The Collector

by John Fowles

  “Oh the poor thing,” she said.

  She came towards me, to look in. Just as I hoped.

  There’s no blood, I said, but it can’t move.

  Then she came round the end of the open back door, and I stood back as if to let her see. She bent forward to peer in, I flashed a look down the road, no one, and then I got her. She didn’t make a sound, she seemed so surprised, I got the pad I’d been holding in my pocket right across her mouth and nose, I caught her to me, I could smell the fumes, she struggled like the dickens, but she wasn’t strong, smaller even than I’d thought. She made a sort of gurgling. I looked down the road again, I was thinking this is it, she’ll fight and I shall have to hurt her or run away. I was ready to bolt for it. And then suddenly she went limp, I was holding her up instead of holding her quiet. I got her half into the van, then I jerked open the other door, got in and pulled her after me, then shut the doors quietly to. I rolled and lifted her on to the bed. She was mine, I felt suddenly very excited, I knew I’d done it. I put the gag on first, then I strapped her down, no hurry, no panic, like I planned. Then I scrambled into the driving seat. It all took not a minute. I drove up the road, not fast, slow and quiet, and turned to a place I’d noticed on Hampstead Heath. There I got into the back again, and did the tying up properly, with the scarves and everything, so that she wouldn’t be hurt, and so she couldn’t scream or bang the sides or anything. She was still unconscious, but she was breathing, I could hear her, as if she had catarrh, so I knew she was all right.

  Near Redhill I drove off the main road as planned and up a lonely side road and then got in the back to look at her. I laid a torch where it gave a bit of light and I could see. She was awake. Her eyes seemed very big, they didn’t seem frightened, they seemed proud almost, as if she’d decided not to be frightened, not at any price.

  I said, don’t be alarmed, I’m not going to hurt you. She remained staring at me.

  It was embarrassing, I didn’t know what to say. I said, are you all right, do you want anything, but it sounded silly. I really meant did she want to go outside.

  She began to shake her head. I could see she meant the gag was hurting.

  I said, we’re miles in the country, it’s no good screaming, if you do, I’ll put the gag straight back, do you understand?

  She nodded, so I undid the scarf. Before I could do anything she reached up as high as she could and sideways and she was sick. It was horrible. I could smell the chloroform and the sick. She didn’t say anything. She just groaned. I lost my head, I didn’t know what to do. I suddenly felt we had to get home as quick as possible, so I put the gag on again. She struggled, I heard her say under the cloth, no, no, it was horrible, but I made myself do it because I knew it was for the best in the end. Then I got into the driving-seat and on we went.

  We got here just after half past ten. I drove into the garage, went and looked about to make sure nothing had happened in my absence, not that I expected anything. But I didn’t want to spoil the ship for the little bit of tar. I went down to her room, everything was all right, not too stuffy because I’d left the door open. I slept in it one night before to see if there was enough air and there was. There were all the doings to make tea with and so on. It looked very snug and cosy.

  Well, at last the great moment was come. I went up to the garage and opened the back of the van. Like the rest of the operation it went according to plan. I got the straps off her, made her sit up, her legs and feet still bound of course. She kicked about for a moment, I was obliged to say that if she did not keep quiet I would have to resort to more of the chloro and CTC (which I showed), but that if she kept still I wouldn’t hurt her. That did the trick. I lifted her, she was not so heavy as I thought; I got her down quite easily; we did have a bit of a struggle at the door of her room, but there wasn’t much she could do then. I put her on the bed. It was done.

  Her face was white, some of the sick had gone on her navy jumper, she was a real sight; but her eyes weren’t afraid. It was funny. She just stared at me, waiting.

  I said, this is your room. If you do what I say, you won’t be hurt. It’s no good shouting. You can’t be heard outside and anyway there’s never anyone to hear. I’m going to leave you now, there’s some biscuits and sandwiches (I bought some in Hampstead) and if you want to make tea or cocoa. I’ll come back tomorrow morning, I said.

