Spanking Dee-Dee

by Fabian Black

  Sue chipped in. “Bob thought he heard a clatter, but I was hoovering the bedroom and didn’t hear a thing, not until Edna called to ask if we’d heard anything. We knocked on his door and called his name, but he didn’t respond.”

  Alarm bells tinkled, but I remained calm. “He was probably engrossed in something and didn’t hear, either that or he’s out. Just a sec, I’ll give him a ring.” Pulling my phone from my pocket I called his mobile. It rang for a few moments before being answered. Relief washed over me as I heard his voice speak a low greeting. “Hi, Dee.” I said brightly. “It’s me. Are you all right? Mrs Royston heard noises coming from your apartment earlier. She knocked on the door and was worried when you didn’t answer.”

  The lady’s jowls wobbled a little. “I didn’t say I was worried, young man. I was more annoyed at having my nap interrupted. I couldn’t settle afterwards in case there was a burglar at work in his apartment.”

  My moment of relief was short lived, not because of anything he said, but by the tone of his voice. Something was wrong even if he wasn’t saying so. He was all but whispering into the phone, as if afraid someone might hear him. He said the noises had been a stack of paint canvasses falling. He’d knocked them over by accident. He claimed not to have heard any knocks on the door. He asked where I was. I told him I was in the garden. He said, ‘don’t be long, Si’ and rang off. I conveyed his excuses to the sunbathers.

  “Trust him to make a production out of nothing.” Mrs Royston sniffed, obviously regretting her moment of concern on Dee’s behalf.

  “Thank you, Mrs Royston,” I said sincerely. “It was kind of you to check on him.”

  “Just doing my duty as neighbourhood watch warden. You can’t be too careful these days. There was a strange man hanging around the front entrance earlier. I saw him when I was collecting my mail. He was looking at the names on the intercom system.”

  “What man?” My ears pricked up, as did my heart rate. “Did he give his name?”

  “Of course he didn’t give his name,” she wasped. “I didn’t ask. Why on earth would I. I didn’t like the look of him if truth were told. He was well dressed, stocky, reminded me of a rather unpleasant English bulldog my sister once had. It had a pedigree as long as your arm, but the temperament of a back street thug.” She struggled to the edge of her chair. “I’ve had enough sun for one day. I’m going indoors.”

  I offered her my hand to help her up, but she waved it away.

  “I may be getting on, but I’m far from decrepit.”

  She got to her feet, gave me one of her curt nods, bade Bob and Sue farewell and walked briskly towards the bakery.

  I stared after her, disquieted by her revelation. The bulldog man had to be James. Who else could it be? Dee had obviously discarded my advice and given up his address. Had something happened, was that why he had sounded odd?

  “You look pensive, Simon.” Bob gave me a shrewd look. “Something on your mind?”

  “I’m fine.” I rubbed a hand through my hair. My scalp felt gritty, funny how you could never come away from the seaside without bringing particles of it with you.

  “Don’t you believe the noises were paint canvasses falling?”

  “No reason not to, Bob. He has been organising his paintings.” I slipped my phone into my pocket. “He has dozens. We’ve been cataloguing and hanging some of them.”

  “I’d love to see some of his work,” said Sue earnestly. “I remember his uncle saying he was a canny artist, but shy about sharing. Is he good?”

  “Exceptional at times, but he prefers to keep his work private. Maybe one of these days he’ll open his doors and allow people to see his worth.”

  “Hope so. Do you want a glass of wine?” She indicated a bottle of white wine chilling in a bucket of what had once been ice, but was now water. “I can soon fetch another glass.”

  “Thanks, Sue, it’s kind of you, but no. I’ve got to work. I start back at college next week. I have lesson plans to prepare. I’ll see you later.”

  I left them enjoying their wine and sun and hastened indoors, heading straight for Dee’s apartment. I rapped on the door, expecting him to open it. It stayed tight shut. I tried the handle in case he’d left the door unlocked for me. He hadn’t. I stared at it in puzzlement. What the hell was he playing at?

