After the Cabin

by Amy Cross

  “That's what they told us as well,” he replies, “but obviously something was missed. We've been liaising with them since yesterday afternoon and they've promised to get back to us as soon as possible. They say they never had a copy of the video, so it couldn't have leaked from their side, and as far as we can tell it was never uploaded from the cabin itself -”

  “So how the hell did it get out?” I ask, getting to my feet.

  “Anna, please,” Mum whispers. “Let's not use strong language here.”

  Staring at Bryson, I can see from the look in his eyes that he doesn't have an answer. I sit down, but I still feel as if I'm about to explode with anger at any moment.

  “We'll find out where it came from,” Bryson says finally. “It might take a little while, but we'll trace it somehow. We've got tech guys who can pull off absolute miracles. It goes right above my head, but give the guys time and they'll have answers.”

  “Can't you have it taken down?” Mum asks him. “Surely people aren't allowed to send this filth to each other! It's the twenty-first century, for crying out loud, people can't be allowed to do this!”

  “It's not that simple,” I reply, while still staring at Bryson. “Once something's online, it's out there forever. Until the day I die, I'm going to have to live with the knowledge that there are people watching me being...” My voice trails off for a moment as I imagine someone sitting in a darkened basement, watching a monitor that's lit up with an image of me tied naked to a chair, my tattered and ravaged body on full display. I want to burst into tears, but somehow I manage to hold back. There'll be plenty of time to cry later, once I'm alone in my room.

  “I don't understand how you could be so incompetent,” Mum says after a moment. “Can't you -”

  “It's not his fault,” I tell her.

  “Then whose -”

  “I knew this would happen,” I continue, as I feel a wave of panic rushing through my chest. “Everyone said it wouldn't, but I knew. This is how the world works, if something like video this exists, it'll always get out. People are magnetically drawn to watching awful things.”

  “Anna,” Bryson says with a sigh, “the important -”

  “Have you seen it?” I ask.

  He opens his mouth to reply, but something make him hold back and I can already see the answer in his eyes. “I have seen a few frames,” he says cautiously, “but only because we needed to verify that it was -”

  “What part?” I ask.

  “I'm sorry?”

  “What part of the video did you see?”

  He swallows hard, and it's clear that he feels uncomfortable.

  “Was it from when I was hanging out with the others?” I continue. “I know they filmed lot of footage from the moment I arrived, showing me acting normal. Establishing scenes, that's what Joe called them. Or did you see part from later, from when I was tied naked to the chair?”

  He adjusts his collar.

  “What's wrong?” I ask, feeling a flash of anger in my chest. “Don't you like thinking about it? What part did you see? The part where they were drilling through my shoulder? The part where they were burning my face? Or was it even worse, was it the part where one of them punched nails into my -”

  “Anna,” Mum whispers, touching my arm. “Please, sweetheart, don't...”

  Again I pull away from her. There's a knot of frustration getting tighter and tighter in my chest, and I know it's making me act irrationally. Still, I can't hold back, and I feel as if my entire body is about to shake apart. I'm reacting badly but I can't help it. Leaning forward, I put my head in my hands.

  “There are things we can do to mitigate the impact this has on your life,” Bryson continues after a moment. “Anna, no-one's going to be just searching for this video and finding it easily. The number of people who actually watch it will be infinitesimally small, it'll be limited to the people who deliberately seek out this kind of thing. Do you really think the majority of people want to see someone being tortured and hurt in a video?”

  “Of course not,” Mum says quickly.

  “Yes,” I tell Bryson, meeting his gaze, “I think there are a lot of people who'll want to watch it.”

  He sighs.

  “You're being a little cynical,” Mum tells me.

  “Can I just go to my room now?” I ask Bryson. “Is there anything else you need from me, or are we done here? It seems like you just came to tell me the good news, but you don't actually need anything from me.”

  “When's your next counseling session?” he asks.

  “Soon.”

  “But -”

  “It doesn't matter when,” I continue. “Soon. And don't worry, I will go, I just...” Feeling as if I have to find a place to hide, I turn and hurry to the door, before stopping and looking back at him. “I thought I saw someone videoing me last night,” I tell him.

  “I'm sorry?”

  “Outside in the garden.” I turn and point toward the patio doors. “I saw a red light, and then I saw someone running away. At least, that's what I think I saw, but there have been other things too, hallucinations, so I can't be certain. I don't think I'm a very reliable witness.” I pause for a moment, before turning back to him. “I just thought I should tell you.”

  “I'll go and take a look,” he replies calmly. “I doubt there was anyone, but if there was, they might have left footprints or some other evidence. I'll let you know if I find anything.”

  I mutter something about him not having to bother, before making my way out into the hallway. By the time I start hurrying up the stairs, I feel as if my legs are about to collapse.

  ***

  “Come on,” I mutter, sitting alone in my bedroom as I scroll through the list of files. Finding another that claims to be the video from the cabin, I download it into a sandbox on my laptop and use AV software to give it a quick scan, and immediately half a dozen viruses are identified.

  Sighing, I delete the file and lean back, staring at the screen for a moment.

