by Matt Shaw
* * * * *
I woke up in pain. Just as I had fallen asleep in pain, with mum sat on the edge of the bed stroking my ankle (for comfort I believe). They had been shocked - both mum and dad - when I had knocked on the door late the previous night after my good samaritan dropped me off. They offered her money - as a thank you for bringing me to them - but she refused it. She just reiterated the fact that she believed I should have gone to hospital before she wished me well. Both mum and dad agreed with her - something they told me after they’d thanked the woman and seen her on her way.
“She’s right,” dad said, “we should take you to the hospital…”
“What happened?” mum asked.
I didn’t say anything. Growing up we had the rule; if someone wanted to talk about something they would bring it up. They wouldn’t need to be asked. Asking was prying.
We were sitting in the living room. Or rather, I was sitting. Mum and dad were standing by the door. Dad was putting his coat on, ready to take me to the hospital. I realised that this was one of those occasions where the rule was disregarded.
“I’m fine,” I said, “I just want to go to bed and sleep it off.”
Mum and dad didn’t move.
“What happened?” mum asked again.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I told her. I told them both.
“I think we need…”
“Please. I just want to go to bed.”
I tentatively got up from the chair and made my way past them and up the stairs. They followed to the bottom of the stairs and watched as I disappeared around the landing and towards my old childhood bedroom. I was thankful when they didn’t follow. In the bedroom, I closed the door behind me and made my way across to the bed. I laid down - carefully - and wept into the pillow.
That night was spent tossing and turning. Thoughts going round and round in my head of what I’d been through that night and what I should do about it. Even how it came to be in the first place? So many film sets - how’d I end up on that one? In the early hours I found myself hunched over the toilet throwing up into the bowl as the thoughts continued to play havoc with both my mind and my body.
“Everything okay in there?” mum knocked on the door.
“I’m fine…”
“Need a glass of water?”
I was already drinking from the tap, cleansing the harsh taste from my mouth. I contemplated going to the police and reporting the crime but I knew it would just be inviting more trouble. Besides, Harry and his friends…They’d have cleaned the scene up now. They’d have removed all trace on the off-chance that I did go to the authorities. They looked professional, with what they were doing. They wouldn’t leave any traces of what they did. They weren’t that stupid. Besides, the police would need to know all the details, there’d be a possibility of mum and dad discovering the films I’d been a part of. On top of everything else - I can’t risk them finding out. I can’t risk them turning their backs on me. I’ll get over this. Somehow. I’ll move on. Not sure how but I will. Mum and dad disowning me? I couldn’t get over that. The fact that they were in my head when I thought I was a dead girl…That showed how much I cared for them. Not that I ever doubted it. I can’t imagine a life without them.
* * * * *
Harry was fully conscious and in excruciating agony - just as I had planned. I moved over to where he was lying on the floor and laid myself down next to him.
“If you die…” I corrected myself, “…When you die…Do you think anyone will miss you?” I asked him. He didn’t answer me, just carried on groaning in pain. I think the days of him answering me back, conversing with me, are over. A shame. I liked him begging. I carried on, “I miss my friend. The one you killed. My mum. My dad. They would have missed me.” I paused, “I’m sure the other girls - the one your friend told me about - I’m sure they will be missed too even though their friends and families don’t know what has happened to them. People will still care. People will still hope they’re okay.” Another pause. “Friends? Friends. Do you miss your friend?” I whispered to him.
He groaned. I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.
ONE DOWN
I was going through my agent’s emails on his computer system. He hadn't been in when I knocked on the door to his small office within a complex. I had tried the handle and had been surprised to find it unlocked. It either meant he’d popped out, maybe to collect his mail from the reception, or he was forgetful and hadn’t locked it the previous night. Hopefully the latter. All I knew from that evening was the first names of the scum who had hurt me. No surnames. It made searching through his many emails a time consuming process.
Of course I had started with a search on my name. I thought it would be easier to find the initial email Frank had sent me (offering me the job) but I couldn’t even find that. Plenty of emails to and from me but - not that one.
“Come on…Where is it?” I sat back in Frank’s comfortable leather chair and threw my hands in the air. Nothing. Can’t find anything. “Shit!”
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
I jumped at the sound of Frank’s voice. I looked up and saw him standing there, in the doorway to his own office. His arms folded. He looked angry.
“Get the fuck out of here,” he hissed at me.
“Where is it?” I asked him. My tone hinted that I wasn’t messing around. Just as his tone suggested the same to me. I didn’t care about his tone. I just wanted the details of the people who had hurt me and - if anything - he should have been thanking me that I had let him walk out of his apartment. I could have just killed him. As I was planning to do to his associates .
“I’m phoning the police.” He stormed over to the desk and picked up his telephone.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Fine. Phone them. Sure they’ll be interested to know what you did to me,” I laughed. “You and your friends. Tell me - how much money have you earned from me?”
He looked at me. Was that confusion on his face?