  I could see she wanted me to take the gag off, but I wouldn’t do it. What I did was I undid her arms and then immediately went back out; she struggled to get the gag off, but I got the door closed first and the bolts in. I heard her cry, come back! Then again but not loud. Then she tried the door, but not very hard. Then she began to bang on the door with something hard. I think it was the hairbrush. It didn’t sound much, anyhow I put the false shelf in and knew you wouldn’t hear anything outside. I stayed an hour in the outer cellar, just in case. It wasn’t necessary, there was nothing in her room she could have broken the door down with even if she had the strength, I bought all plastic cups and saucers and aluminium teapot and cutlery, etcetera.

  Eventually I went up and went to bed. She was my guest at last and that was all I cared about. I lay awake a long time, thinking about things. I felt a bit unsure the van would be traced, but there were hundreds of vans like that, and the only people I really worried about were those two women who passed.

  Well, I lay there thinking of her below, lying awake too. I had nice dreams, dreams where I went down and comforted her; I was excited, perhaps I went a bit far in what I gave myself to dream, but I wasn’t really worried, I knew my love was worthy of her. Then I went to sleep.

  After, she was telling me what a bad thing I did and how I ought to try and realize it more. I can only say that evening I was very happy, as I said, and it was more like I had done something very daring, like climbing Everest or doing something in enemy territory. My feelings were very happy because my intentions were of the best. It was what she never understood.

  To sum up, that night was the best thing I ever did in my life (bar winning the pools in the first place). It was like catching the Mazarine Blue again or a Queen of Spain Fritillary. I mean it was like something you only do once in a lifetime and even then often not; something you dream about more than you ever expect to see come true, in fact.

  I didn’t need the alarm, I was up before. I went down, locking the cellar door behind me. I’d planned everything, I knocked on her door and shouted please get up, and waited ten minutes and then drew the bolts and went in. I had her bag with me which I had searched, of course. There was nothing she could use except a nail-file and a razor-blade cutter which I removed.

  The light was on, she was standing by the armchair. She’d got all her clothes on and she stared at me again, no sign of fear, bold as brass she was. It’s funny, she didn’t look quite like I’d always remembered her. Of course I’d never seen her so close before.

  I said, I hope you slept well.

  “Where is this, who are you, why have you brought me here?” She said it very coldly, not at all violent.

  I can’t tell you.

  She said, “I demand to be released at once. This is monstrous.”

  We just stood staring at each other.

  “Get out of the way. I’m going to leave.” And she came straight towards me, towards the door. But I didn’t budge. I thought for a minute she was going to attack me, but she must have seen it was silly. I was determined, she couldn’t have won. She stopped right up close to me and said, “Get out of the way.”

  I said, you can’t go yet. Please don’t oblige me to use force again.

  She gave me a fierce cold look, then she turned away. “I don’t know who you think I am. If you think I’m somebody rich’s daughter and you’re going to get a huge ransom, you’ve got a shock coming.”

  I know who you are, I said. It’s not money.

  I didn’t know what to say, I was so excited, her there at last in the flesh. So nervous. I want
ed to look at her face, at her lovely hair, all of her all small and pretty, but I couldn’t, she stared so at me. There was a funny pause.

  Suddenly she said accusing like, “And don’t I know who you are?”

  I began to go red, I couldn’t help it, I never planned for that, I never thought she would know me.

  She said slowly, “Town Hall Annexe.”

  I said, I don’t know what you mean.

  “You’ve got a moustache,” she said.

  I still don’t know how she knew. She saw me a few times in the town, I suppose, perhaps she saw me out of the windows of their house sometimes, I hadn’t thought of that, my mind was all in a whirl.

  She said, “Your photo was in the paper.”

  I’ve always hated to be found out, I don’t know why, I’ve always tried to explain, I mean invent stories to explain. Suddenly I saw a way out.

