by Belle Brooks
I’m losing it.
“Get the man a drink,” West says to Gleaton as I take refuge against a wall with my back turned to the both of them.
“You don’t understand. She’s my tiny dancer. Morgan is my tiny dancer. I’m responsible for keeping her safe. I’m responsible for protecting her fragility. I’m responsible for calming her wild side. I’m the lead and she’s my …” I can’t continue. So, I breathe. I breathe long, drawn-out breaths.
“Go on.” Gleaton keeps his tone low and soft.
I take a moment to close my eyes and envision Morgan in the red dress she was wearing the day we met. She looked like a rose in full bloom as she twirled and then proceeded to walk backwards in front of me so I could see her face as she continued talking. God, she is stunning.
“Go on,” Gleaton repeats.
I’m not walking with Morgan in the red dress right now. I’m fighting to find Morgan from an interview room at our local precinct.
After a more delayed inhale, I’m ready to continue. “When we met, I could ascertain how graceful Morgan was, you know? Her touch, her walk, her movements … She was an angelic and tiny ballerina, so delicate and fine-featured. I was drawn to her. I loved her immediately.” My shoulders droop as I let the memory steal me. “She has grown tough and resilient throughout the years. She birthed our children. She’s endured pain, loss, heartache. But when I close my eyes and see Morgan right now, the only image my mind is allowing of her is this breakable porcelain ballerina. Tell me where my wife is. Can you at least tell me she won’t be suffering?”
“No.” It’s almost a breathless reply from West. “I’ll get you a drink, Reid.”
“I don’t want a drink,” I whisper helplessly.
“We’re nearly finished our questioning. How about you sit down?”
“Just ask the fucking questions,” I growl. My anger returns with full force.
I’m not sure how many times they make me recount what happened tonight, but it’s a shitload. I swear in this time they’ve not only learnt my shirt size but everything I’ve competed in, listened to, or watched in my life. It’s fucking ridiculous. Slumping back into the chair, I have the urge to claim a white flag and wave it in retreat. I cannot take a minute more of this.
Maybe the detectives see a change in my demeanour, or maybe they too hit a level of exhaustion, because suddenly the questioning stops, and the room grows quieter until it’s completely still. I’m alone in here.
I lay my head to the table once more and close my eyes, picturing Morgan this morning, her rush to leave due to running late. The sounds of her heels meeting flooring as she scurried from one location to the next. The running of her hands down her sides as she straightened her clothes ... She looked beautiful, even though there was no doubt she was flustered. After a final kiss to the children’s cheeks before she wished them a good day and a subtle wave in my direction, she opened the door leading to the garage. She didn’t smile; in fact, she couldn’t have been more disinterested in me. Why didn’t I march to her and take her in my arms, kissing her deeply like I used to? Why didn’t I tell her I loved her?
I can hear myself breathing and with each breath sound, I try to hold on to this lasting image of Morgan.
Are we truly broken?
I studied her face this morning and the stressed nature in which she looked at me as she wrapped her fingers around the door handle spelled out her unhappiness. Her love and delightful disposition on life had been all but ripped away.
I’m breaking her heart. I know I am. Why can’t she see I’m still me? The man she fell in love with?
Running my eyes over her blouse and down her pencil skirt, I didn’t admire her, I turned my eyes away. Was I being as cold and withdrawn as she was?
Before long, I find myself trying to change the circumstances of the morning. I try to play out the scenario in a way it should have taken place. I’d wake up to find Morgan beside me and instinctively reach out to cradle her head to my chest. Instead of climbing out of bed and abandoning her without a touch, I should have smelled her hair whilst whispering, “I love you,” until her eyes fluttered open. When did I stop doing this?
“Reid.” My name is spoken with such distance at first, I ignore the sound and keep running images of Morgan through my mind.
“Mr Banks.” The voice grows louder.
“Reid. Are you okay?” Another tone is now registering.
“Huh,” I mumble.
“Reid, we need to take your shoes. Can you put them in this bag please?”
“Shoes?” I’m confused.
“Your shoes—put them in this bag. They will be sent off for testing.”
