by Carla Blake
Or Kate.
She wondered how Kate was? Where Kate was? Was she pacing the house already, furious at her for not coming home. And what about Polly? And her parents? Did they know she was missing? Did anyone? Stupid question, of course they did, it had been hours since anyone had last seen her! So what about the police? Had they been informed and if so, what were they doing? Something? Nothing? God, she wished she knew what was going on!
Blinking into the darkness, she wondered at the surrealistic nature of it all and at how quickly things could change. How could she be at work one minute, minding her own business, getting on with things, and the next be handcuffed to her ex boyfriend’s bed whilst he scrubbed himself to bits in the shower? It was insane! Like a horrible dream she expected to wake up from at any minute and have a good laugh about. Except this wasn’t a dream. She was wide awake and conscious and she couldn’t for the life of her imagine how it was all going to end, because how could it end, other than badly?
Simon wasn’t going to let her go and allow her to walk out of here like nothing had happened. He’d hit her, hurt her, frightened her on so many levels she couldn’t possibly see herself ever being able to forget it, and he would know that. He would know that the only thing left to do with her, once he’d had his fun, was to kill her?
Would he do that? Who knew? She would have liked to have said no, of course not, Simon was a cruel, vindictive bastard, but he was no killer, but now she wasn’t so sure.
He’d talked to her about death once. How it was the last, great cleanser. How it didn’t really matter what you did in life or how much debt you incurred because in the end, you were dead and everything was wiped clean. Was that what he was thinking now? That killing her would wipe everything clean? And did that mean he was going to kill himself too – afterwards - or had he really lost the plot big time and caught in the same surreal moment as she was, managed to convince himself that this was no longer real life but some poxy movie in which he could stab her a dozen times and still expect her to get up afterwards and enjoy drinks in the dressing room. Because if that’s what he was thinking, he was in for one hell of a shock. If he stabbed her here, she’d stay dead and then what would he do with her? Chop her into pieces, stuff her into cardboard boxes and parade her past the concierge complaining the supermarket had delivered a consignment of dodgy tins!? Or leave her here to stink up the place and slowly ooze into the carpet?
She pulled on the handcuff.
Determined not to die in Simon’s apartment. Determined he wouldn’t keep her here against her will. Determined to break the handcuff, and if Simon wasn’t already dead, then give him such a kicking in the bollocks he would wish he was, before getting the hell out of here and going home.
The handcuff refused to budge.
Rachel swore.
And Simon walked into the room, smelling strongly of lime and wearing jogging bottoms, white toweling socks and a designer sweat shirt with the tell tale emblem stitched onto the sleeve. He was also carrying a bowl of warm water and a towel slung over his arm.
“It won’t break you know.” He said, indicating towards the handcuff. “It’s ex SAS. Designed to last.”
Fuck! Rachel thought. “How fascinating.” She actually said, feigning indifference. “ What’s that for?”
“To clean you up with of course.” He said, lying the bowl down on the beside table beside her. “What did you think it was for? To water the plants? Look at the mess you’ve made of yourself.”
Rachel regarded him balefully. “The mess you’ve made of me, you mean! And when is this going to stop Simon? When are you going to let me go? This is ridiculous! You can’t keep me here like some.. caged animal! Someone will… Look, just undo these soddin’ handcuffs and let me go okay? Now! Before I..”
Simon dipped the edge of the towel into the bowel. “Before you what?” He asked, reaching across and wiping blood from her chin. “Cut me with your razor sharp wit? Wither me with an acidic glance? Shut up Rachel and except it. You’re not going anywhere until I’ve helped you.”
“Oh, not that crap again!” Rachel retorted, slapping his hand away. “What fuckin’ help could you possibly give me? And while we’re at it, what’s all this crap about you knowing about me and Kate? What do you know, and what’s it got to do with you anyway? I dumped you Simon, remember? We’re over! Finished! Nothing I do has anything to do with you anymore!”
Simon grabbed her face. “You know what?” He spat. “I wish you were right. I wish it didn’t have anything to do with me, but it does! And you know why? Because I let you into my life, Rachel. I let you into my car and into my apartment! I took you to places I enjoyed visiting. I.. I touched you! I kissed you! I even let you put your tongue inside my mouth, and all the time you were a fuckin’ lesbian! Do you know how that makes me feel? Contaminated, that’s how. Filthy to the bottom of my fuckin’ soul and the only way, the only way I can ever make myself feel clean again is if I make you clean. So that’s what I’m going to do, Rachel, that’s my help. I’m going to make you clean and I’m going to keep you here, inside this apartment until it’s done and then I’m going to burn the whole fuckin’ place down because there’s no other way. And it’s all your fault! You filthy, disgusting dyke!”
Rachel stared at him. “You’re mad!” She said, wrenching her head away. “You’re totally out of your bloody head. How can my being gay possibly have any effect on you? Christ, you never even made love to me, so it can’t be your precious dick you’re so worried about! And how exactly are you going to make me ‘clean’? By standing me under the shower for fuckin’ hours?”
“No. By making you admit that what you are is wrong!”