  I said, I’m only obeying orders.

  “Orders,” she said. “Whose orders?”

  I can’t tell you.

  She would keep staring at me. Keeping her distance, too. I suppose she thought I would attack her.

  “Whose orders?” she said again.

  I tried to think of someone. I don’t know why, the only name I could think of she might know was Mr. Singleton. He was the manager of the Barclays. I knew her father banked there. I saw him several times in there when I was, and talking with Mr. Singleton.

  Mr. Singleton’s orders, I said.

  She looked really amazed, so I went on quick. I’m not meant to tell you, I said, he’d kill me if he knew.

  “Mr. Singleton?” she said, as if she wasn’t hearing properly.

  He’s not what you think, I said.

  Suddenly she sat down on the arm of the armchair, like it was all too much for her. “You mean Mr. Singleton ordered you to kidnap me?”

  I nodded.

  “But I know his daughter. He’s … oh, it’s mad,” she said.

  Do you remember the girl in Penhurst Road?

  “What girl in Penhurst Road?”

  The one that disappeared three years ago.

  It was something I invented. My mind was really quick that morning. So I thought.

  “I was probably away at school. What happened to her?”

  I don’t know. Except he did it.

  “Did what?”

  I don’t know. I don’t know what happened to her. But he did it, whatever it was. She’s never been heard of since.

  Suddenly she said, “Have you got a cigarette?”

  I was all awkward, I got a packet out of my pocket and my lighter and went and passed them to her. I didn’t know if I ought to light her cigarette, but it seemed silly.

  I said, you haven’t eaten anything.

  She held the cigarette, very ladylike, between her fingers. She’d cleaned the jumper up. The air was stuffy.

  She took no notice. It was funny. I knew she knew I was lying.

  “You’re telling me that Mr. Singleton is a sex maniac and he kidnaps girls and you help him?”

  I said, I have to. I stole some money from the bank, I’d go to prison if they found out, he holds it over me, you see.

  All the time she was staring at me. She had great big clear eyes, very curious, always wanting to find out. (Not snoopy, of course.)

  “You won a lot of money, didn’t you?”

  I knew what I said was confused. I felt all hot and bothered.

  “Why didn’t you pay back the money then? What was it—seventy thousand pounds? You didn’t steal all that? Or perhaps you just help him for the fun of it?”

  There’s other things I can’t tell you. I’m in his power.

  She stood up with her hands in her skirt pockets. She stared at herself in the mirror (metal, of course, not glass) for a change.

  “What’s he going to do to me?”

  I don’t know.

  “Where is he now?”

  He’ll be coming. I expect.

  She said nothing for a minute. Then she suddenly looked as if she’d thought of something nasty, what I said might be true sort of thing.

  “Of course. This must be his house in Suffolk.”

  Yes, I said, thinking I was clever.

  “He hasn’t got a house in Suffolk,” she said, all cold.

  You don’t know, I said. But it sounded feeble.

  She was going to speak but I felt I had to stop her questions, I didn’t know she was so sharp. Not like normal people.

  I came to ask you what you’d like for breakfast, there’s cereal, eggs, etcetera.

  “I don’t want any breakfast,” she said. “This horrid little room. And that anaesthetic. What was it?”

  I didn’t know it would make you sick. Really.

  “Mr. Singleton should have told you.” You could see she didn’t believe it about him. She was being sarcastic.

  I said in a hurry, would you like tea or coffee and she said coffee, if you drink some first, so with that I left her and went out to the outer cellar. Just before I shut the door she said, “You’ve forgotten your lighter.”

  I’ve got another. (I hadn’t.)

  “Thank you,” she said. It was funny, she almost smiled.

  I made the Nescafe and I took it in and she watched me drink some and then she drank some. All the time she asked questions, no, all the time I felt she might ask a question, she’d come out quickly with a question to try and catch me. About how long she had to stay, why I was being so kind to her. I made up answers, but I knew they sounded feeble, it wasn’t easy to invent quickly with her. In the end I said I was going into the shops and she was to tell me what she wanted. I said I’d buy anything she wanted.