Lifting my head, I’m greeted by misty grey-blue eyes and register I’m still with these fucking officers of the law and they’ve returned to the room.
“Sure,” I murmur before reaching down and slipping the joggers from each foot. With no socks underneath, my feet instantly chill from the cold hard floor, and with pure hatred pulsing through my veins, I look to West and say, “Do you want my fucking clothes too?”
Morgan
Dirt and mud have stolen my vision. I wipe my eyes savagely, trying to return my sight. Each of my knees bear my weight, and I can no longer hear him. Where did he go?
Running is the only way out. It’s the only way to find safety, but I’m so frightened, and although my mind screams at me to complete this necessary act of running, my body renders itself helpless and stays positioned as if I’m a carved statue placed in a museum on display.
“Are you forgetting something?” He’s taunting me.
Where is he?
The sudden impact to my cheek doesn’t cause me to flinch even though pain radiates to my skull.
“Were you looking for that?”
“What do you want from me?” My voice shakes.
“I want you to suffer, you bitch, just as you’ve caused me to suffer.”
I pant, from this confession.
“Are you suffering, Morgan?”
“Yes.” It’s an urgent reply.
“It’s not nice to suffer, is it?”
“No.”
I jerk suddenly from a smooth stroking of my head. He runs his hand as if he is patting a chained and obedient dog––I hate it.
“There, there. Everything is going to be okay.” He’s condescending.
I whimper.
“Here you go. Take it.”
I can’t see what he is referring to at first, but then there is a dim light which grows brighter until it has me squinting. He shines it directly into the narrow slits my eyelids create.
“You are such a horrible person, Morgan. A fucking beast.” He pauses. “Open your mouth.”
I hesitate. I don’t want to open my mouth.
“If you don’t open it, I’ll open it for you.” He brushes his fingers against my cheek. “Open your mouth,” he breathes.
I do and with its wide birth, I involuntarily release a single puffed exhale.
“Here, I’m helping you. You wanted help now, didn’t you? I’m going to fulfil your need.” As he speaks, I feel a cylindrical object press between my teeth before continuing farther into my mouth. It’s cold and causes me to gag, not once, but twice as it hits the back of my throat. “Clamp your teeth shut.”
I do without hesitation.
Warm air washes over my earlobe, and I shiver from the sensation.
“Roses are red, violets are blue, let’s play a game where I hunt you,” he whispers. His haunting laugh follows, and I grimace, trying to rein in my need to cry.
Forced breathing through my nose seems to control my gag reflex, and with a little work from my tongue, I manage to slide the torch away from my palatine uvula and slow my rapid huffs.
Without warning, he takes my left wrist and gently slides what I believe to be his hand up the entire length of my arm. He repeats the same thing on the other side, and the breathing I just managed to take in slightly becomes loud nasal puffing once mor
e. Complete silence is my reality when my nose is pinched tight, and I’m forced to flare my cheeks and claim oxygen this way.
“Don’t be frightened, Morgan. Relax. We have so many more things to share together.” And with these words he releases his pinched grip and I try to be quieter even though I’m panicking.
“One,” he says calmly. “Two.” It’s quick to follow. “Red, get the fuck off the ground and hightail it out of here or I’m going to shove that torch down your fucking neck.”
I jump before falling forward. I can’t move for there is something hanging from my front. The bag. He was giving me back the bag.
“Three,” he barks, and without another second passing, I crawl, until I find my feet and scurry, removing the torch from my mouth as I run aimlessly.
I’m knocked. I fall. I get back up, only to be knocked down again, and as I continuously find myself in this position, I can’t help but think I’m in a pinball machine being flung around for another’s entertainment.
There’s no air.
I crunch over, my torso folded completely in half as I try to suck oxygen into my lungs … but it’s not working. Slowly, I fall in what seems to be slow motion until I’m sitting down on the ground.
“Just let me go,” I mouth, as my eyes follow the stream of light coming from the torch and shining off to my right.
Rustling has my ears pricked, and whistling has my heart hammering at a rapid pace once more. Holy fuck! With one leap, I’m upright. How I’m able to accomplish this so quickly in my current condition is beyond me, but I am, and blindly, I try to locate the direction from which he is coming. He’s nowhere, only a noise riding on the breeze, and this observation has me taking a few steps one way, before changing direction in a zig-zag pattern. I have no idea which way to go from here. I have no idea where I am.
