In Chains
Copyright © 2013 Michelle Abbott
In Chains
by Michelle Abbott
Copyright © 2013 Michelle Abbott
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design
http://www.derangeddoctordesign.com/
CHAPTER ONE
Savannah
The police officer motions for me to stop my car. I wind down my window as he approaches. “There’s been an accident madam, this road is temporarily closed.”
There’s a man lying in the road; the officer is now busy talking to the driver of the car involved in the accident. I run over to the injured man. He’s conscious, thank goodness, but his left leg is bent at an awkward angle and he looks to be in a lot of pain. It’s the early hours of the morning and bitterly cold. I have a blanket in the back of my car and decide to fetch it to cover the man up and keep him warm. As I’m placing the blanket over him, the officer approaches. “Please return to your car madam. I’ll let you know when you can continue your journey.”
I step back as he kneels down and points a scanner at the back of the man’s neck. There’s a beep and the officer calls out to the driver of the car. “It’s okay sir, it’s just a slave. I’ll need your name and address to pass onto its owner, after that you can be on your way.” Looking at the information his scanner has retrieved from the slave’s microchip, the officer dials a number on his phone. “Mr Watkins? Your slave F537AT has been hit by a car. It has extensive injuries to its leg. Do you wish to claim on your medical insurance sir?”
Kneeling down, I reach for the slave’s hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I’ll contact Central Slave Security for you sir,” the officer says as he hangs up and walks towards his patrol car. A minute later he returns. “Madam, I’ll have to ask you to step away from the slave, it’s about to be terminated.”
I shake my head. “No. He’s just got a broken leg.”
“Madam, it’s about to receive a high voltage of electricity. Unless you want to die with it, I suggest you step away.”
The slave squeezes my hand, his eyes wide. Shaking I wrench my hand from his. “I’m so sorry. So very sorry,” I stammer, as I back away, tears filling my eyes. Stomach churning, I watch as the slave starts to convulse violently, his face contorted with pain. Staggering to the edge of the road, I vomit until my stomach is empty and I’m dry heaving.
My legs are trembling as I make my way back to my car. As I get in I see the officer kick the slave’s body onto the grass verge. Lighting a cigarette, I take deep breaths as I feel around in my glove-box for my phone. I dial my brother’s number. “Simon, I’m delayed, there’s been an accident.”
Sobbing uncontrollably I tell him about the execution, assure him I’m unharmed and will be with him shortly. As soon as the road is clear I screech off, tears blurring my vision. My shitty day just got even shittier.
I finally arrive at the farmhouse a couple of hours later, mentally and physically exhausted. Thankfully there isn’t much to unpack; having left in a hurry I’d just thrown a few essentials, along with my laptop and e-reader into my overnight bag. If it wasn’t for Simon insisting I come here I’d be homeless right now. Glancing around the room, I spot a reading lamp on the bedside table. I’m halfway through a good romance, I’m glad I won’t have to go hunting for a torch during the night to finish it. Sitting down on the double bed, I pull off my boots. The mattress is comfy and the linen smells clean and fresh. I lie back.
I must have dozed off and I awake to the sound of voices coming from outside. I take a long, luxurious stretch before walking over to the window. The sun is starting to set. Having lived in London for so long I’m used to a view of my neighbours backyard, a far cry from the fields and the rolling hills of the Kent countryside that greet me now. It would be beautiful were it not for my brother, who is red in the face and scowling at another man. The man has his head bowed and his hands fisted at his sides. I can’t make out what’s being said but he must have done something bad to make Simon this angry.
Rushing down the stairs I almost crash headlong into my brother. “Is everything okay? Who is that man you’re angry at?”
He holds up his palms. “Whoa. Calm down Savannah, it’s fine, nothing for you to worry about. Sit down and unwind. Let me cook you dinner, you haven’t eaten since you got here.”
I don’t think I can stomach food at the moment, I’m still feeling queasy. “Perhaps I’ll eat later. Right now I could do with a stiff drink, if you have one?” I know full well that he’ll have alcohol. He’s always been a wine connoisseur and has a fondness for brandy.
“Oh I think I can rustle something up. How about a bottle of champagne, to celebrate you finally leaving that arsehole?”
“That sounds perfect.”
“At least have some cheese and crackers, it’s not good to drink on an empty stomach.”
Opening the refrigerator I find some cheddar cheese. “I’ll fix the food while you open the bubbly.”
Sitting at the kitchen table, nibbling on crackers and sipping champagne, I finally start to relax. I haven’t seen my brother for years. We’re close, we talk on the phone, text and e-mail but Simon and my boyfriend Dan have never got along. Simon stayed away to avoid causing me problems and I rarely went out farther than my local shops.
I smile across at him; he hasn’t changed much over the years. We share the same hazel eyes and brown hair, no greys yet I notice, though he is only thirty-two. He’s well-dressed in a good quality shirt and trousers, leather loafers and an expensive looking watch on his wrist. I suppose you have to look the part if you give clients financial advice for a living.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he says, snapping me from my reverie.
