Safe (full story)

Blood. Rivers of life flowed from deep slashes on her stomach, arm, and leg merged with the snow turning it crimson as the ice froze it in place. A breeze laden with ice and petrol attacked her senses, and face. Her eyes flickered as light bounced over her body, face and around the ground. Voices spoke, the sounds were distant, muffled. Another light passed over her face then a pair of abrasive hands tenderly opened her torn blouse and removed it as another pair of cold, callous hands applied bandages.

Something soft and wet wiped her lips and cheek. The icy touch sent goose pimples all over her body as she trembled. Pressure. Throbbing. She ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth. A vacant space with a metallic taint was towards the bottom back left. Still, her eyes were unable to focus on those around her, from the shapes the torch and moonlight would allow her to grasp they had broad shoulders and thick jackets.

Her head was spinning too much to contemplate where she was, who she was or how she came to be there. Her eyes parted more; she turned her head towards the bouncing lights; a hand grasped hers with a tender yet firm grip, she didn’t bother turning towards them.

The lights revealed the snow-covered road parting the trees; a little further away tyre marks lead to a car crashed into one of the trees, its remaining headlight flickered like an SOS in the dead of night. The taillights were smashed as was the rear window. The torch-lights approached bouncing off shards of glass, the three-spoke and still, she was unable to capture any words spoken only one voice stood out with its deep almost menacing tone. A jab. Something pricked her neck; her eyes wandered to the corner hoping to catch a glimpse of who or what it was, but the moment never came. Her eyes drooped and faded back into the dark from whence she arrived only minutes before.

DEATH’S DOOR

“Can you hear me?” a man’s voice asked, his voice was soft, soothing, her eyes flickered then opened. A man stood beside the bed; his unkempt, curled, dark hair reminded her of Dr Perry Cox. His stubble covered face had a patch missing revealing an old scar on his left cheek, all combined with the bushy eyebrows and hazel eyes flashed an image before her eyes of a much older man. A thought? Memory maybe? She couldn’t remember, yet the vivid image made her believe it was a memory of an old teacher.

The man was holding a file. He wrote something. Her head was heavy as she turned to examine him further. His corduroy trousers were grubby, especially the knees which were worn, his baby blue shirt had specks of red ink on the collar with a tea or coffee stain just noticeable from the top of the buttoned white coat. A watch was protruding from the cuff of his left wrist.

The man leaned closer, “Hello, can you hear me?” she scowled at him, he leaned back with a gasp and dropped his file.

“Get back,” she blasted grabbing the thin blue sheet and held it to her face. “Who are you?” he furrowed his brow. She clutched the sheet tight to her face then lowered it as something snagged and raised the cover on one side. She sat up and pulled the blanket back. Her eyes widened. A drip was on her left wrist. A bandage covered her right forearm down to the wrist; she wore a white gown with a chequered gold and red pattern.

The room was painted in pastel green, and the floor was covered in royal blue carpet. Cobwebs strung across the corner of the walls; their residents visible lying in wait. He picked up the file and took one of the three pens from the breast pocket of his white jacket.

“Where am I?” her pulse quickened. She gripped the sides of the bed and looked around the room. A narrow but tall chest of drawers sat against the wall ahead; the only furnishing apart from the lights built into the ceiling.

“You’re safe; there was a car crash,” he replied jotting something on the paperwork. “What do you remember?”

“Car crash?” Her eyes narrowed then trailed towards the floor, she stared. “I… I remember laying on the road.” She touched her stomach and hissed. She lifted the gown and gasped, a row of stitches held her tender skin together. The surrounding area was red and pink.

“How, how long have I been here?”

“You’ve been here five days now. Greg did the stitches; it’s inflamed and will be tender for a while. We managed to get you patched up before it got infected, but there’s still a risk.” Her eyes clouded over. “I’ll be right back, let me get your medication.”

“Wait,” she reached out grabbing his wrist and winced as a surge of pain tore through her stomach. “I don’t remember anything. My name, where I’m from, nothing.”

He stared at her puzzled for a moment, drew his hand up to his face and pressed his index finger and thumb either side of his chin and caressed his stubble with the thumb. “In time your memory should return. You took one hell of a beating out there. There wasn’t any ID in the area where we found you. I’m sorry. What would you like us to call you?”

“I-I don’t know,” she huffed.

“Everyone needs a name,” he smirked. “How about Jayne, or Samantha, or Anna?”

She stared into his eyes; something felt familiar about those names yet the memory if indeed it was a memory about them was still locked away. She smiled.

“…Jayne sounds right.”

“It suits you; you look like a Jayne.” Her grip vanished, she leant back on the bed. “I’ll be back in a minute with your antibiotics.”

“Where am I?”

“I’ll explain as soon as I return,” he replied scratching his chin. “For now, stay in this room, just for another day or two so your wounds can heal.”

“Thank you. What’s your name?”

“Roland,” he announced then left pulling the door shut behind him. A series of clicks followed, Jayne lifted the gown and examined the stitches once more then the bandage on her arm and other on her leg. Nothing was out of place, whoever had done them had experience. She glanced around the room; there was no window, no TV, only a chest of drawers and the bed and a door that was partially open. Jayne gripped the side of the bed and lowered her legs over the side then placed her feet on the plush carpet. It was far thicker than any she had ever stood on before, much like the type you would stand on in a carpet showroom with a thick underlay.

Jayne reached for the door handle and pulled. Locked. She moved back towards the partially open door and opened it. A stagnant urine odour wafted into her face stinging her eyes, she covered her mouth and looked into the room. It was a bathroom; the reek reminded her of filthy public toilets. Jayne hoped it was just the foulness from the previous occupier haunting her and that there was nothing laying hidden from sight.

There was a narrow window above the bath that appeared large enough to draw out some of the smell, she ventured forth and stopped a few feet from the tub. The tub was the cleanest thing in the room, apart from the mildew and black mould growing on the far corner of the bath, and up the wall, it was spotless in comparison.

Inside the sink hair and nail clippings sat in the plug hole. The toilet was filthy, the seat was raised and cracked exposing blood and faecal matter spattered on the underside. Dried faeces surrounded most of the inside bowl with pubic hairs and dust with a dark yellow and brown patch on the back; she assumed it was a man who was here before her judging by the limescale and position of the urine-stained bowl.

There was no toilet tissue and no towels available; she had no intention of using the facilities and no desire to clean any of it. She climbed into the bath then onto the outer rim and reached for the window. The handle creaked as Jayne pushed, a crunch followed, and it edged open. She shoved and pushed with all she had. A sharp jab twisted in her stomach, she let out a yelp of pain and pressed a hand against her stomach and pushed the window with the other. It fell open with a thud and crunch crushing what Jayne assumed was leaves, ice or snow.

A bitterly cold wind swept through the room in an instant snatching her attention away from the stench and the thought that maybe she would have to clean the room and replaced it with a flash of memory. A woman with long blonde hair held her hand, pulling, tugging. Blood was running down the corner of her mouth.

There came a knock at the door pulling her attention away from what she assumed was a piece of the puzzle to her identity and how she came to be in a car crash.

“It’s Roland,” he called unlocking the door. Jayne turned around to find him standing in the doorway, his lanky frame towering a foot above her delicate five-foot-two. She gasped in surprise and awe at the sudden realisation of his size which didn’t appear as large when next to her bed earlier. “I have some antibiotics and a jug of water.”

“Thank you,” she uttered stepping past sheepishly and headed back to the bed. He handed over the plastic cup containing two pink pills; she placed them into her mouth as he poured some water into the now empty cup.

“I must apologize for the mess in there, the previous occupant here was… troubled. We have a cleaner, but due to the weather they can’t make it out here so for the duration, it’s down to all of us to chip in. Including the patients.”

“I understand. Do you have the cleaning things?”

“I don’t expect you to clean that room,” he chuckled, “I shall get to it in a few minutes.” An ear-piercing scream although distant sent a shiver down her spine and made her hair stand on end.

Her eyes widened; fingers spread over the bedclothes as her arms stiffened. “What, why… why are they screaming? What’s going on?” Jayne stared at him then the door as several footfalls rushed past the door.

“Just one of the patients, we have a few troubled souls here in need of help.”

“Is this an asylum?”

Roland laughed, “no, it’s not an asylum, how many do you know with plush carpet like this?” a slight grin remained.

“I suppose, sorry. I’m just a little on edge.” As Jayne took a sip of the water, Roland narrowed his eyes on her stomach. “Your stitches have broken, I’ll be right back,” he said then rushed out of the room pulling it shut behind him. Jayne eyed the door; did he lock it? Had he forgotten? She pushed herself off the bed and held a hand to her stomach and approached the door. She gripped the handle and turned it then edged it open. Bang. Someone or something crashed against the door slamming it shut.

A harrowing scream followed pricking the hair on the back of her neck upwards. Another bang thudded against the door then another.

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” a deep man’s voice spoke, Jayne pondered for a moment if this was one of the men who found her on the road then wondered what it was that he claimed wasn’t so bad. If it was a sort of asylum which Roland assured her it wasn’t it would explain the screams. The troubled souls as he called them.

“No, not me, let me go, please, please, I beg you!” a woman begged then screamed, a heavy door screeched and slammed shut a moment later. The screaming stopped. Jayne pressed her ear against the door. Silence. She turned the handle once more and pushed the door ajar just enough to gather a glimpse into the space beyond.

The parquet flooring had seen better days, apart from needing a thorough clean the colour had faded, and with the added furrows from some heavy machine or blades covering parts of the floor her curiosity mounted. She opened the door further. Drops of dried blood were spattered over the floor and the wall ahead with a pool at the end of some furrows.

Footfalls echoed around the room. Jayne pulled the door shut and rushed back to the bed. A key entered the lock and turned. She lifted her legs and threw the cover over them. The key wiggled and turned, tumblers fell into place with a click. The key turned again. A gentle knock tapped three times.

“Jayne, it’s Roland,” he said pushing the door open. “I hope the screaming didn’t scare you.” he approached the bed and handed over a plastic cup with two pink pills inside. Roland picked up the jug of water and watched with eager anticipation for the tablets to enter her mouth. He poured some water into the cup and set the jug back.

The cold water soothed her parched lips and dry throat. “Thank you,” she smiled.

“You’re very welcome,” Roland replied glaring down at her with a lustful stare while she glared at the bathroom door deep in thought about the person who may have been in the room before. Her mind ran back to the disgusting state of the room and wondered not only when it was last cleaned but how long someone was living in here while it was in such a state.

Jayne blinked then shook her head awakening from her daydream. “What time is it?”

He glanced at his watch. “Half two.” He cleared his throat, “I’ll get you a watch,” Roland declared.

Jayne shook her head, “no, you can’t do that.”

“It’s no trouble. We have lots of people here who won’t be leaving, and some have passed. So, there’s no shortage of watches.”

“Oh, I see. Won’t you get into trouble for handing things out?” her brow creased, “don’t the families want the items back?”

“There have been times when they ask for things back, but quite often it all belongs to us. There is an entire room full of old property. I’ll get you a watch. One that sparkles as beautifully as your eyes.”

Jayne’s cheeks flushed, she turned away. “Thank you, but there is no need. A clock on the wall there,” she pointed towards the far wall where the chest of drawers stood. “That would be fine.”

“I could do that… I guess,” he sighed in disappointment. “I need… I better go,” Roland gated through the door and slammed it shut. Tumblers fell into place with almost immediate effect, Jayne lowered her legs over the bed, as her feet hit the thick carpet a sharp jab tore into her stomach. She let out a yelp. A patch of blood grew on her gown beside the previous and merged. She pressed her hand against the wound and approached the door.

Locked. She jerked the handle again and again, the possible realisation of her situation mounted in the back of her mind, although she pushed the thoughts back, they crept forward replacing the ones where escape or rescue was imminent. Fairy tales played out like a film, the door breaking open, the hinges coming free as a towering muscle-bound rogue entered the room with a torn t-shirt exposing his bulging muscles, he had shoulder-length blonde hair, blue eyes, a face chiselled by an expert artisan and a grip that could break a man’s neck yet hold a woman as tender as a mother cradling a newborn baby.

