by Lee Kerr
I hear the main door open and feel thankful that the alcohol has finally arrived. I decide that I’ll down two glasses and do all I can to keep the memory alive of my darling young man. It should just about be enough to get me through the next half an hour or so.
I move to the door and wait for the attendant to leave. The leather gimp mask and assorted tools are no doubt laid out on the bed, and although I have a good idea of what they will have seen, I can at least choose not to let myself become a face in this desperate tale. The room service attendant will no doubt tell everyone about it but I will just be thought of as the secret mistress; a dirty little title without any real identity.
I suddenly hear a thud and I wonder what has happened now. I lean my ear against the door, wondering if they have already left. ‘Stan?’ I shout.
‘I’m not Stan,’ this voice says, sounding like it is coming from just the other side of the bathroom door.
I push myself away, back towards the toilet. I wait, and I say nothing more, realising that this dark voice matches the one I heard on the phone.
The handle slowly moves, making its way down until it’s stopped by the lock.
I gasp, finding a boundary he is willing to push. ‘Stan? Is that you? Stop playing around.’
The handle returns to its safe place. ‘I told you, I’m not Stan.’
I feel scared, and involuntarily let out a whimper. I dial 999 and think about what I can say, ready to whisper, knowing that the precious lock won’t help me for long. No one answers my call, no one seems to care. An automated message tells me that all lines are busy and that, wherever possible, I should seek local help and medical assistance. I try Antonio again but it won’t connect to him, either.
I look around the bathroom and then at the base of the door, watching for a shadow that isn’t there. I take a brave step forward and put my ear back to the wood, listening for Stan or for anything that will give me a clue as to what’s outside. I picture the path to the main door in my head and I think about whether I can make it out of here. Thinking of the bright new world that I am going to create with Antonio spurs me forward; I won’t let circumstances or the actions of others hold me back any more. I take a deep breath, tuck my hairspray can under my dressing gown, and then unlock the door.
When I step into the room I see Stan on the bed, tied up with the gimp mask on. I think that maybe it was him all along, and that the person who delivered the champagne is long gone. I consider heading to the bed to take part in whatever new fantasy my husband has created. My overworked mind has obviously been creating nightmares. But then I think about that voice, so out of place for the world created by this hotel and this brand, and so I immediately check my path to the door.
I soon realise that it was not just my imagination, seeing that the coffee table, sofa and chest of drawers are all lined up against my only way out, creating a barricade. I let out another whimper, feeling there is someone behind me.
‘Do you like what I’ve done to your place?’
I turn around to see a man standing in front of me. He’s middle-aged, bald, and his blood-red eyes tell me more than I ever want to know. I step away but he moves closer. I look at him, trying to take in as much as possible, hoping that within the hour I will be reciting this in a witness statement to the police, who will have traced my call and come to my aid. He’s wearing a suit jacket but I notice that underneath is a pair of jeans and a ripped t-shirt. The jacket is covered in red splashes, which I keep telling myself cannot be blood.
My heart beats faster with every little detail I take in. The name badge that says ‘Robert’ and the title underneath that states ‘Manager’. I step back further and think about how much damage a blast of hairspray could do to his eyes, and whether that would give me enough time to pull all the furniture out of my way. Only in the last few seconds of my simple plan do I give Stan any thought. I make one quick glance his way and silently tell him that he’s on his own; it was always going to happen, although I never would have dreamt up this situation in my worst nightmares.
‘I think these places are far too orderly,’ the man says, throwing a chair across the room. ‘I think a little chaos is exactly what we need in times like these.’
I hold my hands out. ‘Please,’ I say, my eyes filling up and my whole body shaking.
‘Just come here,’ he says, his own arms spread out like he’s offering some sort of silent assurance that he won’t hurt me.
I don’t believe him and so I take my chance, the only one I may get, and pull out the hairspray. I quickly aim at his eyes and press the top of canister. It’s a new can, bought especially for my new life, and I let it all go now. It jets out a mist towards him and I hold down, firing as much of it as I can. It seems to work: he staggers backwards and starts rubbing his eyes. It’s enough for me to grab my chance as I turn and start pulling at things. I claw at whatever I can get my hands on, frantically pulling at the solid, luxury furnishings, whilst screaming as loud as possible that someone needs to help me.
I start to see that I won’t be able to clear a path before he recovers and I realise that I have made a mistake: I should have hit him with something. I quickly turn, looking around for the heaviest thing I can pick up. It proves too late as I find him in front of me. I step backwards but he grabs me and smacks my head.
‘You clever little bitch,’ he says, before smashing our heads together. A daze falls over me as I realise that I’m on the floor and he is dragging me. I feel him lifting my body as I land on a sofa, the one nearest to the bed, and then I feel his breath on me. He is licking his way up my chin and across my face. ‘I like the creative ones. The better the fight, the less pain I will cause you in the end, you have my promise on that.’
We are both disturbed by Stan as he suddenly moves and I hear the muffled screams coming through that thick mask. His naked body struggles, so obviously fighting against the restraints.
The man looks over at him. ‘Oh, he’s finally awake. I assume I was about to interrupt something between you.’
