Chapter Twenty Three

Isobel shuffled along, her hair ripping at her scalp as Richard dragged her by it into the building. She was trying to take steadying breaths, if she panicked she’d be gone, she had one chance to change things. It was pitch black, and she could barely see the steps that led up to the front door. He fussed with the lock for a moment before throwing open the door, then reaching for the light switch he illuminated the room just as he threw her into the room. She staggered in the half light that the lone un-shaded bulb cast barely illuminating the sparse furniture.

Righting herself, she glanced around, taking in her bearings. In one corner was a metal bed topped with a thin mattress, and near it two chairs, a small table and a cupboard. Across the room from her were two doors that led who knew where, the walls were bare, and no carpets covered the bare floor boards, and she could already feel the cold travelling up through them.

He shoved her again in the direction of the corner, and she staggered under the force of his weight as he pushed her towards the bed. She almost felt onto the mattress, but corrected herself at the last moment. Her heart was pounding and she wondered if she’d throw up, adrenaline and fear were churning in her stomach.

Turning she sat slowly onto the bed, then mustered up the courage to look up in to his face. He’d always been a good looking man, that was one of the things that had immediately attracted her to him, but as he glared at her he was a shell of the man she remembered, his face was grey, his hair unkempt, and he had an evil glint in his eyes. Pulling up a chair he sat in front of her, close enough that she could smell his breath.

                “You thought you’d win didn’t you?” He could barely get the words out through lips so taught in their angry snarl.

She stared at him, her body was almost shaking with fear, but she was determined to stand up to him, if he saw her anxiety, knew that she was scared he’d pounce on that. Disinterest was her best chance. She took a deep breath, “win what?”

He shook his head, “you never learn, you never listened to anything. I told you before, showed you before that I decide what happens, not some jumped up little tart like you. And that’s what you are.”

                “Richard. That was all a long time ago.”

When he didn’t answer, his eyes glazing over, she tried again, “what do you hope to achieve by doing this? You’re risking everything. I mean, Claudia’s left you, she’s never coming back...”

He leaned close and snarled at her again, his anger suddenly returned, “and that’s all thanks to you! Interfering with MY marriage. Eight years I’ve courted that bastard Banfield,” he jumped to his feet and started to pace angrily. Isobel watched him intently, trying to fathom a way out of this hideous mess.

                “Eight years I’ve spent, like a child waiting for him to shower some of his fortune on me. Al that lip service, and then there was that frigid bitch! All these years, I’ve waited to get my hands on some of what he has. Then YOU come along.”

She shook her head slowly, trying to ignore the growing pounding sensation at her right temple, “so all this is envy? That Marc is better than you? Or is it greed? You want some of his money and his success?”

Snapping around he hovered over her,                 “what would you know about success? You’re a topless dancing tart!”

She laughed nervously, “I burlesque danced for a few months to pay bills. I never danced topless, and I’ve never been a tart. I was naive when I met you, but I’m not now. You know nothing about me!” It took all her courage to speak to him, to be blunt, firm.

                “I know everything! Far more than you’ll ever know.”

Shaking her head she sighed, suddenly he was pitiful and she wasn’t as scared, “Richard, Marc is twenty times the man you’ll ever be, and as for Claudia being frigid, if you’re all she’s had to look forward to then I’m not surprised. Now let me go, I won’t press charges and you can disappear.”

His head snapped up to glare at her and the fear, at that look that appeared back in his eyes, swept back through her again. Without a second glance he lashed out his right arm and connected with her head, the force hit her back onto the bed, and she landed there sprawled out across the pillows. Pain flooded her head as she felt blood trickle down her temple. With her hands tied behind her she couldn’t readjust her position, so she lay half face down into the bed as she heard him pace the room behind her.

His voice had become a monotonous rant, where everyone known to man was implicated in the downfall of his world, Isobel simply listened, hoping for a chance to escape.

“You’ve done your best to spoil things you bitch, but I’m in control now, and with you gone, her and her brother will soon see past your lies, past your interfering, and I’ll be back part of the family. That’s what I want...and that’s what I deserve after all this time.”

She shook her head, “I’ve known Marc for over a year, if his family love you so much, how come I haven’t met you again, before today? You’ve hardly been welcome at birthdays and Christmas!”

She groaned as he kicked her thigh, a hefty swipe from his position opposite her, she was glad that he was sat down, if he’d been stood up she feared he’d have broken her leg with his venom, “SHUT UP! You are the problem here, the toxin, if you’re eliminated then all this will be over, and things will be back to normal.”

He really believed that. Isobel started to panic; this was never going to end well.              “Are you crazy?” she shouted. “Nothing will change, you’ll just be a murderer, abuser AND a rapist. Nice credentials!”

He flipped her onto her back as she tried to fight him, but he won, dumping her on her restrained and painful arms, she had no choice but to look up at him, standing over her, and her heart flew to her mouth as she saw that suddenly he had a large knife in his hand and an unstable look in his eyes.