Such a man wasn’t coming; she knew that, but the thought eased the crippling thoughts that had plagued her thus far. There was no Knight in shining armour, no Prince Charming to kiss her lips as she lay sleeping in the lumpy, grubby, old bed in her chamber, the room which for now may as well have been locked away at the top of the tower.

The earlier screams played with her mind further, why were they screaming? The term troubled souls Roland used to refer to the people there puzzled her more and erased all memory of what the young, rugged rogue looked like. He was nothing more than a shape now a dark mass whose movements were indistinguishable from the dust and debris which he had created.

She approached the drawers and ran her hand over the top then the side from top to bottom. It was made of some cheap MDF, she pulled it away from the wall and eyed the back, a thin layer of plywood was nailed haphazardly in place. Removing the backing free from its rusty bindings the wood snapped, there was nothing hidden behind it.

As Jayne started to move the chest back a piece of carpet lifted on the other side. She pulled the drawers back and pushed it again; the carpet moved more. She investigated the problem. A piece of carpet had been cut and put back in place to cover a broken floorboard. Her curiosity mounted. Despite the throbbing and rooted pain in her gut, Jayne lifted the corner of the chest off the cut piece then kneeled beside it.

Moving the chunk of carpet beside her exposed part of a floorboard, it was stained with blood and had a small hole just big enough for a finger to fit into. Her slender index finger slipped through; thick webbing clung to her finger. She drew her hand back and vigorously wiped her finger along the floor until the web had gone. Jayne glanced at the finger with the scrutiny of a drill sergeant inspecting his soldiers; it was clean.

She drew a deep breath and held it as she allowed her trembling hand to lower and finger to enter the hole once more. She hooked it against the underside and lifted. The floorboard had been cut into a piece with just enough space for a hand. Cobwebs nestled beneath with an exoskeleton at the top and a fly beside it.

Several inches beneath the webs and dead insects camouflaged by them lay what appeared to be a piece of paper scrunched into a ball. It was barely visible but for some discolouration, had it not been for this she knew it would have gone unseen. A knot grew in her stomach, not the same as the pain from the car crash but from a distant memory from childhood. Jayne allowed her mind to wonder for a moment back to that day at the shed in her grand-parents garden.

Too Many Legs

A shrill cry drew her attention, having just turned eight the week before she was armed with some of the presents, more curiosity and new-found confidence. The shed was off limits, she had been told many times and could recall each conversation, the warning that it wasn’t safe to enter, but today there was no such warning.

Lowering her shoulder; the backpack slipped off her left arm, she dipped the right and caught the strap as it slipped into her hand. She unzipped the pack and looked at the contents, a torch, some lined paper and some plane with a pencil and a tin of ten colouring pencils. Another cry came longer and louder than the previous, she stared at the shed door then pulled the torch from the pack.

She knew it was off-limits but had never been told why, no explanation, nothing. Her fingertips brushed against the rusty handle. She pulled it down and opened the door and examined her hand. Brown and orange tainted it, she brushed it against her dungarees then turned the torch on and stepped into the shed.

Cobwebs reached out across the ceiling and walls, the air was musky and smelled like dirt. It was warm, warmer than outside, but still, she pressed on as the torch illuminated portions of the room as she panned around in search of the thing behind the unusual noise. A wall reached up to the ceiling and across the room creating a divider; it was lined with several shelves each with a variety of different items ranging from paint, buckets, scrap metal, nails, gloves, car batteries and other items. The cry came again, not as loud or harsh as before; its sound rang familiar as she drew nearer.

She passed through the gap separating the room. More webs littered the room. A generator rumbled in the corner; a wire ran off its side and over a sheet of green tarpaulin, she pointed the torch towards it and followed it along the ground. There were four shelves each with what appeared to be several small square fish tanks on them. She lowered the torch more. A wooden worktop housed the largest tank, three-feet-long with dirt piled high and plants. A series of empty tanks had been piled up beside the worktop.

Moisture ran down the inside. Two doors at the front were open. Earth littered below the doors and on the ground. The cry came again, weaker, the tarpaulin moved an inch. She leapt back and stared as the sheet moved again then again as if breathing. She got on her knees and peeled back the heavy sheet and pointed the torch at the object.

Two legs moved then a head lifted with weary eyes and a gaping mouth. It meowed, barely a sound emanated from its mouth. A mass of hair and legs seemed to be coming from its middle. She edged closer, trembling, she gripped the torch with both hands. The kitten was barely ten weeks old and was healthy yet had thing growth on it; she couldn’t understand what her eyes were seeing, it defied all logic and everything she thought she knew. Is she having babies? She pondered then remembered it was called Kevin or rather careless Kevin as it was still learning how far it could and couldn’t leap.

The mass moved. Kevin’s thick furry legs were all there in plain sight as were eight others with a ball, a rump covered in hairs. The legs were thicker than her fingers and covered in hairs that stood on end and moved with every breath she released alerting it to her presence long ago. It released its prey and started to turn; she stared mesmerised and terrified by the tarantula’s size.

Its rump was bigger than her palm and the body and legs combined would easily be as large as a dinner plate. She snatched a breath and stepped back. It scurried forward hissing. She gasped and turned but clipped the back of her foot with the other and fell sideways into the wall dropping the torch.

Her hands scraped against the old wood and web. Shards of damp and brittle splinters snagged under her nails and into her fragile skin as she slipped to her knees. Her face brushed over the course surface scuffing her chin and catching three balls of webbing no larger than her nail in her hair. She let out a yell and looked back. The tarantula was gone.

Her head itched, ticked. She scratched it. Dozens of legs scrambled over her fingers and down her hair and face. She shook her head and swiped at her face. The itching continued. White strands stuck to her hair and fingers like glue. She didn’t dare scream and feared they could invade her body through her nose or open mouth. She pinched her nose and jerked her head as an innumerable number of legs ran inside her ear.

A scream came, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She released her nose and swatted and scratched her face and ears and pulled hair from its roots. The spiderlings ran for cover their targets warmth and darkness; her orifices would be perfect. She pushed a finger into her nose crushing one or two; she had no idea how many had made it inside. Her mouth and throat tickled, she coughed and spat and released another scream this time from the top of her lungs until she had to draw another breath.

Her chest constricted. Heart pounded. This must be how that mouse felt; she thought and remembered the rodent her father fed to his pet snake the other day. Gasping. She clutched her chest and attempted to fill her lungs. A tingling sensation grew in her fingers and filled her hands while her cheeks flushed. Her eyes grew heavy. She shuffled her feet forward and reached out for the dividing wall in a zombified movement.

Her feet started to tingle. The sensation consumed her legs seconds after. Breathing, movement and staying conscience became a struggle. The door was close. Her feet turned to concrete forcing her to crawl on knees and elbows towards salvation. The air burned her chest and dried her throat as she gasped for more, just another breath, a simple act had become torture. She reached the door. Her web covered fingertips brushed it with a tender touch as the panic attack continued its wicked craft draining her of all her energy.

The door opened. Light flooded her eyes forcing her to close them and turn away. Moments later she felt weightless, flying? No. An eye opened just enough to make out a shape. It was her father. The Knight in shining armour had come.

Beneath

Jayne’s mouth ran dry, throat clogged, eyes watered, she coughed as the memories flooded her brain. “Fuck off,” she snapped shaking her head. “It can stay down there.” She stared at the scrunched paper then placed the piece of floorboard back in place and moved the carpet and drawers back into position. A sensation grew in her bladder. She looked at the bathroom door.

“I can wait.”

A series of knocks came from the wall behind the bed. She faced the wall and listened. It stopped.

She paced the room as the sensation intensified. Minutes passed.

“Come on Roland, where are you?” she sat at the end of the bed tapping her foot on the floor. Another series of knocks came. She stood.

Is someone trying to get my attention? No. it couldn’t be, could it?

She took a step closer. A whisper pricked her ears.

“Jayne.”

She was confident she’d heart it, heard her name being called through the wall from the room beyond. She dismissed it for a moment. Preposterous. How do they know my name? Was it my name being called?

“Jayne,” the voice said, louder this time. Unmissable and unmistakable this time.

The locked turned. Roland stepped in holding a large plastic box. He placed it on the floor and pushed it away with his shoe while trying to keep the door as close to his body as possible and closed it.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Jayne said.

“What’s wrong?” Roland asked, his voice cracked as a worried expression washed over his face.

“I’m fine. Just really need the toilet,” she replied then looked towards the wall and started pacing the room.

“Ok, it won’t take me long. I promise,” Roland picked up the box and rushed into the bathroom and began scrubbing the top and underside of the toilet seat.

“Don’t worry about making it perfect,” Jayne shouted from the far side of the bed. Her eyes fixed on the wall as she continued pacing.

“Almost done,” he hollered. Jayne raced into the room and stood beside him pacing on the spot. “Here’s the toilet roll,” he said then rose to his feet with a groan. She snatched it from his hand and pushed his arm with the other and slammed the door shut.

“Thank you,” she shouted. A heavy stream started. She sighed with relief.

“No problem. Oh, I found a clock for you. It doesn’t have a seconds hand though.”

“That’s ok. So long as it works. I can live without the second's hand. Oh, could I get some towels and bath stuff too?”

“Sure. I’ll get those for you. You should know mother always had a clock with all three hands. She said every second is precious and she wants to see each one as it passes by.”

“Hmmm, good point. I never thought of it like that. When I get back home, I’ll make sure to get one with all three.”

“Yeah, it’s invaluable to know the exact time, at all times. She got me this watch on my…”

“Roland,” she called.

Silence.

“Roland, are you there?” the bedroom door slammed shut. As she walked back to the bed men’s voices bellowed from next door. Thuds followed then a harrowing woman’s scream. Jayne pressed her ear to the wall.

“Don’t touch me you bastards,” a woman shouted.

“You’re coming with us,” a deep voice boomed, it sounded calm, in charge. “You know what happens when you don’t.”

“…I don’t want to,” sobs came in abundance. “Please. Please don’t do this.”

“Do it this time, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“I can’t. I don’t like it.”

“Do it for me, Casey.”

“I can’t.”

“Take her away,” he ordered. She screamed again. A cold chill ran down Jayne’s spine.

Was Roland in there? Was it him being ordered to take Casey away? Who was in there?

There was something familiar about the deep voice, apart from recalling it as the one she heard from the accident, there was more to it but nothing she could yet remember. She looked around the room for a possible weapon or something to fashion into one. After what she heard all her thoughts turned sour. This place wasn’t as safe as she had been led to believe, something was terribly wrong.

What were they forcing Casey to do? What didn’t she like?

If they were coming for her soon, she wanted to be prepared. Jayne ran to the drawers and yanked one out. She held it upright, placed a foot inside and kicked it with the other. Shards of wood fell to the floor. The thin panel on the bottom cracked and crumbled. The left panel creaked and revealed a nail. She turned it around and kicked it again and again.

A side panel gave way and slapped the carpet. She rested the remains under her foot and twisted and pulled and twisted and kicked until another piece came free with a pair of exposed nails. She moved the remains against the wall with the side of her foot.

A flurry of footsteps tapped past her door. She gripped the left panel tight to her chest then slid her hand lower. More steps came. One maybe two pairs. They stopped outside her door. Jayne rushed into the bathroom and pulled the door until only a slither remained open.

A Lock turned. Clicked. Her heart thumped against her ribs. A creak. Scrunches, squeaks and soft footfalls took slow paces then stopped. Another scrunch. Jayne recognised the sound was like that of leather, a jacket maybe.

A breath escaped her mouth. She gasped and held her breath. Did they hear? Who’s out there? Scratches and more footfalls came, the front door opened then closed. She released what breath remained in her lungs and took in gulps of fresh air. The lock turned once more sealing her within the tomb.

Jayne edged the door open and peered around the corner. No one was there. She headed back to the other room and rested on the end of the bed, club in hand. She sat there contemplating the noises and the voices and how she possibly came to be there, the more she thought she started thinking that her arrival was no accident. Several minutes passed, and there came a knock at the door. Before she could inquire who it was the lock turned at it was open. She dropped the bat over the side of the bed.

“Roland, hi,” she filled her face with a smile, the largest she could muster. Her eyes moved towards the broken drawer then back to Roland.

“You’re pleased to see me?” he frowned, he turned and picked up a tray and set it on the bed.

