BENEATH THE WATERY MOON a psychological thriller with a stunning twist Read online

  Then my thoughts went back to the missing ring. My captor must have taken it as a trophy. I was so dehydrated that I had become delusional. It does not take much to imagine that this situation would quickly affect my sanity. I was still not able to see the wood for the trees. The two realities had become so blurred that I was unable to know which one was the dream and which was the truth. They melted together, and I was left to float in the grey-ness. The spider webs began to unravel. The silky threads weaved their way around the beams and down through the crumbling red brick. The spiders that inhabited them metamorphosed into luminous hummingbirds that buzzed around the room singing in chorus. The flashing red light from the video camera grew and grew until it was a large, orb-like planet floating in the air. The spider’s webs were now on the dusty wooden floor flooding towards me. They spun together like a translucent chiffon blanket and began to embalm me.

  The fear was too much to cope with, and I passed out. When I regained consciousness, my head was still muddled. How could I be there? Why hadn’t I woken up on the island? I was sandwiched between two universes. I couldn’t tell fact from fiction. The pain in my body felt utterly real but this couldn’t be the real world . . . I didn’t understand any of it.

  I began to run through everything in my mind. Jude was real, wasn’t he? Yes, Jude was definitely real. My dear, lovely, wonderful friend. I hadn’t imagined him. That felt like a good starting point. I felt a bit better already. Now Annabel, I told myself, look in the mirror again. I did as I was told. I stared at myself, and I began to remember my nightmares more clearly; the boot of the car, my pain and misery, the humiliation of my nudity, the rape, the monster who was keeping me there.

  Next I focused on the other life I had been living on the island, the romance, the sunshine, the warmth and happiness. The harder I tried to hold onto those things, the faster they slipped away from me. Thailand disintegrated until it wasn’t anything more than sand sieving through my mind. I was desperate. I wondered if I was dead. Perhaps neither world existed. Maybe I never existed. I couldn’t have got it all so wrong, could I? This was the nightmare, wasn’t it? How could someone mistake a dream for reality? It all seemed so unlikely, but there was a niggling voice inside, whispering, telling me this is what had happened. Lunacy took a grip of me and I thought I might combust. My body and mind felt caught in a supernova.

  I screamed so hard that a migraine struck my head like a thunderbolt. It seemed like a million currents were running through me. I twisted and contorted in my shackles, trying to escape the agony. I could feel myself losing consciousness. At last I would get back to where I belonged, away from this nightmare. I let the violent pain in my head and the hyperventilation cocoon me as I drifted off once more. I’m on my way Jude, I thought, hold on, I’m coming . . .

  * * *

  When I came to, it was sunset and I could see streaks of peach sky in the mirror. For a moment I thought I was back on the island. Then my peripheral vision kicked in, and I knew I was still in the cellar. I began to believe that this was my reality. Thailand had just been a beautiful dream. The fog had lifted from my head, but I still needed answers. I resigned myself to lying there and not struggling. The little energy I had left I would need to conserve, ready for when the monster next appeared.

  In the distance, I heard footsteps. I turned my head towards the small bolted door. I could hear keys jangling. He was coming back. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself back on the beach, wrapped in strong arms, safe with the warm sun on my skin. My eyes opened and there he was, my grotesque monster.

  He was holding a bottle of water and a hypodermic syringe. I didn’t bother trying to speak. I was too overwhelmed to find the words or get them out. That was the first time I had properly seen him. He was in his forties and dishevelled. He looked like he worked on a farm, mucking out pigs, shovelling shit. I could picture him no other way, from that moment on. He smelled of dung and death. I will try to describe his face but it will be difficult. He was like a fantastical nightmare. I doubt I will ever know if what I saw was real. Perhaps my mind was twisting the image. He stood about six feet tall. He had stubble and dirty, grey whiskers that spiked out of his double chin. If I hadn’t been a prisoner in his house, I might have suspected he was homeless. His hands were large and rough. They looked as if they had spent a lifetime working. When he looked at me he gave a small, satisfied smile. I saw his uneven teeth, stained with nicotine. He wore grubby overalls with a terracotta shirt beneath, and around his waist he had a tool belt.

