by CS Savage
You lie peacefully, your eyelids do not flutter. You will not wake now until I want you to, so I have some time to rest. I gently shut the door behind me and return down the stairs to remove myself from temptation.
67
Angel
She came to suddenly – one moment stillness, and then, she was alert. It was almost silent, but she could hear dripping…a gentle slow rhythm. It was unfamiliar, not a noise she had heard before. She tilted her head to the side, tried to rub her ear. But her hand wouldn't move. Suddenly, she was aware of a sharp pain, a cramp in her shoulder. Why is my arm above my head? Why is my hand fixed still? She tried to open her mouth, take a deep breath, but she realised she couldn't – there was something on her face, gagging her.
She snapped her eyes open. Fear coursed through her. Where am I? How have I got here? The room was dark; she could make out blinds, small cracks of light shining through. A tall stand was next to her, a large clear bag of liquid hanging from it. A tube ran from the bottom. She followed it with her eyes and saw that it ran under a bandage that was wrapped around her arm. Have I had an accident? Am I in hospital? Again, she tried to move her arm, but it was no use. It was fixed, attached to the post of the headboard. Surely they didn't tie people’s arms up in hospitals? As she started to become more alert, her memories began to crystallise. She opened her mouth to scream. But it was no use, she could get no sound past the blockage on her face. She tried to get up, pulled desperately at the bindings holding her down, but to no avail…she was fixed tight. Her arms and legs burnt as she pulled against the ties. Pain stabbed her back as she arched. Her bladder was bursting, she needed to wee. Oh my God, how have I got myself into this situation? Hot tears started to flow down her cheeks. All she could do was lie and wait.
68
Clancy
As she pushed Rowan's bedroom door, it almost rebounded and hit her in the face, the bottom of the door jamming on discarded clothes. Clearly, Rowan had not had time to clear her stuff away before she went out.
Her make-up was scattered over her dressing table, clothes were strewn across the bed. It was always tricky knowing what to wash, much of it would be clean, just hadn't made that day’s look.
She got down on her knees and started to filter through random items, was just reaching under the bed to pull out a pair of knickers, when her hand touched a box. She leant down, had a peek, pulled the box out. Victoria's Secret?
She felt her pulse quicken, couldn't stop herself looking inside – slipping the lid off the box, pulling the paper-thin tissue to the side. Beneath lay a beautiful cream silk corset, suspenders attached, with matching panties. Clancy took a sharp breath. What was Ro doing with this? Where had she got the money from, this stuff wasn't cheap? And how come she had hidden it? What else is she hiding? Clancy felt sweat prickle the back of her neck. What is going on?
She folded the tissue paper back and slipped the lid back on the box, slid it back under the bed. But she knew she wouldn't be able to forget that she'd seen it. Somehow, she didn't fancy breakfast now.
69
Angel
As she came to, the first thing that hit her was the pain, excruciating stabbing pain through her body. Her arms were cramping, stretched above her head. Her eyes were bleary, she longed to rub them, but, of course, she couldn't. It was so cold. And damp. She tried to wriggle, felt herself moving against the cold sheet. It was wet – she was lying in a puddle of wee. And she had no cover, no clothes. She forced herself to lie still, tried to relax her muscles, but it was impossible. The ties were too tight. She looked around the room, tried to focus. And then she saw the familiar shape in front of her. She tensed, cringed into the bed.
'You! What have you done to me?' But the words were in her head only. Her mouth was immobile, gagged. He stood, walked towards her. She felt herself shrink away from him, sink her body as heavily as possible into the mattress, but she could go nowhere. She watched him as he walked round the drip stand, his face shining, almost beaming at her. He reached over her pillow, placed his hand on her forehead.
'You're awake at last.'
She could feel him gently caressing her with his fingers, drew back as far as she could, trying to give as hostile a stare as she could manage, but he just smiled down at her, carried on caressing. Patting the sheet beside her, he moved his hand slowly towards her feet, stopped half way. She watched him turn away, open the door of a cupboard behind him, and bring out a washing up bowl.
'I won't be a second, Angel, then I can clean you up.' He left the room.
When he returned, balancing the heavy bowl, she couldn't stop herself from tensing, trying to rip herself from the bed, pulling the ties taut. If she wasn't gagged, she would have screamed. But it was all no use. She saw his face change; the mask of glee slipped a little. He placed the bowl on the floor, walked towards the drip stand, fiddled with the plastic. And then, her head was swimming, nausea rising. Despite her terror, she couldn't prevent her thoughts from floating, her eyelids from closing. And then, silence.
70
I see the fear in your eyes as soon as your eyelids flutter open. Your gaze flicks around the room, and then, you catch sight of me. Your hair curls in tendrils, and there is a sheen on your face. I see your jaw muscles tense, you are trying to speak – I am sorry that I have had to silence you. I would like to be able to have a conversation with you, to hear your lovely voice, but I know I cannot risk it, so will have to make do with my monologue. Although, of course, Mother is still there, interfering, telling me I am going about everything all wrong.
