Losing Inertia

by VK Gregory

  The desperation was obvious. She was afraid. Too afraid to stay, too afraid to leave. He was controlling her. Destroying her. I didn’t want to read any more, the more I delved into her diaries, the more I feared for her. Like somehow, I could help her, now, after all these years. I hoped she had gone, I hoped she hard run away, but the diaries carried on,

  I can’t go out. I have to stay here. He says it’s for my own good. He brings me everything I need. I don’t even need go shopping, he makes the food now. I can stay and read and relax. I don’t have to worry any more. He’s taking care of me.

  I’m going to do it, I’m going to leave. I’m going to go, tomorrow, after he goes to work. He locks the doors but I can get through the window. I’m leaving. I’m so terrified, What will become of me? I can’t take anything with me, except this diary. No clothes, no money. Just me. And I have nowhere to go.

  She was leaving, but these diaries, this house. It didn’t seem right.

  He says he has as surprise for me. Tonight. I don’t like surprises, but he says this one will make our lives so much easier. I’m going to try and leave in a few minutes. I’m making sure he has gone, really gone. Soon. It has to be now.

  My heart beat frantically as I turned the page, but there was nothing. Just those final words I had read at the start

  I am alone. Alone and afraid. I believed in the goodness that I had seen for many years. How did this happen?

  Had she left without her diaries? Had she forgotten them? I looked under the diaries, finding what looked like a housing plan, and under that videos. A small selection of videos, about 8 of them. One said ‘wedding,’ the others were just numbered. I didn’t want to see, how could I look? I picked up number 1 and stared at it. I should put the videos away and put the box back, I should walk away and never know, but instead I took the box downstairs, down the perfectly white painted steps, sounding hollow beneath my feet. Down into the beige carpeted sparse living room. And I pushed the video into the player, feeling the resistance beneath my hands. I hadn’t used a video in so long, it was familiar but different. The player whirred as I turned the tv on and tried to find the right channel.

  ‘Do you like it?’ the picture was grainy and jumpy as the light was low, but I could see a woman standing in a dark, windowless room, next to a metal bed. She looked tired and frightened, scanning the room frantically,

  ‘What is this?’ The camera panned around the room, showing a sofa, a chair, the bed, no windows, a few photos on the walls, the wedding photos I had found in the box and a small chair and table.

  ‘Home, for you,’ her face fell in confusion and fear,

  ‘What? I can’t live here,’

  ‘Sure you can, no more problems. You’ll be safe. 100% safe, I will bring you everything you need’ The voice behind the camera was deep, and calm. Almost convincing.

  ‘No, Mikey, I can’t. I need light and fresh air,’ he pulled on a piece of string and another light came on, ‘Sunlight I mean,’ the person holding the camera put it down on the table and pointed it towards her,

  ‘This is your home now. I made it for you. It has everything you need, trust me’ he touched her on the arm and she pulled away from him,

  ‘I’m leaving Mikey,’

  ‘No you’re not. I did this for you. For us,’ she shook her head at him as if confounded by his inability to understand,

  ‘You did this for you,’

  ‘I will keep you safe, who else in the world gets to be safe, and loved and looked after?’ He was tall, overpowering to her slight frame, she looked like she was about to run,

  ‘I’m a person. Not an object, I just want my freedom,’ suddenly the man growled,

  ‘I did this for you,’ his voice was loud but muffled in the room, he stomped his foot and grabbed her by the arm, ‘Why can’t you ever be grateful for the things I do. I give you everything,’

  ‘Please, please stop, you’re hurting me, let me go,’ she was crying, her face dark with fear as she tried to unlatch his hand, but he was big, his hand wrapping almost all the way round her thin arm. She tried to pull away but he held her tight,

  ‘You just had to say thank you, you should be happy. I made this for you, FOR YOU,’ he was dragging her over towards a small chest by the wall,

  ‘I am, I am. Thank you, please let me go. Let me leave. I won’t ever bother you again,’ she was crying as he pulled her to the ground,

  ‘You are my wife. You are mine, you will obey me. You are so ungrateful, spoilt by everything I’ve done. You will wish you hadn’t complained. You’ll wish,’ He pushed her and she stumbled and fell, banging her head on the corner of the chest and crying out in pain and shock, she curled herself up into a ball, her long mousy brown hair, covering her pale face, her thin legs poking out from underneath her flowery, old-fashioned dress. Her legs were dark with fading bruises.

