M. Arlidge: Little Boy Blue

He opened his eyes and looked at his captor. The atmosphere in the room was thick with expectation – there were many different ways this could play out: some consensual, some less so. Each had its merits and he wondered which one he, or she, would choose.

Neither spoke. The silence between them was punctured only by the distant thump of the Euro pop currently deafening those on the dance floor. But the sound seemed a long way away, as if they were in a different universe, locked together in this moment.

Still his captor made no move to punish or pleasure him and for the first time he felt a flash of frustration – everyone likes to be teased, but there are limits. He could feel the beginnings of an erection, straining against its constraints, and he was keen not to let it go to waste.

‘Come on then,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t make me wait. It’s been a long time since I had any love.’

He closed his eyes again and waited. What would come first? A slap? A blow? A caress? For a moment, nothing happened, then suddenly he felt something brush against his cheek. His lover had moved in close – he could feel his breath on the side of his face, could hear his cracked lips parting.

‘This isn’t about love,’ his captor whispered. ‘This is about hate .’

His eyes shot open, but it was too late. His captor was already winding the duct tape over his chin, his mouth… He tried to scream but his tongue was forced back down by the sticky, bitter adhesive. Now it was covering his cheeks, flattening his nose. Moments later, the tape passed over his eyes and everything went black.

Helen stared out into the darkness beyond. She was back in her flat, showered and swathed in a towel, sitting by the casement window that looked out on to the street. The adrenaline and endorphins of earlier had dissipated, replaced by a relaxed, contented calm. She had no need for sleep – she wanted to enjoy this moment a little first – so she’d taken up her customary position in front of the window, her vantage point on the world beyond.

It was at times like this that Helen thought she was making a go of her life. The old demons still lurked within, but her use of pain as a way of controlling her emotions had eased off of late, as she’d learnt to push her body in other ways. She wasn’t there yet – would she ever be? – but she was on the right track. Sometimes she suppressed the feelings of hope this engendered in her, for fear of being disappointed; at other times she gave in to them. Tonight was one of those moments when she allowed herself a little happiness.

Cradling her mug of tea, she looked down on to the street below. She was a night owl and this was one of her favourite times, when the world seemed quiet, yet full of mystery and promise – the dark before the dawn. Living high up, she was shielded from view and could watch undetected as the night creatures went about their business. Southampton has always been a bustling, vibrant city and around midnight the streets regularly fill with workers, students, ships’ crews, tourists and more, as the pubs empty out. Helen enjoyed watching the human dramas that played out below – lovers falling out and reconciling, best friends declaring their mutual affection for each other, a woman in floods of tears on her mobile phone, an elderly couple holding hands on their way home to bed. Helen liked to climb inside their lives, imagining what would happen next for them, what highs and lows still lay ahead.

Later still, when the streets thinned out, you saw the really interesting sights – the night birds who were up at the darkest point of the day. Sometimes these sights tugged at your heart – the homeless, vulnerable and miserably drunk ploughing their lonely furrows through the city. Other times they made you sit up – fights between drunken boys, the sight of a junkie prowling the derelict building opposite, a noisy domestic incident spilling out on to the streets. Other times they made Helen laugh – fresher students pushing each other around in ‘borrowed’ Sainsbury’s trollies, clueless as to where they were or how they would find their way back to their digs.

All human life passed before her and Helen drank it in, enjoying the feeling of quiet omnipotence that her elevated view gave her. Sometimes she chided herself for her voyeurism, but more often than not she gave in to it, wallowing in the ‘company’ it afforded her. On occasion, it did make her wonder whether any of the night stalkers were aware they were being watched, and if so whether they would care. And occasionally, in her darker, more paranoid moments, it made her wonder if somebody might in turn be watching her .

The panic shears lay on the floor, untouched. The heavy-duty scissors were specifically designed to cut through clothing, tape, even leather – but they wouldn’t be used. There would be no deliverance tonight.

The chair had toppled over as the panicking victim attempted to wrestle himself free of his bonds. He made a strange sight now, bucking pointlessly on the floor, as his fear grew and his breath shortened. He was making no headway loosening his restraints and the end could not be far away now. Standing over him, his attacker looked on, wondering what the eventual cause of death would be. Overheating? Asphyxiation? Cardiac arrest? It was impossible to say and the uncertainty was quietly thrilling.

His victim’s movements were slowing now and the leather-clad figure moved away. There was nothing to be gained by enjoying the show, especially when some sexed-up freak might burst in at any minute. His work here was done.

Turning away, he walked calmly towards the door. Would they get it? Would they realize what they were dealing with? Only time would tell, but whatever happened there was one thing that the police, the public and the freaks out there wouldn’t be able to ignore: the lovingly bound figure lying on the floor nearby, twitching slowly to a standstill as death claimed him.

Where was he?

The same question had spun round Sally’s head for hours. She’d tried to go to sleep, but had given up, first flicking on the radio, then later switching on the light to read. But the words wouldn’t go in and she’d reach the end of the page none the wiser. In the end she’d stopped trying altogether, turning the light off to lie awake in darkness. She was a worrier, she knew that, prone to seeing misfortune around every corner. But surely she had a right to be worried? Paul was ‘working late’ again.

A few weeks ago, this wouldn’t have been a cause for concern. Paul was ambitious, hard-working and committed – his fierce work ethic had often meant him returning to cold dinners during the course of their twenty-year marriage. But then once, three weeks ago, she’d had to contact him urgently, following a call from his mother. Unable to reach him on his mobile, she’d called his PA, only to be told he’d left the office at 5 p.m. sharp. The hands of the kitchen clock pointed mockingly to 8 p.m., as Sally hung up in shock. Her mind had immediately filled with possible scenarios – an accident, an affair – but she’d tried to quell her anxiety and when he returned home safe and sound later that night, she said nothing.

But when he next called to say he’d be late home, she plucked up courage and visited him in person. She’d gone to the office armed with excuses, but they proved unnecessary, as he wasn’t there. He’d left early again. Had she successfully hidden her distress from his PA? She thought so, but she couldn’t tell. Perhaps she already knew. They say the wife is always the last to find out.

Was Paul the kind of man to have an affair? Instinctively, Sally thought not. Her husband was an old-school Catholic who’d promised to honour his marriage vows and meant it. Their marriage, their family life, had been a happy, prosperous one. Moreover, Sally had kept her looks and her figure, despite the birth of the twins, and she was sure Paul still found her attractive, even if their lovemaking was more sporadic these days. No, instinctively she rebelled against the thought that he would give his love to someone else. But isn’t that what every scorned wife believes until the extent of her husband’s duplicity is revealed?