A three-piece suite filled a good part of the room. The two armchairs formed the ends of a loose rectangle whose other sides were made up of the large, ornate fireplace, and the three-seater sofa. The space in the middle was empty, unless you counted the sheepskin rug that lay before the hearth.
Sitting down on the chair nearest the door, the other man pulled on a pair of old walking boots. Simon knew they were too big, but that didn’t seem to bother him. His method of tying laces seemed to involve wrapping them around his ankle and tucking the loose ends into the top of the boots. While he did that, Simon looked at his wife, Jessica. The upper half of her body lay across the sofa, her knees resting on the floor. She wasn’t completely naked, but the scraps of material that covered parts of her body were only remnants of the clothes she’d been wearing before she was raped.
Simon had been helpless. Not that he was physically restrained. But he had seen what this man – this monster – was capable of, and knew that any attempt to stop him would lead to a level of violence he had never previously imagined possible. And it had been impossible to look away. Something had compelled him to watch. In a perverse kind of way, he hoped that it was something within the human psyche - that thing that draws us to ghoulishly look on at the aftermath of a car accident. He hoped for that, because in reality he was afraid that somehow the stranger had reached out with his mind and forced him to do it.
Jessica’s eyes stared across the room at him, where he was crouched against the wall at the side of the fireplace. The eyes stared, but they didn’t see anything. He wanted to reach out to her, hold her, reassure her that everything would be all right. But he knew it wouldn’t.
The night before last, this man had invaded their home. Since then, he had taken control of them both, using them for his own ends. At first, they’d assumed it was just going to be a burglary, an unpleasant and frightening experience in itself. But things had developed, and it rapidly became clear that this was not going to be over in a few minutes or even an hour or so. Worse still, there was a cold menace that emanated from their intruder.
In part it came from his appearance. He was tall and thin. At first, Simon had assumed that the thinness went hand in hand with boniness. But in the intervening period he’d had the opportunity to study him at closer quarters, and the narrow limbs were well covered in muscle. His skin was very pale, almost white, contrasting sharply with his black hair, which hung limply down to his neck. And from his pallid face, dark eyes stared out, intently taking in everything around them. That intensity was enough to unnerve anyone.
But, while appearances can be deceptive, actions can’t.
Within minutes of his arrival at the vicarage, the pale man had forced them down into the cellar, a damp chamber that they never used. As far as Simon could recall, he’d only been in it twice before: the first time when they came to view the property in anticipation of moving in, and the second time just after they moved in, when he’d decided they’d never want to use it. But that evening, he’d been forced to spend a couple of hours down there, which was unpleasant enough without the thought that your house was being burgled.
When the door had been opened, only Simon was let out. A stolen glance at the kitchen clock had told him it was already past two in the morning. Then he’d been taken to the Post Office. Over the years, he had patted Charlie’s head many times. He couldn’t honestly say he had enormous affection for the dog, but Charlie had been a recurring presence in his life. Though he doubted that the labrador’s suffering, or the pale man’s obvious delight in it, would have been any easier to bear if he’d never met the dog before. From the moment the torture began, Simon knew that he was in the presence of real evil.
His callousness was further underlined by the fact that Jessica was not released from the cellar until this evening. She’d been left there without food or water for almost forty-eight hours. For most of the time she was in there, Simon was helpless to do anything about it. Somehow, as if he’d been hypnotised, he felt he was completely under the pale man’s control. The only assistance he’d been able to provide had been the few times he’d been locked in there with her. Even then all he could do was hold her, hoping that their closeness would be reassuring. He doubted it had been. And as he looked into her vacant eyes, he knew any reassurance would have been a lie anyway.
The pale man stood up and nodded towards the door. It was time to leave.
Very cautiously, Simon got to his feet. He’d learned that the pale man didn’t like sudden moves. The bruises he could feel on his legs, arms and torso were evidence of that. If the pale man didn’t need him right now, Simon was convinced that he would already be dead.
As he made for the door, he tried to look at Jessica, but his head wouldn’t turn. Passing his captor, he was aware of a tear trickling down his cheek. He wasn’t sure if it was born from frustration or the fear that he may have seen his wife for the last time.
Outside it was dark. The curtains had been drawn in the house, so he hadn’t been aware of the time of day. They crossed the gravel drive and headed straight to the entrance to Forest Farm. Through the haze of his tiredness, he tried to recall how many times they had been to the farm in the last couple of days. The first time had been after they took the van from the Post Office. He’d been expecting them to drive away from the village, so he’d been surprised when he was directed here. They’d left the van and returned to the vicarage, Simon assuming that his part in whatever the pale man’s plans were must be over. On reflection, there was a major flaw in this thinking, he’d realised. The pale man couldn’t drive. It seemed he needed Simon for that if nothing else. And sure enough, just before daybreak, they were off again.
