Like Clockwork (32 page)

‘How is your head?’

He was so solicitous that, before she could help it, she replied, ‘It hurts.’

‘Here, sit up. Have something to drink.’ He helped her up and gave her some water.

‘Who are you?’ she asked him. ‘Why have you brought me here?’

‘Do you like movies?’ he asked, as if she had not spoken at all.

‘Yes,’ Theresa said. She would try something else. ‘I’m cold,’ she said. ‘Do you think I could have my clothes back?’

He looked at her naked body. But Theresa’s question had shifted something. Very briefly, he lost the power to direct the interaction. Theresa felt the movement deep within the chrysalis of hope she was holding fast.

‘My clothes are there,’ she said, pointing as well as she could to the pile of garments hurled into the corner.

‘No, no,’ he said. ‘I have something much better for you. Something for a girl of mine.’

He reached behind a chair and pulled out two shopping bags. Theresa recognised the exclusive labels.

‘Put these on.’

He pulled out a very short skirt and a transparent top. The underwear was sleazy and uncomfortable to wear. She put it on, biting back her repugnance as she slipped the blue garter onto her thigh. The boots were blue suede. They came halfway up her thighs. The boots and the clothes were tight. The man must have had someone smaller in mind when he’d bought them. When she was dressed she stood up straight, turning slowly for him.

‘How do I look?’ she asked, marvelling at her ability to summon a coquette out of her terror. She might survive if she kept her wits about her. If she kept talking. It seemed to throw the man off track. If she lost it, then her clothes would stay in the pile in the corner. Her skin crawled. Her clothes would be covered by somebody else’s in a month or two, just as her jeans and hoodie were covering someone else’s now.

‘Is this where you brought the other girls?’ she asked. Her voice was so light it bounced off the heavy stone walls.

‘It is. Cosy, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Theresa. ‘Did you watch TV together?’

He patted the large set. A video machine was balanced precariously on top of it. ‘We did. We watched TV and we made a bit of TV too. Just a little home movie. That’s what we are going to do, too.’

‘That’s what the costume is for?’ He nodded. ‘You must have known I was an actress, then.’

‘All women are actresses,’ he said. ‘Born to it.’ He stood up. The focus was back in his eyes. Theresa felt very afraid. The fragment of power that she had imagined she had held was gone. ‘Stand up,’ he ordered. ‘We have a lot to do.’

Theresa stood up. ‘My name is Theresa,’ she said. ‘Theresa Angelo. I want to go home. Let me go now and no one needs to know anything.’

She did not see his hand pull back before it caught her across the jaw. The blow knocked her against the wall with dizzying force. She slid down, wedged behind the bed of ropes.

‘You dirty little bitch. You don’t speak again unless I tell you.’ He leaned over and yanked her back to her feet. He held her fast while he rearranged her clothes and hair to his liking. Then he took her left hand. Her bones crackled as he folded her fingers tightly around a small silver key. He took a length of blue rope from his pocket and wound it with great speed around the hand, trapping the key inside. It cut into her palm. Blood trickled between her fingers, but she did not moan or pull back. Then he kissed her on the cheek.

‘Don’t worry. It’ll be fun. I’m sure you’ll put your talent to excellent use in just a minute.’ He pulled a metal stool forward. ‘Sit here. We’re going to watch a movie together.’

There was no way she was able to sit on the stool, so Theresa perched. The skirt he had made her wear rode up her bottom. The heels of the boots were too high, and her toes were pinched. Her flesh was purpling with cold.

‘Who’s in it?’ she asked.

He stopped and looked at her, working out what would be the best light angle. ‘I’m not sure you’d know them. Some girls I entertained here. You’ll see. They were fast learners.’ He leaned over and tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘Smile now,’ he ordered.

She made herself smile into the camera that he had set up on the tripod. It was a professional camera. Small, light, digital. Used for making the best quality documentaries. She concentrated on the camera’s make, on what else was in the room, on the man’s actions. He inserted a tape. That gave her some hope. She still had two hours.

He was setting up lights, plugging things in, when his cellphone rang. The sound ricocheted through the space. The man scrabbled in his pockets, swearing to himself. He looked at the screen – it was clearly a call he couldn’t ignore.

‘Hello.’ Theresa’s heart contracted. Why was an ordinary person, a person who other people phoned, doing this to her?

