by A. B. King
Then one night I knew that I had reached the absolute limit of my endurance. I had been serving drinks to his ‘guests’ when he suddenly caught hold of me. I thought I knew what was coming, and yet I didn’t know the all of it. I was thrown over his knee, and once again he proceeded to beat me, and this time in full view of his friends. They roared and cheered the spectacle, and then quite suddenly he threw up the skirt I was wearing and tore off my underwear. I thought I was about to be raped in front of everyone, but he just wanted to beat me on my naked buttocks in front of all his friends.”
She shuddered as she spoke, and still kept her eyes averted from her now thoroughly shocked audience.
“You might as well hear it all,” she said tautly after a few moments, “Worse was to follow. In spite of my struggles, which only served to excite them more, I was passed round like a doll to his friends. While some held me, others took up the beating. I don’t remember the end of it, because I eventually lost consciousness. I half came to my senses later as I was lying on the bed with Paul raping me. As he vented every indignity he could think of on me I knew that if I couldn’t get away I would sooner or later die at his hands.”
She paused, this time essaying a quick glance at Martin, who was listening, yet hardly able to credit the tale of sheer sadistic brutality she was relating.
“Over the next few days,” she resumed hurriedly before he could say anything. “I planned how I would make my escape, yet each time I thought there was a chance one of his friends would be there waiting. I seriously began to wonder if it would not be better to end it all rather than face any more.”
She stopped again, and stood up abruptly and walked jerkily round the room. She didn’t look at Martin as he sat there feeling helpless in the face of the hell she was reliving. He knew that such animals existed; yet to actually come across someone who had suffered as a consequence was something he never dreamed would happen to him. He knew that it was completely out of step with modern political thinking but in his view such perverts should be thrashed within an inch of their lives before being castrated and thrust into a pillory!
“Then one day I finally saw a risky way out of my awful predicament,” she said at last, collapsing once again into the chair while still keeping her eyes away from Martin. “By sheer chance I overheard part of a conversation between Paul and one of his cronies. As I listened, an idea was born. You may perhaps remember the case of the young teenage schoolgirl that was snatched from the streets of Portsmouth a few years back? Her name was Kelly Goodman. There had been no sign of her anywhere in spite of appeals on television and door-to-door enquiries by the police. It was the mention of the name ‘Kelly’ that alerted me.
I was just about to go into the room where Paul and his friends were gathered, but the door was ajar and I heard the name mentioned. I froze, and then to my horror I heard enough of the conversation to learn that they had the girl locked up in a house in the Drayton area of the city! They didn’t actually mention the address, yet what I heard was enough to know that most of them had already beaten and raped the poor girl, some of them more than once, and now they were tiring of the novelty. They knew they dare not release her and were actually discussing how to murder and dispose of the body. The sheer horror of what they were talking about was enough to shake my brain into some semblance of activity. I repressed the insane desire to burst in on them and plead with the pair of them not to do it, forcing myself to think. With my brain functioning for the first time in many months, I suddenly realised that this was the chance I had been seeking; a chance to get my husband put away where he could never touch me, a chance to get right away from him, and the horrors of living in constant fear. Pulling myself together with an effort, I walked into the room carrying drinks as I had been ordered, giving no sign that I had heard anything.
As I finished distributing the drinks I knew what was coming because it had happened so many times before. Paul grabbed me and my underclothes were torn off as once again I was thrust over his knee. Once he had slapped me hard a few times I was grabbed by one of his friends and then beaten first by one then by another. Almost fainting with the pain from my injuries I sought to console myself with the thought that at long last I could see a way out of the hell in which I was living. Once they had finally had the pleasure they drank some more and eventually left to continue drinking at the local pub. As soon as the coast was clear I telephoned the police, and having asked for the promised anonymity that was being offered to anyone giving information, I told them everything I knew. It proved to be the breakthrough they had been seeking, and once they had satisfied themselves that my information was genuine they mounted secret surveillance on Paul and his associates. Eventually they trailed him to the house in Drayton, and there he was arrested along with several of his friends. Their victim was saved, although I believe the poor girl spent many months in hospital recovering from her horrific injuries. Maybe by now she has recovered from the physical injuries though I doubt if the mental scars will ever heal. Anyway, at the subsequent trial Paul and a number of his closest associates received life sentences for their crimes.”
She paused again, and gave Martin another quick glance as if to assess whether he was showing the signs of disgust she so clearly anticipated.
“With Paul and his cronies finally out of the way,” she continued, “I thought that at last I was free. I had not been required to go to court, which was part of the agreement I had reached when helping the police, and no restrictions were placed on me. The police kept their word and the press never got wind of how the breakthrough had been achieved, and so I thought that at last I was in the clear. The night after the trial I started planning my new life. I was free at last, and I was going to get as far away as possible from everything connected with Paul.”
She stopped again, her lips curling in a wry smile of self-disgust.