“Why wouldn’t I be pleased to see you?” she started salivating. On the plate were two jacket potatoes with beans, butter and tuna. Beside that plate was a smaller one with a slice of chocolate cake. “You’re helping me, and your company is much appreciated.”

“That means a lot. Thank you,” Roland nodded sheepishly reaching into his jacket he pulled out four cans of fizzy drink and lined them on the bed. “They’re for you.”

“You didn’t need to go through this much for me. One potato would’ve been fine.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot.” Roland gated to the door, opened it and leaned around the corner and picked something up. As he closed it, he waved a clock in the air with one hand and carried a toolbox in the other; he set them down beside the bed then glanced over at the cabinet and the pieces of wood. “What happened here?”

“Hmmm,” Jayne replied with a puzzled look. Roland pointed to the mess. “Oh that. I was trying to open that drawer, but I guess I pulled too hard. It came out, and I fell on my arse, and the stupid thing fell apart.”

Roland’s brow wrinkled. “Really? Those drawers should be strong; they shouldn’t break so easily. I can get you a new one if you’d like.”

“No, no, please don’t. It’s fine. One drawer gone isn’t that bad.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Ok. Well let’s get this clock on the wall,” he picked up the clock and waved it about with a smile. Jayne smiled. After several minutes of trying to find the right nail to use with the hook, Roland found the last one in the bottom of the toolbox amongst countless others and put the clock on the wall above the chest of drawers.

“Thank you. Now I know when it’s time for bed,” she sniggered.

“Roland!” the deep voice hollered.

Jayne’s stomach sank. There was something all too familiar about that voice. She was sure it didn’t belong to anyone pleasant.

“I-I-I better go,” Roland pointed over his shoulder towards the door.

“Roland!” it yelled again.

A chill ran down Jayne’s spine. Her arms tingled. Pimpled. Roland ran to the door and out and locked the door. Jayne glanced at her food salivating, picked up the cutlery and set to work. An hour later, Roland returned. The side of his mouth was stained with dried blood. His right eye was bruised. He walked in with a limp holding a bag which he placed on the bed.

“Roland, are you alright?” Jayne inquired moving to the edge of the bed. He nodded, grabbed the tray and left. Jayne thought about the girl next door and if it was her or another woman who had hit Roland or if it were the man who called him earlier. She knew it was stupid to think Roland wasn’t partly responsible for what was going on. There was something going on and whatever it was Jayne felt may befall her too. Sooner rather than later.

She pulled the bag open. It was packed full of books. Twenty-one to be precise. Some were romance, crime, thrillers, horror, and at the bottom, there was a bible. Jayne rolled her eyes at the book and placed it back in the bag. Some of the books were old with tatty pages, dog-eared corners and some were stained. Only three were in good condition. She read the back cover of every book and selected the first one, Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

Jayne placed the pile of books on the floor and threw the bag containing the bible across the room. She opened the old book and shuffled back against the pillows and soaked up the classic literature for the next two hours before nature called.

As Jayne walked out of the bathroom and towards the bed, she stopped for a moment and stared at the door. She was sure Roland had locked the door. He always did.

Jayne walked over. Wrapped her hand around the handle. Part of her drove her to push the handle down and shove the door wide open. Another part was telling her, pleading with her to step away and return to bed.

She pulled it down.

Pushed.

The door opened.

Beyond the Door

The parquet flooring was dirtier than it was the last time Jayne had seen it. The deep furrows trailed along to a dried pool of blood. She’d seen it before, but now there was no mistaking it. Three fingernails were embedded in the wood. Jayne took some quick paces back with a gasp. Staying was suicide and so was trying to escape.

Along the hall, there were five doors either side each with a small windowed hatch. She approached the nearest door where the voices came from earlier. She slid the hatch across and peered inside. Empty. It was nothing more than a box room with a bed and a table and chair and a dirty bucket in the corner with flies circling around it.

Jayne checked the next room; it was empty too. The pale blue sheet on the bed was covered in blood. Part of the wall was spattered with it too. She recoiled back, closed the hatch and checked the next room now with a trembling hand and terror filling her heart.

This room was almost as large as hers only this one didn’t have a bathroom. There was a bed on the far side in the same position as hers and a chest of drawers opposite. A woman writhed about on the bed, she was naked, bruised purple and blue along her legs, arms and side. She pulled her arms down but they would only go so far. That’s when Jayne noticed the ropes that bound the young woman’s hands and feet to the bed frame in a vile display of depravity. Nestled on the drawers was a webcam, wire led up the wall and along the ceiling and out through a small hole.

Jayne’s stomach sank. Footfalls echoed through from beyond the door at the end of the hall. She turned and ran back to her room and closed the door and headed back to bed. She picked up the book and settled back into reading, but her mind was running at a million-miles-per hour to concentrate on the words. She looked around the room for any wires that could lead to a hidden camera. There were none.

The lock entered the door. Clicked. Withdrew and entered again. clicked. Withdrew. Roland entered carrying a box of cleaning equipment and headed to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him.

Jayne still couldn’t concentrate. She wondered how many other women were locked up in the other rooms. She wondered why the webcam was watching that woman.

Was she a danger to herself or others?

Deep down, Jayne believed that woman was no danger to herself. The woman was probably more of a danger to her captors and the camera was there to ensure she didn’t escape.

Perhaps it was her who attacked Roland.

She continued to turn pages and attempted to read a few lines along the way. Roland appeared a few minutes later.

“There. All clean for you,” he said wiping his hand up and down a trouser leg.

“I didn’t think it was dirty.”

“Cleanliness keeps germs away. I don’t like germs. Disinfectant. I’ve been over the entire room. I feel bad for not doing it during the other clean.”

“Oh, I see. Well, thank you.” Jayne smiled. “What happened to your face?”

Roland drew his hand up and covered the bruises.

“N-Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing. What happened?”

“My brother. He lost his temper.”

Jayne shifted nervously, pulled at her fingernails. There was a jagged piece. She picked it.

“Does he often lose his temper?”

Roland nodded.

“You’re a grown man. You can stand up to him. Tell him not to hit you.”

Roland shook his head vigorously.

“No. No. No, I couldn’t do that. Not to him. My brother. No.”

“You could hit him back.”

Roland’s head lifted. His eyes met hers, he grinned a twisted smirk that Jayne was repulsed by. It was the same look she’d seen a thousand times before in horror films.

“Yes,” he hissed. “Yes. I could.” Roland placed the box of chemicals on the floor and rummaged through it. he pulled a screwdriver out and made a stabbing action with it before placing it on the floor. A hammer followed which he hit against the palm of his hand. He looked up at Jayne. Smiled. Giggled. “Too far?”

Jayne nodded.

“I like you,” he mumbled in a soft voice. “I always have.”

Jayne frowned. She didn’t question him, didn’t dare question the man holding the hammer with the wild and primitive look in his eyes.

“I see you’re enjoying Dracula.”

“Yes. It’s really good,” Jayne panted trying to steady her breathing which escalated with her pulse so fast she couldn’t react.

Roland walked over studying the pile of books.

“Where’s the bible?”

“What? Oh, that. I put it away to read later.”

Roland shook his head.

“My mother read it over and over again. She told me it helped her. I gave it to you to help you. I’m sure it’ll be of some use.”

“I’m sure it will.” She stared at the hammer Roland was now slapping against his palm. “Do you mind if I start reading it tomorrow?”

He stopped hitting himself. “It’s your life. But…” he sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

Jayne looked up into his doleful eyes, the menacing glance which had taken over him was gone and had been replaced by the man she’d grown accustomed to. He didn’t look like the sort of man who would or could hurt anyone.

“Are you really going to hit your brother with that?” she questioned in a meek voice.

Roland scrunched his face. Scratched his head. “No!” he grumbled. “I can’t. that’s not who I am.”

Jayne edged closer. “That’s good. He’s your brother and you wouldn’t want to hurt him really. When I said hit him back, I meant for you to use your fist. Not a hammer.” She reached out and touched his hand holding the hammer. “It’s ok. We all get angry from time to time.”

Roland stared at her hand. He pulled away.

“Brother wouldn’t like it,” He whispered, returned to the box and put the hammer and screwdriver inside and opened the door. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled over his shoulder then pulled the door closed and locked it.

Jayne glanced at the clock; it was nine at night. She went to the toilet and as she washed her hands her ears caught an unfamiliar sound of buzzing. No, not quite buzzing. She looked around but couldn’t see where the bug was. Jayne ran a bath. The water took a while to warm up but once it did the heat poured out and more cold water was needed. She was tempted to turn the taps off and return to bed, but she felt grimy and disgusted that she could smell herself.

Her body still ached from the accident though not nearly as much as she had expected it to. As she undressed and climbed into the deep water she wondered if she had been there longer that Roland had said.

The water was just right. She washer her hair with the lavender shampoo Roland supplied and washed with the banana shower gel. She laid back and closed her eyes for a while. When she opened them the water was cold. She climbed out and took one of the cream towels from under the sink and dried herself and dressed then returned to bed.

She kept the light on and read for a while and hoped sleep would consume her and that she wouldn’t fall victim to whatever depravity was occurring in the other rooms. Images of the tied woman and her screams and those of the other women filled her mind.

I need to help her. And anyone else in this wretched place. She said to herself. She started thinking about Roland and the other man with the deep voice raping the woman. She envisioned him being over six-foot-tall with raven coloured hair that draped over his face that he routinely had to push from his eyes. His eyes were so dark they were almost black like his heart. He wore black boots that made him taller, more imposing. His trousers were navy blue and his shirt was burgundy with a pouch on his left breast where he kept a card, possibly a key card.

His face was hard and he wore an almost constant scowl so nobody knew if or when he was in a pleasant mood or at least more pleasant that it had been a moment before. He had stubble but it was longer above his lip where he was growing a moustache. There were no tattoos on his arms or neck or chest. He didn’t need them. Though they would probably have made him look scarier he didn’t require any of them to add anything to the fear factor that he brought with him.

In her mind, a monster had been created. The voice fitted the description and from what Roland had said she thought she’d hit the nail on the head. After a few more pages her eyes grew heavy. There was a shuffling from the next room, she was sure she had heard something, but sleep stole her away.

Eye in the Sky

Screams pulled Jayne from her slumber. It was 3am. The noise grew louder and sent chills down her entire body pricking her hairs on end.

“Stop struggling!” the deep voice bellowed. “It’s your turn.”

“No! Please, don’t!” the woman pleaded and sobbed.

“Enough tears!” he shouted. “It’ll be over soon enough.”

“I want to go home,” the woman cried. “Please, let me go.”

“Let her go!” another woman screamed. Her voice was muffled.

“If she leaves then we all do,” a third one yelled, more distant than the last.

“Enough!” the deep voice shouted. Silence followed. “Thank you. Take her through,” he demanded.

Still, she sobbed, Jayne listened intently until they faded out of the area. The other women’s voices vanished as quickly as they had occurred. Jayne considered calling out but decided not to.

Sooner or later Roland will leave the door unlocked, he had made the mistake once. There will be a second time.

But when?

Jayne went to the sink and splashed some cold water on her face that’s when the buzzing happened again. She looked in the bath. Nothing was there. There was nothing in the toilet or around the sides or back and nothing near the sink. It stopped. Once Jayne reached the door the buzz came short. She stopped dead on the spot. Took a step forward and stopped. It came again like a robotic noise. Awakening. Twitching. Almost as if it had become a part of her movement for a short time.

There was no more noise. Jayne returned to bed. Her eyes were heavy. She reached over the side of the bed and grabbed the piece of wood with the protruding nail and she sat waiting, expecting her door to open next and the voice to come ordering her removal. Her eyes flickered. Closed. She lifted her head and snapped her eyes wide open. It was now 4am. She yawned and continued to stare at the door but after a few minutes she drifted off to sleep.

When she woke, Jayne sat bolt upright. The wood was resting against the pile of books. She had no recollection of putting it there or of laying on the bed. She was sure she had been sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for her captors to arrive. She glanced at the clock, it was quarter past eight.

Knock knock. She grabbed the wood and tossed it over the side of the bed as the key turned in the lock. Roland walked in with a tray.