The room is dimly lit through the blinds, and as I move towards you, I detect a waft of ammonia in the air – you have wet yourself. I do not blame you for this. It was expected, and I am prepared. I will wash you. I walk to the side of the bed, gently stroke your forehead. It is damp with sweat. I will wash that also. I return to the wardrobe, pull out the bowl and a flannel, go to the bathroom and fill it with hot water, adding a little simple bathing cream. As I work, I tell you how special you are, how grateful I am to have you, how happy we will be together. Yet, as I turn back to the bed, I see you wriggling, pulling your ties taut. Patiently, I explain to you that there is no point in your struggling, you are where you are meant to be, you are in your resting place. But you do not listen, you just struggle more. I suppress the urge to snap at you. I do not want to ruin the mood. I move to the stand, roll the plastic wheel downwards, and watch the drip rate increase. Within a minute, your eyelids start to droop, your struggling ceases, the ties relax. I can proceed.
I untie your feet and lay them gently on the sheet, before untying first your left and then your right hand. I lie them by your side; you look so peaceful. I undo the sheet corners, roll you on to your side and roll the plastic-backed sheet into the centre of the bed, so that it is in a tube by your back. I move sides, roll you over the tube and remove the offending item, before replacing it with a clean one. So simple. I roll you back over, and then, the sheet has been replaced beneath you. I take the flannel, soak it in the water, squeeze out excess and then move from your head to your toes, patiently bathing you. Cleanliness is so important. Finally, I re-tie the ties to the bed posts, pulling them tight. I do not want you flailing. I return to the drip, roll the plastic wheel back up and watch the drips slow down, almost stop. You will wake up soon.
When I have finished, I return to the bathroom, pour the dirty water down the sink, and then, at last, I free myself. My penis is turgid, small drips of pre-come have dampened my shorts. It takes only seconds to relieve myself into the sink. I fall forward, hold myself up against the porcelain as the warmth floods through me. It won't be long now before I can have the real thing.
71
Angel
Suddenly, she was awake. She couldn't stop herself from pulling on the ties, but if anything, they were tighter than before. The room was in darkness, only very faint light was coming through the cracks between the blinds. Turning her head, she listened out for a sound. Any
sound. Any clue that might tell her where she is. There was a low rumble of traffic noise, but she couldn't identify anything nearer, anything in the house. The pain from her bladder, full to bursting, was excruciating, but she didn't want to wet herself, didn’t want to lie in her own urine again. Hold on. She stared around the room, trying to find any chance of escape, again yanked at her ties, but it was pointless. She wasn’t going to release herself.
She wriggled in the bed. The sheet was soft, dry. He must have changed it, but how? No way he could move the sheet from under her while she was tied, she couldn't move an inch. And then, it struck her…he must be untying her. She had already worked out he was drugging her; she knew from the sudden fits of sleep, the heavy feeling and dry mouth when she woke. The stuff must be in the drip that was going into her arm. She tried to shake her arm, tried to dislodge it, but her arm hardly moved. She felt the tears running down her cheeks. How long is he going to keep me here? She was trembling, partly from the cold, mostly from the fear. She bit on the gag. She could hardly breathe. She felt vomit rise up her throat but managed to swallow.
She thought back – had there been any indication that he would do this to her, take her hostage? He had seemed to like her, been nice, kind, interested in her. She pulled on the ties again, tried to lift her legs, kick out – nothing moved. Terror started to flow through her. No one knew she was here, no-one would come after her…but she had to hold on to hope. There must be some way out of this. After what seemed like hours had passed, she could think of nothing. All she could do was wait.
72
I make my way back home carrying the pizza box carefully, I don't want the toppings to slide off. The traffic is still busy, headlights flashing and engine noise ruining the peace, the air is thick with exhaust fumes. But even this can't destroy the feeling of warmth that flows through me at the thought of you. A picture of you lying there, waiting for me, runs across my mind, like an internal film on replay. The temptation is so strong, but I have to be sure I choose the right moment. How long will it take before life leaves you? So that I can finally achieve my dream; I can fulfil what has been promised. I harden at the thought. I know you are getting weaker; the life is starting to fade out of you. Part of me is sad, will be sorry that you are no longer able to respond, to react. But I have to do as Mother says. I know this is the only way to make you mine. And I won't miss the constant cleaning and bathing, and the scent of urine is hard to remove, it’s actually becoming off-putting. Tomorrow, I will take a needle, add more drug to the bag, and I will watch the life drain out of you. And then, my time will have come.
When I get to the house, I stand for a few seconds outside, observe the road for anything unusual, for signs of anyone watching, but the coast seems clear. I hurry up the garden path, unlock the door and walk into the hallway, still taking care to balance my pizza. In the kitchen, I get myself a tray, cutlery and a plate, carefully serve myself four slices, before going into the lounge and settling myself on the sofa. I turn my head to the side, check for any sound upstairs, but unsurprisingly, all is quiet. I smile to myself, grab the remote control, flick the TV on and lean back to enjoy my evening.
