I didn’t take long for me to rectify my thinking. I did not wish hell upon him, not really. What I wanted was fate to step in. I wanted him to pay for what he’d done to me. It was too simple that he should only face consequences in the afterlife. I hoped that he would rot in a prison, ostracized to begin with, and ultimately forgotten. I believe that you only truly die when you’re forgotten. That was the penalty I wished upon the murderer who I had been unfortunate enough to cross paths with. Love is fickle, and it dies more quickly than the memory of it; or so I believed. I would float on, in some minor form and that was ok.
I tried not to think about how I might actually die. I had suffered unimaginable cruelty, and my mind boggled when I contemplated how he would finish the job. I tried hard to remember the details about the other bodies that had been discovered, but I came up blank. The papers had been very vague about the particulars. Perhaps because they were not privy to the information. I hoped that was the case. But I couldn’t help but wonder whether the truth was so vile that they were unable to publish it. Based on my experiences so far, that scenario didn’t seem far-fetched. The saddest part was that it was clearly irrelevant now. My death warrant had been signed and my execution seemed a mere formality.
Any time spent focusing my attention on my family, made up for not thinking about my friends and Jude. It came as a relief after the long period spent pining. The imaginary world I had immersed myself in seemed so far away, like the dream it had been. That moment where I had woken up, and found myself panicking about the lost ring had been a lifetime ago. I searched my bony hand for the ring, just to double check. It no longer felt naked. How ridiculous that I’d spent time fantasizing about a fairy tale that never was. It seemed to be part of my genetic make-up. A pre-programmed default that made little sense but just simply was. I had found a way to see him again and to rewrite history. I would always have that.
Fate had led me down a dark path. I would never remember him as he really was. I’d lost the gritty, honest love I had for him and chose to replace it with a delusion. But it had been the only way I could find him again.
I cursed myself for what had been. It seems that the grass is only green where it has rained. I wished that I could rewrite history. If I could have gone back to that night, if I could have told him that he was wonderful, how I adored his flawless soul, and then stopped there, how much neater it would have been.
It started as a figment of my imagination and became what could make me happy, the only thing I would need. For someone who believed in fate, I hadn’t been any good at letting it take its course. Love should not be selfish, but mine had been. There is no creature more pathetic than a fool in love. Unwittingly, everything he did, everything he said, helped me on my journey down that path. It seems often that lessons are learned too late. Now all we shared was the same sky. I don’t know how many times that sad thought occurred to me.
My stomach rumbled, and I was brought back to earth. Lying there in a crumpled heap led me to a number of realizations. I was on my way to becoming something else, and no matter how much it sickened me, I had a bond with the monster. He would always be with me. The growl inside me echoed around the room with the violence he had bestowed. The sound penetrated my eardrum with aggressive velocity, and I felt like a new-born thrown out into the world, unprepared. I had to get out of there.
I didn’t notice the pad of his feet down the stairs that time. He appeared at the door, which opened smoothly like the curtains of a theatre. I did not turn my face to look. His image was ingrained in my mind. I was better off dead. I just needed him to let me go. I wanted to go back to the dreamland in my head.
He didn’t say anything as he approached the bed. He stood in front of me and began to unpeel a blackening banana. Without a word, he held it close to my mouth, offering me a bite of the grey-beige flesh with its phallic curve. I had become so accustomed to the scent of my own body, the blood, the fear, the piss, and the shit, that this new smell was wonderful. It transported me to a different world. I was reminded of supermarkets and the summertime. I don’t know why, but I thought of ice-cream. Then I took an unforgiving bite and slowly chewed the flesh. It tasted even better than it smelled, and I almost thanked him for his kindness. I was too busy eating to talk, though. As pleasing as the food was, I found it near impossible to swallow it down while lying on my front. I felt like a snake slithering on its belly, trying to consume an animal twice its size. The difference was that I lacked the ability to dislocate my jaw, or hunt successfully, unlike my predatory keeper.
When I had finished, he left the room without a word, which only added to my diminished feeling of self-worth. It wasn’t that I wanted him to pay attention to me, but if I was no longer there to be abused then I was as pointless as dust. Oddly it made me smile. I was at peace with my surroundings. I was the spider in its web, invisible and waiting for something that might never come. It washed over me like a gentle wave, preparing me for my death, promising that the future was insipid. I knew that I would not see the sun again and the next time I saw the moon she would not look at me, her light would pass over me. My ghost introduced itself, and I was glad to finally make its acquaintance. It had spent too long in the background. You learn a lot about yourself when you have to be on your own. I learned that I was no good at being alone. And I had no idea who I had been. My existence was predictably relentless. That was all there was to it. Life was stubborn. I suppose that is why mankind still rules the planet and watches while other species go extinct.
The banana sat in my belly like a rock, and I quickly regretted eating it. Nausea returned and battered me like a ship in a storm. I rode it out again. The body I had inhabited was simply a vessel now, nearly abandoned and close to sinking into the blue. Like a bubble floating over shards of glass I came close to bursting. My purging led me to be punished. I was reminded of the maggots again; their disgusting pink bodies feeding off my pain. I wasn’t even sure if it had happened. Nothing seemed real anymore. I’m not sure it ever did. I knew I should forget, but it was all I had to cling to, and cling on, I did. My escape attempt remained at the forefront of my mind. I’d failed, but an opportunity had presented itself and from that I took hope. There would be another chance, there had to be. Hope returned and my stomach churned with it.
