MY STORIES

ESCAPE

noreply@blogger.com (Elyssa Vulpes) — Mon, 15 Oct 2012 11:13:00 +0000

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She was trembling, the profound, almost masculine and yet somewhat soft voice still ringing in her ears. Rest was elusive, her breathing too fast and irregular for comfort.

The silence with its implications of further torment almost choked her. Was it over yet?

She could only hear the faint hissing of a machine, hidden in a far corner of the room and even though it was still day outside everything remained enveloped in partial darkness.

The little light that entered from the windows was filtered through a dirty brown curtain that made the atmosphere seem stuffy: the room smelled like old papers and pieces of dusty machinery.

It had been at least half an hour after she had passed out. She had grown used to the process of measuring the time without a watch and could tell from her own state of grogginess whether she had slept for a long while or only for a few minutes.

She didn’t want to think about what had happened. She always tried to block it out and let it go; after all there was no use in torturing oneself and the distress was only made worse by dwelling on it. The important thing was to get the hell out, and now was the time.

Every so often it was hard to believe she’d been here for as long as she had but it was impossible to tell how long that had been exactly. More importantly, if she wanted to survive she had no choice but to think of her next move: the only way out was escape and if she persevered and took them by surprise she might just succeed. It would be wise to attempt to get away when they least expected it: they knew how tired she was and would never think she could make it in such a bad shape. In fact, nobody in his right mind would attempt to flee in her condition and that was exactly why she had to take advantage of it.

She couldn’t figure out how long it would be until they’d get back to fetch her. Every time it seemed different: hours could stretch into days or else it could minutes between an incident and another. She wasn’t even sure how much to trust in what her eyes saw anymore and sometimes she even doubted that the place really existed but as much as that sounded crazy it was just the way it felt. Too many times she had woken up wondering whether she had actually stopped dreaming at all: it was hard to maintain a sense of reality under such circumstances.

All she seemed to crave now was freedom: she couldn’t remember whether she’d ever been so or what it really felt like but she wanted it more than anything else, even though sometimes she wondered whether it had been Ms. J to implant in her the fear that it was all just in her head so she wouldn’t try to escape; in the end though, it didn’t really matter what she had or hadn’t done because only getting out made any sense now.

The thought of being outside caused her stomach to cramp: it was impossible to ignore her feelings of anticipation and anxiety. The pain originated somewhere in her belly and then traveled up to her chest: she experienced it like a heavy rock, lodged somewhere in the middle of her heart, tightening all the muscles into a ball. She tried to breathe through it but as she did so a sharp stinging ache shot up through her ribs and crushed her so strongly that she had to close her eyes to avoid crying. Damn. She would have to control herself if she wanted to get out of here.

- Cool it - she told herself. - Or Ms. J will come again, and this time she’ll bring themwith her … -

No. She could not let that happen: even just the thought of those revolting creatures intensely repelled her: she hated Ms. J as much as her subservient assistants; they were nothing but brainless scum. She could never figure out how they were made to obey each and every one of her orders without question: their subjection was so total it seemed shocking and almost inhuman… but she would never give in; no, she would never be turned into another one of Ms. J’s victims who just wondered around looking like empty lifeless shells of their former selves…

She attempted to move her head slightly, trying to be very careful so as to not make a sound, just in case someone was still in the room, watching. Very slowly she turned to the right and tried to peek out from the corner of her eye, to check whether all was quiet behind her but her head couldn’t stop trembling despite her efforts to keep it still; she drew in breath and looked around: among the clatter of old furniture she couldn’t distinguish anything in particular and saw no one, or at least thought so.

She knew there was some kind of passage at the very end of the room. It was the terrible corridor of her nightmares: the very place she would give anything never to see again. It would be impossible to recount how many times she had been dragged through it before, and every time the terror would be more intense and the screams of protest higher; she could feel a cold current of air coming from it now, some faint noise, like a murmur: she wondered whether they were talking about her this very moment, perhaps discussing the next time they’d come to take her away.

She’d better make a move now, before that would happen again. For a second there she’d thought someone might be hiding between the furniture, spying on her, but no, it was just nerves: there couldn’t be anyone concealed behind her or by now she would have known.

- Someone will soon come to check on me. Any much more time spent between these walls and I’ll go crazy. –

She kept on staring at the door: it was so close, and yet so desperately distant; the space that separated her from it, although no more than a meter and a half at most, appeared like a vast chasm she would have to find enormous strength to cross but whatever lay behind it was calling to her, and yet she felt almost mocked and belittled by it. It was as if the threshold emanated malevolence and yet at the same time irresistibly attracted her.

Perhaps what she was feeling was a premonition of danger to come, or perhaps she had been conditioned to feel this way about escape but then, if it was really so easy for her to go why had they left her alone unattended? Did they think she was completely incapable of doing anything for herself, or were they somehow testing her?

Perhaps they were all just watching her on closed circuit television right now, betting with each other on whether she would choose to stay or risk capture; she could all too well picture a bundle of ugly soulless faces shouting orders at her while mocking her with contempt.

- Oh stop it! - She begged - Please! She could not handle any more violence.

- It’s only fear. Push it away. Be strong. Nothing can keep you here any longer… -

She decided to make a start for the exit: the far away voices from the corridor had transformed into evil demon whispers, sounding threatening and cruel, so if there was ever a time to go it was now.

With a sudden jerk she pushed herself up, eyes fixed on the door: a moment later she was beside it.

Her heart was pounding hard in her chest; now she had to turn the handle down. Sweat pushed its way onto her face but the handle gave way easily. She pressed it down it and saw no one on the other side. There was a stairwell a few meters ahead, and a corridor straight in front of her.

On the right hand side a small hallway opened onto a dark room, which seemed empty: if worse came to worse it could perhaps serve as a good hiding place. She hadn’t had time to finish formulating the thought when she heard someone come up the stairs, and since there was no time to get back, she decided to hide in it straight away. Flinging herself into the dark room just in time to notice the steps getting closer she realized it was much smaller than she would have wished: in fact it was just something like a broom cupboard with hardly any space to stand and only a folding door that wouldn’t shut.

If whoever was walking down the corridor didn’t stop soon chances were they were headed for her cell and if that was the case they would raise the alarm and her plan would be over before it had had a chance to unfold.

She listened to the approaching steps as if these were the last moments of her life: the beating of her heart was so loud she was scared it could be heard at a long distance away.

- Damn it! I can’t let myself panic! –

- Take a deep breath. Nothing can be done. Just wait and see what happens-

Holding still she resigned herself to wait in the hope the stranger would stop before reaching her. The tension in her body increased: she lifted her hands to her face hoping it would make everything go away but it didn’t; whoever was walking towards her was now just coming out of the corridor and in a few seconds he would be standing just a few meters away from her; she wished she could be invisible and drew in breath in an effort to make herself smaller.

Not one minute had passed when she noticed something change: the steps were becoming somewhat more distant and fainter but she couldn’t understand it: what was happening? The sound was slowly disappearing, traveling further down so whoever it was must be headed for the stairway which lay just a few meters before the hallway and this could only mean she was safe; releasing all of the air in one go she let out a sigh of relief: it had been a close call.

Before going any further she made herself take another deep breath so she would calm down, as the worst part was yet to come: if she happened to meet anyone on the stairs all would be lost but there was no alternative way out. After waiting for a while until no more sounds could be heard at all she made a run for the stairs. In a flash and without knowing how she found herself on the ground floor and she couldn’t believe her luck: she’d managed to flee down the entire length of the building without meeting anyone at all. Another few steps now and she’d be out. She was just about to get to the main exit door when something inside stopped her.

- Wait. Listen. –

Hiding behind a column halfway between the stairwell and the entrance she scanned the space ahead; she was breathing heavily from the sprint and hoped no one would hear: she wasn’t going to have everything spoiled by some over zealous guard who'd leap at the opportunity to catch her to gain Ms. J's favor. Only when she was satisfied there wasn’t any one around she made a dash for the way out.

As soon as she stepped outside a heavy shower of rain soaked her: the sky was not visible, covered by a thick layer of cloud and fog. She instinctively shuddered and looked around, and that’s when she saw one of the guards: a woman with bottomless black eyes and hair dripping wet was standing a few steps away from the entrance almost completely drenched in water. She looked at her and instantly recognized her for one of the most vicious of Ms. J’s crew. Filled with dread she threw herself into the road, not caring whether she’d live or die: anything would be better now than being dragged back into the building.