‘What do you want?’ he said into the phone. There was a clear note of fear in his voice. ‘No, I’ve told you. I’m working on it. These deals take time.’ The man started to pace, a caged animal in the small space. He was quiet, listening to whoever had called him. ‘You know that you will get all your money and more. I just can’t give it to you now. There is no risk for you. Or your partners.’ Theresa’s legs started to cramp where the tops of the boots cut into her calves. She stood up awkwardly, trying to get the blood to flow again.

‘Okay, I’ll come. I’ll see you in . . .’ He looked at his watch. ‘In half an hour.’ He was standing right next to Theresa, apparently oblivious of her presence, when she screamed out for help.

Enraged, he snapped his phone shut and kicked her. She scrambled as she fell onto the ropes. ‘No one is going to come.
Nobody. It’s just us here.’ Then, taking a length of rope, he hobbled her. He giggled as she stumbled and sent a stone skidding under the stool, almost knocking it over. Blood welled from under Theresa’s torn toenail, staining the blue boot. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out.

‘Like a little filly,’ he sneered, ‘a filthy little filly. Have fun. There are lots of movies here for you to watch. That’s the key to them.’ He pointed to the key in her hand. You take that and open that cabinet over there – everything you’ve ever wanted to watch is inside it.’

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek before he left. His footfalls receded. She heard the slam of the heavy doors, the bolts crashing into place. Theresa breathed in steadily, then out again. She would not give in to the sobs filling her chest to bursting point. She would find a way out. She stood up. The hobble made it difficult to walk, and her leg hurt where he had kicked her. She tested it, and was relieved when it took her weight as she limped over to the television and put the key on top of it. Her face also ached where he had hit her, and there was blood and a piece of broken tooth in her mouth. She spat it out on the floor. She looked around her prison cell and prayed that it would not be her grave.

Though cold and afraid, Theresa eventually fell asleep, and when she woke up she could hear the sweep of the sea. The ocean heaved mutinously against the retreating tide. Slowly, she stood up, trying not to fall as she felt the slender strips of blue rope pull tightly at her ankles.

She shuffled around her prison, the rope cutting into her tender flesh. She discovered another small room adjacent to the room she had been dumped in. There was only one door. It was made of very heavy wood covered with a protective sheet of steel. She stood next to it, resting her head against the cold stone. No sound at all penetrated from the outside.

‘Help me,’ she called. ‘Help me.’ Her voice, harsh with yearning for her mother, would not be heard on the other side. Theresa took her hoodie from the pile of clothes on the floor and pulled it over her head. She knew that the man would be back, and every cell in her body contracted in horror at the thought of his return. But if he didn’t come back, she would die here of starvation. His return, she realised, was her only hope. Feeling sick at the meagreness of that hope, she put her palms together in a reflex of prayer.

She remembered the key, fetched it and inserted it into the cheap padlock on the cupboard next to the television set. The door swung open. It contained seven video cassettes. ‘Alice
in Wonderland’ was written on the first. The others were untitled. Each one had been packed into a red heart-shaped box – the kind often used for wedding videos. Each box swung from a chain attached to a small hook. There was a twist of hair in the small plastic holder where the bride’s name should have been inserted. At the end of the row of boxes was an empty hook. Theresa’s heart pounded.
Her
hook.

The sharp crack of bolts being shot back startled Theresa. She closed the cupboard and sat down on the coil of ropes. The door opened and the man came in, bringing with him the dankness of the slipway and the muffled sounds beyond the boathouse walls. Theresa braced herself. She knew instinctively what was in those videos. There was going to be no rehearsal for her. She doubted that there had been one for any of the other girls. There would be just this one performance. Her life hung from the slender thread of her intelligence and luck.

The man was wearing a heavy black overcoat. He placed the medical bag and the irises he was carrying on the table against the wall. This time he did not look at Theresa. He opened the bag and brought out a scalpel, holding it up. The blade gleamed in the dimness. The man licked his lips as he set it down precisely. He checked the camera.

Only then did he look at Theresa. He was displeased. He turned around and picked up the scalpel again. He inserted his finger at the neck of her hoodie, his knuckle sharp under her throat. Then he yanked hard, slicing the blade through the material. Her top fell open, exposing her to the cold. Tears splashed down her cheeks, hot and uncontrollable. He smiled, pleased with her now. He pushed her down onto the stool, swinging her around so that she faced the television. He switched on the camera, focused it on her. Leaning forward, he lifted her hair from her face and adjusted the focus again.