  I've spent an hour now trawling through file-sharing sites, trying to find a copy of the video, but so far all I've come up with is a series of viruses. I guess I should be glad that most people searching for the video will just get their computers infected, but I'm also worried that the sheer number of fake results is a sign that the virus-makers know the video will draw attention. I know I should give up, that there's no point finding the video and I shouldn't even watch it if I get a chance, but at the same time I can't help myself. It's as if I'm compelled to keep searching even though I know it's a bad idea.

  Leaning forward, I scroll down the page and click on the next link, but it's just another virus. Then the next, then the next, and then another and another and -

  Suddenly the AV software brings up a different answer once it's scanned the latest download.

  “No threat detected,” I whisper, checking the file details and seeing that it's large, definitely large enough to be a long video.

  A shiver passes through my chest as I realize that I might have found what I'm looking for.

  Reaching across the desk, I turn my speakers down to low volume so I don't accidentally blast the house with the sound from whatever starts playing, and then I double-click to open the video. I lean back, and as the file is loaded into the player I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. This probably isn't even the right video, it's probably just a stupid rick-roll or something, but I have to know for certain. The laptop screen is still blank, the file is loading, and I know I should just -

  “Anna!” Marit's voice calls out suddenly from the speaker, as the screen is filled with a shaky, hand-held shot of the arrivals gate at an airport. I immediately recognize the scene, and a moment later the camera zooms in to show me carrying my backpack through and smiling as Marit runs to greet me.

  “Hey,” my voice says, sounding so happy and relaxed, “it's great to see -”

  I lean forward and tap the space bar, freezing the video on a frame showing the bottom half
of my smiling face, with Marit's arms wrapped around me. I remember that moment, that hug, and that feeling of being about to start a huge adventure. I'd had such a bad time at home after breaking up with Max, and Marit had promised to show me Norway. I never even thought twice about the whole thing, and even my usually-cautious mother thought it was a good idea at the time. Now, seeing myself on the video, I can't help thinking that I walked straight into trouble.

  I shouldn't watch this.

  My goddamn mental health will drop into the sewers if I see another second.

  Still, when I look at the bar at the bottom of the screen, I realize that the video is almost six hours long. Taking a deep breath, I drag the slider along until it hits the half-hour mark, and then I tap the space bar again to resume playback. This time the image is static and a little grainy, and it takes a moment before I realize that I'm watching myself kneeling on the floor of the cabin's second bedroom.

  “Huh,” I hear my voice saying. “Gross. So much for the place being kept spotless.”

  As I watch myself tidying my stuff on the floor, I realize that this was the moment when I found a fingernail stuck between the floorboards. At the time, I just thought it was a weird, slightly freaky thing to stumble across, but now I can't help feeling that I was a complete idiot. There must have been signs, things that could have tipped me off that the situation was dodgy, but I just sailed along. I trusted the people I was with. Still watching the screen, I feel a slowly-growing sense of hatred for the version of myself I'm observing. How goddamn naive and stupid was I back then? Filled with disgust, I drag the slider along again and then drop it around the forty-five minutes mark.

  I feel a shiver pass through my chest as I see myself on the screen, humming as I wash my hair in the shower. I had no idea there were hidden cameras in the bathroom, but my naked, un-scarred body is on full display as I turn around in the cubicle. I watch for a moment, before moving the slider further along.

  The next section shows me standing in the cabin's kitchen, wearing my pajamas as I stare straight at the camera. There's silence for a moment, as if whoever's holding the camera is happy to just record me like this. I don't quite remember -

  “You don't fancy performing a little striptease do you?” a male voice asks suddenly.

  Daniel.

  That's Daniel's voice.

  I feel a shiver of pure hatred rippling through my chest.

  “Sorry?” I hear my voice replying. “What did you just say?”

  “You're pretty hot,” he replies, “but I feel like you don't notice that about yourself. How about you let me -”

  “Go to hell!” I hiss, pausing the video again. I don't know who I'm more angry at: him for everything that happened to me, or myself for being so completely naive. “How could you have been so stupid?” I whisper, staring at my frozen image on the screen. “Nothing excuses what they did, but you just ran into it with your eyes wide open. You deserved to be -”

  I pause for a moment.

  No, I didn't deserve anything.

  I might have been a little naive, but that's not exactly a crime.

  Dragging the slider across the screen to the hour mark, I hit play again, and this time I see a wobbly, indistinct image of something being rolled across the floor. It takes a moment before I realize that it's me, unconscious now in the cabin's basement. Suddenly a boot comes into view, slamming into me with enough force to send me slamming into the wall.

  “Hey!” Jennifer's voice hisses from the speaker. “Save it for the main show, dumb-ass!”

  A hand moves into view, grabbing my shirt and pulling it up to reveal the side of my chest, where there's already a dark red mark. I wasn't even conscious when this part happened.

  “Well done,” Jennifer sighs, “you've broken a rib.”

  “So?” asks another voice. Joe.

  “So did we get it on camera?” she asks. She sounds so matter-of-fact, so business-like.