She ran and ran and ran for what seemed an eternity until she stumbled into something and fell on the ground. She had been going on adrenaline alone and hadn’t even stopped to check whether she was being followed. Everything around her was wet and slippery and she had no idea where she was, except she’d hardly seen a place so dark and desolate before. She wondered what had happened to the guard. She could not see her anywhere but that didn’t necessarily mean she had stopped following her. Anyone of them could be lurching somewhere in the darkness waiting to hear a sign of her presence and if that was the case she’d better not move just yet. She had hoped to be able to hide in the fog but she knew it couldn’t be trusted: all sorts of noises were carried by it, and even if she had indeed managed to get away till now, she knew they would be listening out for her; they weren’t the type to give up easily and as of now a whole lot of them would be looking for her. What she should do is find a place to temporarily take refuge in, but she was too exhausted to even think of where.

Still on the floor she tried to get up without making a noise. The fog was slowly clearing and soon they would be able to see her just like she was starting to be able to make out other people’s shadows hanging in between street corners and hidden shops. Whether friendly looking or not she could not take the risk of trusting anyone; truth be told she found the behavior of the outside people somewhat unnerving: they acted as if they preferred to stare at her rather than try to help her; although she was on the floor and obviously in trouble nobody had offered their hand or asked her whether she was alright.

Suddenly a paranoid thought crawled into her mind: could it be that they were in it, spying on her and reporting back to head quarters? After all they probably did have plenty of agents on the outside who would normally be employed to recruit victims for their fucked up experiments; and if need be the same agents could easily be asked to collaborate on other matters of urgency like someone unauthorized escaping from the compounds.

If so though - she reflected - she would already be back inside. No, these must just be selfish, closed off, sleepy people wanting nothing to do with anyone but themselves. There was probably no use hoping for any support from them either: this was one of those matters she’d have to resolve herself, if only she didn’t feel so tired...

Up until now it had been emergency energy that had kept her going but now she felt like somewhere, someone had pulled the plug. How to get somewhere safe fast under these circumstances? Even if she managed to find a secure place to hide how would she get there unnoticed? Maybe she could beg or steal some money and then board a train and get away; trouble was she didn’t know where either she or the nearest station was. She listened intently, and after an endless five minutes spent on the wet ground where she’d fallen, she mustered the strength to get to her feet to start walking again: for an instant she had thought she could hear the rustle and bustle of wheels traveling slowly on train tracks but the tiredness in her body was catching up with her and she almost couldn’t feel her legs anymore.

- Will I really get away? Why is it so hard to get anywhere? –

She couldn’t understand why she was so worn out, given it hadn’t been that long since she had started to run but then maybe they had been drugging her or maybe they were poisoning her food to try and keep her inside; well, if so it hadn’t fully worked and despite their best efforts she was now outside and would stay that way; it was just a matter of keeping going, holding on, staying a fugitive for long enough, and then, eventually, she’d be left alone. Holding on to this faint glimmer of hope she made a last effort to clear her mind and got up to her feet.

After a few minutes of walking in the direction of what she thought would be the railway station she found herself incapable of going any further: her legs could not support the weight of her body anymore and gave way into a dark corner of the street. Covering her face up as much as possible with her coat, she surrendered and closed her eyes.

- Just half an hour and then Ill try again…- she told herself, but before she could finish the sentence, her mind finally collapsed and she lost consciousness.

III

It was late at night when she finally reached the railway station. She had no recollection of how she’d gotten there and no idea what time it could be but despite the hour there were still a few people around .The lights were dim and although it had stopped raining a thin layer of fog was advancing at foot level underneath the tracks.

It all looked so ghostly it was slightly unsettling but overall she was feeling much better. Also, she felt pretty confident she could board one of the trains unnoticed so all that was left to do was carefully scan the huge train timetable on the main wall: the first long distance one was due to depart in ten minutes from platform 4.

The train was already there ready to go, just a short few minutes away. Almost in a trance she began to walk towards it and it was such a sweet sensation to be finally so close to complete escape that everything and everyone else around began to seem almost unreal. She couldn’t believe she had made it, that the dream she had fantasized about for so long was actually coming true; how many hours had been spent thinking about this! How much she had dreamt of the moment of freedom, when she would finally be able to breathe with no fear… and now it had become reality.

Lost in a daze she was so immersed in savoring her sweet fantasy that she almost screamed when a hand touched her on the shoulder. In a jolt she turned and saw it was a man with a pale anxious face.

- Excuse me – the man hesitated - do you… happen to… know the time? –

He seemed almost to be trembling and as soon as the words had left his mouth he averted his gaze from her, choosing instead to stare blankly at some invisible object beyond her with a glazed look in his eyes. She was so shaken that for a few instants she found herself unable to react. The sound of his words had been as unreal as if they had traveled a very long distance to reach her and he looked like an absurd pleading puppet, almost not human at all. When she finally managed to conjure up something to say it sounded like a weak apologetic “sorry…” and the man walked away, looking more bewildered and anxious than before.

It had all happened so fast that she hadn’t had the chance to come to grips with her fright: in that fraction of a second her subconscious had gone so haywire, believing that the hand of the man who had touched her really belonged to one of her persecutors that as a result she felt herself starting to shake. It was actually surprising she hadn’t seen any of them yet, and she instantly wondered if they had been stationed around to guard the trains, and what would she do if that were the case?

Almost as an answer one of them suddenly appeared directly in front of her, about fifty yards away. Immediately she turned her back to the figure but saw another five or six checking out the train she was about to board: she froze.

Dressed in long trench coats and large waxed brim hats there was no mistaking them: they all had long black hair wet with rain, looking as if they’d lived all their lives soaked in water. In a flash the images started flooding back: she could vividly recall those faces lurking behind the dirty shadows of their hats: their eyes hollow and cruel like their souls; their lips curled in an unnatural smile; and now a new detail made them the more familiarly terrifying: they all carried something in their hands she recognized with horror: sharp, impossibly long needles.

A wave of panic took hold of her and instantly they sensed it: in no time they closed in on her until she was overcome by fear and unable to move - not that there was anywhere to run anyway – now she was trapped and they knew it. Quickly they surrounded her and then started to menacingly advance towards her, like a circle of death. Her vision narrowed down to their hands, brandishing the needles like weapons, keen to use them; she knew they craved to pierce her flesh over and over with no pity; they were dying to inflict on her a bitter and deliberate torture and they were eagerly looking forward to it because this was no job anymore: they were having fun.

She wanted to plead with them and beg them to please spare her at least this one time but she knew it was useless so she surrendered and closed her eyes. Next there was only pain: the sharp ends of the needles pricked her skin like sharp knives and she was slashed again and again; her screams mixed with tears and blood as the cuts started to ooze and liquid began to copiously gush out from the open wounds. She cried and howled until her voice disappeared all together, drowned by the senseless violence until she was left powerless like a tiny baby, unable to defend herself. It was all so clear now: they had never intended to kill her; they didn’t want her dead; No, they just wanted to make her insane.

It was light when she woke up. An involuntary muscle spasm had startled her from sleep and as she tried to swallow, she felt the taste of salt and old dried up tears emerge from her lips; her head had been hanging between her knees for a while and her muscles must be cramping from the prolonged stress of holding that position. She realized her arms had been wrapped around her head as if to protect it and as she dropped them down she felt the urge to touch her face as if to make sure she was still real and alive. Feeling woozy and somewhat confused she could not be sure of what had happened and for a second she doubted whether it had all just been a dream, but surely that could not be…

There was a strange noise ringing in her ears like the faint humming of a machine. There wasn’t much light in the room, just a pale glimmer of brown sunlight filtered though the curtains.

She knew she shouldn’t cry, but she could hardly control her body as a tear started running down her face: she only hoped nobody would notice.

After crying herself to sleep again she awoke after a few hours to find she had run out of tears. Then everything went silent for ages and she let herself fall into a strange kind of emptiness made of a numb absence of feeling. It felt as if she had become a hollow creature made out of rubber and blank space: nothing could ever touch her now from this infinite distance made of nothing.

