The Shadow in the Dark (Part Eighteen)

 

My scream brought a concerned Rosemary running up the short flight of stairs to my dormer bedroom.

 

No, not my bedroom, her daughter’s bedroom. 

 

This wasn’t my bedroom.

 

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong? Is it a horrible nightmare? Why, don’t be scared – my little Ada had nightmares too, sometimes. Here, I’ve brought you a nice glass of milk.”

 

I sat up on the edge of the bed in my stupid Frozen night slip, with the cartoon characters emblazoned on the front. One thin spaghetti strap had slipped past my shoulder and so I lifted it back in place as Rosemary sat down beside me and ran her hand through my hair. 

 

“You had such a nasty shock last night when you crashed your car. How was the bed?”

 

“STOP THIS! PLEASE! Just stop this!” I sobbed.

 

“Drink your milk,” said an astonished Rosemary. “You’ll feel better for some nice milk. Oh, look at you, so pretty in your Frozen night slip. You’re just like my little Ada, before she was all grown up and full of big girl ideas, skipping around at Miskatonic university. Forgets all about her mother, she does. Never writes, never phones. Whatever am I to do.”

 

“NOOO!” I smacked the glass of milk away from her hand and the milk splashed across the carpet. I rose to my feet and ran to the window, pulling at it, but it was locked in place. I began smacking my balled fists against the wall. And then I turned round, hyper ventilating, to gaze at Rosemary. “What is the date?!”

 

“Why, look what a mess you made! That’s no way to thank me for…”

 

“THE DATE?!”

 

“October the 5^th,” said Sheriff Root as he appeared at the top of the stairs and peered in at my dormer bedroom. “What’s going on?”

 

“I think it’s shock,” said Rosemary. “She was in a real state last night when she turned up at the diner, all wet and bedraggled.”

 

“You’re both part of this! I know you are!” I backed away as Sheriff Root continued to look concerned. “I was At Elijah Bannon’s house yesterday! You took me there!” I pointed at Sheriff Root.

 

“Miss Ellis, we only met last night at the diner.”

 

“STOP LYING TO ME! I’m an FBI agent! I’m going to the police!”

 

“I AM the police,” said Sheriff Root. “Now I suggest you calm yourself down right now, or I’m going to have to call for a doctor.”

 

“No, no, no! He’ll inject me with something! That’s what you want, isn’t it?! What are you doing to me!”

 

“Okay, you need to calm down right away.”

 

I leaned against the wall, beside a Frozen poster, still hyper ventilating. “Can’t breathe. Where’s my car. I want to go home…”

 

“But you ARE home,” said Rosemary, so sweetly. “You can rest up here as long as you need to. You’re certainly not going anywhere in that bashed up old car of yours. This lovely bedroom is yours for as long as you want it.”

 

“I am Ashlee Ellis. I am an FBI agent,” I kept saying to myself. 

 

“Rosemary, I need to speak to you,” said Sheriff Root. He glanced at me again, but decided I wasn’t about to break anything more. Reluctantly, the diner lady followed Sheriff Root to just outside the bedroom where he spoke to her in a lowered voice. I crept across the floor on my bare feet, straining to hear. I caught some words.

 

“Note from Doctor Thredson… my desk… Ashlee Ellis… Briarcliff… Thorazine treatment… severe hallucinations and delusions… acute paranoia…”

 

I heard Rosemary gasp.

 

“Miss Ellis.” I suddenly jumped back as Sheriff Root re-entered the bedroom. “Your name appeared on my desk this morning.”

 

“No. No…” I backed away. 

 

“Look, I only want to help you. A Doctor Thredson has been phoning local offices. he’s worried about…”

 

“I don’t know him! I’m not his patient!” I was screaming now. 

 

“He’s worried you’ve been missing your doses of Thorazine. He says you’ve been causing acute distress to your friend, Helen Corbin. Threatening phone calls at all hours.”

 

I looked wildly around the room. “I’m an FBI agent,” I said. “I am an FBI agent.”

 

“Shall I call your bureau?” suggested Sheriff Root. 

 

“You’ve done something to the phone. When I try to ring my office the call goes somewhere else. I’ve figured out what you’re doing. One of your people is pretending to be the switchboard at my office.”

 

“Oh, honey, you really are not well…” said Rosemary as she stood in the doorway behind Sheriff Root, ringing her hands in despair. 

 

“What happened to me at the house?! I don’t remember leaving! I woke up in this bed!”

 

“We brought you here from the diner,” said Rosemary. “You were so tired. You went right to bed once I put you in your lovely silky slip. Slept like a little girl, dreaming of her favourite Frozen songs.”

“It’s Elijah, isn’t it? He’s doing this to me! His God Game! He always talked about his fucking God Game at Mount Holyoke. He’s behind all of this. I’m his Nicholas Urfe and he wants to be Conchis.”

