of his emotions and he’s afraid. I see it in the way he moves.
I need to get the hell out of here, back to my life.
‘‘‘Because”? Is that it? What kind of explanation is that?’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘The truth will be a good start!’
‘I don’t have to explain myself to you! You’re nothing to me!’
‘If I mean nothing to you then why the bloody hell have you kidnapped me? What am I doing here? Just let me go!’ I wave my joined hands in the air. ‘Just let me go,’ I say quietly, the venom losing its lustre as my fight drips away. ‘Please, let me go.’
‘I can’t. I c-can’t,’ his voice is nothing more than a low rumble as he now has his back to me, smoke drifting into the atmosphere.
‘Fine.’ If he won’t undo these ties I’ll have to try myself and I begin tugging with my teeth. The rope is bound tight and professionally and the harder I pull the more it cuts into the corners of my mouth.
I will not give up, I will not give up!
I ferociously continue to tug and gradually I make some leeway as I feel the rope loosen and my wrists have slight movement. Come on, you can do it.
It slackens further. Just a little bit more.
Heart thumps.
Pulse races.
Palms sweat.
I alternatively gaze up at my kidnapper and fortunately he hasn’t noticed yet, but it won’t be long before he does and I push, tugging harder, faster. I can taste the metallic blood seeping from the cut at the edge of my mouth.
I grunt in pain as the rope rubs against the injury, stinging as it cuts deeper into my soft flesh. Unfortunately this also captures the interest of the man and he spins around on his heels and storms towards me, fire lighting up his eyes. He takes one last puff of his cigarette before flinging it aside.
‘Oh no you don’t!’ Smoke filters out of his mouth as he speaks.
‘Get off me!’
I fight him every step of the way as he tries to grab my hands, the rope getting looser and looser with every movement.
‘Get off me! Leave me alone!’
I squeeze my eyes shut and wildly thrash my arms about, legs joining in the fray. His hot breath ghosts over my face as his breathing increases. He attempts pinning me in place with his body weight, but I am not going to give in.
The warmth I find floods my body like lava, burning my skin from the inside out. I close my eyes; I have to block it. I can’t think about that. I have to fight, have to fight.
Then all movement halts as a resounding slap rings through the air and my hand is left tingling. What the…?
I slowly prise my eyes open and turn to look ahead.
His face is turned away and in the dimness of light I can just about identify the red welt beginning to blossom on his cheek. It’s an imprint of a hand.
Gazing down I see I’ve managed to free my wrists from their prison. They can move. They can fight.
‘That was very stupid.’ Anger drips from every word.
Oh God.
‘Very stupid.’
His eyes glint dangerously as they bore into mine, immobilising me. My breathing becomes unsteady, the air is stifling. All I see is him. He is so close. His eyes have become steel grey in colour, there’s not a hint of vulnerability about them. Nothing there to soften the edges – they are cold.
So engrossed in looking at him I miss the pointy object he hides behind his back and by the time I realise it’s already too late and the needle slices through my flesh and I feel the liquid being pumped into my blood stream. A little yelp escapes my mouth at the pain.
The tiny hairs on my arm stand on end, head begins to spin and my vision blurs. There’s ringing in my ears and everything turns grey. Little black dots start to form, slowly growing in size and eventually takes over my sight as I lose control altogether and collapse.
Lost.
So lost.
I run and run around corners but they all come to nothing. The hedges appear to grow taller and taller, casting shadows on the path I tread. Each turn leaves me disorientated. I continuously come across forked paths and dead ends leading me around and around in circles before I find myself back at the beginning. I’m lost in a maze, held captive by my confusion.
Then I come to an abrupt halt. I’ve hit a crossroads. Ahead stands the mysterious blonde haired man draped in black, casually puffing on his cigarette, glaring at me with those hypnotic, sapphire eyes. To my right is my darling brother, arms open wide, smile glistening as the sun hits him perfectly, illuminating his features in all their glory. He’s beckoning me to come to him. I sweep my head to the left and spot William down on one knee, dressed in a charcoal suit and holding out a blood red rose. His bedroom eyes caress my skin and a tingle runs throughout my body. And behind is the path I came from.
Where do I go from here?
If I were to take the path ahead I would be lead on a journey filled with violence and danger and my “safe and stable” life would be thrown out of the window. I would be living each moment as if it were my last. But I’d also find passion like never before – a deep and hungry passion that would consume every inch of me, leaving me in a perpetual state of arousal.
