Here Lies Love

by Dan Thompson

  Abbey’s sense of smell hadn’t deserted her either, picking up on the sweet, but almost vinegary redolence that drifted in her face with a rhythmical pace. It was an acrid scent that made her tongue curl. It was then that she longed to be back unconscious.

  The revelation of what was happening practically seemed to unlock the painful sensation that seared her insides. Her brain was screaming, her body was screaming. If only she could push him off, to make the burning stop.

  Abbey’s body still refused to cooperate.

  As her eyes opened and focused, all Abbey could ascertain was a blackened shadow engulfed with the blue haze. It was without a doubt her captor’s outline – pressing up and down on top of her. A malicious grin grew upon his darkened face; he knew she was awake. Abbey tried to call out once more, but her vocal cords felt raw, almost mechanical. It revved, giving out a pathetic growl, which only seemed to entrance and enthral the monster into going harder – and deeper.

  “I’ve had my eye on you for a while now, saving you up until all the rest have gone,” Stefan cackled, wrenching her wrists above her head, his nails clawing at her skin like barbed wire.

  Abbey tried to add resistance, but his strength was too great and he was too stubborn and proud to lose his prize. He leaned in closer, dramatically sniffing her hair and exhaling his vile breath onto her neck. Abbey cringed, the heat from his breath was like the warning of thunder, just before the lightning struck. Abbey knew that this was the starter in their evening; the play before he moved onto more violent proceedings.

  But this was no game, Abbey knew that. This was degrading. She wanted to scream out, “kill me. Kill me,” but all Abbey’s lips did was quiver.

  “I love your hair,” Stefan panted, sticking his tongue out, letting it linger near her face. “It reminds me of a warm simmering fire. Yes, a fire. A firefly, yes! Come now, firefly, play along. Don’t fight it.”

  Abbey cradled her knees to one side, refusing to be obedient to Stefan’s unsolicited advances, but he yanked them back where he wanted them.

  “Your hair could light up the darkness, it’s so luscious and velvety. You and I could go far, firefly, far into the depths of time. I’m gonna keep you. Mine forever. You shall be queen of this castle, ruling over all my possessions. You can teach them how to behave, how to sing when I clap! But you, you firefly shall be seated above them all.”

  The pain inside her was so debilitating, she felt her stomach crease and cringe. The tears made her eyes sting, the liquid thick and unnatural, weeping from the corners. The darkness surrounded her again; welcoming its salvation, Abbey hoped so explicitly that Death would take pity on her and end the nightmare.

  “No, stop. Please,” Abbey begged.

  The pain was increasing, hot like boiling water. He felt strange inside her. It felt like he was hitting a blockade, a barrier of skin inside her that weakened with every thrust. It stretched and tore - mere millimetres at first, but then larger and more profound. Abbey felt the blood trickle down her thighs. She shook and trembled, giving into the pain and allowed it to consume her.

  The last thing that hit her, apart from the griping agony, was the bitter tang of something unfamiliar. A smell she was unsure of. She embraced the encasing darkness. Mercy had finally arrived.

  The blue haze was sickening, it always had been. Surely the feeling of nausea and the throbbing headaches would have long gone? Well before she reached her teenage years? It was all she had ever known, the blue haze; a constant, humming murmur that most people always managed to let slip into the background. But not her, no. Abbey recognised it instantly, as if it was a comfort blanket.

  She was alive.

  Even before she opened her eyes, the nightmare and pain flooded in to greet her. The urge to expel the evil that lingered in her stomach was too great and she turned and vomited. It burned her throat, but that was mild in comparison to the torturous bite inside her that stabbed at her yesterday – if it really was yesterday; time was absent here in her own private hell.

  Abbey shifted her back against the wall and looked around. Her cheeks felt bruised, making her eyes feel slightly smaller, squashed. It was just an empty room. Bare. The unmistakable trail of blood made her skin crawl. Inhaling nervously, Abbey gripped the wall and gently stood, her legs aching severely, nearly causing her to fall. The dirty rags she wore were soiled. What had happened to her jeans?