The lumps of freshly consumed banana reappeared without an apology. I could not escape them. They were accompanied by a thick, slimy river that oozed out of my mouth and gathered in a swamp-like puddle near my chin. I thought I might drown in it. Everything ran in slow motion, and seconds felt like years.
I have no idea how long I spent living that moment but my mind was strangely stimulated. My head became full of open doors that welcomed me inside. Behind each one was a memory. I almost remembered my favourite song, but not quite. I could hear songs that reminded me of good times in my life, like a soundtrack from a better place. Then it became obvious that I was actually hearing music, and it wasn’t my imagination.
Listening to the distant hum of an unfamiliar tune playing in the room above me, made me cry. I didn’t imagine that I would ever hear music again, and I was so thankful for it. I cried for the lovely sound I heard, and I cried because I was unable to clean up the puddle of lumpy vomit that was in the place where I wanted to rest my head. Happiness and sadness danced together, round and round, waltzing inside my gut with strange fluidity.
I cursed myself for crying because the sound of my sobs was drowning out the music. But that made me cry harder. Feeling the tears stream down my face felt shockingly good. It was the closest thing to being clean I could experience. I can’t count how many times I imagined myself in a bubble bath, or stood under the steamy flow from a shower head. By the time I had stopped wailing, the music from above had ceased. I strained to hear more, hoping that it was just an interlude between songs, but after a few minutes passed, I had to accept that I wouldn’t hear any more tunes. My heart was in my throat, while I tried to come up with a solution to the lake of
banana sick that was shimmering beneath my chin. I had been craning my head for a while and my neck was beginning to ache. It was inevitable that I would end up resting my jaw in it, but I was determined to avoid doing so, before I absolutely had to. I kept my head awkwardly suspended for a long time. It was strange that, at the end, I was looking forward to putting my head down into the vomit. The strain on my spine was agonizing. It felt like shards of glass were sticking into my neck in between the vertebrae. I finally succumbed to the pain when my exhaustion took over. I turned my cheek and slowly lowered it into the icy cold puddle. It felt disgustingly slimy against my skin, and I had an urge to lift my head again. I was too tired to do it though. I had no choice but to stay put and gradually drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep.
* * *
I could no longer see myself. My role was limited to being the one who looked into the mirror and gazed at the world through it. It was a world built of reflections, and it felt safer that way. I stopped looking around the room. It was slowly driving me mad. I began to see things that weren’t there. I was ill. A fever gripped me and with it came hallucinations. They were a welcome break from reality. The dull, flat world I inhabited was suddenly psychedelic and beautiful. Orange butterflies the size of my hand flittered around the room, leaving behind rainbow trails. Flowers grew up, out of the cracks in the floor. It was so real; I swear I could smell them. The faint scent of roses replaced the vile smell of my rotting legs. In the corner of the room a waterfall of stars appeared, that glinted like diamonds. Hummingbirds hovered nearby and drank the nectar from the flowers. The best thing about the delusion was that I did not exist. I was a mere particle of light that hung in the air between the fantasy flora and fauna.
Amid the hot and cold sweats, I slept for long periods of time. Any dreams I had were reserved for waking hours. My sleeps were restless and left me feeling more tired than I could have ever imagined possible. My brain and body had become utterly incompetent. In my previous life, the life before the cellar, I had always been able to rely on my imagination. It had been my favourite hiding place, but it didn’t have anything left to give. All its energy was reserved for surviving. It kept me alive, but I couldn’t understand why. My heart kept on beating. The thump against my rib cage was like a ticking clock counting down the hours.
My body began to get accustomed to my surroundings. The lack of movement left my skeleton in a brittle, diminished state. I was stick thin as a result of the starvation and pain but to compensate for this my senses were heightened. My hearing in particular had improved dramatically. I picked up on every tiny noise within a wide radius. When it rained outside, my head felt like it was being battered. The noise was so loud it shook my brain. The window-pane was pelted and the rhythm reminded me of tribal drumming. It would have been soothing were it not for the volume. The rain outside was a new form of torture although I longed to be out in the deluge. I wanted to stand under it and let it wash away everything that had happened to me since I left my friends on the winter beach that night.
I became consumed with thoughts of my Jude. He was back with me again and it was as if we had never been apart. I could feel his arms around me, telling me it would all be all right. I could remember the feel of his breath, the way it had a slight smell of chocolate. I was back to being in love again, and with it came a heavy sadness. He would never know how sorry I was, or how I wished I hadn’t gotten angry and stormed off.
I was sure my fate would be the same as the other murdered women. I feared Jude would never know how grateful I was that he had been a part of my life. I finally accepted that he would never love me the way I loved him. It was enough that I had known him. With acceptance came relief. At the same time the rain ceased and a beam of hazy sunshine shone through the window. It felt like a sign.
