The Story Collection: Volume Two

by Matt Shaw

  She nodded, “And you? You won’t go anywhere?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

  I sat down, on the dirty bed, next to her and put my arm around her.

  Kayla sat bolt upright in the bed, making me jump - her eyes fixed intently on the thick, wooden door. A ‘click’ from the locking mechanism as a key was turned from within.

  The door swung open with much force - just as it always did - banging hard against the wall. I presumed the kidnappers always opened the door, in such a violent manner, to remind Kayla how powerful they were.... or, to catch her if she were stood close by - ready to try and make a run for it.

  She never did stand by the door.

  I stood up and stepped to one side. No point trying to get in the way. I know I’m not really here. I know where I am. If I were here - I’d have swung for them. I’d have done anything to protect my sister. Anything.

  “Please, no more...” She started to cry.

  The large, masked man walked to the end of the bed and simply stared at her. He made no attempt to make a move on her; much to my relief.

  “It’s your lucky day,” he said. “Home time....”

  Kayla didn’t move. She stayed there, huddled in a small curled up ball. I expect she felt it was a trick. A cruel trick to get her to lower her defenses so he could make a move.

  “Come on, bitch, we don’t have all day...” the kidnapper raised his voice.

  Quick to anger.

  Kayla flinched.

  “You’re going home, Kayla, it’s going to be okay,” I said.

  “Don’t leave me,” she whispered - unheard by the kidnapper.

  “Fucking move it!” the man shouted. He leant forward and grabbed Kayla by her ankle, he dragged her towards him. As soon as she was close enough, he scooped her from the bed and threw her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing.

  She screamed.

  I went to make a move - my protective instincts kicking in.

  “You want to go home or not?”

  The kidnapper carried her over to, and out of, the door - slamming it shut behind him.

  Once again, I was alone in my box.

  If they let Kayla go, I’m sure they’ll let me go too.

  “See,” whispered Kayla from the darkness, “everything will be okay.”

  Did my spirits really just raise a little?

  If mum and dad are coming...

  ...if the kidnappers do let me go...

  ...what am I supposed to do whilst I wait?

  Just lie here?

  I feel helpless.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” said Kayla. “You’ve already tried...”

  I had tried.

  When I woke up in here, it was the first thing I did.

  “Just try and calm your breathing down,” she said. “Try and save some of the air...”

  The air.

  I wonder how much air is left.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I wiped my face of sweat, banging my elbow on the side of the box in the process. So thirsty. I’d give anything for a drink right now. A drink and a mouthful of fresh, cool air.

  It’s definitely hotter in here now, under whatever rubble has been thrown on top. I feel tired. Exhausted. The same kind of sleepiness that washes over you when you lay in a sun-spot.

  “Go to sleep if you’re tired,” said mum.

  “I can’t.”

  “You can barely keep your eyes open. The rest will do you good.”

  “What if I don’t wake up?” my eyes welled up once more.

  “You will,” she whispered.

  Lying in my child-hood bed - shaped like a red racing car - my mum turned around and tucked me in, under my cartoon character duvet. I caught a glimpse of myself, in a mirror on the opposite side of the room. I look as though I’m five years old.

  “I don’t want the blanket,” I moaned. “It’s hot in here.”

  Mum ignored me. I hated the way she tucked me in. The duvet covered me up to my neck and was tucked into the sides of the bed - making it feel almost impossible to move.

  She flicked to the last few pages of a book she collected from the bookcase which lined my bedroom wall and began to read, “Say! I like green eggs and ham! I do!! I like them, Sam-I-am! And I would eat them in a boat! And I would eat them with a goat... And I will eat them in the rain. And in the dark. And on a train. And in a car. And in a tree. They are so good so good you see! So I will eat them in a box.....”

  I opened my eyes.

  Back in my box.

  Must have dozed off.

  No green eggs and ham. No mum. Nothing.

  “I’m here,” whispered Kayla. I couldn’t see her. In the dark, I presume.

  “I thought you’d gone,” I said.

  “I told you, I wasn’t going anywhere.”

  “I’m scared,” I said, again, knowing full well I’m starting to sound like a broken record. Round and round in circles, repeating the same lines again and again.

  “You’re doing so well,” said mum.

  Sat in a dentist chair. Six years old. Mum is stood next to me holding my hand.

  “What sticker do you think you’ll choose?” she asked.

  I looked to the wall, on my left, where the stickers were displayed.