  There was a stagnant undertone to the air in the room; suffocating, overwhelming, empty. There was a falseness to it, like it wasn’t real; artificial and pretend. No windows to run to, force open and filter in the natural and breathable air. Instead, a rickety and squeaky air vent rotated. Abbey looked up at it, blank and vacant. Grime, dust and grey fluff bobbed back and forth, caught in the blades.

  Despite her first impressions, Abbey - limping and cold - made her way slowly to a sink and mirror hidden in the corner. The blue haze didn’t stretch that far, almost fearing it. Abbey cried in relief as she turned the rusted tap, its creaking piercing the room, and water fought its way out. She instantly plunged her mouth into the flow and drank the liquid, choking and splurging as she rushed it in. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had a drink, but the need to quench the thirst consumed her.

  Finding time to breathe, Abbey lifted her gaze into the mirror. The reflection felt alien. She didn’t recognise the girl with the sad eyes staring back. The blue haze gave her ginger roots a charred effect; decay and rot slithering downwards, overwhelming the real Abbey one strand at a time. But that wasn’t what sent shockwaves into her chest. She bit her tongue as the tears started to well again, but this time they were tears of anger.

  Smudged scarlet lipstick stained her mouth from where it had mixed with the water, but her face, it was plastered with makeup. Etched onto her skin to humiliate her further; eye shadow splodged on her eyelids, crusting around the tear ducts. Running her fingers over her cheeks, Abbey was unsure whether that too was makeup, or in fact a bruise, all different shades of purple.

  The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Abbey was shaking so much, feeling so exacerbated, she had unknowingly bit her tongue too hard. She felt disgraced, humiliated and degraded. That vulgar and depraved man, that monster had killed her insides. Where was the real Abbey – the Abbey who longed for a gentle life, the Abbey who was shy and bashful? Her father had called her ‘demure’.

  Opening the tap to its fullest, Abbey cupped her hands, taking gallons of water of washed the graffiti off her face. Graffiti of the most perverse kind. She wanted rid of it, rid of him, his touch, his stench, his poison. Abbey longed to take a shower, hot or cold, it didn’t matter. She would cradle herself and allow the water to cleanse her.

  The water was luscious, like she had forgotten how it felt against her akin; thick and organic. And cold, too. Cold as ice, numbingly cold, but sweet. Abbey savoured it.

  Abbey suddenly realised there was a window, narrow and close to the ceiling. It was on the wall she had had her back to when she awoke. She scrambled over and tried to jump up and reach the ledge. When her legs touched the ground, Abbey doubled over, a shooting pain in her abdomen.

  Damn him.

  She peered up at the window. Freedom just a few feet away. There had to be a window, an inlet for the blue haze to reach inside the bare room. Not that it mattered; she couldn’t reach it anyway. Abbey tried again, but the pain crippled her instantly.

  Abbey - pushing the pain to the back of her mind, freedom more important - edged backwards to the opposite wall. She placed her palms against the cold walls and prayed that she could make it this time. She pushed off from the wall, goading her legs as fast as she could and threw herself up towards the window.

  Her fingertips mere inches away from the ledge.

  Abbey held her breath and waited for the agony to subside. She soothed her navel, making her way back over to the mirror.

  She had no idea where that brute had gone, but as she stared at her own reflection, unblinking and intense
, she knew that the old Abbey was indeed obsolete. She was of no use to her. No one was coming to rescue her, save her from further degradation. Perhaps he had planted his nasty seed inside of her, but that was exactly what she needed. Her resolve had grown in front of her, magically transforming her. To really live, to really survive, there was only one thing she needed to do.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Abbey uttered into the mirror. “I’m going to kill you.”

  Chapter Four. Just Desserts

  The house was silent. No stir or creaking floorboard pierced the air and the creeping chill that permeated the labyrinth was ever more noticeable. Abbey knew that the monster lurked somewhere, she just didn’t know where. She also knew, from her time spent in the wooden cage that Stefan never left the house. His imposing presence was always apparent, be it by the screams of the girls, his obnoxious laugh or his hideous face pressing against the cages. He was always there, which meant this was no different. Where is he?

