by Marc Horn
‘Birds. Exotic birds you would see in a zoo.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘How appropriate. Were you at a zoo?’
‘Yes. I was there with my mother.’ As she says this her voice softens almost, but not quite, to a sob.
‘You were a child?’ I ask, feeling guilty.
‘Yes.’
‘You still are a child,’ I say. ‘You are fifteen. You shouldn’t be in pubs. You shouldn’t wear the clothes you do and flirt as you do.’ I am trying to distract myself, I know I am.
‘That’s just what the government says.’ This summons all my attention. ‘I am old enough to know what I’m doing.’
I stare at her for several seconds. She does not break eye contact. I t is me that does. ‘I dreamt of you as a young child.’
‘What happened?’ she asks, cautiously.
‘I strangled you to death.’
She gasps. I want to reassure her that it was just a dream, that dreams mean nothing, but I know I would regret it if I did.
‘I prefer my dream,’ she says.
‘How are you feeling?’ I ask. I do not trust my judgement as much as I did.
She takes deep breaths. ‘I can’t sleep here in this position. My head drops, but then I wake. And I am hungry.’
I nod slowly. ‘I will make you some soup.’
‘Thank you.’
I leave the basement, make the soup and return to Elizabeth. I remove her arm restraints and hand her the mug. ‘How will things improve?’ I ask.
‘By talking to people, listening to them, understanding their problems.’
I smile. ‘You have been thinking, Elizabeth. That’s good. You are using your mind for something positive. My problem, which you so tactfully highlighted at the Bat in Cave, is my face. No one cares what is behind it.’
‘Well, they are mean... I am, I was, mean.’
‘I know that, but it does not matter to them. I cannot kidnap everyone.’
‘I will change people. I truly understand how you feel. You have changed me, Chalk. You have changed me forever.’
‘I am not convinced.’ Elizabeth continues to drink her soup. ‘You were the final straw, Elizabeth. You pushed me too far. It was more than I could take. It was you I chose to make an example of.’
She places down her mug. ‘You chose the right person,’ she says. ‘I am grateful to you for opening my mind.’
I am sceptical. She may, possibly, be brainwashed, but I doubt it. But I would probably feel the same way when she is actually brainwashed. How will I know she speaks the truth? I’m sure I’ll know when that time comes. It will feel right, I am sure. I am an intelligent person. I will know when I have converted her.
‘It will take longer than that to cure you, Elizabeth.’
‘Okay, Chalk. I know you are right.’
I turn away from her and clench my fists. Is she mocking me? Has she the audacity to think she can fool me? Or was it a genuine response? I feel a rising panic. This is my plan and yet I cannot be certain that it is succeeding. After all the preparation and mind-altering techniques, it is the reward that impedes me. How can this be so? It is a simple question – is she brainwashed? And yet I cannot answer it. The thought of saying ‘Yes, she is,’ makes me feel small minded and deluded. She cannot deceive me. I cannot have Elizabeth outsmart me. I might kill her if she does that. My mind is my only asset. She must not beat it. I walk around her chair. I must have confidence in my judgement. But it is so difficult to know. One could fabricate responses to secure their freedom. I am a novice at this. And now it shows...
No! I can do this, I have done this. It could be that the end is near, but it is not now. I will know when the time comes.
But what if I never feel that? I cannot keep her here forever simply because I have misjudged her progress. Then, nothing would change, no one would, and I would have failed. I grip the back of her seat. Why is my self-assuredness weakening? I have a fine mind; I have always known that. This is psychological, the problem lies within myself. The kidnapping is taking its toll on me. I must cope. If this fails, I’ll fail. And it is my only chance to make life bearable. I must trust myself. I look down and jump back when I see strands of Elizabeth’s hair in my hand. What have I done? Oh God! Oh God! I crouch down and look at her. She is still.
‘It’s okay, Chalk. It’s okay,’ she says.