“Good morning, Jayne,” he said with a beaming smile as he approached and set the tray on the bed.

“Good morning, Roland.”

“I hope you got some rest last night and wasn’t disturbed.”

Jayne’s eyes darted over the plate of food, bacon, two eggs, a sausage, beans and some toast.

“Sorry. I missed what you said. The food looks so good.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Mhmm. Like a log.”

He returned to the door, opened it and brought over a jug of water and a cup. He filled the cup and handed it over.

“Thank you. Thank you for everything, Roland. You’re a good man.”

He giggled as a shy child would when their crush acknowledged their existence. “Well, I try.”

“Did you… confront your brother?” she asked then gulped down the contents of the cup.

“Not yet,” he answered sheepishly. “He’s… stressed. Work. You know how it is.”

“Work can be stressful.” Jayne picked up the tray, set it on her lap and started eating.

“What were you doing with that wood?”

Jayne coughed. “What wood? The wood from the broken drawer? Nothing. Why?”

“You were perched on the end of the bed with a piece.”

“Oh, not again,” she rolled her eyes. “I used to sleep-walk when I was younger. Of course, I don’t know when it happens.”

“Sleepwalking. It’s a mysterious thing. A phenomenon we know little about. Did you know there have been several murders committed by people who claimed they were sleepwalking?”

“No, I didn’t know that.” She cut the sausage, stabbed it with the fork. “Tell me all about it. It sounds fascinating.”

Roland sat on the floor crossed legged and for several minutes she listened to Roland rambling on about murders and sleepwalking and sleepwalking murderers while she ate. She wondered when and if he was going to stop. He then changed to talking about serial killers and unsolved crimes involving The Deep Web.

“Roland,” Jayne started, drew another breath. “I lied.”

He smirked for a moment then frowned. Scratched the back of his head. “About. About what?”

“Sleepwalking. I mean I did sleep-walk when I was younger, but last night I wasn’t.”

“What do-do-do you mean?”

“I heard something last night. A woman screamed. It woke me up.”

Roland lowered his head and started rubbing his neck. He ran a hand down his face and rocked his head back and forth several times.

“I see. I see. And. And then what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

He blasted out a giggle and promptly covered his mouth before continuing. “Did you leave the room? What did you see?” his eyes bulged.

Jayne shifted back uneasily. “Nothing. I didn’t see anything. All I heard was the scream and that was all. I was too tired to try and leave to see if they were alright. But it scared me. I grabbed the wood thinking maybe she was dangerous or something.”

“If I were in your shoes, I would probably have done the same.”

“Who is she? What’s wrong with her?”

“A troubled woman. She was abused by her husband for a long time and his friends. They used to take turns with her.” He smirked. “She’s been here for a few months now. She was transferred from another hospital to here. This was only meant to be temporary for her. For us all. But. The hospital said they don’t have space for her, so here she is. Screaming some nights and laughing the rest. Don’t let her scare you. She won’t hurt you.”

Lies. It’s all lies.

“That’s terrible. What monsters.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, stood and picked up the tray. “Monsters,” he sniggered and left locking the door behind him.

Jayne stared at the door and thought about the women who were trapped in the rooms and about Roland, the liar. She wondered how many more were hidden behind the locked doors mere metres away. Her mind moved to her slumber and how Roland had entered the room and moved her and the weapon.

Zzzrt. The buzz was in here now. Jayne scanned the room. there was nothing on the walls or on the floor. At least, not that she could see. She checked under the bed, but it was clear. Jayne leant over the bed, picked up the book and just as she was about to open it, she heard it again. Zzzrt.

Knowing something wasn’t quite right, Jayne turned on her side and in doing so captured a red spot above the clock. At first, she ignored it along with the notion that it could be a camera.

Zzzrt.

A camera? No, Roland wouldn’t do that. Would he?

With the corner of her eye, she stared at the unblinking dull red light above the mirror. She stretched.

Zzzrt.

That bastard! She thought. It had to be a camera; someone was watching her every move. Are they recording me? Broadcasting my every move? The bathroom!

Jayne turned the book over and placed it on the bed. She shuffled to the end of the bed. Zzzrt. She stood and walked into the bathroom and proceeded to wash her face. Zzzrt. Zzzrt.

Where’s the camera? Show yourself you bastard.

One of the lights in the ceiling had a hole next to it and a piece of plastic protruding from it with a dull red light. She pretended to sneeze so as not to draw attention to herself, believing it was best to play along and act as normal as possible. She was the star of her own Truman Show only The Jayne Show would be its title. For now, she would have no choice but to give them their show every time she needed the toilet or a bath.

She wanted to cuddle herself having felt violated, nothing was secret now apart from her thoughts and she would keep them as secret as possible.

Jayne returned to bed and her book and wondered how she would ever manage to escape now that she was being watched every second of the day.

Tap, tap.

A gentle knock struck the wall behind her head. She didn’t dare move. Not now that they were watching, the eyes in the sky.

“Hey!” the voice on the other side called out. “Are you still in there?”

Jayne drew a breath then tapped her hand against the wall once.

“You’re still here. I heard someone escaped. Maybe they didn’t get far. If the police come, we know they got away. I’m guessing you’ve seen the cameras. They can see you, but they can’t hear you, that’s a plus, I guess. I smashed all the cameras in here and pulled them from the walls, that’s why they come for me more often. I put up a fight and there are lots of viewers who like that sort of thing. They’re sick fuckers all of them. You could be next. Attack them if they come for you, don’t become one of their puppets.”

Jayne lifted her book to cover her nose and mouth.

“What viewers?”

“Don’t talk!” she blasted from the other side. “Don’t let them see you talking.”

“It’s ok. My book is covering my mouth.”

The woman laughed. “That’s a great idea.”

“What did you mean by viewers? Do they all stand around and… watch girls? I don’t understand.”

“Trust me you don’t want to know what goes on back there.”

“I do,” Jayne muttered. “Tell me. Please.”

“I don’t know everything that goes on. They made me pose naked and… do things with cucumbers and sex toys and sometimes it’s men raping me. One after another. They all wear masks and hold up pieces of paper with some writing on it which I’ve never managed to see. The room is separated by a mirror which has to be where the other bastards are watching and recording. It turns my stomach to think about it.”

“Do they hit you?”

“Yes. They’re not shy to lay a hand on you. I’ve been punched, kicked, slapped, spat on and pissed on. Amongst other things, they’ve done. When you get the opportunity to escape you must take it. Promise me.”

“I promise.” Jayne lowered her book, brushed her fingers through her hair and placed the book down then reached down beside the bed for another. She smiled at the cover; it was Interview With The Vampire. She had never read the book and had always wanted to. She thought about Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise in the movie version which she loved. The book appeared to be new or just older and had never been read. Untouched. Perfect. She opened it and lifted it up again towards her mouth.

“What’s your name?” Jayne asked.

“Mandy. And you?”

“Jayne.”

“Jayne?”

“Yeah. Why what’s wrong?”

“There used to be a Jayne here some time ago.”

“I guess it’s a popular name. Not as popular as others I’ve heard.”

“How did you get here?”

“I was in a car crash. Everything is still fuzzy. I don’t have much memory of what happened before it. The road was covered in ice and it tore through me like a thousand daggers. My head was spinning. I couldn’t see much. There were voices but one stood out above them all it was deep and somewhat dark. Whoever was there rescued me and brought me here, Roland has been the only person I’ve had contact with.”

“He’s one of them too. You can’t trust him.”

“I know. He’s the one who put the cameras in here.”

“How many have you got?”

“I’ve found two. One above the clock on the wall the other is in the bathroom.”

“Yuck! Filthy bastards.”

“When I can get out, I’m taking you with me and everyone else in here.”

“Aww, that’s so nice of you. Don’t get your hopes up though. Some of the girls here like being degraded and used. They probably think if they play along, they’ll get released. Or perhaps they genuinely enjoy it all.”

“Stockholm Syndrome.”

“I think they’re all crazy. Just get out. Don’t worry about me or any of them. Get your arse out!” Mandy ordered pounding her fist against the wall.

“You can’t stay here.”

“I’m too tired and weak to run, too tired to fight back. I’ll only slow you down.”

Several pairs of shoes echoed along the hall, growing louder, louder still until they stopped outside Jayne’s door.

“Number four,” the deep voice boomed from the hall sending a cold shiver over Jayne that made her hair stand on end. The lock turned, hinges creaked, two or more piled into Mandy’s room.

She spat. “You disgust me. Why don’t you kill me and put me out of my misery?”

“And spoil all my fun?” he replied in a cold tone laced with a thousand desires.

Clicks snapped several times. As the footfalls made their way out Mandy’s followed with a metallic clang and a dull heavy ding as she seemingly shuffled along. The more Jayne listened she came to realize it was chains that Mandy was dragging.

Jayne walked to her door and turned the handle. She pushed and pulled and shoved her shoulder against it, but it was useless. She stopped and froze on the spot having forgotten the camera on the wall that must’ve been watching her escape attempt. She rushed back to the bed and sat on the edge expecting someone to come. No one came. No footsteps from the other side. Nothing.

A blind spot? It must have a blind spot or I’m entertaining them, and they can’t be bothered to come here to put me in my place.

Reluctantly, Jayne went to the bathroom for a pee and tried to ignore the fact that she was being watched every second. She washed her hands and returned to bed. Her lock turned; the door opened. It was Roland with a small plastic cup in one hand and a mug in the other.

“Please forgive me. I forgot to give you your pain killers. How is the pain?”

Jayne tipped the two pills into her mouth and slipped them under her tongue then took the mug and drank it. She brought her hand to her mouth and coughed the pills into them and returned it to her side where she poked them under the cover.

“It’s ok, Roland. The pain hasn’t been too bad today. That breakfast must’ve taken my mind off it all because I’ve hardly felt a thing.”

“That’s good. Do you mind if I check you over?”

“Not at all.”

Is this part of the show? Get my clothes off or a quick flash for the camera?

Roland smiled. He lifted her top and examined her side. There were purple and blue bruises along her left side and part of her back. He lowered her top then examined her legs inch by inch. Twisting her legs and pushing them up towards her chest then asked her to push down against his hand.

“Astounding!” he said bursting with laughter. “Your body has healed nicely. I’m impressed.”

“I can see you’re impressed. Does this mean I can go home soon?”

His smile faded instantly. He shook his head. “Not for a while. The roads are a mess with all the snow and ice. We can’t let that happen to you again. Next time you won’t be so lucky.”

“Good point.”

Roland looked at the bag on the floor. “I see the book is still there.”

“Yes. There was a spider. A big bastard it was!”

“Well, I’m sure you could bring yourself to pick up the bag and remove the book.”

“Maybe later. Spiders. You know. Ehh,” she said scrunching her face.

“The Bible will be your salvation,” he said with a frown and folded his arms.

“I’m sure it will be. This weather isn’t going to change any time soon and as you said I can’t leave yet, so I’ll get round to reading it soon.”

“You’re making a big mistake if you don’t.” Roland snatched the mug and small plastic cup and left locking the door behind him.

Jayne glanced at the bag containing the book and scoffed at it. She had no desire to look at a single page of the holy book, not since her nan was a strong Catholic who dragged her and her mother to church every Sunday since she was young enough to remember right up until her eighteenth birthday.

Jayne wasn’t a Catholic, she’d been put into a Catholic school at the age of three and never believed any of the teachings that were thrust upon her. Jayne’s mother, Holly was a Catholic though not nearly as devout as her mother, Mary. Holly tried her best to follow Mary’s teaching and that of the Bible but felt her faith fading when her husband, Oliver left her for another woman, his secretary in fact who wasn’t of their faith. Both Holly and Mary called the younger woman Jezabell, Lilith, whore, and Satan’s Bitch, on a few occasions they recited passages from the bible while stood outside of Oliver’s apartment. He soon left town with his mistress and once the divorce was finalised, they were married, Oliver hasn’t been in contact with Jayne or her mother ever since.

To this day, Jayne’s memories of her father are vague due to him leaving when she was four-years-old. As she returned to reading her book and thinking of how to attack Roland when the time occurred she also wished the memories of all those lost Sundays sat in the church were gone along with those events that transpired before her arrival.

She looked over to the bag.

