Flee

by Caroline Gebbie

  She wanted to scream and shout but she felt weak and tired and slumped back down. The room was cold, her legs and buttocks were numb and sore from contact with the abrasive concrete and her feet ached. They felt like they had been beaten. Reaching down, she rubbed them, the movement difficult in the confines of the chains. They felt a little better. She adjusted herself on the floor, pulling the short black skirt down as far as it would go. Her considerable bulk caused her to pant with the effort. Hauling backwards, she leaned against the wall. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm the pounding in her head. She had to think of what she could do, how she could escape.

  Though panic clawed at her chest, she knew she must be calm. She had been on a course for workers in her trade who got into trouble. The main thing she learnt was to stay calm. All they had said for two very boring days was keep calm and you may find a way out of things. She took in a deep breath and held it. She would get out of this, she had to. Her head was still pounding and she closed her eyes, telling herself over and over keep calm, keep calm. She rested like this for a minute, the pain reduced and her breath returned. Only the cold floor and chains caused her discomfort. She knew she would be missed, but did anyone see her attacker, and would anyone talk?

  Opening her eyes, she noticed the Aldona’s feet. Beautiful black leather boots and elegant ankles, stood before her. The leather was really good quality. She loved shoes and for a second wanted to touch the boots. Shaking her head, she remembered this was not a shopping trip. Slowly, she looked up, working up the woman’s body. More leather, all that same texture. It looked so real it could almost be alive. The leather clung to the woman’s body supple and tight like a second skin, she felt a stab of envy at the figure before her. Gradually, she lifted her eyes over the hourglass waist, across the ample breasts, till she was gazing into her penetrating eyes.

  “I’m Mary, can you help me?” she asked.

  “My name is Aldona, you are my treat.” The woman licked her finger nail, sucking on it hungrily.

  “I don’t know what you mean. Some crazy guy brought me here and I have to escape.” Don’t use inflammatory language. Let her know you are a person, she remembered from the course. “I have to get back. My daughter Sara will miss me.”

  “You are lovely, just the right size for my needs.” The Aldona stood in front of her and raised her left hand. Mary rose off the ground to come upright in front of the woman.

  Eyes wide with terror, she struggled against the force holding her. “Let me go, you bitch.” She thrashed her head side to side as tears formed in her eyes. Her body would not move. She hung there, two feet off the ground, as high as the chains would allow. “Let me go, please don’t hurt me. I have a daughter. She’s called Sara. She’s only three. You have to let me go.” Mary watched as the Aldona reached out towards her. She was mesmerized by the athletic arm with its black finger nails that were manicured to perfection. The hand touched her chin. Mary felt a shiver run down her spine and she whimpered in fear. “Please, don’t hurt me, I won’t tell, Please.”

  “Who’s there?” Doris’s voice echoed from across the cellar.

  “My name’s Mary, can you help me?”

  “I’m Doris. Hold on Mary, we will get out of this.”

  Mary screamed as the hand caressed her chin and slid down her throat, squeezing. She choked as the hand constricted her neck and screamed again as it travelled down and across her ample breasts. The Aldona squeezed her right breast. Mary gasped in pain and fear, shaking with effort as she tried to move her body.

  “Get away from me,” she screamed, tears streaming down her pink, chubby cheeks, cutting a route through the hastily applied foundation.

  “Quiet now.” Aldona waved her right hand, and Mary’s mouth closed, her screams muffled.

  Her eyes moved in terror, wide, staring, her body shaking with the effort to move.

  Aldona traced her hand over her abdomen, squeezing the rolls of fat as she went.

  Mary felt the touch, her heart so fast it caused pain in her chest. She feared she may have a heart attack as a sharp pain ran down her chest. The hand dropped further, towards her waist band, pulling the thin material of her top free. She felt the cold on her tummy as it poked out from the top. A tear dripped down her cheek and fell landing on the paunch. Her lips trembled as tears continued to flow. Trapped inside of her own body, the fear was intensified by her being unable to move.

