Chapter Thirteen
She woke to a bright light shining on her, surrounding her. Was this the end? The light that everybody talked about? The light that would guide her to whatever fate had decided was her eternal destiny. Could it be the light seen at the end of one life and the beginning of another?
At the edge of the light there was darkness, she did not want to return to that darkness, it frightened her, reminding her of before, of the shadow. She wanted to stay in the light, the light was comforting and warm, and it promised that things were better, that her ordeal was over.
Trying to move she immediately felt the bonds that were holding her tightly in place. She realized she was in an upright position; both arms tied above her, encased in a wooden brace of some sort. Her lower legs felt heavy, looking down she saw that they were in crudely made heavy wooden boots; ropes attached to the makeshift boots ran upwards into the darkness above.
With growing terror, she realised that her arms and body also had similar ropes disappearing up into the dark. Uncomprehending, she struggled against her bonds, achieving a slow rocking motion but not breaking free. Her arms moved in strange ways, her legs stiff against the weight of her boots. She felt like a puppet on a string, the devils marionette.
She could hear a creaking sound above her as she swayed, the gentle rocking motion not doing anything to comfort her growing distress.
She realized, with some relief, that she was not naked anymore. She was now wearing a white pretty dress; it looked like a wedding dress, one worn a long time ago, the fashion well out of date. Was this the shadows doing? Or had she actually passed into the next world. She did not believe she had died; this was not a heaven or a hell, whether she believed in either. This was real; this was the work of a deranged mind, so it had to be the shadow.
Marion began to cry, bound in the strange contraption, unable to break free.
Something inside of her snapped, her mind cleared, she started to scream, not in terror but in frustration, frustration built of not being in control. She had spent her entire life subservient to her mother; doing everything that she told her to do, never daring to step out of line. Mother's anger was never far from the surface. She loved her mother but she saw now that all she got in return were rules and expectations, not remembering many affectionate moments. Her father had loved her but then he had never stood up for her, letting mother rule the roost. He too was subservient as if trying too hard to please her mother.
She was subservient now, to this contraption, to the shadow. Was she to hang here, dressed in white, at the whim and pleasure of a sick mind. She was beyond being frightened, she was not dead, and the rape she was expecting has not happened. She would survive this, whatever this was. Struggling once more against her bonds she continued to scream in frustration.
Just outside the bright light, out of view to Marion, a small camera stood on a tripod, like a sentry, documenting her plight.
Looking at the screen, he could see her dressed in white, suspended off the ground. He could control her every movement, make her do as he pleased. The camera feed was working. The stage set was perfect.
Ben had accepted the part when they met at the gardens, a small knock to the head as an inducement.
Head wounds were a messy business; he could not believe the amount of blood for such a small cut. It had taken a while to clean him up, even longer for him to wake. Ben was now in his dressing room, learning his part, except that there would be no lines for him to learn. He almost started to laugh at the thought of Ben in a room with lights on the mirror, putting on stage makeup, as he recited his lines to himself. The reality in fact was very different and very dark. He wanted him to suffer as she had.
It would start soon. He had timed it perfectly. The anticipation was growing, giving him a warm feeling in his stomach. The cancerous black cells that lived in his darkness did not like warmth; they were cold, dark creatures. Only one more night to wait, tomorrow being the anniversary of the date stamped on the back of the photograph he had been holding onto for most of his life, the photo that depicted the day of his parents wedding. What more fitting date to finish it than when it started, and thanks to modern technology, the world would be witness.
Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 14
