Happy Ever After - Volume 1: A Novel of Horror and Suspense

by Matt Shaw

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “it’s just that I’ve gone to so much trouble for this and it’s all going wrong. Look, I got you a flower.” I show her the rose from the breakfast tray but she doesn’t acknowledge it. Waving the flower in front of her eyes also gets no reaction. “You’re tired, I’ll leave you alone for a couple of hours, let you gather your thoughts.”

  Nearly forgot something. “Before I go,” I asked, “what’s your first name?”

  She still doesn’t look at me but answers, “Vanessa.”

  Vanessa. I like that. It’s a pretty name that suits her well.

  “Well, Vanessa, if you need anything just give me a shout.” I say as I turn and leave the room, closing the door behind me. I’ll watch her from the computer room – make sure she’s okay.

  As I returned to the computer room where I could continue to monitor her from the CCTV cameras, I couldn’t help but feel that today had set our relationship back significantly. I wanted everything to be special today but now I just wished that I could turn the clock back and start again, pretend as though the day never happened.

  I sit down and watch her on the monitor. She’s staring ahead, at the wall, not blinking and not moving. I hope that she can forgive me of my outburst. I truly am ashamed of myself. I keep trying to reassure myself that everything will be fine. Just give her time. They do say that ‘time is a great healer’. I don’t know who ‘they’ are but I do hope that ‘they’ are right.

  I did tell her that I’d leave her alone for a couple of hours but I think that, maybe, half an hour should be enough time before I check on her again. I don’t like leaving her by herself. I just want to make everything right.

  When you find yourself sitting and just watching – half an hour seems like a lifetime ticking away. What feels like twenty- minutes is, in reality, a mere two minutes of passed time. I can feel myself getting tense as she continues to just lay there – not that she has much choice being bound to the bed in such a manner. I like the quiet and yet this quiet is disturbing to me. I can’t tell whether she is okay or whether she wants anything. It’s as though she’s just shut down. Given up. Have I not offered her enough? I’ve given her a home to live in, food to eat, water to drink and, most importantly, my heart and yet she returns nothing.

  I think I’ve broken her.

  “How are you feeling?” I tentatively ask as I return to the spare room. “I got you some fresh water.” I continue, not giving her a chance to answer, not giving her a chance to shout or swear at me.

  It’s been twenty-three minutes since I left her staring blankly at the wall. I couldn’t wait any longer to see her. Make sure she is okay.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “What?” Why was she apologising to me? I mean, sure she made the first day awkward between us and got me more angry then what I like to get but I was the one that went too far.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Perhaps we could work as a couple, after all?

  “You’ve obviously gone to a lot of trouble and I didn’t mean to ruin things for you,” she continued. “Thank you for my flower, it’s lovely.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.”

  “I do.”

  ‘I do’, the two words I’d love to hear the most from her mouth but in a different context.

  “Maybe we could just forget about earlier,” she carried on.

  That sounded like a good idea to me. We could have the first day all over again; do all the things that I wanted to do.

  “And I’m sorry but I need to go to the toilet.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Sorry.”

  I like the ‘new’ Vanessa. She’s more obedient and I can sense that she’s going to be a pleasure to talk to, unlike before when she was shouting and cursing – two traits that I despise in women. The keys to the different cuffs are hanging on a long necklace that I keep around my neck with the keys to the lockable rooms of the house. They can be annoying, with the cold metal against my bear skin, but it’s the safest place for them to be. I can’t have her getting hold of the keys before the trust is in place – after that it won’t matter although it’s still not ideal. Worse than that though, I can’t lose the keys this way.

  I take the left hand restraint off first and her immediate reaction is to swirl her wrist around, getting the blood to circulate again, before wiping her face where I shamed myself earlier. She smiles at me. It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile at me since I pulled her from her workplace where she had to smile at me as part of her job role. You can’t give good customer service by frowning at customers, although many a shop assistant seem to forget this.

  I leave the right hand bound to the headboard temporarily whilst I undo the restraints keeping her legs held down. With the cuffs no longer in place she bends her knees up, clicking them in the process. Maybe she needs more manoeuvrability in the chains to allow her to bend her knees up? I don’t want her to be uncomfortable. Sure, things are looking promising now but she is a long way of gaining my trust. Unfortunately. Even without a proper wash for a few days, she still looks hot. If anything, the ‘sleepy look’ makes her look cuter.

  I move up to her right hand and she’s still smiling at me. She’s trying too hard now and I feel like something’s not right, “Remember, as soon as I trust you completely, you won’t need to go back into the restraints. You can have free roam of the house.” Perhaps by telling her this it will put any silly ideas out of her head.

