by Lee Kerr
I whimper again, my whole body shaking.
‘But instead, I was brought here. Our destiny is to meet for longer than the quick slice of my blade, of that I am sure.’
I shake my head, showing both my surprise at his honesty and my denial of the plans he has for me. I think about my options and spot a glimmer of hope: there may still be a chance of talking my way out of this. Perhaps the money could be my ticket out of here. If I can only get out of this room, I can get away and into the arms of my Antonio.
He is still staring at me, still looking me up and down like he is sizing up his prize. ‘You can tell a lot in these situations and I’m a good judge of character. For instance, I can tell that you don’t love him, and yet you are “Mr and Mrs” on the computer.’ He walks over to the bed, to Stan, looking down at him. ‘Explain this to me, please. I’m very interested.’
I shake my head, my worn-out mind not able to grasp the complexity of this moment. Nothing makes sense in this new, cruel reality and I have no answer that would help him understand.
His face turns red in response to my continuing silence, and it’s not long before he pushes down on Stan’s chest. He thumps it hard with both hands, forcing another scream out of my husband and causing blood to jet out of the gaping wound.
I start to scream and cry, the horror of what he has just done coming back to me; the fear that beats though my own veins so entirely real.
‘Tell me!’ he shrieks, getting ready for another thump on Stan’s chest. ‘You have until your husband takes his final breath to help me to understand the very interesting, yet ultimately complex inter-personal relationship you two have, so I suggest you start talking!’
I hold out a hand, begging him to stop, silently asking for more time.
He takes a deep breath, as if calming himself down, and then nods as he sits back down next to Stan. He rests his body on the blood-soaked sheets as if he doesn’t see a difference in what they are and what they shouldn't be; doesn’t see what he has caused.
‘We won the lottery and we’re here to claim our winnings. We have never stayed in a place like this before. We have fought to make enough money to live on and now just want to start a new life.’
He nods again, matter-of-factly, as he takes it all in. He seems to absorb every word that I say. ‘How much did you win?’
I take a deep breath, trying to figure out what motivates him – other than killing people – then say ‘20 million,’ staring at him and hoping it will be enough. I consider offering him half the share, all of it even, but I’m not sure he is in the same place as me anymore. ‘We just wanted to have some happiness for ourselves and then help other people, like charities and those in need, those just like us.’
He laughs, then gets up from the bed and comes towards me, like a predator stalking its prey. When he reaches my face he takes a long sniff, sucking in all the air around me. ‘You really want me to believe that, don’t you?’
I close my eyes, unable to bear having his angry eyes or hellish face so close to mine. I try to imagine him believing me, try to imagine him simply leaving the room, giving me a few minutes to do what must be done to Stan, then allowing me to walk out of the building and into the arms of the nearest policeman, or anyone in authority.
I feel a hand on my throat and I gasp as his fingers push against my skin and his grip tightens. ‘Why should I believe that? Tell me one thing that will make me believe you.’
I open my eyes and stare at him, at the man who has become my judge and probable executioner. ‘Because I am a good person, I’m in my sixties and I would never able to spend that much money in my lifetime. If you don’t believe me then let me sign it all over to you, to do with it what you please.’
He smiles and then slowly licks his way up my face, starting from my neck and not stopping until he reaches my forehead. ‘You are a nice person, Gloria. I can tell you are one of the good people, but I still can’t believe you. If you truly cared about worldwide poverty and the state of our planet more than your own well-being then you wouldn’t be staying in this hotel. You wouldn’t be preaching to me dressed in an expensive bathrobe, drenched in the scents of high society, and you wouldn’t both be pursuing such perversions of the mind. If you were pure then you would not be in this place of judgement.’
I can’t answer him, cannot deny what is so obviously true. We are both distracted by coughing coming from the bed and I look over to see Stan’s body convulsing as his head moves from side to side.
The man is quickly beside him, putting his face next to the mask that hides my husband from me. I pray that he doesn’t take it off; I don’t want to see him, not like this. He licks the mask and then spits across the room.
‘There isn’t much time, Gloria. He will be dead soon, and once he passes then it will be your turn. I still don’t understand enough about you two, about how you have come to be in this moment.’ He turns to look at me. ‘There is more to you, I can sense it.’
‘You are murdering my husband!’ I scream. ‘What more can you possibly want to know?’
He walks back towards me. ‘No, that is where you are wrong. You are slowly torturing your own husband. You haven’t once tried to go over to him, to offer comfort or to even ask me if I can ease his suffering.’ He sits on my lap, gently placing his body on top of mine. ‘You could have asked to borrow the blade at any time, and with one simple slice you could have ended his life and allowed the judgement to start on yours.’ He stands up and walks over to the blade, picking it out of the sofa. ‘Do you love him, Gloria?’ he asks and stares at me.
I pause for a moment, remembering some of the many times I asked myself that question, all those many years ago. I have known the answer for so long yet done nothing about it. I finally shake my head and then let it bow down in shame.
‘I knew that,’ he says, and then looks down at Stan’s pale body. ‘I think we all knew that.’
‘I could end his suffering now if you would let me,’ I say.