‘I have such a show for you. You are a lucky girl.’

‘My name is Theresa,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Who is in these films?’

His shoulders twitched. ‘You’ll see. You’ll see. You’ll like it, I know, because they all did. And then it will be your turn.’ He reached for the remote and switched on the television. Then he ducked behind his camera and started the tape rolling.

‘Why don’t you use your key?’ he asked, his voice seductive, soothing. He had pointed to the cupboard. ‘We’re going to make our own little wedding video.’ Theresa did not move. Her body prickled with cold sweat. ‘Open it,’ he snarled. ‘I know you’ve already looked in there.’

‘No,’ said Theresa. ‘I won’t watch.’

He leaned close to her, his breath hot on her face. ‘Yes, you will. And it will be the last thing you see.’ His nose crinkled at the smell of her fear. ‘You choose the tape. That means you have a say in your own ending. Otherwise I choose it all for you.’

Theresa felt time slipping away from her. The spark of hope she had coaxed into life died. She opened the cupboard and chose a tape. She ran her finger over the lock of hair fastened to the cover.

‘Who is this one about?’ she asked.

‘You’ll see now,’ he said. ‘Just give it to me.’

‘Tell me about her. I want to know who she is, what her name is. Tell me.’ Theresa demanded. ‘I want to know who it is. I want to know why you have me here. I want you to let me go home.’

This enraged him. She wasn’t doing things properly. She wasn’t obedient like the other girls. She was making the sequence of the film in his head go awry. He grabbed the cassette from Theresa’s hand and shoved it into the video machine. Theresa scrambled backwards and wedged herself
behind the pile of rope against the wall. The man had her cornered. He struck her twice across the face. Her head cracked into the wall behind her. He grabbed her arms and she bit him, her teeth breaking the skin. The taste of his blood made her gag as she spat it out.

He laughed. ‘Just do as I say and you’ll be fine. Now you’re really going to look a mess for your star role.’ He dragged her up, grazing her skin on the ropes, and positioned her on the stool again. Theresa was limp with exhaustion. She had stopped resisting. But he held her by the hair and punched her in the stomach anyway. Theresa clenched her teeth so that she didn’t cry out. She did not want to provoke him into doing it again – did not want to give him the pleasure of hearing her moan. He stood in front of her, his face relaxed, now that she was under control. He shoved a knee between her thighs and splayed her legs. Then he wedged the irises under her arm, almost toppling her from the stool.

The tape wasn’t rolling yet. Theresa had clawed several minutes of her life back from him. She wanted more.

‘Let’s make love first,’ she whispered through her cracked lips. ‘Let’s make love and then watch your film.’

‘You little piece of filth. I have you to do with as
I
please. You watch this now. You’ll see quite soon enough that you will have all the time in the world to indulge every little fantasy you’ve ever had.’ He flicked ‘play’ and the screen flickered to life, bringing its ghostly violence into the room.

Theresa could see that the film had been through post-production. Someone had watched it before her, had seen whatever she was going to see, had edited and tweaked it. Theresa wouldn’t be here if this person had said something, done something. The thought sent a surge of rage through her pain-racked body.

The camera was fixed on a girl huddled in the centre of a
room. She was alone, her arms wound tight around her knees. Her bone-thin shoulders shook occasionally. Theresa could see that the hand she cradled protectively had bled, staining the skin on her knee. The images sucked the sound from the room, and soon the girl’s ragged breathing filled the dank boathouse. Theresa looked over at the man. The wet, pink tip of his tongue had crept out of his parted lips. She watched in revulsion as it glistened its way from one corner of his mouth to the other, knowing, anticipating what was coming on the screen.

The sudden click of a door opening jolted Theresa’s attention back to the television. The girl’s head had shot up at the same sound. Her large black eyes were glazed over in horror at what she could see off-camera. The camera moved in close until her eyes filled the screen. Theresa heard the faintest click and looked over to the source of the sound. The man had trained the camera directly onto her face. She knew instantly that he would have her in the same terrible close-up as the girl cowering on the screen. Then he panned to include Theresa, as well as the film she was watching.