by Lucy Wild
“How did you find this place? I never even knew it existed.”
“I went for a walk,” he said bluntly. “Want to go inside? There’s something I’ve got to show you.”
Holly followed him over to the front door, the grass rustling against her feet, the only sound apart from that of her own breathing.
“Close your eyes,” Joseph said, taking her hand in his again. “It’s a surprise.”
“What? What is it?”
“Hold on, step up. You’ll see in a second. I promise it’ll be worth it.”
Holly let herself be guided up over a stone step, the sound and feel under her feet changing as she crossed from the grass into the building, the light fading. She could smell the age of the place, her other senses enhanced by the lack of sight.
“Okay, stop there. Now, open your eyes.”
Holly did as he said. “Oh my God,” she said, taking a single step backwards, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. “What have you done?”
TEN
THROUGH THE REMAINS OF the front door was a large room, the plaster on the walls cracked but still attached for the most part. What debris had fallen, was swept to the left, piled up against the wall, leaving the floor clear. In the middle of the room, a table had been set up, draped in a red cloth. At either side of the table were wooden chairs facing each other. The table was laid out with plates and wine glasses, silver cutlery perfectly positioned. In the middle was a vase containing a bouquet of flowers.
“Did you do this?” Holly asked, taking a disbelieving step forwards. “When did you do this?”
“Take a seat,” Joseph said, pulling out a chair and holding it until she sat down. “Back in a moment.”
He walked over to the corner of the room and pushed open a door which squealed in protest. Vanishing through it, he left Holly alone, looking around her at the room.
It was a surreal sight. The place looked like it might collapse at any minute but as she looked closer she could see it was more solid than it looked. There were a couple of cracks in the wall and the floorboards were warped in places but other than that, little damage seemed to have been done.
He must have set this up before he came to get me, she thought as she waited. She checked her phone, planning on sending a photo of the set up to Fiona. No signal. It would have to wait until she was back. Her thoughts returned to him. How had she been so lucky as to meet someone who would do something so romantic for her? She was still thinking about that question when he reappeared, carrying a tray in his arms. “Luncheon is served,” he said, bringing the tray over and setting it down on the edge of the table. “Cheese sandwich or jam?”
He held up two plastic tubs as Holly pointed at one. “Surprise me.”
“Strawberry jam for you, how continental. I have wine too if you’d like to indulge?”
“Always.”
He pulled a corkscrew from his jacket pocket, pushing it into the top of the wine bottle as Holly took the other tubs from the tray. “Chocolate and crisps, you’re quite the chef.”
“Well, it had to be things I could leave here. The cooking facilities, I’m not going to lie, they need some work.”
The cork popped out of the bottle a second later and she watched as he poured them both generous quantities. “Won’t you join me?” she asked as he passed her glass over to her.
“Don’t mind if I do.” He took his seat, picking up the first half of his sandwich. “What do you think of my place?”
“It needs a bit of TLC,” she replied. “So, is this where you bring all your girls?”
“No. Just you.”
“That’s good to know.”
“I take the rest of them bowling.”
She glared at him across the table. “I’m not sure that’s funny.”
“Jealous?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Then it’s lucky for you I’m not seeing anyone else. In fact, I’ve deleted my Match Up account.”
“Really?”
He nodded, biting into his sandwich and chewing slowly before swallowing. “I get the feeling I don’t need to keep looking for the right woman. You seem very much like the right woman, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I don’t know. It depends what you’re looking for.”
“I’m looking for someone who’s willing to submit to me.”
Holly almost choked on her sandwich. “Excuse me?”
“Come on, Holly. I can tell just by looking at you, that’s what you want to do. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong.”
“It’s all right, you don’t need to pretend. There’s only us two here and I already know the truth about you.”
“The truth? What truth?”
He placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. “That you want to be forced into submitting to me. You want me to do the things to you that all women want.”
He said it like he was talking about the weather, the tone of his voice light, carefree. But Holly didn’t feel carefree. She didn’t know what to say. Could she tell him he was wrong about her? That she didn’t want that? That she wanted to get the hell out of there? But she couldn’t. She was in the middle of a wood, miles from anywhere with his car the only way of getting home. He was looking at her with a calm expectation, as if he was just waiting for her to agree. But behind his eyes was something else, something she didn’t like the look of one bit.
She had to talk her way out of it. How had the date gone so wrong so quickly? Hold on, she thought. Was she reading too much into what he said? “What kind of things are you talking about?” she asked, her voice as calm as she could manage.
“Come on, are you going to make me say it?”
She waited, watching him closely.
“You really want me to say it? Fine. You want to be raped. It’s there in your eyes. The excitement at the idea. There’s no need to be ashamed. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
The room felt as if it had turned to ice. Her heart thudded in her chest and the food weighed heavy in her stomach, threatening to come back up any second. She thought frantically, trying not to let her fear show on her face. Alone with a virtual stranger. What did she really know about him? Nothing, not really. She had to get somewhere safe, then she could deal with this. She could block him on the app, report him to the site administrators, maybe even the police if he tried to get in touch again. Was he insane? Telling her she wanted to be raped? But if she raised the issue, what would he do? Play along for now, she thought. It’s the only option.