‘No,’ I say, my desperate head shaking. ‘I was going to stay in the bathroom whilst we have guests. Two other men are coming over and they’ll be here soon. It’s what he likes.’
He turns towards me and punches me in the face, before jumping up and grabbing at his head and rubbing his eyes, like he’s trying to make sense of this as much as I am. ‘What a lie! You and I both know that no one is coming. Have you not seen the shit-storm out there?’
I shake my head as I try to make sense of where the pain is coming from, whilst tears flow freely down my cheeks. ‘Please let us go and I promise I’ll give you money.’
His thick hand is suddenly around my throat as he pushes hard against my skin. ‘Oh, I bet you can. All you fuckers have now is your money. You live your lives of debauchery and promiscuity while the rest of society goes to hell, and then you think it is your money that will save you.’ He pushes harder, forcing the back of my head deeper into the soft fabric of the sofa. ‘Why should people like you survive all that’s coming?’
‘No, we’re just like you,’ I say, as he releases my grip a little. ‘We won the lottery. We’re collecting our winnings tomorrow. We can split it with you, I promise.’
He grabs my arm, and a knife appears from nowhere. ‘You’re nothing like me,’ he says and slices my pale flesh like it’s raw chicken on a board.
I scream out before the pain even registers in my mind. It’s not long before he has me pinned close to the sofa, his hand around my throat again. ‘When you get that money I already see what you two will become. You’ll join them – the ranks of the so-called elite. You new-money people are even more clueless than the wealthy fuckers out there now, earning all those bonuses just for screwing over the little guy.’
I try to shake my head, hoping that this will allow me to take in some air. I look at his name badge again and I wonder why the manager of a hotel is doing this.
He catches me looking and laughs. �
��I’m not Robert. The last time I saw him he was slumped in his chair with blood flowing out of his neck and down to his shiny boots and his immaculate beige carpet. A fitting end for a tool of capitalism, don’t you think? He will no longer do his masters’ bidding – keeping you people in a state of luxury that you don’t deserve, whilst the rest of us fight in the arena of the real world.’ He pulls a sock out of his pocket and stuffs it into my mouth as my answer; my pleading and begging seem of no interest to him. He pushes it down deeper until my mouth is filled with the tinge of iron.
‘Sorry about the blood, but I didn’t think Robert would need these anymore.’ He leaps up and looks down at me, his face calm, and the knife still in his hand. ‘Now, you stay there and observe. If you play nicely I will end you quickly, just as soon as we finish making love.’
It’s too much to imagine, too much pain to endure after a lifetime of regrets, and so I scream out, my hands pulling at his sock until welcome air fills my lungs.
I see the rage swell in his eyes as he quickly leans back down and punches me. He hits me again and again until I stop moving. I sit quietly this time, letting him stuff the sock back in my mouth without resisting, as he uses the other one to bind my hands together. I don’t dare fight back and I don’t even think about the end that will come. I think only of Antonio and how, at any cost, I must get out of here and find my way back to him.
The man soon leaves me and makes his way to the bed. I watch my husband as he registers the weight of someone else next to him, and then starts wriggling and struggling. He runs the cold blade up Stan’s thigh and around his wrinkly testicles, making the sounds coming through the mask even more desperate. I know this is a scream like no other; nothing like any of the noises I have ever heard him make. I have helped my husband become primal many times, his wildest kinks simply a mindless chore for me, but I have never before heard a noise like this.
Our intruder lets out a laugh, and I realise that he has been observing me as I watch my husband. ‘I think you both enjoy this.’
I shake my head, desperately trying to tell him that I am not enjoying this, and that I have never enjoyed these moments. I think back to the hundreds of times I have been forced to tie him up, as tight as I possibly can, making escape near impossible. I remember the countless whines and moans he would make as I worked his cock to a climax, always making sure none of it hit me. Then I would quietly release a restraint, always just one, leaving the rest to him as I retire to a long, lonely bath. I thought that life was nearly over for me, but now it’s on show for someone else to see, someone who believes I actually got happiness from it. I think of those decades of silent bitterness, always hoping for escape, always held back by having no money.
‘I shouldn’t be cruel, your husband clearly has some needs,’ he says, putting the knife down next to one of Stan’s legs.
My heart starts to slow down, just a little. He seems to relax; his movements with the blade become just that little less sinister. He starts to run his finger down Stan’s chest, first teasing his nipples and then ending on his belly button. He plays with Stan’s floppy cock and strokes his hairy, grey pubes as if it's just the two of them, together in this new nightmare. I soon realise that he’s doing a better job than I have done in the last couple of decades. I huff, almost involuntarily, when I see his cock jerk. Only Stan, my pathetic husband, could eventually get some kicks out of this.
‘I think he likes it,’ the man says, grinning over at me.
I don’t say anything but sure enough, Stan’s cock grows and I see him reach his lowest point in all our long years together.
The man seems absorbed in this moment, giving my husband all the attention he has lacked from me since the day he first brought home the harnesses that would chain me as much as they would him. I silently watch, forced to endure all of Stan’s moans and noises. He’s not really here anymore and I know that it no longer matters who has hold of him. His dark world is a simple one; a few sensations and the power of his imagination are all he needs to get off now.
