The Grave

by Diane M Dickson

  “That feel better?”

  Lennie put down her cup and watched as Sylvie blew her nose and tried to compose herself. She attempted a smile which failed miserably and gulped to head off a restart of the flood.

  “I don’t know what the hell to do and that’s it. I have nowhere to go, not a bean, no clothes and...” She shook her head, unable to carry on.

  “Tell you what, why don’t you come back to mine? You can get some zeds, have a shower if you like, whatever. It’s not posh my place, a bit grot really but you can come, if you like.”

  Sylvie began to shake her head but stilled the response, what choice did she really have. Acknowledging she knew nothing about this young woman she also had to recognise the kindness and generosity she had been shown and the terrible cul de sac that had trapped her. At least if she was inside she would be less likely to come into contact with the police and an hour to evaluate her situation could only be good. She nodded.

  “Thanks Lennie, it’d be great it really would.”

  “Come on then, might as well get goin’”…

  The flat was small, grubby and untidy. There was one room. A bed was pushed into the corner under an old fashioned sash window which had been dressed with flimsy pink curtains. The headboard was grey metal and pink fairy lights had been twined between the bars. The covers were thrown roughly across the mattress and a battered teddy bear glowered on the pillows. A chair and coffee table took up much of the remaining floor space with a bean bag sagging against the cream painted wall. A plastic curtain partly covered a kitchen alcove where a sink and cupboard unit stood in a dejected huddle with a small fridge. There was a door in the corner opposite the bed and Sylvie assumed this lead to the bathroom. It wasn’t a great space but it was warm, there were posters on the walls and a small table pushed into the corner held a mirror and a collection of bottles and tubes. Plastic boxes were pushed under the bed but there was no other storage space.

  Lennie shrugged off her little jacket and hung it behind the door. An answering machine beeped urgently and she walked across to jab at the button, the screen showed six messages waiting but she made no attempt to hear them.

  “Make yourself at home.”

  Lennie indicated the chair with a sweep of her hand and then turned away. She straightened the kitchen curtain, pushed the bean bag further into the corner with her foot and fiddled with a couple of the bottles on the table. She seemed twitchy and ill at ease, Sylvie felt a tension rising that hadn’t been there before. She had made a mistake, she shouldn’t have come.

  “Look Lennie, I’m really grateful, I am, you’ve been brilliant but I think I’d better go, see if I can get back to the hotel, maybe I can get my stuff.”

  She knew it was a ridiculous thought, everything would surely have been taken away but it seemed like a good reason to leave.

  “I might be able to, you know, go to the bank, I have a bit of money, if I tell them I lost my cards.” She shrugged.

  Lennie turned to look at her, a tear glinted in the corner of her eyes, her face was drawn and sad.

  “I’m sorry Sylvie, honestly I had no choice about this. I don’t wish you any harm but I didn’t have any choice.”

  As her face creased in puzzlement alarm wormed its way into Sylvie’s gut. What was this?

  A sharp slam and the sound of feet on the bare wood of the staircase notched up her sense of alarm. The door flung back and two men in dark jackets and jeans filled the space. They strode into the room ignoring Lennie who had backed against the wall, her hand pressed to her mouth, tears now dripping across her cheeks. She shook her head as her eyes sought out Sylvie sending a wordless message of despair and shame across the meagre space.

  Sylvie had backed as far as she could into the corner, fear sparked on her nerve endings, panic took her breath away. Her legs were tight against the frame of the bed. She bent her knees and shuffled backwards without looking onto the bundled covers. The two figures crossed the room before she had the chance to do more than simply drag herself as far into the corner as she could. There was no escape.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  Lennie was sobbing now, crouched in the corner her skinny knees drawn up in front of her chest. As the two intruders grabbed Sylvie and lifted her bodily, squirming and wailing, Lennie buried her head behind her arms and sniffled quietly to herself.

  “Piss off, let me go. Christ let me go. What are you doing? Who the hell are you? Help me, Lennie, help me.”

  There was no help. With a rough hand pressed across her face to quieten her and lifted from her feet Sylvie was hustled down the narrow staircase. Once outside they threw her across the back seat of the black four wheel drive which had been parked on the yellow lines outside the building.

  “Shut up bitch, shut up or I’ll shut you up. Stay down, keep quiet.”

  The door slammed. No way was she keeping quiet, Sylvie scrambled to kneel on the seat and hammered on the tinted glass of the windows.

  “Help me, help me someone. For God’s sake help me. Lennie, Lennie. Shit, somebody help me.”

  She didn’t see the blow coming, she felt the jolt as her head was jerked violently to the side, she felt her lip split and the spurt of blood and then there was nothing. Darkness wrapped her around and she slid to the floor of the big car her arms and legs a tangle in the confined space. The man who had hit her threw a tartan blanket on top of the bundled body, slammed the door and climbed in beside his mate who was already indicating and drawing away to join the stream of traffic.