That was when I finally knew what to do. I let go of Jude, and took a step into my future. I hoped that everyone who knew me would be able to let go of me.
My mother would be able to get on with her life, and focus on Will. He was the best of us all, and he deserved a calm, normal life, free from the troubles I brought. I imagined him as a grown-up man: happily married, with a good career and adorable children, and it made me smile. I pictured my mum with a new partner. Someone who could make her laugh and take care of her. She would be freed from the responsibility my illness brought.
In truth, we were probably responsible for suffocating each other. I saw how hard she had tried with me, and I felt pain in the core of my soul.
I realized that going to Southwold and meeting Jude was always going to have led me to this moment. I had somehow always known that loving him would be the end of me. My life would have been different if he had asked me to stay, the night I told him I loved him. My death might have been different too. I had been dying ever since I met him. It had been slow and it had been poetic.
Whatever the monster had in store would pass over me. Death was around the corner, lingering with the smell of my demise. I was resigned to saying goodbye to my family and friends. I spoke to each and every one of them, in my head. I told them he couldn’t get to me anymore, that I had already gone.
It was as if I’d just received news that I had a fatal condition. The monster was the cancer eating me alive, and I needed to accept my fate. I dived into the reality of my situation and swam in the calm waters of acceptance. It felt like a weight had been lifted. When I next craned my head to look at my battered body, it seemed of little consequence. My mind felt free, and it was waiting for the opportunity to escape the useless earthly form that kept me in that place.
Then he appeared in the room again, like the grim reaper. I smiled at him. The muscles in my face flinched in response to this unfamiliar expression. He was unaware of my inner harmony. Nothing I did could spoil the fun he was having. After running his cold eyes over me, he approached his workbench and began banging at something. He had his back to me, and I couldn’t see what he was working on. I was certain it would not be pleasant. I readied myself for another onslaught. It had become clear that his timetable had evolved, and the periods I spent alone were becoming less frequent. He was building up to the grand finale. I could feel it.
When he turned around, he had a baton in his hand. One end was wrapped tightly with barbed wire and had nails sticking out of it, like teeth. I gave a long sigh and closed my eyes before resting my forehead on the bed I was spread-eagled on. He gave a throaty chuckle that set off a rasping coughing fit. I heard him hock up phlegm from his chest. Again I smiled, although I knew what was coming.
‘Ding ding, round six.’ He relished the terror he held over me.
A moment later he brought the club down onto my back. The spikes dug into my flesh and tore chunks out of me when he pulled it free again. I screamed like an animal caught in a snare. He did it again. This time it slammed into my neck and shoulder. He tugged hard again, but my hair became tangled with the metal and wood. He pulled harder still, and I gave out a long guttural groan. He kept on tugging until I heard a rip. I saw a chunk of my scalp and a bloody mass of hair attached to his weapon. I felt liquid running down my back and ribs and realized it was my blood. My breathing was so heavy that I thought my lungs were going to collapse. He did it again, this time ripping up the skin across my lower back. I whimpered and moaned as he continued whacking me. I heard the ribs on one side of my body crack beneath the unforgiving barrage.
I have no idea how long it went on. It felt like an eternity. Once he had finished, I lay in a heap of broken bones, bloody and torn. He had exerted himself so much that he was left panting. His chest heaved up and down as he sucked in the air he needed to breathe. But strangely I took no joy from his discomfort. After his breathing returned to normal, he threw the club down and limped heavily out of the room.
I lay perfectly still, terrified of the pain. It felt like the temperature in the room had been turned down. An icy breeze skimmed across the ruined, bleeding skin on my back. My scalp ached and I felt so dizzy I thought
I would lose consciousness. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Before I knew what was happening, the monster had come back into the room brandishing a small can of fluid and a lighter. Without a second’s hesitation, he squeezed the fuel out over my shredded back. It stung, and my eyes watered so much I was temporarily blinded. But my ears were working and I heard the click of the lighter. The noise rang through me like aftershocks in a tsunami. I had just enough time to suck in a large breath before he lowered the flame to my skin and lit the petrol. I roared like a lion, as the fire was born. I felt it licking me and making my skin bubble. Then my hair caught alight.
I choked on the smell of my own burning body and knew what it was like to be in hell. Then the arsonist leaned down and retrieved a rough woollen blanket from under my bed. He shook it out and threw it down onto my smouldering shell. The remaining flames sizzled and hissed as they died. He stood back and wiped his dripping nose on his sleeve before removing a set of old keys from his overall pocket. He approached the bench I was lying on and proceeded to unlock my shackles. Had I been stronger and able to think clearly I would have seen my chance to escape, but instead I lay there helpless. After unchaining both my hands and feet, he swept me up and turned me onto my destroyed back. I squealed like a pig. I could feel my spine tear through the burnt shredded layer of skin that remained. My broken ribs gave another loud crack and one pushed its way out of my red transparent casing. He roughly pulled my arms and legs into place before locking them in the iron cuffs again, and I felt his erection pushing against my side. It sent a shiver through me. Then he left again.
BENEATH THE WATERY MOON a psychological thriller with a stunning twist Page 20