  She felt the hand, flat on her stomach squeezing the fat, smooth and silky on her skin. Then it slid up and a finger found a hollow deep inside her rolls of fat. The digit poked into her belly button, wiggling round inside the corpulent rolls. It pushed hard, causing her to gasp. The sharp nail drew a spot of blood. Then she slid the finger out.

  “I’m looking for your Lymph node, Mary,” Aldona said, her head cocked to one side. “It’s about two inches right of your belly button. Actually they are all over, but this is my favorite one with big girls.” She ran her finger from the belly button, over the obese skin. She pressed in with her nail and it left a thin line of blood where she scraped across the flesh, until she found the right spot.

  Mary panicked. Her throat ached, her breath was fast and harsh, and she could feel her heart pounding faster and more painfully in her chest. She felt a pain develop in her left arm. She forced herself to relax; afraid she would die if she did not. She had been warned, her doctor had told her about stress. Told her she may die if she didn’t control her blood pressure. She prayed in her mind, Oh Lord deliver me from evil.

  The nail found the right spot. Aldona watched Mary as a spider would watch a dying fly. She pushed into the skin circling until she was sure, then the nail extended penetrating thought the fat, through layers of tissue, into her stomach finding the lymph node and locking there. Mary screamed deep inside her prison, terrified as the pain almost caused her to pass out. She actually longed to pass out, to let this pain be over.

  “Hold on, Mary, we are getting out of this,” Doris called. “Hold on, she won’t kill you. She needs us.”

  Mary felt waves of nausea wash over her, felt herself weakening. She watched as the Aldona leaned back. Her skin glowed in the dark and her eyes closed as she fed on the lymphatic fluid of the trapped prostitute.

  Mary screamed inside, her words a mere mumble as the fluid drained from her. Mary’s pulse slowed, she seemed to be drifting, floating on a cloud it was so nice. No, something was wrong, she knew she must hold on, had to get home to Sara but she was tired it would not hurt to rest just a moment. She passed out, held upright only by the power of the Aldona.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jenny stretched and snuggled down into the luxurious covers. Warmth and comfort cocooned her in their hypnotic grasp. She sighed deeply, not yet fully awake, and blissful in her semi consciousness. But then a knife seemed to pierce her heart as she remembered what had happened. The grief was like a weight on her chest, it forced the air from her lungs and she gasped with pain. She did not want to believe this, and tears welled like hot salt in her eyes. The urge to lie down, to cover her head and wail was almost beyond her, but she could not, would not. Not while her parent’s killer roamed loose.

  She sat up in the bed, the covers thrown back as if they were to blame. Where was Rosie, usually the dog would have shoved her wet nose into Jenny’s face as soon as she heard her move. Would stand there her body shaking with joy and anticipation but the dog was nowhere to be seen. “Rosie.” Jenny stumbled out of bed. A wave of dizziness forced her to sit back down. The feeling got worse and she lay back on the comfortable bed. Annoyed that she could be lying here, with everything that had happened, she tried again to rise. The room spun crazily before her, and she fell back to the bed. What was going on? She moved her head gingerly, fighting the nausea that threatened, and glanced at her watch. It was ten a.m. Maybe Robert had taken Rosie for a walk. She lay still for a minute, eyes closed, struggling for control. Eventually the feeling passed and then she gingerly sat up. Not too bad. Her head wa
s pounding and she swayed slightly, but she was able to move, albeit slowly. Gently she pulled on her clothes, deciding it must be a lack of food. She headed out of the room.

  She stumbled into the kitchen. Still no one appeared to be in the house. Her head still pounded and her body wanted to sleep it took all her effort to stand. She downed a glass of water and looked for some aspirin. Each time she moved, she swayed wildly and had to constantly grab the counter to stay upright. The room seemed overly bright, painful to her eyes. She stumbled to the fridge, opening it. More light assaulted her eyes, and she cringed back. An egg custard looked forlorn on the top shelf, and she reached down for it, almost stumbling. She nibbled on it while she filled the kettle. All would feel better after a cup of tea. Then she noticed Rosie’s lead hanging over the back of a chair. Robert would not have taken her out without her lead. What if she didn’t come back last night? Panic seized Jenny’s heart. Rosie was her rock, and all she had left. Where was she?

