Read Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 9
Chapter Eight
Trapped in the stale room, her breathing the only thing keeping her company, she was fighting against her fear. She did not want to be scared but she could not help it. The shadow had returned a little while later and given her some food, not much and the same disgusting texture as the last time, but it was enough to stave off her hunger pangs. Trapped in the dark little room Marion desperately tried to calculate how long she had been there. Her frightened mind was telling her it was a lifetime. It was telling her that she knew no other existence than the dark torment that she felt now.
The shadow had not touched her since she had woken on the cold floor; he had only watched her in the dark. Her vulnerability highlighted in her nakedness.
Marion's imagination had started to frighten her even more than her reality. What did he want from her? Was this some perverted type of foreplay, is this how he got off. She thought of the rape that would happen. She knew that was what she was there for, his deviant sexual pleasure. What else was there? She thought about how it would feel, how she would feel, what he would do to her and how it would hurt… She did not want him inside her; she would rather die first than have that final degradation as her last memory.
Marion wondered if anyone had missed her yet, or wondered where she was. She knew most of friends would think she was with Mat somewhere.
She thought back to what she remembered of when it happened. She was on her way to the exam from Mats house; she knew that was on Friday, but what day was it now?
She remembered she had kissed Mat as she left his flat, just a peck on the cheek even though he was going away for a week with friends, skiing at Cadrona. Now, trapped in this nightmare, she thought of him carrying on with his life oblivious to her plight. Her mother would wonder of course, she always worried about her. Her mother hated Mat, she hated the fact Marion had moved out and was living in the flat.
She looked around herself in despair; maybe her mother was right in her distrustful view of the world. Is this what she had in mind when she went on about all the bad things in the world? Was this what she meant when she spoke of all the things that human beings were capable of doing?
Memories of childhood lessons on the dangers of making bad choices came back to her. Her mother always delivered these lessons with fervor normally confined to preaching Ministers on a church pulpit. It had got worse after dad died, she remembered. It was almost as if her mother had finally felt free enough or confident enough to vent a lifetime of built up frustrations and emotion.
‘Men were nothing but violent Neanderthals capable only of hurt and betrayal’, she would say. ‘Some were not capable of controlling their violence in any way, letting it spill over into the daily lives of others. Some were clever and were able to hide the undesirable streak, confining it behind closed doors, venting it on those closest to them’.
Marion did not know whether her mother was referring to her father when she spoke of these men, her memories were of a gentle person who showed her nothing but love. He may have lacked confidence and perhaps not made enough of his life, but he always seemed happy enough.
She had heard the late night arguments though, when her mother always talked down to her father, she could tell it would wind him up, but he never had the confidence to say something. He would get sullen and mope around for a while. It was almost as if her mother was trying to provoke a reaction and was not getting the right one. Maybe he said what he needed to in private, preferring to have a rational discussion instead of an angry debate.
She felt a burst of immense loneliness, made worse in the darkness. She missed her father; he would come to her rescue if he were still alive. That is what fathers did, and fathers were men to. She heard her mother’s words in her head, she thought of the shadow somewhere outside the darkness. This is one of those men, she thought, mum was right.
The last thing she remembered was someone whistling a tune she had heard before but could not place, strong arms grabbing her from behind, before shoving a filthy rag in her face, and then everything went black. It had been nothing but darkness since, darkness and the shadow. How long had it been, she had no idea. The room was stuffy; it reeked of human waste, her waste. She felt filthy, degraded, frightened. She started to sob, a sob that went on until he came for her, a sob that intensified as he placed a gag on her mouth. A sob turned into a stifled scream when he dragged her from the room and through the darkened house. Then her scream stopped dead as he threw her roughly onto the floor. He placed that stinking cloth over her face again, whispering quietly to her as he held it tight.