I had felt her hair. I had let it run through my fingers. She knows this. Oh no! How can I succeed now? All the respect and fear I built in her has gone. Everything I have achieved has been wasted. I am so glad she cannot see me. She cannot turn far enough to see me as I sit on the floor behind her. She will think it is lust! She will think that I adore her, that I want her and long for her! Now she is in control. What can I do? How can I regain control? I must leave this basement. I need to think without distraction. I must say something before I leave, something strong, something that deflates her. I stand up. My feet feel like liquid. I stride towards the steps. ‘I do not need your approval. I can do whatever I want. Do not misread my actions. I was assessing your deterioration.’
‘I know you were, Chalk,’ she whispers as I struggle to climb the steps.
20
This will not end with my imprisonment. That will not be the conclusion. I will win.
I turn off the television, walk to the bathroom and dispose of my dirty tissue. Now, I am focused. Relieving oneself relieves the mind as well as the body. That has never been more apparent – I feel almost weightless.
I have never experienced such sexual frustration. I must pleasure myself at the beginning of each day. Then my mind will be clear.
I sit down at my computer desk and push my chair a few feet back from the equipment. What must I attend to? What must I correct to ensure my success?... Emotion. I must sever emotional links to Elizabeth. They are destroying everything, eating away at me like a disease.
I look out the window and focus on a dead squirrel on the road. Two crows peck at the rodent’s insides. To achieve my goal, I must be ruthless, as I was in the beginning, when Elizabeth was often hours from death. And I must re-establish my reputation at work and improve my attendance. I will not allow anyone to link me to Elizabeth’s disappearance. No one will outsmart me. But I must be consistent to stave off suspicion. That extends to my home life too, as over the last few days I have become too domesticated. I have bought extra frozen meals in order to sacrifice visiting the local chip shop. I have also started to rent DVDs online and have them delivered by post. Although I have been intending to do this for weeks, now is not a good time to begin, as my absence at the rental shop might be noticeable. Just a hunch is needed to have the police investigate me.
I have no back-up plan. Should the police knock on my door there is no escape route for Elizabeth and me. I plan to reintroduce Elizabeth to society. I hope that I will avoid arrest, but I cannot know what will actually happen. That has been proven by the events earlier today. If the police find Elizabeth in my home, I would have failed and will never have happiness. Therefore I must prevent suspicion forming. I must be a man of routine, a predictable person, a sad loner. They will think differently in time.
So what should I do next? Elizabeth is not yet brainwashed, so she is attempting to deceive me. I must regain her respect, her fear. I must target that which she values most dearly. Of course the solution is obvious. I will disable her weapons, the ones she uses to absorb information and turn it into ammunition. She will now experience Senses Shutdown...
Without her eyes, ears and mouth, she is harmless. She must learn to live in that state. She will have plenty of time to reflect on her situation. To reach the understanding that she must conform and not resist, that she cannot play me, that the measures I have taken are not sadistic but actually blessings in disguise.
I walk to the hardware store and purchase sandbags, ear defenders and thick black tape. Though I only need one sandbag, I buy several so that it appears I am planning a large DIY task. When I return home, I do no
t pause for thought. I head straight for Elizabeth. I do not look at her, but move behind her, rip off some tape and force it firmly against her mouth, pressing each end into her cheeks with my thumbs. I hear her grunt. I lift the ear defenders from the floor and place them on her ears. Finally I slip the sandbag over her head and then leave.
Upstairs, I keep myself occupied. I do not want time to ponder. I know that would lead me to a dark place. But I find, as I browse the internet, that I am drifting back to Elizabeth. Almost everything I read or see reminds me of her, and triggers a jolt of sadness. I push myself away from the computer desk and head for work. It is my day off but I can work it if I please. I phone my division and receive authorisation to work. Two hours later, I wrap myself in my work. It is not easy but I manage, recovering the commitment, sharpness and ruthlessness that had recently evaded me.
‘How’s the bird?’ PC Collingwell asks me, while I dine in the police canteen.
‘Would I volunteer to work if I had a girlfriend?’ I answer.