‘Is that it?’ the intruder asks, his hand enveloping the entire girth of my man.
I say nothing, thinking only about Antonio, thinking about how even in Stan’s youth he was nothing compared to the man I have now, the one I desperately need to find and keep.
‘Is it?’ he shouts, pulling Stan’s cock as he makes his demands of me.
I make my muffled ‘yes’ through the fabric that still restrains me, as I look at what is presented before me and realise how much more I could have had.
‘Would you like it now?’ he says, grinning over at me.
I shake my head, not wanting to imagine him forcing me to grind up and down on Stan’s body as he gets his kicks. I know how that will go, how quickly it will be over, and how the man will inevitably decide that I need far more than my husband can give me.
‘Oh, I think you do,’ he says, pulling Stan’s cock up as much as it will go, forcing his body to lift up with it, his bum rising just a little up off the bedsheets.
I shake my head again but I don’t think he’s listening. He’s not interested in what I want.
‘I’ll give it to you,’ the man says, his eyes wild. He grabs the blade with his other hand and with one quick slice he cuts Stan’s cock clean off. He throws it over to me, the thing I have held so many times now detached from the real world, and sitting on my lap.
I hear fresh cries from Stan travel through all his boundaries; the longest and darkest scream that comes from this new, harsh reality. There is nothing he can do; blood spurts out of the gaping wound. The man screams too, and as a haze comes over me I realise that what I can see on his face is pure delight, as he watches the blood that is quickly draining out of my husband cover his clothes.
I see the devil in front of me stand up, his triumphant yells echoing throughout this apparent paradise. I look down at the lump of skin on my trembling lap; the remaining blood now soaking into my white gown.
It’s the last act, enough to take me away, and as the tingling in my hands signals the collapse of my mind I think only of Antonio. I think of him on that beach, my protector and lover; he would never have got us into this mess.
*****
I wake up to muffled moaning and it takes me a moment to realise where I am, then the memories come slowly flooding back into my mind. I think of the man, of Antonio and of the future I had so hoped would come true. And only then, tracing the source of the constant whimpers, do I think of Stan. I look over at the bed and see that he is still tied up; the once clean and white sheets are now covered in the fresh stains of my drained husband.
‘Don’t worry, he’ll be dead soon,’ the man says. He’s at the other end of the sofa, perched on the corner and looking at me. His face is still covered in the blood of his last victim, my partner of so many years, and the knife is still in his hand.
He moves towards me and I cower, my most basic instincts the only thing still with me. I pull away until I fall onto the floor, and then I simply kick out towards him and drag my body across the carpet. I know that even considering all the despair I have experienced – my husband ruining my life, my constant fears about Antonio leaving me – nothing will compare to the horror of what is approaching now.
He’s telling me to be quiet, to calm down, but all I can do is scream through the bloodied and dirty sock that belonged to a man who has already fallen victim to this monster. He suddenly picks me up, pulling me towards him.
‘Sssshhhh, I told you it will be quick.’
I shake my head, not sure what I’m denying. He ignores my muffled pleas and sets me back down on the sofa, pulling the sock out of my mouth and then cutting the fabric tying my wrists. I feel a simple and immediate sense of relief as my body sucks in as much air as I can take, like I’m quenching a thirst I have never experienced before.
He moves back to his perch on the edge of the sofa, and then he pushes the knife into the cushion, like he’s thrusting a sword into the ground
. He looks at it and then looks over at me. ‘I promise I won’t use this on you. Your husband has taken the blade so that you won’t have to. I’m sure you appreciate his sacrifice, don’t you?’
I look over at the remains of my dying husband. One simple cut has made an unimaginable mess that can never be fixed, but I don’t feel sympathy for him. I’m not sure that I feel anything; my own situation now seems far more real than whatever he is experiencing. I watch, seeing that his faltering heart still beats, although it’s clearly a struggle and the end must be near. I curse Stan – only he could survive such an experience, still lingering on when the rest of us would have taken the hint by now.
‘He’s only alive because he’s lying down. But it won’t be long now and I don’t imagine that he will feel much of anything anymore. Does that give you comfort?’
I shake my head. ‘I get no comfort from knowing you are a vile murderer!’
He simply laughs, immune to anything I tell him. ‘If you were to survive my visit then you would meet many more of me in the new world, I can promise you that.’
‘What are you talking about? And why are you doing this?’
‘It’s not that simple to explain what is coming but it will change everything. You see, I have seen things and I know that you have to be fit to survive the storms that are approaching. Do you think you’re fit enough, Gloria?’
‘How do you know my name?’
He smiles. ‘You filthy rich have created such a cushioned life that you take for granted so many of the basic things. The computer flashed up your name when you called, and so I decided to pay you a visit. You could say that fate brought me here because if you hadn’t called for champagne then the chances are I wouldn’t have visited this room for some time. You might have moved on by then, or you might have been asleep by the time I arrived. I might simply have cut both of your throats in the night.’