He looks at the knife and then back to me. ‘I think that would be the right thing to do.’
I stand up, cautious, not sure if my captor will ever actually allow me to do such a thing, or even if I am capable of slicing my husband, or this evil man, should the chance present itself. I don’t really know what I’m doing; none of this seems real yet I know it is happening.
He moves closer and fearlessly holds out the knife, despite it being obvious what I am thinking of doing. He calmly nods, looking at me, almost smiling. ‘Let us finish him and then decide what we will do with you.’
I nod back, playing along in a game I know I’m never going to win. I take hold of the knife and see that he is standing at arm’s length from me, making a swing unlikely to succeed. I look at the bed and at the body of my husband. He doesn’t even look like my Stan anymore – he’s just the shell of the man I chose to stick with. I move closer and our intruder takes up position at the other side of him.
I don’t know what to do and so I lean myself onto the mattress, trying to avoid anything stained with the horrors of this last hour. Stan’s body isn’t moving anymore and I’m not sure if it is over already. I think of the pillow, the easiest option for both of us. But then I have these cruel, selfish thoughts. I need to use the knife; I need to have the weapon in my hand and find the opportunity when I can strike. I start to see Stan as a practice run, wondering how I should do it. Perhaps this is my payback for all his years of inadequacy, or perhaps this is the kindest way to end the torture he has been going through. I look at the intruder to see that he is staring at me, his face wild with excitement. It’s so obvious that he gets his kicks from the pain of others.
‘Let’s get his mask off him,’ he says, excited, like my husband is a present waiting to be unwrapped.
‘Perhaps we should leave it on?’ I say, not wanting to see those dying eyes. Right now, he can’t see me and I cannot see him, and that is the way this should end.
This man gets hold of my ha
ir before I see him coming. He pulls hard, forcing my head to land on Stan’s chest. I feel the touch of his curly hairs, the smell of blood and sweat, his body now as lukewarm as our forty years of marriage have been. He eventually lets go of my hair and allows me to sit back up. ‘You will look into his eyes at the end, just as I will look into yours. It’s the fairest thing we can do.’
I slowly nod, now clear that I should throw myself into this moment, as I prepare myself for seeing Stan’s fearful and confused face.
The mask comes off quickly, and I realise that the intruder didn’t secure the rear fasteners. It was too loose – something Stan would never approve of. He always had to have an entire vacuum around him when held captive, his body and senses sealed in a world he couldn’t escape from. I almost feel like apologising to Stan for the half-arsed job this monster did of securing him, but instead I take one final look at his gaping wound and get ready to tell him not to look down; to tell him that it isn’t as bad as it must feel.
As the leather mask comes away from his head I see that there is a trail of blood dripping down his chin, and then I see his eyes, which are grey and unmoving. I look down at him but I don’t actually feel upset; I don’t even feel pity. I feel angry. Angry that he has left before me – this was my escape, my chance to walk away and leave him scared and alone, never to know what had happened. And now, as I look at the two men before me, I realise I have not even found that dignity to be the first to get out of this lifetime trap.
The man who has just officially become my husband’s killer starts moving around, his hands digging into Stan’s mouth. ‘Look, Gloria, he actually bit a part of his tongue off. It must have been the pain or the shock. I wonder if he intended to do that.’
I look across the bed and see what a horrible thing man can turn into. Money, greed or power could never change him from what he has now become. I look down at Stan, at his mutilated body. ‘He only ever wanted to bring me to London to collect our winnings and then start a better life. That’s all he hoped for and you’ve taken that away from him.’
He pays me no attention and continues to examine the body, checking for a pulse and then putting his ear to Stan’s chest. ‘He has already passed away, Gloria. That’s such a shame. I was looking forward to seeing you push the blade into his flesh and the remaining blood spill out from within him.’
My body shakes as I look down at the weapon in my hand and I realise how tight a grip I have on it. I let go, just a little, seeing the immediate indent it has made on my skin. I look back at him and then make my grip firm again.
He looks at me and then back to Stan, his mind obviously preoccupied with whatever he is planning to do next. He doesn’t seem bothered that I am still holding the knife, but I’m distinctly aware that it is my only chance to get out of here and that he will soon turn all of his attention onto me.
‘Are you sure he’s dead?’ I ask, knowing how obvious the answer is to that question.
‘I think so,’ he says. I don’t know if he is playing along or is genuinely not sure. He checks for a pulse once more. I find his thoroughness scary, thinking about how it might soon be my turn to face this nightmare.
He bends his head down and pins his ear to Stan’s chest, then waits for a second to see if anything happens. I know that this is my moment and as he starts to talk about how you can tell if a person is really dead, I visualise the best place on his body to drive this knife into. I settle on his neck, hoping that it will sever an artery or perhaps enter his head and slice through his corrupted brain. I move quickly, turning the knife in my hand until it’s at the right angle to do as much damage as possible, and then I lunge towards him.
Everything seems to move slowly. He moves his body back, forcing me to thrust forward. I lunge quickly, stretching over Stan’s cold corpse. The knife stays on course until the last moment, puncturing the skin and penetrating his shoulder, but I know this alone is unlikely to kill him. I imagine that he must have been almost hoping that this would happen – my assault upon him ending any truce that might have existed between us and now justifying any attack he will now make upon me.
