Behind the Facade

by Rebecca Heap

“I suppose you’d better come up to the house,” he heard the man finally concede. A high-pitched beep sounded and the gates gradually began to open. Charlie expected them to creak but they glided open with an almost eerie smoothness.

  “I still need to know what you want. This is highly irregular and I am sure there is something else you’re not telling me.”

  Charlie returned to his car and drove through the open gates, shrugging off the chill that shuddered briefly through him as he watched them shut behind him. Even in the dimming light, as he approached the house, he could see how beautifully well-built and ornate it was. His optimism returned. A man with taste like this surely couldn’t be that horrible? He spotted the sizeable garage over to one side and his mood lifted even more.

  He parked near the entrance and walked up the steps to the porch, even more amazed by the sheer wealth that exuded from this house, as his gaze took in all the elaborate details of the external design. An unconcealed camera swung towards him as he approached the front door and his nervousness returned, its glowing red eye pinning him with its malevolent glare. He couldn't prevent himself from starting a little when the heavy front door opened noiselessly and a large, fleshy man stood there, eyeing him with obvious displeasure.

  “I can't say you are welcome,” he grumbled. “As you can see,” he said, tightening the belt on the maroon velvet dressing gown he wore, “I wasn't expecting visitors.”

  He opened the door wider and grunted, “Follow me.”

  Charlie obeyed, a little disconcerted, especially as the guy didn't appear to be wearing anything underneath his robe. The man's backside wobbled revoltingly, even beneath the thick garment and flabby legs, riddled with ugly raised purple veins both drew and repelled his gaze. They entered a large living area and Charlie's expression changed from one of disgust to one of wonder. This single room was bigger than his entire house and was tastefully decorated with myriads of sparkling lights that beautifully highlighted the fascinating sculptures and large paintings positioned around the room.

  Mr. Williamson gestured for him to sit on a large black sofa that was set in front of an exquisitely carved dark oak table. Charlie remained standing, sharply aware of his intrusion in this house and now anxious to just see the car and get out of there. “I am sorry to impose on you like this. I won't sit down, as I don't want to take up any more of your time than is necessary. May I see the car?”

  The man appeared to frown, but it was hard to tell as his face had been surgically altered, the skin unnaturally taut, as though a skin-coloured balloon had been stretched unwillingly over the frame beneath. “Why do you need to see the car?” he answered irritably. “I thought you were simply here to check on my satisfaction with her?”

  Charlie hesitated, now wondering whether to come clean and admit to his deception in the hope that the man would take pity on him. However, one look into Mr. Williamson's muddy blood-shot eyes, forced him to quickly discard that idea; he'd seen wild dogs with more empathy in their gaze.

  “Yes,” Charlie agreed. “I am here to make sure you are completely satisfied. I am also here to check that the car is exactly as you ordered and all the specifications are correct.”

  Mr. Williamson was definitely not reassured by Charlie's words. He scowled, putting a hand to his mouth, his eyes scouring Charlie's face, as if he could gauge the true meaning behind his words by the intensity of his gaze alone.

  “Why do you need to check her? That kind of thing should have been done before she was passed over to me.”

  Charlie felt flayed by the man's scrutiny and he dropped his eyes and began to discreetly move backwards. “I can see this is a bad time,” he mumbled apologetically. “I'm so sorry to have bothered you. I'll go.”

  However, the big man didn't allow Charlie to retreat, striding over to him and gripping his shoulders painfully with his huge hands. His eyes narrowed into pig-like slits as he glared into Charlie's face. “Why are you really here?” he demanded harshly, almost spitting at him, eyes glinting with anger and suspicion. “There's something wrong with her isn't there?”

  “No, of course not!” Charlie refuted, now reckless in his desperation to appease this madman and get out of there. “I just wanted to see the car! I wanted to see if she was really a convertible!” If Mr. Williamson had been enraged before, Charlie's outburst was the flame that lit the touch paper.

