Page 112

‘She wasn’t his wife. She married him, but she wasn’t his wife. She was my wife.’

Mary was beginning to see a vague picture emerge from the swirl. It was not a pretty picture. Allison looked like her, but maybe it wasn’t Carl who had sought out a look-alike.

Maybe it was Ryan.

He frowned. ‘You looked like her. So much like her. I thought you could take her place.’ He closed his eyes, the frown deepening. ‘And it worked. For a while, it worked. Of course, I knew you weren’t her, but you were at least something. And since I couldn’t have her, you were the best I could do. But then – then it all changed.’

Mary felt dizzy and hollow and empty. Everything was dissolving around her. She tried to cling to the conversation.

‘What changed?’ she said. ‘You said it worked for a while. What changed?’

He shook his head, and lifted the syringe. ‘I didn’t come here to talk.’

‘What did you come for?’

He approached her and gestured for her to lift her chin. She held it tight against her chest.

‘Don’t make this difficult.’

‘Fuck you.’

He slapped her, hard. The noise was loud and shocking in the small room. Her face started to sting, and tears came to her eyes.

It was a brutal reminder that Ryan was not what she had thought he was.

And it hurt, a lot, and in more ways than one.

‘Like I said, don’t make this difficult.’ He took her chin in between his left thumb and forefinger and prised it upward.

She did not resist. She closed her eyes and waited for the sting of the needle.

A Group of Monkeys

Mary woke with a headache and a sense of complete disorientation. For the first few seconds after she opened her eyes she had no idea where she was, and then she remembered.

Her head throbbed; whatever Ryan had given her was powerful stuff. She had not felt like this since her college days, when she had woken with some atrocious hangovers. Her thoughts were slow.

But one thought pushed its way to the front of her mind.

Ryan had done this.

Ryan had pursued and married her because she looked like the woman he was in love with. Or obsessed with; Mary was unsure whether he was capable of love, at least in any sense she understood.

She closed her eyes. Why had he done this? And where were her kids? Were they tied up somewhere as well?

And then another problem. There was a painful pressure in her bladder. Her mouth was dry and she felt a powerful thirst, but if she had been offered a glass of fresh, iced water, she would have said no. She needed – really needed – to go to the bathroom.

She pushed the thought away and opened her eyes again. She was no longer chained to the floor, and the pain and stiffness in her neck and back and hips and legs had receded somewhat. Now, she was lying on her back on the bed.

The gag was back in her mouth, twisted tight against her tongue. She lifted her head and looked down her body. A thick strap – like the ones Ryan used to secure things in his truck – pinned her arms and chest to the bed. Another held her ankles tight against the mattress.

She couldn’t move, but at least she was not on the floor.

And that was not the only new thing. Lying next to her, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly, was Carl. A separate pair of straps secured him to the bed.

It went against all her instincts, but she closed her eyes and gave in. She felt the warmth spread over her thighs, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was the blessed relief. And what did it matter, in this situation, if she had piss-soaked pants?

She looked up at the window. It was full dark now, but that too didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.