The Soul Room

by Corinna Edwards-Colledge

  But Fabrizio seemed preoccupied. He muttered to himself for a moment before stabbing his cigar out violently in a heavy marble ashtray, on a side table, which I could see at the end of the sofa, between it and the wall. I flinched, expecting his head, and then the rest of him to follow, move the table back and confront me. Finally, with a flush of relief, I heard him heave himself up, an empty glass joined the black stub of the cigar on the table and he crossed the room. There was another second or two of silence and then the room went black. I wanted to sob, or laugh, I couldn't tell. Instead, half with a sense of shame, half with wicked pleasure, I quietly got up to a squat, and pushing my knickers to my knees, peed on the carpet behind the sofa, another, more physical sense of relief flushing orgasmically up my body.

  I disengaged myself awkwardly from the narrow space behind the sofa and moved tentatively into the gloom of the room, shaking my right arm gently in an attempt to get some life back into it. Fabrizio had left the door ajar and I peered through the gap. There was a light on in the kitchen across the hall. I waited impatiently, at least five or ten minutes, before Fabrizio finally came out, turned off the light and started to head up the grand staircase that led to the family bedrooms. I waited another five minutes, just for luck. I hardly dared to breathe, the air in the house was dark and tight. It virtually hummed with silence. I attempted to scrape up some courage from my quivering insides, and stepped out of the room.

  I felt hugely grateful for my soft-soled sandals as I skirted the darkness of the tiled hallway towards the kitchen door. I hoped that the tin that I heard Fabrizio open when Collette and I had been waiting in the corridor, to be taken to the cellars, was easy to find. As much as I was petrified at what I was about to do, I was equally oppressed by the shame and disappointment I would feel if I had to make my way back to Nonna’s through the night empty-handed.

  A little moonlight was falling into the kitchen, so I was able to orientate myself in the charcoal-coloured light, and quickly spotted a big oak dresser, it’s shelves deliberately and tastefully arrayed with lacquered plates, vases, and an array of attractive tins for cakes and pastas. I shut the kitchen door quietly behind me and tiptoed over to where the dresser stood, imposingly, near the end of the room. I started with the tins I could reach first, opening them as swiftly and quietly as I could. The first few revealed sewing needles and thread, an old packet of boiled sweets, a little girl’s hair clips, but no keys. I couldn't reach any more, even on tiptoe, so I had to get a chair. I placed each foot of the chair down individually in an attempt to make as little noise as possible.

  Luckily the floor wasn't slippery so the chair didn't move when I rather gingerly stepped onto it. I tried a couple more tins that were on the second shelf from the top, but still nothing. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere on the shelves; evidence of the small army of ‘help’ that the Amarena’s recruited from the village and probably paid well below the equivalent of the English minimum wage. All that was left now was an old, slightly rusty, Amaretto tin. It was obviously used often though as the lid came off easily and silently. My heart leapt and the baby kicked in unison. There was a single bunch of keys inside. Rather than attempt to take the keys out and risk making a noise so near to the hall, I took the whole tin with me to the back of the kitchen and through the door that led to the small passageway to the cellars. At the end of the corridor was the heavy old oak door that I had seen with Fabrizio when we went to get the dessert wine. Luckily the key turned easily in the lock and the door opened silently.

  As soon as I got through the doorway I cursed myself for forgetting to bring a torch. The residual moonlight in the kitchen had gone and the passageway tapered off into a pool of darkness. Somewhere in that blackness, I knew, was a steep flight of steps. Did I dare turn on the bare-bulbed electric lights that spanned the length of the corridors? I was getting very jumpy - what if the lights were alarmed? Or, I imagined a window, or hole in the floor, a shaft of light cutting through the darkness of the sleeping house somewhere and betraying me. Another moment of indecision - I breathed hard, fought to keep down a nauseas pulse of fear..

