by Dan Thompson
Had she been drugged?
Abbey scoured the room again, her head scooting from corner to corner in sharp staccato movements. She should run, escape them now before they returned. Standing and then turning to the door, Abbey ran to leave, but slowed as the door came increasingly closer. She flicked her hair over her shoulders and tucked her hands into her sleeves. Running her arms over her chest and down her legs – she felt fine. More than fine, in fact. Her bruises were losing their harsh, purple tinge and her body didn’t ache as much. Was she being paranoid? Had the months she’d spent with Stefan tarnished her perception of people? No, Tristan and Ryan couldn’t be like him. Could they?
Abbey growled again and turned to face the room. Stop being so stupid.
After ogling lustfully at the growing produce - touching them one after the other to make sure they were in fact real - Abbey wasted some time by inspecting their home a little more thoroughly. I’m not snooping, she told herself, just curious. She didn’t come across anything noteworthy; some more pots and chipped plates, a few different pieces of clothing and more cobwebs than she’d hoped. She had a deep rooted antipathy towards spiders and she felt her nose screwing up in disgust. Ever since she’d awoken to one crawling over her face when she was but a child, Abbey always felt queasy at the mere mention of one.
Abbey did unearth some strange contraptions with buttons to press, some oblong-shaped, other cuboid, but whatever they were, they didn’t do anything when pressed. Abbey moseyed around in no particular direction feeling slightly deflated.
She ran her fingers over the wall, enjoying the sensation on her nails as she circled the room. On the wall next to the door, Abbey discovered a black hanging, a piece of board. She had completely missed it earlier. If you had come through the door, you would have never realised it was there. There were some white markings displayed on the board, but as she couldn’t read, she had no clue what they said. The board itself smelled strange, like soot. She recognised an ‘S’, but the letter immediately after was too complicated. Using her index finger, she traced the outline and was surprised to find the white substance smudge. Flexing and rubbing her fingers over each other, Abbey inspected the whiteness. It had a dusty, yet smooth feeling.
Weird.
“Oh this is ridiculous!” Abbey exclaimed, putting her hands on hips. “I can’t believe they’ve gone and left me.”
Abbey’s outburst of annoyance gave way to uneasiness and inhibition as she realised she was talking to herself. In fact the more she thought about it, it was strange enough how easy she had fallen back into talking. Stefan abhorred talking, backchat, questions and anything similar. She hadn’t talked for weeks during her being captive.
Her skin prickled with a chill as she recalled the moment when the monster had caught her trying to make conversation with her fellow prisoner. Rheanne had been held there longer than her, but she wasn’t certain of how long. Rheanne must have learnt the hard way too, as she didn’t speak. Abbey had been punished severely. Her tongue ached indignantly even now as she evoked her own punishment. Tiny metal pins, sharp as a cat’s claws were forced into her mouth, embedding violently in her tongue and gums. The blood had filled her mouth in seconds, its metallic, acrid taste bringing tears to her eyes.
In that moment, Abbey felt strong; to come out on top, for surely Stefan would have never allowed any of the girls to escape and live. She was glad, proud even, to have been responsible for taking his putrid life. The evil monster deserved it, and hopefully if her grandmother’s stories of a god were true, then with any luck Stefan was getting exactly what he deserved, even in death.
Abbey’s cheeks flushed in anger. Why on earth was she still trudging up thoughts about him? She was free of him, liberated from his torment and the agony that accompanied it. Yet, her mind never travelled too far from his retention. What is wrong with me? She started biting her nails without thinking, her fingers trembling from the recollection of his dead, still body. Was she a murderer? She couldn’t comprehend the epithet; she wasn’t a killer, not really. She had no choice, she told herself. Abbey wasn’t a violent person. Her gran would be turning in her grave. ‘You are the one in control of your own actions.’ She remembered her gran’s words well, as if they had been whispered again retrospectively.
Her head throbbed again. She needed to keep herself busy, occupied with work. What would Tristan and Ryan think if they knew she was a murderer? The label resounded in her mind. They wouldn’t understand that it was a necessity, that in fact she was slaying a monster; to them she would be ‘Abbey the Butcher’. Not a tag she was comfortable with.
