by West, Sam
“Go on,” he said gently.
She searched his face, but his features were slack, unreadable. If he was disgusted with her, he was hiding it well.
“I thought I’d walk back to the digs. It was a warm night, and I’ve always liked the night-time better than the daytime, I don’t know why. I find it comforting, cocooning. Even after what happened to me, I still like it and feel safer at night.”
Fleetingly, she wondered if she was going to tell him everything. It was with a great sense of inevitability that she realised that she was. She took a deep breath before continuing, appreciating Jim’s silent air of non-judgement.
“So this guy, he was following me. I was walking down a quiet street at three in the morning when he snatched me. He drugged me with something, I think it was chloroform on a rag over my mouth, and I don’t remember much after that. I remember him kind of propping me up and walking me down the street, like I was his drunk girlfriend, or something, and then I remember being bundled into the back of a van… When I woke up, I was in my worst nightmare.”
The memories of that room slammed into her mind, as vivid as if it had been yesterday. She must have fallen quiet for longer than she realised, for Jim was gently urging her to continue.
“It’s okay. You can tell me.”
She looked into his kind eyes and realised that yes, she could.
“His name was Dale Bentley, although I didn’t know that at the time. I found that out after he had been arrested, after I had testified against him. During the two weeks that he held me prisoner, I knew nothing about him. Nothing apart from the fact he was pure evil. I suppose, in many ways, what he did to me was no worse than what I had been through growing-up, but it left its mark on me. It left me bitter. I had just been piecing my life together, and then this bastard explodes into it from out of nowhere, tearing down everything I had built up. It was the sheer randomness of it that fucked me up, the idea that I had no control over my own destiny. So after Dale, I took my own destiny into my own hands. I took back control. Even if I couldn’t exact revenge on Dale Bentley, I could take my revenge on men like him. It was almost good enough.”
She lapsed into silence. As she talked, she realised that the idea of ‘revenge’ no longer excited her as it once had. Now the mere thought of it left her feeling empty rather than experiencing the usual, vicious stab of satisfaction.
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow. What do you mean, you took revenge on men like Dale? What did Dale do to you, and where is he now?”
“Dale’s dead. He killed himself in prison a year ago, although we both know that’s probably not true. Suicide in prison is an occupational hazard for men like Dale. Do you really want the grizzly details of what Dale did to me in those two weeks? Would that turn you on, Jim?”
“What? No. God, Freya, you couldn’t be further from the truth if you tried. I want to know you, I want to understand, that’s all.”
“That’s all huh?” she repeated softly, staring down at their entwined hands. How’d that happen? she wondered absently, but she didn’t make a move to untangle them. “Like I said, what he did to me wasn’t really any worse than what I had experienced growing up. When you’re in the care system like I was, you’re fair game to predators. I guess Dale was just a continuation of a theme. Physically, he didn’t hurt me as much as some of the others did, from my past. But mentally, he broke me. He broke me because for the first time in my life, I’d had hope. He took that from me, and I hate him for that. I hate men like that. Yes, he raped me, and yes, he beat me, but he was always careful not to do too much damage. He thought I was beautiful, you see; he wanted to possess me. He kept me in a windowless basement with a single, metal-framed bed welded to the concrete floor. I was chained to that bed by my wrist for two weeks. He bought me food and water regularly and I was forced to use a bucket. He washed me and cared for me, he even shaved me.”
She shuddered at the memory. The way he had been so caring was almost as bad as when he’d raped her. Jim gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She liked the feel of that. For the first time in a long time, it made her feel safe – as close to content as she had ever been.
“I’m so sorry, Freya,” Jim said earnestly. “How did you get out of there?”
Freya shrugged – she didn’t want his sympathy. “The same way as I got in there – sheer bloody chance. I wasn’t the first girl Dale had abducted and kept. Usually, or so I found out later, he kept his victims for a month before he tired of them, disposed of them, and moved on to the next.” She let out a harsh sounding laugh. “Men. So fickle. I was just one girl in a long line of girls. Except I got lucky, because I happened to be the girl living with him when the police finally caught up with him and came in, guns blazing.”
“God, Freya, you’ve been through so much, I wish there was something I could do to help, to take away your pain.” They sat there in silence for a moment, their fingers still intertwined. “You said you took revenge on men like Dale. What did you mean by that? And does that letter I passed on to you this morning have anything to with what you’ve just told me?”
She smiled humourlessly. “More than you can ever know.”
The temptation to just show him the letter was strong; if he didn’t balk at those pictures of her, if he understood her motives and her actions, then maybe he was right. Maybe, in some small way, he could help.
And if he didn’t understand, then at least this way she would get rid of him once and for all.
What if he’s completely disgusted at you, a little voice warned. What if he’s so horrified, he calls the police?
