Here Lies Love

by Dan Thompson

  The wind wasn’t finished with her though. A huge almighty gust lifted her off the ground, her hair spiralling and coiling in every which way, an angry medusa rising inside of her, ready to not give in. There was a twinkling, a lapse in her judgement, where perhaps death would have been a welcoming embrace, but although she was still fighting for her life, Abbey had realised that she had that desire to live still within her. Why would she give up? Roll over and lay there, waiting for Death’s icy fingers to claim her as his? She hadn’t allowed Stefan the satisfaction and she certainly wasn’t going to let whatever was trying to take her now.

  Abbey landed with a grunt as the strong gust recoiled for another long breath. She tried to see who had lassoed the rope, but the blue haze had turned thick and fog-like. It didn’t matter. Through the pain of her bruised and battered body, through the pain throbbing inside her head, Abbey heaved. The scratching rope was satisfying in a way, as it itched her skin tremendously. One hand. Then another, slowly pulling herself up, along the ground in the direction of the old building. The wind, annoyed with her defiance, grew fiercer, but the one thing Abbey now refused to do was give up. She wasn’t a victim anymore. You had to make your own fortune in this world – a lesson she was only just learning.

  She lugged that little bit more confidently, edging closer and closer to her haven. With her heart beating hard against her chest, the adrenaline felt good. She was nearly there. Abbey pushed the grin away, she couldn’t become too self-assured. The wind attacking her growing poise was cold and strong. Her being the underdog in this fight, the awful gust threw everything at her.

  It was all too late.

  Abbey seized the hand suddenly offering itself to her like a vice, feeling the recipient’s bones grind underneath its caramel skin. The boy heaved her inside and slammed the doors shut with a resounding echo bouncing off the walls. Abbey’s skin prickled with an uncomfortable heat, the coldness outside leaving a lasting message of brevity.

  “Are you a fool?” Ryan threw the words at her in such an accusatory tone. He was panting hard, his cheeks flushed. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he crouched to the ground to catch his breath. “You coulda’ been killed. You do know that don’t you?”

  The rushed intake of air made Abbey feel a little woozy, she too bent down to calm her wheezing.

  “Thanks,” she managed in between breaths. She had noticed the rope tied around his waist. He had used himself as a weight, as an anchor to allow her to creep back indoors. Her erratic breathing and her aching eyes probably did little to convey her relief and gratitude, but she hoped he understood.

  The two of them stood in silence, albeit for the heavy breathing, until Ryan skirted closer.

  “If I hadn’t been able to get that rope to you,” he lectured, untying the rope briskly, “you would have been at the mercy of the weather gods now.”

  He was right of course, Abbey knew that, but weather gods? Really? She didn’t like his flamboyance, or his lecturing, but thought against standing up to him. He had just rescued her and if the wind had pulled hard enough, it could have uprooted him. Then they both would have perished. She owed him.

  “I’m sorry,” Abbey apologised, “I really am.”

  “Why do you think there aren’t many people in the streets? It’s too dangerous, too unpredictable. Even the market is held indoors.”

  Abbey bit her tongue, reminding herself to refrain from causing an even bigger divide between them. She swung her weight onto her tiptoes and back onto her heels continuously to give her mind something else to focus on, whilst Ryan was busy with his rant.

  “I just can’t believe you were that idiotic!”

  What was Abbey to do now? She was too embarrassed to lock eyes with Tristan ever again. But she couldn’t just run off again either. She could hear Ryan’s angry name calling somewhere in the back of her mind, but she focused on her next steps. For some reason, her head wouldn’t move away from Tristan, replaying the moment she had spied on him taking a wash. What was wrong with her? That was the very reason she had fled for. No, the reason she had fled was that she had been caught snooping; there was a difference.

  Her palms were fairly clammy. Was that because of her ordeal, the adrenaline now finding some release, or was it her sordid visions of a boy she had only just met? She had never come across these sensations before; she wasn’t exactly positive she enjoyed them or not. How could she feel anything like that after what Stefan had done to her? Surely she was just asking for trouble?