What good has ever come from reading the Bible? People have gone mad following it. It’s a work of fiction, not fact and its creator is probably pissing himself with laughter at the sight of all these mad bastards who follow it to the letter even the bits that contradict the others.

Yet, she found herself wandering across the room all the while longing and staring at the bag containing the book. She wasn’t sure why an impulsive nudge had sent her that way or why she felt compelled to retrieve it and read through its pages. She bent down, pulled the bag open and retrieved the book.

The Bible was written in bold gold letters across the middle. The book was bound in black leather and smelled old and still bore the scent from the incense of church. She shook her head at it without opening it and without reading more than the title and tossed it on the chest of drawers then returned to the bed and her book.

As Jayne turned each page her eyes met with the black leatherbound book. After six pages she couldn’t contain herself and snapped her book shut. She shuffled towards the edge of the bed but before her feet could touch the ground footfalls paraded down the hall. Mandy’s door creaked open and slammed shut. Her cries pierced the walls. Jayne waited and listened as the feet marched off. She picked up her book, raised it high.

“Mandy. What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’ll live,” she sobbed. “They won’t if I get out of here.”

“We’ll run!” Jayne blasted.

“They need to suffer,” Mandy said pounding her fist against the wall. “All of them. Hanging is too good for them,” she hit the wall again, “though I’d gladly tighten the noose.”

“What did they do this time?”

Mandy sighed. “I wish I had a cigarette.”

“What?”

“Anything to take the edge off. Maybe I could burn my eyes out with it.”

“You’re going to get out of here. We both are. Get out of here and have all the cigarettes you want. I’ll even buy you a pack.”

Mandy laughed. “I’d like that. Then we could go to a bar and get pissed as pirates.”

“What drink would you like first?” Jayne asked, she’d already pictured herself there at the bar, jazz music was playing, it was a quiet Tuesday evening and only the regulars were in. She ran her finger around the rim of her red wine. She wasn’t sure why she’d pictured a jazz bar; she hated that music but did appreciate the silence the evening had brought. For a brief moment, she wondered if it was a memory or just a thought conjured up at the moment.

“I’ll have a Jack Daniel’s and Coke. Make it a double. Fuck it. Just give me the bottle. Mmm, what a time that would be. How about you, what would you have?”

“Wine. Usually red.”

Boots clomped along outside and were quickly followed by a few other pairs.

“Two,” the deep voice said. Keys clinked. A lock turned. A woman screamed in protest and cried out. “Tire yourself out, it’ll make what happens next much easier.”

“Let go of me!” she screamed. Someone cried out. light steps ran past, they type of someone without any shoes.

“Get her,” the deep voice said in a cool and calm demeanour.

Within a few seconds, they caught her. Something or someone crashed against Jayne’s door. She jumped back. Her heart raced.

“Four,” he said.

“Come on you fucking cunts!” Mandy shouted as the key turned in the lock. “Do your worst.” She spat then spat again.

There were no chains this time only shuffles and thuds and rapid breathing, Jayne guessed they were dragging her this time probably expecting her to put up less of a fight this time.

Tears rolled down Jayne’s cheeks, some spattered over the pages of her book. She couldn’t concentrate let alone see through the tears which had misted up her eyes. She closed the book and set it on the top of the pile beside the bed then laid sobbing while thinking about the unspeakable things she imagined they were doing to Mandy and the other girl.

Salvation

Jayne rolled over and opened her eyes, she sat up and checked the clock.

“Nearly one!” she blasted. I’ve been out for ages. I wonder if Mandy is back.

Still, the red light above the clock was on. She went to the toilet but before she could reach the bed, Roland walked in with a tray and a smile.

“Hi, Roland,” she said as enthusiastically as she could muster. She decided, for now, to put her effort into behaving as normally as she could and that when the time came she would attack Roland and make her escape but not before breaking one or both of the cameras to see what would happen next.

“Jayne, my friend,” his cheeks were flush, beads of sweat ran down his forehead. He handed the tray over moments before the first drop of sweat fell. “Chicken and mushroom soup with some bread, and in that tub, you’ll find your painkillers.”

“Wow, thank you so much. I can’t remember the last time I had this soup. It’s one of my favourites.”

“I guessed right.” His face beaming, he wiped the sweat away with the back of his hand. “Enjoy.” As Roland turned, he spotted the Bible on the drawers and pointed to it as he glanced back to her with an even bigger smile. “So… what do you think?”

“About?” she picked up the spoon and started shovelling the steaming hot soup into her mouth.

He jabbed his finger through the air towards the book. “The book. “What was the first thing you thought?”

She dipped the bread. Bit it. “Oh,” she chewed faster. Swallowed. “That book. I thought it was interesting. Well, what I managed to read.”

“I-I-I don’t understand,” he frowned, rolled his eyes. “You haven’t started it yet.”

“No. Not yet.”

Roland breathed in through his teeth making a horrific hissing noise as his features transformed into a snarl. “You haven’t opened it!” he yelled.

Jayne placed the tray at the foot of the bed. “I haven’t,” she edged her way to the edge. “This book must mean a lot to you.”

Roland cupped his face with both hands and yelled into them. Jayne lowered her feet to the floor but wasn’t sure if taking a step towards him or remaining on the bed was the best course of action.

“You don’t understand,” he said muffled behind his hands. He lowered them. Tears flowed down his cheeks. “No one understands. I thought maybe you would. I was wrong.”

Jayne pushed herself up and took the first step. “Roland, help me understand.”

“You’ll never understand,” he sobbed.

“Try me.” Jayne took two paces.

“I fear…” he stopped with his mouth agape then huffed.

“What is it your fear? Tell me, Roland,” Jayne spoke in a silken voice and placed her hand on his shoulder.

He lifted his head. his eyes were red, cheeks pink and wet. He sniffed then lunged forward pressing his lips against hers. Roland’s hands wrapped around Jayne’s slender arms with eagle talons. She wasn’t sure if she should push him away, kick or continue to kiss. She chose the latter.

Best to play it cool. Be his. Allow his tongue to flicker against mine. This can’t be for show. I wonder what the others are thinking? What if this is all for the show? No. No, it couldn’t be. Euck. His tongue is covered in his saliva. Has he been saving it for this moment? Don’t gag. Don’t gag. Don’t gag. Keep kissing. Push his tongue away with mine. What is that?

Roland released his grip and backed away. Jayne’s tongue pushed and removed something foreign which Roland had passed over unknowingly. She toyed with it and tried not to gag.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out and rushed out slamming the door as he left. The familiar sound of the key engaging the lock followed. Jayne spat on her hand. It was a leg. A long green leg.

“Ever since that trip to Cambodia, he likes to eat them.”

The deep voice said in a sharp flash of memory. Jayne hoped it was someone else with a similar voice.

“Locust,” she mumbled then ran into the bathroom and washed her hands. She cupped her hands together and filled her mouth with what she could then spat and repeated three times.

I don’t know the man with the deep voice, do I?

Agonizing screams filled the hall and pierced through the door and rattled inside Jayne’s ears. Two women were screaming at the top of their lungs. Jayne’s stomach knotted. Thump. Crash. Mandy tapped the wall gently; Jayne made her way back to the bed and was sure Mandy had said something but she never caught it. in the hall, more screaming blasted out and another door slammed.

“Where is that idiot?” a man asked. His voice was raspy and course. Jayne imagined him being tall and muscular with an untameable beard.

“No idea. These whores are more trouble than they’re worth,” the second man replied. His voice was softer, a few optics louder and with a faint hint of a Newcastle accent. She guessed he was about the same height but chubby with thick bags under his eyes that made them appear to be smaller than they were.

“Enough complaining!” a third man shouted. “The job is done, now let’s get back to the shows,” his accent was more London and authoritative. “Roland is a soft bastard. He gets too attached.”

“No way of denying that,” the first man said.

Their footsteps carried along the hall and faded from earshot as did the conversation. “Don’t forget the boss’s-”

The boss’s what? So, Roland gets attached to the women. That could work in my favour. Shame I don’t have any locusts to bribe my way out.

“Jayne, are you there?”

Jayne grabbed her book and raised it. “Yes. I’m here. What the hell happened?”

Mandy continued to sob and thump the wall, after a minute she calmed enough to start talking.

“Those animals. All of them. They raped us.”

Jayne gasped. “That’s fucking terrible! The bastards!”

“Then they pointed guns at us, and another man held a knife to my throat, and told me and Jayne to… do things to each other. One man told us to satisfy the man holding the knife. They’re always doing sick shit like that?”

“I’m not sure. Between six and nine. It’s hard to tell since some wear the same masks and they leave the room and return or someone else does, so it’s hard to tell. They hardly ever use names, I’ve only heard a few during my time here.”

“We’re going to get out of here. I promise.”

Mandy laughed. “Yeah. You said that earlier. Don’t worry about me, get yourself out.”

“No!” Jayne bellowed. “You’re coming with me.”

“I wish I had your enthusiasm. The last girl who was in that room had loads of it. She said she was writing a letter or something, but when they searched her and the room, they couldn’t find it. Perhaps she ate it.”

“Yeah. Perhaps.” Jayne lowered the book a little and looked towards the cabinet. She remembered the piece of scrunched up paper hidden under the floor covered in cobwebs. She had no intention of removing the floorboard again and reaching inside for the first time, the sight was enough the previous occasion.

“I wish I was dead,” Mandy breathed gloomily.

“Don’t say that.”

“They broke me a long time ago. Death is inevitable. It’s just a matter of time before they broadcast it.”

“That won’t happen.”

“You’re in there, you can’t stop them.”

“Yes, I can.”

Jayne wasn’t sure of what to say next to console her friend, she wasn’t even sure of how they would escape or how many people were out there and what they may likely do to her given the chance. Jayne then realized the book had been lowered for some time.

Oh shit! They must’ve seen me talking. They know. They must know that I’ve been talking to Mandy through the wall. What’ll happen next? Will I be next? Will they kill Mandy now that they know we’re talking? If anything happens to her it’s all my fault.

“Jayne?”

She raised her book, still unaware if her viewers knew she had been talking to Mandy, she hoped they hadn’t seen. Hoped the camera was out of focus or that her mouths movement was undetectable on the small lens.

“Yeah?”

“Knock, knock,” Mandy said with a faint chuckle.

Jayne didn’t feel this was the time for jokes given that moments before Mandy said she and another girl had been raped, but Jayne knew it was probably a coping strategy, a small way to ensure Mandy wouldn’t go insane from all the shit she had been through. A game of eye spy would be a challenging endeavour although it would probably do more to take Mandy’s mind off things than a joke.

“How about I spy?”

“I spy?”

“Yeah. Sure. I don’t know what your room looks like, but we may have similar things plus it’ll be interesting.”

Mandy paused for a while. Tapped the wall gently like a cat playing with a dead mouse.

“I spy with my little eye,” Jayne began. She glanced over the room. “Something beginning with… C.”

“Ok. Let me think.”

There was silence for several seconds.

“Curtains?”

“No. But good guess. Do you have curtains in there?”

“Sadly not. My bathroom had a window, but they boarded it up. You’d need to be a contortionist or a child to fit through it.”

“They haven’t boarded mine. Yet.”

“Favouritism!” Mandy laughed. “Fucking teacher's pet.”

Jayne smiled. “Next guess.”

“Camera?”

“Bingo.”

“I was going to say camera first but wanted to make the game last a bit. Ok. My turn. I spy with my little eye something beginning with… hmmm, that wasn’t…”

“Mandy. Mandy, what’s wrong?”

She waited a minute then gently tapped the wall. There was still no reply.

“Mandy. Answer me,” Jayne grumbled.

“You bitch,” Mandy breathed. “Whore. Nasty fucking bitch!”

Jayne’s brow creased.

“Mandy. What’s wrong? Don’t let them fill your head with shit. You’re better than that. You’re not a whore. They’re forcing you all to do things. It’s not your fault.”

“Fuck you!” Mandy growled then yelled and cried. Her sobs ripped through the wall and into Jayne. Her stomach sank. Mandy pounded the wall, dragged her hands up and down. Her screams alerted the other women who then joined in the horrific shrill chorus of insanity.

