by Matt Shaw
We could also be in a flat.
A flat in the middle of town.
People upstairs.
People downstairs.
Even people outside, walking around, getting on with their lives blissfully unaware of my predicament.
Maybe I should carry on trying to take the tape off?
Just in case.
Just in case someone else is around.... Sure, he’ll hear me and come running in and soon silence me but - someone else might hear me too. Someone else may hear just enough of my screams to get some help - call the police, maybe?
No.
Silly.
I can’t risk it
I don’t know what he’d do. I don’t know how far he’d go.
Just be patient.
With no warning, the door opened and he came back in...
“I’m sorry - do you take milk and sugar?”
20.
He’s taken the tape off me and led me to a dining room - after giving me an evening dress he must have taken from my home at the same time as when he took me. It looked as though he had helped himself to a whole bag of my clothes.
There’s only a table and some cheap chairs in the dining room. No other decoration. A depressing room... although, from what I’ve seen - the rest of the house is styled very similar to this one.
He’s sat opposite me.
Talking.
I hear nothing that he says.
I haven’t heard him since he took the tape off - warning me not to try anything. Instead I’ve been looking for a way out. Besides, if I said anything I’d probably upset him and I don’t want to upset him; not all the time I don’t know how he’d react.
I notice he’s just looking at me; a look of expectation on his face. Has he just asked me a question?
“You haven’t been listening, have you?”
No.
I don’t know what to tell him.
Don’t upset him.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him; trying to keep him happy.
“Don’t be. It’s a lot to take in. We can chat tomorrow, if you’d prefer?”
I shake my head.
If I tell him I’d rather chat with him tomorrow.... he might tie me back up and put me into the bedroom again. I don’t want to spend the night. I want to go home. The longer we’re up - the more chance for an opportunity to get away.
First opportunity and I’ll make my move.
At first, when I saw him, I just thought he was a nice bloke but - not my perfect man.... Then, when he showed up around my house uninvited, I found him a little off but now.... Every time I see him he seems to have taken a further, darker turn, for the worse.
I need to get out of here.
We sit in silence for what seems an eternity.
“Are you hungry? I hope so, I’ve got some food cooking...”
I’m not hungry.
“That’d be nice.”
Keep him happy.
Besides which, if he has food cooking - it means there is a good chance that, at some point, he’ll leave me on my own. That’s when I’ll do it. That’s when I’ll make my move.
Get as far away as possible.
“What is for dinner?” I ask - trying to show some interest. I don’t actually care. Even if I am here, when dinner is served, I won’t be able to eat it. Not with my stomach in this many knots.
“A surprise,” he answered. “I’m sure you’ll love it.”
He smiles and a cold chill races down my spine.
* * * * *
I couldn’t help but smile. The thought of what’s cooking and my clever little line.... of course she’ll love it. She used to love it, after all...
Sam.
I breathe in - filling my nostrils with the welcoming aroma of cooking meat.
I have to say, he smells delicious.
She’s looking a little worried. Try and put her at ease.
“Is there anything you want to ask?”
Silence.
“Anything you want or need?” I continue, trying my best to be nice.
“I want to go home.”
I frown.
“You are home,” I answer.
“No, I’m not.”
“This is your home now.”
“I want my home...”
“This is your home...”
“I want my home - my home that you took me from.”
I don’t answer her. She looks as though she’s getting hysterical.
“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...”
Was he joking?
“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.