He screams out in pain as I feel the blade hit a bone, my determination driving it onwards. He falls back onto the floor and I think about leaping over the bed and continuing my assault. But then I remember his strength, and the possibility that this wounded bear still has a good deal of fight left in him, and so I decide to drop the knife and make my way towards the door.
As he shouts and screams, I try to get the coffee table out of the way. I pull at the top of the sofa, but my blood-soaked hands are not able to get a firm grip on it, then I manage to get hold of the bottom and start dragging it away from the door, knowing that more obstacles still stand between me and my freedom.
I look over to see he is getting up from the floor, his hands pulling at Stan’s legs in order to help himself up.
‘Clever, Gloria, very clever. Your punishment will now be even greater – your pain now prolonged.’
His words are enough to give my body strength I didn’t know I had. The sofa moves a little, enough for me to get to the small dresser. I pull at it and with one shove it lands on the floor. I can see the door and my freedom but then I see the lock and the handle that has been broken off.
I turn around to see him standing up, the knife now in his hand, blood running down his shoulder. He looks at the door, to where the handle should be, and he laughs. ‘Your judgement and death in this place was always inevitable.’
As he starts to make his way towards me I give in and run to the bathroom. He staggers in the same direction, but just in time, I push the door closed and manage to lock it, just as he gets hold of the handle.
I stagger backwards, sitting down on the toilet seat, all the time watching the handle move up and down. His screaming is drowned out by his banging on the door and I don’t know how long it will hold. I look around for a better weapon than the last one, but in this moment of darkness I see nothing but Antonio’s sweet face.
I pull out my phone and dial his number, knowing that it will never work. I wait as the network decides what it will do; I seem to remain in that limbo between a ringing tone and a voicemail that seems to last for an eternity. When it starts ringing I feel a rush of hope, even when I think about the impossible odds. All I know that he has gone to his family in the south of Spain. When he got the message a week ago, he left immediately; he didn’t know what had happened, but his family had said it was urgent. Now I need him here, far more than they ever will.
‘Hello?’ the voice says. It is obviously Antonio, but he sounds different somehow. I can barely hear his voice over the background noise of shouting and cars beeping.
‘Antonio! Oh, God, Antonio! Where are you? I desperately need you.’
‘Gloria?’ he says, sounding doubtful. ‘This is a difficult time for me, for all of us. I cannot talk now and I must go.’
‘Please don’t… please don’t do that,’ I shout, trying to force my desperation down the phone line and into the mind of my only real lover. ‘I really need you. Listen, I’m still in London. I have so much to tell you, but someone is attacking me.’
He doesn’t say anything in return. The noise in his background is deafening and sounds like many sirens are all around him.
‘Did you hear me, Antonio? Someone is attacking me and I need you!’
‘People are being attacked everywhere. You see what is happening? You must see it?’
I don’t answer, seeing the handle stop moving and the door start shaking as my personal devil bashes against it.
I don’t know what else I can do, what else I can say and so I start to cry. ‘Antonio, I’m so scared. Please help me.’
‘I cannot help you because I must get home to my family before it’s too late. You must realise that this is goodbye, Gloria.’
‘No, please!’ I scream, competing with the sounds of crashing fists against thin wood, as I look up to see his angry face appear through th
e hole he has just created. ‘I love you Antonio, I love you so much.’
But he doesn’t say anything back. I hear the line go dead, and the next thing I see is the hand of my attacker reaching through the hole and unlocking the door.
I look around one more time for a weapon, realising I have wasted my precious time on a youth who would never have stayed with me, never have protected me in my darkest hour. I was only ever a limited something for him; some company for one small part of his long life. I realise that now; at this end I finally accept that I have never found what I really wanted. I have never experienced true and mutual love, and for that I can only judge myself.
The man I only know as Robert bursts through the broken door and I don’t even try to stop him. He takes hold of me, spitting blood and sweat all over my face, shouting all manner of graphic threats about what will happen now that he has me.
‘The money,’ I say, my one last attempt. ‘I’ll give it all to you.’
‘Your money means nothing,’ he says, as he drives that bloody and well-used dagger into my lonely heart.
Beg, buy but never borrow
Tuesday 16th August – Arabian Peninsula
I look into the mirror and something looks back at me. It’s an absent stare; a look without a cause. I’m not sure what it says, not really clear about what I actually am. Even laid bare I don’t know what I’m supposed to be other than skin and a scattering of hairs. I tap my stomach – it’s firm and toned; what was once slim and scant is now properly sculpted. My stubble is trimmed as close to my skin as possible, utterly refusing to be bent into any kind of beard. Those black eyes stare back at me, dark and empty, giving nothing away – not sure what I have to give.
An Arabian prince is what she called me. I’ll always remember the first time I stripped for her on webcam, how her eyes were wide as I teased every part of my body. It was all for her, however she wanted it. I was pleased with my work – my hours of gym and endless running had given both of us what we wanted.