  ‘Please,’ she cried softly, but it was clear she had given up, he pushed the chest to the side, and behind it were chains and shackled attached to the wall with hooks, ‘No, no’ she screeched, suddenly desperate to get away. But he grabbed her by the hair, huge handfuls in his thick, steely grip,

  ‘I didn’t want to do it like this. You should have thanked me. I’m doing this for you, it’s for you own good,’ he grunted as he dragged her to the wall, clasping the shackles around her wrists and then letting go of her hair to grab an ankle. She kicked out a him in fear, her heel connecting with his jaw and for a second he staggered back in surprise. But it was short-lived and he lifted his hand high, back handing her across the face, hard enough to knock her out briefly, so he could complete shackling her ankles. The chains weren’t long enough for her to go far. She was stuck. She lay at an unnatural angle against the wall, half-conscious and moaning.

  ‘You’ll thank me for this, trust me.’ and then he was gone, grabbing the camera and turning out the light, leaving her alone, frightened and hurt in the dark. As he climbed steps, the sound of her frightened cries drifted upwards towards him. The camera switched off.

  Carefully. The second one came soon after,

  ‘Mikey, is that you?’ her voice was shaky and uneven. When the light finally came on she scrunched her eyes closed, protecting herself from the sudden brightness.

  ‘Hey love, I brought you breakfast,’ on a tray was a piece of toast with two eggs, a glass of orange juice, and a single rose in a vase.

  ‘Please let me go,’ she cried, pulling on her chains, ‘please, Mikey’

  ‘None of that now. I came down here for you. Remember what happens when you aren’t grateful,’ he said, slowly, sitting down next in front of her with the tray,

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry. Thank you for bringing breakfast, but please let me go. I need the toilet, please,’ he sighed and indicated to a bucket in the corner of the room.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ he unshackled her feet, and watched her shame as she sat there in front of him, trying to hold onto her dignity, which was impossible. Afterwards she reached for the orange juice, but he pushed her back down, grabbing hold of the chains,

  ‘No, no please, I can’t go anywhere anyway, I can’t.’

  ‘I said none of that,’

  ‘Mikey, it’s me, please,’ but he shackled her up. He looked angry now as she sobbed,

  ‘I’m done trying to be nice. You enjoy eating your breakfast, alone, in the dark,’ he kicked the tray towards her and it hit her in the forehead, the eggs running down her face. The glass shattering on the wall by her face. Then he took the camera, and turned out the light,

  ‘No,’ she cried, ‘don’t leave me alone in the dark. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ but her pleas went unheard as he disappeared and the sounds of her desperation faded to nothing.

  The next time he came down to see her, she was subdued. Clearly, she had been crying, her face was red and her eyes puffy, but she didn’t cry out to him. He brought her food, this time a sandwich and some tea. She kept her head down and kept quiet,

  ‘I’m sorry it’s only c
heese, I need to get more ham,’ he said as he sat in front of her, and handed her a sandwich, ‘What do you say?’ she glanced up terrified,

  ‘Thank you,’ and she ate it, pulling against the shackles on her wrist to get it into her mouth. She said nothing more.

  The next couple of days on the tape showed her increasingly passive, and frantic with fear and happiness when he appeared. He was manipulating her, controlling her, brainwashing her. When the tape came to an end, I compulsively reached into the box to get another. Staring at how many others were in there, my heart sank. How long had he kept her down there? How much pain had she endured.

  As I pushed the second tape in, the TV went black, and with it the rest of the lights in the house. The modern world finally blinked out with an audible sigh, and true silence fell around me. The electricity had failed at last. I knew it would happen eventually, but now with the last vestiges of the modern world gone, I felt truly abandoned, far flung from my prior modern life and further still from the people I had loved.