  “– and another thing,” Ryan’s voice faded back into her consciousness.

  “Look,” Abbey interposed suddenly, surprising herself even, “I appreciate your help. I really do. But enough of the shouting, OK? I get it, you’re mad. You are more than mad, you’re furious. I’m sorry. I got embarrassed, so I ran. At the time I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Cradling her hands over her head, Abbey ambled over to the cracked staircase, her body now hankering for rest. It ached so much she wanted to scream. She couldn’t be doing with Ryan’s ranting as well. She plonked herself down halfway up the grand stairway, its antique railing now chipped and scared with rust.

  Abbey sighed, trying desperately hard to clear her mind and focus. Ryan was watching her with a suspicious eye and it made her feel guilty. Of what she wasn’t quite sure, but guilty nonetheless. Suddenly a piercing creak vibrated underneath her and the wooden steps cracked. She didn’t have time to stand or jump away, her body swallowed up by the opening floor. Her scream pierced her own ears as she fell into darkness, a circle of blue haze above her, decreasing in size rapidly.

  Abbey felt the stab of pain as she crumpled to the ground before the blackness engulfed her.

  Chapter Eight. The Blue Haze

  The fire crackled gently with a crisp homeliness, glowing out of the blackness, inviting and cosy. Abbey was suspended in the air, black all around her, the fire below, just out of reach. Everything was calm and soothing. There was no wind, no cold and no evil or malice. Abbey finally felt at rest. She playfully stretched out her arms and legs, smiling when no aches or twinges flooded her body.

  Where was she?

  Did it matter?

  The logs in the brick fireplace hissed as they were consumed by its passionate embrace. It called to her seductively, like a siren lulling her to her shore. She willed herself to be guided down, down further as if she weighed as light as the air itself. Abbey almost fell asleep in the swaying movement, content with the peaceful and tranquil ambiance that reached out with its rosy fingers, caressing her entire presence. Her eyes were heavy, but delightfully so.

  As she floated nearer to the fire, its kindly blush gave birth to a stove and a bench. Juicy meat blossomed in the air; Abbey’s mouth salivating for a taste. She knew without thinking what was hiding inside. A goose. A big, succulent goose roasting delicately in its own juices. Geese were hard to come by in recent years, Abbey and her father usually having to get by with cheap dog meat. Even that had to last them.

  Whose house was this, she wondered? Was it really all for her? She looked around curiously, tempting herself to have a peek at the bird inside.

  Footsteps pitter-pattered, but no one approached. Abbey opened her mouth to call out, a hello or anything, but no sound came out, nothing but a sigh. It was strange – she didn’t feel restricted or bound, but here she was, floating down into somebody’s kitchen. Her mind started to question the situation, sceptical of the pure goodness around her. Surely this wasn’t real?

  Voices echoed above her, but she could only see the blackness. The voices were dimmed, obtuse. What were they saying? She recognised the odd word, but the sentences were cryptic. She tried to call out again, but her voice was still muted.

  What the hell –

  - shoulder – bad

  - heavy.

  Hastily, Abbey felt her head go heavy, a weight hanging around her neck ready to pull her into stagnant water that had materialised out of thin air, replacing the snug cracklin
g fire with a dank smelling stream. The pokelogan was grey, uninviting and thick, like gloopy soup. Abbey wobbled on the spot, feeling lightheaded, she put her arms out to steady herself, but the urge to hold her head was too great to resist. The pressure was mounting, the pain unbearable, like her brain was about to explode, a lava of blood and matter seeping into the already vile cesspool that ran off into the murky distance.

  The involuntary urge to retch overwhelmed her as she lost control of her senses, as well as her body. The smell was rancid, rotting flesh permeating the air like a stain. Abbey refused to breathe, rebuffing the vile air access to enter her body, but she didn’t have a choice, she needed to breathe.

  The voices murmured above once more. – bey. Were they calling out to her? She couldn’t tell, but she wanted to turn her back on them and dig her way underground. The voices pulled at her attention, sucking her back up into the air. Everything went suddenly loud. The voices monotonous, but scary. Authoritative even, summoning her presence to kneel before it.