‘Nah, I s’pose not. You were back to your best today, Cutter. I was well pleased Dirty Sanchez got his papers. He was a prick.’
‘Indeed,’ I say, looking at my food.
PC Collingwell bids me farewell and then exits the canteen. Unfortunately, I cannot digest my food properly. Everything is too large to swallow. I know this is Elizabeth’s doing. While I eat, I think. Before, I had distractions. I push away my plate and close my eyes. I cannot avoid thinking forever. I leave the canteen and return to my division. I finish my paperwork and tidy my locker and trays. Then I research the systems, looking to set up home visits. Eventually, the shift ends and I calmly make my way home.
In the basement, Elizabeth is breathing fast and shallow through her nose. I lift the sandbag and rip the tape off her mouth. She thrusts her head back and takes urgent deep breaths.
‘Chalk! I couldn’t breathe! Chalk, I’ll die...I’ll die in that bag... Chalk, please don’t put me back-please-please-please–’
‘Shut up. I told you before, I decide when you die.’
She tries to resist me as I return her to Senses Shutdown, but her efforts are futile.
In the kitchen I fill a jug with water and crush a vitamin tablet in some soup. Then I return to her, remove the bag and tape, and say nothing as she devours the drink and food. After this, I leave the house, rent a DVD and buy some fish and chips.
Earlier today, the escalators were broken at a tube station, and passengers had to climb them like normal steps. As I ascended them, I experienced a disorienting sensation, as my mind struggled to accept that the escalator was not moving. I had to climb slowly and grip the side to steady myself in order to cope with the alien task. A little relieved when I reached the top, I turned around and for a few minutes observed that same sense of dislocation on the faces of many passengers as they tackled the first few steps. I waited for a child. Within seconds one appeared and, no surprise to me, was completely unfazed by the static system, happily skipping to the top. The mind is an immensely powerful thing, I thought. It takes over, creating its own little world, fixing foreign objects it meets so they can join it on its rigid orbit. It is powerful enough to lie to our senses and feed us false information.
I thought back to when I was thirteen, playing a cassette tape on my parents’ radio. I placed the cassette in the tray, depressed the play lever and turned the power on at the mains. Through the clear plastic tray, I watched the tape rotate as it played, but there was no sound. After a second the tape stopped rolling. I turned the switches off and on again, but the radio would not work. When I checked other electrical appliances, I realised there was a power cut. Later I learnt that this power cut had started hours before I had tried to play the tape, but my parents had not bothered to tell me about it before they left to see a relative. My mind had possessed me, warping the information my eyes had absorbed. The tape had not moved at all. My mind had simply expected it to do what it had always done.
That, I thought, was why people wouldn’t change. Their corrupt minds are programmed to hurt. Anything else is incompatible. And as the mind ages, its cruelty swells. The child on the escalator – his mind had not yet consumed him.
I smiled. With her information supply severed, Elizabeth’s young mind was dormant, crippled, unable to harm. And then, I was filled with optimism and pride. I had found the solution. Senses Shutdown had mostly been a punishment. I knew that whilst they were shut down she was harmless, but only now did I realise the full implications of the measures. A lightness took over me and I felt that I would fall. For moments I felt divine, aware that I had unearthed something wondrous, something that only I was meant to find. Noting looks of alarm, I walked off before security would be called.
I had always known the kidnapping would send a strong and long lasting message, but now I felt I had discovered something so important, so universally life-changing, that I was on the verge of greatness. That I was in possession of knowledge that had evaded the greatest minds in history. After all, where had thousands of years of education and advice taken mankind?
21
Victor once suggested to me that we both intentionally fail an English assignment. It would be funny, he had said.
At the time we were both fifteen and I was terrified of losing him, since he was spending less of his time with me and more with the people he drank with. He had not once invited me to the Blue Anchor, and I was desperate to join them. So I agreed with him, in the hope I would become more important to him.
The assignment was a significant one, part of our coursework which would contribute to our overall GCSE mark.
