Deliver Them From Evil

by Andrew Puckett

  The light can’t always be this dim, I thought, and went over to the door again. Beside it was a dimmer switch which I used to turn up the light.

  The room was about fifteen feet square and obviously in an attic of some sort, because the ceiling was pitched on three sides. A single window of the Velux type was fitted flush with the roof. I tried opening it, but it was jammed closed and shuttered on the outside. I dimmed the light and a chink of brightness round the edge of the window suggested daylight outside.

  I brightened the light again and looked round. On the far side of the room was a TV and video player, a music centre and a bookcase. Then I turned my attention to the wire that held me. It was about fifteen feet long with a built-in loop at each end. One loop was inside the single cuff on my wrist, while the other was hitched round the stout copper piping that ran from the radiator to the floor. I could move anywhere inside the room, but no further than the door, even if it was open.

  At this point, something snapped and I found myself pummelling on the door with my fists, shouting over and over. ‘Let me out. Let me out. Let me out!’

  Heavy footsteps came running up the stairs and a voice, called, ‘OK, OK, button it, Dr Kent’s just coming.’

  A key turned in the lock, a bolt was drawn and the door opened to reveal Dr Kent, and behind her, Cal.

  ‘May I come in please, Mrs Jones?’ she said.

  I swallowed and shrugged.

  ‘I’m hardly in a position to stop you.’ I turned and walked back to the bed and sat down on the edge.

  ‘Wait on the landing, please, Calvin,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you if I need you.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He pulled the door to gently.

  Dr Kent came in. She was holding her medical bag.

  ‘May I sit down?’ She indicated the chair.

  ‘Be my guest.’

  She was dressed as she usually was, in sensible skirt, cream top and pearls.

  ‘How are you feeling, Mrs Jones?’

  ‘Where’s Tom?’

  ‘Safe and well.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell you exactly. We released him.’

  I didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry at this news. It didn’t occur to me to disbelieve her.

  ‘In that case, he’ll find me.’

  ‘You must give up any idea of being found. You didn’t answer my question. How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’ll survive.’

  ‘Good, that’s exactly what I want you to do.’ She paused. ‘I take it that Jones isn’t your real name?’

  ‘No. It’s Josephine Farewell.’

  ‘And Mr Jones?’

  ‘That is his real name.’

  ‘I somehow thought it might be. Now, Miss—or is it Mrs—Farewell?’

  ‘Miss.’

  ‘Good. It might have complicated things if there had been a Mr Farewell.’

  ‘Things are complicated enough already. There may be no Mr Farewell, but there is the Department of Health, which sent me here with Mr Jones. They’ll find me. In fact, I’m rather surprised they haven’t done so already.’ As I said this, I realised that wherever we were, it couldn’t be Catcott Manor.

  ‘I’m not surprised at all. As I said just now, you must give up the idea of being found, Miss Farewell. If you want to continue surviving, that is.’

  ‘Why am I surviving, Dr Kent?’

  ‘Because I want you to,’ she said, opening her bag. ‘I’m going to examine you. Please don’t force me to ask for Calvin’s assistance. I really don’t want that.’ Her grey eyes held mine. For a moment I thought about resisting, then my will collapsed.

  Best go along with her. I told myself.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Good. Lie on the bed, please.’ She took a stethoscope and a sphygmomanometer from her bag and measured my blood pressure, heart rate and temperature. Her professionalism was unaltered. She gently peeled away the plaster on my arm, examined the lesion underneath and said, ‘Good, it doesn’t need another. Could you stay on the bed, please?’

  She got up, went over to the door, opened it and said something to Cal. A moment later, to my astonishment, she wheeled in the ultrasound scanner. I was sure it was the one from Catcott.

  She brought it level with the bed. It was humming and the screen glowed.

  ‘Lie still.’ She gently pulled up my nightdress. ‘I’m going to scan you.’

  I shook my head slightly in bewilderment. ‘Why?’

  She applied gel to my abdomen. ‘Keep still please.’ She picked up the sensor and slid it around as she watched the screen.

  ‘Why are you doing this? Why am I here?’

