by Matt Shaw
“Please, just let me go home. Take me home. Please. I won’t tell anyone.”
I feel myself getting angry and do my best to swallow the negative feelings back down into the depths of my soul.
“I can’t take you home, yet....” I tell her. The ‘yet’ was said more out of giving her some hope and keeping her home. In truth - there is no ‘yet’. She’s mine.
Forever more.
“Yet?” she asks; picking up on my little white lie but hopefully willing to believe it.
“Yet.” I smile at her. “I just want you to stay with me for a couple of days.”
“Why?”
“To give us a chance....”
“What do you mean? There is no us.”
She’s not trying to be difficult. She genuinely looks confused.
“We could have been great together,” I said, “and we still can. Imagine it - no outside interferences, no one getting in our way.... no one putting doubts in either of our minds.... just the two of us.... Living together.... in bliss....”
“You’re crazy.”
Her look of confusion has turned to one of horror. I feel my own expression turn to one of confusion.
“You’re fucking crazy.... take me home... take me home now... I promise I won’t tell anyone. We can just forget any of this happened... Forget we ever met....”
“Fuck you.”
She stops and just stares at me. She knows she has crossed a line. It’s written all over her face. I feel I’ve let myself down too - unnecessary use of profanity.
This isn’t going well. There’s an awkward pause.
“I’m going to check on dinner.”
I stand up and walk from the room. I turn around and give her a final look before I close the door on her. In my preparations, for getting the house ready for her, I put locks on all the doors - the dining room door being no exception.
With the bunch of keys, in my pocket, I lock the door.
* * * * *
A split second of hope shattered when I hear the door lock. A quick look around the room showing me there’s no other way to escape. I’m not going anywhere.
Yet.
I can only hope there’ll be other times of solitude.
Unless I can overpower him. Take control of the situation when he comes back into the room - hit him with something. Another quick scan around the room - there’s nothing - nothing other than one of the chairs.
It’s worth a shot.
It might catch him off guard - at the very least take his balance away and give me my chance to make a run for it. Hopefully they’ll be something outside.... someone, maybe. Someone who can help me get away.
It’s definitely worth a shot.
It could be my only shot, after all.
I stand up and take the chair in my hands, lifting it off the floor so I can creep over to the door. As soon as I hear the key in the lock, I’ll lift the chair up as high as I can and ready myself to bring it crashing down on his head.
I can feel the adrenalin flowing through my body as my mind plans what to do.
What if it doesn’t knock him down?
What if he deflects the blow? He’ll still be in the doorway, blocking my path - blocking my exit.... more importantly; blocking my freedom.
How would he react?
His mood was quick to change when I told him I thought he was crazy. I’m sure his mood would take a further, darker turn if I was to hit him with a chair.
Maybe this is a bad idea...
Take the chair, sit down and wait... he said he wanted me here for a couple of days? Maybe it will be a couple of days and then he’ll take me home as though nothing had happened.
Stupid.
You’re being stupid.
You don’t take someone prisoner and then just take them home, as though everything is normal. It would be a one way ticket to prison. He’s not that stupid.
I shouldn’t be that stupid.
If I stay here - there is no happy ending. For either of us.
Certainly not the Happy Ever After he is looking for.
Even so, I can’t shift the thought of not being able to get past him from my mind.
Keeping the chair off the wooden floor, so he doesn’t hear it dragging along - I creep back to the table and sit where he originally left me. There’ll be more opportune times to make a dash for it. This isn’t the time.
Not yet.
21.
I’m glad she didn’t try anything. The sooner we build enough trust, the sooner she can have free roam of the house - maybe even move into my bedroom, with me. I’d like that.
Start living as a happy couple.
Just the two of us.
I carry the tray of food over to the dining room table. and place it on the edge - taking one plate and putting it in front of her and the other plate, the one with less meat, in front of my own seat before sitting down and flashing her a smile.
“Enjoy.”
She takes one of the plastic knives and forks off the tray and starts pushing the food around the plate - pretending to show some interest in eating it. It’s already clear she has no intentions to eat.
I wonder, would she be as wasteful if she knew who was on her plate?
I didn’t actually want to put any of Sam on my plate but I thought it may look a little suspicious if I didn’t even at least give him a try. Besides, he’s been in the oven for an hour now so I’m sure any germs he may have had are well cooked out of him by now.
And I’m a little curious.
He smelt good whilst cooking so maybe - maybe he’ll taste nice.
Stop thinking about him. You’ll only put yourself off giving him a try.
Just think of him as chicken.
I start to eat - starting with the potatoes, watching her push her food around.
“You need to keep your strength up,” I said.
She doesn’t answer me.
Rude.
When I’ve finished a mouthful of King Edward, I reach across and stab my fork into one of her own roast potatoes - lifting it over to my plate; she watches as I cut it in half and pop some in my mouth.