  Colour flared on the man's cheeks and his face now favoured a red balloon that was about to burst. “What are you saying?” he screeched. “She's not really a virgin?!” His grip on Charlie tightened excruciatingly and he bellowed like a wounded baboon. “I knew it was all too fucking good to be true!” Charlie didn't understand Mr. Williamson's words but he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away, now certain that he was going to be struck.

  However, a few seconds passed and nothing happened. Charlie ventured opening his eyes and found that his antagonist's face had changed from one of acrimony to one of sorrowful resignation. He abruptly released Charlie, swearing and muttering under his breath. He ignored Charlie's attempts to question him and commanded, “Wait here!” before turning and leaving the room.

  Charlie gazed after the man in bewilderment, absently rubbing one of his throbbing shoulders. What did the man mean? What the hell had he got himself into? He decided that his curiosity had already got him into enough trouble and he wasn't going to hang around to find out. This whole idea had patently been a disastrous mistake. He hurried to the front door and was about to step outside when his already frazzled nerves were torn apart by a heartrending scream.

  He jolted in shock and his primal instincts took over. He was in his car and turning the key in the ignition before his conscious mind could even react. He was about to tramp the accelerator and get out of there when his thoughts interrupted. Who had screamed? What was going on in there? Could he just up and leave? He bowed his head, his whole body shaking and his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard it shook a little along with him. What if someone was hurt or needed help?

  He returned cautiously to the house, his senses at full acuity from the adrenaline coursing through his system but feeling disconnected from himself. As he re-entered the house it felt like he was stepping back into some awful waking dream. He found himself back in the room he had fled. The room was empty, nothing was disturbed and all was quiet. He scanned the room again, his ears straining for any noise. Could he have imagined the scream?

  He was torn between venturing further into the house and leaving for good this time, when he heard some strange sounds that seemed to be coming from the hallway just outside the room. The grunts and scufflings became louder. He watched in rigid fascination as Mr Williamson entered, panting with exertion as he dragged someone behind him. Charlie’s gaze changed to one of utter dismay as he got a proper look at who it was. It was a slight young woman. He couldn't tell how old she was. She was fully developed but there was something about her that shrieked of youth.

  She was naked and her long coppery hair hung in streams over her face. His mind registered that there was something wrong with her skin but he could not initially comprehend what it was. Was she covered in birthmarks? Most of her skin was a normal pale pink but scattered here and there were darker marks, some reddish, some a livid purple. There was a long streak of red tracking her passage across the floor. He couldn't suppress a small sob of distress as the realisation hit him like a physical pain; the red trail was blood and the mottled stains on her body were bruises. If it was she he had heard cry out, she wasn't making any noise now.

  Mr. Williamson came to a halt in front of Charlie and let go of the girl's arm. As soon as he released her, she curled up into a foetal ball, clearly an instinctive defence mechanism. Mr. Williamson spotted Charlie's appalled countenance and exclaimed bitterly, “You surely can't expect to get her back in the same condition she arrived in? You have breached the terms of our contract. You admitted yourself that she is not as described. Take her away. You think I would keep second
hand goods?!”

  He turned to the girl and kicked her viciously. Her reaction earlier showed that she had already become accustomed to this kind of brutality. “Get up, you worthless bitch!” he spat at her, his ugly face almost rendered inhuman with venom and disgust.

  She slowly uncurled herself and began to falteringly get to her feet. Charlie was unable to stop himself rushing over to her to offer some support. His horror deepened when she flinched at his touch, turning big green eyes upon him, full of despair.

  He turned to Mr. Williamson, his shock now making him angry. He now had no illusions as to what kind of business he had stumbled upon. “Car” had obviously all along been a euphemism for “girl”. He realised that he had to try and stay in character and just meekly leaving with the girl would probably register as odd.

  “What the fuck have you done to her? You've barely had her five minutes and she looks like you've used her for boxing practice! At least get her something to cover herself with!”