  ‘I will answer all your questions in time,’ she replied without looking up. ‘But not now. Not today.’

  ‘How long have I been here?’

  ‘A day.’

  An appalling thought occurred to me.

  ‘Dr Kent’—my voice trembled—‘have you replaced eggs in me while I’ve been here?’

  She stopped moving the sensor for a moment and looked up at me.

  ‘No. Now please don’t talk any more while I’m doing this.’

  I did as she asked and she studied the screen intently, grunting softly to herself now and again as she placed a cross on it. After about five minutes, she said, ‘Good’ and put the sensor away. She wiped my belly with some tissue.

  ‘I’ll organise some breakfast for you. You must be feeling hungry by now.’

  ‘Not particularly. What I really need is a cigarette.’

  ‘So you weren’t telling me the truth when you said you’d given up.’ She pulled my nightdress down and stood up. ‘Well, I’m afraid that’s one thing I can’t allow you to have.’

  ‘Why not?’ I demanded.

  She wheeled the scanner over to the door. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’ The door closed behind her and the lock clicked. What did she want with me? Where was I? Why?

  Oh, how I wished Tom was here.

  My throat swelled in the silence of the barren room and I felt my eyes prick and my face screw up. Tears trickled down the sides of my nose and I turned and buried my head in the pillow, gripping the sides, pushing them into my face as my body shook with sobs.

  I didn’t hear the door open, the first I knew of her presence was her hand on my shoulder and her voice.

  ‘That’s right, let it come out…’

  I turned to put my arms round her, then realising what I was doing, I thrust myself away. For an instant, there had been a look of genuine compassion on her face, then it quickly resolved itself into its usual neutrality.

  ‘There are coffee and cereal on the table, I’ll bring you a cooked breakfast in a minute.’ She got up and left the room.

  The fact that I’d almost allowed myself to be comforted by her made me angry enough to stop crying. I was still thirsty and thought that if I couldn’t smoke, I could at least have some caffeine—it might help me think. The coffee was at just the right temperature and tasted as though it had been recently ground. It was beautiful. I had another cup and tried to boot my brain into action.

  Why was I here? I believed her about Tom; I thought I believed her about the eggs. But she’d scanned me. Why! unless she was monitoring me? And she’d said that cigarettes were one thing she couldn’t allow me to have. Did that mean she had replaced eggs in me?

  She’d said she would answer all my questions—in time. How much time? I wondered.

  Could I escape? I looked down at the cuff on my wrist. Tom would certainly have tried. Perhaps I should try and think like him. So far, I’d only seen Dr Kent and Cal. Were the others here as well?

  One thing was certain, there was nothing to be gained from deliberately antagonising her. I’d have to lull her into dropping her guard. Might as well start co-operating now.

  On the tray were two small cereal packets, Bran and Corn Flakes respectively. I emptied the Bran Flakes into the bowl and added some milk. After the first spoonful I realised that I was
hungry, ravenously. I was just finishing the Corn Flakes when the key rattled in the door (had they left it in? I wondered) and Dr Kent came in again, holding another tray.

  ‘Hungry after all?’ she said as she replaced the tray on the table. This one held eggs and bacon, beans and fried bread. My mouth watered.

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Good, I’ll leave you to it.’

  I polished it off and then poured some more coffee and looked round the room. There was a stack of videos beside the video player. I looked through them—Educating Rita, Hannah and her Sisters, Shirley Valentine. I smiled wryly and wondered whether they were hers. I turned to the CDs. These were mostly classical, some Mozart and Beethoven, but a preponderance of French composers: Faure, Debussy, Ravel, Satie.

  I had just began to look at the books when the door opened again and Dr Kent came back in.

  ‘Finished? Good. I’ll clear these things away and then perhaps you’d like a bath?’

  A bath? I glanced down at the cuff…that would mean releasing me, surely?

  ‘Yes, I would, Dr Kent,’ I said humbly. ‘Thank you.’

  She looked at me quizzically for a moment before saying, ‘Good’ again, then picked up the tray and the coffee pot and backed out.