“And that’s it!? That’s all you want? Christ, why didn’t you say so sooner?”
“Because then you would have simply uttered a few meaningless words and fluttered out of here without fully appreciating how filthy and totally depraved you are.”
“And beating me up prevented that did it?”
“It got your attention.”
“Well I hope I’ve got your attention now Simon, because if that’s what you want to hear, then fine, I admit it. Being gay is wrong. I’m a filthy, revolting lesbian and I should be forever despised for fancying women. There. I’ve said it. Can I go now?”
Simon snorted. “No.”
“Then what the hell do you want me to say? That I’m sorry. That I’m wrong and you’re right and that being gay is a disgusting, terrible thing and that I shouldn’t want to love another woman and have wild, passionate sex with her.”
Simon wrung out the towel and wiped vomit from the front of her blouse. “Better.” He said. “But still not quite sincere enough.”
“Then how about I promise never to go near another woman again? Or that I repent? Is that good enough? Is that what this is all about, Simon? Some weird religious thing you’ve got yourself into. What do you want me to do? Crawl on my hands and knees to church and beg forgiveness? Promise God I’ll never do anything so ‘unnatural’ again?”
“No and even if you did, it wouldn’t make any difference. I don’t believe in God, you know that. What I want is to be rid of you.”
“So why are you keeping me here then? Why keep me tied to his bed if all you want is to be rid of me? Why not just let me go so I can disappear out of your life forever?”
“Because you’d still be out there.” Simon said calmly. “Living your nauseating existence.”
“But you’d never know!” Rachel said wildly. “Especially if I’d moved away. You’d never see me again. I promise!”
“Ah, but I would know. And that’s my problem. For me to feel clean, I need you gone Rachel. Totally.”
Rachel gripped the sheet. The panic in her voice palpable. “But I’d be gone!” She implored, hating herself for sounding so frightened. “Don’t you understand? I’d go Simon. To another country if necess
ary. All you’d have to do is open the front door and I’ll disappear forever. I mean it Simon. Just let me go and I promise you’ll never see or hear from me again.”
“But I would.” Simon replied sadly. “I would.”
Rachel stared into darkness.
Simon had cleaned her. A process she had lain, mute and motionless throughout, silently suffering Simon’s hands on her skin whilst he’d rinsed the blood from her face and then tended her various cuts and bruises. He’d undressed her then. Careful to avoid touching her anywhere intimate as he’d peeled away her skirt, tights and panties, and then cut away the sleeve of her blouse rather than remove the handcuff. He’d also sliced through the straps of her bra, amused when her nipples had stiffened in the sudden chill, but making no attempt to touch them. Then he’d washed her body. Starting with her feet, gripped tightly to avoid her kicking him, and finishing with her face again. The recently applied ointment he’d put on her grazes dabbed away before it had a chance to do any good.
Then he’d left her. Her nakedness another barrier towards the prevention of her escape.
Rachel had covered herself anyway. Waiting until he’d left the room before pulling over the half of the duvet she wasn’t lying on and then shivering with fright.
She hated herself for it. Why couldn’t she be tough? Why couldn’t she lying here now, looking around the room and figuring out a way to get out of here? That’s what always happened in the movies. There’d be a handy hairpin to pick a lock with or a funky watch on her wrist designed to cut through steel. What there wouldn’t be was a naked woman, shivering with terror and struggling to comprehend how death was no longer limping towards her on the arthritic feet of old age, but bounding towards her with the athletic stride of new, young legs eager to reach the finishing post. And all because of Simon and his weird, obsessive, terrifying wish to ‘help her.’
A tear ran down her cheek and she let it slide unchecked into the pillow, wishing she could turn the clock back to this morning and to the many things she could have done differently. Except there was no time now. She was here. Tied to his bed. Scared Simon was going to kill her and terrified she would never see Kate again, or Polly. Or her parents? Did they know yet? Or were they at home right now, watching the evening news and arguing over the crossword in the paper, oblivious to their daughter’s predicament. And how would they cope when they did find out? It would break their hearts and they’d probably spend the rest of their lives blaming themselves. But it wasn’t their fault, it was hers! She was to blame! None of this was their doing, or Kate’s or Polly’s. It was hers. All they’d ever done was warn her about Simon and tell her to keep well away, and all she’d ever done was ignore them. And now look at her.
The bright blue strobe of a police car flashed low across the window and turning her head she roughly wiped away her tears and tried desperately to put herself in the driver’s seat of all the other cars out there.
So ordinary, she sniffed, to be driving home from work. So everyday, yet none of those hundreds and thousands of people out there have any idea that I’m up here, a prisoner in Simon’s apartment. And why should they? You don’t look up at an apartment building and imagine a young woman handcuffed to a bed. You imagine couples having dinner or watching TV or reading a bedtime story to their kid, not someone struggling for their life; it just never crosses your mind. Not until you see it on the news or read about it in the papers, and by then it’s usually too late. But God, I wish someone would wonder. That one of those thousands of people out there would just stop their car, get out, get a feeling that something was wrong and take the lift to the third floor, because how else am I going to get out of this shit hole? Simon isn’t going to let me go. He’s enjoying himself way too much for that. The way he looks at me. The way his eyes slide up and down my body. It’s like he’s savouring me. Waiting for the optimum moment to..