  She didn’t want to go, but she didn’t really want to stay. Yet she was pulled upwards, with her consent or not; the voices escalating in intensity.

  Abbey opened her eyes.

  “Abbey! You’re awake!” Tristan shouted at her, his face too close to hers. His breath was warm; it only made her want to vomit more. Suspicious, frowning eyes glared down at her; amber-brown eyes that gave little away, keeping the owner’s secrets and feelings locked tightly within.

  Ryan.

  Abbey groaned, closing her eyes. Debilitating pain shot down her left arm, it becoming more difficult to lift it. It sapped her energy. Her head was cloudy, as if her intake capacity was already full; any more information or realisations were rejected, incomprehensible. She had taken her body for granted and it wasn’t prepared to play anymore.

  Tristan continued to talk as they carried her through the building, over the abyss and into their room. She mumbled in response, but she wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. It was even an effort to breathe, a chore that she loathed. How much more must she endure? If only she could be like one of those bears she had heard wondrous tales of. Bears that fought battles and won. Bears that commanded respect. Bears that hibernated whenever food supplies were low.

  Abbey hadn’t won any battles, she had meandered through them, taking the full brunt of her opposition, but instead of falling - a noble death - she was tormented by Death’s hand, who for some reason, pulled it away just before the touch.

  A few jolts forced her to come to. Tristan was leaning over her again, his golden streaked hair alive in the blue haze. She tried in vain to push him away, but her lethargic body wouldn’t answer.

  “Abbey, we need to sort your arm out, OK?” he said, his voice concerned, yet calm.

  “My arm?” she answered weakly.

  “Erm, your shoulder is dislocated. We need to put it back into place.”

  “No, leave it,” she protested, realising the extent of the damage. The forthcoming agony scared her.

  A cold sweat clung to Abbey’s forehead; a mixture of clamminess and sheer panic oozing from her pores. She desperately wanted to move her arm, prove the two boys wrong. The damn thing wouldn’t move; although numb, a significant amount of pain tore through her, if it was knocked especially. She hated to admit it, but they were right; her shoulder had come away from its socket. She could see, even through her jumper that it was visibly abnormal, square-ish – not round how it should be.

  Abbey cursed. Tristan and Ryan were talking to one another, whispering between themselves so as she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Maybe it was for her own good, but she didn’t like it all the same. She wasn’t a child, she could take the truth.

  They had placed her sat upright onto Tristan’s bed. The urge to throw herself back, hide underneath the mountain of blankets, entomb herself inside the soft safety net that deterred the agony that was bound to ensue. She imagined herself locked inside a hive, refusing to come out and face the issue, but the pain was too great. She didn’t have a choice. It was plain to see, even for her in her current state, Tristan and Ryan were going to force her shoulder back in.

  “Stay away. Leave me alone,” she cried.

  “Abbey, it’s for your own good. It’s better to get it over with,” Tristan hushed. Abbey felt patronised.

  “How do you even know what to do?”

  “It’ll hurt, but stop being such a wimp. You do want to use your arm again, right?” Ryan fired back at her, agitated.

  Abbey growled unimpressed. She wanted to get up and hit Ryan in the face. That would be satisfying, she thought.

  “Abbey, we are goin’ to do this whether you like it or not,” Tristan said firmly.

  Why did he have to be right? She hated the way he used her name every time he spoke. Sanctimonious prick, she thought. ‘Abbey’ this and ‘Abbey’ that. Maybe she could hit him in the face at the same time; that would give her ample chance to escape their authoritative rule. Abbey growled again, only this time more prolonged, more feral. Running away was what had caused this mess in the first place. It was time to stop and face her fears, with her head firmly head high.

  “Do it,” she spat, her legs bouncing up and down, laid out in front of her.

  “Abbey, I’m going to –”

  “Just bloody do it! I don’t need a commentary,” she cried.