  I stood up, looking through the kitchen window for signs of electricity, but the wold was in darkness. Standing there in the white kitchen, focusing on the red brick houses in the distance, I tried to imagine life without electricity. No cooked food, the food in the refrigerator would spoil, I couldn’t even boil the kettle to make a cup of tea. I had never lived without electricity for more than a couple of hours, or a weekend while camping. I didn’t know what to do. Hopelessly, I checked my phone, seeing the x where the network should be. It was useless now, I couldn’t even charge it, I turned it off and put it back in my pocket. Even if he wanted to, Daniel, could never contact me now. I was truly alone.

  I would need a candle and a torch for tonight, perhaps a camping lamp, something to chase away the inevitable shadows of the oncoming darkness. I searched the rooms looking for anything that might help, drawers and cupboards all seemed oddly empty. The cupboard under the stairs held dusters and brushes, the usual clutter from any household, yet no torch or candles. Pushing the organised clutter to the side, I noticed the glint of something on the back wall.

  As I stepped closer I realised that it was the wall. A wall of video tapes, just like the one I had watched already. But hundreds, hundreds forming a black wall at the back of the cupboard under the stairs.

  I closed my eyes, knowing what I was looking at. Without thinking I reached up to the top, as high as I could reach, it read 10,320-10,325. The numbers, the longer I stared at them, the more incomprehensible they seemed. 10,325 days? How many years was that? I tried to work it out in my head, it was well over 20 years, closer to 30. Had the poor woman been locked up in her prison for 30 years? The time seemed an eternity and I prayed I was wrong.

  I slipped the tape back on top of the others and stepped back outside.

  There were no candles or torches in here. With a sigh, I closed the door on the wall of pain and went back into the kitchen.

  From the kitchen window, in the fading sun a man stood hanging washing on the line. I had assumed it was a woman. Opening the back door, I could see him closer. He was an older man; a perfectly trimmed beard on a lined face, a casual pair of cream chinos and a shirt offset his thick army boots perfectly. He didn’t look like the man in the videos but at the same time, he was the same height, the same stature, the same aura. The picture wasn’t right, the clean but modern house, the flowery bedroom duvet, the man in the army boots hanging up washing. For a while I simply stood by the back door staring at him, remembering the videos. Remembering her voice and her cries of fear and pain. He was hanging up sheets, perfectly white sheets, so white they must have been bleached, suddenly I had a sinking feeling. Where was the woman? As far as I could tell she wasn’t in the house. Not unless there was a hidden room.

  At the back of the garden stood a shed. Not a ramshackle, rotting wooden shed, but a perfectly clean and pristine looking wooden building, painted in bright white, reflecting the sun into my eyes. I didn’t need to go in to know that inside would be equally spotless.

  And maybe this out of place man stored his candles, or camping equipment in his shed. I walked out the back door, towards the man hanging the sheets. He unsettled me, his eyes following as I crossed his lawn, trying to feel confident that he couldn’t hurt me. The perfectly manicured grass swayed gently in the breeze, the long white fence unblemished by dirt, as if the earth itself was too afraid to soil the perfection he had created. I walked around the man, keeping my eyes on him, feeling the danger curling all around; in the air like smoke; on the ground like a snake. Nothing would make me go closer.

  The shed was bright snow white, like the house. White and immaculate, pungent with the aroma of fresh paint and cleaning fluids. How often did he wash his shed? I reached for the handle and pushed, expecting it to creak open and reveal the secrets within. But it was locked. Not with a flimsy padlock that secured most garden sheds, but I saw a proper yale lock - one which needed a key.

  With no windows, and no other way in, I had no choice but to turn around, walk back towards the house, towards the man and his intense stare. I needed to get in that shed. I could go search the house again, I could open all the cupboards and drawers, I could search under beds and behind books. But I knew, in a way that only my sixth sense could possible know.

  He had the key.