 

Sheriff Root and Rosemary stared at one another, apparently confused and appalled by my language.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Ellis. I think I should phone Doctor Thredson. I can see why he’s worried about you.”

 

“NO! he’s one of them! You’re one of them! I’m not taking any fucking Thorazine!”

 

I knew vaguely what Thorazine would do. The side effects anyway: heavy sedation, weight gain, dry mouth, constipation, low blood pressure, especially when trying to stand, sensitivity to sunlight, a sense of feeling foggy or slowed, and loss of motivation. 

 

“Miss Ellis, I’m afraid I’m going to have to lock you into your bedroom until I can get in touch with Doctor Thredson. I’m concerned for your safety.”

 

“NO!” I ran for the door, but obviously with Sheriff Root standing in front of it, he simply grabbed me and pulled me back to the bed, where he pushed me down onto the Frozen bedspread. 

 

“If you don’t calm down I’m going to have to handcuff you.”

 

I leapt back up and punched at him with my extended right arm, like I’d been taught to do in Quantico on the two unarmed combat courses I’d taken. Miss Valerie Ryan – my tutor – had often commended my no nonsense fighting style. She told me that with the element of surprise I could take down any man.

 

Sheriff Root somehow saw my punch coming, stepped quickly to the side, caught my arm by its wrist, twisted my arm round and threw me belly first back onto the bedspread. There had to be at least a dozen moves to counter his response, but my mind was blank. I couldn’t recall any of them.

 

“LET ME GO!” I screamed as I bit into the bedspread.

 

“That’s enough. No more.” I felt a steel cuff locked around my right wrist.

 

“NO! Don’t chain me! You mustn’t chain me!”

 

Sheriff Root looped the short chain around an iron rail of the bed and locked the other cuff about my left wrist. He then stepped back as I flailed helplessly, sitting on the carpet, with my wrists raised above my head. The chain rattled hard against the iron rail of the headboard.

 

“You left me no choice, Miss Ellis.”

 

I couldn’t believe he had taken me down like that! I was proficient in unarmed combat! I had taken two intensive courses at Quantico. I was capable of taking down a man! I was!

 

I sat on the carpet, breathing heavily, my red hair hanging loosely across my face. “Unlock these cuffs!” I rattled the chain against the iron bed rail.

 

A man had chained me. I felt my nipples swell. I felt a strange sense of arousal at being chained and at his mercy. What was wrong with me? My thighs brushed briefly together as I sat on the carpet and I blushed. 

 

Both Rosemary and Sheriff Root left the room, closed the door, and then I heard a lock being turned. I stared wildly at the Frozen poster across the room with the Frozen girls telling me, ‘don’t let it show’.

 

I felt the handcuffs tight around my wrists. It was an intoxicating feeling to be made helpless by a man. I shook my head violently. NO! I don’t feel that way!

 

Sensual images began to fill my mind. I was dancing again for the pleasure of men.

 

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I felt the stones of the caravanserai cool beneath my bare soles as the drums began, a low pulse that sent shivers through my calves with a rhythm that settled in my hips. The briefest of silks whispered against my bare skin as I turned; it was the sound of water over glass, of night wind through palm trees. With each step the locked bells at my ankles answered the rhythm, bright as the desert stars shaken loose across the sand.

 

I lifted my arms as the silk spun about my body in the lamplight, amber and rose, and I let the movement of my limbs travel slowly, deliberately, from wrist to shoulder, from breath to spine. The veil I wore was but a breath itself - gossamer and pale – hiding nothing, but softening the line of my mouth, blurring a hint of my smile into the suggestion of pleasure. The translucent veil worn. by slaves is a mockery of the veils worn by Free Women. When I tilted my head, the men beyond the lamps leaned forward without meaning to, and I felt their attention like heat at my back, not heavy, but expectant.

 

I was owned!

 

I wore a slave collar! And on my thigh, a brand, as it is meant to be.

 

I danced with the heat of my body, becoming aroused as I turned, spun, and displayed myself before these virile men. 

 

I circled the courtyard, hips tracing crescents, toes painting patterns on the worn tiles. The dust smelled of spice and travel - cardamom, leather, the memory of long roads, of open dunes and the cool night breeze that counters the burning heat of the day. My hair swung free, bright red against the silk. I let the veil drift, teasing the curve of cheek and the flash of an eye, giving them just enough to wonder, but never quite enough to claim.

 

Hands reached out for me as I swayed my hips in first one direction and then the next. Always so close, but never quite close enough. 

 

The drums continued to beat and perspiration appeared in sparse droplets on my skin. I am white, and that is a rarity here in the desert sands where white skinned women command a high price.

 

The bells chimed as I quickened, then hushed when I paused, still, holding the silence until it hummed. In that pause I belonged to the rhythm alone, to the night air and the watching lamps. Then the drums returned, and I smiled to the men behind my mocking veil, and stepped back into the music, light as a zephyr, certain as the beat beneath my feet.

