And here I am once more, exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and lying between the two men in a stupid little, rotten, smelly, sleeping bag, in a stupid, little, rotten, smelly, tent in the middle of nowhere. We are squashed in. I hate it. I can hear their breathing and their snoring. It is so dark that I am totally blind, but I cannot use that blessing, the dark, in any meaningful way, like Olly taught me. My mind has been stolen in the act of stealing me. I lay here wanting to kill them, thinking I’ll never sleep, until I eventually do fall asleep, and then the process repeats itself.
The young man yanks on my chain to get me moving.
“Ow!” I cry.
He steps closer to me. I shrink into myself, pulling my hands up towards my chest, tensing my shoulders, and lowering my head. He takes my hand and pushes the sleeves of my sweater up past the elbow. My wrists are red raw. He blinks slowly and sighs. He glances at me like he cares. What’s going on? I relax, then tense back up almost immediately. I don’t understand. He drops his bag and gets the keys. He undoes the chain. It drops to the floor, noisily. He pulls something out of his bag, some sort of ointment, which he pours onto a cloth. He takes my hand gently in his and begins to clean the wounds. It is painful. I grimace, but try not to let it show. He knows it hurts, so he is dabbing it, a section at a time. He takes my other hand and cleans my other wrist. He then wraps my wrists up in bandages. I can’t actually believe he is doing this. When he finishes, he smiles at me. He actually smiles a large kind smile. Reflexively I smile back. His handsome face has completely changed in my mind. I am attracted to him. I want his smile. I want his affection. I desire it. I need the human contact, the humanity. This thought spirals in me. I am even more scared now. I am scared of my own thoughts. Olly seems to fade in my mind as I think about the man, with a new and unwanted affection in my heart, and it is growing as every second passes. The man drops to his knees before me, and repacks his bag. I stare down at him. I want him to hold my hand again, to caress my wrists. I shake my head, slightly. No, no, no, what is wrong with me? I am desperate. They know this. I wish he hadn’t helped me. I wish he had continued to be mean and horrible, I knew myself better then, but now I can see the human in him. A lost soul like me. I find I am staring at him. As if he can read my mind he looks up at me, he says kindly,
“I won’t chain you again today because of your wrists, but if you run…”
“I won’t run,” I say impulsively. “I promise.”
I start crying. I am overcome. What is wrong with me? I am being stupid. This is not what kindness looks like. Kindness is not telling me that he won’t chain me like an animal. But it feels like it. It feels like the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I am being manipulated. I know I am being manipulated and I can’t help it. I am being led astray, from my own mind. My own sanity. The men share a glance. The older one grins. The younger one lifts his bag and stands up beside me. I look up at him and wipe my eyes.
“Stop it,” the older man shouts.
I stop snivelling. The handsome man smiles at me almost sheepishly. I can’t help but return the grin, despite myself. I almost laugh. What the Hell?
“I’m Paul,” he says, taking my hand, he rubs his thumb over my fingers staring at my hand.
He is turning himself into a human before my very eyes. The other man laughs.
“And I’m Mark.”
I am stunned that they have talked to me like I am an actual person, with real thoughts and feelings. It is a strange sensation. I am unsure of how to feel. Yet I do feel strangely better.
“Well?” Mark says. “Who are you?”
“Er… Isabel… Izzy.”
“Well Isabel-Izzy,” Paul says. “Come on.”
I actually laugh, he made a joke.
“Walk,” Mark says.