Her gut instinct told her that he wouldn’t. She didn’t know how she knew this, but she trusted it just the same. You have to trust your gut sometime, right?
Well, this sure as shit was a risky time to choose to do so.
Before she could change her mind, she jumped to her feet and went over to the sideboard where she had stashed the letter in a drawer. Wordlessly, she pulled it out and handed it to him.
His eyes went wide. “Are you sure. I appreciate this gesture, but I don’t want you to feel that I’m forcing you.”
“Just read it. Before I change my mind.”
She watched him avidly as he opened the envelope, his expression neutral. He flicked through the four sheets of paper and she had to give him his due – he barely even flinched. To her surprise, he only glanced at the photographs before moving straight to the letter.
His expression not so much as flickered as he read the letter.
“So I guess that answers my question about what you meant by getting revenge on men like Dale. And you go out at night, searching for men like him?”
His tone was light, but there was no mistaking the slight tremor to his voice.
I’ve blown it. He hates me, he thinks I’m a freak, oh God, what have I done?
“Yes.”
“And did these men deserve what you did to them, Freya?”
He closed his eyes for a second, a deep furrow between his eyebrows. He didn’t look at all happy and her stomach twisted into an anxious knot, in that moment convinced that she had been wrong to trust him.
“Yes,” she whispered.
His eyes snapped open, his expression serious. “Then that’s good enough for me. I think, possibly, there might have been other, better ways to deal with a slide into depression, but that’s not to say I don’t understand, I guess.”
Her heart skipped a beat, no longer in terror, but in relief.
“You’re okay with what I did?” she asked tentatively.
“You said did. Not ‘do’. I think that speaks for itself, don’t you, Freya?”
With a jolt, she realised he was right. The urge to go night-crawling no longer burned as bright as it once did. In fact, she even dared to hope that the flame of desire had been extinguished.
“Besides, have you seen the music I write and play? We all have darkness within us, Freya.”
“Some more so than others.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“It takes one to know one, right? I’m a product of the care system, too, but unlike you, I got lucky. A lovely family adopted me when I was an angry ten-year-old, and they completely turned my life around. I am the luckiest guy in the world, I know this.”
“Did you know about my past? Is that why you made a beeline for me? Did you feel sorry for me?”
“No, I had no idea. Maybe I saw something in you. Maybe I glimpsed a look in your eye that reminded me of the boy I once was.”
“Do you want to save me, Jim?”
“No, I just want to be given a chance to know you.”
“Well, now you do.”
“No, I don’t. What we do doesn’t always define who we are. But I know you have a good heart, and I want that heart of yours to learn to trust me.” He cleared his throat. “But our question now should be, who the hell is writing these letters and what are we going to do about it? We can’t involve the police because, quite frankly, you’re up to your neck in shit. God knows how much more evidence this guy has stacked against you. But whatever we do, I’m sure as shit not going to let you go out and do that.”
“Oh yeah? And what about Lucy? And what about you? You did see your name in that letter, too?”
“Yeah, I saw it, all right. He’s bluffing, he has to be. Because we have heard from Lucy.”
“Really? Are you sure about that? Anyone could have written that email, pretending to be her.”
He got up from the sofa and went over to her, gently holding onto her shoulders to prevent her from pacing the room. He stared deep into her eyes when he spoke: “The chances of anyone following through with threats like that are slim to none. And even if he has taken Lucy, doing what he asks isn’t going to stop him from killing her. It just means that he’s a psycho capable of anything.”
She felt her temper rise – anger born of sheer frustration. “Then what do you suggest we do? Sit back and do nothing? I don’t want your deaths on my conscience.”
“You have to calm down, think rationally. We don’t know anything for sure. Or at least, I don’t know anything. You have to think, Freya. I don’t know anything about the person who wrote this letter, but you do. It’s obviously someone from your past. Someone that looked after you when you were younger, perhaps? Or when Dale kept you prisoner, was there anyone else with him? Did you perhaps hurt someone on one of your night excursions, and that person found out who you are and is out for revenge?”
“I don’t know!” A surge of frustration rippled through her and she shrugged out of his grip, collapsing onto the sofa with her head in her hands. “I don’t know,” she repeated, more softly this time, dangerously close to tears. She peered up at him through splayed fingers. “Yes, it could be someone I hurt on one of my night walks. Yes, it could be any number of the shitty carers or members of the many foster family that psychologically and emotionally abused me. No, there was no one else with Dale and he didn’t speak of anything or anyone on the outside world. He hardly spoke to me at all, he treated me like a big, fucking doll.”
Now the tears did come, hot, fat and wet, sliding down her cheeks. Jim sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay, we’ll find a way through this.”
His words offered little comfort, however well-meaning they were intended, and her tears fell all the harder. “Fuck,” she snivelled. “This is such a fucking mess.”