The purpose of the return to the vicarage was never explained. Simon was given no explanation for anything that had happened. He could only guess that the pale man had taken the opportunity to rest. Something Simon would have liked the chance to do himself but, even without the recurring images of the mutilated dog or the fear of what their fate was with this man, it would have been impossible to settle and rest in the dank confines of the cellar.
Their journey to Berkshire had been disjointed for a number of reasons, not least of which was his own lack of navigational skills. The pale man certainly didn’t know how to get there, and the detail on the road map they’d found in the van just seemed to confuse him more. So they’d strayed off the most direct route, and even found themselves in Wiltshire and Hampshire before finally getting their bearings. There had also been the moments when Simon had thought there might be a chink of goodness in his captor. His own weariness had threatened to overcome him on a couple of occasions, and he’d been instructed to pull over and rest. It was only when he was roughly woken up that he realised the rest was only to ensure they reached their destination in one piece.
They had arrived at the edge of Aldermaston village by late afternoon, at which point he’d been allowed to sleep again. When he woke up, it was dark. But he wasn’t given a chance to think, just drive.
Three men died that night. Their murders were deliberately slow, their suffering maximised. And Simon was made to watch each one. But before they died, those men helped to load the equipment into the van. Simon didn’t know what his cargo was, but he could guess.
The return journey was easier. It seemed that the pale man had gained a sense of direction, and the M4 was relatively easy to find, leading them to the M25 and M1. Motorways were a comfort blanket he was glad to make use of. The ten hours it had taken to reach Aldermaston was cut to four hours on the way back.
By the time they were walking back down the track to the vicarage, Simon had been ready to collapse. Which was what he had done when he was pushed into the cellar. He had been aware of Jessica beside him, so he doubted that he had done more than dozed, but exhaustion overcame him again and the time simply passed.
Little more than an hour ago, the cellar had been opened, and this time they were both allowed out. To think, he’d been relieved that
Jessica was being allowed out
Unlike his wife, Simon had been fed and watered sporadically over the two days, but only enough to allow him to serve his captor’s purpose. Bearing in mind the fate of his wife, he wondered whether his captor had much more use for him. And when his usefulness expired, he had no doubt that his fate would involve tremendous suffering. As he trudged up the track to the farm, he wondered whether he had been wrong all along. Was he now in the company of Satan?
Twenty-Two
Being held by Martin had brought a mixture of emotions for Tanya. For the first time she could ever recall, she’d lost control. Her life to date had always been about staying in control. When her relationship with Ian had started, she’d always made sure she held the balance of power. Sex, of course, was her biggest weapon. She presented herself to him, let him taste the forbidden fruits, and from then on he was hooked. And he knew he had to keep her happy if he was going to continue to enjoy those fruits.
She played to her strengths and, always, she looked to build on them.
Things had changed though.
First there was Martin. And last there was Martin. In between there was the small matter of a stolen bomb being found in her back yard, and even that might have been something to do with Martin.
Having been confined to this backwater for the last few years, to meet someone who wasn’t like one of the locals had been exciting. And he seemed to be attracted to her as well. But then the promise of his flirting had simply died away. He’d intrigued her, offering something different, and yet remaining an enigma.
The power shift had been gradual, but she realised now that it was all in his hands. Even though she knew in her heart that he had no interest in her either sexually or romantically, and even though she was sure he was keeping things from her about the stolen van, still she wanted to be with him. Her anger, her sense of betrayal, her frustration and embarrassment from earlier had all combined to leave her weakened, and desperate for him to take care of things for her.
And when he put his arms around her, she surrendered willingly.
For a few moments, there had been hope. The physical need she felt for him was intense, and feeling his hands on her back, she’d been convinced her wait was over. Instead of lust, though, she felt tenderness. He stroked her, soothed her, made her feel cared for. Which was a strange experience for her. Not that Ian didn’t demonstrate his caring for her. But his expressions of caring tended to involve gifts and treats and words. On a rational level, she knew he genuinely did care. What she felt with Martin, though, was so different. He didn’t have to say anything. She could just feel the warmth and love emanating from him. In a way that she couldn’t have imagined possible from anyone, let alone this surfer dude who liked to piss off policemen, villagers and family members alike.
He had taken her to bed. But not for sex. He’d simply sat on the edge of it holding her hand until she fell asleep.
The sound of the kitchen door had woken her up.
She was alone. Even though the room was in darkness, she could sense there was no one else with her. Ordinarily, she was slow to waken when she’d been asleep. But the door had disturbed more than her sleep. Worried that it might mean Martin was leaving, she took only a few moments to clear her head and get up.
Out of habit, she hesitated before going downstairs. Her hair was undoubtedly a mess. It always was when she first woke up. Though she knew that how she looked wouldn’t matter to Martin, the importance of her appearance was so ingrained in her that she took a rapid diversion into the shower room. The light made her wince when she pulled on the cord. Blinking, she inspected herself in the mirror. The damage wasn’t too bad. A quick brush through was enough to tide her over. The eye makeup was tolerable. She certainly didn’t have time to carry out a full repair job.