“Mandy, talk to me!” Jayne lowered her book, placed a hand against the wall and her cheek and listened to the mumblings of her friend and the sobbing.

Multiple shoes clomped down the hall. A key fumbled at Mandy’s lock. The door creaked open.

“Shit!” one man shouted.

“Fuck, fuck, fucking hell! You stupid bitch!” a second yelled.

Mandy was now laughing between sobs.

“You’ve really gone and done it this time,” a third said.

She spat. “You’ll never get me to do anything now. I’m free.” She laughed again only more chilling this time. “I’m free!” she shouted.

It sounded like everyone from the other rooms was still shouting and chanting, banging their doors and walls and cursing to the men. Jayne covered her ears, but the sound of the tortured and humiliated souls was too loud to shut out. They wanted to be heard. They needed to be heard.

Mandy’s cries filled the hall. Many of the women fell silent.

“Let’s get this over with,” the second man sighed.

“You’re going to be a star,” the first man said. “Make sure you smile.”

“You’re all bastards!” Mandy blasted. “Bastards. You’re son’s of whores, all of you.”

“I didn’t know you knew my mother,” the third man chortled as their footsteps faded away. A few women still screamed and banged their doors but after a few minutes, they stopped.

Jayne was already pacing the room and pushing irritating strands of hair from her sight. An intense pain started to grow in her chest. Breathing became harder and more painful. She grabbed her chest and staggered towards the bed. Cold sweat ran down her face. Both arms tingled. Saliva ran down the corner of her mouth. With a shaky hand, she wiped it away. Jayne’s vision started to blur and fade. Blinking brought things back into focus but only for a few seconds.

She never heard the door open or saw who had entered. It was a blur which no amount of blinking could clear away. She couldn’t tell if it was one figure, two or more coming closer and she was far too weary and in pain to react.

A warm hand touched her forehead and gently pushed her over and as she fell back on to the bed, she fell unconscious.

Once, Jayne was asleep her mind created a dark room much like the one she was in. She was holding a large knife and was in there with three other people, two men and a woman. She couldn’t make out the faces of the men. The woman was naked and sitting on her haunches with a leather collar around her neck and several bruises and scrapes and cuts covered her fragile athletic frame. She must’ve been between eighteen and twenty. Her eyes were puffy and red as were her cheeks. Her blonde ponytailed hair was mostly covered in blood as was her hands and chest, it wasn’t her blood. Not yet.

“I don’t want to do it,” Jayne said.

“But you’re so good at it,” a man replied.

“You do it,” Jayne held out the knife.

He shook his head. “This one is for you.”

“You got this,” the deep voice urged. “Do it for me.”

Jayne stirred. Opened her eyes. The pain had gone.

“… Thank goodness,” Roland sighed. “You had me worried.”

Jayne glanced at the door.

“That woman screaming must’ve given you a fright.”

Jayne thought for a moment. “Oh, the screaming. Yes. Yes, it really did scare me. My chest hurt so much.”

“That was a panic attack. They’re horrible.”

“What made you check in on me?”

“The screaming. She scared a lot of people.”

“Why do you care so much?” she said bluntly.

Roland was taken aback, he huffed. “You ungrateful bitch,” he said coldly.

Jayne edged across the bed. Roland shook his head in disbelief and bit his bottom lip then ran his tongue around his gums.

“Roland,” she started but wasn’t sure if she should say what was on her mind. She had a lot of questions but still wanted to sound oblivious to the cameras and knowing Mandy. “What happened to that girl?”

With a straight face, he replied, “she hurt herself.”

“With what?”

“A razor blade. I have no idea how she got it.”

“Is she…” Jayne swallowed hard. Dread started to niggle away at the back of her mind. A cold chill passed across her legs. “Is she alive?”

He shook his head.

Jayne gasped.

“She slit her wrists. Smeared blood all over the walls. Wrote something in her own blood. The crazy bitch,” he sniggered.

“What did she write?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, no, not really. I’m curious.”

“Jayne.”

“Jayne? Why would she-”

“I don’t know!” he shouted raising his arms. “I don’t – fucking – know – why!”

“You know something.”

Roland smirked. “Like what?”

“I think you know more than you’re willing to say.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Not half as ridiculous as those fucking cameras,” Jayne snapped and pointed towards the wall.

Roland scratched his head then rubbed his neck and glanced over his shoulder.

“You, you, you know about those?”

Jayne’s eyes widened. She reached the edge of the bed, slipped a leg over. “Oh yes!” she blasted. “You make me sick!”

“Wait, I can explain,” he said and gated forward.

Jayne was already reaching down for the wood. She grasped it and swung it around at Roland’s hand. He yelled out, held his hand and winced.

“Don’t do this. You’re making a big mistake.”

Jayne knew he was probably right; it could be a big mistake but freedom was close. She swung again. Roland stepped back while she pressed forward.

“Get out of my way,” she demanded and swung again.

Roland tripped over his foot and fell on to his back and bumped his head on the floor. He groaned, reached out and mumbled, “don’t go. Please. Don’t try and escape.”

“Fuck you,” Jayne hissed then swiped at his hand then the side of his head knocking him out.

She searched through his trouser pockets and removed his wallet and a piece of paper from one side and found the keyring in the other with several keys on it. Jayne snatched the wallet and paper with the keys and took her weapon to the door and promptly exited and locked the door.

Loads of things ran through Jayne’s mind but the one thought that dominated them all was making her escape. As she turned around and saw all the doors stretched along the hall she knew if she left everyone behind, she wouldn’t forgive herself.

She ran over and fumbled with each key until the lock clicked. She pulled the door open. The room was dark and reeked of urine. Lying on the floor, a woman lifted her head and faced Jayne. She snarled, screamed and ran towards the door.

Jayne pushed it shut and locked it.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she began while the woman wailed on the door and screamed. “I’m trying to let you go. You don’t need to worry about them any longer.”

“Fuck off!” the woman screamed. “Leave me alone.”

Jayne opened the windowed hatch on the door and peered inside. It was empty. She checked the next four rooms and each of the occupants became violent and verbally abusive the moment the hatch opened, and Jayne started to speak.

She tried all the doors along her side and met the same reactions with all of them. She came to Mandy’s room and opened it.

Roland wasn’t lying. Blood was smeared over the walls, bed and floor. Barely visible beneath the thick claret was the pale cream colour of a photo. She knelt down and picked it up. Part of it was overexposed, but the part that wasn’t was all she needed to see.

She dropped it, turned towards the door and ran out and right into the chest of a tall man. She stumbled back. Pressed her hands against the wall to steady herself and stared up into his eyes.

He was wearing a blue waterproof mac, the kind you’d often see fishermen wearing. He had well-kept hair which right now was out of place across his forehead and eyes. He gently pushed it back across his head into the weave it had earlier been. His eyes were dark and large as was his smile equally dark as he flashed some teeth.

Jayne looked behind her. The wood wasn’t there. It was still in the hall. She knew who he was, and he knew her. But most importantly and also rather unexpectedly her memory came flooding back like a tidal wave.

“Hello, Jayne,” the deep voice said.

Jayne

“We need to leave!” Jayne urged from the door as she stamped her shoe on a small webcam.

Jayne placed the carpet back in place and headed for the door.

“With luck, the next girl who goes in here will find that. Although, hopefully, no one will be in that room or any room soon.”

“What did you write?”

“Don’t give up. Don’t let them win.”

Jayne opened the door a little and peered out. “Ok. Time to leave.” Jayne pulled Jayne out into the hall, but Jayne yanked her hand free and opened the hatch on Mandy’s door and looked inside.

“Wait! We need to take my friend. I promised.”

“They’ve taken her,” Jayne said.

Jayne scrunched her face, made a fist and punched the door. “We need to get her.”

“No!” Jayne growled. “There’s no time.”

“But… I promised,” Jayne croaked.

Jayne rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine, I’ll come back for her.”

“Thank you,” Jayne said, a fraction of a broken smile appeared.

They snuck through the door on the far side and crept along the corridor and past the control room where most of the computers, equipment and monitors were.

Ahead the path split. Jayne checked both directions then headed left with Jayne close behind. Once they reached the end of the hall they stopped. Jayne checked around the corner. Roland was coming.

“Shit!” Jayne mumbled.

“What is it?”

“Just keep quiet,” Jayne grumbled. “I’ll deal with this.”

Jayne drew a breath and stepped around the corner and greeted Roland with a beaming smile.

“Hi, Roland.”

“Jayne!” he gasped. “You startled me.”

“Sorry. Not sorry,” she chuckled.

“I thought you were with my brother.”

“I was. Just needed to stretch my legs.”

“Ok. Are you going back to the room?”

“No.” she checked behind him. No one was coming. “Look, Roland. I really need your help,” Jayne held his hand as tenderly as she could muster and led him around the corner. “Don’t say anything. Please.”

Jayne turned away and lowered her head. Roland narrowed his eyes at Jayne and folded his arms.

“What’s this? Another one for the show or are you taking her back to your room for my brother?”

“None of that. We need to get the fuck out of here.”

Roland sniggered. “You can’t. No one can.”

“Watch me.”

“Jayne. You know what he’ll do to you.”

“That’s why we won’t let him know. You won’t tell a soul. Will you?”

Roland rubbed his neck. “I err… you can’t,” he pointed at Jayne. “She can’t…”

“Roland it’s alright. All I need is for you to promise that you won’t say anything to anyone. I also need you to get the car keys for me from the control room. They can’t see me going in taking them. He’ll get suspicious again. It’s all gotten too much for me. He can’t use me or… let them use me,” her lip started to quiver. “You do understand, don’t you?”

“Yes. I understand. Wait here,” he said pointing to the floor then ran off.

“We’ll be out of here soon, Jayne. We’re going to get our lives back.”

“That would be nice,” Jayne mumbled.

“Here,” Roland puffed handing over the key. “I’ll walk you to the garage to make sure you get out.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Jayne said then kissed him quickly on the lips. A smile briefly filled his face like that of a school child kissing his crush for the first time.

“Follow me,” he beckoned and started off.

Laughter and mockery came from a room ahead on the right. Light poured from the underside of the door as did the sound of slaps, cries, and grunts.

The door opposite led to the staircase down into the garage. It was bitterly cold, and the overhead lamps flickered as they struggled to stay awake.

“Here,” Roland handed Jayne the car keys.

“Thank you,” she said and wrapped her arms around him then got into the car.

“Thank you,” Jayne muttered softly barely lifting her head.

“Go,” he said. “You won’t get another chance.”

The Ford Focus’s engine fired up. Jayne got inside and before she could close the door Jayne was accelerating towards the shutters. They started to lift with a loud grinding and hum. Jayne tapped her hands against the steering-wheel then accelerated before the shutters finished lifting. The top of the car dragged along for a moment creating a terrible screech before they were on the road.

Jayne started to chuckle, it morphed into a laugh and a blast which Jayne then joined.

“Thank you,” Jayne said. “I’m so grateful you helped me.”

“Don’t mention it,” she smiled. “What they’re doing has gone on far too long.”

The narrow road wound its way like a snake through the dense snow-covered forest which seemed to go on forever in all directions and especially in the dead of night it became never-ending. There had been several inches of snow earlier that day and some the day before which they tried to clear as best they could but ended up hiring someone to clear the stretch of road for a tidy sum plus a little extra to keep quiet about the ‘Research Centre for Mental Health’ as they called it.

No questions were asked and no paperwork was made. It used to be an insane asylum for the most part of seventy-years, but after some patients died under suspicious circumstances it was closed down and forgotten. But those with dark hearts and evil intentions to do harm to others need a place to stay. A place to call home, even if it’s for a night or two before returning to their other home where their families are waiting.

With Bitcoins being the main source of income for the sadistic crew who work there now, they catered to those with a certain taste for primitive violence, and also for rapists and voyeuristic rapists. If you had the Bitcoin, they had a show for you or they would make it if you requested it.

“We’re finally free,” Jayne shouted. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do or do at some point when you can?”

“I’d like to go on holiday.”

Jayne sighed. “Yeah. I’d like that. South of France perhaps. How about you?”

“I don’t mind, so long as it’s as far away from this place as possible. I’ve always wanted to go to Switzerland. What I’d like to do more than anything is to see my parents and let them know I’m alright. Since… he took me that was the last time. They could be dead for all I know.”