I shake my head as I lie on my bed. It was one of the final pieces we had to prepare, and I was set to achieve a higher overall grade than Victor. Actually, it was the only subject in which I was ahead of Victor.
Deep down I knew what would happen, but I still proceeded. He was all I had.
Unsurprisingly, when we handed in the assignments, mine was graded F and Victor’s B. Victor was praised while I was reprimanded. Victor laughed about it and told everyone, and I pathetically played along, faking amusement, trying to fit in. And of course I did not succeed. Victor ensured I lived in misery.
I loosen my clenched fist. The night is hot and warm air blows at the curtains. Though the past angers me, it is an addiction. And let’s not forget where both Victor and I now stand. That victorious thought, however, soon passes, and I am back at school, opening a French text book, feeling dismay when I see miniscule features drawn onto a picture of a moon and my nickname beside it. Victor, sitting next to me, laughs and invites half the class to see.
It was his artwork, but he pretended it wasn’t. I knew him so well, he was my best friend. I could identify his voice, his handwriting, even the smell of his breath. I knew that he preferred baths to showers, dark chocolate to milk chocolate, that he liked lime with his lager and that he suffered horrendous hangovers that kept him in bed until midday. That knowledge would serve me well when the time came for revenge...
Only once did Victor invite me out, to a pub near where he lived. It was the happiest moment for me. Suddenly my life had changed – I had a future, everything was going to be fine. My faith in Victor had paid off. Whatever he had done in the past could be forgotten.
He told me to meet him at his house. I knocked on his door ten minutes early. His mother answered and told me Victor had just left, and that he and the others had walked to the train station. She told me I should catch up with them. I stumbled towards the station, teary eyed, deflated. As I drew closer I heard giggling behind parked cars. I carried on, fully aware of the figures scurrying around the vehicles in order to avoid my peripheral vision. I knew if I stopped and looked I would see Victor. I could hear his laugh. It wasn’t just a game. He had no intention of revealing himself, excusing his actions as a harmless prank and then escorting me to the pub. Devastated, I made my way home, hurrying to get out of range of the rising laughter...
I jump off
the bed, my muscles tight. I throw on some clothes and leave the house.
I hail a taxi and instruct the driver to take me to Putney Bridge tube station. I grit my teeth when I see Victor by the entrance, clutching a bottle of Strongbow, several coins scattered on a blanket beside him. It is past midnight, the station is shut and the area deserted. I pay the driver, wait for him to leave and then stride up to the vicious bully.
‘Remember me, Victor?’
I crouch down in front of him, the pitiful state of his life not quelling my hatred. He looks up, and his bleary eyes, no longer piercingly blue, are slow to focus.
‘I know...I know that face, I know that big...round...ugly...face...Moonface! You’re Moonface!’
‘Indeed I am, your best friend at school. Can you still remember the good times we had?’
‘... C-course I can, of...of course I c-c-can! We were best friends...best friends in the whole...wide...world!’ He offers me a trembling hand to shake, the fingers battered and covered in cuts. I ignore the gesture.
‘How much have you collected today?’ I pick up his coins and start to count them.
‘Enough...en...ough for an-an-another can, I hope!’
‘Four pounds sixty six pence,’ I say, ‘enough for three or four cans.’
Victor flashes his yellow and black teeth at me. I stand up and backtrack onto the road. One by one I drop the coins down the drain. Victor’s face turns perplexed.
‘...Oi! Oi! That’s...that’s...that’s mine...it’s mine!’ he shouts.
‘Why did you do it, Victor? Why did you masturbate over children?’
‘I did not do that!’ he roars, sitting up straight. ‘I am inno-inn-innocent!’
‘I believe you,’ I respond, meeting his eyes.
He stares at me. His jet black hair is now straggly and lifeless and extends to his shoulders. ‘No one...no one believed me.’ Tears roll down his sallow cheeks. ‘...No one.’
‘I know you are innocent, Victor.’
I drop the last coin down the drain and then move to within inches of his face.
