Deadly Secrets. Part 18.

It has been a long week, lots of work to get done for college! My final assignments are due on Monday, so after that I’m free for christmas, which is awesome! Looking forward to it and to putting up our Christmas decorations, normally they go up on the first weekend of December, but we’ve all been too busy to get it done so far, but soon!

On with the show!


The house was in a mess. He stopped, breathing heavily. Things were not going as they were supposed to. The girl was still safe, still in the apartment, but He had been there again. Taking His pictures, always taking damn pictures. He had left her there, he knew if he didn’t he would hurt her and that is not how it was supposed to go. He drove home, clutching the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. He drove carefully, knowing that if he was pulled over he would make a mistake. He would say or do something that would get him in trouble.

The room he was in had been destroyed, almost completely. The chairs had shattered, falling apart has he drove them against the walls, chunks of plaster lay on the ground, the table was upturned, the china cabinet had been flung to the ground, shattered glass and ceramic shards were everywhere. The lamps had been hurled at the wall, the books ripped from the bookshelf. When he finally calmed he closed the blinds, then turned on the main light to survey the damage. He looked at what he did, anger still coursing through his veins, he wanted to continue his destruction but it wouldn’t solve anything. He’d have to send a message. He had to know more, more than he already knew. He would make sure that fucker regretted what He was doing. He closed the curtains, thankful he hadn’t ripped them down, then he turned off the light and went to the basement. He went to his room, following the short tunnel. He sat in his room, listening to the lips whisper to him, telling him what he should do. They would advise him, give him a plan.

He left the room, closing the door gently. That was a very, very enlightening trip. He went upstairs, to the shower. Once he was clean he felt better. Of course he did. He had a plan now. A genius plan, one that would send the message loud and clear. Then that fucker would back off. He dried himself then went to bed. Normally he would sleep in the apartment when it was occupied, but not tonight, tonight he wanted to be alone.

She sat in the bedroom, unable to move. She was hungry and wanted food, even if it meant he had to feed her, she hated herself for it. He had been getting ready to feed her when he stormed out. She didn’t know why he left. She heard him shout something, barely discernable through the door, then he came in. She thought he was going to kill her then and there, but he didn’t, he ranted and raved, about what she didn’t know. He stopped and left abruptly, closing the bedroom door, she didn’t hear him leave, but she was sure he had. She tried to struggle against her bonds, sweat slowly beading on her skin, allowing herself to twist just a little bit more, just a little further.

She stopped, breathing heavily, the heat was quickly leaving her body and before long she was cold, shivering in her damp clothes. There was a glass of water there, so very close but impossibly far away. There was no escaping these bonds, not without a key or latch. She hadn’t seen one, she had hoped that there would be a secret release, something to prevent this from happening, but if it had been there, he had removed it. She wondered how many other people had sat on the chair. At first she had feared rape, but the longer that he held her the less likely it seemed. So far he had simply talked to her. She tried to tell him as much as possible, make herself more human to him. She had read that or seen it somewhere. Apparently it would make her harder to kill. Maybe if she ingratiated herself in some way he would give her privileges, maybe loosen the bonds, if they were loosened she might be able to wriggle free, she might have some chance of escape. For now though, it was impossible.

He returned the next morning, much happier, she ate breakfast hungrily, eating it all and gulping down as much water she could drink before he moved the straw away. He apologised to her for leaving and not feeding her, but she didn’t care, not now that she had food in her stomach. As she ate he talked at her, though she was paying little attention to what he was saying. She caught the end, “He’ll pay though, he will.” She nodded, not doubting that he would fulfil his threats. For a moment she panicked, wondering if she was talking of someone she knew, but after a few seconds she determined that wasn’t the case. He saw that she was unclean and announced that he would fix it. He left the room and returned with a bucket of warm water and a sponge.

It didn’t take him long, but she kept her eyes closed, trying to keep herself calm. When the sponge bath ended she felt dirty, though her skin was clean. He had cut off her clothes, then draped a gown over her, making sure she was warm. When the cold scissors cut through the fabric of her clothes, she couldn’t help but shake, terrified of what he was going to do to her. She was relieved he had only cleaned her, but he seemed to enjoy it, that unnerved her. Maybe he was building to it. More than anything she wanted some freedom, she wanted to be able to move. She wished that he was keeping her in a room, she would be able to move at least and there would be a chance to attack him. She was starting to think he wouldn’t release her from this chair. Maybe he would when her muscles atrophied, but for now she was stuck. He didn’t even let her use a toilet, he made her use a bed pan, then he cleaned her. She had held off as long as she could, but there was no stopping it. At first it didn’t seem so bad, but the longer it went on the worse it became, the chair was becoming uncomfortable as she predicted and she expected that sores would start developing soon. She resolved to broach the question of him letting her out of the chair, even for a little while. Maybe he’d even let her shower properly by herself. If she could get that far there would be a good chance to get away. She could fling soapy water in his eyes, then run, maybe get a weapon in the kitchen or one of the rooms. She didn’t know what the building was like, her view only a small sliver when he opened and closed the door. He came back into the room, she took a breath, steeling herself for what she needed to do and smiled at him, “I’ve missed you.”


About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
This entry was posted in Deadly Secrets, Horror, Series, Suspense, Thriller and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Deadly Secrets. Part 18.

  1. Pingback: Deadly Secrets. Part 19. | Alan James Keogh

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