“I’m sure they’re fine and probably never gave up hope that you would show up one day.”

“You’re probably right.”

The car swerved left a little as it hit a sheet of ice. Jayne eased off the accelerator and fought against the car and kept it on the road. Jayne’s knuckles were white on the wheel as were Jayne’s on the sides of her chair.

Further ahead, branches encapsulated what open air there was, dangling down like creepy fingers ready to snatch unaware victims like a praying mantis. Still, the road snaked through the forest and down the hill. The car picked up speed. Jayne dabbed the brakes. It wasn’t slowing. She held the brake down firmly. The car slid, twisted sideways like a daring feat of a drifter with a death wish and clipped the side of a tree. Jayne’s head smacked against the door. The rear of the car swung back around and Jayne was flung from the car with shards of glass as a blanket. Jayne’s face hit the windscreen and dragged down the dashboard as the vehicle came to a violent stop.

Jayne’s vision blurred. An engine rumbled closer. It was them.

The Deep Voice

“Hello, Jayne,” the deep voice said.

“Victor,” Jayne hissed.

The corners of his mouth curled. “You remember me?”

“How could I forget?” Jayne spat. “I wish I’d died in that crash.”

“Come now,” his voice thundered. “You don’t mean that.”

“Anything would be better than being here with you.”

“Jayne, you broke my heart before, don’t do it again. We were great together. We had fun.”

“You had fun. I was a toy that you passed around to your friends and when I said no, you’d beat me or they would. One time all of you attacked me and… took turns. You disgust me.” She took a step forward and spat into his face.

Victor wiped it away then spat in her face.

“Just like old times,” he beamed. “I’ve missed you.”

Jayne cleared his spit away. “You’re not going to get away with this.”

“My dear sweet girl, I already have and have been for a long time.”

“You’re a monster.”

Victor whistled, three masked men, entered the room and grabbed an arm each and her legs and lifted her. “No. I’m not a monster,” he said. He led them back through the doors and along the halls and towards the door on the right, Jayne’s struggles were all in vain. She hadn’t been in this room for several days and the last time she was she killed someone.

Jayne knew deep down she wasn’t innocent or a good person because she’d often help Victor and his friend's torture and kill women. Mostly she did it to stay alive. But. There were occasions when she felt a brief tingle of excitement during the shows, she was a part of and even ones she watched. The men dropped her on the bloodstained king-size mattress in the middle of the room then stepped back.

Victor pulled the door closed. Jayne glanced around the room. It hadn’t changed since last time. A mattress or two would be brought in for the rapes or some torture, sometimes a bed was used since it was one of the requests; bondage and torture. That was a common request and one that Victor relished in. But, his favourite of all was anal torture.

“What are you going to do to me?” Jayne growled. Her eyes welled up with tears, she clenched a fist and squeeze the mattress with the other and fought back any signs of weakness.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he said then started walking around the room. He approached the one-way mirror, adjusted his hair. Beneath it was a medical table the sort you’d see in an operating room. This one didn’t shine in the light as a pristine clean one should, this one was covered in blood. Around twenty implements lay neatly arranged on the top. Scalpels, knives, a drill, hacksaw, hammer and nails, pins, glass, and loads more. “You deserve to be punished for what you did,” he said running his fingers tenderly across the instruments of torture.

“For what I did? That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Jayne, you left here with one of the girls. You were helping her escape and I think you were trying to escape too.”

“No shit Sherlock.”

“There you go again with that sassy mouth of yours. Maybe I should let the lads have some fun with that mouth.”

Jayne closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before opening them. The three men were lined against the wall, all had a hand down their trousers.

“One word from me,” Victor began with a sly grin. “One word and they will fuck you into next week. Actually, you must be worth a bit now. Your show was a little stale, but some people liked it. Got off on it.”

“Scum!”

“If you say so.” Victor faced Jayne. “Don’t forget, you’re guilty of murder too. Or have you forgotten that too?”

“No. I haven’t forgotten what you made me do.”

“My dear, I didn’t make you do anything,” he said with certainty beneath his grin. “That was all you.” He turned, picked up the hammer and faced her again.

“Anything I did was to stay alive.”

The corners of his mouth raised ever higher. If a wolf could smile before devouring its prey, he would be that wolf. “You loved it. I saw your face when that blonde whore showered you in her blood. That show was a big hit.”

“You’re nothing but criminals. You lure women, you drug them, you kidnap them,” Jayne said pushing herself up off the mattress. Still, the three men stood pleasuring themselves. “You kidnapped me.”

“I gave you everything!” Victor blasted. He marched over and placed the cool steel against Jayne’s head and moved some strands of hair over her shoulder with the hooked side. “You are my everything,” he said softly.

Jayne didn’t flinch. She’d seen what happened to those who flinched, and she had been one of the victims of that mistake. After weeks of abuse for a simple reaction, she learned to steady herself and be as cold and unfeeling as they were.

“We missed you,” he whispered into her ear. “It’s time for another show, I think.” He clicked his fingers. “To the control room!” he yelled. “My little Firestarter is back.” He returned to the table and placed the hammer back in its place then walked towards the door. “Stay here and watch her.”

The trio nodded. “No problem,” one said before Victor left.

Jayne eyed them up and down, she wondered if they were smiling beneath the masks while they were masturbating. She shook her head, turned towards the table of torture implements and walked over to it.

I could smash their fucking heads in with this hammer or stab them with this knife. Maybe that’s what Victor wants me to do. Does he want me to put on a show? He wants me to kill these men, his friends for the purpose of entertainment. No. No. He wouldn’t be that sadistic, would he? He’s an unstable parasite, I can’t assume he doesn’t and shouldn’t assume he does. He’s in my head again. I swore he wouldn’t get back in there. He’s poison.

“Hey, Anna!” a familiar voice called.

She lifted her head. “Stalin,” she breathed.

“Don’t call me that!” he shouted.

Anna grinned. Stewart was one of if not the most twisted, sadistic and vindictive person she had ever had the displeasure of knowing. Of everyone who had been in the hospital, Stewart was responsible for the most deaths. Anna started calling him Stalin, and naturally, he hated the title. He was one of the oldest of Victor’s friends and he even looked a bit like Joeseph Stalin right down to the swept back hair and a thick moustache. When it came to punishing Anna in the past, he was the one who dealt the most punishment.

“Don’t you ever call me that,” Stewart took a few steps closer; Anna watched his reflection approach in the mirror. She knew the team of sadists were on the other side watching. “I forgot how irritating you could be.”

“And I forgot all about you altogether, for a while. It was bliss.”

Stewart pulled off his mask and snarled. Anna spotted two cameras, one above her in the corner and the other directly opposite, she remembered there were another two in the other corners and often some cameras on tripods around the room, but there weren’t any in there.

“You should’ve died in that crash,” he hissed then spat at the back of her head.

Anna did her best not to grin but after a second she allowed it to fill her face and moved so Stewart could see her reflection.

She wiped the spit away. “Why do you hate me so much, Stalin?”

Stewart pressed forward, two pairs of hands grabbed his arms and held him back. Stewart fought against them.

“Get off me,” Stewart yanked an arm free; he pushed the man who was holding him and punched the other. “I said take your hands off me,” he said calmly.

In the short scuffle, Anna grabbed the scalpel, turned it around in her hand with the blade resting against her wrist. “That temper of yours,” Anna shook her head and tutted. “It’s going to get you in trouble.”

“Enough of this shit!” Stewart blasted, he gated over.

Anna reached for the hammer. Grabbed it. Swung it around. Stewart grabbed her arm but failed to stop the other. Anna thrusted the scalpel through the underside of his neck and slammed her palm against it. Stewart chocked. Coughed. A horrid gargle escaped his mouth as words. He released his grip, fell to his knees.

The other two men edged forward. One went left and the other right. Anna quickly turned, grabbed the meat cleaver, turned her attention to both men. They crept closer.

Anna swung the hammer to the left man though it was not close he stepped back. The right man pounced. Grabbed Anna’s right arm. She pulled back. The razor-sharp blade sliced his palm. Anna followed with a blow from the hammer to the top of his skull. He fell face down on the ground.

The other man froze. The man on the ground flinched and groaned. Anna took a second swipe to his head and a third. His fingers spayed and twitched as his body jerked and shook violently.

“I’m waiting,” Anna said.

The man got on his knees and removed his mask. She’d never seen him before. He was in his mid-twenties and had the left side of his head shaved and the other blonde side reached his cheek. He shook his head. Anna rushed over raising the hammer above her head. The young man shielded his head and whimpered like a child and tried to speak but it was garbled.

“What did you say?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to reveal the missing tongue. Anna frowned.

“Did they… torture you too?”

He nodded.

“Those bastards,” she muttered. Anna patted the man on the shoulder, walked over to the mirror and hit it with the hammer. “Victor, I know you’re in there.” She hit the mirror again and again. A hairline crack appeared. She brought her hand back.

“Stop!” Victor said over the tannoy. “Don’t break the mirror. Anna, tell me what you want.”

“Come in here. Show your face. Or are you a coward?”

There was silence for several seconds. Anna tapped her finger against the mirror.

“Alright. I’m coming.”

Anna flipped off the camera beside her. Several seconds later, Victor walked in and promptly grabbed the young man by the throat and lifted him off the ground. He slapped Victor’s arm and swung his legs towards Victor’s groyne and connected. He dropped him, pulled a knife from the back of his trousers and slit the young man’s throat and kicked him in the chest.

Anna’s pulse raced like a horse in the Grand National. Victor wiped the wet blade against his trouser leg.

“What did you wish to talk about?”

“Put the knife away.”

“Put yours down too.”

“No. I don’t trust you.”

He shrugged. “I guess that is understandable, given the circumstances.” Victor placed the knife into the sheath on the back of his trousers. “Speak.”

“Why did you save me? You could’ve left me out there with Jayne to die. Did Jayne die in the crash or is she still here being tortured by you and your sick twisted friends?”

“She is dead. Her head hit a tree and was crushed,” he said with a cheerful smile. Anna closed her eyes and winced. “One of her eyes was hanging out. A bone in her arm was sticking through her skin. It was one hell of a mess.”

Anna drew a breath, opened her eyes. “You sicken me.”

“You’re alive because of me, you ungrateful bitch,” Victor snarled and made a fist. “I brought you back and kept you alive for the simple fact that I love you.”

“Love?” Anna scoffed.

“Yes, love. I have always loved you. You test my patience at the best of times. But, love prevails.”

“You have the audacity to call what you do to me,” Anna snapped, “and what you allow your friends to do to me love?”

“Everything I ever said and did was out of love. I’m not familiar with how to be tender and loving.”

“Let me guess because your mother was such a bitch?”

“I grow tired of this conversation,” he dismissed her with a quick gesture. “The cameras are still rolling. Join me. Us. Work with me as before, we were great together.” His face beamed. He got on his knees, reached back, pulled the knife and dropped it then pushed it towards Anna. He pressed his hands together. “I’m not going to hurt you. Join me. Be my queen. It’ll be like it used to be, better even. No one will lay a hand on you. Unless you want them to. What do you say?” He studied her face, her body inch by inch.

Anna stepped closer and with a twisted snarl, she said, “I will never be with you again. You’re a mad bastard. A murderer. Kidnapper. You drugged and kidnapped me. You sick son of a-”

Victor pulled a small pistol from an ankle holster.

Bang.

Anna spun around, crashed against the table of torture implements and fell to the ground clutching her shoulder. Victor started to giggle then blasted with laughter as he stood and approached. He fired at her right thigh. Her right forearm. “We were great together.” His laughter turned maniacal. Another bullet tore through her belly. “It almost hurts me to do this to you.” He aimed at her head. “Almost.”

Anna closed her eyes.

A Chance Meeting?

Anna checked her phone. It was 20:57 and there were no new messages. She read the last one, it had been received at 20:45 and simply said, I’m nearly there. Should be 5 to 10 minutes at the most. Sorry. V.

She hadn’t been on many dates. And internet dating was something she hadn’t considered before, but two months ago after a night out with some of her friends, it was Jenny who mentioned a few dating sites. You and I. Kindred Spirits. Love Forever. Real Hearts, and The Kingdom of Love. It was the latter where she had met her Prince Charming, Andrew. He was nine years older than her, been married once and had two daughters.