  She hadn’t locked the door. I tiptoed quickly over, eased it open and peeped out. A short passage led to a landing on which Cal was standing, leaning against the wall and looking impassively back at me. The scanner was beside him. I shut the door and retreated to the bed. A couple of minutes later, Dr Kent came back.

  ‘Are you decent?’

  I shrugged. ‘As decent as I can be with just a nightdress.’

  ‘You can put this on in a moment.’ She held up a fleecy dressing gown. ‘I’m going to unlock you,’ she said. ‘Calvin has a gun so please don’t do anything stupid.’

  ‘All right,’ I said meekly.

  She produced a key. I held up my wrist and she unlocked the cuff, then held open the dressing gown. I hesitated a moment, then turned and put my arms into the sleeves. She folded it over my shoulders. I quickly stepped away and did up the sash. She moved to the door and opened it. Cal was still standing on the landing.

  ‘This way.’

  I followed her down the passage and she indicated for me to go through a door on the right. I glanced at Cal, at the landing he was on and the flight of stairs that ran down from it.

  ‘Into the bathroom please, Miss Farewell,’ Dr Kent said crisply. ‘You can have twenty minutes. Calvin and I will be out here.’

  The bathroom was rather cramped under the pitched roof, but contained bath, washbasin and loo. The light was on and the Velux window was shuttered like the one in the bedroom. It was possible to shut the door, but not to lock it. A bath had already been run.

  The first thing I did was to brush my teeth to try and get rid of the bad taste that still lingered in my mouth. Then, with a look at the door, I undressed and stepped into the bath. I washed, then added some more hot water and lay back. Some sort of bath oil had been added and the aroma and the warmth of the water seemed to soak into me, relax me. My mind became calm, almost detached.

  If she has released Tom, I thought, and somehow I did believe her, then surely it’s only a matter of time before he and Marcus find me. Perhaps it might be better just to sit tight and not make any trouble.

  A tap on the door cut through my reverie.

  ‘Could you come out now, please, Miss Farewell?’

  ‘I’m just getting out of the bath.’

  ‘Two minutes.’

  I clambered out. As I reached for the towel, which was beside the washbasin, a draught chilled my legs. It seemed to be coming from a grill formed of wooden slats in the wall that was adjacent to the basin. I stretched a hand towards it and felt the air cooling my fingers. Some sort of air-conditioning?

  ‘One more minute, Miss Farewell.’

  I snatched the towel, hurriedly dried myself and struggled into nightdress and dressing gown.

  ‘I’m ready.’

  The door opened.

  Dr Kent said. ‘Back in the bedroom, please.’

  She followed me. I could sense Cal watching us. Inside, she picked up the cuff and threaded it into the wire loop again.

  ‘Hold out your wrist, please.’

  ‘Is it really necessary?’

  ‘For the moment. I’m afraid it is.’

  I held out my wrist and she snapped it round. Then, she gently pushed the door closed.

  ‘Do you feel better for your bath?’

  ‘Thank you, yes.’

  ‘Good. Sit down, please.’ She indicated the bed, taking the armchair herself. She gazed at me a moment. ‘We mean you no harm, Miss Farewell. If you co-operate, nothing bad is going to happen to you.’

  ‘Why am I here?’

  ‘You have videos, CDs and hooks. Within reason, I will try and get you anything you want.’

  ‘Why am I here, Dr Kent?’

  ‘Meanwhile, be patient and we will try to make you as comfortable as possible.’

  Perhaps I’d pushed that enough for now. I said, ‘What about exercise? Can I go outside?’

  ‘There’s an exercise bike downstairs. I’ll bring it up if you like.’

  ‘All right,’ I said.

  ‘If you need someone,’ she began slowly, but another thought had occurred to me…

  ‘What if I need the loo?’

  ‘You can use the bathroom twice a day, morning and evening. Otherwise, use the chamber pot.’

  I was regretting having used it earlier now—a precedent had been set.

  ‘What I if need to…to pass a motion?’