“I should have known better,” she sighed. “The very night that Paul was sentenced, one of his friends who was still at liberty came to the house. He actually had a key and let himself in, and as soon as I saw him I knew that I still hadn’t escaped. He told me that Paul knew who had told the police and had sent him with a message. Because I had betrayed him, I was to be punished; I was to go on being punished until the day that Paul was free, when he would find and kill me! I tried to fight the man off, but he was far too strong. He gagged me, and then proceeded to tear every last stitch of my clothing off, and I knew with horror what was coming. He beat me even as Paul beat me, only even more severely, and at the finish of it I was raped and subjected to just about every indignity you can think of. Before he left, the man told me that he would return and if I tried to flee he would find me, no matter where I went. I was to remain a virtual prisoner until Paul got out of prison and had his due revenge.
It took me days to recover from the sheer physical agony of that horrible experience; I thought about going to the police, only I was too much of a coward. I just knew in my heart that they could not protect me forever; sooner or later I would die at Paul’s hands. It dawned on me that if I was to escape with my life I had to vanish. I had to get right away, and do it so that nobody would have any idea where I had gone. I waited until I had recovered my strength and ready to make the complete break. I knew that I was being constantly watched, but I finally evolved a cunning plan which I felt sure would give me the break I needed. Firstly, I arranged quite openly a trip to South Africa. I booked a passage, made all the arrangements, mentioning it ‘discretely’ to a couple of people, guessing it would gradually reach the ears of those who watched. When I was ready, I advertised a ‘house-clearance’ sale citing ridiculously low prices, and when the crowds came in, instead of conducting the sale, I disguised myself completely and slipped away in the throng, trusting that in the resulting confusion Paul’s friends would lose track of me long enough for me to vanish.
I could have gone anywhere, but I decided to come to Wellworthy because that was the place my father had been heading and I
still thought that I might find him. It was a forlorn hope, yet it was the only one I had. When I came I took some cheap lodgings, calling myself ‘Mrs Smith,’ and spent days wandering round making enquiries to see if anyone knew about my father. It was hopeless of course; so much time had gone by that no one remembered anything, if they ever knew anything about him in the first place. What little bit of money I had soon started to run out, yet I couldn’t give up. It was the only hope I had left to cling to, and I would have continued with it until I dropped.
I never knew until it was too late that one of Paul’s friends had soon discovered that the South African story was just a ruse. I obviously wasn’t half as clever as I thought I had been because within a couple of weeks he had tracked me down. I’ve no doubt he was acting on Paul’s instructions because he bided his time, and when he saw his chance he did his best to kill me. I was crossing the road when I heard this roaring engine behind me. I just had time to turn my head, and I recognised the man behind the wheel ass the man Paul had sent to beat and rape me, but it was too late to escape. I was mowed down in the street and it was only the quick work of Dr Marston, who heard the impact and revving engine right outside the surgery that saved me. I was out of it for a while, and the driver must have assumed that I was dead, or maybe he didn’t even care. Nobody had got the vehicle number, and so the car was never traced; it was probably a stolen car anyway.
When I returned to consciousness I learned who it was that had saved my life. The doctor came in every day, and at first I was as frightened of him as I was of any other man. I feigned total amnesia, fearing that if my name leaked out I could easily be murdered in my bed. But Dr Marston was not like other men, and over the weeks that I lay in that hospital bed I grew to trust him as I had never trusted any man other than my father. He shrewdly guessed that my ‘accident’ was no such thing, and I pleaded with him to contact the police. He kept his word, and eventually I confessed the whole story to him. He was shocked and sympathetic and tried to get me to change my mind about informing the police. I refused, because I still hoped that if nothing was said, Paul might believe that I had been killed and then I would be free.
It was the doctor who suggested that I should suddenly recover my ‘memory’, and take the name of Brent. As I learned later, this was the family name of his wife’s family. I couldn’t understand why he took such an interest in me, and it took me a while to learn to trust him completely. In the end I would have trusted him willingly with my life in any situation. In all my years I had truly never met such wonderful people as the doctor and his wife. They insisted that I recuperate in their home, and the rest, as you might say, is history.”
She finally looked at Martin, and there was now an almost defiant expression in her eyes.
“Now you know everything,” she said. “You know why I distrust all men, you know everything about my sordid background, worst of all you know all about my moral cowardice. In view of the fact that you have a young, vulnerable daughter here, I will understand at once if you no longer wish to retain my services.”
For once in his life Martin felt absolutely helpless. As she had slowly revealed the catalogue of horror that had been her life he had felt progressively more inadequate. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to do, yet knowing even before he tried that it would all be totally useless and liable to misinterpretation. That anyone should have to endure what she had related was beyond him; he was just amazed that she could appear outwardly so normal with such horrors in her heart.
Impulsively, he leaned forward in his chair, reached out and took her hands in his own.