  I pause the video again, this time on her face. I guess we're finally getting close to the part where the torture begins. The first hour of the video was just establishing shots, scenes showing me hanging out with the others, letting the viewers get to know me before the main part of the show begins. I look at the slider and try to imagine what's in the remaining five hours of footage, but deep down I already know. It's all the same incidents that I've been replaying over and over in my mind, except this time I can see it as it really happened.

  I take a deep breath.

  My lips are dry, and my heart is pounding.

  I drag the slider along, figuring I'll just take a very, very brief look, just to get an idea. Stopping at the three hour mark, I move the cursor over, ready to play the video again, but for a moment I hold back.

  I shouldn't do this.

  In fact, this is the single most stupid, damaging choice I could make.

  If I had any sense at all...

  “Don't be an idiot,” I whisper, daring myself to just delete the video. “You don't need to see this. You already know what happened.”

  I wish I could be brave enough to resist, but already I know that I'm not. I'm going to watch this video, just as surely as night follows day.

  “Just a quick look,” I tell myself. “Just to be sure that it's...”

  Sitting in silence, I feel as if all the thoughts have left my mind. Finally I click the button, and my agonized scream bursts from the speaker as I see a shaky, hand-held view of my naked body being punched repeatedly. I reach out to stop the video again, but instead I freeze, staring with wide-eyed horror as the video continues and a figure steps into view, swinging a baseball bat into my chest.

  I can't stop watching. Wide-eyed, with my mind almost completely blank, I stare at the screen as the video continues.

  Six

  “How much did you see?” Doctor Lewis asks the next day as we sit in his quiet, sunlit office.

  Staring over at the window, where a tree outside is being blown by a gentle morning breeze, I think back to that long, frozen afternoon yesterday when I sat in my room, unable to stop the video.

  “Anna? How much did you watch?”

  I turn to him.

  I should answer.

  “Almost all of it,” I stammer finally. “I skipped some of the early parts, but once the torture started...” My voice trails off.

  “I see.” He makes a note, and it's clear that he's not very impressed. “Anna,” he continues finally, “I have to say, you really -”

  “I know,” I reply, interrupting him. “It was stupid, it was really stupid.” I pause again. “To be honest, ever since I got out of hospital, I've been making one stupid decision after another. With the video, it was like... I didn't decide to watch it, I had to watch it, the way I have to breathe in and out, or the way I have to eat and drink. What else am I supposed to do, just ignore it and pretend it doesn't exist?”

  “And why did you -”

  “Have you seen it?” I ask.

  He pauses.

  “Have you?”

  “No, Anna. Of course not.”

  Staring at him for a moment, I feel as if he's lying. He's meeting my gaze and he has that same calm expression that I've seen many times before, but there's just something about the look in his eyes that makes me think he has watched the video, or at least part of it. I mean, why wouldn't he? It's almost his job to watch it; besides, despite his calm demeanor he might secretly be the kind of person who gets off on that kind of video. Yeah, he's definitely seen it, he's probably been through it a couple of times at least, making notes and taking screen-shots, discussing it with his colleagues. Maybe they've passed it around the office by now.

  “Anna?” he says after a moment. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like...” He pauses, before tilting his head slightly, like a dog. “Why did you -”

  “Wouldn't you watch it if there was a video about you?” I ask.

  He pauses again.

&n
bsp; “How could you stop yourself?” I continue. “Wouldn't basic human curiosity compel you to take a look?”

  “Anna, are you cold?”

  “What?”

  “You appear to be shivering.”

  Realizing that he's right, I lean back in the chair and try to stay still, but it's as if I'm filled with this uncontrollable urge to shudder. Lately, there seems to be a very strong disconnect between my mind and my body.

  “I'm fine,” I tell him. “I just don't see the need to talk about the video, especially if you say you haven't seen it.” I watch his face for a moment, looking for some flicker that'll betray the truth. He's watched it. I know he has. “If you really haven't seen it,” I continue, “then you should. All of it. I give you permission.”

  “Permission?”

  “You know what I mean,” I reply. “Frankly, if you still say you haven't watched it at our next session, I almost feel like you're not doing your job properly. You can't help me without seeing it.”

  ***

  “Anna! Hey Anna, hold up!”

  Stopping with my key in the front door, I turn and see Karen running along the driveway.

  “Hey,” she says breathlessly, smiling as she reaches me and leans against the wall. “Didn't you hear me calling you from down the street? Jesus Christ, I am so out of shape.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter, opening the door and letting her into the hallway of Mum's house, “I guess I was in a world of my own.” As she steps through, I can't help noticing that she's wearing some kind of dark blue uniform. “Have you been at work?”

  She turns and points proudly at a logo on one side of her chest. “I got a job a while back at the Maple Cornell Hotel in town. I told you the other night, remember?”

  “Um... Maybe, yeah.” Shutting the door, I can't help feeling as if I'm in a complete daze. Still, it's a good job Karen is here, or I'd probably end up watching the video again. As I slip out of my coat and scarf, however, I can tell that something seems to be bothering her, and it only takes a fraction of a second for me to guess what's on her mind. “So you've seen it?” I ask.