by Simon Parker
Dark Places
We are a race of predators. It is in our deepest nature to hunt and to kill. In today’s polite society these traits are masked, hidden, even reviled because it’s no longer necessary or relevant. This is indeed true to some degree. We no longer need to kill our food. All our food is killed for us and handed to us without a struggle, yet these instincts remain within us, suppressed, denied. “Not me,” some of you will say. “I could never harm a fly.” And then you’ll coo in disgust when a murderer is caught and discussed on the news. Those who hunt animals for sport will coo the loudest. The truth, however, remains that even within the most spiritual and serenely calm pacifist dwells a dark monster, in short, an ice-hearted killer. The monster may be safely ensconced in chains and kept sedated and controlled, but be assured it is there, waiting, watching from the dark places behind your eyes.
The black BMW sat in the dappled moon shadow of a large oak tree two doors down from the prettiest house on the street. Andrea walked past the car at 9pm, paying it scant attention other than to admire its smooth dark lines. There was a song in her heart and she hummed to herself as she walked, her smile reaching from her soul through her lips to her eyes. It had been another good day and a fine end to a great week. She smiled to herself as she put her key into the lock of her pretty front door. It was lovely to be so happy in her work, but she really loved coming home to her gorgeous Georgian house. She had spent a lot of time and money restoring the beautiful old property to its former glory and landscaping the large front garden. No sooner had she stepped into the hallway than her phone began to ring on the antique sideboard her mother had bought for her last year.
“Hello, Miss Sinden?” a heavily accented voice queried.
“Yes,” she said.
“It’s Father O’Dowd. I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done this week.”
Andrea smiled. She should have recognised the mellifluous Irish voice. She’d heard it enough over the past seven days.
“You don’t need to thank me, Father. It’s been a pleasure,” she said. “And please, call me Andrea. All my friends do.”
“You’re a good person, Andrea. I just wanted to let you know that I, for one, appreciate the compassion you show in your work and the outstanding level of commitment to people you don’t even know. You have done so much more than was asked of you. It has made, and will continue to make, a huge difference to a lot of people’s lives in many different ways, so I offer you my heartfelt thanks.”
Andrea felt her cheeks flushing a little. She didn’t receive compliments well. They always embarrassed her, especially when she felt they were undeserved. She did what she did because she loved it. Since childhood she had always helped as many people as she could. It was in her nature. Her reward was to see someone smiling who had been sad or someone broken become whole again.
After university she had gone into charity work and had moved from the fund-raising team to the allocations team. It was always such a pleasure tell people they had been allocated funds for whatever they desperately needed. It was a sweet gig. She loved what she did and she got paid for doing it! But Andrea liked to take it one step further. In her own time, she liked to personally oversee the projects and make sure the funding was used to maximum effect. On more than one occasion, she had added some of her own money to the pot to ensure a project finished perfectly without disappointments.
This particular week, Andrea had been overseeing the conversion of the old, almost derelict, church hall of St Peter the Apostle. The church had had a new hall and community centre built in the early 90’s and this one had been left to rot. Father O’Dowd had bought the old hall from the church with the intention of creating a drop-in centre and shelter for the homeless, the helpless and the hungry. He’d quickly run out of money and was left with the vaguest shell of what he had envisaged. Now, thanks to Andrea and the organisation she worked for, the old hall was in great shape and would be ready to receive its first guests in less than a week.
“It’s fine, Father... You’re more than welcome… It’s what I do… No need to thank me.”
Andrea’s disjointed reply was testament to her discomfort at the praise. They ended the call shortly after with her promise that she would see Father O’Dowd on Sunday for mass at St Peters. Andrea slipped her shoes off and headed up the soft carpeted stairs for a shower before slipping into her welcoming bed.
The figure in the black BMW put away the notebook as Andrea’s bedroom light went out at 10.30pm. The Beemer’s engine started with a muted roar and the car pulled quietly away from the kerb.
The next morning was glorious. The sun shone in a cloud-free, endless sky the colour of angels’ eyes. Andrea loved her weekends. She got to catch up with her family and friends and sometimes do a little gardening. She knew how incredibly lucky she was to have such a gifted existence, to be so happy in both her life and her work when so many people were happy with neither. She knew people who would kill to have the life that she had come by so easily. That was one of the reasons she did what she did. It was her way of paying it forward, of giving back. Aside from the nominal salary she received, she neither wanted nor expected reward.
She made herself a vegetarian omelette for breakfast and then went out for a short run. She jogged right by the black BMW. When she returned, glowing and feeling invigorated, it had gone. She showered and dressed in jeans and t-shirt, both neatly pressed and smelling of her favourite fabric conditioner, then went into the garden to pick some fresh flowers to take for her mother and father when she went to visit them later that afternoon. She loved the flowers she grew and inhaled deeply as she carefully cut the blooms. Lilies as white as freshly driven snow, fragrant cloud roses that made her think of Turkish delight, jasmine that reminded her of her mother’s favourite perfume, and night-scented stocks that bound all the smells together into a dense fog of heavenly aroma. If there was a heaven, and Andrea was almost certain there was, this would be what its streets smelled like.