Taking the left would mean going back to the life I found comfortable. Eventually I would be walking down the aisle to the man I adore and towards a life filled with laughter and the birth of a new generation. I would have everything I’ve always desired. My days would be endlessly packed with love, comfort and friendship.
Choosing the right would bring back the brother I miss. I could be with him again, hold him again, and embrace his life. I could give back the husband Maggie craves and the father Bethany deserves. I could provide Thom
as the opportunity to watch his daughter grow up into the charming young lady I know she’ll become and be with the woman who captured his heart in his youth.
Then there’s the path behind me. I could turn my back and walk away, forget the troubles haunting me. Leave everything behind and try to find another way out. But what will that achieve?
I look towards Thomas, smile still in place, and I take one step towards him then another, but as I reach out to touch his hand he vanishes in a swirl of wind.
‘Noooo!’ I screech as I leap forward, but he is gone.
My head snaps over to the other side and I dash towards William.
He’s running towards me, arms ready to receive my embrace.
The same thing happens.
One man stands.
My gut clenches, heart plummets and tiny beads of sweat start to form. With no other choice I nervously make my way towards him. Little shuffle progress, going against my will. I’m reluctant but I am being drawn towards him. I’m stuck between two conflicting emotions. Fear and want.
Finally reaching his side he does not disappear like the others. I don’t know whether to be pleased or terrified at this.
Taking a draft of his cigarette he puffs the smoke into my face. The flavoured odour stings my eyes and clings to the material of my clothes.
With pupils huge and steel grey colour beaming into my hazel eyes, he leans forward and I get a whiff of whiskey on his breath. I pull back in disgust.
‘You’re not ready yet,’ he whispers.
‘What do you mean I’m not ready? Ready for what?’
‘You’re not ready yet,’ is all he says. Over and over again like a stuck record, but with each utterance it becomes fainter, like he is getting further and further away with each sentence. However, this is not the case. He remains standing in front.
Then all of a sudden the ground is taken from under my feet and I feel gravity pull me down into a black pit.
Can’t see.
So lost.
Scared.
Chapter Fourteen
Slowly I come to, groggy, disorientated and confused.
Where am I? What am I doing down here? What’s going on?
‘Arrrrrr,’ god my head hurts!
I go to reach and pull myself up but all I come across is thin air and land back on my side. Ouch! The pain constricts my chest and I find it difficult to breathe. I attempt again and the same thing happens. I’m weak. My arms do not have the strength to support my weight.
Why am I here? Where is here?
Spiced cigarette aroma.
Golden liquor.
Penetrating eyes that gets my blood boiled.
I remember now.
One minute I was walking home to be with my fiancé, the next I’ve been kidnapped and now I am being held in some sort of basement or empty warehouse. Apart from the small window above shedding little light it’s basically pitch black and I see no immediate way out.
Shifting myself onto my hands and knees I begin feeling around, searching for an escape.
Hold on a minute.
Last time I knew I was bound, but now I have complete mobility. There is nothing restricting my flow of movement apart from my own fragile state. My arms can stretch and legs can spread. I can move!
Dirt.
Rigid ground.
Dampness.
Brick wall.
Cobweb.
More dirt.
Shoes.
Lea…shoes? That can’t be right.
Soft leather runs under my fingers and the seam uneven along the edge. Its tip is worn through time and scuffed by years of running. Laces are beginning to thread but remain strong and intact. It’s a shoe made for comfort as well as style, befitting for a man living life on the run while keeping up appearances.
As I glide my fingers along the sides I feel the heat radiating from within. It ignites the fire in my belly, burns through my veins and flows towards the steady drumbeat of my heart.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ his coarse tone disrupts the atmosphere and my head snaps to its origin.
My brown eyes clash with his blue, mesmerising. So many emotions are whirling around I don’t know what it is I should be feeling. Fear or relief? Spite or gratitude? Desire or disgust? Is this a flight or fight moment?
I am so confused.
‘I don’t want to have to ask again.’
‘I-I, I was, I mean I, I d-don’t know…’
‘Don’t think about doing it again. It won’t do any of us any good. Now come here, get up.’
Sitting back and placing my feet firmly on the ground I try scrambling to stand but my muscles can’t handle the strain and I crumble at his feet. I attempt again but the outcome is the same.
‘I-I can’t st-stand.’
‘What do you mean you can’t stand? You’re no longer bound so stand.’
I bow my head and whisper, ‘I can’t. Weak.’
‘Hmmmm.’