  Fishing my mobile out of my pocket I called him again. “I’m outside, Dee. Didn’t you hear me knocking? Let me in.”

  “I can’t. I’m not in there.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Upstairs, waiting for you.”

  He was crying. Bad crying. Hurt crying. My heart thudded. “I’m on my way, honey.”

  I raced down the corridor, pushing open the fire doors, launching myself at the stairs, taking them two at a time. I shot into the upper corridor, expecting to see him standing outside my door, but there was no one there. The hall loomed large and empty. My phone was still in call. I spoke into it. “Dee-Dee, what’s going on, where are you?”

  “Here.”

  I almost lost bladder control as the door on the utility cupboard at the top of the stairs swung open, narrowly missing me.

  “Dee?” I peered inside. He was there, standing amongst the mops and brushes, his mobile pressed to his ear, tears running down his face.

  “What are you doing in there?”

  “Hiding.”

  A wave of intense anger dizzied me as he stepped out of the cupboard and I got a full view of his face in the daylight. He’d been hit, hard. His right eye and cheek were bruised, stained an ugly deep purple. The corner of his mouth was swollen, the bottom lip split. Blood spattered the front of his t-shirt.

  “James?” I ground the name out from beneath clenched teeth.

  He nodded, whispering, “you can say I told you so if you want.”

  I reached for him, drawing him into my arms.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” He clung to me.

  I cuddled him for a few moments, saying nothing, just holding him, giving him the reassurance of my presence, feeling his tears soak into my neck and shoulder. It was all I could do not to cry myself. If only I’d stuck around the bakery instead of going to the seaside.

  “Come on.” I eased him away from me, taking hold of his hand. “Let’s get inside and have a proper look at your poor face.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  His facial injuries were nasty, but didn’t need hospital treatment. After bathing his face I wrapped ice cubes in a flannel for him to hold against his swollen lip. The split wasn’t bad enough to need stitches, but still it would be painful for days to come. Despite the heat of the day, he was shivering. I settled him on the sofa in the living room and fetched a large fleecy blanket, wrapping and tucking it around him.

  He snuggled into it. “Thanks, Si.” He gave me a grateful look. “That feels nice.”

  “Can you manage some tea? It might help warm you up.”

  He nodded, and I made two mugs of tea, putting them on the coffee table before sitting down next to him. “Why?” I gazed at him. “Why in God’s name did you give him your address?”

  “I didn’t, Si, honest. After you’d gone he started asking questions about you. I told him you were my dearest friend. He said he was the only friend I needed. He didn’t want me to talk to you again, at least not until he’d met and vetted you to make sure you were a suitable influence on me.”

  “Cheeky bastard!”

  “I didn’t like it either. I told him the truth. I couldn’t not ever see you or talk to you and he’d have to trust my judgement about you.”

  “I bet he didn’t like that.”

  “He said it wasn’t my place to make demands of him. He said it showed distrust on my part and relationships of our nature demanded absolute trust, and absolute obedience. He asked for my address again.”

  “And you gave it!”

  “No, hear me out. Him demanding I cut you off was like a dash of cold water. It woke me up. I think you were right about him bein
g some kind of Svengali. I did what you said and suggested we meet in a neutral place to begin with. He wasn’t pleased. He said he was disappointed by my attitude and felt I’d mislead him by claiming to be ready for his guidance when clearly I wasn’t. He said he needed to give the matter some thought and would get back to me. I was to sit and wait for his reply. It was the last I heard until he knocked on my door.”

  “How the hell did he find you?”

  “He traced me using the Electoral Register online. He said it was easy, a matter of minutes. I’d given a lot away during our chats. He knew my full name and my rough location. He knew my apartment was in an Art Deco building, which had once been a bakery. Even without the Register he would have been able to trace me from that information alone.”

  “Why did you open the door to him?”