  “I like the Popeye one,” I said.

  The dental nurse stood, from where she was sat just behind me, and fetched my sticker. I thanked her and realised I was back in the box.

  Broken memories are taking over from reality more and more - just not lasting as long. I wish they would last longer, though. Keep me away from the box. I wonder, is this what people are referring to when they say your life flashes before your eyes before you die?

  “You’re not going to die,” said Kayla.

  I walked over to Kayla, in her bedroom, and sat with her on the edge of her bed. Mum and dad had just left the room - having made a massive fuss over her; happy to see her back - just as I was.

  “I missed you,” I said. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Did you think you were going to die?” An insensitive thing to ask. I’m sure - when this really happened - I didn’t ask this question. I’m sure I had actually left the room with mum and dad, to give her some space and let her rest but... like I said - broken memories.

  “No,” said Kayla. “You had told me you wouldn’t let me die. You promised me everything would be okay and it was...”

  I smiled.

  “And, now, I’m promising you everything is going to be okay,” she went on.

  “And it will be,” I said.

  “I’m sure mum and dad are coming for you right now, they’ll be here soon...”

  “Can you tell them I don’t want to talk about this when they get here... I just want to go home. I’m not ready to talk to anyone.”

  “The police will want to know what happened,” said Kayla.

  “But I don’t know what happened. I told you. I don’t remember.”

  “Try and remember,” she said. “It could help the police capture whoever did this to you... I know it’s hard... but you must try and remember....”

  “What if I can’t?”

  I stood at the nightclub bar, leaning against it for support as my legs felt numb. Shouldn’t have tried to keep up with my friends. They always drink me under the table. A strange sensation - I know, from the way I’m slumped - I’m drunk yet... my brain is firing on all cylinders. I feel aware of everything going on around me.

  “I can’t believe you wanted to bring me here,” shouted Kayla as she came over and stood with me, “it’s a cattle market!”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  A lie. This club was one of the worst cattle market’s in the town but there was a reason for that - the women, who frequented this place over other clubs, were less inclined to turn down a drink when offered. Sure, my uni friends and I knew a drink didn’t necessarily mean yo
u were going home with anyone - but it sure helped your chances.

  “How do you even talk to anyone here? It’s so loud!”

  I’d forgotten, Kayla had never been to a nightclub before. She hardly visited pubs, either, only on the rare occasions mum and dad took us out for a cheap pub meal - a trip out normally instigated by mum who’d be too tired to cook.... or, at the very least, aware she had nothing in the cupboards worth eating.

  “You get used to it,” I shouted back, leaning in close to her.

  “Look...” Kayla pointed over my shoulder, “...someone likes you.”

  I followed her gaze to a woman standing at the far end of the bar. Nice, short black dress, shoulder length hair. Cleavage definitely put on display. I can’t tell if it’s fake, boosted by padding or real....

  “Fake,” said Kayla.

  I shrugged.

  “You think she has anything to do with what happened?” asked Kayla.

  “Not sure.”

  Now I see her, stood there, I do recall seeing her in the club when I was here. Can’t recall if I spoke to her, though.

  Back in the box, Kayla urged me to try and remember.

  “So what if she does come over and start talking to me?” I said. “Who’s to say the memory is real? Unbroken?”

  Kayla didn’t have an answer for me. She knew, just as much as I did if not more so, that my memories were betraying me with how fragmented they were. Hard to say what’s real and what’s not anymore. Part of me even believes Kayla really is here with me. I know she isn’t but... it’s a lie I’m willing, and grateful, to accept. Made more comforting with the knowledge Kayla is actually safe and sound, at home.

  “It’s getting harder to breathe,” I said.

  “I know,” said Kayla, “just concentrate on trying to remember....”

  I changed the subject, tired of trying to remember that which seemed lost to me, “You never gave me a proper answer.”

  “About what?”

  “How did you survive?”

  She gave me a sympathetic smile, “I didn’t.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I turned to Kayla only to find myself stood outside, next to a coffin, in a graveyard; a funeral in progress. Kayla stood next to me, watching the coffin with tears in her eyes.

  “Am I in there?” I asked.

  “No. I am.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t be. You’re at home.”

  She shook her head. I turned around to see who was at the funeral; mum and dad weeping, me in my late teens. Kayla’s school friends. Some of her teachers. The hot, stale air now tinged with sadness.