  “Robert? Rosie? Come on, girl.” Jenny’s words seemed to echo in the empty house. She grabbed a coat and stepped into the garden, her tea forgotten. Roberts’s car was in the drive, so she walked across to it. The garden usually filled her with its quiet beautiful, but this morning it looked windswept and forlorn. Reaching the car, she tried the door, but it was locked.

  “Rosie? Rosie, where are you?”

  Jenny walked around the car, looking for any sign, of where they might be. She noticed the mobile in a hands free kit on the right of the steering wheel. Robert told her his mobile was stolen. Now why would he do that?

  The garden seemed empty, eerily like a post apocalyptic world. She shook herself to chase away her paranoia. Sighing, she walked around the side of the house, still calling for Rosie. Before her was an empty garage. She blinked and leant against the wall as another spell of nausea took her. The garage was hidden by the house and she had not known it was there. The door stood open, dust marks showed where a car had been parked. The tracks were too small for the huge Mercedes. So Robert had another car. Where could he have gone? She looked around the garage, picking up a hammer, but there was nothing there to show where he may be.

  “Damn.” Turning, she exited the garage and felt a wave of despair descend on her. What now? She walked back around the front of the house and spied the tracks in the damp grass, across to the conifers with the hidden door. Setting off across the grass, her feet soon wet, she scoured the garden. All looked normal. It really was a beautiful garden. The Gunnera that spooked her last night towered beside a wildlife pond. Huge roses climbed up the back wall, their scent heavy on the damp air. Papavers, dianthus, flowers of all colors, sizes and shapes filled the borders. She started to feel a little better. What could have gone wrong in this sleepy village? There must be an explanation.

  She reached the conifers. In the daylight she could see how well they hid the door. They appeared to be planted directly in front of the wall. It bent out very slightly just behind them, allowing just enough room for a person to squeeze through.

  She squeezed into the gap, and walked back to the door. Seeing the hole Rosie had started to dig, and scratch marks on the door, she called, “Rosie, where are you?”

  She tried the door again, and got that same buzzing in her hand. This time she held on and pushed at the door. Nothing. It would not budge. “Damn.”

  She backed out of the gap and headed back to the house, mind made up.

  Roberts’s keys were on the counter where he always left them. She rushed out to his car. Feeling shamefaced, she unlocked the Mercedes and retrieved the mobile, thankful it had power. She keyed in Simon’s number whilst heading back to her room.

  Closing the door, the phone ringing in her ear, she sat down on the unmade bed. The bright room was oppressive rather than merry as the phone continued to ring. “Come on, please answer.”

  “Hello?”

  “Simon, thank God I got hold of you.”

  “Jenny, it’s so good to hear you. Where are you?”

  Without hesitation, it all spilled out of her. “I’m at Robert’s, Rosie’s missing and Robert’s gone, but his cars in the drive.”

  “You need to get away from Robert, where is your car?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Take Roberts and come to me.”

  “Simon, I can’t. Not without Rosie.”

  “Where did you last see her?”

  “She was in the garden digging at some door. She must have gone back there. The ground is all scratched. I think I’m going to force the door.”

  “Jenny, be careful. I think Robert is the killer. You must stay away from him.”

  “He can’t be. He was with me when the killer left the house.”

  “This is hard to explain, but if he sacrificed your father he would be very powerful. He would have the ability to appear before you, as what we call ‘a glamour’ -- giving him enough time to get to you physically. You would never know it was just an illusion.”

  Jenny seemed to fall forward as the shock hit her. Robert murdered her parents, took her phone and stopped her talking to anyone. He’d been playing her all along.