She took deep, steadying breaths, forcing herself under control. This simply wouldn’t do; she knew letting her defences down had been a mistake. Still sniffing, but otherwise dry-eyed, she stood up.
“I have to do this, Jim, I don’t have a choice.”
“No, Freya, I won’t let you.”
“You won’t let me? All my life, I have been a victim of men. After Dale, something inside me shifted, do you understand? I might have gone about things the wrong way, but I still made that choice never to be a victim again. And now there you are, acting as bad as all the men that have abused me over the years, trying to control me.”
It was a shitty shot and she knew it, but she was tired of this merry-go-round of an argument.
“This is for your own good.”
“That’s what they said, too. You shouldn’t get involved in my mess.”
“Bit late for that, wouldn’t you say?”
She had no immediate answer for that because he was right. Not only was it also his name on that wretched letter, by telling him everything, she had irrevocably involved him in this mess, and in her life.
“I have to do this.”
He stood up, but didn’t make any move to touch her. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t. That wasn’t in the instructions.”
“The letter didn’t say anything but me not going. I’m not breaking any of his rules by being there, and I’ll stay hidden.”
“He’ll see you.”
Jim shrugged. “So?”
“He might kill you.”
“He’s already threatened my life in the letter – what difference will it make if I’m there or not?”
“He won’t like it. It’s fucking with his rules.”
“Freya, cut me some slack, here. I accept that I can’t tell you what to do, but this shit cuts both ways. You’ve confided in me, so on some level, you wanted me to say this.”
She sighed, not knowing herself if that was true or not. Maybe it was, just a little bit.
“Okay, fine, but you stay hidden, and you don’t interfere. I can handle myself.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“I mean, it Jim. Don’t interfere. And take a knife with you, in case he jumps you. You know what, there is something you can do for me.”
His face lit up, and in that moment she didn’t regret a single thing about confiding in him.
“Name it.”
She went over to the sideboard and opened the cupboard, producing a small box tucked away right at the back. She also retrieved the button of her coat that had landed by the door.
“Are you any good at sewing? Because I’m crap at it.”
“He grinned. “You’re a cheeky bitch.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
One hour later, Freya lay on her back on the grass in the clearing of Central Park. She had insisted on going alone, telling Jim to make his own way there. He had reluctantly agreed and had left the flat ten minutes before her. She didn’t know how he was getting here, if he would arrive before or after her, and neither did she care, so long as she didn’t see him.
And now, lying on the grass with her coat opened and her body exposed, she wondered if he was here, watching her.
The thought made her feel all hot and squirmy inside. She looked around herself, but could see nothing. The clearing had a circumference of around thirty metres, and was surrounded by trees, beyond one side of which was the carpark. The perverts either fucked in their cars, knowing that they would have an eager audience, or they brought the show outside.
To her right, she heard a twig snapping, and her head snapped round in that direction. She strained her eyes in the dark but could see nothing.
Is that Jim, a pervert or HIM, she wondered.
Her heart hammered painfully hard in her chest, and it took all her will-power not to clamp her legs together. She knew he was out there, watching. Taking photos to further blackmail her with. Humiliated indignation mixed in with her fear, but it had a sobering effect.
She had been through worse than this, for pity’s sake.
More rustling noises coming from the trees snapped her out of her musings, and this time, there was no mistaking it. Someone was coming for her. Her entire body tensed in anticipation as she braced herself.
Sure enough, a figure emerged from th
e trees and she shuddered in disgust.
What was wrong with these people?
As he approached her, she sized him up. From his slight shambling, she could tell that he was at least fifty. He was of medium build, and dressed in black. As he drew nearer, she saw that he wore a lady’s, sheer black stocking over his head beneath the black baseball cap he wore.
She almost snorted laughter, but stopped herself just in time.
“Beautiful,” said the husky male voice, dripping with lust. “Like a lamb to the slaughter.”
He fell to his knees next to her as if overcome by the need to pray, and she heard the click of his joints. She rolled her eyes. He extended a trembling hand and squeezed her breast. His touch made her shrivel up inside, but she tried not to flinch and show her disgust. She had been told to stay on her back, so stay on her back she would.
“Oh, you’re a fucking goddess,” the stranger moaned, climbing between her spread legs.
She heard the whisper of his descending zipper, but she didn’t give him the chance to pull out his cock.
“Sorry, not tonight, Josephine.”
Gripping his shoulders, she lifted herself up and headbutted him square between the eyes. Instantly, he went slack above her, the full weight of him bearing down on her wrists, making them tremble. He was heavier than he looked, but then, she was also a lot stronger than her slender frame would suggest.
In one swift movement, she shoved him to one side and he rolled onto his back next to her, out cold.
“If anyone else fancies a try, do feel free,” she said softly, knowing that anyone in the trees who was watching her would hear.