  “He didn’t use the intercom to announce his arrival. He came straight to the door. When I heard the knocking I thought it was you. I mean it’s not like I get a ton of visitors. I was stunned when I opened the door and he said who he was.”

  His eyes brimmed again. He put a hand outside the blanket and I clasped it, squeezing gently. “It’s all right, Dee, take your time.”

  “I didn’t like him on sight. Anything I’d felt, or thought I’d felt for him, died in an instant. He was well spoken, smart and well groomed, but there was a bad aura about him. He had fish eyes, cold as ice and emotionless. I didn’t invite him in. He walked in as if he owned the place. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “You should have told him to leave or you’d call the police.”

  “I couldn’t think straight. I was so taken by surprise. I was about to ask if he wanted a coffee when he punched me in the stomach.”

  “He punched you in the stomach!” Livid heat engulfed me. “You never said. Get up, let me see.”

  He stood up and I rolled up the blanket and his shirt to inspect his stomach. There was no bruising to be seen. “Does it hurt?”

  “It’s a bit tender.” Gathering the blanket around himself he sat back down. “The punch winded me. I doubled over and he backhanded me across the mouth so hard I staggered back into one of my easels, knocking it over. That’s probably what Mrs Royston heard. It went down with a hell of a clatter. Before I could recover he backhanded me again and sent me sprawling into a stack of canvasses. I felt sick and dizzy. The room was spinning. I heard knocking on the door and someone calling my name. Before I could shout out he knelt down and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back with one hand, putting his other over my nose and mouth so I could barely breathe. He was strong, Si. I was so scared.”

  “He meant you to be, honey. The sadistic pig obviously gets his rocks off on the scent of fear.” I took and squeezed his hand again. “What happened next?”

  “He held me down on the floor with his hand over my mouth until it went quiet and he was sure whoever was knocking had gone away. He said he was regretful of his action, but felt I needed a stern first lesson regarding the consequences of disobedience. It would make it easier for me to learn to follow his rule without hesitation in the future. He said if I ever contradicted any decision of his again he would punish me harder. Then he smiled and told me I was beautiful and he felt we were going to be a splendid couple. It made my blood turn to ice. He helped me up and told me to make tea, telling me exactly how he liked it. Can you believe it, Si? We had tea in the kitchen, as if nothing had happened.”

  “I knew he was a bogus bastard. How did you get him to leave?”

  “I didn’t. I was too frightened to say a word to him in case he attacked me again. I just sat there while he drank tea, chuntering on and gloating about how he’d traced me, as if he expected me to admire him for it. When he finished he looked at his watch saying I’d kept him long enough. He was late for an important appointment because he’d had to drive out of his way to visit me. He asked if I was ready to give myself to him. I nodded and he said ‘the learning has begun.’ I wasn’t to speak to anyone, especially not you, or leave the apartment until I had his permission. He said he’d know if I disobeyed. He told me he’s coming back tomorrow, as he had planned, to begin my instruction properly.”

  “What an arsehole mentalist. He must see himself as some kind of spiritual leader instead of a sadistic bullyboy. Why didn’t you call me as soon as he’d gone?”

  “I was in a blind panic, terrified in case he was still around, listening and watching. When I could pluck up the courage I went to the door and looked out into the corridor to make sure he’d left. I shut the door, intending to lock it, but my keys were gone, both for the latch and the mortice. I keep them in the lock so I remember to take them when I go out. He took them, Si. He must have.”

  “Are you sure? Have you checked the dresser in the kitchen? I’ve seen you leave them there once or twice.”

  “I searched everywhere, but they’re gone. I couldn’t stay in my apartment knowing he could get back in at any time. I ran upstairs hoping you’d be in, but you weren’t. I heard someone coming up the stairs. I hid in the cupboard convinced it was him. I hardly dared breathe in case he heard me. When my mobile rang I almost had a heart attack. When the door wasn’t flung open I knew it was safe to answer. I was so happy to hear your voice.”

  “You have to report this to the police.”