                “You lie there with a bastard child repulsive as it is, growing in your body and I’m criticised?” He shook his head lowering the knife to the bottom of her shirt.

Isobel was terrified, suddenly all her bravado had focussed his attention on her baby, the innocent baby that wasn’t even born yet. With a grunt he slashed through the bottom button of the shirt and she screamed, kicking out wildly at his hands, she managed to connect with his arm sending the knife flying across the room. With a shout, he lashed out with his fist, hitting her on the other side of her head. Blinding pain took over her every thought, she felt as though her head was about to explode with pressure. As she watched him retrieve the knife, she felt woozy, she was losing focus. She room was spinning.

As her eyes closed and the world turned black she could hear him shouting, hitting things...

Claudia remembered Richard inheriting little more than a shack, but had no idea where it was. Her and Sylvia were about to fly home from the Barbados - the next Caribbean port they had visited, and that was where they were when Marc called her, he was demanding, pressing, unrelenting, desperation taking over every inch of his taught body. But other than the fact the remembered a fishing hut, she could tell him nothing new.

                “Who’d know?” he demanded, being more than ruthless. It was now three am; Isobel had been missing for more than twelve hours. He was becoming more and more desperate as he feared the worst.

As he was about to give up, throw himself in front of a bus, anything to make the pain go away, make it easier to bear,  Claudia named Richard’s lawyer, Marc sighed with relief, he was fortunately a distant acquaintance of Marc’s. Hanging up on his sister, Marc prepared to become an extremely unpopular man, and called the man in the early hours of his desperate morning.

Isobel’s head hurt, but now in the poorly lit room she could make out the figure of Richard again.

                “Let me go.” She asked him quietly. “Please just let me go!”

He laughed and it was an awful sound, stepping closer from the darkened corner of the room, “let you go? Why would I do that? I’ve lost EVERYTHING!”

She groaned and closed her eyes against the pain and the blinding affect the dull light was having on her, “If you let me go I’ll make sure nothing bad comes of this, you can move away get on with your life. Start again.”

                “My life was her! My wife and Marc and their fortune, how could I survive without his money?”

Isobel felt sick, Marc had supported Richard and his sister? She had to try and change this. “Nothing too bad has happened Richard. I’ll tell them I fell; that you’ve looked after me...Marc will do anything to get me and the baby back.”

He kicked a chair over as he shouted, “it’s TOO late bitch. Don’t you get that? It ends here today! Both of us!”

She started to shake, “what do you mean?”

With a venomous scowl he stared at her, “exactly what I say!”

He stepped towards her; suddenly the knife was in his hand again. He slashed at the front of her shirt, splitting three more of the buttons opening it to her waist, she flinched as the tip of the knife nicked her skin, and she could feel the warm blood trickle into the cleft between her breasts. Meeting his eyes she saw the intent as he reached for the hem of her skirt.

                “Don’t Richard, please!” Her hysteria and panic meant she could barely think straight, she was looking around in desperation trying to find something, anything that would signal a way out of this.

He ran the knife over her swollen abdomen in a caressing manner an evil inhumane glare in his eyes, and suddenly she was desperate, “ok, do what you have to to me, but don’t hurt the baby, please!”  Lifting her skirt again he raised the knife, touching it to the place of her knickers.  “Richard! If you do this then there’s no going back. You’ll die a kidnapper and a rapist. Is that what you want?”

He snarled, “I don’t care!” He continued running the knife over her skin, digging it in and nicking her occasionally.

She racked her brain trying to find a way to break this situation, to get him to see sense. All she could think of was Taylor. With a rough hand he grasped for her knickers, dragging them off her, and she watched as he threw the remnants of the lace garment to the floor, and parted her legs trying to kneel between her thighs on the bed.

                “I didn’t do it y’know!” She shouted manically. She knew the only chance she had was to tell him the truth, shock him into some sort of reason.

                “Do what?” he was fiddling with his trousers.

                “The abortion...I didn’t have it. You told me to, I said I did, but I didn’t really. Shall I tell you about her? Your daughter?”

He jumped up, “NNNNNOOOOO!” It was an animalistic roar as he rushed across the room and punched a wall. He was shaking his head, and Isobel wondered whether she’d pushed him too far. She knew he could kill her tonight, she’d seen it in his eyes, so she kept going, she frankly had nothing to lose. “Taylor. She’s beautiful, funny, and good in school. She’s got blonde hair....”

The anger and velocity in his rush across the room stopped her in her tracks. Pushing her back on the bed he climbed intimidatingly over her.

Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she watched him, unable to move because of her hands, still tied behind her back, “Don’t do this Richard, do you want your daughter to know her father raped me?”

He grabbed her hips and pulled her to him as he snarled, “who’ll care about this when you’re dead?”