At night when we are about to sleep they put me back in my chains, how could I expect anything different? In the darkness I stare upwards. The image of Paul’s smile is burnt into my retina. I have a crush on him. I am falling for him. He is big, strong, handsome, rough, tough, everything I like in a man. I find that I am admiring him. Stupid brain. I want to be near him. I want his touch, the warmth of his body pushed up against mine. I imagine him naked, his ripped torso, his muscular arms. I imagine him kissing me all over, everywhere. I imagine him telling me he wants me. I imagine him making love to me over and over, like the lovers in a romantic movie, it is deep and passionate. What is wrong with me? I must escape. But I don’t want to escape, I want more attention from him. Why am I thinking like this? I have never been more scared in my whole life as I am with these two men and what they could do to me. What they could do to me… What Paul could do to me? I am at his mercy… I breathe deeply. Why does that thought turn me on? Am I attracted to power to strength? What am I? I want him even more. Shit. What is wrong with me? I am delirious.
twenty-seven
Voices are being carried through the air and into my ears. It is buzzing away. The breeze is igniting my fear. Every step I take, the voices grow louder. There are many different voices, many different people, many different survivors. Is that good or bad? I sweat. It’s bad, isn’t it? Bad for me, at least. It has to be. I slow.
“We’re nearly there,” Mark announces.
My heart begins to race. I can’t walk. I stop. Mark drags me onwards. I fall on purpose but Mark pulls so hard on the chain that my hands almost rip off. I am forced to get up and walk. I drag my feet and walk behind them at the full length of my chain. I stare at the ground looking for something, anything that can help me. But even when I do see a rock I haven’t got the time to grab it. They are pulling me too fast through the fields. We walk through a graveyard. I stare at the tombstones, what will happen to me? The pressure is building up within me again, it is multiplying and compressing. Lead is being forged in my burning stomach. I am heavy. I am dying inside. I am about to fall through the Earth. I think on Olly and Stephen, they are my only hope now, where are they? Please find me. I see Olly in my mind’s eye; he is calling out to me, telling me he will save me. I wonder if this is just a coping mechanism. I wonder what would happen if my fear had no break, no halt, would I just bubble and fizz inside until I died right here, right now? How did witches survive the walk to the stake? How did anyone survive the walk to the hangman or the guillotine? That’s how I feel right now.
I stare at the back of Pauls' head. He turns every now and again for encouragement. I stare at him like a love-sick moron. I hate myself sometimes. As we continue my mind whirrs. I wonder what is going to happen and I shiver with fear. Archie, his name haunts me. Archie, it seems to whisper in the wind, rustle in the bushes, and attach itself to my blood. He is in me. No, no, no, it’s not him. It’s not. But, the ghost has infiltrated me and I am lost. It’s not Archie. It’s not as bad as I can imagine. Nothing could be as bad as I can imagine, can it? I hope, I believe, I pray. The not knowing is killing me, and all the sinister undertones that come with it. Mark tugs on the chain. He starts dragging me. I have to walk, stepping ever closer towards my doom.
The voices grow louder still. There is cheering and shouting and fighting. A gun blasts. Oh no, what is happening? Where am I going? My arms are being pulled out of their sockets. We cross into another field. Then I see it. I stop and stare. On the other side of the fence, in the distance, is a campsite. I can see dark green tents of all sizes. I can see people, like ants, milling about. I fall onto my knees in the long grass, lift my hands to my face and cry. That looks like it could be Archie’s camp, I recognise the tents from before. No it’s not, it’s not. Paul and Mark stop, shorten the chain, and taking an arm each drag me up and put me back onto my feet. They force me to walk between them. Paul puts his arm over my shoulders and squeezes me gently. I welcome it. We share a glance. I feel better. We tread closer and closer. The noise grows and grows, the din of multiple voices talking and shouting all at once. My eyes scan the camp trying to make sense of it all. Someone on horseback is circling the perimeter. He spots us and trots clo
ser, he has a rifle hanging over his shoulder. He stops at a distance and waves a signal towards the entrance. We slowly arrive at the gates and are nodded through by a huge man also in uniform and holding a rifle. Things just got worse. I look down at the grass beneath my feet. The men lead me deep into the camp. The crowd goes silent around us as we walk through. Like a bubble of quiet is slowly gurgling through the crowd. As soon as I pass they start up again. I can feel their eyes on me. I am burning up. Most of them are in uniforms. They carry guns and knives and crossbows. They all look fierce. There is fire in their eyes. I stare back down at the worn down grass, anything but the hungry look in these stranger’s eyes.
