The Shadow in the Dark (Part Nine)

 

Let me be clear about something, because it’s actually very important to me.  

 

I’m not a woman who panics under stress. I’m a trained FBI agent who has successfully completed two unarmed combat courses in Quantico, Virginia. For the second one I was awarded a Bronze medal of commendation by my instructor, Miss Valerie Ryan. She told me that I had nothing to fear from men, and that my judo takedown of the young FBI student, Thomas Bradley, was text book perfect. Agent Bradley was in his second year with the FBI and apologised after the practical demonstration for laying hands on me during the practice bout. He had seemed hesitant when we were being assessed and marked, hesitant as if he feared the social consequences of subduing a woman, the consequences for which can be extremely punitive in Western society. We are not to be touched or handled at the whims of men. And so his heart hadn’t really been in the fight, and consequently I had landed him flat on his back.

 

“A perfect 10,” Miss Valerie Ryan had said. She seemed pleased that a man had been subdued by a woman on the training mats. It seemed to reinforce the dogma that she taught to her students. “You see, Thomas, how your apparently superior size and muscle mass counts for little when you face a skilled opponent. How foolish you look. Miss Ashlee Ellis successfully used your superior size and strength against you. It is a myth that men are naturally superior to women in unarmed combat.”

 

I of course basked in the praise. I had made a man look foolish on the practice mats. There was much laughter in the gymnasium room in Quantico, Virginia, amongst the other female students at least. Few of the men laughed, of course.

 

After the practice bout, Agent Thomas Bradley had approached me, and, rather embarrassingly, had enquired whether I might like to go somewhere for a coffee? Just me and him. He towered over me as he spoke quietly, not wishing Miss Valerie Ryan to overhear his approach. I declined of course. After all, how could I respect a man who I had so easily beaten in a judo match?

 

**************

 

So, as I pressed myself against the wall of the pit, balancing both feet on the narrow, splintered stone steps, I knew there was nothing to fear. I was a trained FBI agent, easily capable of defending myself should the need arise, and in any respect, I was guilty of nothing more than accidental trespass. These men could do nothing more than insist I left their property. I had nothing to fear.

 

And yet, as I pressed myself against the circular wall of the pit, I found my body trembling with something akin to fear. I felt a rising sense of panic come from nowhere. Something about these men, these specific men – the timbre of their voice – so masculine, so powerful, so dominant – brought about a sudden change inside my head. I suddenly forgot my training, forgot my resolve, and I experienced a strong desire to get as far away from these men as I could.

 

They are men

 

They are real men

 

They will recognise what you are

 

I tried to control my breathing. My right foot trembled and I felt some loose stone chips scatter down the bottom of the pit. What was wrong with me? Why was I reacting like this to the sound of their voices? This wasn’t me. Instinctively I seemed to understand that these were not the typical men of my world that I could belittle and intimidate with the full force of social customs on my side. These men would be uncompromising with women, and they wouldn’t be bound by the social norms and conventions that society had imposed upon their sex. Perhaps there is something deep inside of all women that we understand the implications of meeting a true man. If so it underlines the importance of a society that imposes restrictions on men being true men. A healthy society conditions men and women to be the same. Men and women must surrender their birth rights if they are to live alongside one another in harmony. 

 

*************

 

Miss Valerie Ryan, the trainer at Quantico, Virginia, believed strongly that in the future men would have to learn to be a little more feminine, and women would have to become a little more masculine. When that time comes, she lectured us, men and women will truly understand one another. 

 

I do not actually believe that, myself, but I faithfully parroted the dogma in her classes for fear of being awarded a low mark in my class assignments. I had my heart set on a badge and couldn’t risk anything derailing my ambitions. Those who did argue with Miss Ryan soon found their course work marked down accordingly. Miss Valerie Ryan had even gone so far as to speak to each of the women on her course individually, wishing to ascertain whether they were dating men during their studies. 

 

“Men are a distraction,” she told me, over coffee. “It is my experience that a woman who refrains from dating often scores higher in exams than a woman who, shall we say, demeans herself.”

 

The implication was clear enough, and it would be a foolish woman indeed on Miss Ryan’s course who permitted herself an evening’s diversion with a man at Quantico.  

 

“I like you, Ashlee Ellis,” she had said, over lunch in the staff restaurant. “I saw you rebuff the clumsy approach made by Thomas Bradley. Rest assured he will regret his unwarranted interest in you. I think the young man may well find he has to retake the course for another year.” She then smiled at me. “And I approve of the way you dress.” I wore a below the knee length skirt to lunch, and a long-sleeved blouse that was buttoned all the way up. It was the way Miss Ryan tended to dress when she presented herself before the FBI class in training. “It looks professional and modest.”

 

“Thank you, Miss Ryan,” I’d said.

 

“I am keeping an eye on you, of course,” she added with a wink. “Standards must be maintained.”