“I simply don’t know what to say,” he admitted quietly yet with great feeling. “Mouthing sympathy and platitudes, telling you how shocked I am, and how sorry I feel will never help. I cannot even begin to imagine how you have coped with everything, and still retained your sanity. Far from being a moral coward, I am genuinely astonished at the courage and sheer guts you must have that enabled you to get you through the horrors. Leave here? I cannot think of one single reason why you should even think that. Look, June; I just want you to know that even though I can never be my uncle, you must try to come to trust me as much as you trusted him. Maybe we started out as employer and employee, but it has gone beyond that now for both of us. Much as I would love to, I cannot undo the past, yet I genuinely hope that you will allow me to help you now, and in the future?”
She didn’t draw her hands away; she just sat there watching him perhaps endeavouring to divine what really lay beyond the words.
“I really don’t understand,” she said at last. “Why do want to do that; I’m nothing to you?”
“Did you ever discover why my uncle wanted to help?”
“No, I asked him many times; I never gained a satisfactory answer.”
“Then why should it be different with me?”
“Because he was a happily married elderly man, and you are not.”
“Meaning?”
“It is what I see in your eyes. Oh, I’m not accusing you of anything, but I can see what is happening to you; it is undoubtedly why you are trying to help even if you don’t know it yourself. Don’t you see? It is something that can never be. Maybe you are as good and kind as your uncle, but you are still a man, and sooner or later you will want me physically and for me that would be a torture I don’t think I can ever cope with.”
He released her hands, and leaned back in his chair with a sigh of resignation. He realised that she was probably right on all counts, and acknowledging that to himself was something he still found very difficult to do.
“So I think perhaps it will be better for all concerned if I should leave in the morning,” she said quietly.
“Do you really want to get away from me that much?” he asked sadly.
She looked full at him then, and the tears that had been threatening since she had started to unburden herself now ran unchecked down her cheeks. “I don’t want to leave at all!” she snapped back at him, “but what alternative is there?”
“June, if you decide to leave, I cannot stop you,” he said quietly. “Only if you go, you will spend the rest of your life running; running from your husband, running from your fears, and running from life itself. Why not stop running? Stay here, even if only for now. I want to help, I want to protect you, and I want to do it in the knowledge that you may never want to look upon me as anything other than a friend. If you go, I shall always wonder where you are, I shall lie awake at night fearing that fate has caught up with you. If you stay, between us we may be able to rid you of the fear, lay the past to rest and give you back your life. I’m not asking for anything in return; can’t we at least be friends, and as friends, allow me to help?”
She looked at him as if really wanting to believe him, yet at the same time fearing to make the decision.
“You really want to do all of this,” she asked slowly, “knowing that I can never be anything to you?”
“Yes.”
“And that at any time I might leave you, and never return?”
“Yes.”
“Then I really don’t know what to say,” she said slowly and sadly. “One part of me says I should leave while I still can, and yet?”
“Then don’t say anything at this moment,” he interrupted. “Sleep on it; in the morning you can tell me what you wish to do. Naturally I hope that you will stay, yet if you still feel that you must go, well, then that is the way it will have to be.”
She hesitated a moment, then suddenly essayed a brief quick smile of acknowledgement, her eyes sparkling though the unshed tears.
“Very well,” she said in a low voice. “Thank you; I’ll do that. I let you know in the morning. But you must think on it also, and if you change your mind, you must not hesitate to tell me.”
“I won’t change my mind,” he assured her solemnly.
At exactly that moment another thought flitted across Martin’s mind. He suddenly recalled how June had reacted when she had
gone out on the patio to check on the cigarette-end left by the mysterious would-be intruder.
“June, just to put my mind at rest on one point; are you quite sure that your husband still in prison?”
She looked at him quizzically; it was obviously not a question she had been anticipating.
“Yes, as far as I know, why do you ask?”
“The cigarette-end on the patio; you seemed to recognise it?”
“Oh, that?” she eased her position in the chair, brushing the half-shed tear drops away from her face, “Yes, I admit that it gave me a bit of a start; it was the same brand as he always used. Luckily it couldn’t be him.”
“Can you be absolutely sure of that?”
“Well, it can’t be him, can it? I mean, he’s safely locked away behind bars, and will be for many years yet; surely it has to be coincidence?”
“Do you actually know for a fact that he is safely locked up? Can you be absolutely certain that he has not been granted early release for example? I know it is something that should never be possible, yet it happens, particularly in this modern day era of so-called political correctness and human rights twaddle.”
It was obviously an alarming prospect that had not occurred to her, and the expression of naked fear that sprang into her eyes as he spoke could not have been faked.
“Surely they wouldn’t let an animal like that out?” she quavered.
“What does your husband look like?”
She pulled herself together with an effort.
“Oh, he’s tallish, at least as tall as you, blond hair, sort of babyish face I suppose you might say, lean build.”