“Maybe next time,” she said, forcing the words out. She picked up the glass before looking at the contents closely. Would he have drugged it?
“Could you take me home,” she said, trying her best to keep her voice casual. “I don’t feel too great.”
“Oh, really?” he said, concern spreading across his features. “I hope it wasn’t something you ate.”
No, it was something you said, she thought, the words screaming in her head. Who the hell do you think you are?
She was up and out of the chair quickly, crossing to the door and out into the open, taking deep breaths of air, trying to warm her skin in the sunlight, unable to believe it was just a few minutes since she’d arrived. He thought she wanted to submit? Did he really think that?
“Come on,” he said, slipping his hand into his. “You look pale. Let’s get you home.”
He didn’t mention what he’d said to her for the entire drive home. Instead he let the radio play, occasionally asking if she needed to stop, his concern nothing more than a sick parody to her.
Holly somehow managed to last the journey back without bringing up what little of her lunch she’d eaten. The entire time, she kept her arm near the door handle, ready to grab it and dive out if he made a lunge for her or if he tried to drive anyway but back to York. When she’d first climbed into his car, she had felt suddenly trapped, as if he might grab her there and then. But he didn’t, he just set of
f as if the date had gone perfectly. Maybe he thought it had.
When they finally got to York, she made him stop at the end of the street, still on the main road. “I’ll walk this bit,” she said, already fumbling for the door. “The fresh air should help.”
“Of course,” he said, leaning over as she climbed out. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”
No fucking way, she thought, managing a half smile. “Yeah, maybe.”
She managed not to run, checking behind her a few seconds later to make sure he had driven away. She wanted to talk to Fiona, find out if what had happened was normal, was that something people talked about on dates, was that what men were really like when you got them in private? Were they all like that or was it just him?
Fiona wasn’t home. Holly sat on the sofa with her phone in her hand, trying to decide whether or not to phone the police. But then, what would she tell them?
He hadn’t actually done anything to her. He had only told her she wanted it to happen. Would they even believe her? What if they spoke to him and he denied it? What then?
She tapped the phone, running her finger down the screen. There was no point. Block him. That was the first thing. What was it Fiona had called it? Ghosting. That was it. She would ghost him. She would block him, she would delete him, she would ghost him. She would never speak to him again. What had she done to make him think that? No, don’t do that. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d got the idea into his head all by himself. For all she knew, he felt like that all the time, about all women.
But to go from so charming to saying something like that. It didn’t add up.
She sat there, closing her eyes and thinking hard. She remembered one drunken night with Fiona, sitting up watching music videos from the 1980s, talking in that nonsense way about themselves and each other. “I need sex,” she had said, giggling loudly as she said it, Fiona nodding sagely from her chair.
“Yes, you do. You need ravishing.”
“Yes, ravishing. On a moortop, preferably.”
“You might get heather up your bum.”
“Who’s Heather?”
They had both collapsed into laughter, the conversation an abstract thing, a talk about something so distant that it didn’t matter what they said. Fiona had whispered about being held down, how good it felt.
“I wouldn’t mind trying,” Holly had replied, thinking excited thoughts to herself.
But the reality was a long way from a drunken talk. To think of him forcing himself onto her, the idea was disgusting. She shuddered as she sat there, unable to connect herself to the drunken conversation she’d had, what? Six months ago? No, longer. It was Christmas of their second year. That made it eighteen months ago, give or take.
It didn’t make sense. He’d been so nice to her. What had made him flip like that? Or had he always been thinking about her in that way? Maybe from the moment he saw her profile, that was what he wanted to do. But why not do it at the mansion then? How close had she been to danger? The thought terrified her. Delete him. Don’t think about him anymore. And send Fiona a message, find out where the hell she is.
ELEVEN
HOLLY STRUGGLED TO GET to sleep. She had laid in the dark, wishing Fiona wasn’t on an impromptu date of her own. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to beg her housemate to come home, to tell her she didn’t want to be alone. In the end, she just sent her a message that read, It didn’t go well.
Fiona promised they’d talk tomorrow but she was at the coast, eating fish and chips and watching the seagulls fight over the scraps on the beach next to a man she called ‘sex on legs.’
Holly had calmed down a little. He hadn’t come hammering on the door. He hadn’t sent her any more messages, not surprising since she’d blocked his number.
You want to be raped.
Just thinking about it chilled her blood. Every time she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, the words came back to her. She picked up her book, switching on the lamp, but the adventures of the Rake seemed unimportant. When she’d reread the same sentence five times, she gave up, putting the book down again, trying to sleep once more.
She’d felt exhausted all afternoon, the adrenaline slowly draining out of her, leaving her limbs feeling heavy. She tried to lose herself in TV, wondering whether to call her mother. No, she’d know something was wrong. Just sweep it under the rug, pretend it didn’t happen. She wished with all heart that Fiona was home, though.