“And will you tell them what you did to me?” he slammed the phone down. “I should fucking kill you, you know? You’re a whore. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“Didn’t you already try that?” I hissed back at him. Again - he just looked at me as though I had lost my mind. I had lost my mind?! He sold me out. He tried to have me killed and yet here he was thinking I was the one who was in the wrong.
“Not spoken to you since last night anyway, since the last shoot. How’d that work out for you?”
Was he being funny? Was he trying to build bridges? Was it a threat? If I don’t leave him alone he’ll arrange something else, similar, to happen to me?
“Is that supposed to be funny. Fuck you!”
Clearly I had run out of time on his computer - and in his office - I stood up and made my way towards the door. Frank reached out and grabbed me by the arm, stopping me in my tracks.
“Get the fuck off me!” I yelled.
“Ssh,” he whispered. “I just want to know…Last night…You know I made an appointment with the doctor, right? You know - a health check…Were you joking?”
Oh. I got it. The sudden change in his tact was because he was concerned with what I had told him the previous night - the night I hopefully infected him. I smiled at him.
“You might want to cancel the doctor’s appointment,” I said.
His eyes lit up and he straightened his back. I do believe he is experiencing relief.
“Thank fuck for that. You know, you had me worried. Come on, sit, we can talk things through…”
What was his game? I felt confused.
“You didn’t let me finish,” I said. “I was saying, you might want to cancel the appointment and reschedule it for a couple of months down the line. The virus…It has an incubation period…Testing now will most likely yield a negative result…”
I smiled and pulled my arm from his grip. He had a shocked expression on his face as I stormed from the room and slamme
d the door shut. I hope - when the time comes - the result is positive.
I hope I’ve fucked his life just as he and his friends have fucked mine.
* * * * *
“Even if we had sat down and talked like he suggested,” I said to the ever-groaning Harry, “and I had found out that he hadn’t had a part to play in what had happened. It would have been too late to do anything about it. Couldn’t wind the clock back to the previous night. Couldn’t have un-fucked him…” I looked towards Harry as he continued to writhe around in agony. He wasn’t looking very good. Not sure how much longer he has before he dies from shock. Long enough for me to finish. That’s all that matters. I asked him, “If you could turn the clock back - would you change anything?” I asked him. “Would you undo what you did to me? Would you stop there? Would you go back and undo what you did to the other women too? Or are you happy with how life has turned out for you?” I laughed. “I don’t think you are, are you? Probably give anything to turn that proverbial clock back a few months, maybe years - however long you’ve been doing this for.”
I waited for him to say something - anything - but nothing came from his mouth but more groans and whining. When suffering, most animals would have been put to sleep hours ago. This is one animal who’ll get to suffer every last minute until the last bit of breath escapes his lungs.
I stood up and walked over to the cameras - the sudden realisation that I hadn't checked on them for a while. Needed to make sure they still have battery power and sufficient recording space left. Don’t want them to run out of recording potential before I’ve finished the film.
Red light still flashing.
H.D.D still half empty.
We’re good.
“I wasn’t sure what I was going to do when I left that office. Didn’t know how I’d be able to track you down. In the end - you know what it was that lead me to all of you - nothing but luck. It was as though God wanted you punished just as much as I wanted you dead. You know what a nice feeling that is? To know that God wanted you hurt as much as I did? Knowing that made everything I did to your friend so much easier. Because it was justified.”
* * * * *
I was parked up in the industrial estate. My heart was racing. I hadn’t been here since that night. It was a while ago and yet everything seemed fresh in my mind. Just looking at the building - the one where it had all happened - brought everything back. The pain I had felt, the humiliation, watching my friend die and - of course - the fear of dying. I had thought that night was to be my last.
I opened the car door and threw up onto the pavement.
I don’t even know why I am here. They won’t be here. They’re not that stupid surely, to come back to the scene of the crime. I doubt they’ll ever come by this area again. Looking around, in the day light, I’m not even sure what this area is used for anymore. The area doesn’t look like it’s used for much now - no ‘workers’ around. No genuine workers at least. There’s a couple of working girls standing next to containers; casually leaning around whilst waiting for business. Surprised they get any customers down here.
I was forced to eat my words when I saw a car pull up to one of the women. The woman sauntered over, the bottom of her arse cheeks showing from under the oh-so short mini-skirt. She leaned into the car and - just as quickly - she turned and walked away.
“Must be someone looking for directions,” I muttered to myself.
The driver jumped out and hurried after her. My heart skipped at beat when I realised who it was. Tom. The actor. He grabbed the woman by her arm and turned her towards him. She slapped him hard across the face. He didn’t retaliate. They were talking. I couldn’t hear what was being said but wished I could.
What was he doing? Was he just horny? Looking for a fuck? Or was he fishing for more business for Harry and his paying customers? I couldn’t take my eyes off them. He leaned in and hugged the woman. A second later and she was hugging him back. He fished in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a wad of notes. Holding it up, I watched in horror as the woman took the cash from him. His smile spread across his face. That fucking smile.
He walked her to the car and held the door open for her. She looked around, as though worried someone else would be watching or coming, and climbed in. Tom slammed the car door and ran around to his own side. He climbed in and the car sped off.