The covers and blankets wafted her hair in a comforting breeze every time Abbey flung out the bedding in order to make the crude beds. The boys, although organised, were exceptionally messy. The room could do with a tidy, giving her the perfect excuse to banish her fears to the back of her mind. She should probably find some spare blankets too; it wasn’t fair to steal Tristan’s bed from him. It didn’t feel right, and she wasn’t entirely comfortable with sleeping next to Ryan. She was a young woman and she needed her privacy, as well as Ryan needing his. Some of the sheep’s wool had started to break free of the quilt, so she stuffed it back inside, the yarn pleasantly itching her skin. Abbey stood back and admired her work. Perfect.
She didn’t want to tidy away the mechanical objects in case they were trinkets of some kind. She really didn’t have a clue as to what they were, making a mental note to ask them about some of them later. It would give them some much needed conversation. The minute washing segment wasn’t big enough to clean the cooking pot. She noticed the spoons they had used the previous day soaking in the small container of water. Placing her hands on her hips, she cast an eye over the entire room wondering where they got the water from. There had to be a source somewhere. Meandering over to the large window, where the produce sat, Abbey ran her hands through her hair and stared out into the vast yard. She hadn’t really paid much attention to it earlier.
The blue haze threw weird shadows over the yard as if they were creatures rising from the underworld below, their diminutive fingers all gangly and otherworldly. The boys had made a washing line of sorts using a thread of twine, tying it off at both ends onto hooks. Abbey smiled at their ingenuity. Her stomach became all a flutter as she imagined Tristan thinking up the idea, his golden flecks glittering in the haze. There was obviously some way out into the yard, which meant there must have been a door somewhere. A tall rustic brick wall ran around the yard, towering high above them. There was no way anybody would be able to scale that from the other side, making this room the perfect home away from home. She thought back to the plank of wood that she had to traverse to get into the room. The boys really had thought of everything.
Following the windows, Abbey soon discovered a small handle; a glass door that led into the yard. As she opened it and stepped onto the gravel strewn ground, the sound of running water caught her attention instantly. She glanced over to one of the corners, following the watery reverberations. A large sturdy screen cornered off where the water must have been coming from. Abbey beamed. Trotting back inside, Abbey hoisted the cooking pot up using both of its iron handles and squeezed herself with it into the yard. The damn thing was much heavier than it looked. She scurried quickly over to the partition, feeling the ache in her back. As she neared it, she placed the charcoal coloured pot onto the ground and stretched. She felt her back click in places and delighted in the tingling sensations. As she looked around, Abbey realised that the tall walls acted as a barrier to the breeze, insulating the yard somewhat. It was a strange feeling, her skin not tingling in the usually nippy chill.
The splashing sound of the water grabbed at her attention once more. Leaving the pot on the ground for the time being, Abbey approached the wooden partition, questioning where the water was coming from. Perhaps the boys had come up with another inventive and resourceful way of channelling rain water? Her stomach jumped as she heard a shuffling sound from behind th
e screen. Abruptly staring back over towards the glass door, Abbey suddenly felt danger. There was obviously someone behind there and every ounce of her being urged her to flee back inside where it would be safe. When Tristan and Ryan returned from wherever they had wandered off to, she would be able to tell them.
The curiosity and inquisitiveness jabbed at her though, and she tiptoed over. Perhaps if she had a little snoop, whoever was behind there wouldn’t hear her. She eyed the door again, weighing up the risks. One little look couldn’t hurt, she contemplated. If need be, she could easily bolt over to the door and slam it shut, locking the danger out.
She peeped around the screen, holding onto its smooth post. She only stuck her head around, hoping to get a glimpse of who it was. Butterflies fluttered around her entire body as she realised what she was looking at. Abbey knew she should turn away, respecting his privacy, but she couldn’t help but marvel at what was in front of her. Her mind was screaming at her to tread quietly back inside, but her legs were rooted to the spot, unresponsive and immobile. Her eyes were fixated on the person in front of her.