It was 11pm when she arrived home after a long, pleasant afternoon and evening spent laughing with her mother and father, talking with her brother and playing exhaustively with her five-year-old niece. She parked two cars up from the black BMW, wondering idly who it belonged to, but forgot it as she slid her key into the lock of her front door, smiling at her memories of the day.
“I’ve been watching you, Andrea.” The deep voice came from behind her. She turned and jumped in the same instant, her smile gone. The inky outline of a man dressed all in black stood just beyond the porch light’s reach. Andrea felt her heart thumping hard with fear before the man rushed her. She felt a searing pain and everything went dark.
When she opened her eyes, harsh light stung them and it was a moment before she could focus properly. She tried to rub them, but found her hands were bound behind her. She lay on her side on a mattress on the floor of what looked like a storage unit. She grimaced as she realised her face was in the middle of a big stain that stank of urine and vomit. Where had he taken her and why? This couldn’t be happening.
“Good morning, Andrea.” That voice again. She tried to turn her head as far as she could, but she couldn’t see the man. When she tried to turn over, she discovered her feet were bound, too.
“Don’t struggle. If you struggle, you will hurt yourself.”
The tone was calm but scared her. Andrea complied. Her fear wouldn’t let her do anything else.
“Who are you?” she whimpered, but got no reply. “What do you want with me?” The quake in her voice was hard to disguise.
“I want to play.”
Andrea’s eyes widened further still, dilated by a new surge of fear. Oh my God, he’s going to rape and kill me, she thought, the fear bringing with it a fresh wave of tears.
She heard footsteps on the concrete floor and suddenly her captor came into view. He towered over her, his full-length black robe hiding his body. But he was big, at least twice her size, and his hood obscured all but his m
outh and lower jaw. The smile that she saw there frightened her beyond measure.
“Do you like what you see, Andrea?” he asked.
“Who are you?” she stammered, evading his question.
He laughed softly. “It doesn’t matter who or what I am. We’ve got work to do.”
Andrea closed her eyes, hoping she’d be able to banish this bad dream back to the realms it belonged in. That she’d awake in her nice comfy, warm bed and resume her happy-go-lucky life.
The man grabbed her by her hair and punched her hard across her cheek. More tears burst from her as the pain arced from ear to ear. She had never been hit before, never even been in a fight. It surprised her how much it hurt. Blood poured from her mouth and she did something else she’d never done either. She spat on the floor, an attempt to be rid of the foul taste of her own blood that threatened to make her throw up. She could hear the man laughing softly.
“Do you understand yet?” he asked. She glanced up at him, her rapidly swelling eye obstructing her vision, her tears clouding the good eye.
“What do you mean?” she asked, wincing as her split lips shaped the words.
“Pain,” he said, and she could hear the sickening thrill in his voice. “Pain like you have never known before. It can be such a friend, one you’ve never been acquainted with. So much fun.” His grin chilled her to the marrow.
Why is this happening? she thought. What have I done to deserve this? She closed her eyes, biting back the pain and retreating into happy memories in a childlike attempt to make the bad things go away.
“Look at me!” the man bellowed. Andrea obeyed, too afraid not to. “We can play these games for however long it takes, but you will do as you are told or you will never see another sunrise.”
She shuddered, afraid for her life. She had no way of knowing what was expected of her. If she got it wrong, she feared she would have to endure more punishment.
“What do you want with me?” she managed through her rapidly swelling lips. “I’ve done you no harm. I’ve never done anyone any harm.” Her tears flowed freely from the tiny opening that remained in her blackening eye, washing away some of the blood on her cheek. He just smiled at her and was still watching as she cried herself into a fitful sleep.
She awoke later with a snap, praying it had all been a hellish nightmare. She flexed her body, feeling her bound wrists and ankles and smelling the acrid urine and vomit on the mattress. It was no dream. An unstoppable sob wracked her body. How on earth had she fallen asleep? Had she been drugged? Thoughts raced a circuit around her mind. Why was this happening? Was she going to die here in this small, smelly metal room? How could she get away from this madman?
“Feel better?” came the familiar deep tones. Andrea looked to her right and saw the hooded figure standing at the foot of the mattress.
“What did you do to me?” she spat, surprising herself with the vitriol she heard in her own voice.
“I didn’t do anything,” he replied serenely. “You simply passed out. You’ve been sleeping like a baby for five hours now.”
He has to be lying. No normal person could just fall asleep like that.
“Stress.” He said the word without a hint of any in his voice. “It can make you do some strange things. I press the right buttons, you freak out and your mind and body shut down because they can’t deal. Quite amazing really. That’s half the fun, making you do things you have absolutely no control over.” She flinched.
“What kind of sicko are you?” she hissed, her anger rising again. She rarely got annoyed or angry and she had never hated anyone.
First time for everything, she thought. He chuckled, making Andrea wonder if he was somehow reading her thoughts and was amused by them. He walked around the makeshift bed until he was standing directly in front her. She still couldn’t see any more of his face than she could before. She began trembling again, sensing something was going to happen, but unsure what. He bent down closer to her, so close she could smell his rancid breath.