“So you finally found one,” one of the women says as she slaps Paul on the back.
“Of course, did you ever doubt it?” Mark replies.
What is going on? One of what? A girl? What does that mean? I look about at the rabble. They are all drinking beer from huge tankards. It is like some kind of Viking enclave. They are staring at me like I am meat. I am about to get butchered. Why do I keep looking at them? I stare back at the ground. I hate the way they ogle me. Paul squeezes my shoulder. I un-tense, slightly. I don’t understand anything anymore. Has it been so long since they have seen a new face and where the Hell are we anyway? What the Hell do they need me for? I thought I was just unlucky. Now I know I was picked out and chosen. Is that worse or better? I trip over a stone. Paul takes my hand and pulls me back up on to my feet. He says nothing. I wish he would take me away from here. I wish he would save me.
Up ahead I see a farmhouse. We walk towards the entrance, slowly. I feel a weight pushing me into the Earth. We approach the door and are let through by another burly soldier. Inside two more soldiers, one male and one female stand up from their post. They take one look at us, the woman points towards another door.
Paul knocks. The door opens.
“Come in,” a male voice behind the door says.
Paul and Mark pull me into the room.
“Take a seat,” he points towards a settee.
They sit, one on either side of me, holding me down with the chain, tugging on my sore wrists. What can I do now? Even if I got away from both of them, I am entirely surrounded. I have no chance at all. I watch the soldier walk over to the opposite corner of the room and knock another door. Moments later, he disappears inside. I can see candlelight flickering as the door opens. He slams the door behind him.
I bite my tongue. The pressure is rising once more. Who is behind that door? What do they want with me? I try to contain myself by staring about the room. It is more or less what I expect a farmhouse to be like. Floorboards on show, dusty atmosphere, no over the top modern décor. It would be homely and wholesome if the soldiers weren’t here. On the walls are paintings. I’m sure I have seen some of them before, like they are famous or something. I stare at the one in front of me, on the wall above another settee. It is of a lake surrounded by mountains and a forest. There is a single boat out on the water. It is absolute peace, absolute serenity. I think of Stephen and Olly. My boys, where are they? I need you. The man comes back out.
“Mark, he wants to talk to you.”
Mark passes my chain to Paul and steps inside the room. I try to listen but I hear nothing. Paul doesn’t move or say a word. My heart is thumping away in my chest. The world begins to spin around me. I feel weak and pathetic. I have no idea what is going on and this man clearly seems important. It is him isn’t it, that evil bastard? Stop it, Izzy. The chains around my wrists start rattling. I am shivering, even though it is warm in here. My teeth are chattering. I am rigid with fear. What are they talking about? Why is it taking so long? I feel like a criminal on death row. What would my last request be? Please let me go, what else would I ask for? I don’t know anything anymore. What’s the point in anything?
Mark exits and walks over to us. He grabs the chain out of Paul’s hand.
“You can go now,” he says to Paul.
Paul nods, salutes, and walks off. I watch his back longingly. Why isn’t he turning around? I do not exist to him. All his kindness was a game. It was funny to them. As his footsteps reverberate off the floorboards a black hole engulfs me. I am sinking into the sofa. I am disappearing. I am nothing at all to these men. I shake with anger, with fear, with hopelessness. I am hollow and worthless. The chains are rattling. They are like fingernails on a chalkboard. They are eroding my sense of self, of self-worth. Paul touches the door handle. He turns it. He opens it. He walks through and just as he is about the slam it shut he glances at me and smiles. He does care. The black-hole is lifted. I am not so forsaken after all. I stare at the slammed door, hoping, willing it to reopen with him on the other side. It doesn’t.
“Come on,” Mark says as he pulls on my chain.
Do I detect humour? Is he laughing at me? I sheepishly look into his eyes. No. He is without humour. I am sinking again. What is going to happen now? He lifts my hands up with the chain. I don’t want to go. I don’t move. He pulls on the chain and yanks me onto the floorboards. I lay there, unmoving. I am paralysed. He drags me across the old floorboards toward the door. My wrists are breaking, but I do not care. The other soldier is watching from across the room. I can feel his eyes on me, even though I cannot see him. I can smell his cigarette smoke. I can hear him laughing, silently. Mark stops outside the door.