  She stared at me in silence for a moment. ‘Try to do so in the morning or evening. If it’s really urgent…’ she hesitated ‘…I’ll make an exception. Do you need to go now?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘As I was about to say,’ she continued. ‘If you feel the need to talk to someone, I’ll spend time with you. Otherwise, I’ll leave you alone.’

  ‘Dr Kent’—I leant forward, unable to help myself, pleading with my eyes—‘please, tell me why I’m here.’

  She stood up. ‘I’ll bring the exercise bike up after lunch.’ She moved quickly across the room and let herself out. The lock rattled and the bolt was pushed home.

  She can do that, I thought. Go whenever she feels like it. Just like that. A surge of anger took me, so acute it made me tremble.

  22

  Keep hold of the anger, another part of me told myself, use it. Imagine Tom’s here—what would he do?

  Well, in the first place, he’d know what to do about this bloody cuff. I lifted my hand, peered at it and tried to push a finger between it and my wrist. It wouldn’t go, in fact the coated wire was slightly uncomfortable where it pressed into my wrist and I didn’t even try forcing the cuff over my hand. The plastic the cuff was made of was strong and I doubted even a sharp knife would cut into it—it would need a hacksaw.

  I sighed and looked more closely at the coated wire. It was about a quarter of an inch thick altogether. A really sharp knife might make some impression—given time. Well, I had plenty of that, shame about the knife.

  I followed the wire over to the radiator where it was hitched round the copper pipe and tugged experimentally—both radiator and pipe seemed solidly attached. Even if I could free myself, how would I get past the door and Cal?

  A wave a lethargy swept over me, I sank back on to my heels and thought: I really can’t be bothered with all this now. I think I knew I was being sedated, but I didn’t care about that, either.

  You’ve got it cushy, Jo, I thought, compared with Terry Waite and those others in Beirut. Dr Kent isn’t going to harm you, and there’s a chance, every chance that Tom and Marcus will find you.

  After a while, I pushed myself up and went over to the CDs and shuffled through them. I chose Mozart’s Fortieth because I didn’t understand how anyone could write forty symphonies, put it in the CD player and lay on th
e bed.

  Diddle dee, diddle dee, diddle dee dee—the music washed over me, into me, through me. It’s a sad piece of music, sad, and angry too. I’d never realised that before. When it was finished, I thought about it for a while, then played it again. I was still lying on the bed thinking when the door opened and Dr Kent came in.

  ‘Lunch, Miss Farewell,’ she said, and I realised I had no conception whatever of the passage of time. I thanked her and she left.

  Lunch was tuna mixed with rice and a salad. I was still hungry and ate it all, followed by more coffee. I didn’t care if it was drugged. Lemon meringue pie for pudding.

  She brought the exercise bike up when she came for the tray and after she’d gone, I tried it out. Not for long though, too tiring.

  I switched on the TV and fed Hannah and her Sisters into the video player (neither the TV nor radio worked, which didn’t surprise me). I became quietly absorbed and, after it was finished, I thought: Strange, for all his mucky private life, Woody Allen does understand women. Lying on my bed, staring up at the pitched ceiling, I thought about this, and then about Tom. He doesn’t understand women, I thought, or does he? So insensitive sometimes, selfish, crude almost, and yet…sensual.

  Would he understand Dr Kent enough to find me?

  *

  Dinner. Some sort of beef casserole, quite tasty. Dr Kent was her friendly, reserved, polite self. Afterwards, I looked through the books. There were Margaret Drabble, Jeanette Winterson, Edna O’Brien, Fay Weldon.

  As a kind of protest, I pulled out a battered copy of Tess of the D’Urbervilles and to my surprise, became immersed in the descriptions of Wessex, of a young country girl’s life and dreams. They were so different from mine, although it had only been written a hundred years before and when Dr Kent came to take me to the bathroom, it was almost an interruption.

  On the loo, to my irritation, I ran out of paper. There was an unopened pack of rolls on the floor beside me, between the pan and the bath and I reached down for it. Underneath, beside the wood panelling of the bath, something glinted. I reached down again. Whatever it was, was jammed underneath the panelling. I tried to get a fingernail behind it.