  He started to approach me, and I saw he had a slight limp. His large boots were caked in mud, and I watched dust particles move out of his way as he shuffled in my direction. He reached my bed and took hold of my chin, forcing my mouth open. He poured the tepid water into my mouth. I forgot my nakedness and vulnerability as I sucked down the clean water. Life. Then he pulled the bottle away and watched as I lay there. I was struck with instant goose bumps. The water had spilt down my chin and sprayed onto my naked chest. I felt a current of cold and was reminded of my nudity again. I looked at him calmly for the first time. He had cold, dead eyes. They were brown with no warmth in them. For the first time, I spoke to him directly. ‘More,’ I whispered hoarsely. ‘More water, please . . .’

  He put the bottle down on the floor near the door, before turning to me and saying, ‘After.’

  Dread filled me, and I thought I might regurgitate the water I had just drunk. He walked over to me and injected me with the syringe, before turning and leaving the room, slamming the small, wooden door behind him, and locking it again. I was on a roller coaster of relief and terror. I had escaped any further abuse for a while, but his reply echoed around my head, taunting me. After what?

  I had to get out of there. Right there and then, I swore to myself that I would break out of that dungeon. I concentrated on trying to free myself from the iron restraints around my ankles. I pulled and pulled until my feet were swollen and blue. I attempted to twist myself out of them. I approached the problem as if it were a puzzle that I needed to solve. I tried to stay calm and tackle the issue with scientific detachment. My skin blistered and split, fresh red blood trickled down to my toes. My feet looked like joints of meat on a butcher’s table. I suppose that is what I was.

  And then, minutes later the drug began to take effect. It ripped through my veins like wildfire. It was heaven and hell at the same time. I didn’t know if I was going to pass out or have a euphoric out-of-body experience.

  If possible, I suffered both at the same time. It was like I was looking through a kaleidoscope. Everything I saw folded over and became a thousand more images of itself. The half-empty bottle of water on the floor was an oasis. It was like being trapped in a room full of mirrors. Each new picture bore another and went on into oblivion. I could feel myself reaching the end of the trip, the chemicals had control of me and my psyche couldn’t cope with any more. Seconds later, I was lost again to a deep, dark, dreamless sleep.

  When I woke up, I felt burning in my legs. My head was heavy from the drug and I tried to shake off the sleepiness. I looked down at my limbs and saw him standing over me. He had a nail and hammer in his hands. My legs were covered in neat, bloody holes. Before I had a minute to adjust to what was happening, he lowered the nail to my thigh and brought the hammer down onto it.

  The miniature metal spear entered my flesh like a knife through butter. I could feel the foreign object inside me. It had hit bone. He smiled briefly before turning the hammer on its head and pulling the nail out. A dark maroon liquid surged out of the small, perfectly formed wound. It snaked its way down my white skin, past the dried blood from newly healing injuries, and disappeared out of view. He then prodded the hole, making it bleed harder. His mouth was ajar and he ran his gross tongue along his bottom lip. A train of spittle sparkled in the dusk light. The nail hovered above my leg, two inches away from the latest gash.

  ‘Nooo,’ I slurred.

  Like a mechanical robot, his head slow
ly turned to face me, the rest of him spookily still. He put his tools down and dusted off his hands before slowly shaking his head. Then his hand formed a fist, which came crashing down into my jaw. It was my turn to dribble. Blood and spit mixed together in my mouth. I will never forget the taste of iron and metal on my tongue. I was too shocked to react. I lay on the bench with my face turned away from his as he hocked a large ball of spit onto me.

  ‘Fuckin’ cunt.’

  He turned his attention back to the hammer and nails. This time he decided to concentrate on my feet. In turn he hammered the nail into each toe, shattering the bones, breaking my spirit. I wondered how I would be able to escape after this. With each bang I felt him chipping away at my hope. I looked down at what had once been my feet. I pictured my toes digging into warm sand. That was my convalescence. It lifted me out of the misery, and for a millisecond I was back on the beach. When I next looked at my toes I noticed my chipped coral nail varnish. I found myself thinking I needed to touch them up. It was another fractured consideration that allowed my mind to be elsewhere. The relief didn’t last.