“Playtime,” he whispered, pushing her onto her back.
Oh God, she thought. This is it. He’s going to rape and kill me.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than he turned his back on her and begun rummaging on a small table Andrea had not noticed before. She could hear metal objects clinking softly against one another. A sob escaped her. She had never felt so helpless, so vulnerable. There had to be some way out of this. Maybe if she could play along for a while, she might be able to talk him out of it. Or maybe when he raped her, if she pretended to like it, he would let her go. She knew that was bullshit, but she was desperate. The thought sickened her, but it had to be worth a try. She had never met anyone who had dealt with something like this. There was no precedent in her experience, which meant she had to wing it, something she didn’t like doing. This wasn’t an everyday situation though. She’d have to step way outside her comfort zone if she wanted to get out of this alive.
She decided she would be compliant and try to be nice to this weirdo. It was her only hope. Andrea had no idea how to do it. Being nice came naturally to her, but being nice to someone so nasty and violent was a talent she didn’t possess and needed to develop quickly.
She normally avoided confrontation with people like him. She liked to be nice to people like Father O’Dowd, who helped other people with issues. She loved seeing people happy and healed. She could be instrumental in the process but she just this moment realised she didn’t have the people skills to facilitate the healing itself. Her short-comings came as a surprise to her and she felt shame. At twenty-three years of age, she was discovering she wasn’t as good as she thought she was.
She felt renewed anger at the hooded man. If he hadn’t come along, she could have carried on enjoying her life, feeling good about herself. How dare this creep change that? How dare he interfere with her feelings about herself? She felt he had already violated her beyond the physical. He had changed how she thought of herself. She heard her internal rantings and took a mental step back to the decision to be nice to him.
“What’s your name?” Her voice was shaky but soft, sounding as nice as she could manage despite a venomous anger at the man. He stopped his rattling on the table and turned to face her.
“Maybe we could be friends and talk about this?” she queried, feeling hopeful, but fearing she may be overplaying her hand. He smiled and stepped closer. Maybe it was working.
His smile faded as he raised his foot and stamped on her head.
“Who the fuck do you think you are kidding, bitch?” he screamed. “You think I don’t know the game? You think I’ll let you go if you’re nice to me? Grow the fuck up, you piece of shit!”
He turned back to the table and grabbed a metal bar. As quickly as she saw it in his hand, she felt it smack into her right arm. She shrieked in surprise and pain as she heard the loud crack of her own bone. Nausea flooded her. The pain of her freshly stamped face was barely noticeable when compared to the fire now exploding in her arm. Andrea was sobbing, writhing on the stained mattress, screaming out expletives that were foreign to her until now. He was just standing over her, watching.
“Good,” he said cheerfully. “Now we understand each other. We’re getting somewhere.” He turned back to the table. The last sound Andrea heard before she blacked out was the sound of her captor humming, then the metal bar against whatever other tools he had there.
Her eyes snapped open again. She had no idea how long she’d been out. She was under no illusion this time that she had been dreaming. She smelled the scent of urine and vomit on her skin the instant she regained consciousness. She was no longer lying on the mattress but sat on a small chair. The urine and vomit she smelled was her own. She saw the evidence of that as she glanced down at herself. Dishevelled and stained. Her head ached with a dull thud, and her right arm throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She was stunned to see the angry red welt with the vivid purple sunrise pattern spreading around it, but there were no jagged
shards of bone protruding as she had expected. The arm looked normal despite its colour.
“Good morning, sunshine!” She flinched at the sing song of the deep voice, but was still committed to her compliant ruse, hoping it would earn her freedom.
“Are you serious?” her captor shouted, slapping her hard across the face with the back of his hand. Fresh pain burst in her head, shaking the dull thud from its slumber. Fresh blood burst from her soggy, clotted wounds.
What the fuck? she thought. He must be reading her thoughts. How else explain his change from cheerful to angry when all she’d done was think something?
He laughed and turned his back on her again as if to confirm her theory. Now Andrea was confused, facing a new dilemma. How the hell was this maniac reading her thoughts and how the hell could she plan for her escape if all her thoughts were voiced clearly to him? She began to sob at her helplessness. He put down the implements he was fiddling with on the table and turned to her.
“Aw, come now, Andrea,” he said, his lips forming a pout. “I thought we were friends. I thought we were having fun?”
“Fuck you!” she erupted, tugging at the tape that restrained her wrists and kicking out with her legs which were strangely free.
“Yes, Andrea, that’s what I’m talking about. I think we’re getting somewhere at last.” He chuckled and stepping forward, punched her in the stomach.
The blow came as a surprise, knocking the wind from Andrea’s lungs. She cracked the back of her head on the wall behind her as the metal chair tipped over from the force of his punch. He watched her, smirking as she fought to regain the breath she longed for. Once her breath had returned to almost normal, Andrea glared at him with a hatred she had never felt in her life. It burned through her soul as surely as it burned in her eyes.