73
Clancy
Clancy got to her desk just before eight am. She wanted to take advantage of Rowan's absence to catch up on things. She moved reports and letters aside and pulled her keyboard towards her, tapped in her password, then looked at her in tray for new mail. Empty – how odd. Then, she remembered that Shirley her secretary had been off last week; the mail would more than likely still be in the post room. Wearily, she rose and walked back towards the main entrance.
The post room was tiny and surrounded by wire cages all with different name labels. Hers was in the corner, snug beside the old photocopier. She grabbed a pile of letters, started flicking through as she walked, but then felt her heart stop. Not another one – please! But the hand-printed envelope was unmistakable. The only difference was, this time, the letter had a little more weight, seemed to have more than just a piece of paper inside.
When she got to her desk, she used her scissors to gently prise the envelope open, shook the contents on her desk. One sheet of rose pink paper with a printed message. And a small square glossy sheet, a photo. She turned the sheet over, studied the image, felt her heart leap into her mouth. A young girl’s body, naked except for fine white lace lingerie. The girl lay on her back, on a large bed covered in a white sheet. A lacy bra covered her breasts, but her legs were falling apart, her modesty covered by the briefest of silk pants. Clancy held her breath as her eyes took in the girl's face. Curly black hair spread over the pillow in a cloud surrounding her face. A face that was dear to her heart. Rowan's face. Clancy gasped, jumped from her seat. Who on earth could have taken this? She picked up the note, flicked her eyes over the words.
A memento for you.
And that was it. Clancy gulped, felt the bile rise in her throat. She shoved her chair back, glanced at the clock, eight-thirty am. With any luck, Emily would be in. A minute later, she was sitting in her office, hardly able to blink the tears back. Emily was on the phone to the police; Clancy was desperately trying to get a hold of Rowan, find out who had taken the picture. But Rowan's phone rang out and went to voicemail.
She left a message, 'Ro please call me as soon as you get this. Love you, Mum.'
At least she had been away for the weekend, wouldn't have been around to get into trouble. But how do I know if Rowan is safe right now? Clancy thought she was going to have a panic attack, her pulse was running along like a train.
They waited thirty minutes before two police constables appeared outside Emily's office. They were both in uniform. The tall one sat down next to Clancy, took the letter and print in a gloved hand, placed it in an evidence bag.
'Don't suppose you remembered to use gloves?'
Clancy shook her head, 'Sorry, no.'
'So, when did you get this?'
Clancy told her how she had collected her mail from the post room that morning.
The PC checked the post mark. 'Looks like it was there for a few days. It was posted last Thursday.' She looked at Clancy. 'Any idea who it could be from?'
Clancy shook her head, but then, the realisation came to her. Vic. It must be! He had posted the picture of Ro online. He was the only one with access to such pictures of her. She almost melted with relief. Vic, they could handle. She could see the PC looking at her oddly as she smiled.
'Did you want to say something?'
The words fell from Clancy's lips in a torrent. The stalking, the eggs and Facebook photo, the fact that the Sapphire unit was involved. The PC took it all down in her notebook, even she seemed visibly relieved.
'Leave it with me. I think we will need to bring this Victor guy in for questioning immediately.’ She handed Clancy a card with a mobile number on it and gave her a crime reference number.
'We'll be in contact later today, as soon as we've got him. Ring us if you think of anything else at all.' The door clicked shut behind them.
'She'll be fine,' Emily said, 'Try not to worry. They'll catch up with him.'
Clancy nodded at her. 'I hope so. Thanks so much, Emily, not sure I could have done this without you.' She turned and went through the door, shutting it gently behind her before walking back to her office. She was surprised when she got there to see a man sitting by her desk – greasy hair, goatee. Shit, what does he want now? He stood up as she walked in, stood legs wide, his expression tight.
'I was looking through the caseload. Do you remember that young girl, Bethany Poole?'
Clancy's mouth went dry. Of course I do. She nodded.
'Just that I was checking her notes, looks like she's disengaged. Hasn't been seen for a couple of weeks. You saw her last. It was that home visit.' His face flushed as he spoke. 'I know I said I didn't want you seeing her at home, but I expected you to arrange follow-up. Did you?'
Clancy stared at him, her thoughts were blank. She tried to make her mouth fo
rm words, but her brain didn't seem to be able to signal any content, she feared she was beginning to look like a goldfish. After what seemed like five minutes, she stammered, 'Sorry…I, eh…must have overlooked that.' She couldn't lay the blame at anyone else's door, couldn't confess she had been in contact off the record.
'For fuck’s sake! You're so worried you have to keep driving round there, and then, because you can't, you leave her completely to her own devices? You're totally incompetent.' He grabbed a piece of paper off the desk, crumpled it in his fist. ‘Just sort it out, Clancy. And for your sake, I hope she's alright.' He turned and marched out of her office, slamming the door behind him.
Clancy dropped her head into her hands, just stopped her hand from reaching round to the back of her head. Close shave. Thank God Beth was ok. She would have to send her an outpatient appointment. It would all be a bit of a charade, but she was sure Beth would go along with it, for her sake. She grabbed her phone and dialled Beth's number. It went straight to voicemail. She left a message.