 

“Of course,” I said back. I had hardly touched my food. Something about Miss Ryan’s demeanour inspired me to try and make a good impression. Would she judge me on my table manners? I didn’t want to take the risk.  

 

“Between you and me, I keep an eye on the careers of some of my finest students from the past. I like to see them doing well.”

 

“That’s… kind of you,” I had said.

 

“It is, indeed.”

 

*****************

 

I couldn’t see either of the men, but in my brazen imagination they seemed to be brutish types – stocky, muscular, with shaven heads and beards, calloused hands and narrow, piercing gazes. I felt suddenly afraid of them for reasons I couldn’t conjecture. Instinctively I understood that these men could master a woman. 

 

“She may trip one of the northern motion detectors before she reaches the high road. Not that she’ll get far at any rate. She’ll simply run into the steel and wire fencing.”

 

“The storm brought down one of the supports in quadrant nine,” said the second man. “There was a mud slide that undermined the foundations. I’ve called in a car to check the extent of the damage.”

 

“Quiet,” said the first man, somewhat abruptly. I held my breath for fear that my breathing might give me away. “I heard something.”

 

I couldn’t shrink back against the wall of the pit any more than I was already doing. All they had to do was walk to the edge and peer down. But why was I so afraid? They were just men.

 

And I was a woman.

 

Who was alone in a wood.

 

Far from the security of laws designed to protect me.

 

A primal fear rose in my throat. I felt the sudden urge to flee, but there was no way of fleeing from where I stood. If I climbed back up they would hear me. And I could hardly throw myself down the black hole into who knows what. 

 

“What did you hear?” asked the second man. 

 

“I think she’s nearby.”

 

And then I heard it, too, only it wasn’t me. A cracking of twigs and a rustle of vegetation, and then a young woman’s voice.

 

“Oh! Hello!”

 

A woman had just entered the clearing. 

 

“I’ve been, like, blundering about for nearly an hour! Every time I try and get out of this wood I either reach the river or a tall steel wire fence.”

 

“This is private property,” said the first man.

 

“Is it?” The woman seemed unconcerned. “Well, I was on a hiking trail.”

 

“Did you climb through a fallen section of the fencing?” asked the second man.

 

“Well, yeah, I guess. I’ve been trying to find my way back, but I think I’m a bit lost. Oopsie! I’m Shelley, by the way. That’s Shelley with two e’s.”

 

The men didn’t introduce themselves.

 

“Strong silent types, huh?” Shelley seemed to be coming closer to the circular stone pit. “Hey, that’s quite a feature. What is it?”

 

“It is not your concern,” said the second man. “You shouldn’t be here.”

 

“Well, here I am. Deal with it. There’s no need to be so rude. If you just show me the way out, I’ll get out of your way.” 

 

I remained still. It was impossible to tell who had tripped the motion alarms earlier on. Possibly me, or possibly Shelley with two e’s. All I knew was that the men had found Shelley, and they had no reason to suspect another woman was here in the fenced off woods. 

 

“You are brazen for a free woman,” said the second man. “Why have you exposed yourself in such a way?’

 

I couldn’t see Shelley with two e’s, so I had no idea what they were talking about.

 

“Exposed myself?”

 

“Yes. You have arranged your shirt in such a way as to reveal your midriff and expose the valley between your breasts. And clearly you do not wear a brassiere. Are you a slave?”

 

“A slave? What are you talking about?”

 

“And your choice of jeans are worn low on the hips, and tight against your body. You seem to be inviting a man’s gaze. Possibly even his touch.”

 

“I’m hiking.” Her voice seemed derisory in its tone. “My garments are comfortable and practical, and, in any event, how I dress is none of your business. In fact I don’t appreciate the way you’re staring at me.”

 

The first man laughed, but it wasn’t in a friendly, good natured way. “The way you dress and comport yourself is very much my business, girl. You are signalling to men that you wish to be taken.””

 

“What? Okay, I’ve had just about enough of this.” I heard the girl fumble in her shoulder bag and produce her cell phone. “I’m taking your pictures. See. You’re on camera now. And trust me when I say I’m going to put in a complaint in the nearby town. In fact, I’m dialling 911 right now.” She went silent for perhaps ten seconds or so.

 

“There is no cell phone reception out here,” said the second man. “As you perhaps now realise.”

 

“Oh.” The girl’s voice was a little less confrontational now. She now understood, perhaps, that she was alone in a remote location and unable to call for help. “Well, I’m leaving. Hey!” Her voice suddenly grew angry, urgent. “Let go of me! Let go of my wrist! I said let go of me! You’re…” and there was a sharp scream and I heard the girl being flung down to the ground, possibly onto her belly. “You’re hurting me!”

 

“Bind her wrists,” said the first man. I heard Shelley struggling in the grass as there was a metallic click of what sounded like handcuffs. How dare they! Yes, Shelley was trespassing, but this was an extreme response. For a moment I considered calling out, intervening, making the men aware that there was a witness, and that I would take action unless they desisted, but then a sense of reality intruded and I quickly understood that these were men who would simply handcuff me, too. 

