Descent
Sorry about last night, Bella. I fell off to sleep at the desk and woke up some time later. I was too tired to complete what I was saying, so I just hid you away and went back to sleep. Going up to the garden hasn't helped much yet. I'm still weaker than I was. But the sun! I don't care if I stay like this forever; to feel the sun on my face is the most glorious gift I could ever receive.
I've been thinking about your name and I've come to the conclusion that it lends itself perfectly to deconstruction. Isabella, sabella, abella, bella, ella, lla, la, a. See : isn't that pretty?
Now, Erik's name, now that's a poser. Once upon a time, it used to be such an innocuous name. I knew an Eric, y'know. He was a lift attendant in my building. He was nice. I wonder what's become of him now. The last I saw of him was the day….
Bella, I don't know if I want to talk about this now. I've avoided it for so long that sometimes I wonder if it ever happened. I don't think I can ignore it any longer. It scares me, though.
What should I do?
.
I paced a bit, then decided that it's best to write it out of me forever. I think that's why I call you a Memory Book: you take all my memories out of me and into you. Thank you, Belle.
The day I was kidnapped was undoubtedly one of the worst I've ever lived. Oh, no. Thinking about it now makes my heart start pounding. Courage, Christine.
It started off banally. I went to college, returned, brewed a cup of bitter coffee, and began to work on an overdue paper. I don't even remember what the paper was anymore. Why not? A few hours into this, there was a knock on my door. Nobody had buzzed from outside, so I thought it was the neighbour who wanted something or the other. She was always borrowing stuff.
It wasn't her, though. I opened the door and two awful men with guns walked in. All my memories after that are whitewashed with fear. Stray images and words are all I can recall now.
They terrify me more than Erik does. For what it's worth, I know him a bit and I know he would never harm me. Those men … they looked like regular businessmen: dressed well and speaking so … nicely.
The politeness scared me the most. They called me Ms. Forster and asked me to put on a coat as if I were going out and (most genial of all) that if I shouted, they would not hesitate to shoot. The 'please's and the 'thank you's are emblazoned across my mind. Polite-and-Thin and Polite-and-Thinner, they were.
They forced me downstairs somehow—was it the fire exit? I can't say. Mr. Thinner held the gun at my back, while Mr. Thin led the way towards the car. I'm not sure. He opened the rear door and requested me to get inside. I looked around desperately, trying to stall until someone—anyone!—saw the gun and what was happening, when I spotted Eric the Liftman.
Thinner must have figured out that I was going to scream because he suddenly shoved me inside and slammed the door behind him. I think he put the gun away because I didn't see it anymore and that gave me the courage to yell out. That's when I noticed that someone else was in the car, because a hand clamped itself around my mouth and called to Thin to drive away. I struggled and struggled, but they were stronger.
I should have known they wouldn't hurt me. I should have screamed earlier. I should have fought. Don't you see, Bella, how it's entirely my fault? I should have done something.
Mr. Unknown said something to Thinner, I think, because while Unknown held me down, Thinner stretched out his hand and—.
And I don't know what. I passed out then, or I blanked out, or…. I don't know what. I don't want to know. I … don't. What they did, what I don't remember…. He told me that nothing happened to me in that car. I desperately want to believe him. He is so … obsessive–no, not obsessive–possessive of … of, well, me, that he would not let anything happen. Or so I hope. He has no way of knowing what they did.
I don't want to think about this. If I do, then it will be real. It can never be real. I have nightmares about it, sometimes. Worse than the ones about him…. The unknown is so much worse than the known—no, partially known, I must say.
To return. Because the prospect of that is far worse than this. When I woke up, it was dark outside. The car wasn't moving and there was someone I didn't know in the driver's seat. I think it might have been Mr. Unknown. It took a while for me to reorient myself, but when I realised what was happening, panic slammed back.
I am foolish. Very, very foolish. Instead of waiting quietly until I had regained full control over my muscles, the moment I remembered what had happened, I wrenched the door open and bolted. I must have gotten six yards before I stumbled, and my body refused to obey my frantic calls to get up and run.
Again, that brief moment of clarity is blurred by fear. Voices calling out, and hurried footsteps, I remember, and an icy hand holding something soft over my face—was it Erik?—and then, darkness.
There! It's over. I got it out of me. It was as bad as I thought it would be, but … I feel better now that it's out.
The aftermath is worse, I think. Will writing more help? I don't know. Let me try. I was terrified when those men came, but when I woke up….
Before this happened, I would not have been able to imagine what it would be like to wake up in a bed in a dimly lit, windowless room that I had never seen before.