A few hours passed, or maybe it was days or weeks. Then the voices came back, at first faint and then louder and clearer until she could recognize the familiar sound of steps approaching from behind, only they didn’t scare her anymore; in fact she could only register a blank to any and all stimuli. She knew what would come next and almost anticipated it like a spectator to a play he’s seen time and time again. The unmistakable voice, deep and strangely soft would appear out from behind them and coming nearer and nearer it would eventually whisper something in her ear, so close it almost seemed to come from inside her:

- So, how is she been doing today? -

At once someone else would reply in the usual impersonal robot-like manner, using those familiar words she almost knew by heart.

- As per usual doctor. She hasn’t moved from under that table since after the treatment –

- Ah. Good work - Ms. J’s voice would reply – A few more treatments and she will finally be able to join the other patients -

NEMESIS

noreply@blogger.com (Elyssa Vulpes) — Wed, 03 Oct 2012 11:04:00 +0000

Ok... this is not a story for the faint hearted. If you are easily offended or you are my mother, please stop here.
Not suitable for minors... (please note: all content is subject to copyright)

Susan is sleeping in her flat. It´s late morning but she likes sleeping the morning off. Afternoons seem so much gentler on the soul. More than anything else she hates it when something interrupts her sleep, especially when it´s the phone, so when Mr Shapiro calls her once again to ask her whether her flatmate has come back she is feeling quite grumpy. Penelope hasn´t been at home for a few weeks now, and she hasn´t been paying the rent, which means that now she needs to move out: something she rather not think about. With a groan she picks up the phone.

- Good morning Mr Shapiro. No. I still don´t know where she is.. Yes. I do realise that. Like I said I´ll be out of here by the weekend...

When the call has ended she cannot possibly go back to sleep. She beats the pillow down but it´s more a symbolic gesture than anything else.
Welcome to the world - she thinks - annoyed. It´s only ten o´clock...

A minute later the wake-up routine starts. There is something almost ritualistic about the way she follows it precisely everyday. First she fetches the newspaper from the front door, then she prepares a strong cup of coffee so she can sip it while reading the news (today the classifieds since she has to find a new flat), and only later she will change out of her pyjamas and get properly dressed.

First though she better check whether Penelope has actually come back while she was asleep, just in case. The door to her room is ajar like she left it when she checked it last night. She has never entered before but for some reason today she feels like doing it. Her bed has been left unmade for two weeks and looking at it she feels a bit weird about the sheets, left abandoned in the same shape for days on end. For the first time she feels the need to have a look around as if to discover something that might give her a clue to her whereabouts but she only finds the old high school photograph that has been sitting forever on her bedside table.

She always thought Penelope looked silly in that photo: her Shakespearean costume looked kind of fake and she seemed way too pleased with herself posing on the stage. Her and her acting mania - and this is where it got her… it just didn't make any sense. Why couldn’t her flatmate at least have the consideration to give her a call and let her know where she was? Now she’d have to move out having no idea what to do with her stuff; most probably she’d end up having to throw it away and then she’d get a hearing from her when she’d eventually decide to make an appearance. Well, it was no use thinking about it now; it would probably be wiser to just give up and get on with her own life.

Still in her pyjamas she closes the door and goes to fetch the newspaper, but first she puts on a jumper, it´s chilly. With the jumper on the world seems a little bit more welcoming. She needs to feel a bit of comfort on this autumn morning: the lounge is a mess, full of packing boxes and ashtrays filled with cigarettes. She knows she really needs to clean up but she hates packing as much as cleaning and most of all she hates moving out. She swears she’ll make her pay when she finds out where she is; hell, this is the last time she’s played her such a hand but for now it’s better to leave it or her day will be ruined. Get on with it. Get the newspaper. Get the coffee. Get a cigarette. Get the morning going.

The newspaper is still wrapped up in plastic. She unwraps it hastily and puts it on the lounge table, already overcrowded with old newspapers. She goes to the kitchen and pours some coffee in a mug. There is nothing better than good black coffee in the morning but somehow today she doesn´t enjoy it. Maybe it was the phone call. It’s like an unnatural curtain of gloom has descended on everything and she can feel its darkening effect on her mood. Sitting on the sofa the first cigarette of the day tastes bitter and the coffee is strong and hot. She puts it on the table and takes a deep breath. She´ll drink it later. First she’ll look at the ads.

There are so many newspapers everywhere that for a moment she can´t see today´s edition. Ads are circled everywhere- it was Penelope´s eternal struggle: always looking for a new job, always losing the previous one because some asshole ``had a problem`` with her. She remembered well the last time she had seen her. She had been looking for a job after her previous boss Alfred or Alfie or Fred had tried it on with her and she’d rejected him. She had been furious and had considered giving up her career as an actress. Penelope had hoped she actually would but knew she wouldn’t. Even that was just an act, a way to get sympathy and attention. Then she said she’d found something interesting that might turn things around; apparently she was gonna go for an interview to meet another guy who might give her a break. After that she’d never seen her again. Maybe the guy had indeed given her a break and now they were somewhere in the Caribbean enjoying the sun and shooting some blockbuster, but somehow she doubts it.

Anyway. Back to the present. She must concentrate.The newspaper unrolls before her eyes and she skims it through and through. “Cleaners wanted for newly opened five star hotel”; “three bedroom flat to rent in new town”; “flatmate wanted in student flat close to uni”; “the war in the middle east rages on…” ; there’s so much crap that she almost doesn´t notice the article on the front page with the shocking photograph in the centre. After a double take she reads on:

“New victim for the snuff movie killer: panic in the city”
There is a woman on the ground, wrapped in plastic, surrounded by a pool of blood. Susan looks closely, and for a moment she doesn’t believe her own eyes. There, right next to a massive kitchen knife is her friend, Penelope. Her mouth involuntarily opens in an expression of incredulity:

``Penelope Harrods, a young student at UCL has been found dead last night after having been brutally stabbed in the chest multiple times. Police have found evidence in the form of an internet video clip which shows the rape and murder of the victim, pointing to the ever elusive snuff movie killer as the attacker. The young woman had not been reported missing despite having stopped going to her lectures since the morning of November the 24th.

Susan is in shock. She just cannot believe this is true and at the same time she cannot stop looking at the picture. This can’t be happening. It must be someone else. She closes her eyes for a second, to catch up with herself. When she re-opens them there is no doubt the woman in the paper is indeed Penelope. She puts the newspaper down and inadvertently knocks over the coffee all over the carpet.
-       Shit! –
She just cannot understand how this could be for real, but the immediate need to soak the liquid up before it irremediably stains the carpet diverts her.
Coming back from the kitchen a second later the coffee has spilt all over the old newspapers and although normally she wouldn’t give a toss she starts concentrating on cleaning the stain out perhaps to give herself a chance to process the crazy news of what’s just happened to her friend.

A few minutes later the carpet is saved but the old newspapers aren’t. She’s about to make a bundle of them to throw them all out when something stops her: Penelope is dead. She has been brutally murdered by some psycho killer. Nobody knows who’s done it but the last time she saw her she had been circling ads on the newspaper. One of these newspapers might be the one she had been looking at. It wouldn’t hurt to double check.

After half an hour of going through lots of dead ends and crossed over ads Susan finally finds something interesting: one classified has been circled a few times and it’s underlined; it says:

``Actresses sought for professional art film. Good pay and promising career prospects for right candidate. Call Rob on 4729407.``

The date reads:``24th Nov.``

Now, perhaps it is a coincidence but Susan doesn’t believe it. Of course she knows sometimes people find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time but she also thinks everything happens for a reason and this entire affair is just too weird to leave it alone: she has to do something about it and do it quick, although she is not sure what action exactly she should take. The thought of calling the police briefly enters her mind but she has hated authority ever since she got busted for smoking dope at high school and she’d rather leave them out of it. Besides, what would they do that she couldn’t do herself? They’d call the number and investigate whether Penelope had gotten an interview. So why not do the same? The worse that could happen would be nothing at all.

Without thinking she reaches for the phone and calls the number on the ad. Her heart starts to race when the realization hits that she has no idea what she’s going to say. What to do now? The phone is ringing. She better come up with something quick. She is tempted to hang up when someone picks up: it is an answering machine.

You have reached the Clubhouse. We are either busy or you´ve reached us outside our normal business hours. We are open everyday from 5pm till late. Please call us back during our opening hours. Thank you.