Since she’d been woken by the door closing, there had been no obvious sounds from downstairs. Inevitably in a house as old as this one, there were creaks and groans all the time. Those were just part of the background. Sometimes they were made by someone moving around, other times it was just the house itself.
As she went out on to the landing, she strained her ears, listening out for anything that might indicate whether Martin was still in the house or not. She hadn’t turned any more lights on, afraid that if he was leaving, it might spur him on. At the foot of the stairs, she could see the only light was a dim glow coming from the kitchen.
Of course she realised almost immediately that the glow was only passing through the kitchen. It originated from the annexe. She stepped through the doorway, more uncertain of herself than she’d ever been. What if Martin had already gone? And if he hadn’t, what was she going to say to him anyway? Plead with him to take her with him? Or ask him to spend the night with her in the knowledge that it would never be repeated?
A small shadow appeared at the doorway to the annexe, but rapidly grew bigger. He was coming towards the kitchen. She braced herself, hoping to God she’d know what to say when she saw him. And then he was there. But it was Ian, not Martin.
His whole body seemed to twitch when he saw her. She’d startled him. A combination of guilt and a sudden awareness of her own fragility made her empathise with him in a way she couldn’t remember having done before. She opened her mouth to apologise, but he raised a hand to stop her, then closed the door behind him.
“I didn’t want to disturb him,” he explained, gesturing beyond the door.
All the pieces fell hurriedly into place. Martin was still here. It had been Ian closing the kitchen door that had woken her. She felt relief that Martin hadn’t left, and shame that she was feeling that in the presence of her husband. A husband, incidentally, who seemed to be just as concerned about Martin as she was.
“Is he...?”
“Asleep, yes.” In the shadows of the kitchen, he peered at her as he drew closer. “And I’m guessing you were too. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
She waved the apology aside. Or was it the reference to her having been asleep? Obviously the quick brush of the hair hadn’t been enough.
“Don’t worry,” she said, and was surprised at the tenderness in her voice. She reached for him and gave him a hug. “It’s been a long day for all of us.”
At first, he was rigid in her arms. She couldn’t blame him. After the way she’d treated him in recent months, to be greeted with affection must have felt strange to him. But after a few moments he relaxed, and she was surprised at how pleasurable it was to be held by him. Not in the thrilling and sexy way she’d always thought would mark out the pleasure of being with a man. Instead she was filled with an affection and warmth that felt alien to her. Alien, and yet more right than she could have possibly imagined. Which left her even more confused. Because she might have understood it if this had been Martin. He was new and brought something different with him. But this was Ian, who she’d been in a relationship with for six years.
It was Ian who pulled away first. He looked at her closely. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, surprising herself. “I thought I was, but...” She tailed off, not sure if she could explain how she felt.
Ian smiled at her warmly. “Have you eaten?”
She shook her head.
“Why don’t you go and freshen up. Have a shower, it’ll help to waken you up a bit. I’ll make us a meal while you’re up there, and when you come down, we can have a talk.”
Something she would have hated to do normally. And yet, somehow, his suggestion felt right to her. Maybe it was because of the warmth she was feeling towards him. She thought it was more likely to be something else, but she was having some difficulty in identifying what that something else was.
“Good idea,” she said eagerly and squeezed his hand.
“What would you like to eat?” he asked.
“Whatever you like.” She smiled at him, and knew from his expression that he was both puzzled and delighted. It crossed her mind that she may be building his hopes up only
to shatter them. But she didn’t think so.
Playing along, he made a show of giving some thought to the question, before saying: “You know, we haven’t had breakfast yet. What about eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms...”
Not ideal for keeping her trim figure, but just right for this occasion.
“Don’t forget the tomatoes and fried bread,” she grinned, giving him another hug. “I’ll be ten minutes.”
“Well I’ll be at least twenty,” Ian told her, “so take as long as you need.”
When she glanced back as she headed into the hallway, he was still watching her, his face a picture of amused bewilderment.
He had been right, she realised as she went up the stairs. She always needed a shower in the morning to wake herself up properly. It might seem bizarre after such a long and arduous day to be planning anything other than catching up on sleep, but there were things she and Ian needed to talk about. On his side, he needed to open up to her about why he had been gone for so long. On her part, she needed to explore these new-found emotions with him.
The alarm clock told her it was almost nine-thirty. Smiling at the idea of a cooked breakfast this late in the evening, she almost skipped into the shower.
As the water poured down her body, her brain was running wild, thoughts leaping all over. She wasn’t consciously looking for an answer, but with such a profound change, it was inevitable that she would be wondering why she felt so different. As far as she could tell, nothing had changed within Ian. Okay, there was his secretiveness last night and this afternoon. But if that was going to have any effect on her it should have been a negative one.
It was when she’d stepped out of the shower and was towelling herself that it occurred to her. She was looking for why Ian made her feel the way Martin had. But maybe it was nothing to do with the way they made her feel. Maybe something had changed within her.
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