  Williamson glared resentfully at him but did as requested and returned with a large blanket. Charlie wrapped it around the shivering girl, noticing that blood was now dripping on to her feet. He looked for any open wounds on her body but couldn't see any. Where was the blood coming from? He spotted scarlet streaks on her inner thighs.

  “Is she on her period?” he asked Williamson.

  At this query, the man merely smiled, the malevolently sly look in his piggy eyes sending a shiver of revulsion through Charlie.

  “No,” he answered. “Thought I’d get the pleasure of seeing her bleed like a virgin, even if she isn’t one.”

  “What?” Charlie gasped but the man merely sneered at him and, balling his hands into fists, hissed menacingly, “You’d better get the hell out of here before I decide to get my money’s worth out of you too.”

  The girl was in no state to move fast so Charlie lifted her into his arms. Charlie felt his heart wrench, as she burrowed herself into him. She still made no sound but he couldn’t help whispering to her, “You’re alright. You’re safe with me, I promise.” He walked out of the room with her, unable to prevent himself looking back over his shoulder to give the bastard a last blisteringly disparaging look.

  He got back to his car and laid the girl down gently in the back seat, trying to bunch the blanket up between her legs to help stop the bleeding. He glanced at her face and his heart turned to ice in his chest. She was so pale and still he thought she was dead. He was about to check her vital signs when she moved slightly. She remained unconscious but her face twisted and she moaned weakly, whether due to current or remembered pain he couldn’t tell. The sounds she made sent a shudder of dread through him. He closed the door and tried to gather his shattered wits. He would drive to the hospital and get some help and then everything would be alright…he could unload her and this whole awful mess on to someone else.

  His car started up alright but, in his haste to leave, he didn’t depress the clutch properly and the gears crunched loudly. He glanced anxiously back at the house but no-one appeared. He sped down the long driveway and back out on to the road. The wind howled like an abandoned hound, pushing fretfully at the swollen clouds and flinging wet leaves and debris at Charlie’s little car, as though in an effort to hinder or chastise him.

  He travelled for about a mile and then, finding a small layby, he pulled over. He dug in his pocket for his mobile phone and accessed the SatNav application, so agitated that his hands shook in sync with his frenetically beating heart. Locating the nearest hospital, he programmed directions to it, swearing under his breath when his trembling hands failed to lodge the phone in its holder securely and it fell to the floor.

  As he turned and bent to pick up the phone, his gaze met that of his injured passenger and he flinched back in shock, both at the fact that she was conscious and at the depth of desperate supplication in her eyes. “Phone?” he thought he heard her whisper.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he assured her. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “No,” she now said quite plainly, her eyes ablaze in her damaged face.

  “Yes,” Charlie contradicted her firmly. “You are losing a lot of blood. If I don’t get you to hospital you might die!”

  She began to weakly attempt to move herself into a more upright position.

  “Hey, Hey!” Charlie burst out in panic, “Stay still! You shouldn’t move!”

  “Phone. Please,” she mouthed, trying with difficulty to raise her hand.

  “OK. OK!” he conceded, worried about her continuing to exert herself. “Look, I'll give you the phone and you press the numbers. Then you need to give it back to me and lie down. I'll do the talking.”

  He watched her as she touched the screen of the phone, her fingers trembling and her face frighteningly pale but her mouth fixed in a rigidly determined line. He couldn't help feeling a flare of admiration but it was tempered by another cold wave of dread. He expected that it was a product of his flayed emotions and his worry that the effort by this girl would achieve nothing but a worsening of her already fragile condition.

  She handed the phone back to him and he looked at the screen. She’d entered what looked like a valid number. He couldn't believe that it was possible for her face to lose any more colour but it had.

  “What’s your name?” he asked her, instinctively whispering as though even using too loud a voice might do her an injury.

  Her gaze was feverish, her skin shiny with sweat.