 

Another man reached out for me and tore a strip of silk from my left hip, exposing my brand.

 

Of course I wear a brand! I am a slave!

 

Brand me, collar me, own me, savage masters!

 

The desert night is long and soon I will be thrown to the feet of one of these men to be tasted, taken and enjoyed, like the slave I am.

 

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I snapped back to consciousness, wrestling against the handcuffs again. I was still chained, but now there was a burning heat between my thighs that I couldn’t easily ignore. I closed my eyes but when I did I was dancing again in the caravanserai as men reached for me.

 

NO!

 

I had to stay awake. I struggled again against the slim handcuffs. I mustn’t be chained! Not by a man!

 

I didn’t know how much time had gone by. I called out: “Rosemary! Please! I’m scared! Rosemary!”

 

I needed a distraction from these intense feelings.

 

I heard footsteps slowly make their way up the stairs to the dormer bedroom. And then there was a shuffling at the lock and then the door opened, and Rosemary stood there.

 

“Oh, honey, just look at you. Those handcuffs must be so tight on your little wrists.”

 

“They are,” I pleaded. “They hurt, Rosemary. I’m so sorry for earlier. I’m so sorry. But I’m calm now. I won’t shout any more, I won’t.”

 

Rosemary seemed doubtful as she stood there looking down at me.

 

“There’s some flooding on the old road south of Innsmouth,” said Rosemary as she walked over to sit down on the bed. “Doctor Thredson won’t be able to make it over here today. It’s such unseasonable weather. No wonder you crashed your car, you poor thing.”

 

“Please, Rosemary. Please. You can’t keep me chained like this. My arms hurt. I can’t feel my hands anymore.”

 

“Oh, it breaks my heart,” said Rosemary. “That sheriff, he really didn’t think, did he? Treating you like a hardened criminal, when you’re just a little girl who isn’t well. You’re so much like my Ada.” She ruffled my hair in a loving manner. “Today is her birthday, you know. Does she call? No, of course not. She’s all modern these days, with fashionable modern friends, being such a big girl at Miskatonic university. That dress behind you…” she pointed to a horrible prissy dress hanging from a clothes hanger on the wall beside the bed. It was a crisp, knee-length party dress in a pastel shade of light blue, made from polished cotton and silk faille, with a fitted bodice and a gently flared skirt that held its shape thanks to a netted petticoat beneath. The dress had a narrow sash tied in an immaculate bow at the front, and was fastened by a series of tiny pearl buttons down the back. “She wore that on her thirteenth birthday. Oh my, but she looked so pretty.” I stiffened as Rosemary produced a pink backed hairbrush and began to comb my long red hair with it, making long sweeping brush strokes, and taking her time. “I never had the heart to throw it away. And look at you, about her size when she was that age. Why, I bet you could wear it easily enough. You’d look pretty as a picture and we could pretend my Ada was home on her birthday. I could make you a cake and you could have all the fizzy cola you wanted to drink.”

 

Rosemary beamed a loving smile at me as she continued to brush my hair until it looked glossy.

 

I swallowed a taste of bile in my throat. “That sounds… lovely, Rosemary. I would love to have a birthday like Ada had.”

 

“Hmm.” Rosemary studied my expression seriously now. I forced a smile on my face. 

 

“I never had a pretty dress like that when I was thirteen.”

 

“Oh, you poor thing! Didn’t you? Well, we’ll have to make amends, wont we? Now listen, Henry Root gave me a set of keys for your handcuffs in case there was an emergency. Now if you don’t tell, I won’t tell.” She produced the keys. I tried not to look too anxious. “Birthday cake?” she suggested as she rattled the keys.

 

I nodded quickly. “Yum,” I said. She was clearly insane. And therefore potentially dangerous. And at the moment I was chained and helpless and alone with her.

 

“So here’s what we’ll do. I’ll unlock your handcuffs, but not before I lock the windows and doors downstairs.” I must have looked startled, for Rosemary laughed and ruffled my hair again. “Oh, your face! Really! It’s for your own safety, you silly billy. You need to trust Rosemary.”

 

“I do trust you,” I said. “You’ve been so kind.”

 

Rosemary beamed at me. “So much like my little Ada. Bless her little white cotton socks. So much like her. But she doesn’t phone, you know. How hard can that be? Just a call to her mother on her birthday.”

 

I nodded and swallowed again. “I’d call you on my birthday, Rosemary.”

 

“Of course you would. You’re such a good girl, Ashlee. Such a good girl.” She hugged me and I felt how much stronger she was than me. “So, once we’ve locked the doors and windows tightly shut, you can get dressed into that lovely party dress, and then we’ll go downstairs together and have some sticky cake! There’s nothing like lots and lots of sugar to make a birthday girl smile! And if you’re a really good girl, and you tie your little bow neatly around your waist, we can sit down and watch Frozen. I’ve still got the DVD.”

 

Rosemary smiled at me as if I was the luckiest girl alive.