Before climbing into bed, she checked both doors were locked and then checked again. After going to the bathroom, she checked for a third time, not noticing that the kitchen window was unlocked, the latch just out of line, just enough to be opened from the outside of the house.
It was just after midnight when she heard a noise on the landing. “Fi,” she called out. “Is that you?” It was the creak of the top step, there was definitely someone out there. Or was there? It could just be the house settling. Was she being paranoid?
She reached across to the bedside table, grabbing her phone and pulling it under the covers, listening hard, trying to keep her breathing under control. Nothing. No sound out there. She thought about calling out again but what if it wasn’t Fiona? What then?
Call the police, she thought. No, don’t be stupid. She knew she’d be wasting their time if there was nothing out there.
Get up and check.
But she couldn’t do it. Her legs felt like lead. There was no rational reason to think it but she was certain there was someone out there. Somehow, she managed to sit up, doing her best to slow her breathing as she stood up, phone gripped tightly in her hand, still listening. The only sound was her own heart, thumping in her chest.
She crossed to the door and pulled it open, slowly, tentatively. Peering out, she could see nothing. She reached her hand for the lightswitch and turned it on, staring left and right. There was no one out there.
Leaving the light on, she stepped back, still listening. She was being paranoid. Slowly, she closed the door, pressing her ear to it, just in case. Nothing.
She climbed back into bed, pulling the covers tightly around her, telling herself to calm down. The phone sat in arm’s reach, ready for her to grab if she heard the slightest noise.
She never heard him.
She listened for a long time but in the end, she decided it was nothing, her eyes slowly closing despite her belief that she wouldn’t sleep at all.
She drifted off a little after midnight and as she moved onto her right side ten minutes later, the door handle began to turn ever so slowly, the door itself easing silently open. The kitchen window remained unlocked downstairs. He was planning to leave quickly once he was done.
She dreamed she was back in the mansion, only it was back when it was lived in. She was at the dining room table, sitting opposite Joseph who was holding forth to the assembled guests. “It is what all women want,” he was saying as they all nodded, dozens of them, all men, all turning to look at her.
She felt a hand on her wrist, one of the men was holding her in her seat, stopping her from leaving. She tried to twist but it didn’t work, he just gripped harder, making her wince. “Let me go,” she muttered.
“You know you want this,” he replied, his lips not moving as the dream faded.
She blinked awake, her head groggy. She had not slept long. The pain on her wrist was still there and she looked down. A shadowy thing was wrapped around it. She blinked again and the room came into focus. Someone was standing over her. Someone who was holding her wrist. “Fi?” she asked, moving to sit up.
“Guess again,” the figure said in a voice she recognised.
She jolted upright but as she did so, he grabbed her other wrist, pushing her back onto the bed.
“Get off me,” she said, trying to twist herself free.
“Not a chance,” he said, suddenly leaping onto her, shoving her shoulders into the pillow, leaning down so his head was near hers, his hand moving from her wrist to her mouth, squeezing her cheeks between his
fingers. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
He leaned down, pushing his tongue into her mouth, making her gag as she fell still, so afraid she was unable to move. Would he kill her?
His tongue slid over hers before he sat up, his knees still either side of her waist. “Keep still,” he said, grabbing her pyjama top and yanking it apart, sending buttons flying. He grabbed hold of her breasts in both hands, pushing them together, tugging at her nipples.
“You know you want this,” he said, his voice thick with menace. “Look how hard they’re getting. I bet you’re soaked, aren’t you, you little slut?”
She wanted to tell him to get off her but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. It was too much for her brain to take and it drifted off as if she was no longer inside herself. His hands moved lower, rough with her as he shuffled down the bed, tugging at her pyjama bottoms, sliding them down her legs whilst growling at her, “Keep still.” Her mind floated up somewhere near the ceiling. He was going to kill her and she’d watch it happening to herself. She wasn’t there anymore.
He threw her pyjama bottoms to the floor, turning back to leer at her naked body. As he stared at her, he pushed the palm of his hand between her legs. She couldn’t scream. There was no air inside her. But when he tried to push a finger into her, she came to life, as if she was waking up from the dream for a second time. Her legs moved of their own accord, sliding up the bed away from him. Suddenly, she had control of herself again. She had to act now or he’d be on her again, trapping her under him. He was already getting ready, shifting his weight forwards.
She moved quickly, twisting to one side as he leapt after her. He grabbed her hair, trying to pull her back as she got to her feet. She lashed out with her leg behind her, catching him a glancing blow, the shock enough to make him loosen his grip. She ran, getting to the door and yanking it open, the sound of his roar spurring her on. She made it to the landing and was about to sprint downstairs when he caught her, his hand descending on her shoulder. She turned, dipping under his arm, making her way to Fiona’s room, hoping she could get to the window in there, jump down to the ground below. “Come back here,” he said, lunging for her. She turned again but he was blocking her path. She had nowhere left to run.
