by Luke Delaney
‘I know how to punish dirty little whores like her.’ His words made Louise shrink into the furthest corner of her cage, her lips beginning to tremble as he moved towards her, fumbling in his tracksuit trousers for his stun-gun.
‘Forget her,’ Deborah called to him. ‘It’s me you want to be with and I want to be with you. She’s nothing to us.’ He stopped and turned back towards her, the fire of anger dampened by the expression of affection and desire.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘She’s nothing.’
‘Good,’ Deborah encouraged him like an obedient dog. ‘You were going to let me out, remember, so I can wash.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ He took the key from his pocket, moved to her cage door and began to unlock it, then stopped short, years of self-preservation kicking in, saving him. ‘I’m sorry. I almost forgot. Before I let you out I need you to do one thing for me.’
‘What?’ she asked nervously, too many horrifying images flashing through her mind to focus on one in particular. She swallowed the vomit rising in her mouth.
‘I need you to put your hands through the hatch.’
‘Why?’
‘You have to trust me, Sam. You have to learn to trust me.’ He opened the hatch and waited for her to obey him. She knew she had to do it, or soon she would become Louise and then she would become Karen Green — nothing but a memory to those who loved her. Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes, but she managed to stifle her sobbing and hide her fear of him as she slid her hands through the hatch. She fought the desperate desire to look away, instead staring into his eyes, trying to push her mouth into a smile. He smiled back as he took a length of nylon wire from the pocket of his tracksuit top. She watched as he wound the wire around and around her wrists, tightly enough so she could feel the blood welling in her hands, but not so painful as to make her struggle and betray herself. Once the wire was wrapped around her wrists several times he twisted the loose ends as if he was securing a freezer bag. ‘There,’ he announced. ‘Not too tight is it?’
‘No,’ she forced herself to say. ‘It’s fine. Thank you.’
He wiped the sweat from his hands on to the back of his trousers and moved slowly to the cage door, turning the key that he’d left in the lock and swinging it open, one hand lifting the tray from the floor while the other snaked inside, offering her assistance. She placed her hands on his and let him guide her from the cage, praying that Louise was watching and ready as she allowed him to lead her across the room. She followed him behind the screen to the sink, his hand uncoiling from hers, placing the tray with the syringe on the little table as he stepped back, but only a few feet, watching her, licking the drying blood from his swelling lips. She looked away from him and turned the tap on, the screeching of the old metal soon replaced by the sound of running water. ‘I don’t want to get my clothes wet,’ she said.
He looked confused. ‘Don’t worry. Just wash your face for now.’
‘But I want to be properly clean for you,’ she insisted, calculating how best to play him. ‘I want to be as pure as I can for you. If you untie me I can take these clothes off, then I can wash everywhere.’
He felt his testicles begin to coil and tighten. The thought of watching her willingly undress and bathe in front of him, the water running down her slim body, following her curves, made him forget his caution. He stepped forward to untie her. But as he held her wrists he stopped, looking from Deborah to the pitiful figure crouched in the corner of the other cage, then back to Deborah. She sensed him hesitate. ‘You can watch,’ she told him. ‘You can watch me wash myself. I don’t mind.’
‘No,’ he said, stepping back. ‘It’s not safe for you yet. Some of their poison may still be in you.’
Deborah knew her face betrayed her disappointment and only hoped he misinterpreted it, that his sick mind actually thought she was saddened by his physical rejection. ‘You’re right,’ she lied. ‘Let’s be careful.’ She began to cup water in her bound hands, bringing it up to wash her face, trying to sense his position. Carefully she dabbed her fingers on to the bar of soap and pretended to massage it into her face. ‘Ow,’ she suddenly winced.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘My eyes,’ she complained. ‘I’ve got soap in my eyes. It really stings. I can’t see.’ He felt anxiety begin to creep up his spine, thin strands reaching through the bone and wrapping themselves around his spinal cord, transmitting the sense of panic to every sinew in his being, freezing him where he stood, smelling a trap, but unable to overcome his instinct to help the woman he loved. ‘Please,’ she implored him, ‘I need a towel. My eyes are really burning.’ Tears of frustration and sorrow blurred his vision and he moved towards her, snatching the towel from the screen and handing it to her searching fingers, smiling as she rubbed the cloth into her eyes, the pain clearly easing.