Susan puts the phone down. She is confused so she pauses to think for a moment. What kind of job for actresses has got to do with a clubhouse? And what exactly is a clubhouse? Could it be a wrong number? She checks it out but it’s the one listed. Something doesn´t quite make sense because not only the name sounds weird but she’s never heard of this place and she knows lots of clubs in town. Of course it could be a new place or perhaps it’s not a bar but some kind of theatre where they do cabaret shows, or perhaps it’s a cover for something else. Or maybe she’s just imagining things and she’s seen too many thrillers and there is nothing strange about the place; maybe they were looking for people last week and now they found them and they have gone back to their normal activities. Maybe. But something feels fishy and she’s not convinced. Suddenly she’s got the idea of checking today’s classifieds too. If the ad is still on there might be something to it and although it doesn’t prove anything she sets about to check.

The truth is she’s always fancied herself being some kind of detective. If it weren’t for the fact she’d have to work side by side with the police she would have joined the forces herself because solving puzzles has always delighted her. She’d never admit it but she craves to feel smarter than everyone else… It's something that goes back to her childhood. Even then she had always admired those TV series where there was some kind of inspector solving murders. She’d often fantasized about being one day one of them herself, surrounded by the same cinematic air of mystery: the outsider, the loner, the misunderstood outcast in search of truth, a man dressed in a beige trench coat and hat, sadly smoking a cigarette and feeling wistful in the rain. Sadly, that was just a childish dream and this was serious business; in the real world her flatmate has been murdered and the least she can do is try to find out something more about it.

She opens today´s newspaper and looks under ``a`` for actresses sought . There is nothing there, but she continues to search. Maybe some other clue will turn up and if she continues to look for something she might just find it. It’s a strange theory but it works: on the wanted column of today’s paper there is another ad with the same number except this time it is not about actresses, but dancers.

``Young dancers sought for up and coming High Street show. Great opportunity for the right girl. Call Rob on 4729407``

Now, that is curious. She checks last week´s newspaper as well and finds another one:

``Female singers sought for professional Broadway musical. Greats rates of pay. Call Rob on 4729407``

It doesn't take a genius to realize this could certainly be a lead: either it is some kind of recruitment agency running a scam or something escapes her. Whatever it is she sure needs to find out and the first thing to investigate is who Rob is and why he doesn’t have a proper office number. The only thing she knows is that the Clubhouse exists (or at least the number associated with it) and that she has a hunch about it being important. Even though there might be nothing to it, the fact that some guy advertises weekly positions for actresses, dancers and singers without giving a proper contact number seems somewhat suspect. Surely if you were a serious recruitment agency you would go about it a different way wouldn’t you? For a moment she still wonders whether she’s reading too much into it and whether she shouldn’t let herself be carried away but curiosity has the better of her. After all what absolutely banal and reasonable explanation could there be? The more she thinks about it the more she gets convinced that the only thing for her to do is to go to the clubhouse to find out exactly what it is and what happens in it: at least this way she is doing something about Penelope’s death, and doesn’t have to feel so utterly powerless thinking about it. Without further ado she grabs the phone book and looks for ``The Clubhouse``, she finds the address and writes it down on a piece of paper.

II

It is past six pm now and she is standing outside of a dark building with no sign on it. The address matches the one she scribbled earlier; this is where `the clubhouse` is supposed to be though there is no indication of its existence from the street. The only thing that’s visible is an unmarked door full of graffiti, surrounded by rubbish bins. Maybe she should try the door and see whether it is open: if someone gives her trouble she can always say she thought it was a different place and get out again: sometimes it’s useful to play the ‘dumb woman" game.

She feels cunning about her choice of clothes. It took her almost the entire afternoon to find the old red dress she used to wear when she was eighteen and wanted to look sexy. A long black coat covers her entire body so that nobody can suspect what she is wearing underneath but this dress makes her look the part: the young aspiring actress, ready to do anything to get ahead.

            -This is wild- she thinks - But I have to do it-

Truth is, she is beginning to enjoy it.

The door opens to a corridor lit with blue lighting. At the end she can see another door and there it is: the bar. As she gets inside a few heads turn to check her out: she does her best to look as if this is exactly where she’s supposed to be and sure enough the heads turn back to their previous occupation. The bar is almost empty: two men are playing cards on one side of the room, while another is writing something on a notebook at the bar; a couple of older folks are talking over a beer in a dark corner and only the barman seems to be reasonably busy fumbling behind the counter.

Susan goes to the bar and orders a drink. She tries to look nonchalant perching on the bar stool as if she’s waiting for someone while she looks around trying to get a grip on the place. There doesn’t seem to be anything extraordinary about it though there is something vaguely creepy about its patrons. Maybe it´s one of those places that gets full only after midnight but it hardly looks like a trendy bar, in fact it’s more like an old English pub full of same weary locals. It certainly isn´t a theatre or some sort of cabaret, though it could easily be a cover up place for illegal trafficking. Or maybe she’s just watched too many movies and this detective game is getting silly. She begins to doubt whether it is going to go anywhere, and for a moment she seriously considers going home. Then she remembers what they always do in spy movies, and wonders whether she should give it a try: hand the barman a tenner and ask if he knows anything about guys advertising for young performers around the place…

Tossing the idea for a few moments she eventually decides against it out of fear that he’ll just look at her askance and tell her he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. The barman seems pretty guarded anyway, though he does look the part: in his thirties , shifty blue eyes, slightly unshaven, shoulder length hair held together by a ponytail. He seems to be in confidence with the younger man at the counter who’s much more clean shaven and well dressed than him and with whom he exchanges a few words every now and then.

Everybody else seems pretty ordinary, including the worn-out looking woman in her forties who’s just come through the door to sit on her own sifting through a fashion magazine and a couple of guys starting to play pool with the token young woman in tow. it's actually a bit hopeless and she's getting convinced she’s not going to find a killer here; this is just a sad hanging hole for equally sad looking people. She takes another slow sip at the gin and tonic and sighs at her own naiveté when the sound of a phone catches her attention. The barman bends down to the side of the counter and quickly picks it up. After a beat he hands it down to the twenty-something guy standing at the bar and says:

Rob, it´s for you.

There’s the hint of a smile on his face as he takes the receiver in his hand.

- Hi, yes it´s me... Yes, we’re still looking. Listen, I can´t quite talk at the moment but if you leave me a number I’ll call you and we can arrange a time to meet so I can tell you all about it. How does that sound?

She watches him write down a name and number on the small pocketbook he was writing in before. He’s obviously done this a few times.

-       All right. Bye then.

He hands the phone back down to the barman and gives him a quick nod. Susan tries not to look too obvious but her heart is racing. So this is Rob: a not too bad looking man in his late 20s, dressed to impress but without a style of his own. He seems like someone who’s trying hard to look like an upstart businessman, except his trousers don’t quite pull it off and the cheap aftershave gives him out. It’s as if he’s trying to play the part of the guy who’s got an impressive car and apartment to boot and for whom pulling a different beautiful woman every night is a matter of course. Trouble is Susan can tell it’s just an act and she’s dying to figure out what he’s hiding underneath it. She also knows that if she continues to look at him he is going to notice her very soon: she better decide now whether she’s ready to go all the way. There is definitively something shady here and now it’s her chance to find out exactly what that is.

She can feel her heart beat quite fast inside her chest: it’s probably the adrenaline kicking in. She knows she’s going to have to get out of her comfort zone if she is to make the next move. She wonders, if this were a movie what would the heroine do? Would she choose to be wise and run away to the safety of home or would she make contact with the maybe dangerous man and possibly risk her life in the process? Almost as an answer a rush of energy rises up through her body: this could be an exciting adventure, something she would never forget, but most importantly, something once she begins she cannot stop. And so before she knows it her mind is made up.

Without blinking she continues to look at the man like she wants him to notice it. Now the phone conversation is over, she knows he will glance at her and she calculatingly takes her coat off at the same time: her red dress is bound to make a strong impression. It works: Rob immediately notices her movements and turns towards her.
It’s easy – she tells herself - all you have to do is be daring. Without flinching she turns to face him and decides to go for it. He stares at her with confident self-assuredness, expecting her to turn her gaze down but she doesn’t. Instead she stares back at him with a glint of allure in her eyes. It’s almost as if she’s taken on the main part in one of her favourite movies and she lets its character speak for her. Without averting her eyes she asks him:

-       You’re a busy man aren’t you?