“Get up,” he says.
I don’t move. He balls his fist and shoves it into my face, right before my eyes.
“Get up,” he growls.
I start to cry, but this time I stand up.
“And stop that God-awful snivelling.”
I shake my head, trying to clear it, I bite my tongue. I lift my hands up and wipe my tears away with the back of my wrist, trying to avoid hitting my face with the chain.
“Good.” Mark opens the door and leads me inside.
twenty-eight
My heart is detonating as we enter the darkened interior of the small room. There are no windows in here. The only light comes from a single dim candle. A man in uniform sits at a desk, his head is down. He is writing something. I notice a syringe and some vials in a reinforced medical box sitting beside the notepad. They have the number six written on them. What are they? Mark shuts the door. The man shuts the case containing the vials and syringe without looking up. Mark and I both stand and wait. There is a handgun on the desk and several rifles and shotguns up against the wall. My heart stops. Shit. He looks up. My blood freezes in my veins. My throat begins to tighten. I feel sick. I collapse on to my knees. I am sick. Both the men laugh. I start crying. I can’t help it. The man gets up and walks towards me. I try to shuffle away but Mark has hold of my chains tight. I am going nowhere. The man kneels down grabs my chin and forces my face upward towards his.
“I’m Archie,” he says with a wicked grin, his nose almost touching mine.
His eyes are exactly as they were through the binoculars. Dead. Murderous. Insane. I can’t move. I can’t do a thing. The same sensation fills me, dread, desolation, despair. I am immobilised, only able to stare up at him. I can smell cigarettes on his breath. I can smell whiskey. He starts laughing, he knows I know. He walks back around his side of the desk.
“Stand up girl,” Mark yanks the chain upwards and I stand up straight, like a soldier, like one of them.
I stare at Archie who is now standing, hands clasped behind his back. He is wearing a strange smile. I do not understand. I start crying again. This is not good at all. Stephen never said what it was about Archie that he hated, but whatever it was, I know it was really bad. What have I been dragged into?
“You recognise me don’t you,” Archie says.
I don’t know how to answer, what should I say? I stare at him. He stares back at me like he sees into me. I feel like glass, and I am about to shatter.
“Answer him,” Mark yells down at me.
“Yes,” I splutter, without thinking.
“I thought so,” Archie says, as he sits back down.
/> He motions toward the seat in front of me. Mark walks me to the chair. He pulls it out, then pulls down on the chain to force me to sit. Archie stares at me for a long time. I can’t avert his gaze. He is blackening my soul. He is tearing the joy out of me. I shiver. I am being merged with the dark. He laughs, picks up his pen, writes something, then leans back and puts one foot up on top of the other knee.
“Do you have any idea why you are here?” Archie asks.
I shake my head.
“Answer the man properly,” Mark yells.
“No,” I say.
“Stephen didn’t tell you anything about me?”
“Only that you had some unfinished business, whatever that means.”
“Right.” Archie gets up again and walks over to Mark, he takes the chain off of him. “You can leave now.”
Mark salutes, then exits. Archie attaches my chain to a hoop on the wall with a heavy-duty padlock. What is he going to do to me? Why am I here? My heart, I can’t take it. I am calcifying. If I move I will break. He sits back down facing me with his elbows on the desk, hands clasped, leaning forwards, scrutinising me.
“So he told you nothing of what the army was doing?”
I hesitate. What? I look at him. I frown. I shake my head.
“No, he said nothing.”
Archie grins and stares. What the fuck is going on? What did the army do? Archie drags his chair around the desk towards me. He turns my chair with me in it. He is now sitting directly in front of me, his knees touching mine. His touch is like electricity. I am being shocked. He stares into me. He is reading me. I can’t look away. I am being absorbed by him, by his evil energy. He leans back and laughs.
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