I quickly closed my own car door and started the engine before following (from a sensible distance). I half expected the car to turn down one of the many alleys so they could carry out their business transaction but was delighted when it didn’t. It continued out of the industrial estate and onto the main road. Still I followed. Another car went on by - in the opposite direction - and flashed its lights. Tom sounded the horn. Not an angry held-down beep of his car’s horn but more of a friendlier ‘toot-toot’. In the rear-view mirror I saw the car turn into the industrial estate. Who was that? A friend on his way for a cheap encounter with a down and out? Just a coincidence? Another dirty rapist?
It wasn’t just those questions bouncing around in my head. My mind was brimming with a whole load of ‘what ifs’; what if he leads me to Harry, what if they’re headed for another so-called film shoot, what if they do end up parked up in some seedy little car park, what if he spots me following and leads me to a trap…I ignored all of them. If I wanted any chance of revenge, if I wanted any sort of justice, I knew I’d have to keep following until they arrived at their destination. If not then I knew there’d most likely be another chance.
And so what if it is a ‘film set’, my brain answered my what-if question. I could phone the police, alert them as to what was going on. They’d show up and arrest all involved, hopefully in time to protect the girl.
We drove for thirty minutes - give or take - before we finally reached the destination. A cul-de-sac filled with modest looking houses. Tom drove straight in, with no hesitation, whereas I drove on by. Could hardly follow him right into his driveway. I turned into the next cul-de-sac and parked up. I nervously walked back to Tom’s cul-de-sac. It didn’t take long for me to see which house belonged to him; his car parked in the drive-way. It was weird - the houses around here looked normal. Not what I was expecting given the experiences I had shared with Tom. For some reason I pictured him having a large house in the middle of nowhere - maybe its own dungeon in the basement. This makes perfect sense, I guess. If he did have his own house - a house in the country - then I guess he’d have used that as the filming location. Less chance of being seen by - thinking back to the industrial estate - hookers touting for business.
* * * * *
“I’m not sure how long I waited outside his house for - hidden out of sight down one of the alleyways leading to a connecting cul-de-sac. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be there all night or whether I was going to be there for five minutes. More to the point, I wasn’t sure if I was just standing there - waiting - whilst a girl was getting tortured behind the closed door. You know how that made me feel?” I asked Harry. No answer. Just more moaning. “Imagine my relief when the front door finally opened and he came out - girl in tow. He loaded her back into the car - and they drove out of the cul-de-sac. You know, the two of them were actually smiling. Like they had had a nice time. Both had a nice time…That was a surprise to me. Half expected her to either not come out or come out covered in cuts and bruises - just as I had been left.”
Harry coughed. Another moan. I’m pretty sure he is on the way out. Better move the story along for him. Don’t want him missing the end of it. Don’t want him missing the grand finale. I smiled as I considered what he had coming his way. I hope he can see it. I hope he can see what’s coming - when I make the big reveal…I felt a tingle of excitement and tried to shake it off. Don’t think about that now. Now isn’t the time. Move the story on. Let him hear what happened to his friend.
* * * * *
The back door was open. Even if it hadn’t been I wouldn’t have let it deter me from getting in. I would have smas
hed the window and reached in to undo the lock. I wouldn’t have cared if he’d seen it or whether the police had been called. It wouldn’t have been important. All I could think about was hurting him. Hurting him and getting to Harry. I hurried through the kitchen - grabbing a couple of knives from the knife block on the side - and made my way up the stairs towards his bedroom.
Again, nothing strange in here. Nothing to hint at the type of person he really was. Nothing to even suggest that he was in the adult industry (was he even in the adult industry?) - everything just seemed normal. A large bed in the centre of the room; unmade from his encounter with the hooker. Two large wardrobes; both closed. Bedside cabinets either side of the bed - a picture on one of them. I walked over to it and picked it up. It was a photograph, professionally taken in a studio, of Tom cuddling a pretty blonde. They were both smiling. He was standing behind her with his arms around her - his hands interlocked. A wedding band. What? He’s fucking married? After what he had done to me? After bringing that woman back to his home? Maybe he’s separated. Yes. That must be it. They’re no longer together. He still loves her - evident from the remaining photo - and has turned to hurting women as a way of dealing with the pain? Makes sense. That doesn’t make any sense though…
There, on the other bedside cabinet, was make-up and a book. Some slushy romance, going by the title, clearly aimed at the female market. I moved across the floor to the cupboards and opened them up; one side contained men’s clothes and the second half seemed to be women’s. Maybe she’s just moved out? Not yet taken the clothes. Or maybe she saw him for the monster he really is and - as a result - she’s rotting away somewhere near by? I sniffed the air - nothing that smelt funky.
So is he a ‘normal’ family man? The monster who had hurt me, who had raped me…? He’s your average Joe? The thought of him living a life and pretending to be ‘normal’ whilst hiding his dark secret scared me more than the idea of him being a sick business man living the life in every way possible. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because it led to the possibility of more people being like him? If this ‘normal’ person is hiding this secret - what secrets do other seemingly normal people hide from the rest of us?