  “Rosie has been suspicious of him. Why didn’t I realize?”

  “Look, Jenny, listen carefully. The police want to speak to you. I’m going to ring them now, tell them where you are. I have to do a few things then I will come over to Louth and pick you up from the police station. Don’t worry about Rosie. She’s strong. We will find her together.”

  Time seemed to stop. What should she do? “I remember something about you... Mum told me something, what was it?”

  “I am your Sponsor. It’s a bit like a godparent, only not religious. It’s my duty to protect you, and I am bound to not harm you. In fact, if I harm you or let you be harmed, it weakens me. Your mum was a wise woman. She protected you, even against your father.”

  “You can’t be my godparent, we’re the same age. And what do you mean, protected me against my father? Dad would never have harmed me.”

  “Listen, Jenny, this is not the time for explanations. I have to get to you, Robert will come back. When this is all over, I’ll explain everything. Now get in his car and get to the police. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  The line was already dead. Jenny sat on the bed, staring at the phone. Her head seemed to spin. Making contact with Simon was a huge relief, but where was Rosie? Was she hurt? Was Robert really a killer? She could not believe it. She slipped the phone into her jeans pocket and headed back to the garage.

  Hanging on the side of its immaculate walls was a neat arrangement of tools. The fastidious Robert’s garage was as tidy as his office, every item had a place. She scanned the walls all the tools were there, nothing was missing, and nothing was even dirty. To one side she saw what she needed, a crow bar. She retrieved it and ran across the damp grass to the conifers and that infernal door. Squeezing into the gap, crow bar in hand, she spotted the cricket bat, lying just under the trees. She picked the bat up and noticed a smudge of hair and a speck of dried blood. The hair was brown, short, with a couple of ginger ones running through it. She dropped the bat and a cry of anguish escaped her lips.

  She pushed the bar into the door, close to the lock and applied her full weight. The wood creaked and moved a fraction of an inch. Removing the bar and applying it further down, she tried again, leaning against it with all her strength. The door moved the wood beginning to crack. She gave one more huge effort and the lock split away from the wood sending splinters flying towards her. She ducked down instinctively but as she looked back the lock hung down allowing the door to open. Jenny pulled it back and peered around, seeing the steps leading down into the dark cellar below. Should she leave, as Simon advised? A sliver of fear appeared in her stomach. The steps disappeared into gloom and a foul smell rose from below. She turned. She could get the police, let them come and help, but if Rosie was hurt that could be too late.

  She stood on the step, her head aching as fear, worry and grie
f rang hammers against her skull. What should she do?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Alex drove down the narrow streets of the quaint market town. The Renault Scenic was smaller than he was used to and handled the tight turns easier than he expected. It was a bright, almost sickly green in color, and he worried that it may stand out, drawing attention when he wished to stay hidden. Yet almost as soon as he left the car park, he spotted another similar car. He could still feel the blood rush from the nurse and his guilt clouded his mind and darkened his mood. He needed to think. With Helen dead, why should he go on? A cry escaped his lips as a deep pain seemed to rip out his heart. Helen had been his savior. She had loved him from the moment they met.

  It had been her strength that had allowed him to quit his addiction to Aldona. She had taught him how to use magic for good, her own god Sophana, was less aggressive than the demanding Aldona. They still did sacrifices, and they gained wealth, but it was much less addictive and much less damaging than the magic he had practiced. Helen had been his strength, sitting with him when the shakes of withdrawal had forced him to scream in misery. She stood by him when he slipped, believed in him when he didn’t. But most of all, she loved him, and was always there with a kind word and an offer of support. And her smile, it brightened any room, bringing warmth and joy into his life.

  His heart ached knowing he would never see her again, never hold her hand or caress her silky smooth skin, that her humor was gone forever. He swerved violently, throwing the little car over to the side of the road, and succumbed to tears. He sat there for a long time and allowed his grief to come; knowing that soon he must put it to one side and find out what Robert was up to.