“Sorry, I’m miles away.”
“Understandable, you’ve had a traumatic experience.”
I smile ruefully. “Yeah. Leaving my boyfriend after six years and then seeing a man electrocuted. I’ve had better days.”
He reaches for my hand. “Savannah, I need to tell you something and I’d rather you hear it from me. I own a slave.”
“Please tell me you’re not planning on electrocuting him, or her.”
Shaking his head, he smiles. “It’s a male, and no, it’s a good worker. I’ve no intention of killing it.”
“It? Why do you have a slave? I mean, it’s not like we grew up with one.”
“I’m busy and I need someone to take care of the house and the farm.” He shrugs. “Most people in this area have slaves; it just seemed like a good idea at the time.” He pours us another glass of champagne, “Let’s go sit in the living room, it’s more comfortable.”
I love this room with its exposed beams and brick fireplace decorated with brass ornaments. The fire has already been lit and I sink into the armchair nearest to it. Simon puts on some classical music. I’m so drained I can barely keep my eyes open.
He puts his feet on the coffee table. “So, what did you tell him?”
“I didn’t. I left when he was out. I’m going to e-mail him tomorrow.”
He seems to get the hint that I don’t want to talk about Dan right now and we sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the music. After a while I can feel my eyelids getting heavy. Someone is shaking my arm, my eyes snap open.
“Savannah. Go up to bed, you’ve had a long day.”
Resting my head on the cool, crisp linen, the bed feels too big. I haven’t slept alone in six years. Curling up in my usual spot on the right hand side, I expect to have a restless night.
CHAPTER TWO
Savannah
After the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years, I’m roused by a cockerel crowing. Oh dear God, the joys of the British countryside. Peeling my eyes open I peek at the clock, 6:00AM, ugh, I need a good strong coffee.
Padding over to the window I pull back the curtains. In the field below I see the guy Simon was mad at yesterday. The slave, I assume. He’s chopping a tree trunk into logs. It’s winter and cold outside but the work must have made him hot, because all he has on are blue, faded jeans, which have obviously been well-worn judging by the holes at the knees and a thin, threadbare, white sleeveless t-shirt. Studying him I can see he’s attractive in a rough kind of way. He’s long and lean. I can’t see his hair because his head is covered with a black bandanna. His large hands grip the axe and as he raises it high over his right shoulder, I have a good view of his sculptured biceps and strong, broad shoulders. His expression is serious as he swings his axe down through the air, slicing through the log in front of him in a single, solid strike. Just then, he turns his head and gazes directly at my window. Our eyes lock. Startled, I jump back, feeling like a peeping tom caught staring at him.
I head downstairs and put some coffee on to brew. I have a weakness for vanilla coffee and need at least three cups to start my day off right. While I’m waiting I power up my laptop. I noticed a wooden bench in the front garden when I arrived yesterday; I think I’ll have my coffee outside and then I can have a cigarette. I put my jacket on over my PJs. It’s cold and the sky is cloudless. I light up my smoke and relax on the bench. I can’t see the slave anywhere, not that I’d know what to say to him if I did. The only sounds I can hear are the birds; I love the tranquillity. I feel at peace within myself too. For the last couple of years of living with Dan I’ve been treading on eggshells. I feel free. I’m procrastinating; I need to get this email sent. Putting my cigarette out, I finish my coffee and head back to the kitchen.
I sit down at the large oak dining table. There’s an amazing view through the glass doors of the back garden and the fields beyond. Sighing, I begin to type
Dan
It’s over and has been for a long time. I’m not telling you where I am and I’m not coming back. I’ve taken everything I need, whatever is left of mine you can dispose of. I’ll have my mail forwarded. If any arrives there for me it’s probably junk and you can just throw it away. Don’t try to call me because I’ve blocked your number.
I hesitate for just a second before hitting ‘send’. He’s not going to take it well but I know I’m doing the right thing; I don’t want to live like that anymore.
Opening my word programme I type a couple of paragraphs of my novel. I’m at the part where my heroine is unaware she’s about to meet the man who’ll become the love of her life.
I don’t want to sit here all day typing; I want to explore this wonderful place. I heard a cockerel this morning, maybe Simon has chickens. I can collect their eggs and make us scrambled eggs for breakfast. I decide to take a shower and then have a wander around outside.
I love Simon’s walk in shower, all I have at home is a shower over a bath tub. I’m instantly soothed by the jet of warm water on my skin. I didn’t bring any toiletries with me, so I reach for his all-in-one shampoo. After massaging my hair I smooth citrus shower gel over my skin, examining the bruises on my arms. They are starting to fade a little, brown and yellow now. The bruises on my shins seem to be healing too, but the ones on my stomach are a nasty black and blue colour. Dan has always been a control freak but he’d never hit me before. That’s a slippery slope I’m not willing to go down. That was the catalyst I needed to leave, though I should have done it years ago. Drying myself off with a big fluffy towel, I’m thankful I had the foresight to at least bring my toothbrush.