For a moment there’s no reply. It’s as if Rob wasn’t expecting this. He is used to leading the dance but she’s beaten him to it and it confuses him.

-       Mmm… what´s it to you?

There’s a hint of tension in his voice. Damn, she thinks- it isn’t a good start. She must not scare him off so decides to change tactic. Shifting her legs from one side to the other slowly enough for him to pay attention she softens her voice and in a sensual tone replies:

- what do you think it is?

Now the trap is set and he should be easily taken in. Thinking he’s back in control he moves towards her.

-       you don´t waste time do you?

He’s definitely interested, or so it seems. For a moment she hesitates but then decides to go ahead. She could almost find him attractive in a weird, appalling kind of way.

-       Well I always say, why waste time beating around the bush?

Her tone of voice is smooth and suave: he is now looking at her with an expression that says `I know what you are up to` and he looks pleased with himself. He then turns to the barman and orders two drinks.

- Two of the same Dave.

She can see he is so full of himself that he hasn’t even bothered to ask her what she wants. Well, let him think he’s the boss while she gets more information. She is playing her cards well although she’s not sure how far she can take it. The bartender prepares two drinks and puts them on the counter. A moment later Rob pushes a gin n ´tonic in front of her and gives her a cocky smile.
His behaviour is pretty revolting and yet at the same time it seems to her the same thing which disgusts her also has a strange and opposite effect. She is surprised by her own reaction to the situation: she never thought she could flirt with a stranger as easily and brazenly as she is and this satisfies her. Without a moment’s hesitation she takes her drink from him and skulls it down in one gulp while he watches her surprised. Whoever this woman is, he getting fascinated by her.

- Wow. You certainly aren’t a light weight, are you? Fancy anything stronger?

He’s got a smirk on his face, and is now totally relaxed. She decides to play it cool so she says ambiguously

- Maybe later...

It’s obvious Rob is impressed. He acts as if he’s never met someone like her before and for a while he just sits on his stool, sipping his drink, silently observing her.

- I´ve never seen you here before. New in town?

He is trying the usual, but that won´t work; she is not into chit-chat.

- Does it matter? she says somewhat condescendingly

- I can see you like playing mysterious…

- I just like playing.

Now she knows what he is going to ask next. Like a fly falling into the spider’s den he follows her in, unaware.

- Oh, and what kind of game is that you like to play?

- Any game you like .

- Really? Is that so now? You sure you’d play any game?

If only he knew how obvious he sounds, he wouldn’t look half as self-assured. She has tried to leave him ample space for boldness and she can see he is already consumed by anticipation so for a moment she doesn’t reply and just stares at him poignantly.

- Like I said…

It is clear now what this is about: there is no time to waste; he skulls the rest of his drink and stands up.

- Should we go then?

Susan doesn´t think twice. Before she knows it she has stood up, has put her coat on and is heading with Rob towards the exit.

III

It is late in the evening and they are standing in front of Rob´s apartment. He takes his keys out of his pocket, unlocks the door and leads the way into the darkness. The light is switched on and a moment later everything is revealed: they clearly are in a bachelor´s den, full of videotapes and magazines. Clothes, books and cigarettes are scattered all over the place, yet there seems to be an order to the chaos. Susan looks around intently, scanning her surroundings for clues: she´s never done anything like this before and yet she is not afraid. She knows she is playing with fire but it’s strangely exciting: now there is no turning back. The apartment is really an open plan loft, perfect for a single man with a love for movies. In the midst of all the furniture she sees a bed with a TV in front of it but no signs of cameras anywhere. He takes off his coat and hangs it up, then goes to fetch hers. She interjects by pointing to the tapes

- what´s these?-

His face makes a grimace as if genuinely surprised by the question.

- Well, videotapes, obviously...

She’s not going to play coy but rather dauntlessly inviting; hopefully he’ll bite the bait.

- Yes, I can see that, but what kind of videotapes?

Her smile is full of malice and her gaze is steady and intense. He holds it and takes her in.

- I guess that depends on you…

For a moment neither of them moves. From the outside they look like two cats circling each other cautiously, each one curiously yet calculatingly checking the other one out, trying to understand just how far they can push it. She’s the one brave enough to break the spell.

- So…can we watch one?

She makes an effort not to sound either too excited or too blasé, but she’s afraid she might have overcompensated by seeming bored.

-       It´s pretty hard-core stuff - he says tentatively, but she can tell she’s almost got him. Now she needs to go for the kill. Serious, she replies

- Well that´s exactly what I thought- and takes off her coat.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Without a word he goes to one of the shelves closest to him and picks up a brand new video. She is going to see something she has probably never seen before. It feels like electricity, like flirting with disaster, like walking on tiptoe on the edge of a cliff. It is making her feel hot and at the same time she can feel a cold shiver run down her spine. He beckons her to sit on the bed. She does so.

Rob is now visibly more at ease as he walks towards the VCR and puts the videotape inside it. He then switches the TV on and takes off his jacket, methodically hanging it on the back on his desk chair. He does everything haltingly and deliberately, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. He has a smirk on his face and doesn´t stop looking at Susan for a second. She knows this is only preparation for the inevitable; what she doesn´t know is that while Rob is looking at her he is also glancing at a knife hidden directly underneath the mattress. The movie begins to play from the middle of a sex scene. The sounds of a porn movie are clearly audible.

Susan watches the movie intently: this is no snuff scene though, just ordinary porn. She has never really watched one fully before and so finds herself fascinated by it, so much so she cannot stop watching. A man whose face is hidden is having rough sex with a woman tied up to a chair while another masked man is whipping her with a certain brutality. Her breasts are in some kind of leather harness and she’s leaning forward so her buttocks are exposed to the camera except for the leather miniskirt pulled up to her waist. She’s wearing impossible high heels with pull up stockings and although her mouth is gagged her screams can be heard loud and clear in a way that suggests she’s having a good time. Susan is half shocked, half aroused. Before she knows it a heated tingle surges up to her stomach making her feel flushed.
Rob is standing next to the TV, facing her, watching her every expression. His eyes seem to be gleaming in the dim light of the room. He suggestively takes off his tie and stares at her. Before he’s finished he whispers, full of confidence:

- It excites you doesn´t it?

It does but this is not what she is after. She isn’t here simply to have sex with a stranger and if she has gone this far she should go even further and make sure this guy is not just some sad case of a twenty something addicted to porn. Also, somehow, even though she would never admit it to herself, she wants more.

- It does excite me. But not as much as the real thing.

- The real thing uh? You sure about that?

She nods and gives him a meaningful look. Rob regards her for a while, trying to decide what to do, then glances at the knife and finally makes his mind up.

- Give me a moment. He mutters, and disappears somewhere inside the apartment.

Susan is now alone and for a moment a feeling of dread almost takes her over. Everything tells her to call it quits but the same stubborn part of herself that has pushed her this far doesn’t want her to give up now. Sitting on the bed with her red dress on she looks like the prototype of woman: the split runs all the way across her thigh down to her feet and forms a perfectly tantalising curve. One of her feet is vulnerably dangling on the side of the bed while the other is hidden under the cloth. She has felt voluptuously sexy before but never has she had such a strong sense of it. It’s like she can feel the full power of her allure and she is aware of the irresistible pull she must have on men; the dress feels tight on her skin: she can feel the lustrous silk press against her bare flesh, as if trying to contain her body from the inside. Then the TV stops broadcasting and the screen turns blue. Rob is still nowhere to be seen, but suddenly a different video appears on the TV. The quality is poor and it looks like a home-made movie.

A blindfolded woman is facing the camera, standing up, her arms chained up onto a white wall. Her mouth is shut with transparent adhesive film. She is only wearing high heel boots, white knickers and a girlish white blouse; she looks terrified. Susan is hypnotised. A man, looking like Rob from behind, appears from off screen and walks determinately towards the girl. He is wearing a balaclava. Around them is a squalid cellar room with nothing on the cement floor and walls.
As the man advances the girl tries in vane to set herself free but she cannot move. She must feel him coming close for she tries to scream but cannot open her mouth.
Susan can see he has a knife in his hand. It is sharp and glitters in the light. It makes her feel unsteady.
The man advances towards the girl and the camera turns to show his hand. With one blow he tears her blouse open and throws it on the floor, leaving her breasts exposed. They are full and firm. Susan´s eyes are glued to the screen.
The man has lust in eyes as he raises the blade close to her skin. At first it just touches the side of her breasts and then very slowly it begins to travel down, moving towards her stomach and then further down to her hips. The girl is sweating with dread, her body rigid, her breathing chocked. He is now down to her underwear and as the edge of the knife touches its sides he pauses for a moment. Fixing his eyes upon her, he smells fear. Then, without warning he tears them open in one go.