  I undo the last restraint. She doesn’t move.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

  I’m pleased and excited that she hasn’t tried to run. Not that she can run anywhere. I lead her out of the spare room and onto the landing, passing the computer room with it’s locked door and the main bedroom that looks one hundred percent comfier than the room she is currently used to. She looks in and sees the large, double bed and posh duvet set, another reason to behave and do her part to get the trust into our relationship.

  The bathroom is at the far end of the landing, with the door closed. I open the door for her and point the way inside, “Feel free to have a wash too, if you’d like, there’s a towel hanging on the side.” I’m hoping she’ll go for the wash as well as the toilet break. The days in bed have taken their toll on her hygiene.

  “Thank you.” She walks in and I close the door behind her safe in the knowledge that she can’t go anywhere, or do anything, that I don’t want her to. She’s mine. I sit on the floor, to the side of the door, and wait. Hopefully she won’t be long.

  Play The Game

  I don’t know who he is other than the fact that I saw him in the bank a couple of times. I’m scared and I want to go home to my mum and dad. The last thing I said to them was, ‘see you later’ and I don’t want that to be a lie.

  I look around the bathroom; wooden floor, white toilet bowl with no lid to the cistern, white sink that’s marked from years of neglect, no towel rail, there’s a handful of clean towels on the floor, a medicine cabinet that reveals nothing but bars and bars of sealed-soap when I open it, a tatty bath that, even in my current unwashed state, doesn’t look appealing to use. I can’t find anything to hit him with, knock him out so I can escape.

  I’ll jump out of the window instead; I’d rather die in the landing then stay here with him. I want my mum and dad. I pull back the curtain to let the light from the outside world spill in but there’s no light. The window is blocked up with bricks. My way out is blocked up with bricks. Fuck it.

  “Are you okay in there?” his voice comes from right outside the door.

  He’s waiting for me. I can’t get out that way either. “Vanessa?” he calls me again.

  I’d best answer him. “I was just looking for the soap.” I lied.

  A silly lie as there was only one place that it could be and in this small room.

  “It’s in the medicine cabinet. I told you, treat this house as your
own, feel free to look around and explore things.”

  But this house isn’t my own. I live with my mum and dad. I lived with my mum and dad until he jumped me in the car park. I remember now. I was leaving the nightclub earlier than my friends as I had an early start in the morning. I was walking to my car when I felt a hand around my mouth and something sharp digging in my skin. It was him. Forget about that now. It’s not important. Thank him for his generosity before he gets upset again. I mustn’t get him upset.

  “Found it, thank you.” I called out.

  “My pleasure.”

  I run the bath water and sit on the toilet whilst I think of what to do. I was stupid earlier for shouting at him and getting him angry. My best chance of escape is to be able to walk around the house without him constantly following me with the chains in his hand. The only way I can do that is get the trust up between us.

  ‘Play the game’.

  The bath water feels warm enough now and I take my clothes off.

  What the fuck am I wearing anyway? It doesn’t even look like Minnie Mouse on these pyjamas. Standing, naked, I hope he doesn’t come in. Is he even there still?

  “So what did you want to do today?” He’s still there. “I’ve got some board games, a handful of books to read or we could just talk together,” he continues. Board games? He does know I’m twenty-nine years old, doesn’t he? I wonder what sort of books a madman stocks in his home. The more I think about it, the only way we can build trust up is to talk. Perhaps I can find out why he is doing this to me, if I know the motive I maybe able to help him find another way to deal with it.

  “We can just talk, if you want.” I call out to him.

  The bath water feels nice against my skin. I ache all over from being cuffed to the bed for so long. I close my eyes and try to go to a ‘Happy Place’. Is he going to expect sex once he believes there is trust between us? I don’t know if I can go through with that. He’s thin, like a walking skeleton. The thought of him being inside me repulses me. Has he been inside me?

  So much for finding my ‘Happy Place’!

  ‘Worry about that if it comes down to it,’ I think to myself. I’m hoping I’ll find another way to get out of here before that. I don’t know how long it will be before he thinks I trust him but, whatever timeframe that is; I want to be out of here sooner, a lot sooner.

  Despite being up to my neck in warm water, a cold shiver runs down my back as I think of him touching me and wondering whether he took things further when I was unconscious. He talks of trust like it’s one of the most important things to him but how can I trust someone that knocks me out cold whenever he chooses.

  I can’t hear him outside the door anymore. Is he still there?

  “Hello?” I call out quietly enough for him to be able to hear me if he is there but not so that he’d hear me if he was somewhere else in the house. There’s no response. “Hello?” I say again.