The whistling that had me back on my feet is brief and I can no longer hear it, but I know he’s here somewhere … stalking me like wounded prey. Slowly and wearily, I place one foot in front of the other. Every few steps I bump into an object and with sluggish reflexes, I shift the torchlight in the direction of the object I’ve bumped into. My processing abilities have been rendered useless, because I have no clue what anything surrounding me is. Everything seems blurred.
The farther I find myself moving, the more alert I become, and after God knows how long, I see a combination of trees towering above me. They are so high, and they make the snippets of blackened sky seem as if it’s a very long way away. Pointing my chin skywards, I locate an outer slither of the pink moon I saw earlier, and I’m compelled to walk towards it. With baby steps, I follow, trying not to divert my eyes for too long in fear I’ll lose sight of it. I’m shuffling when a snapping of a branch stops me dead in my tracks.
“I win.” He chuckles, before soft fabric is slipped over my head and pressure immediately applied to my throat. “To breathe is to live. To live is to be free. You will never see your freedom, Morgan, because your past can never be erased.”
Thirty Days Trilogy
Thirty days: Part One
Thirty days: Part Two
Finding the Magician
Standalone
Always You
A massive thank you from the bottom of my heart to: Kylee Harris, Liz Lovelock, Kirsty Roworth, Caroline Dayas, Jakarra Adams, Natalya Bryan, Shaelene Adams, Emma Banter, Cheryl Riddell, Donna Martin, Tracey Davis Zelukovic, Amber Luttke, Rhonda Tractor, Megan Hill, Robin Yatsko, Halle Rogers, Jo Mantel, Ann Mikan, Shay Bell, Candace Dowds, Dzintra Sullivan, Rebecca Barber, Nicola Chiappinelli, Tammy Coffey, Jodi Perry, JA Low, Max Henry, Margaret McHeyzer, Kathy Atwell, Rhonda ‘Lou’ Kirby, Serena Worker, Robyn Corcoran, Sheena Taylor, Lauren Campbell, Alicia Huxtable, Mel Auslan Osborne, Tracey Wilson-Vuolo, Jessica Godfrey, Shannan Neff, Dana Gallie, Erika J. Shannon, Trish Mills, Sloane Howell, Tracey Ehlers, Vickie Crawley, Becky Townsend, Helen Neale, Jessica Seibel, Vicki Cook, Chantelle Lee Ann Wolfle, Karen Bill, Amanda Kay, Sarah Pilcher, Teri Stallone, Maggie Jane Schuler, Lisa Marie, Lesley Jones, KM Golland, River Savage, Anne Margaret, Lorna Bishop, Danielle Taylor, Barbara Young, Michelle Dury, Tina Marie Clark and so many more. I’m sure I’ve missed some of you and I’m so sorry if I have. You guys rock my world.
To the Tinkerbelles. An amazing bunch of people who light up my life and keep me smiling. I love ya faces xx
To my husband Michael, whom I love dearly. It’s always been you, baby.
To my beautiful children, whom are the keepers of my soul. I love you to the moon and back.
To my wonderful team of talented and creative people: Karen Harper, Lauren McKeller, Jaye Cox, and Tracey Soxie Weston. You ladies have a talent beyond belief and I’m so grateful to share this journey with you.
Lastly, I’d like to thank everybody who has helped to promote my work. To all the bloggers, Enticing Journey Book Promotions for a wonderful promotional campaign, and to all the readers. Without the readers there’d be no purpose for these stories.
My dreams are coming true and it’s all because of you.
Thank you.
Belle Brooks xx
Belle Brooks is a former business manager, wife, and mother of three, living in Queensland, Australia. For as long as she can remember, writing has been a major part of her life, bringing her peace and comfort in the arms of her fictional characters. Never planning to have her work published, she focused her attention on her career and family. That is until she finally found the courage to allow her words to become public for others to enjoy, due mainly to the encouragement and support of those who love her. One Fear, is her fifth publication.
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