She tries to jerk herself free like a desperate caged animal but that only turns him on more. With her panties in his hand he stands back a bit, brings them close to his face and takes in their scent. Then he abruptly pulls the girl closer, rips the film off her face and shoves them in her mouth. Tears of terror run down her cheeks but despite herself Susan feels on fire. The man, now overcome by a venomous hunger, turns her around so she is facing the wall with her back to the camera.

Quickly he undoes his belt and pulls his trousers down just enough to penetrate her. He pushes hard inside her and before long his movements get quick and rough.
Susan feels herself getting drawn into the scene; her eyes close and for a moment she is there in the room with them: she is watching from behind the camera and is surprised by her own fervour when she hears her own voice telling him to fuck her harder, show her what she’s made for, fuck that bitch like she deserves…
She can feel herself getting more and more taken in by a sick all consuming thirst, irrationally wishing she was the one tied to the wall so she could be under his absolute power but she’s jolted away from this burning fantasy as the man’s groans escalate and he pushes more fiercely and vehemently into her.

The woman´s suppressed screams follow his frantic movements and Susan is spellbound as she finds herself shamelessly watching him thrust himself inside her time and time again until the next terrifying moment becomes inevitable and with her eyes fully open she witnesses the final irrevocable act: the man raises the knife to her heart and then, groaning with deranged pleasure, he ferociously stabs her three times while forcefully coming inside her. It’s over, but before he pulls himself out he lifts up her now-limp head to take the blindfold off and reveal her true identity. It’s no surprise: the victim is Penelope, and the film is finished.

It takes a long time before things come back into focus for Susan. It’s almost as if a parallel dimension has opened up and she has stepped right inside. Her sense of identity seems to have disappeared and all has become blurry and fuzzy around the edges. Her head’s still swimming in a vague mist of sensations like she’s stuck in a dream when she feels a man´s hand pressing firmly on her mouth. It´s Rob´s. He is pushing her onto the bed, expecting her to put up a struggle, but she doesn´t.

Instead she fixes her gaze on his and gently takes his hand away. Her eyes look like those of an animal transfixed by the glare of unexpected light. There is an unknown unfathomable quality to them: it’s like something primitive has emerged from deep inside her and has taken control. Like a wild beast she holds him under her spell and suddenly kisses him with a rapture she’s never known before. A rush of primal energy travels up from her spine and possesses her. Beside herself with passion she rips off her own clothes and then his, while he falls victim to the elemental force of her ways. Then she sits on top of him and spreading her legs wide she pulls him right inside almost violently. As he starts to move in and out of her, her consciousness starts to waver.

Flashes of light and colours appear behind her eyes as she sees Rob’s hidden shadow envelop her like a mantle of black velvet, soothing and yet profoundly suffocating. Then somewhere something starts to scream and she sees blood, rivers of it, running down her body, flowing from her chest down, till the entire room is filled with its sticky unforgiving mass. She feels the pull of annihilation take hold of her as her breathing intensifies and her moans get fuller and sharper and her muscles start giving in to quick spasms and convulsions. She knows her moment of climax is getting closer and as it does so does her sense of impending doom. She rolls on her back and everything becomes unexpectedly clear.

Rob´s arm is slowly travelling towards the bottom of the mattress where the knife is hidden. She knows he wants to fuck her and kill her while he is still inside her. She hasn´t seen him reach for the knife but she doesn’t need to. It’s like his mind and hers are one and she just knows it… He is thrusting harder now, his eyes bloodshot with an insane appetite for murder and she can feel her downfall become imminent. She is sweating, his body pressing hard inside her rocking up and down more and more intensely. His face is full of spite and hatred, and she can see his thoughts crawl like beetles all over her body, entering her every cavity as he whispers in her ear

- Bitch... Whore... You are nothing but dirt, you filthy slut...

His voice is harsh and unforgiving, his words filled with unrestrained malevolence

- You like being fucked like this don´t you ...

She knows this is the moment of truth, the end of everything she’s ever been and ever will be; he is about to end her life forever, rendering her victim to her own craziness and that of a man out of his mind with concupiscence and venom; she can feel the full magnitude of his fury, recognizing that nothing will stop him now short of his own demise, and feeling herself just a step away from the abyss she lets herself fall into it, sensing the oblivion take her over and down into the final depths of dissolution.

A cloak of thick darkness starts to fall all around and she welcomes it without reservations, surrendering to the great chasm of void that awaits her; the precipice opens up but she's eager to take it in so she can finally be one with all the others, joined in sisterhood to all the women who suffered the same fate before her. A sweet familiar aroma reaches her nostrils and for a moment she feels almost recognition, as if Penelope was here, touching her, beckoning to her from beyond the grave to come and fall into her open arms… it’s her perfume, she is sure, this is no illusion and it’s then that something silky brushes against her skin and raising her eyes to look behind she realizes where it’s coming from: Penelope’s red scarf is hanging loosely from the bedpost; this is not her friend calling her forth to the other world but proof she’s been here before, perhaps on this very bed, doing the very thing she is doing now with Rob.

This flash of awareness is enough to instantly jolt her awake from the mindless stupor she had somehow fallen in and suddenly acutely conscious of the precipice she was about to dive into she notices something glimmer on the bedside table next to her: a pair of scissors are lying on it just close enough for her to grab hold of. Without a moment’s hesitation she extends her free arm and seizes them with absolute conviction. It’s only a matter of seconds: clenching her hand around them as tight as she possibly can she musters all her strength and in one final struggle for self control she plunges their sharp blade into the side of Rob’s neck, once, and then again and again, until he is nothing but dead weight on her body. Then, holding him with his ear pressed against her shoulders she listens to his heartbeat gradually fade away until there’s no sign of life left in him and when she’s absolutely sure he’s gone she softly whispers in his ear the words he would have given anything to hear her scream as he took her life away forever:

-       Oh yeah.. I like being fucked like this... because I am nothing but a filthy whore... –

IV

Inside a small room a TV monitor is showing a movie. On it Rob is lying on the bed, sprawled face down, his body drowned in a large pool of blood. Not very far from it Susan, now dressed, is closing the apartment door behind her. A little while later, the VCR comes to a stop and the screen turns blue. The machine emits a sound and a new tape is ejected from the video player.

Copyright Elisa Di Napoli 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Elyssa Vulpes) — Mon, 20 Aug 2012 07:24:00 +0000

To answer Fi's comment on "The Path": yeah, the Path is the second chapter of a collection of stories that are connected together. The first chapter is 'Leaving". The idea is that you can either read each story on its own or you can start at the beginning middle or end and although each chapter makes sense alone it also is connected loosely with the other stories but no explanations are given as to how you go from one to the other, as that's up to the reader to imagine.

The Path

noreply@blogger.com (Elyssa Vulpes) — Tue, 10 Jul 2007 00:38:00 +0000

The following is the second chapter of a collection of short stories that I hope to publish at some point in the future. The stories, like chapters, are connected together as pictures of an photo album would be. After reading them all a time-line can be woven and a bigger story unfolds.

It was a calm, empty morning. She’d woken up at six o clock just before anyone else. Everything had been silent. From the windowless room where she slept she’d walked right through the kitchen. This morning, like every other morning, she’d walked up to the window hoping to catch a glimpse of the sun on the dirty brown bricks of the internal courtyard. Usually she’d see an overcast day, the grey flat clouds making the morning look almost indistinguishable from a late afternoon. But today something had been different.

During the night snow had fallen onto the city, smooth and gentle, and had covered the courtyard with a beautiful mantle of white to mark the first day of the New Year. She’d been surprised to see it: snow made everything look a bit more beautiful; it covered what was imperfect and it made it pure. In the few months she’d been here she hadn’t seen anything but rain. And now this.