  Ryan forced an oblong block of wood into her mouth to bite down onto. It was hard to breathe when her teeth were clamped onto the wood, and inhaling through her nose made her more anxious. She didn’t want to watch, but everything was happening so fast. Before she knew it, Tristan had raised her damaged arm out in front of her. The pain was excruciating especially as Tristan pulled it towards him, as if he was trying to wrench her arm off, not put it back in.

  Abbey almost didn’t recognise the wail that was ejected from her throat; regressive and raspy. Saliva dribbled from her lips and down her chin. She felt like the very fibres of her being were being stretched and ripped; fibres that were inelastic, not meant for stretching taut. Her stomach griped, vomit threatening to add to the mix of torment, but Tristan continued.

  Never letting go of the arm, he circled it upwards, so it was as if she was pointing towards the ceiling. Not a moment later, Tristan dropped her arm completely and it crumpled back into her lap, lifeless.

  It hadn’t worked.

  The trepidation in her eyes must have been noticeable as Tristan repeated the process, because his face had become pale, his grey eyes sad with the knowledge that he was causing her so much distress. Abbey’s legs began to spasm, her body taking over without her consent. She concentrated on biting the wooden block as he repeated the nightmarish operation over and over. She was almost afraid that her teeth were going to break through, like she was some beast of burden who had had enough of carrying its heavy load.

  On the fourth rotation, Abbey yanked her arm back into her own possession. “Please. Stop,” she sobbed, the pain already a scar in her fragile memory. “No more. No more.” She rolled away from the two boys, cradling her arm, trying to nurse her wounds herself. Love and tenderness would heal it, not agony and despair.

  A hand on her shoulder tried to turn her back. “Stop being so stupid, you silly cow. Get your head out of the sand and grow up. Don’t you want it fixed?” Ryan’s voice ran straight through her, making her wince. She rolled over, leant over to his face and screamed as loud as she could. “Leave me alone!”

  Tristan suddenly took hold of her arm again and without delay, rotated it again before she had a chance to pull it back. This time, a tiny click sighed and the feeling in her arm came back almost instantly, although if a bit stiff, like the gears on a rusty bicycle when it hadn’t been used for a considerable length of time. The pain was still there, but it seemed dulled, almost like an ache. Abbey turned away again and planted her face into the blankets, not bothering to stifle her sobs. Ryan could mock her all he liked. All she was interested in was blanking out t
he world.

  ~ * ~

  Rheanne was sobbing, hushed and dry. She was huddled in the furthest corner of her cage, hugging her dirty bare knees. Abbey felt numb to it all now. Her eyes wouldn’t weep any more. Besides, tears fed the monster’s perversions like it was a foreplay to him. Abbey watched pensively as Rheanne’s hands shook. Is that what she would be reduced to? A bundle of nerves and fears and hopelessness? Rheanne had been a prisoner longer than she had.

  “Hey, Rheanne,” Abbey said, susurrate like a whisper. She pressed her face against the rough bars and longed for the young girl to reply. She didn’t, instead turning herself more into the shadows.

  “Please, don’t cry. We can escape together. These bars are only made of wood. With a bit of pressure, they’re bound to snap.”

  Rheanne sobbed more, but she had hushed the sounds as if trying to placate and mollify Abbey. The poor thing.

  “It’s no use,” a voice sounded from near the door, deep, more like a murmur.

  Abbey hadn’t realised there was another girl locked in with them. Abbey froze, contemplating whether it was him or not.

  “Who’s there?”

  “My name’s Kelly.”

  As if an apparition, Kelly appeared out of the obscurity, her face dark and sunken. Abbey struggled to see where Kelly’s face began and where the darkness ended.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were here too.”

  “I’ve learnt to stay silent. He forgets I’m here too. I like it that way.”

  “I haven’t even seen him give you any food?” Abbey asked that more as a question than a statement.

  “Food? We won’t have need for any of that when he’s done with us.”

  The cold words made Abbey shudder. She leant forwards, shuffling as far she could, nearer to Kelly’s cage, but in doing so, it seemed to scare the girl back into the darkness.

  “How long have you been here?” There was no reply, apart from Rheanne’s snivels. Abbey hated herself for becoming a little annoyed with Rheanne. “Kelly?”