‘Is that better?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Thank-’ Deborah broke off mid-sentence, slamming her right knee into his groin. It connected with his testicles, bending him double. Memories of childhood fights with her brothers flooded back to her. Only this time she wouldn’t be pulling any punches — not when her life depended on winning. She drew her knee back again and launched it towards his face, aiming for the bridge of his nose. He saw it coming and moved just in time, but the knee still connected powerfully with the side of his face, splitting the inside of his cheek wide open and loosening several teeth. He coughed on the blood that ran down his throat and struggled to keep his bearings, feeling nails gouging and scratching at his eyes. By the time he realized the onslaught had stopped it was too late, the searing pain in the side of his neck replaced everything else, making him moan and whimper like a wounded animal. His hand shook as it moved to the source of his agony.
Deborah released the syringe, leaving it embedded in the side of his neck. She’d aimed for his jugular but missed, although she’d still forced the liquid into his body, praying that if it was an anaesthetic it would at least slow him down, even if she hadn’t pumped it straight into his bloodstream. The sight of him bloodied and wounded, pawing at the syringe that hung from his neck was both appalling and terrifying. Her will to survive was screaming at her to run before the tide turned, before his rage made him rise again with the strength of a madman, adrenalin driving him forward through his pain.
A woman’s voice cried out from behind her: ‘Get the key, Deborah. Get the key!’ Louise was clawing the wire of her cage door, trying to shake it open with what little strength she had left in her body after days without food or water. Deborah looked from the woman to the wounded beast crawling on the floor, still trying to pull the syringe from its neck. The muscles had constricted around the needle, making it difficult to budge. The smell of fresh air drifted down the stairs and into her face, fuelling the urge to run. ‘Hit him again and get me out of here. Deborah. Deborah,’ Louise screamed, sensing the other woman’s intentions.
‘I’m sorry,’ Deborah mouthed at her. ‘I’m so sorry …’ And then she ran. She ran past the wretch on the floor, who made a grab for her ankle, the touch of his damp skin making her squeal more than scream. But his grip was weak and he couldn’t stop her. When she got to the stairs, she tried to climb them three at a time, but her bound hands threw her off balance and she fell forward, both shins crashing into the harsh edge of a stone stair, the pain making her call out as she dragged herself back to her feet, running up the stairs again, trying to be more careful. Fear of what was behind her made her reckless and uncoordinated as she grew closer and closer to the oblong of light above, its brightness making the tears sting her eyes so painfully she had to close them. And all the while Louise’s voice screamed after her:
‘You fucking bitch. Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me here. I hope you die, you fucking bitch. I hope he fucking kills you. I hope he fucking kills you.’
The staircase felt like an unconquerable mountain as she stumbled up the last few stairs, slipping again, smashing her k
neecap, the pain as it fractured punching the remaining breath from her chest. Gripping the knee in both hands, she tried to squeeze the pain from it. Movement in her peripheral vision drew her eyes down into the darkness: a shape was emerging from the gloom below and beginning to climb the stairs, lolling from side to side, arms outstretched, feeling for the walls either side of the staircase as if drunk or blind, his head too heavy to lift. She didn’t have the strength to scream, the only sound that escaped her mouth was an exhausted whimper as she pulled herself to her feet, the injured knee rendering one leg little more than useless as she tried to run.
Deborah burst into the light, temporarily blinded by the bright sunshine, unable to see the sharp stones beneath her bare feet that cut through her thin skin. She staggered forward, her broken knee suddenly collapsing, her outstretched hands breaking the fall. As her vision returned she searched the door for a lock, but found only a flapping latch, the padlock that locked it missing, still down there, in the darkness with him, the darkness where she had abandoned Louise Russell to her fate. She slammed the door shut anyway and tried to run across the littered courtyard, unfamiliar objects making her trip and stumble. A jagged lump of concrete protruding from the ground caught the foot of her injured leg, sending a jolt of pain up through her bones and into the knee, dropping her to the floor. Barely able to see for tears, she searched the ground for a makeshift weapon or a crutch. Finding neither, she looked back to the cellar door. Despite all the pain and effort, she’d travelled less than twenty feet. Her scream shattered the quiet of the spring morning as the door burst open and her captor fell into the light, the syringe still obscenely protruding from his neck as he shook his head violently from side to side, trying to dispel the effects of the anaesthetic.