  I thought back on the time Amarena had shown me the cellars, and I was sure I could remember the way to the locked door he had been so keen that I did not open. I played it through my head: down the stairs, second corridor on the right, half way down take the left passage (no door here) at the bottom of this passage two doors facing each other. The one I wanted was the right-hand one; the old, ornate one. Then I would have to turn on a light - for as long as it took me to find the keyhole and open the door at least.

  My baby started to wriggle inside me. I stroked him and whispered that everything was OK. I thought of him as he nestled in his own little dark world; turning, feeling, assessing the space - just as I was feeling the wall, gingerly assessing the floor ahead with my foot. It should be the safest place in the world for him, in that darkness. But my darkness wasn't safe, so neither was his. I was getting accustomed to the surges of guilt I kept feeling, but I just had to keep going, put them to one side.

  Suddenly there was nothingness beneath my toes. I had reached the steps. There was a smooth wooden bannister. I held it tightly, gratefully, and went down like a child - placing both feet together on each step before attempting the next one. I counted fifteen steps and then I touched ground again. I breathed deeply, gathered myself and moved on. Next I was feeling for a right turn - there it was. The smoothe painted brick ended, then started again. So the next one was the one I wanted. I felt again - my fingertips brushing lightly on the stone. Then suddenly a snore, a loud rasping human snore, shredded the silence. I came so very close to screaming, that the pressurised air of it sat in the top of my throat like a plug. I released it slowly, second by tortuous second through my nose. I didn't dare to move. As I came out of my shock I realised that I could begin to define the shape of it. There must be a candle burning in the corridor beyond. It was a guard, a guard asleep in a chair. I would have to go past him, simple as that.

  I would act, I wouldn't think. I breathed in again and worked out that there was about two feet between the bulk of his arm and the frame of the corridor opening. I pressed my back against the brick of the doorway and stepped sideways like a crab. My great pregnant stomach came within a centimetre of his elbow. I held my breath, he continued to sleep. I was past. The relief I felt was soon replaced by a new wave of fear. What if he wakes up and comes to check on Dan and finds me there? What if I make a noise in the next corridor and he comes to investigate? What if when I came back with Dan he has woken up anyway and we can't get past? It felt like everything I had put myself through, all the risks I’d taken could instantly be for nothing. If my baby and I were trapped here, Fabrizio would move us, he'd do anything to keep the baby, I wasn't sure why, but I knew he would. He would find a way to hide us or make us capitulate. No matter what suspicion fell on him, there would be no evidence. He would make sure of that.

  As if for the first time, the reality, the utter and irrevocable foolhardiness of it all hit me. I could head back to Nonna's now. I could ring John and tell him to come over. I could be rescued, safe. Surely Dan was wrong. This wasn't a film, this was real life, and there was no way that Fabrizio could be as powerful as he imagined. But then I remembered the conversation Fabrizio had had on the phone. Dan was being moved very soon, maybe Tomorrow morning, maybe tonight. This was it. This could be the last chance before Dan maybe disappeared completely. I had to go on. How could I look my father - even my child - in the face when they knew that I had given in so close to the end?

  My eyes fell on a stout stick, some kind of club or cosh, that was leant against the wall by the man's feet. How hard would I need to hit him on the head to knock him out? I found myself thinking with surprising detachedness. How much 'leeway' is there between making him unconscious and killing him? I leant over and took up the stick. He looked very peaceful. He was middle aged. He had a broad face and thick brown hair with smatterings of grey at the te
mples. I remembered that the forehead was supposed to be the thickest part of the head. Did that mean I should aim for his forehead because it would make it less likely that I would kill him, or that I should avoid it as it would make it less likely that I would knock him out? Just do it I told myself. I raised the club and every last ounce of strength and tension left my arm. I could scarcely keep it above my head. And then I thought of my boy and how he trusted me; and I thought of how this man had allowed himself to be bought by Fabrizio, that whatever the circumstances, he was helping to imprison another human being against his will; and as if by itself, the club came down with a kind of dense thud, and the man grunted and slouched deeper in his chair.