  The nights were always cold, considerably so, especially when compared to the daytime. Abbey had never seen The Sun, but talk of its existence bewildered her. Imagine a light, a natural luminescent disc that filtered through the limp trees, its rays spreading warmth as comforting as a burning log fire, across the land. There would be no need for the blue haze. She had heard numerous times of talk about its return, a blessing was on its way, but as time passed, Abbey had put it down to just rumour – or misguided hope even. Hope was a funny thing. An intangible prospect of pure goodness just around the corner.

  Abbey had come to believe that both The Sun and hope were undoubtedly fantastical.

  She knew it was night time by the white mist that evaporated right in front of her every time she drew breath. She knew the moon was always a good indication, but sometimes, it would disappear from sight completely and not be seen for a considerable amount of time. The unrelenting shivers took their hold every night, which seemed to prey on her considerably this particular night time, knowing the thin rags Stefan had dressed her in gave little protection to their bitterness. In a feeble attempt, Abbey folded her arms and rubbed her skin; her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

  The corridor in which she found herself weaved with sharp right-angle turns, each door she passed either locked or missing a handle. Her eyes ached slightly as she tried to focus in the dark corridor, doors just fuzzy outlines; dark grey ghosts fighting against the night. A window in the distance sucked away the black, allowing the blue haze to slither inside, and as Abbey drew nearer, its annoying hum also broke through the silence.

  The blue haze was harsh against her eyes, squinting only seemed to make it worse, but as she peered across the city, she soon found clarity. For the first time since her arrival, Abbey realised that, in fact, they were being held right inside the city. Crumbled down habitats and greying shelters surrounded her prison. She had assumed that Stefan had taken her somewhere remote. Hope, that funny thing of myth grabbed hold of her. She could easily escape – that’s if she managed to come out of her approaching battle unscathed. All she had to do was find the beast and slay it. She knew if she didn’t, then more girls would be subjugated and turned into victims.

  She was lost to her own thoughts for a few minutes, wondering if she had the necessary steadfastness inside her required for killing a person. Stefan may be an evil miscreant, but it was still taking a life. Her head told her to run, pleaded with her to escape whilst she had the chance. Her heart on the other hand simply reminded her of the girl in the cage opposite. This man had to be stopped, but then again, what if she faltered, wavered halfway through – or Stefan somehow got the upper hand, then what? Would all her efforts have been for nothing?

  A metallic din brought her out of her deep thoughts, sending a slight panic down her spine. What was that? Again, the tinny noise panged towards her, and she spun around, searching for the danger. There was no one else in the corridor, or so she deduced. It was still too dark to focus properly, but Abbey was sure the sound came from somewhere else. Whatever it was, she hoped it wasn’t another of his gruesome games, picking apart some other girl’s innocence, but as she couldn’t hear any screams, her mind was put at ease a little. But whatever the noise was, it definitely confirmed her suspicion that Stefan was still in close proximity.

  Abbey had to wonder why she was left in the room. Did he want her to escape? Was this all part of one of his sick little games? Abbey knew it was pointless trying to question the monster’s reasoning. He wasn’t logical; he made his own rules, and all Abbey knew was that she had to be alert.

  Just as Abbey was about to turn from the window, she caught sight of something in the grounds of the house. It didn’t seem to be moving, but rather jerking in the same spot. The blue haze didn’t illuminate everything, and so the figure was partly hidden in the darkness. Was it him, Stefan? She couldn’t tell. Abbey pressed her face against the cold glass and squeezed her eyes narrower, straining for her eyes to reveal the identity. Her breath caused the window to steam up with condensation and so she held it. As the white misting swiftly vanished, Abbey gasped. It was him. Stefan was in the grounds.