It is worse than anything you can imagine, Bella. What would you do? Again, I don't remember much. I am grateful for that. The less I remember of it, the better.
Terror, of course. It's hard to forget that. It took a long while for me to remember what had happened, and when I did, my limp muscles refused to obey me immediately. I don't know how I managed to break free of the constricting sheets and stumble out of the bed. I did not want to go out, I know, thinking that it would be safer inside, but I did look for anything I could use to defend myself against Thin, Thinner, and Unknown. I don't think I had any illusions about escaping, but I certainly wasn't going to let them get any closer to me than possible.
A seminar about rape in college flashed through my mind. Oh, horrible! The speaker had said that if your life was threatened, it was better not to resist because you couldn't let one incident, however bad, be the price of your life. Like hell I would let that happen! I wanted my mother so badly then. Ma! I needed you so much! I miss you so much!
God, were you there? I so desperately want to believe in you, but I'm too scared of being betrayed again. I believed blindly in him, you see, and see where that has led me.
The dizziness gradually lifted, but I still found no weapon I could use. There was nothing for it. I had to go outside. It wouldn't hurt, I told myself. I'd open the door a sliver and peek through it and if nobody was there, I'd go ahead and look for a way out.
It is such a frivolous memory to have, but I remember very clearly that I couldn't find my shoes when I went to the door and that scared me even more.
Barefoot, then, I edged the door open and peered out. The room outside was dimly lit and wherever the light was, it cast more shadows than illumination. I know for sure that I did not see anyone outside.
It just struck me: I have seen nobody other than him since that day. The idea is vertiginous.
I wasn't 'me' anymore when I crept outside. I knew I was tiptoeing, I knew I was looking around for any sign of any person, I knew I straightened up when I saw for certain that there was no one there, but it was as if I was watching it happen to somebody else. It wasn't me. Nothing was happening to me. The body I saw was doing all those things, not me. That's all I remember.
Dreamlike, I could hear the strains of a violin from behind the door opposite mine. It was playing a tune that I subconsciously recognised, but at the time could not register. It confused me, as in the real 'me', not the person in my body. Why music?
I did not want to go behind that door. Those men would be there.
There was another door to the right (the corridor one) and the person in my body settled on that as the path to freedom. Very carefully, and very quietly, she tiptoed towards it. She—we?— wasn't careful enough: halfway to the door, she/we stumbled against a cabinet and half-fell. The violin stopped, the door hiding it swung open, and for the first time, I saw Erik.
How do I describe that first sight? Petrifying. Terrifying. Horrifying. Every-word-for-scary-fying. I knew instantly that he wasn't Thin or Thinner. They were shorter. Perhaps this was Unknown. (It wasn't; Unknown was different.)
I was myself again for that half-second. True to the name I had half-given him, I couldn't see his face because of the black mask he wore. To my hyperactive brain, he seemed to blend into the shadows; everything he wore was black: jacket, shirt, trousers, shoes … mask. I could only see his hands and his eyes, and I was terrified.
All this I gathered in a few seconds, I think. It couldn't have been more. He moved, as if to step towards me and that split me back into two. I watched myself run to the door between us, wrench it open and continue blindly down the corridor. She/we yanked open the first door I noticed (though now I know that it wasn't the first), banged it behind her/us, and stopped short. It was the library.
Perhaps I should describe it to you, and you will understand why it scared me so much. It is a labyrinth, with just enough light to cast shadows, not drive them away. The vestibule itself is intimidating; there are several shelved paths that begin there, and most of them are shadowed. It is quite possible to get lost down one of those paths and never emerge. I often find it claustrophobic, so I stay away from the library for the most part. After I once got lost there, he put up markers that point the way towards the exit. At that time, there was nothing.
She/we ventured inside hesitantly. I had reached the first shelved path when, he caught up with me. She/we backed up against the shelves, panicking, and feeling around for a heavy book to strike him with.
His voice, heard for the first time in person. I will never forget the feeling. Shivers, then a thrill, then fear all over again.
"You must not be afraid," he said.
I heard myself pleading with him not to hurt me, to let me go, that I would do anything he asked, that I would not tell anyone what had happened, if only he would please, please let me go. I hated myself for abasing myself like that, and I kept thinking: this only happens in movies, this only happens in movies. Any time now, someone would come running in and save me or this would only be a nightmare and I would wake up or, or—.
He cut in. "I will not harm you, Christine."
I think I knew him then, but I refused to believe it. I asked him who he was, and when he said his name was 'Eric' (I thought it was that, then), I grew even more confused. Eric, as far as I knew was the liftman at home (home!) and this man looked nothing like him.