It was Tristan, water falling from a drainpipe above onto his smooth, exposed body. His hair had darkened into a reddish brown as the water sprinkled off it, although the golden speckles were still illuminated like jewels. He was rubbing the water through his hair and over his chest. His eyes were closed, he couldn’t see her ogling him. She felt herself blush as she allowed her eyes to wander over his naked body.
The contours of his body highlighted his toned physique. His clothes had hidden a broad chest, ribs like indented fingers mapping a course like a treasure map. The water gave his stomach a sheen as if it had been polished immaculately. New feelings unlocked by the delight in front of her, sizzled and sparked around her own body, her skin, her mind. Never before had she experienced such intense sensations. A voice in her head was calling for her to turn away, chiding her wandering eyes: perverse, crude names, but her heart ached for a touch. Tristan oozed sexual chemistry in that very moment and Abbey’s knees nearly buckled.
Seeing Tristan naked, his body a work of art, unlocked a trove of carnal infatuation inside of her. Members of the opposite sex were just men before, neither attractive, nor interesting in the least, but Tristan was different. She felt shy, hidden behind the partition, as she took all of him in his entire glory. He was just within touching distance. Despite her timidity, her eyes remained glued upon him, watching the water flow down, down further still until it splashed onto the ground as if in slow motion. Abbey’s skin felt overly fiery by all the fireworks erupting within her, yet a calming chill gave rise to goosebumps that clung to her arms and back. Her lips were dry and sore, realising she had been biting them. The cooking pot could wait, Tristan’s private show had enticed her, and she was enjoying every minute of it.
“What are you doing?”
Abbey spun around and saw Ryan heading straight for her. Her head became dizzy and she felt faint. Her voice croaked, her words catching in her throat, stopping her from explaining. “Pot. I – I,” she stuttered, pointing pathetically at the iron container. She cursed herself for sounding so childish, hoping that maybe he would catch her gist and not come any further.
He didn’t. Not stopping at her side, unsatisfied with her pointing, Ryan took a glance around the screen. Abbey cringed, hoping the ground would swallow her whole, regurgitating her to just moments earlier so as to never stumble upon the unclothed lad.
Ryan looked at her with disgust, his teeth on show as if he was a wild beast about to lunge forward. “You peeping mare!” he spat impolitely.
Abbey’s head spun even more, staring blankly at the ground. Her palms were sweaty, so she pulled her long sleeves over them; she had been caught red-handed. Tristan appeared from behind the wooden partition, his modesty now preserved by a sheet pulled tight around him. Abbey was at it again, she couldn’t believe it as she found herself eyeing up the noticeable outline in the sheet.
“She’s been spying on you, the dirty little …”
Abbey didn’t hear the rest. As fast as she could, she ran back through the door and headed for the darkened corridor beyond the room. She had never felt so embarrassed and humiliated in all her life. She was going to run, run as fast as she could for as long as she could. She didn’t care where to, just as long as she never had to face Tristan again. Or Ryan for that matter, he seemed more alarmed than Tristan did.
The corridor had a musty smell to it and the dust stuck to the inside of her throat as she inhaled deep breaths. It felt raw, burning somewhat, but Abbey didn’t care, she had to run. Echoes boomed from side to side as ran and she could her heart pulsating; adrenaline spurring her on. A sharp, biting pain stung her shins as she came to a halt, nearly forgetting about the deep hole in the corridor. The plank wasn’t across. Where was it? Abbey in her rushed state fell to the floor and began patting from side to side. Where is the damn thing? It wasn’t completely dark, but the lack of any windows meant the blue haze couldn’t reach within. It was the first time she had wished for the artificial luminescence to be there, but Sod’s Law that it failed to aid when she needed it most.
Footsteps ricocheted behind her, which only sent Abbey into a more agitated frenzy, scurrying on the ground like a lost kitten, splaying her arms out further. Ryan was coming after her, or Tristan, or both even. Her hand whacked the plank, bruising her palm, but Abbey didn’t have time to cradle her wrist. Chucking the plank over the hole, Abbey hastened across, not daring to look down or behind her. She didn’t even put her arms out to steady herself. When she reached the other side, she sprinted off towards the main entrance.