  Chapter 45

  Waves of nausea marked her return to consciousness; Sylvie rolled instinctively to her side as her mouth filled with saliva. A spew of vomit splashed onto the grey concrete floor. Her stomach heaved again. Slime covered the side of her face and slipped under her hand as she tried to push away, the stink of it was sour and vile in her nostrils. Her eyes streamed with reaction, to the pain, the vomiting and the terrible nameless fear. She groaned.

  “Shut up.”

  She was cold, shivering convulsively, her head pounded and her throat felt raw. She lay back wanting the darkness to carry her away again, this was too much now. It was time for it to be over, she was desperate to make it end.

  A push against her side moved her; she tried to roll away from the jabbing foot.

  “Get out of your muck bitch. Come on you’ve had long enough feeling sorry for yourself, shift.”

  When she opened her eyes this time the walls held still. She moved her head, peering into the gloom. This was a big space, it wasn’t possible to see the edges of the room. The roof was high above, steel girders and dim grey windows.

  Now, better able to take stock it was clear the pain was mostly in her head and neck. The rest of her body seemed relatively unhurt though her feet were numb and cold. She shuffled and squirmed, dragging herself into a sitting position. Her knees were bent and by holding onto them with her hands clasped she was fairly steady. A rope around her ankles was threaded through a ring let into the concrete floor. She could feel him near, the man who had spoken, but couldn’t see him. As she tried to turn rough hands grabbed the sides of her head.

  “Enough, keep still now. Keep very still, face forwards. Do as I tell you, don’t you dare turn round.”

  Sylvie gulped, tears flowed, yet more tears. She sniffed and mopped her face with the sleeve of the nasty grey top. Despair overwhelmed her, she had no idea where she was, who she was with or what they wanted from her.

  Lennie, why? The memory of those haunted, guilty eyes came to her. Sylvie knew only too well how life would push and pummel until you did unspeakable acts. She tried to push these thought away, there was no space in her mind now for anger all that mattered was survival, possibly, or at least for this to finish quickly. Now her mind filled with only the wish that the end would be swift because surely this could only go one way. She prepared to die.

  He was very close now; she felt him, a presence, his breath on her neck and the heat from his bod
y a spectre against her skin. She was plunged back into darkness, a physical darkness this time. She couldn’t breathe, her nose was blocked and her mouth, there was roughness against her face, she couldn’t tell whether her eyes were open or closed. A sack or a cloth, something was over her head and his hands were at her neck, a noose tightening, tightening. Another scream rose in her throat but horror stole it, rendering her dumb. He would strangle her now, or hang her. She squirmed against his grip, flailing blindly in the dark till her hands were snatched back and sharp pain in her wrists told her they were tied. Now there was movement around her ankles, clawing fingers, pulling and scratching. The ropes were loosed. She kicked uselessly against the weight of him leaning on her legs.

  His hand groped and fumbled around her waist. His nails rasped on the delicate skin as he tore away the cheap trousers. She heard him laugh as the paper pants were ripped away.

  “Nice, classy.”

  “No, no, please don’t, please don’t.”

  Her pleas rippled in the silence, as the knowledge of what was happening crawled into her brain.

  He struck her then, through the sacking. Her face hit the concrete with a dull smack. More hands now, other hands, gripping her legs pulling them, stretching them apart. Still she screamed, and she fought.

  “Hold her Si, keep her still.”

  “Don’t please. No.”

  Now there was no way to fight, there was nothing but to try and bear it, the pain and the fear and the horror as he grabbed at the tops of her legs, thrust his fingers roughly into her body. Then as her insides blazed with agony she felt him pushing inside her, thrusting, tearing and destroying…

  It was over, she felt him stiffen and moments later he rolled away with a grunt. She was numbed, appalled, disgusted and swept with misery.

  “Hold her, grab her legs. Shift over Mo, my turn. ”

  Her struggles now were feeble, what was there left to fight for? she simply lay on the cold floor as tears trickled across her face and she lost herself in the world of pain. Now the other man took his turn, he wanted fight, something to fulfil his need to overwhelm her. He slapped at her face, dragging the sack upward till it covered only her eyes, he grabbed at her cheeks and twisted and pinched at the tender flesh.

  “Slut, whore, you don’t even fight.”

  He thrust himself inside her harder and harder “You like this bitch, like it do ya. Shall I give you something more to like.”

  His great hand closed round her throat, she choked and gagged, bucking and squirming as her lungs cried out for oxygen. Surely he was killing her now. Silently she prayed, please, please let me die, make it stop. Still he pounded into her body, her back rasped and scraped on the concrete, her head was bursting, and now she could take no more. It was unendurable and her brain shut down taking her out, back to the dark.

  Chapter 46

  The nightmare wouldn’t go away, Sylvie tried to escape the pain and fear but it held her fast. Her arms and legs refused to react, she was shivering uncontrollably, her teeth hammered in her mouth and damp clothes clung to her shaking body.

  Inside she was raw, red heat assaulted her belly, she felt fluid between her legs and whenever she moved a gush of warmth told her all was not well.

  Thunder pounded in her head and her face felt puffy and unreal. She kept her eyes closed, once she forced the lids open it would be time to acknowledge the reality of her situation.