 

I had completed two unarmed combat courses at Quantico, but I instinctively feared having to fight these men.

 

Where was Sheriff Root? He had to be nearby. He was going to drive around until he found a public bridge that would get him across the Miskatonic river and onto the public road above these woods. But even then, if the woods were fenced off with steel mesh, how long would it take him to find a way in to me? Too long. I was alone here in these woods with what I assumed were guards or groundsmen. 

 

Shelley screamed again, and it took a few moments for it to register with me what was now happening. The men were stripping her! I leaned against the wall in shock. These men were removing her garments! 

 

I had to do something. I was FBI. But what exactly? I was unarmed, and I was missing my badge. These men would hardly listen to me. They would…

 

Bind me

 

Strip me

 

No, I mustn’t let that happen. My knees felt weak at the thought of being captured and stripped. What was wrong with me?

 

I was all of a sudden deathly afraid of capture. 

 

Where was Sheriff Root? Why wasn’t he here to protect me?

 

These kind of thoughts were alien to me. I didn’t understand why I was having them now. Why was I thinking these things? I had to do something, but my muscles seemed frozen in fear. 

 

“She squirms well,” said the first man.

 

“No, please! You can’t do this! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to climb through the wire fence! Please!”

 

“Remove her jeans and shirt,” said the first man. “And her ankle boots.” The girl screamed some more, not that there was anyone close by who might help her. I heard her struggling as her ankle boots and socks were removed from her feet, her tight jeans then followed, and her midriff shirt was cut away with a knife. If she was without a brassiere then I supposed she would be lying on her belly now wearing only her panties as covering. 

 

“Please, no! Please! I’m a virgin!” she cried. For some reason this statement caused the men to pause what they were doing.

 

“Assess that she is,” said the first man. I was beginning to understand that he was nominally in charge here.

 

“You can’t! Please no, don’t!” 

 

The men, out of sight, assessed her self-professed virgin state. I could imagine there was only one way they could check for that. I tried not to imagine what might now be happening on the far side of this sunken pit. 

 

“Oh God!” cried the girl. 

 

“She does appear to be intact, and unspoilt,’ said the second man. “Despite the way she dresses herself.” 

 

“White silk,” said the first. “And yet signalling her sexual availability to men. Women are a paradox.”

 

“But a delightful paradox,” added the second man.

 

I remained silent, absolutely silent. I didn’t move a muscle throughout all of this. What could I do, unarmed as I was? If I revealed myself, these men would simply take me, the way they had taken Shelley. At least this way I could summon help once I found Sheriff Root. Then these men would be in trouble. I would bring the full force of the local law enforcement down upon them. 

 

But first I had to evade capture, otherwise no one would know what had just happened. 

 

Stay still, Ashlee. Don’t make a noise. 

 

“What are you doing!” wept the girl. I heard her being raised up from the ground, first to her knees, and then to her feet. But before she rose from her knees the first man said:

 

“Leash her.”

 

“No, please, no!” 

 

I couldn’t see the girl but I had to assume she now wore a leash of some kind. The men would be able to lead her, despite her protests, through the woods. 

 

“I’m not an animal!” she cried. “You can’t put me on a leash!”

 

“Be quiet, girl.” There was the sound of a hard slap, and Shelley cried out in pain. 

 

“You can’t do this to me,” she wept. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t! I swear I won’t!” She began to scream as the men tugged on her leash and she was forced to follow them. The screams only lasted a few seconds, after which I heard her being gagged. 

 

And then I simply waited. I waited first five minutes, and then ten, and the twenty, and then half an hour at least. I heard nothing more as the men led Shelley away, but I didn’t dare show myself while there was any chance they might return.

 

An hour went by and my legs felt sore as I kept myself pressed against the wall of the pit, my feet braced against the narrow stone steps. Where was Sheriff Root? Was he waiting for me on the road above the woods? Had he perhaps tried and failed to get through the steel fence? I needed his help! He caried a gun and I did not. 

 

After an hour I considered climbing back up into the clearing, but I remained terrified that the men had not gone, and that they were simply seated on some rocks, twenty yards away, waiting for me to emerge from hiding. If it had been an hour then Sheriff Root should have either found me or called for help. He had to be doing something. 

 

I waited another half an hour and then, trembling from the tension in my muscles, I slowly made my way back to the summit of the pit. The clearing was empty, and I could see no sign of movement in the woods surrounding the clearing. I breathed deeply, pulled myself up and crouched down in the scrub grass as I surveyed the area. It did seem I was now alone.

 

But alone where?

 

I checked my watch and saw that it was now 3.15 in the afternoon. 

 

Where was Sheriff Root? Just how far away was the main road?

 

I rose carefully to my feet and then began to hurry to the relative safety of the tree line.