  “What is he doing?” Abbey said, making herself jump. As she tried to surmise what was going on, she saw the outline of something in his hand, especially as he raised the object up, before slamming it back down. The gravelly sound sliced her eardrums again. It was a shovel; he was digging. Her eyes darted across the ground in a blind panic. She wished she hadn’t. Rheanne’s vacant face was clear to see, even from the window. Abbey abruptly looked away and shut her eyes tight, but no matter how hard she willed it, the girl’s face had stained her lifeless image upon Abbey’s mind forever. She inhaled deeply through her nostrils, urging herself to calm down and regain some of that confidence she desperately needed.

  “Get a grip. Get a bloody grip.”

  She opened her eyes slowly. The feeling of dread sizzled in her stomach, so much so, she thought she was going to be sick again. Edging closer to the window, Stefan was staring up at her. She couldn’t move, her feet were rooted firmly to the floor. Her voice caught in her throat again as if something large was stuck in there, and her mouth became unusually dry. In a few seconds, Stefan had lobbed the shovel and legged it towards the house, and then out of sight.

  He was coming for her.

  Becoming unstuck, Abbey darted to the end of the corridor, willing the lone door to be unlocked. It was. She found herself in another corridor, this time running horizontal and with plenty of windows that created square patches of blue luminescence upon the carpeted floor. Which way? She hadn’t consciously done so, but she heard her wheezing breath echo as she scurried down the corridor, away from the direction of the grounds. Rattling the knobs, each door was locked. Through anxiety rather than necessity, Abbey kept looking behind her, expecting the monster to be lurking towards her any minute.

  How could she have been so stupid? Standing there in the window – her silhouette probably standing out like a sore thumb. She had practically given herself away.

  Abbey concertinaed from side to side, still struggling with the locked doors. The clicking sound from the far end of the corridor was unmistakable though. Stefan had found her. As he strode in her direction, the blue haze lit up his malevolent face every time he passed a window. He wasted no time as he sauntered after his prey; confident yet measured steps. Abbey contemplated jumping out one of the windows, but haunting images of impaling shards of jagged triangular glass put her off. There had to be one unlocked door, there just had to be.

  The squishing sound of his boots upon the carpet sent squeamish shockwaves inside her. Was that wet soil or blood? Abbey knew this was the moment where she either lived or died. She slipped a little as one of the doors opened slightly, but jolted against something blocking it on the other side. Stefan was nearly upon her, she could smell the wet tang of mud. This was her only chance. She bashed her shoulder against the door, the pain more severe than she realised, but she didn’t have time to nurse it. Abb
ey rammed it again and again, the door inching open a little each time.

  The gap was unyieldingly tight, but that didn’t matter, her time was up. She threw herself in the gap, the wood grazing her white skin. She pushed the pain to the back of her mind and squeezed herself through. Her head was too big though and it scraped against the wall, coming to a halt. Her skin was screaming for her to stop, but she knew she had to keep going, pushing, crushing, sliding as much as she could.

  Just as she thought she was free, her head snapped backwards. Stefan had grabbed her hair, pulling it tight. Abbey wriggled and shifted in all directions, desperate to get free, but still the monster’s hold was strong. She twisted around so that she was facing the door, her ginger hair yanked over the top of her head. There was no way she was going to get free. There was only one thing for it. Abbey charged at the door, crying out, putting her full weight into it as she hit the wood. The wind was knocked out of her and she groaned as hit the floor, but as least it had worked. The door had slammed, trapping Stefan’s arm in the gap. His own cry resounded down the corridor, enhancing its menacing bite.

  As Abbey forced herself up, she realised that the room was full of junk. Crates stacked as high as the ceiling, boxes crammed full of old tools and aerials – used obviously in a time before technology became redundant. She capered around the walls as she searched for another door, but she collapsed to the floor with a huff, propped up against the wall, as she realised in despair that there was no other way out. Hoping to enter another corridor or main room, she had really trapped herself inside another jail.

  There was a small, long window against the far wall, but it was as if it had been squashed, shrinking itself, high up against the wall. There was no way for Abbey to reach the window, let alone squeeze through and flee to safety – she’d probably die in the fall.