  It seemed like each foot now had nine toes. I kept counting, trying to make sense of the numbers. One, two, three, four, five, six . . . and then I realized. All except my big toe had broken in two from the force. My toes had been replaced by bits of chipped bone and bloody gristle. The strangest thing was that it didn’t really hurt. I had passed the stage of pain and entered a new realm. I suspect that surgery with a local anaesthetic must be very similar. I was watching my body being manipulated, and it was painless.

  I dragged my eyes away from staring at my feet and ended up fixing my gaze on his mouth once more. Little white globules of drying saliva had gathered in the corners of his mouth. It was the only bright thing in the room. I admired the newness of it. The idea that anything could be born in that room, gave me back a drop of hope. I don’t understand why. I was drugged and suffering the most intolerable cruelty, but that is what I learnt about the human condition. We hope. It is what we do best.

  When the monster had finished demolishing my small feet, he stood back and admired his work. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tucked the hammer back into his work belt. His animal eyes glinted with pride and insanity. I almost laughed. The madness was so tangible it was airborne. He cocked his head to one side, and I could see the slow cogs of his disturbed mind turning.

  My monster hoisted his large frame up onto the bed and straddled me. Broad powerful thighs pinned me down, lest I try to escape. I had neither the energy nor the will to attempt such a thing at that time. He cracked his neck and interlinking his fingers proceeded to pop his knuckles. I lay limp and detached under his weight. All I could think about was the ring I was missing; the ring I never had. He roughly grabbed one of my breasts and twisted it until I yelped. With his other hand he gripped my throat and began to squeeze. My airways narrowed and my eyes began to bulge. I could feel the blood flowing to my cheeks. This was it, my death. I tried to get some air but it was pointless. Darkness began to prick my eyes, and the light faded until all I could see was him. Just as I thought that was it, he would release his grip enough for me to take a sharp breath, before choking me again. He repeated this over and over. Each time he would take me right to the edge of unconsciousness before bringing me back again. I found a distorted comfort in the rhythm. Familiarity is a strange thing.

  The bulk of his body felt heavy like setting concrete. The longer the mass was there, the more of a strain it became. I thought my ribs might snap. His fat frame pushed down onto my bare hipbones. Among all that awfulness there was his penis. I saw the stiffness prodding against his trousers. My rape had only just begun. I let my eyes roll back into my head and allowed myself be swallowed by the iniquity of it all.

  When he had finished brutalizing me he removed an aging banana from his pocket and broke off pieces for me to it. He was playing the good cop and the bad cop. I felt something that resembled gratitude and hated myself for it.

  After the banana was finished he uncuffed me and hoisted me up over his shoulder before putting me down on a stool. The cold smooth wood felt hard against my bony bottom. I was free, temporarily. Looking around the cellar, I desperately searched for a weapon. Anything would do. I was weak and the only thing I saw was out of reach. He would snap me in half before I made it over to the thick plank of wood leaning up against the far wall. Think, god dammit! He bend down and tied my ankles to the legs of the stool with old rope. It burnt and cut into my flesh.

  While he was hunched over tying knots, I folded my hands together and brought them up over my head before bringing them crashing down onto his thick heavy skull. He tottered backwards, holding his head and I could see his vision was temporarily blurred. He was cursing and bent over. His body looked like a huge mountain.

  Without thinking, I tipped myself over onto the floor. My elbow and shoulder crashed down on the brick floor, sending a tremor through me. It felt like the start of a small earthquake that vibrated through my body. He was still doubled over and I knew if I could just wriggle free from the rope I’d stand a chance of escape. And then I realised my hands were still free, I fiddled with the rope like an animal caught in a trap until finally, miraculously I loosened them enough to slip my battered feet out and he hadn’t noticed.