  “Anything?” she said.

  In reason, I said.

  “Mr. Singleton told you to?”

  No. This is from me.

  “I just want to be set free,” she said. I couldn’t get her to say anything more. It was horrible, she suddenly wouldn’t speak, so I had to leave her.

  She wouldn’t speak again at lunch. I cooked the lunch in the outer cellar and took it in. But hardly any of it was eaten. She tried to bluff her way out again, cold as ice she was, but I wasn’t having any.

  That evening after her supper, which she likewise didn’t eat much, I went and sat by the door. For some time she sat smoking, with her eyes shut, as if the sight of me tired her eyes.

  “I’ve been thinking. All you’ve told me about Mr. Singleton is a story. I don’t believe it. He’s just not that sort of man, for one thing. And if he was, he wouldn’t have you working for him. He wouldn’t have made all these fantastic preparations.”

  I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t look at her.

  “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble. All those clothes in there, all these art books. I added up their cost this afternoon. Forty-three pounds.” It was like she was talking to herself. “I’m your prisoner, but you want me to be a happy prisoner. So there are two possibilities: you’re holding me to ransom, you’re in a gang or something.”

  I’m not. I told you.

  “You know who I am. You must know my father’s not rich or anything. So it can’t be ransom.”

  It was uncanny, hearing her think it out.

  “The only other thing is sex. You want to do something to me.” She was watching me.

  It was a question. It shocked me.

  It’s not that at all. I shall have all proper respect. I’m not that sort. I sounded quite curt.

  “Then you must be mad,” she said. “In a nice kind way, of course.”

  “You admit that the Mr. Singleton story is not true?”

  I wanted to break it gently, I said.

  “Break what?” she asked. “Rape? Murder?”

  I never said that, I answered. She always seemed to get me on the defensive. In my dreams it was always the other way round.

  “Why am I here?”

  I want you to be my guest.
>
  “Your guest!”

  She stood up and walked round the armchair and leant against the back, eyes on me all the time. She’d taken her blue jumper off, she stood there in a dark green tartan dress, like a schoolgirl tunic, with a white blouse open at the throat. Her hair swept back into the pigtail. Her lovely face. She looked brave. I don’t know why, I thought of her sitting on my knees, very still, with me stroking her soft blonde hair, all out loose as I saw it after.

  Suddenly I said, I love you. It’s driven me mad.

  She said, “I see,” in a queer grave voice.

  She didn’t look at me any more then.

  I know it’s old-fashioned to say you love a woman, I never meant to do it then. In my dreams it was always we looked into each other’s eyes one day and then we kissed and nothing was said until after. A chap called Nobby in R.A.P.C. who knew all about women, always said you shouldn’t ever tell a woman you loved her. Even if you did. If you had to say “I love you,” you said it joking—he said that way it kept them after you. You had to play hard to get. The silly thing was I told myself a dozen times before I mustn’t tell her I loved her, but let it come naturally on both sides. But when I had her there my head went round and I often said things I didn’t mean to.

  I don’t mean I told her everything. I told her about working in the Annexe and seeing her and thinking about her and the way she behaved and walked and all she’d meant to me and then having money and knowing she’d never look at me in spite of it and being lonely. When I stopped she was sitting on the bed looking at the carpet. We didn’t speak for what seemed a long time. There was just the whir of the fan in the outer cellar.

  I felt ashamed. All red.

  “Do you think you’ll make me love you by keeping me prisoner?”

  I want you to get to know me.

  “As long as I’m here you’ll just be a kidnapper to me. You know that?”

  I got up. I didn’t want to be with her any more.

  “Wait,” she said, coming towards me, “I’ll make a promise. I understand. Really. Let me go. I’ll tell no one, and nothing will happen.”