Squinting against the effects of the alfentanil and the sunlight, Keller steadied himself, his eyes drawn by the sudden movement of Deborah scrambling to her feet. He lunged towards her, swaying from side to side as he used the oil drums to steady himself, his prey little more than a hazy figure that seemed to his confused mind to be moving in slow motion, as if they were both trapped in a nightmare where they were running through treacle or glue.
But the gap between them was shrinking. Deborah’s injured knee couldn’t support her weight, so she hobbled, dragging it after her, on feet that were cut and bleeding from the stones and broken glass that littered the yard. Her eyes were frantically scanning the area for help, but there was no road with passing traffic, no neighbouring houses, just an ugly cottage that she instinctively knew was his home. She decided her only hope was to carry on along the uneven dirt road and hope that it would lead her away from this hell, but he was gaining on her, his unsteady footsteps louder. Still she kept moving, tears streaming from her eyes, until finally she sensed he was right behind her, fingers like tendrils reaching out to grab her.
Filling her lungs, Deborah readied herself for one desperate scream, but the searing pain that ripped into the base of her spine stole the last of her resistance and sent her crashing to the stony ground, the electricity from the stun-gun reverberating through every sinew of her body.
Hands clutched at her clothes and pulled her over on to her back. Her unblinking eyes fixed on the face hovering above her, contorted in a grimace of agony as he tugged at the syringe, the skin of his neck stretching until at last the metal spike came free. He threw it as far as he could, the momentum of his swinging arm throwing him off balance as the alfentanil continued to impede his motor-skills. He screamed a primeval yell into the bright, clear sky and dropped to his knees next to her, resting his head on her chest, his hand gently stroking her hair as he sobbed. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Sam,’ he whispered. ‘You shouldn’t listen to their lies. I’m the only one who really loves you. I’m the only one who really knows you. This is your home.’
The convulsions of the body underneath him gradually slowed, her arms and legs beginning to bend and move slightly as they came back to life, but her muscles were exhausted. She tried to push him off her, but her weak limbs made it seem more like an embrace. He lifted his head from her chest and moved towards her face. He wiped her tears and mucus away with his thumbs and began to kiss her face softly, each kiss lingering on her skin as if it would be the last kiss he ever gave, the salt of her sweat and tears making his bloodied lips sting and effervesce exquisitely, a sensation he’d never experienced before, except with her, except with Sam, so long ago he’d almost forgotten.
Pushing himself away, he slipped a hand under her and draped her arm over his shoulder, hauling her to her feet, but he had to bear most of her weight along with his own, dragging her back towards the cellar, her injured leg trailing behind them as they walked like two injured soldiers, one helping the other. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘before anyone sees you. Hold on to me. I won’t let you go. I promise I’ll never let you go.’ She wanted to push him away, to knock him to the floor and cave his skull in with the nearest brick or rock, but she couldn’t; her body was too weak from her injuries and the after-effects of the brutal electric shock, her adrenalin spent.
As they moved closer to the cellar door Deborah felt her numb body gradually coming back to life. Though still weak and slow to respond, her muscles were beginning to heed the commands of her mind. And while she was growing stronger, he was weakening, drained by the effort of dragging her. But if her recovery continued at its current pace she was afraid it would be too late to save her; she could picture the cage door slamming shut just as she felt strong enough to overpower him. As the doorway loomed in front of them, her jaw unfroze enough for her to mumble, ‘No,’ her free hand stretching out, fingers grasping and holding the door frame, jolting them both to a halt once the slack in her arm had been fully extended. ‘No,’ she repeated, her words becoming clearer. ‘Not down there, please.’ He pulled at her arm, but she wouldn’t let go, fear lending her strength.