  I stood opposite him, enough distance between us that he would have to take a step to reach me. Long enough for me to run. And I stood and stared. On his grey leather belt, hung a small bunch of keys. One for the front door, the back door…and the shed. One had to be for the shed. They dangled low on his thigh as he reached upwards hanging his bleached white sheets.

  I needed those keys. I knew there was no other way, either I took them, or I left for some other house, or the shops. I could crush the need to find out more. Bury the curiosity. I could. Shivering, I walked forward until I was staring up at him. He stood several inches taller than me, his dominating presence undiminished by the event. With a wary hand, I reached for the keys, touching them and not the man, my heart beat faster as I looked away from him to try and untangle the keys from his belt. They were attached by a press clip and try as I might I could not seem to unhook it. I couldn’t touch him, I had to be careful. The seconds ticked past as I worked the clip until somehow, I managed to lift it through the buckle loop and away.

  I stood back up again and stepped back quickly, my breath coming too quickly. His eyes seemed to strain to see me even though he faced sideways. I could feel his desperation, his intense need to see me.

  ‘I just need a candle, or a torch,’ I told him, my voice wavering as I watched, waiting for him to spring to life, stride across his green grass and grab me, imprison me. But nothing happened. Nothing but silence. I turned from his stare and hurried back to the shed, not looking back, trying not to think of him. I imagined feeling his breath on my neck as I walked faster,

  The first key was not right, nor the second, nor the third or the forth, it didn’t help that I scrambled with desperation, glancing behind me to see him watching me but not moving. Finally a key slipped into place, and the door click and opened with a sigh as I pushed on the handle.

  Inside it was dark; without windows no light got through. I strained to see, noticing a smell, a slight musty, old smell. An ordinary, normal shed smell.

  But this was no ordinary shed. It was oddly empty. A green spade hung on one wall over a rug made of rushes resting on the painted wood floor; an individual armchair stood in the far corner with a half-melted candle and a box of matches sitting on a tiny table next to it. It was so obscure that I could not think of a reason for the setup. There were no windows, no light, no kettle or even books to make it homely enough for a place to relax. Just that chair.

  ‘What is this?’ I stepped inside, taking a breath of the air, it wasn’t exactly musty, not old musty, more like stale. That candle was not enough to last me the night; it would hardly last me a couple of hours, but I stepped in and took it anyway. By stepping
into the room, I couldn’t help but notice the change in timbre on my footsteps as I crossed the room.

  Just that chair. The chair and the rug. I held onto the candle as I gently nudged the sides of the rug up with my toe, glancing into the gloom.

  Of course, it wasn’t an empty shed. It was an empty shed with a trapdoor. I could see the corner of it poking out from under the rug. Somehow, I had expected it, it felt right, as if I was following a pre-written script. Placing the candle on the ground, I lifted the entire rug from the floor and saw at once a glint from a tiny handle embedded in the wood. It almost obscured by the dark but not obscured enough.

  Whatever was hiding down there, I did not need to see. It did not need me disturbing it. I should just go, far away from this house, this shed, that man. Those videos and the saddest letters in the world. I should walk away. As if against my own will, I reached down and pulled the handle. It was locked, and I didn’t need to test the keys on the chain to know that they wouldn’t fit, the keys were small, the hole was large. I was disappointed yet oddly relieved.

  I was tempted to just leave right now, take my bag and get out, but instead I stood there in the shed looking for the key. Something compelled me to keep looking. The room was mostly empty, and there weren’t many places to look, I searched down the sides of the chair but there was nothing, nothing under the table, or taped under the top, there was only the spade left. Lifting it I saw a small silver box tucked up near the handle. One of the last three keys on the keyring, slipped in perfectly and I felt like Alice in Wonderland discovering something amazing. The tiny box opened to show me a large bronze coloured key, one that would fit the lock perfectly. Even as I took it and knelt to undo the latch, I knew there was no wonderland in there. Whoever took this many precautions, were not hiding a cellar of wine, or stockpiling for the apocalypse, this was more pirate treasure than wonderland.

  The musty smell was strong now, as I lifted the door. Strong and peculiarly familiar. It was too dark to see much, but I had the candle, and lighting it gave me strength.