Firm hands grab me securely under my armpits and heave me upwards and there they remain, lending me something to place my weight. He is turning out to be a very unlikely, but valuable, source of support.
‘Better?’
‘Thank you,’ I meekly reply.
He grunts in approval then nothing. We are at a standstill.
What am I to say? Is there anything I can say? And what is that look in his eyes?
Something gentle sparkles on the edge evoking a vulnerable effect and causes his features to soften. He has the eyes belonging to a scared little boy. I want to wrap him in my arms and stroke his blonde mane. The tender look does not last as swiftly the cold shutters clamp down, locking his soul away from prying eyes.
Our gazes remain locked and the electric volts thrum along the flowing current until his eyes detach and fall to the ground. His hold on me slackens as does his breathing.
‘Do you think you can stand?’ he asks still looking away.
‘Y-yes, I think so.’
Ever so slowly he releases his grip and I find myself discomforted at the loss. It is a feeling out of place. I should be relieved, but this is not the case.
I stumble slightly but with a bit of manoeuvring I adjust my feet to accommodate my weight. I can still feel the imprint of the string on my wrists and ankles, a constant reminder of the catastrophic turning point in my life.
‘Why did you cut the strings?’ I ask.
Eyes still hidden by the shadows he replies, ‘They were hurting you.’
‘Is that all? It’s as simple as that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Aren’t you afraid I will try and make a run for it?’
‘You could try, but you won’t get far.’
‘I may just surprise you.’
‘Oh, there’s no doubt about that. I bet there’s many ways you could surprise me.’
It was the way he said it, almost as if he is flirting with me, but that surely can’t be right. This man does not flirt, he torments.
‘At any rate,’ he continues. ‘There is only one escape and I hold the key to it, unless you follow through on surprising me and manage to climb to the window above. Now that would be a surprise. But as that strategy seems very unlikely it looks like you’re stuck here for the time being.’
It could be worse. No, wait! Why could it be worse? Isn’t kidnapping enough for you Alex? Oh god, what am I thinking?
‘Is there at least somewhere comfortable to sit?’
‘Not exactly, you are my prisoner after all. Kidnapping is not meant to be a comfortable experience.’
‘Then can we have some light?’
After some deliberation he drags me into the sun’s rays being cast through the aforementioned window.
I go to thank him and notice he remains on the shadow’s perimeter allowing only a silhouette and the slight glow of his eyes to be seen. The man retains his mystery. He holds his distance.
I’m still unsure where I stand with him. One wrong word and I could be flun
g across the room, as he did with Zoe. He is a man with depth; the question is how far does it run?
Then a glint of something catches my eye and I turn to see him swigging the contents of his hip flask. The same hip flask I picked up not so long ago. I remember the way it effortlessly glided under the tips of my fingers, so intimate. I remember the initials, the odd inscription.
‘What does it mean?’ I speak without thinking.
‘What?’
‘The inscription, what does it mean?’
‘Oh, that.’ A brief pause then, ‘The flask was a gift from my brother. The inscription was his deluded idea. It was more to do with his belief than anything related to me personally. Well, I hope it doesn’t apply to me.’
The first willing mention of his brother. Hope this is a good sign.
‘And it means?’
I get nothing.
Is he backing off? Please don’t close up again, please.
‘Drown the Devil in your sins. It started out as a joke between the two of us. My life is one big sin. Whenever it got too much for me when I was younger, my brother used to say, “Here, drown that devil,” and he’d hand me over his flask. Over time it became his saying then his motto. It wasn’t long before I started seeing him for who he really was. He was becoming the devil himself. Everything he did was out of malice and for his own gain. My father…’ his voice cracks. ‘My father believed he was bonding with Mark, thinking they were a team, but Mark only looked out for number one. He used to be kind and considerate, but that all changed when…It all eventually changed, setting the course of my life.’
Agonisingly slow he raises his eyes and I catch the pain, the hatred. The battered and bruised man reappears. He’s closed his heart off for so long he’s forgotten how to feel. This could be the chink in his armour I’m looking for.
‘What happened to your brother?’
‘What makes you think something has happened?’ he snaps.
Maybe not.
‘You speak of him in past tense.’
‘Whatever happened is my problem, my business, nobody else’s. My private life remains that, private.’
‘So what happened to my private life, my business? You come blundering in taking me away from my family for what? Telling me the truth about my brother? To me I’d call that invasion of privacy. What business of yours is it how or why my brother died?’