She’d been staring at the window for a while when it had occurred to her to go for a walk before anybody woke up. It didn’t take her long to get out of the house. The sun hadn’t even had time to appear over the grey rows of buildings and she’d walked out on to the street, heading for the main road onto the river path to Dean’s village. She often went to Dean’s village because although it was right in the middle of the city, it was the only place silent enough to remind her of the ancient origins of its buildings. She’d always felt soothed by old buildings and peaceful surroundings. It was because she’d grown up in the country, where at night nothing disturbed the stillness of her sleep and she could actually hear the sound of silence. Since she’d moved everything had changed and when she felt she wanted some peace she tried to find places that were as much as possible noise free.

Today, even more than any other day, she sought that peaceful peace. Unlike any other time of the year everyone was still asleep. There were only one or two joggers on the street who had perhaps spent the previous night alone like her and had woken up long before anyone else. The shops were closed, the cars few. No buses. No trains. Princess street was as empty as it must have been when it had first been built and compared to the place it was the rest of the year- crowded, full of big chains of clothing shops and an infinite coming and going of busy people-it was unbelievably silent.

Everybody had been out partying just the night before to celebrate the end of the year. The noise and confusion had reached levels that would only be matched in a year’s time. By midnight everybody who could, had been out in the main street- as tradition wanted- completely drunk. There had been plenty of shouting, pushing, singing and laughing. But she hadn’t been able to celebrate with them. Surrounded by a crowd of strangers she had felt strangely isolated. It had been like a show: something to watch from a distance. Often people’s lives looked like pantomimes to her; something she would experience as if deaf: the plot could only be understood by observing the subtle shifts across the actors' faces. It was lonely, and it was strange. But it was natural. It felt like the destiny of one who stood on the outside looking in.

She remembered that night thinking about all the people hardly anyone paid attention to during times of celebration: the people that drove buses, taxis, or the underground while everyone else went out to have fun together; those who had to clean the streets, those who worked at petrol stations, those who were friendless and for whom the night would be the most lonesome of the year; and what about those who could not afford to go anywhere, those who mourned for the loss of a loved one or those who laid in a hospital ward or who lay sick in the hallways? And then of course there were the nurses, the night watchers, the pub workers and most of all, of course, the homeless…

Her social conscience would not allow her to overlook such outcasts: this inconvenient mass of people who were cut off from all that the others enjoyed and who seemed to be living outside the times; just like the miserable people of any age nobody wanted to know about them: they were considered of no importance perhaps because of their incapacity to make history.

In her short life for some reason she had never identified with “normal” society and this had led her to become aware of the invisible divide between those who seemed to be on the inside and the rest. She wondered why she felt somewhat isolated in this role. Didn't anyone else notice it? If you didn’t it was probably because you somehow fit in or perhaps because it was easier not to think about it...
Having always felt like a foreigner even within her own culture it came to no surprise. But then, why was everyone else blind? Surely there were those who lived unaware of anything that wasn’t part of their own world, but there were also those who possibly just pretended.
Was it fear? She could sense in them a certain dislike, if not hatred of anything different from themselves. Or perhaps they were tired and felt powerless to change anything. They preferred to give up and leave everyone to their own devices. After all the government was doing its best to help. Each one to their own; they probably were all just trying to feed their own vices and addictions... and what's the point of ruining your own New year's Eve worrying about the destiny of the downtrodden?

She wondered what it would be like to be homeless and be ignored by everybody. How would it feel to see all these people celebrating, oblivious to you, purposefully ignoring you or secretly thinking you were just useless scum? Would you be afraid? Sad? Angry? Would you crave to be part of the “society” you were cast off from or did you just despise it? Or would you just shut it all out trying to make some cash the best way you could and hope to make it till tomorrow unscathed?

What was it like to be sitting on the street for hours on end, under the rain and snow, perhaps hungry, alone, shivering, watching people trying to pretend they weren't noticing you ? What was it like to feel incapable of earning a decent living, feeling like a failure, or perhaps openly hating the rat race only to end up dependent on those who still were in it? She imagined the rage, the emptiness, the despair she'd feel. She imagined waiting for death to come and end all suffering; a life in which the hole in her soul would grow deeper each day until it eventually would suck her down in a wordless void. How cruel would the world seem, how senselessly indifferent. There would be no space for hope or dreams. Just mistrust and disappointment. And yet what was for her just a fantasy, for them was an everyday reality.

All her life she had spent living sheltered in her family home in Rome, with her parents looking after her, her garden, her friends and her dreams of escape. She had imagined the world to be a place that mirrored the romantic fantasies of adventure that populated her childhood world. She had imagined the Scotland she had read about in books, and it was different from this. It was a place of mystery and beauty, a place of noble sublimity. But the Edinburgh lost in dark nights and hazy morning mists, populated by the ghosts of legends long gone, romantic and ancient like the abandoned cemeteries of its long dead ancestors was just a dream.

The real Edinburgh was far from all that. To come to see its reality had been like being woken by a harsh slap in the face. First the disillusion had dragged her down into a spiral of depression, and after a while that depression had become so familiar she couldn't see the difference between the emptiness she was feeling inside and the harsh reality outside of herself. And so slowly she’d become deeply sensitized to the dark side of everything, the one people seemed to try to ignore and escape from. She could see it everywhere: like a parallel dimension to what everyone wanted to see. It was made out of holes, and the holes were the lives of those who for some reason had been left out of the artificial dream of happiness the successful had weaved for themselves. They were the lives of all those who couldn’t keep up with that dream for any reason at all; those who lived in grey box houses in the forgotten suburbia, those who'd never known anything else; their dreams had died before being allowed to surface, cut at the root, smashed against a wall of violence and ignorance. There was no space for hope and expectation in their life. There was only broken glass in a tight fist, dust laying silently over a windowsill, a clock ticking blankly in the background, garbage forgotten outside a drab tenement flat; they were the lives of boys and girls who had lost themselves somewhere along the line of their teenage awakening and were desperately trying to numb the emptiness with something lethal. Anything to kill the pain, anything to forget what it was like to know there was nothing to hold on to, anything to pretend those climbing surfaces would't always be too slippery to avoid their fall. And eventually they would all fall...

She wondered how different she was from them. Which were the holes inside her life? had she given up yet? Wherever she went she couldn’t help noticing them in the faces of the passer-bys, in the eyes of old people who had seen too much. She could see them in the stares of the drunken guys with bad teeth staggering home after a night at the pub, and in the young women wearing impossible high heels while calling for a cab with a man they'd just met. She could see them in the hearts of a lonely student shopping for frozen pizzas and beer on a Friday night and in the face of young mothers pushing their prams along the street wishing they had waited a bit longer.

The pain didn't get easier to bear with time. She didn't grow numb to it. Instead she felt a burning responsibility to somehow make use of her awareness and yet she was unable to find a way to deal with it. Being able to perceive things this way often seemed more like a curse than a blessing. And what difference did it make to the world that she was aware of its sadness? She couldn't ignore the suffering of others and yet she felt so small, insignificant, frustrated and helpless for not being able to do anything about it. Would she one day discover a way to avoid the constant state of misery she felt at the sight of a world that hid so much pain behind its public façade ?

Looking ahead of herself nothing seemed to hide an answer to such questions, and everyone on the street seemed to just reflect her stare back at her, blankly. Perhaps she was meant to wander aimless like this for the rest of her life and bear on her shoulders the burden of pain others refused to carry. Or perhaps she was to forget all about it and carry on as if it never existed. But neither of those two possibilities seemed right. After all what she wanted was the same as everybody else: a bit more lightness to life, and a bit more beauty. No matter how hard she thought of a solution, it would never present itself and in the end all that seemed sure was that everything would go on as usual.

Just like the closed shops on Princess street would eventually re-open, she would move on and life would go on as it always had. So what was the point of it all? Why even exist? Eventually all thoughts would lead to the same question: the final riddle humans had tried to solve for thousands of years without ever finding an answer. Or had they? She would never know, she guessed, until she’d find the answer for herself. Somehow she had the self confidence or perhaps it was the naivety of youth to believe she could succeed where everybody else had failed…

Perhaps they hadn’t tried hard enough. Or perhaps someone had found “the answer” and nobody knew about it. Or what if the one who had found it hadn’t been believed? Or what if he or she had realized that there wasn’t such a thing as a single answer and that the final solution could only be found when everybody else had found their particular one and had accepted the validity of everybody else’s? Still it didn’t help her make sense of it. Questions swarmed in her head like flies buzzing in a small room trying to get out. She needed to interrupt this internal dialogue and look at the world outside though she didn’t want to. Where had she ended up?