  An energy appeared in me out of nowhere and allowed me to get up onto my feet. As long as I remained looking at the door, my escape remained a possibility. Lunging forward, I grabbed the handle and twisted. The adrenalin running through my body had become a force of its own. I was no longer in control, instinct took over. Cold and hot flushes took it in turns to batter my quivering form.

  As the door opened and I felt the breeze coming down the stairs his hands grabbed hold of my shoulders. With one violent tug he pulled me back into my prison as if I was weightless. My spin made contact with the rough brick wall and I squealed in pain. He stood before me, grunting and huffing. His eyes dilated with fury and I waited for a barrage of punches to erupt from him. Instead, he picked me up again and threw me back onto the wooden bench, shackling me once more. My escape was over. I was back where I had started. Wailing sounds rippled around the room and I realised they were coming from me.

  * * *

  The moon was there again, smiling at me. She was shrinking now, getting further and further away. I wish I had been able to gaze upon her properly. It was only a reflection I could see. There was no way of knowing if I was seeing the real thing. She was there nonetheless, my bright and distant heroine. As long as I could see her in the glass, then I was real. Daylight was agony. The blackness was my home. I searched her silver face for familiar craters. I could see the looming clouds that lingered in the sky, dark and threatening.

  As a midnight cloud covered the terrestrial goddess, I was struck by a sinking feeling. I knew I needed to look at my body again. It was time to embrace my reality once more and prepare for the nightmare ahead. I think I groaned. An animal growl went through me, right down into my feet, vibrating my broken toes. Instant sickness returned. It was as if I had a belly full of wine. I wasn’t sure I was a woman any more. It was the beginning of an exhausted forever that had no destination.

  I began to wonder how long I had been there, in his cellar. Had it been hours or days? I couldn’t be sure. I tried hard to remember the events, which led to my imprisonment. When and from where had he grabbed me? It seemed a veil had been pulled down over my mind. The only thing that felt real was Jude and our time together on the island. The mind can play tricks on itself, I told myself. I had been a victim of wishful thinking. More than that, I had found a happy place, a dream world in which to immerse myself and lock out the horror of what was actually happening. Everything began to make sense, but now I was faced with coping with the truth. I had so many truths to come to terms with. I was dealing with something like grief. It was worse than the pain caused by the monster. My heart was broken. I knew that the last time I’d really seen Jude was on the ni
ght when I’d confessed my true feelings to him. Everything since then had been fantasy. It was a fantasy that my mind had invented in an attempt to protect me from the bitter truth of my circumstances.

  It struck me again and again, like waves in a storm. I was being hit from all directions, and I had to fight to breathe. My brain started to implode. I was travelling at one million miles an hour but glued to the spot.

  The wild wind blew, and I saw the branch waver in the breeze. I cried for yesterday. I couldn’t look at myself. Vanity clawed away at my temples. Maybe it would be best if he just came and killed me, then and there. But I still had a bit of fight left in me. As long as I could see the door, the exit, I would not give up hope.

  I realized that there was no chance of freeing myself from the chains. I tried to think laterally again. He was my only hope of escape. He had the keys. I didn’t have a plan, but I had the start of an idea, and that was something. All I had to do was hope that he would come back. I didn’t allow myself to think too deeply about it. Fear would have paralyzed me and I would have buckled. Instead, I went back to watching the moon. She was my timepiece. I watched her work her way around the circle of time and soon found myself back at home in my delusions once more. I was floating on a cloud above tiny perfect islands. It was iniquitous bliss; a strange and beautiful picture.

  I was brought tumbling back to earth when I realised I was lying in a warm puddle. For a split second I thought I had been raped again. That wasn’t it. I was lying in my own urine. I had wet myself. My crotch was stinging. Agony made my acquaintance once more.

  Behind closed doors, women talk about the indignity of childbirth. Discharge, bladder control, episiotomy, these are all things associated with the wonder of giving life. I was giving birth to something but it was no miracle. The pain began to take on a life of its own. In the dead of the night, my shame became its own deity and then the handle on the door started to turn. He had returned.