  “Report what, me being a bloody fool, which I am. I don’t know his surname or even if his first name is real. I have no address, no phone numbers. Even if they did manage to track him it would be my word against his. The police will want to know why I invited him in and had tea with him. Then there’s the ad. Talk about asking for it! He’ll be able to claim he was giving me what I wanted and it was consensual. I’ll look an even bigger freak than I am. It will be too embarrassing.”

  “You’re not a freak, Dee-Dee.”

  “I am, even you say I’m weird.” He pulled the blanket up over his head.

  “I say it with affectionate respect.” I extracted him from the blanket’s fleecy depths, putting my arm around his shoulder, pulling him against me. “There was nothing in your ad about wanting to be beaten up and intimidated.”

  “The police will still view it as a kinky sex game that got out of hand. ‘Fifty Shades’ has a lot to answer for. Apparently there’s been a spate of assault cases involving people who have read it and decided to enact a scene from it without really understanding what they were doing. One person gets carried away and ends up hurting the other one for real, because they don’t know the rules and they haven’t discussed limits.”

  “Spanking someone on the bottom during a sex game is a bit different to walking into their house and punching them in the stomach and face within seconds of meeting them. What he did was a clear unprovoked assault.”

  “No police, Simon. I couldn’t cope with it. I want to forget about it.”

  I launched into scolding mode. “Fifty Shades isn’t the only fiction with a lot to answer for. I’m sure your uncle would have burned every last one of those bloody books if he’d thought for a moment you’d lock onto them and become obsessed with trying to create fact from fiction. They were products of a fantasy. He got it out of his system by writing about it and then he let it go. It’s time for you to do the same. No more, Dee-Dee. Do you hear me? No more ads. It’s too dangerous. Promise me?”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “There’s no guessing involved. I’m right, end of story.” I turned the conversation to practical matters. “What are we going to do about your nasty friend?”

  “He isn’t my friend.” His face paled down another shade. “Si, I’ve just thought. I’m locked out of my apartment, until he turns up tomorrow with my keys.”

  “I doubt he’ll come. He was trying to frighten you. If he does turn up he’ll have me to deal with. If you’re insistent on no police then we have to sort this out ourselves. The first thing we’re going to do is call a locksmith and get your locks changed. Have you got any ID on you?”

  He shook his head. “The only thin
g I had on me when I left is my mobile. I only had that because you shoved it in my pocket this morning.”

  “It shouldn’t matter. I’ll vouch for you and I’m sure Bob and Sue will too, and Mrs Royston if necessary. While I’m organising a locksmith you can use my computer to email that psycho. Tell him you’ve reported the assault to the police along with the theft of your keys and his threat to come back. Tell him the bakery has a CCTV camera at the front and he’s been caught on it. He’s not to know any different. Hopefully it will scare him off for good. Tell him you never want to hear from him or see him again.”

  “Shall I be polite or rude?”

  “Be cool, calm and clear. Once you’ve sent the mail, block his email address and block and delete him from your messenger contacts. Then sign into your account on MEETME and delete that ad for good. You don’t want it hanging around in the ether for some other creep to stumble upon. It might also be wise to post a little warning to let other punters know there’s a dangerous man prowling the forum who uses the alias of James. Give the email address he used to contact you and a brief description. Got it?”

  “Yes sir, mister teacher sir,” he said humbly, aborting an attempt to smile and wincing instead.

  “Then get to it.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The locksmith came within an hour and was gone little more than an hour later taking a small fortune with him. In addition to changing the locks I also had him fit a sturdy safety chain for good measure. Dee did as I asked, sending mails and blocking addresses. As soon as he was able to access his apartment again he uninstalled messenger from his computer. He’d only installed it at James’s instruction in the first place. He wanted no reminders or any risk of the man contacting him again.

  Even with new locks and new keys in his possession he didn’t feel safe enough to sleep in his apartment. He needed the security and comfort of company for a day or two until memories of his ordeal had faded a little. We gathered a few of his things and went back to my place.