  He’s gone. This is it, Vanessa, get your act together. Get out of the bath and just run down the stairs to the front door. Run as fast as you can. I climb from the bath as quietly as I possibly can so as not to disturb the water too much, the water that will betray my motives if heard. Once out, I call out for him again, “Hello?” but, again, nothing. This is it. My heart is beating hard and fast now as adrenalin rushes through my tired veins. Leave the towel, it’ll only slow you down, just open the door and sneak down the stairs. If he’s in one of the bedrooms, just try and outrun him.

  The door opens surprisingly quiet despite the old house. I thought it would have made more of a creak but, thankfully, there’s nothing. Not a peep. The landing stretches out in front of me. He’s not here. I listen out. I can’t hear him.

  I stretch my head around the top of the stairs. The front door is just a few feet in front of the bottom step. If I’m quick, I can make it. My first foot goes on the top step, a slight creak. He couldn’t have heard that, I only just heard it. My right foot follows, another slight creak that’s only just audible to me. I can make it. I can hear my heart beating loudly. I wonder, can he?

  Another quick check of the doorways upstairs, make sure he hasn’t seen me. He’s not there. Clear passage. Home and dry. The next step, watch where I’m going, I don’t want to trip.

  “Where are you going?”

  Fuck. My heart skips a beat. I was so busy looking across the landing for him I didn’t realise that he was standing at the foot of the stairs, between the door and I.

  “I said, where are you going?”

  He’s holding a cup of tea, use it for my excuse. “I was looking for you, I was wondering if you could get me a hot drink.” A beat. He’s staring at my body as the water drips from my naked skin. “It looks like you read my mind.” I continue gesturing towards the cup of tea, hoping to distract him from my true intentions and from my naked body.

  “Erm, yes. Yes, I made you a cup of tea,” he stammers, “I wasn’t sure whether you’d want sugar.”

  Use my sexuality.

  “No, thanks, I’m sweet enough.”

  He smiles, “So I can see.”

  A smile from a monster doesn’t have the same reaction as when you receive a smile from a true friend and, for a second time, a shiver runs down by back. Get a towel. Cover up.

  I take the necessary steps back into the bathroom and close the door behind me before wrapping myself in one of the provided towels. My heart is still beating hard. I’m disappointed with myself, I was so close and yet, if anything, I’ve gone back a step in the trust department.

  A knock at the door distracts me from my thoughts. “Where did you want your cup of tea?” A hard question to answer as I don’t know what options I have with regards to rooms in which to drink it, “Downstairs?” “

  Okay, the spare room it is.”

  Obviously ‘downstairs’ isn’t open to me yet. I should go out and face him but I’m scared to see his reaction. Did my excuse work? Was the sight of my naked body enough to distract him? Regardless, I can’t stay in here – as much as I want to.

  When I open the door he’s stood directly in front of me. Upon sight of me, he looks my body up and down. His smile fades from his face, “I like your towel.”

  Fuck.

  Show Time

  He’s allowed my feet to be free, this time around, as I lay on the bed. My left hand is also free, my right hand being the only thing that binds me to this god-forsaken bed. I wonder whether it would be a different scenario had I not left the bathroom without his prior knowledge. The cup of tea sits on a rickety table to the left of me – in easy reach when I feel the need for it. I’m still not thirsty though. My nerves are all over the place and suppressing my hunger and thirst.

  “You aren’t thirsty?” he asks from the corner of the room, where he sits upon a chair that looks as though it’s bolted to the floor.

  “It’s too hot at the moment,” I lie.

  Silence again. I suggested that we talked together but I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to upset him and I don’t want him reading me, my true intentions – looking for a way out. He’s looking at my body still, not so much my face. Before cuffing me down he allowed me to put some knickers on, but only knickers. Now he just sat there, saying nothing, his eyes raping me as they had done when he stood at the foot of the stairs.

  “So what did you want to talk about?” he asked.

  I don’t know. Think. Don’t upset him. Small talk. Pretend you’ve only just met him and you’re in a coffee bar or somewhere similar. You’re just two ordinary people meeting for the first time over an over-priced cappuccino.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, the first logical question.

  “You know my name.”

  “Mr Jenkins. I know your surname. What’s your first name?”

  “Peter.”

  “I like that. It suits you.”

  My ex was called Peter. He was a psycho too. He smiles, unaware that I’ve just insulted him.

  “How old are you?”

&n
bsp; “Thirty-two.”

  The smile fades from his face again.

  Conversation was already starting to dry up. The situation I found myself in left me feeling awkward and unsure of what to ask next. He keeps glancing at the tea. Is it a problem that I haven’t touched it yet? I pick it up and take a sip.

  The smile returns to his face.

  “It’s nice, thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  It’s not nice. It needs sugar. I don’t say anything, I’m just thankful it’s not drugged.

  “What did you want for dinner, this evening?” he asks.