She scolded herself for not kicking the plank away, stopping whoever it was from reaching her, but then again that wouldn’t be fair. Both boys had worked hard to create some life for themselves. Kicking the plank away could jeopardise their system, stopping them from leaving. Despite not hearing anybody behind her, Abbey pushed on, feeling the strain even more in her shins. The pain began to be unbearable, but in that moment, the shame of spying at Tristan was even more cutting. If it was just a quick glance, Abbey could have apologised and put it down to an accident, coming across him, but Abbey knew it was more than an inadvertent glance. She had watched purposefully, without him even knowing. How would she have felt if the roles had been reversed? No, she had invaded the boy’s privacy and that was unfair.
A stitch stabbed at her side, her lungs wheezy and untrained. As she urged herself on, just to get to the entrance of this blasted place, she remembered how Stefan used to glare at them inside their cages. His emaciated fingers would poke at them through the bars, snorting sneeringly like it was a game. Was she just like that? A monster who instead of her fingers has used her eyes? Her mind began to merge the events and she felt traumatised, hated herself even. She felt her eyes begin to water, the crying and sobbing making it more difficult to breathe.
The old ruined statue smirked at her as if it had known all along what lay in store for the teenager, as Abbey fled towards the front doors. There was a board of some kind propped up against the doors to disallow entry. Ryan or Tristan must have put it up after she had already entered. Or maybe it had been put up, barricading the door, to prevent her from leaving. Upon closer inspection and after kicking it with her boot, Abbey realised that it fell away with relative ease, meaning it probably wasn’t the latter of her thoughts.
She looked behind her with a crazed frenzy, into the hall entranceway with the ancient looking framework that once housed a grandiose staircase and classy lighting. Now, however, they looked broken, lonely even, longing for a friend, a little care and attention. She hadn’t the time. Ryan would be on her any minute. In fact, she thought she could hear his footsteps approach.
The door wouldn’t open. She fumbled with the brass knob, rattling it from side to side in a blind panic. Why won’t the bloody thing open? She yanked it harder, kicking it and getting flustered. Grunts and whines echoed against the walls until finally, the door
gave up its defence and opened.
Not even two steps into the fray and Abbey wished she’d stayed inside the protection of the old building’s walls. Her breath had been stolen from her, her fire-like hair tugging at her scalp. The unpredictable wind had returned, taunting her further. There was no escaping its biting grasp, taking hold of her with its freezing lasso, wrenching on tight, dragging her off to its lair.
Abbey stumbled over, pain shooting up her shins. As if she was on a downwards slope, Abbey was dragged along the ground, in line with the building. She flailed her hands from side to side, seeking urgently to grab onto anything. Spiky branches stabbed at her bare hands, her cries of pain lost in the horrendous torrent of whooshes. Abbey closed her eyes. This was it, her time was up. There was no use in trying to fight it. She had survived Stefan’s beatings, his verbal abuse and his sordid touches. Yet, fuelled by embarrassment, Abbey was condemned to come to an end by an intangible force she couldn’t escape.
Despite the fate awaiting her, Abbey clawed around some more in hope she may be able to clamp on to something. Why should she give up? There were moments where she couldn’t breathe, moments that lasted a lifetime. She was suffocating on air. Her ribs felt crushed, bruised as if the wind itself had placed its foot upon her in victory. One of those moments came, her cheeks pushed away from her, making her teeth and gums sting. Her eyes were forced open as she tried to close them culminating into a watery squint. The constant tugging and bashing into things not only bruised her body as well as her sprit, but it also prevented her from locking her gaze onto what may lie ahead.
Just as her head became light and her body numb, Abbey could swear she felt a rope latch onto her arm. It tickled her skin through her jumper; a lifeline offering itself to her at just the right moment. Before the squall had chance to fling it away, Abbey lashed out for it. The rough fibres scraped her fingers as she wrapped them around it tightly.