Her feet had brought her to a corner of Princess St where she had turned off into a side road. Absentmindedly she had left the city center behind and had ended up standing at the entrance gate to the river’s path. There was a strange atmosphere hanging over the entrance gate. It was as if time and space had momentarily ceased to mark the passage into a world nearer nature. A sense of stillness permeated the air and although the occasional car horn was still to be heard, there was more space for the sound of water, which not withstanding the freezing temperature still flowed undisturbed.

She could remember the first time she’d been there. It had been easy then to let her dreams take over and transform everything. The first time she had heard of Dean’s Village she had imagined it to be a place where a small stream ran freely down an old fashioned village made of red bricks. Dark and tall shadows would appear behind corners only to whisper to her riddles and poems whose meaning she could not grasp. But now it was different. The real world was harsher and she could no longer ignore it. Like a bad smell, what surrounded her now demanded to be acknowledged.

The river did smell of drainage and the village was abandoned apart from a couple of old folks waiting behind an arch for the shuttle to take them to the city mall. There was no sign of ghosts and hazy mists. The morning was cold and grey. All her attempts to actualize her adolescent fantasies had collided against a wall of squalor, making her feel more and more disillusioned. All the times she had tried to find the pure beauty of her dreams reflected in the outside world she had miserably failed, because that world didn't exist anymore. Or perhaps it had never existed.

Sadness began to fall over her: it was like a heavy mantle of greyness, a despondent state similar to that of mourning. It was as if something inside her had been condemned; like the feeling children get when they suddenly discover their world isn't what they thought and adults have been lying all along. Nothing but the smell of stale decay is left after the destruction of innocence; after all illusions die only absence can be felt; and to fill the emptiness there comes the dark side of life, which pollutes the soul just like man pollutes its natural environment.

Perhaps there were indeed dark souls wandering alongside Dean’s village river, but they weren’t the romantic ones the novels described; instead they were the souls of people that were trying, like her, to lift themselves from their inner void in any way they could. After a few attempts they failed to recognize that the answer did not lay in anything external and so they gave up completely.

The ghosts of Dean Village were the men and women who had lost hope; those who had abandoned themselves and their homes, leaving behind ghastly gaping walls. They were those who had opted out, those who were now waiting for the bus to come and take them away and who were staring at nothing like sleepwalkers in a slumber without dreams. Just as easily as them she could fall asleep, eventually. Just like them she had been clinging to anything that looked like some salvation, but could never be saved. The pull of suicide was like a vortex that would eat everything she had held sacred and real. It was gnawing at her insides, creating a void that was becoming vaster each day. She longed to fill it with something that would make it heal, some medicinal antidote that could cure the loneliness inside her. But the holes instead grew bigger and darker and the only thing she could find was need for something that would always leave her hungry for more.

Her story was the same as that of everyone else. She wasn’t special. Plain ordinary despair grew out of the city like a heavy illness. It was the same old sense of being slowly squashed underneath a pressing sky indifferent to human strife. And it left her walking through a nightmare that everyone seemed to have accepted as normality. Of course every body’s eyes betrayed a slightly different kind of nightmare, but the shadow of a similar fear was always present behind the mask they wore.

And still, there was nothing really in the sky that was cruel or indifferent towards her or anybody else. The sky was just being itself, just like the snow did what it had to do. The wind and rain and sun were following their own natural cycles of existence, perhaps just as everyone did, without fully being aware of it. Maybe you just had to walk on, aimlessly perhaps, to wherever your feet would take you. Maybe you just had to keep on breathing and see what would happen.

And so she had walked away from the gate, away from the houses and over a small bridge on the other side of the river. Leaving Dean’s Village’s behind, she had followed a small path which lead up a hill dense with vegetation. It had seemed to promise more peace, as it twisted its way upwards and grew narrower. After a few steps it had been impossible to see the rooftops of Deans’ Village, the river underneath them, and the city on the other side. The sounds could still be heard, although somewhat muffled, but instead of birds only people’s voices echoed in the air. There was litter all over the grass. Still, she couldn’t look at it for too long without turning her head up to the branches and the leaves of the trees. If you looked up for a bit you could see they were still beautiful and alive...

Somehow, although the park seemed to be so vulnerable to man’s destruction, the trees still exuded something that could only be described as an elusive yet poignant kind of wisdom which made everything seem a little bit better. In the midst of their immobile lives thoughts couldn’t take over. It was as if all human concepts quarrels and constructions seemed silly and irrelevant among them. Words, like garbage, could only exist in cities, where there was no nature, and thus humans were alienated from themselves.

Again everything reflected everything else: the destruction of nature was born out of destruction of the soul and nobody could say which had come first; once the cycle had begun it was hard to break. But then again, was there really a way to break it? Or was mankind condemned to destroy itself in the long run? Was there really a way out of the darkness? Again she was caught in a problem that was impossible to solve. And again the only relief could be found in letting herself be lost, trying to forget herself in the light rustling of the wind sifting through the trees’ leaves. What else could be done except for keeping on going, trying to find some kind of faith that someday her eyes would show her something worth a smile…?

With this thought in mind she continued walking up till she had reached the top of the hill. At the summit was the old Dean’s Village Cemetery. Like most Scottish cemeteries it was surrounded by a heavy iron fence and a spiked gate. For some reason she loved such Gothic architecture. It was threatening and yet at the same time beautiful. The dead were certainly well guarded and kept separated from the living.

She hesitated before entering. It was still early in the morning and there was nobody about. Everything was covered in a fine mantle of white. She had imagined this place to be spelling abandonment and desolation but instead it was just a plain old cemetery. If it had been the beautifully decadent and overgrown graveyard she had longed it to be, it would have perhaps offered her some solace. Perhaps being so close to the dead she could have discovered a reason to go on living, some insight that would help her live better. Or else, maybe she could have found the opposite conviction and decide to obliterate herself and forget it all, bail out and escape her pain once and for all. But no, even the experience of going to see the departed had to be removed as far as possible from the real experience of dying. It had to be pleasant, clean: totally devoid of any reminder of its true essence. If anything it was the streets which were filled with death... This was not the place to look for answers. And maybe there were no answers to be found at all.

Advancing towards the fence she noticed the view. She walked over to find out what lay behind it. She hadn’t known exactly what it would be but of course it was the city, stretching as far as the eyes could see. It looked like a grey monster, sleeping at the bottom of a steep cliff. Smoke was rising from some of the brick chimneys, car horns honked in the air and screams and arguments rose up and spread into the clouds. She wished she didn’t have to see it anymore. It was all just too much to bear. If only she had the courage to take her own life perhaps it would all just disappear.

For a moment she closed her eyes. It would be easy to let her self fall… afterwards it would all be gone. Darkness, nothingness, emptiness would be all she’d find. She would only need to gather a little strength to jump….and it would be over so quickly…

But something inside her wouldn’t let her do it.

-Maybe I’m just a coward- she thought –but how could it possibly be that easy?-

How could she be sure that all would really be gone? Somehow she knew that even escape could be an illusion. What if even death was not the end? What if there was more strife to be had on the other side, or what if you just had to be reborn and go through the same old game again and again…? And even if death was really just dissolution, what if there was something in the future which she’d miss out on by giving up now? There was no way to know; and the risk seemed just too great. Maybe it was impossible to run away from it all. And maybe the solution, if any, had to be found in such unavoidable truth…

When she opened her eyes again the morning light had reached a new intensity. Standing on the edge of the fence she had made her decision.

She took a step back and looked over one last time. Perhaps there could be no answer to her questions. Or perhaps the answer was in the way she looked at it all. Maybe she needed to take a leap of faith and see what would happen. Maybe if she stopped trying so hard to find a meaning it would come to her when she wasn't even looking.

Taking a deep breath in -Welcome to the rest of your life- she sighted, and the faint form of a smile started to appear on her cold lips as she slowly started on her way back home.

Copyright Elisa Di Napoli 2012