“See,” I say when I’ve finished chewing, “not poisoned.”
I smile at her. She looks down at her plate - eyes, once again, wide with fear.
Perhaps I’ve said something wrong.
* * * * *
I don’t know how best to respond so I say nothing.
Of all the things going through my mind - poisoned food wasn’t one of them.
Now, it is.
Maybe that would be a blessing.
A few moments of pain whilst the poison took hold of my body and then nothing.
No more worry.
No more fear.
No more pain.
That has to be better than anything he can be thinking.
I shovel some of the vegetables onto my fork and tentatively eat them.
Slow chewing at first.
No funny taste.
No stomach cramps.
No vomiting blood.
Quite nice actually.
I chew normally and catch a glimpse of Peter out the corner of my eye. He’s just looking at me - watching me eat.
“What?” I ask - hoping he’ll look away but he doesn’t. He just keeps looking at me. Watching my mouth as it chews the food down.
Creeping me out.
“How’s the meat?” he asks.
“Good,” I lie.
“You haven’t tried it yet,” he points out.
Why did he ask what I thought of it if he knows I haven’t even tried it yet?
I smile at him and cut a piece of the chicken off - after a bit of a struggle with the plastic knife.
“What’s wrong with normal cutlery?” I ask.
“I wasn’t sure which design you’d like...” he answered - quick as a flash.
“What do you mean?”
“I just figured we could go shopping for a nice set, later on...”
“You haven’t noticed how empty our house is? I thought we could fill it together - you know - in time.”
He wasn’t joking.
He continued, “I thought it would make a nice day out. Nesting.”
“You’re not going to kill me?”
As soon as I asked the question, I wish I could take it back.
“What? Whatever gave you that impression?”
Other than the abducting and general creepiness?
“I just thought -”
“You thought wrong,” he said, “I told you - I just want you to stay with me for a few days.... get to know me a little without anyone else getting in the way of us.”
There’s a pause.
Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe he’s lying, just to make me feel at ease before hurting me. I can’t tell. I just smile at him. He smiles back.
“Don’t let it get cold,” he says again, nodding towards the food on my plate.
I smile again and bite the chicken off my fork.
It’s good.
Succulent.
He watches me chew a while longer before turning back to his own food.
* * * * *
Well, she’s not gagging on it.
Always a good sign.
Maybe it’s good.
I cut a tiny piece off and stab it with my fork - lifting it off the plate and putting it close to my mouth. I wonder, will it taste like chicken? I hold it there for a moment and let the smell waft it’s way up my nostrils.
He smells good.
I look back to Susie who seems to be eating more, it must be good. If it wasn’t, I’m sure she would have made some excuse and left the rest. As she scoops the next piece into her mouth - she looks up at me.
I can’t show her I’m hesitating.
I take a bite and hold it there for a moment - waiting for the first taste sensation to wash over me.
Veal....
No.... wait.... beef.....
No veal.... definitely veal.
Good meat, though.
Pork!
It’s a little like pork.
Definitely pork.
I smile as I realise the taste isn’t at all hideous and, within a few more chews, I almost forget it’s actually Sam. Almost. It’s hard to actually forget you have a dead body in your mouth - no matter how good it is. I am, however, surprised he doesn’t taste like chicken...
Maybe a little bit disappointed. After all, I had built up my expectations to taste chicken... Still, he’s nice. Good effort. I’d definitely eat the breast meat again but my mind wonders as to what the thigh would taste like.
A bit like turkey.... white meat and dark.
I see what she means about the plastic cutlery, though. Not the easiest to cut things with. I think I’ll make the proper cutlery a priority - when we’re settled.
“What style cutlery would you choose?” I ask - trying to move the conversation forward.
She stops eating and looks at me.
“What?”
“I just wondered what cutlery you’d go for? You know - something plain or some sort of elaborate pattern on the handles?”
She shakes her head, “I don’t know.”
A pause.
Uncomfortable.
“What sort of cutlery do you have at home?”
I mentally kick myself. I know what sort of cutlery she has at her house. I remember it; silver with a flower pattern engraved on the handle. Nothing over elaborate.
“I can’t remember...”
Can’t remember? She hasn’t been away from her home that long. Of course she can remember.
“I can’t think straight....”
With no warning she starts to cough - dropping her plastic knife onto the floor.
“Allow me...”
I lean down to pick the cutlery off the floor.
* * * * *
Quick as a flash, I’ve stood up and lifted my chair high in the air, above his head. From his position on the floor, as planned, he’s looked up to see what I’m doing - my fake cough stopped.
“Susie -”
I don’t wait for him to finish, I just bring the chair down as hard as I can - unfortunately catching him more on his back than on his head. It does the trick, though, and his body crumbles in a heap on the floor.