Realizing he was running out of time and strength, but reluctant to use the stun-gun on her again and leave himself with a dead weight to carry down the stairs, Keller lashed out in blind panic, sinking his teeth into the fingers that were clutching the door frame. He bit hard and deep into her knuckles, the serrated ends of his sharp teeth gnawing at her skin and bones, the coppery taste of warm blood seeping across his tongue. The primal brutality of his actions seemed to fire life and strength into Keller. The louder she screamed, the harder he bit, his teeth struggling to find purchase on the slippery bones of her fingers, his throat pulsing as he swallowed the blood welling in his mouth.
Unable to hold on any longer, Deborah released her grip on the door frame, sending them both plunging through the doorway and down the first few stairs, their limbs tangled together like two erotic dancers, neither making a sound, neither calling out in pain as their bodies jarred and bounced off the hard steps that battered and bruised them as they fell. When they finally came to a stop, he was lying on top of her, his face millimetres from hers, their breath mixing together to make one sickly-sweet scent. For a second their eyes met, each as terrified as the other, an understanding between them that they were engaged in a fight for their lives.
Her blows came in a torrent, her legs and knees trapped under his, bucking and kicking as hard as they could, her weakly clenched fists pummelling the top and sides of his head, intermittently turning into scratching talons searching for his eyes. His skin burned with the searing pain of broken, jagged nails tearing at the soft flesh of his face. He squealed and screeched in pain, peering through the thin slits of his eyes, trying to catch her flailing arms by the wrists.
He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, not his beloved Sam, but she was clearly still full of their poison and her attempted escape and her renewed violence towards him had all but pushed his compassion away. It retreated into the depths of his soul, replaced by the anger that had always simmered so close to the surface. His fury gave him a new-found strength, his squeals turning into a roar as he gripped the hair on top of her head and dragged her mercilessly down the
stairs, backwards and head first, her backbone and ribs crunching into the edge of each step until at last the ground beneath her flattened out. Tightening his grip on her hair, he hauled her across the cellar floor, her good leg desperately trying to find purchase, to resist their progress. Her struggling jerked his shoulder, the pain increasing his anger. He pulled his foot back as far as he could without overbalancing and kicked her in the spine halfway down her back, the agony making her entire body arch. Inch by inch he dragged her closer to the cage that she’d escaped from only minutes earlier.
Words spluttered from her mouth, minute flecks of her blood and spit leaving a treasure trove of forensic evidence on his skin, clothes and hair, evidence that might one day bury her executioner, but meaningless to her now. ‘Please, you fucking animal, let me go, please. I won’t tell anyone, please. I’ll kill you, let me go or I swear I’ll kill you. Let me fucking go.’
Breaking his own rules of self-preservation, he backed into the cage first. Too tired to pull her in one fluid motion, he tried to do it bit by bit, yanking her by the hair, as if he was shifting an old trunk that was too heavy for him, ignoring the sounds of her scalp beginning to tear away from her skull. As he pulled her across the threshold of the wire cell and collapsed into a sitting position, her hands suddenly flew out and gripped the sides of the cage’s entrance, her eyes clenched tight shut against the agonizing pain in her scalp.
‘I won’t go in there! I won’t!’ she screamed, her pitch so high her words were barely intelligible, her knuckles turning white she gripped the frame. ‘No. No,’ she cried as he jerked at her hair, the intense pain only strengthening her grip on the frame of the cage’s door, fear of sinking into the abyss driving her determination to survive.
His strength was beginning to fail when he remembered that the stun-gun was still in his tracksuit pocket. Making sure that she was halfway inside the prison, he untangled his fingers from her hair and felt himself immediately being pulled towards the entrance, the woman’s strength surpassing his own now, inching them both back through the cage door. His hand thrust into his pocket and quickly found the small plastic box, euphoria and panic breaking over him in equal waves. There was no need to consider his next act. He knew this was his only chance. He pulled the stun-gun from his pocket and stabbed it into the side of her neck, pressing the dual control switches to fire the current into her body, forcing it against her skin far longer than he needed to subdue her as he watched her straight, stiff body convulse and writhe. Finally he stopped the flow of electricity and pulled the stun-gun away, thrusting it back in his pocket, no time to waste, letting go of her hair and grabbing her by the clothing around her shoulders. With one last effort he heaved her into the cage.