I asked him again.
"Don't you know me, Christine?"
And my mind slammed back into my body. It broke me completely. I knew his voice—how could I not? Betrayal, fear, despair, all combined forces and I sagged against the shelf and slid down, crying. My first real tears. How could I have been so abysmally naïve?
The next thing I knew, he was kneeling, head bowed over my feet, and begging me not to cry, and declaring his love for me. My toes curled in, I hugged myself closer. Masked madman.
Once again, things are hazy. I know this: after I had stopped shaking violently, the urge to run smashed back. I know he had stopped speaking and had stood up somewhere before that, but I can't remember when he stood up, or what he said. I do recall scrambling to my feet and dashing towards the door.
He was faster, though, and blocking the exit, told me that I shouldn't try to escape.
I begged him to release me once again.
"But I will release you, Christine," he said, towering over my cowering figure. He said more about trust and about teaching, I think, but it isn't clear.
I had so many questions to ask: who was he? why had he brought me here? why he had invaded my dreams? my life? when would he let me go? At the time, I was unable to ask any of those. Panic Mode had switched on, and I had trouble breathing. Trouble? No, that isn't quite accurate. I couldn't breathe at all. Through the wavering darkness that assaulted me, I heard the voice I had once claimed as my own singing. At least I think I did. Perhaps I'm romanticising it.
You must know, Bella, that most of these 'memoirs' aren't accurate. I've filled in quite a few details that I imagine to have happened. Most of what I remember is too fractal to be coherent.
That was my first true encounter with Erik, anyway. The next one was almost as harrowing and even more incomprehensible.
I woke up in the dark room with a strong sense of déjà-vu. I don't know how long it had been since I first woke up, but I know that I was just as scared. It took me longer this time to consider leaving the room. I remember exploring it cautiously first; every new item discovered threw me into a new panic. I found my shoes somewhere, but I can't remember where anymore. The bathroom, the writing desk, the clothes. Everything was there, down to the smallest detail (except for sanitary napkins, if you remember).
Eventually, I realised that I was very hungry and that my throat was parched. There was no sound from outside, so I decided to risk it for food. Decision and Action aren't very close. It took me very long to work up the nerve to venture outside once again.
I had accidentally broken an ornamental glass plate while I was looking around. When I finally managed to work up the courage to go outside, I took one of the shards as a sort of self-defence, hiding it behind me.
He must have seen it, but he did not try to take it from me then. He gave me food and water and spoke to me gently. I don't remember any of what he said. When he stood up and asked me to follow him to the living room, I decided to take my chance.
He turned out of the room and as he did, I ran and tried to strike him with the glass piece.
He knew. He must have known. How else did he turn around so bewilderingly fast and seize my wrist before it could move any closer to him?
Fragments, once more. Fear, and him tying a bandage around my hand, which had gotten cut at some point of time, and he didn't shout, not once. The image of his narrowed eyes—in disappointment?—is particularly vivid.
The next thing I remember clearly is in the living room. He told me that he loved me and wanted to teach me better and that he had brought me here because there was only so much that he could do as merely a voice. He kept on telling me that he would let me go and all I needed to do was to trust and obey him. Lies, all of them! Soon enough, he let me go back to my room, but retrieved the remaining glass pieces first.
The days after this are blurred. These two episodes stand out clearly amidst a haze on both sides of my mental timeline. Flashes of memories pop up, but I cannot place them accurately. I do not remember in what order they happened. I don't even know if they did happen.
There was one particularly claustrophobic day when he went away for a while, leaving only a note saying that I was free to explore the house if I wished to. I think I have the note stowed away somewhere in the corner of a drawer.
That day, I got so lost in the library that I could not find my way out. Feeling increasingly trapped and panicked, I huddled in a corner for almost half the day until he returned and found me. Then, he put up signs on the shelves that pointed the way back to the exit, and also told me that he would move the books that I might prefer to the outer shelves, so I wouldn't get lost again.
I keep having this dream where everything that I think I remember of my life before this is an illusion and that I have been here all my life. And then there are dreams of wars and of ceilings crumbling and trapping me forever. When I was younger and had bad dreams, I'd always be able to go to Mama and she'd hug me and perhaps sing a song and I'd be able to go back to sleep, reassured. Here, there is nothing, but cloying terror that refuses to let me sleep, no matter how much I try to rationalise it and make it go away.
I am scared.
I must go now. It's very late and I want to sleep.
Author's Note: I won't make excuses for this delay. I don't like making excuses. There were circumstances I could not avoid and priorities are priorities. However, you can expect the chapters to move faster now, so there's some good news. :)