I don’t know if he’s unconscious or just stunned.
I don’t care.
I don’t hang around to check his vitals. I just run for the dining room door.
A right turn out of the dining room leads to the kitchen so I turn to the left - the front door. The kitchen would have sealed my fate - no doubt. Hardly anyone ever leaves their back door unlocked these days and, even if it were, there’d be less chance to be helped out the back...
More chance to be spotted outside the front of the house.
Thankfully the front door is unlocked and it’s mere seconds before it’s opened and I’m outside.
“SOMEONE HELP ME!” I scream at the top of my voice.
I don’t stop running, though.
I scream again, “SOMEONE HELP ME, PLEASE!”
I can’t hear anyone coming to my rescue and it’s no surprise. Where am I? In the country. I can’t see any other houses.
Don’t worry about that, Susie. Just keep running.
And I do.
“SUSIE!!!”
Fuck.
His voice is angry.
Keep running, girl.
Don’t look back....
“PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME! ANYONE.....”
At the end of the drive, I turn right on the main road. I have no idea where I’m going and I don’t care. As long as it is away from Peter - as far as I am concerned it’s the right direction.
Keep running, girl.
Don’t look back....
“SUSIE! COME BACK HERE! YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU’RE GOING! I’M SORRY! OKAY? I’M SORRY! AT LEAST LET ME GIVE YOU A LIFT HOME....”
Don’t listen to him. I can hear the anger spilling out of him with every word screamed.
His yelling, on it’s own, is bad news for me.
He wouldn’t scream that loudly, at me, unless he was sure there’d be no one around to hear us. I’ve never felt so alone.
“SUSIE! GET BACK HERE!”
Keep running.
He sounds closer now.
Don’t look back.
Just keep running.
I can feel myself slowing as my fitness drains quickly. My speed further hampered as I start to cry. Come on, girl, don’t give in...
I can’t go on...
Just a bit further - maybe he’ll stop and give up...
Give up.
I can’t go on...
I drop to my knees and scream through my tears of both fear and desperation.
“I’m sorry,” I just keep repeating it - hoping he’ll forgive me, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry....”
He’s right behind me now.
I turn to him so he can see the fear in my eyes - maybe he’ll go easy on me when he sees how scared I am. How sorry I am. Even though I’m sorry I wasn’t fit enough to get away from him and not sorry about hurting him... Please go easy on me.
“Fucking cunt.”
His fist is clen.......................................
22.
The sky.
Clouds.
Peaceful?
Trees.
My head is buzzing and ears are ringing.
Where am I? What...
Can’t move.
I focus to my surroundings - he’s sat on me. Sat on my stomach.
Can’t kick him off.
Face is hurting. Signals are getting confused between my brain and legs and I can’t seem to move them. My eye socket is stinging and my top lip feels wet. A taste of iron in my mouth. So sore.
Focus.
He’s saying something.
Listen past the ringing in my ears...
Listen to him.<
br />
What’s he saying...
“Fucking cunt. Why are you trying to ruin everything? We’re meant to be together - we’re going to be together...”
Pressure on my neck.
Can’t get air.
Legs finally get the message from my brain and I try desperately hard to kick out but he doesn’t budge.
Pressure on my neck getting tighter.
Tighter.
Can’t breathe.
Gasping now.
Focus going from my sight.
Panic setting in.
Vision getting darker.
“I’m not letting you leave me.... you’re mine.....”
I can’t see him.
Words are getting faint....
* * * * *
I don’t want to loosen my grip. I want to choke her until she breaths no more. Choke the life right out of her dainty little body.... make her suffer until she is no more.
Dead.
Dead?
No.
I don’t want her dead.
I love her.
I loosen my grip.
I love her.
I loosen it a bit more.
She doesn’t move. Her eyes are closed and don’t open - even when I move my hands away from her neck completely.
“Susie?”
Nothing.
There’s no moaning. No sighing. No whimpering.
Nothing.
“Susie?”
I wave of panic rushes through my body.
“Honey?”
Nothing.
Shit.
What have I done.
Another wave of panic.
We’re over before we’ve begun?
I take my weight off her stomach by kneeling up slightly before frantically feeling for a pulse....
Nothing.
A tear dwells up in my right eye and lazily rolls down my cheek.
Wait a minute.
I can feel it.... a pulse.... It’s faint but it’s there. I haven’t killed her.
A welcome feeling of relief.
Thank you, God.
I need to get her home before she wakes up. Get her back into bed. Maybe find some ice for the bruise that’s already showing on her face. I try and remind myself that she pushed me to it. If she hadn’t tried to run - none of this would have happened.
I climb off her and stand up, bending over to lift her off of the muddy floor where she landed. It’s a good job she has other clean clothes at home....