  Was that it? I thought, my heart racing my breath - threatening to make me faint. I did my birth breathing again - in through the nose, out slowly through the mouth, the air came out shaky and ragged. After an agonising minute I decided that the man was unconscious. He had to be. He certainly wasn't dead, and presumably if I hadn't hit him hard enough he would have jumped up pretty quickly to see what the fuck was going on. I wondered if the knowledge of how hard to hit somebody in order to knock them out had become instinctive; passed down from psyche to psyche by our ape ancestors and ten thousand years of wars and conflicts. I decided it was time to stop wondering and get moving again. I had absolutely no idea how long he would be out for.

  My fingers trembling with adrenalin I shifted the club into my left hand and the keys into my right. I headed through the door into the next corridor, which to my relief, was already lit. The thought of having to make a noise made me feel sick, but I couldn't think of any other way. Tentatively, just a whisper at first, I started to call Dan's name. There was nothing. Then I called a bit louder and at last, with an electric current of relief coursing through my chest into my throat, I heard him answer.

  His voice had come from a door a little ahead of me and to my right. I hobbled up as quickly as I could and fumbled with the keys. The door unlocked, I was almost incredulous at how easily it opened, and there was Dan. My dear, handsome, brother; thinner, a little dishevelled looking, but otherwise most definitely, absolutely my own brother.

  ‘My God you’re...’ He came over and I held him, and held him, and held him; my eyes burning. ‘Yes, you’re an uncle.’ His cheeks were hot and wet against my forehead, his body convulsing with silent sobs. The world fell away. We span in space, just the two of us - a hub of warmth and matter in the nothingness. It couldn't last forever though. The room came back, and the warm dusty air, and the fear.

  'I wouldn’t have let you...if I’d known!’

  ‘I know that Dan, don’t worry. Let’s just go, I...I don’t think I can carry on much longer.’ I was holding on tightly to him as if I was clinging to the face of a mountain; I managed to let go and my arms fell to my sides. The cosh hit the floor with a dull thunk. Breathing hard, Dan reached down and picked it up. He took my hand and led me back down the corridor.

  'If only we could go through to the garden.' He said softly. 'But we can't. It's locked on the outside too. They call each other on their mobile phone when they want to be let in and the guard comes and undoes the inner lock. To be in that cool night air, I'd give anything.'

  I felt like a rag doll. I had done it. This was the end. Everything fell out of me and all I wanted to do was lay down somewhere safe - a warm bright hospital room - or my old bedroom at my Father’s house, and sleep, and sleep, until my child came.

  'Oh God.'

  We had reached the guards room. Dan froze, staring at the unconscious man. He let go of me and put his head in his hands. 'What have I done Maddie? What have I made you do? My poor sweet Maddie!' He started to cry again.

  I managed to move my heavy, tired arm and put it on his back. 'He's OK, I had to. Come on.' I took hold of his hand and pulled. He gathered himself, straightened up and took the lead again. He was breathing deeply, his grip on my hand was tight. I was so happy to be led, finally to be led. Before I knew it we were back in the silent kitchen. Dan was hesitant now, he slowed down, pushed me further behind him. The hall was dark, somehow, impossibly darker and quieter than before. Automatically and in synch, we held our breath and started to tiptoe across the polished tiles.

  We made it across the hall. Dan moved towards the front door but I stopped him, silently, gestured towards the sitting room. He was hesitant, but followed me. We made our way across the thick carpet towards the French doors. I sighed with relief, they were still unlocked. With a deep trembling breath I opened the door. Dan clutched at my arm.

  A second later and we were out in the dark courtyard. We would have run across to the gate and out into the darkness, but we were scared of making too much noise on the gravel, so I led him the way I had come, over the tumble-down wall and onto the path.

  'We must go to Nonna's.' I said hoarsely, pulling Dan to the right. 'She's the only person we can trust.' Dan nodded, I put my arm through his and we carried on West, looking around us all the time, straining for any alien sound. It was deepest night now and everything was moving with silence and stealth. The air prickled against our faces. I was conscious of every step, and time seemed to thicken, the more desperate I became to get to our destination.