Fresh tears suddenly streamed down her face.
“Oh, God, please!” She begged. “Please don’t let Simon kill me! I don’t want to die! I want to go home! I want to be with Kate. Please. Please don’t leave me here to burn.”
You won’t babe! Believe me.. I won’t let it happen.
Kate’s voice whispered in the darkness, and Rachel almost out of her mind with terror nearly cried out in answer, but then she remembered that Kate wasn’t really there, that the sound of her voice was simply just a memory she was hearing, and burying her head in the pillow, she allowed bitter tears to carry her off into a fitful sleep.
Pacing the kitchen, Kate chewed on her thumb nail and waited for the kettle to boil. It was one in the morning and outside a thin rain beat feebly against the windows as she reached the wall, turned and made her way back across the chilly tiles for the hundredth time.
In the lounge and with a blanket wrapped around her legs, Polly sat by the phone Her whole body felt sick with exhaustion and her right hand shook every time she tried to use it, but she knew it was pointless going back to bed. They’d already tried that. The pair of them lying side by side and staring silently at the ceiling. Waiting for a respite they both knew was never going to come and counting the hours till morning.
Now they were back downstairs again. Cold. Tired. Worried to the core.
Wandering into the lounge, Kate set down a mug of coffee on the table in front of her. “I’ve made it strong.” She said, suppressing a yawn and burrowing under the blanket with her. “Did you want anything to go with it?”
Polly shook her head.
“No, me neither. Where is she Polly?”
Polly shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
“It’s like she’s disappeared off the face of the earth!”
“I keep thinking she’s back with Simon.”
“Why?” Kate grimaced. “What makes you think that?”
“I don’t know, but it just keeps going round and round my head. And I’m not suggesting Rachel has gone back to him and left you. It’s just.. stuff. Like Rachel dumps him and we get dog shit shoved through the letter box. Her car gets nasty messages written on it. And the time he turned up on the doorstep shouting his head off about revenge. Why would he do that?”
“To save face?”
“Maybe, but he could just have easily done that down the pub with his mates. You know, ‘ Rachel was a rotten cow, I’m glad I’m rid of her.’ That kind of thing. ‘Cept Simon doesn’t do that. He comes here, looking for her and shouting the odds. Then the next thing you know, he’s inviting her to lunch to ‘clear the air’.”
“And with his new girlfriend in tow.”
“Exactly! Which is something else I don’t get. How was he expecting to have a civilized conversation with Rachel when his new fling was sitting beside him? And what about her? The last thing I would have wanted is to find my boyfriend’s ex sitting at the table, yet she still goes along. Then Rachel disappears from work, telling no one where’s she going, leaving no clues and apparently after flipping out over an address book and that’s weird all on it’s own. I mean, have you ever got that upset about an address book?!”
“No.”
“Quite. And I’m no Sherlock Holmes, and I know this is going to sound far fetched, but what if Simon had the address book and he somehow persuaded Rachel to meet him to collect it?”
“But she would have told us, wouldn’t she? She wouldn’t have just gone off.”
“Not necessarily. Rachel already knew you were upset about her meeting him for lunch, so maybe she decided it would be better if she just kept this quiet.”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t explain how Simon got the address book in the first place? There can’t have been that many opportunities for him to go down her handbag and steal it?”
“No.” Polly agreed. “But there was the restaurant. You remember Rachel told us she went off to the ladies with what’s-her-face- Wendy? Well, what if Wendy took it while Rachel was having a pee?”
>
“But that would mean Wendy was in on the whole thing!”
“Yes, it would. But how do we know Wendy really is Simon’s new girlfriend. Just because he said she is, doesn’t make it true.”
“ No, it doesn’t.” Kate said, sipping coffee and trying to calm down. “But I still don’t get it, because even if you’re right and Simon did manage to persuade Wendy to nick Rachel’s address book, why would Rachel bother to go and pick it up? It’s only an address book for Heaven’s sake. Why would she go to all the trouble of meeting Simon just to pick up something like that?”
“Dunno.” Polly shrugged. “But we are only guessing here. Maybe it wasn’t the address book she went to collect?”
“Okay, but I still can’t see Rachel agreeing to meet Simon somewhere that wasn’t public. She’d be mad to do anything else.”
“And that, I’m afraid, is where my theory crumbles.” Polly admitted. “I can’t, for the life of me, think how he’d ever manage to get her on her own either. But I still think it’s worth checking out. Because what if Simon does know something?”
Twenty
Rachel was dreaming.
Handcuffed to the bed and with her nakedness covered by half a duvet that was rapidly sliding down to her middle, she groaned softly and unconsciously slid her free hand down between her legs.
In her dream, Kate was with her. Naked and warm. One arm thrown over her waist as pulling her close, she breathed against her cheek and told her not to worry. Soon it would be over, she said. Soon she would be home and they would in bed together. Safe and warm and cosy.