  She licked her lips effortfully. “Brenna,” she rasped, her voice brittle but clear.

  He then watched in horror as her eyes rolled in her head and she slid back down on the seat, all semblance of life draining out of her like air from a balloon.

  “Shit!” Charlie swore, the phone almost slipping out of his grasp again. He ignored the phone number on the screen and hastily brought his navigation page back up.

  He should never have allowed his sympathy for her plea to affect his judgment. He could not afford to waste any more time. He had to get her to the hospital before it was too late...if it wasn't already.

  CHAPTER 10

  Sebastian was thoroughly pleased with himself as he settled back into the driver’s seat of the Range Rover. He was still smarting from the cuts and bruises he had sustained during the fight but, overall, he thought things couldn’t have turned out better. He’d dumped Sean’s unconscious body in the back of the vehicle, safely trussed up and now the waiting and frustration were finally over. He had Kate all to himself and what’s more she could do nothing about it. He had to hold back on letting out a roar of delight and instead turned to her, plastering a solicitous smile on his face.

  The taser in his pocket reminded him of its presence as he sat down, nudging him in the leg. He removed it with a shrug, casting it on the dashboard. He’d always thought tasers were for nancies anyway. He’d found much greater gratification in using the gun. Something was caught on his hand he noticed, as he made to grip the steering wheel. It was Kate’s locket. He’d forgotten about it up until this moment. It must have been snagged by the taser when he’d withdrawn it from his pocket. He held it up to the light letting it twirl and laughed.

  “I should return this to you,” he said to Kate, who was sitting slumped and still in the passenger seat trying to adjust to all she had experienced and the sudden change in her fortunes.

  She didn’t respond so he dangled it in front of her face. “Isn’t this yours?” he asked.

  Kate saw it and her head jerked up. “Where did you find it?” she asked excitedly, reaching out for it.

  He let the pendant drop into her searching palm where she stared at it in amazement, stroking its surface in disbelief. It was only when she’d recovered from her delight that she noticed he was far too close to her, his hand on her knee and his breath hot on her cheek. He had relinquished the locket only to lean in towards her whilst her attention was captured. She looked up in delayed consternation.

  “That must mean a lot to y
ou. Don’t I deserve a thank you, Kate?” Kate frowned and tried to shift away from him. His face was bearing down on her when the phone in his pocket rang.

  “Report!” barked the voice on the other end. Harry had noticed Sebastian had been at the location for some time now and was disgruntled that he had not yet telephoned to tell him what was happening. “You’re meant to be updating me. Where are you? Have you secured my daughter?”

  “Sir, I have her,” stated Sebastian.

  Kate looked across at him and, realising he must be talking to her father, exclaimed “Dad!” and reached for the phone.

  Her father tried hard not to bombard her with questions but was not used to being in the dark about anything, especially where his daughter was concerned. Unfortunately, Kate could not cope with any form of interrogation and before too long she dissolved into tears and sobbed, “I’m OK. I’m not hurt. Please Dad. I just can’t right now..…”

  He reassured her they could go through everything later. The important thing was that she was safe and she was coming home.

  When she passed the phone back to Sebastian, Sebastian launched into his own account of events, with a view to demonstrating to the boss how well he had excelled, but Harry cut him off. “I can hear about that when you get here! Concentrate on bringing her back to me. Can’t you see she needs to be home!”

  Sebastian was nonplussed. Denied any recognition yet again, his mood abruptly soured. As they started their journey back, Sebastian vented some of his anger on other road users, swearing at any driver that appeared in his path and taking the first opportunity he could to overtake, even when there was little room to pass.

  Kate had slipped back into silence and uneasy reflection, trying to make sense of her disordered feelings, and was not even aware of Sebastian’s erratic driving. The movements of the car evened out, as they reached the motorway, and Sebastian’s hand strayed back to her knee, having less need to control the wheel. She certainly noticed this and immediately went rigid.