  Eventually and inevitably it was time to take stock. The seat was hard and her hands were fixed behind it. Her shoulders had gone past pain to numbness, her ankles were tied. There was something locking her lips together and the chattering of her teeth cut and rubbed at the inside of her mouth. The agony in the base of her stomach was the worst thing and was without doubt the site of most damage. She hoped it was huge and soon it would take her away, she wanted to die now, this was dark and dreadful, too terrible to be borne.

  Life wouldn’t leave her, her body forced her to endure and so through the pain and fear and despair she climbed back to consciousness. It was full dark now, she heard no-one near though her ears stretched in the silence seeking the sound of breathing, the scrape of shoes on concrete or the mutter of voices.

  She heard moaning, a quiet pitiful sound and it was only when she realised it came from her own throat that it ceased.

  The knowledge that she was truly alone came to her slowly through the veil of helplessness. She shuffled on the hard chair, her hands were tied but not tightly, with small movement she felt the binds begin to ease. She pulled and tensed and wriggled and in the midst of a dreadful pain was able to free her arms and pull them forward. She sat cradling her abdomen and sobbing into the darkness. In the end she had to acknowledge she lived and living required her to act and so bending forward, grunting with the agony, she was able to untie her ankles and then to rip the tape from her face. Her eyes found the paper, left in front of the chair. Once she was free she reached and lifted the note. ‘Take your stinking body back to your boyfriend. Tell him that we are watching, we are always watching and we are coming. He is ours. He is a dead man walking’

  The venom behind the words drew little reaction, her body was ruined, her soul was scorched, mere ink on paper moved her not at all. She folded the white sheet over and over in her bloodied hands and then tucked it into the end of her sleeve.

  Her legs and lower body were bare and covered in blood and bruises. She whimpered whenever she moved but knew she must. The pants were ripped beyond all redemption, the grey top fell short of the top of her thighs covering most of her stomach but not much of her bottom. She was alone, she had no clothes, she was hurt, so very hurt and had no idea where she was. A tiny gasp escaped her mouth “Samuel”. He couldn’t help her, she didn’t even know if he was still alive and the mere sound of his name drew hot tears from her sore eyes. She had returned to the chair and now rocking back and forth gave herself up to the grief. Why not cry, surely she had earned the right to cry and never stop.

  “Sylvie, Sylvie. Is it you? Don’t be scared, it’s me, it’s Lennie.”

  The silhouette moved and shifted, coming across the concrete, tall and skinny, nervous and jumpy but getting nearer.

  “It’s me, God Sylvie, are you alright?”

  “No.”

  The single word was faint and pathetic.

  “I’m here to help you, they called me. They said you were waiting, told me I should come and get you. Are you hurt?”

  “Yes, yes I’m hurt.”

  Now Lennie had moved close enough to see for herself the damage to the other girl. Her eyes flooded with tears of shock and pity.

  “Oh God, Sylvie. I’m so sorry. Christ what did they do?”

  She knelt now before the chair and wrapped her arms around the small, shuddering figure.

  “Ssshh. Shhh.”

  She shrugged off her jacket and wrapped it around Sylvie’s shoulders.

  “Wait, wait. I’ve got a blanket in the car. I’ll get it.”

  Sylvie reached out and snatched at the skinny hand.

  “No, don’t leave me. Take me with you, take me. Help me to stand.”

  They wobbled across the great space towards the sliding warehouse door and then with Sylvie on the verge of collapse Lennie pushed her into the back of a battered and rusted old car. She tucked a soft blanket around her, tears dripping onto the colourful pile, crooning on and on as Sylvie laid back and gave herself up again to the bog of darkness.

  Chapter 47

  “I’ve run a bath, I put some antiseptic stuff in it. I think you should go to the hospital though, you’re bleeding and you look really bad.”

  “No, no. I can’t. I know they’ll call the police and I can’t have that. Just let me try and get clean. Can I go now and get in the bath.”

  The room was small, dark and dingy, the pink wall tiles were rimmed with mould and the taps had long since lost their shine but the water was hot and the radiator held a big pink towel warming ready for her. With gasps of pain S
ylvie lowered herself into the warm tub. The water turned to pink as the blood washed into it, she felt a wave of nausea but turned her face away. She felt dirty as though her body was ingrained with filth and would never be clean again. She could feel the ghost of his hands, on her ankles, around her waist and the tops of her legs. The soreness in her vagina and all around the area from tears and bruising was beyond belief and though she had refused the hospital her body was telling her there was damage deep inside. She would have to trust in fate that it would heal and there wouldn’t be permanent harm. Her arms and legs were scratched and reddened from the rough treatment and the bindings, her face was sore from the beatings and her heart was broken from it all.

  There was a knock on the door, “Are you okay, do you need anything.”

  She couldn’t let Lennie look at her, the darkness at the warehouse had hidden her shame and the blanket in the car had wrapped her round. As she looked now at her battered body she couldn’t bear to let anyone see.