No one advised her against the relationship, but they did tell her to be cautious and to enjoy it while it lasted. Anna was the only one who encouraged Jenny to pursue Andrew, and in turn, it was Jenny who encouraged Anna to talk to and meet Victor.

His profile picture was of almost professional quality, he was sitting, turned slightly in the stereotypical school photo pose. His hair was shining in the light and swept to the left. His eyes were bright and trusting like his smile which painted the picture of a caring and charming man.

Every phone call, he was polite and funny, and he liked to ask questions rather than to talk about himself, he wanted to know everything and Anna was happy to answer. Photos were sent, the usual dressed and undressed, flirting ensued after the third day they had spoken and the photos the next day. Their first date was called off due to Anna getting food poisoning after trusting a kebab van outside the local cinema.

Victor was understanding and sent fifty roses to her parents’ home where she was currently living after the break-up of her previous relationship. In many ways, she was pleased to be back in the family home.

Anna nursed her tall narrow glass of lemonade, condensation trickled down the side and over her fingers. Bubbles shot to the top in a mad race only carbonated drinks would understand. She browed the menu for the third time, still unsure if she should have the meatballs or the pizza.

She sipped the drink, cubs of ice bounced against each other and her lip, she wiped it, Victor approached a moment later with a beaming smile. He was wearing a pinstripe suit (not his. He’d taken this one off one of his recent victims, Declan Manahee.)

A strange feeling set in Anna’s stomach. Fluttering. She’d never had that before. He was different from everyone else.

Sorry I’m late,” he said removing his blazer, he set it around the back of his chair. He smiled, reached down, took her hand and kissed it. “We meet at last.”

Anna’s cheeks flushed, heart pounded wildly, her throat clogged. She could feel she was about to cough and grabbed her drink and chugged half of it.

“I can’t believe we’re finally meeting.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity. I would never have forgiven myself.”

“I’m glad you made it.”

“So am I,” he said in a cold tone with narrowing eyes. He picked up the menu and studied it.

A young waiter approached, his face was a red mess of a dot to dot puzzle. A thin layer of fuzz rested beneath his nose, he had a mop of hair that parted in the middle like curtains reminiscent of the nineties.

“Have you decided what you would like?” the young boy’s voice quaked, almost fearful.

“Sorry, I just arrived. Let me have a look.”

“Madame, have you decided?”

“Yes,” she closed the menu, toyed between the two choices as she handed the menu over. “I’ll have the meatballs, please. And the House Red Wine too.”

“Good choices. The meatballs have been popular tonight.”

“I’ll have the same,” Victor said. “If they’re that popular, they must be good.”

“And to drink, sir?”

“A beer. I’m not fussed which, they’re all the same.”

The young man gave Victor a brief confused stare as if he instinctively knew beers weren’t all the same. Though the brewing may be similar they each had individual flavours and smells and strengths. “Ok, I’ll be right back,” he said and rushed off.

Victor reached across the table, held both of Anna’s hands and lent forward. He stared into her eyes. “I could get lost in your eyes.”

She chuckled. It had been a while since she had been on a date and some time since any compliment came her way. He was charming, good looking, well dressed, seemingly everything she was looking for. “Oh, please, stop,” she beamed.

“I’ll never stop. Even though we haven’t known each other for long, I feel like I’ve known you for a long time.”

Anna didn’t feel the same way. They had talked on the phone and online, he knew almost everything about her, but she didn’t know as much about him. “I feel the same way,” she replied trying not to kill the mood or hurt his feelings.

“I hope those meatballs are good.”

“So do I.” Anna’s phone buzzed. She ignored it. it buzzed again then started to ring. She rolled her eyes.

“It’s alright. You can answer it. You don’t need to feel bad or think you’re being rude.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back in a minute. It’s probably one of my friends.”

“Take your time. But be warned if the food arrives and the meatballs are that good, I’ll be eating yours too.”

Anna laughed. “I hope I won’t be gone that long.” She made her way through the obstacle of tables, chairs and dinners and their bags. She reached into her bag and took out the phone.

Meanwhile, back at the table, the drinks had just arrived. Victor casually stretched and looked around the room. Everyone was too busy talking, laughing, playing on their phones, far too busy to notice most things going on. He pulled her glass closer and took a sip and nodded in approval should anyone be watching. He reached into his jacket, pulled out his phone and opened the leather sleeve it was encased in.

In one of the narrow slits on the front panel was a bag. Victor opened it. Kept it hidden inside the sleeve and tipped the contents into Anna’s drink. He posed and took a photo and another and smiled at anyone who was curious enough to glance over.

He put his phone back and watched the powdery substance vanish in the wine. After a few seconds, Anna returned.

“Everything alright?” Victor asked.

“Oh yes. It was just one of my friends. She’s a big worrier.”

“I don’t blame her.”

Anna sipped her drink. Scrunched her nose. “Some House Wine this is.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s alright. I’ll stick with it. I thought a House Wine would have more flavour, more body. This one is a bit bitter.”

“I’d try some or drink it for you, but wine… my body doesn’t like the stuff.”

Anna gulped the rest of it in one quick flash.

“I think I’ll get an orange juice,” Anna mumbled.

Victor smiled. His job was done.

Forget Me Not

Bang.

A brief flash of light pierced through Anna’s closed eyes. There was no pain only a ringing in her ears.

Thud.

She opened her eyes.

Roland was on top of Victor. The two rolled around the floor punching and grabbing each other. Victor wrestled his way on top and pressed his forearm against Roland’s throat. Roland gagged, punched Victor in the mouth. Victor remained in place, his elbow came crashing down against Roland’s nose.

Roland pushed and kicked, his eyes watered and fluttered, blood poured out of his nose. He managed to pull his leg up and kicked Victor across the room. Anna’s hand was about a foot away from the gun.

Victor spat a mouthful of blood on the floor. Roland stumbled to his feet, wiped some blood from his nose and mouth then ran towards his brother. Anna tried to move but the pain grew more intense with every breath and every move she made.

Roland punched him in the nose, gut, chest, gut, and nose again. Victor laughed.

“Is that all you got?” he breathed heavily.

“Boss,” a voice said over the tannoy. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Not now!” he shouted. “Come on, Roland. Hit me.”

Roland continued to punch his brother in a flurry of punches and then kicks. But Victor simply continued to laugh. He slumped to the ground. His breathing slowed. Became more shallow and raspy. Through broken teeth, he smiled at Roland then Anna and blew her a kiss.

“Kill him,” Anna puffed. “It’s what he deserves.”

Roland looked at Anna then the gun. He picked it up, walked over to Victor and pointed it at him.

“Do it,” Victor urged. “Be a man.”

“You can do it,” Anna added.

“He can’t, he doesn’t have the balls,” Victor mocked.

“Shut up!” Roland snapped.

“Sir! They’re-” the voice cut out.

“Stupid mummy’s boy.”

“Stop it!” Roland closed his eyes.

“Fucking idiot. Can’t do a simple thing.”

Roland covered his ears, “stop it, stop it, stop it!”

“Father was right.”

Roland opened his eyes.

“You are just a stupid pathetic cunt.”

Roland sneered. “Fuck you,” he hissed.

“Do it!” Victor shouted.

“I… I can’t. I’m not like you.” Roland lowered the gun. “I’m not a murderer.”

Thuds and shouts and harrowing cries and screams came from behind the glass. Victor climbed to his feet, grabbed Roland’s hand and twisted it and snatched the gun.

“I, on the other hand, my deer-brother, I am a killer.” He smacked the butt of the gun on Roland’s nose splitting it open. Roland fell to the ground holding his nose now gushing with blood. “And I fucking love it.” he glanced at the glass. “Did… did you let them out?”

Roland nodded with a defiant grin. Victor scrunched his face, scratched his head with the barrel of the pistol. He had no hesitation in pointing the gun at Roland. Roland gasped. Another flash and ear-splitting crack filled the room. Victor cleaned his ears with a finger and laughed.

“Fuck, that’s loud.”

Anna coughed. Blood spattered across the floor.

“I loved you, Roland,” Victor said in a pitiful whimper that could almost be misconceived as being genuine.

“You,” Anna gasped. Every word was a growing struggle. “Don’t know… how. To. Love.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Roland raised an arm and groaned.

“Brother!” Victor shouted with elation. “You’re still with us.”

Victor knelt, lifted his brother’s head off the ground and turned it towards Anna. There was a hole on Roland’s cheek just below his eye and it was pouring blood. His face was a mess of blood, cuts and bruises.

Anna looked away.

“Aren’t you going to save her? You love her after all. Don’t pretend you don’t. I saw how you looked at her, I heard how you talked. You’re pathetic.”

A pitiful whimper and muffled words escaped Roland’s mouth. Victor placed the gun against the side of Roland’s head, they both stared at Anna, one with a worried and broken expression and the other with a bloodthirsty glare yearning for more.

An explosion of light and sound and blood filled the room. Roland’s hands and legs spasmed. His eyes rolled over. Victor’s gaze remained fixed on her. A tear rolled down his cheek then another. He sniffed. Wiped them away and placed his brother gently to rest.

The shouts of countless tortured men and women drew nearer. The glass cracked. Victor rushed to the door and locked it. He aimed at the glass with trembling hands. Another crack appeared. His lip quivered. He pulled the trigger. Empty. He reached into his pocket and pulled a new clip, ejected the old and slammed the new one in.

The slide slid forward drawing a new bullet into the chamber.

“Don’t even think of trying to get in,” Victor bellowed.

The glass shattered in a loud burst with a chair following that landed inches from Anna. Victor stumbled back against the door. A man started to climb in. Victor shot him through the eye. Another man climbed in and a woman. Victor fired at the man’s throat and the woman’s ear.

Something struck the door. And again. Victor moved forward, looked at the door. It cracked. An axe blade showed. More people made their way through the broken window, he fired at the two women then at the door with his final two bullets. The gun clicked.

He threw the pistol at the nearest man edging closer. Everyone was armed with any implement they had managed to find, from knives and forks to broken glass bottles to scissors. No weapon was dry. A gaping hole filled part of the door. A hand reached inside and unlocked it.

Anna tried to stay awake, tried to watch as the room filled with poor souls. Victor vanished from sight, she heard him scream. She smiled.

Thirty-two tortured souls took turns stabbing Victor, some slashed, others stabbed. An eye came out on the end of a fork. A wrist was slashed. Tongue sliced through and left by a thin thread of skin.

He tried his hardest to swallow and spit, but no matter what he did, Victor was unable to control the blood filling his mouth.

Fingers cracked under hammers and were severed with knives and scissors once they were bent out of shape. His clothes were cut off and thrown around the room. A scalpel ran jaggedly from his chest to his groyne. Several hands pinched and pulled and rolled his skin back.

Victor continued to yell, his lungs were struggling to fill with air for with every breath came another blow, another cut, and then the scream of the condemned, the guilty.

One woman laid between his legs and placed a testicle in her mouth and bit down hard. Victor cried out and tried to thrash but there were too many hands holding him down. There was no escape.

She chewed on it until it was nothing but gristle then moved on to the next one and repeated her work. As he trembled and urinated over her face, one woman handed her a scalpel.

She grabbed his penis and yanked it down then made started slicing it at the base. Blood spurted over her. She gasped at the jets caught her off guard. Undeterred, she spat the blood back at him and continued to remove his manhood.

Victor’s movements slowed. The woman stood, made her way towards his face and stuffed his penis into his mouth.

“Let’s see how you like it. Fucking bastard,” she hissed.

Victor stopped moving. His eyes rolled over. Everyone stared at his lifeless mess of a corpse then started walking out of the room.

Some of the women who had noticed Anna earlier stopped and started talking to each other.

Anna opened her eyes. She recognised them all. She had stripped and tortured and raped all of them. There was a part of her that at some points had taken pleasure in being so powerful, having the ability to do what she wanted and when she wanted.

Anna knew she deserved to be punished.

She deserved to die.

They all deserved to die.

Anna looked at each of their faces and the weapons in their hands. They gathered around her.

Anna smiled.

The release she had longed for was on the way.

The End