  “No. I remember taking you for a drive in my car.... I remember. You even came in and woke me up on my twenty-first birthday...”

  “You said it yourself. Broken memories.”

  “No, this is a broken memory. This is the damaged one....”

  She shook her head, “I wish it were.”

  I ran over to the coffin and pulled the lid from the top. No body inside. Just a hole leading to what looked like a bedroom - I can see Kayla in there lying on the bed naked and crying.

  I turned to the people watching the funeral to see if anyone was coming to stop me but no one was. They weren’t even moving. A vicar, standing near the coffin wasn’t even reading from The Bible anymore - it was as though the Earth stood still. I turned back to gazing into the room and climbed into the coffin.... dropping down onto the bed next to Kayla.

  “Dad paid,” I said as I slipped my arm around her. “You came home.”

  “He didn’t pay,” she said.

  “You’re his favourite!” I protested. “Of course he paid! He paid and you came home.”

  “You think I was his favourite, I wasn’t. He didn’t have favourites. It appears to you that way now because he simply misses me. He never forgave himself...”

  “No. You’re wrong.”

  The door to the bedroom swung open with force and slammed against the wall causing the plaster to crack. A man, no longer wearing a mask, with a blurred face stormed in and grabbed Kayla. I jumped up and took a swing for him but my fist merely passed right through. Clearly a memory I’m not to change.

  Kayla barely registered when the man forced himself upon her, grunting as he slid inside of her. Instead, she continued to talk to me as though nothing was happening, “There was nothing to pay.”

  “There was. A ransom.... Dad paid it.”

  I was crying uncontrollably. Upset by the confused state of my brain and the fact I could do nothing to stop this man from raping my sister.

  “You were supposed to pick her up!” I heard mum shout out from behind me.

  I span around to see mum yelling at dad, in the corner of the room, watching the blurred man fucking their daughter. Both in tears.

  “This isn’t right!” I screamed.

  Mum didn’t hear me, just carried on shouting at dad, “You were supposed to pick her up! If you had collected her on time - none of this would have happened...” She was hitting him, open palmed, in the chest. Dad barely flinched. Didn’t try stopping her - just continued to watch his daughter.

  I turned back to Kayla, “This is the broken memory.... they let you go... the kidnappers let you go.... They got their money!”

  The man suddenly moaned out-loud, as he pulled Kayla close against him. I turned away. Back in the box. I think I prefer it in here. Kayla is laid down next to me.

  “There was no ransom. He was just a pervert.”

  “But I remember you coming home...”

  “What you want to remember. Your mind clutching at anything to give you some hope that everything’s going to be okay.”

  It’s coming back to me; dad was meant to pick Kayla up from one of her many after-school clubs, that day, but got caught up in a meeting. I’m not sure how long she would have waited for him, at the school gate before giving up and deciding to walk home.

  They found her in the woods.

  “I couldn’t save you.”

  “I didn’t expect you to.”

  “I’m not getting out of here, am I?” I whimpered, my voice cracking.

  “I made you a promise.”

  “Even if I do get out of here, what sort of state will my mind be in?”

  “They’ll be an adjustment period, no doubt,” said Kayla. “You’ll be fine...”

  “And you’ll be gone?”

  “Only because you’re too slow to catch me.”

  Kayla peddled off, up the street I suddenly found myself in, on her little pink bike. I gave her the briefest of head-starts before giving chase. Every weekend, in the Summer, was the same - chasing each other on our bikes. Bought for us as Christmas presents one year. She’d always pedal as fast as she could and I’d go at about half-speed, just to give her a bit of a chance to get away.

  This memory was different, though. I peddled as fast as I could. I didn’t want to lose her, not now.

  Not now.

  What if I can’t find her again?

  She slammed on her brakes, at the end of the street, and skidded to a halt. I stopped next to her.

  “Remember when we used to attach playing cards to the spokes of our bikes to make them sound like they had motors?” Kayla said.

  I smiled but wasn’t really listening to her. I pulled her back into my box with me.

  “What if I don’t want to get out,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want to stay with you.”

  “You can’t.”

  “I want to.”

  “You know I’m not really here. I’m here because your mind wants me to be.”

  “I could come to where you are.”

  “Doesn’t work like that.”

  “It might.”

  “It’s not your time.”

  “I feels like it is.”

  “You just need to remember....”

  “Remember what?”

  “Anything that might help you piece together what happe
ned.”