  'Once we're there we can ring Dad and he can ring John, and all this, all this horrible...' I waved my hands wearily in the air, suddenly unable to express myself, '...will be over.' The words had barely left my lips when there was a shout and the thumping sound of several sets of feet heading down the path. Before I had time to react, a strong arm clamped itself around my chest, pinning my arms to my side, and a hand simultaneously covered my mouth. I tried to kick but I was held too tightly, and someone half pulled, half dragged me off the path. Hands rummaged around my waist and sides, my phone was taken. A stifled shout behind me told me that the same must have happened to Dan, and the numbed emotions of the previous minutes disappeared and I felt hot tears of fear slide down my cheeks.

  We had been firmly, but not aggressively, taken back to Dan’s room. Although the men wore balaclavas I knew one of them as the man I had hit; I recognised his clothes; as if my act of violence had caused my brain to photograph the crucial moment. Both men were clearly practised strong-arms and knew how to get hold of someone quickly, and stop them getting away. They were wary of my being pregnant, however. I could tell by the way they had held me, the way they now kept glancing at me keenly through the gaps in their balaclavas, and the fact that the word ‘incinta’ kept coming up in their conversation. Maybe they had been expecting policemen, or some hired thugs, at least, not a heavily pregnant English woman.

  The two men continued to talk amongst themselves by the door. My rising sense of panic had released a shot of adrenalin and sharpened my senses. They were jumpy, anxious, one even referred to the shorter one by name before he was roughly hushed. So now I knew the man I had attacked was called Mario. Maybe I should try to plead our case with them? Did that ever work in these circumstances or only make things worse? I had lived such a sheltered, safe life in the scheme of things. There were millions of people all over the world who were fluent in the language of violence and intimidation; either as victims or perpetrators. This was the only time in my life I was sorry I wasn’t one of them.

  I had just steeled myself to speak when they abruptly left the room, locking the door behind them. There was a moment of silence. Dan’s breath was ragged, his arms hanging loosely at his side.

  ‘What the fuck do we do Dan?! How do we get out of this room?’ I started to rush around, indiscriminately, furiously, trying to open the door, shoving the bed out of the way, checking the corners of the room, pushing things off the shelves.

  ‘It’s no good.’

  ‘Come on Dan! We’ve got to get out of here!’ I shoved a chair against the wall, started to get up onto it in an attempt to get at the tiny high windows.

  ‘Maddie, for God’s sake!’ Dan came over and forced me off the chair. ‘There’s no way either of us is getting out of thos
e windows.

  ‘I’ll shout for help then!’

  ‘There’s not a farm or cottage for two square miles. The only people who’ll hear you are Fabrizio’s henchmen.’

  ‘I can’t just...’ I stopped, deflated. Dan suddenly bristled with energy and stormed over to the door, started to bang on it.

  ‘Please, for God’s sake just let us out!’ he screamed.’ She’s pregnant! Do you want her blood on your hands? The blood of her baby? You know Amarena’s a bad man, you could let us out now and we could all go to the police. Put a stop to this for good. What would your Mamma’s think of you to see you doing this to a woman who is incinta, imagine their shame! Per favour, Per l’amor di Dio!’ He raged some more then finally ran out of steam. There was a bed and an arm chair in the room but he went and sat on the smooth stone of the floor, his back against the wall, head deep in his broad dark hands. I went and sat down beside him, grunting as I struggled to get my bulk down to the floor. I leant against the hard wall, stretching out my back muscles with an involuntary release of tension. I shuffled closer to him until I could feel the warmth of his shoulder against mine.

  ‘It’ll be all right.’ I found myself saying, but without conviction.

  He lifted his head from his hands, incredulous. ‘It’s not going to be all right Maddie! It’s not going to be fucking all right! You and your baby are in terrible danger, and it’s all because of me. I feel like dying.’