Masters & Lovers Box Set Three

Mitch - Twenty-Six Years Ago

Has she been hasty?

Over-reacted?

Mitch wanders the lovely apartment. Light and airy. Just what she would have chosen for herself once she’d earned the money.

He's taken notice of her tastes.

In the one bedroom, the double, clean white linen. In the other, the same but on the twin beds.

He volunteered to sleep alone…

He gave her choices…

She makes herself tea, sits on the window seat looking out over the marina…

That wonderful Christmas…

That beautiful ship…

Another harbour…

His love-making…

She sets down the teacup, placing it carefully on the saucer. A finger stroking the line of her jaw, she watches as a rowing eight makes its way between pleasure-boats, the hull slicing through the water with surprising speed. Sailing yachts and motor cruisers line this side of the harbour wall, some with proud owners waxing decks or touching up paintwork.

To the far side, fishing boats bob in their moorings beside stacks of nets, coiled ropes, hydrants and hoses.

Tall masts reach for the sky, mirrored down into shimmering water, their pennants and flags rippling. Gulls screech and as one of the small day-ferries pulls between the harbour walls, its horn blasts.

She's been foolish…

… Panicked.

This man isn’t her brother. He isn’t Stephen. He doesn’t want to cage her. He wants to set her free.

He loves her?

Really?

Really.

Can she catch him before he leaves? Talk with him?

Maybe…

Spinning, Mitch snatches up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and heads out.

*****

The frontage is bright with new paint and freshly cleaned brick and stonework. A small lawn area is neatly clipped, scented of fresh hay. A tall billboard stands by the entrance, painted in cheerful colours; cartoon cows and sheep frolicking in a bright green meadow under a daffodil sun. “Blessingmoors…”

Mitch stands on the doorstep, raps the well-polished brass knocker, smart against its dark green background. There is no reply. After a few moments, she knocks again.

Still no answer.

nearby window where clean white paint frames polished glass. The sashes on the inside are new, replacements probably for older cords. The latch and sneck are

waiting area perhaps, with low settees, a coffee table and a stack

But no people.

again. Still with no reply, she tries the handle, but the door doesn't

other side. This time, she can't see in. A blind conceals the

and to the rear, away from the eyes of the world. Crossing tidily mown grass she comes to a concreted area ending in a tall

racial slurs and the political comment of the unthinking and the unknowing, sits by crude images; coarse, badly drawn. At the top, sunlight glints from jagged edges that poke

is

something resists from the other side. But as she tries again, pushing harder, screws suck out from

through

broken glass. An old mattress lies soaked and stinking, surrounded by foil and

as the wall and wide enough to take vehicles, are barred on the inside. The only clean thing to be seen is a car, a

of the building itself are black at the base, glistening green above, and dark-glazed windows are barred on the outside. There is only one door, solidly constructed in steel although rusted in places. There

hovers. This isn’t

What did she expect?

With the smallest of whines, the door swings slightly ajar. A black slot

heart drumming, tentatively, she reaches, pulls the

Emergency Exit: Lift Bar. Stone steps lead up and forward to some

as she steps forward, inside; to right and left, more steps, narrow and winding, leading both up and

… upwards…

mildew and abandonment, rats and hopelessness. Ragged holes gape through the plaster, bleeding wires that anchor ancient

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

echoes down the stygian well of the stairs. A voice screams, pleads

The sound of metal on

or you'll know about

the metallic

Boots stamping

… and silence.

spine and armpits drenched and with the cold reek of sweat on her skin, Mitch takes a step up, then another. Her heels click on peeling linoleum and

and left. To one end, darkness, perhaps another stairway. To the other, a window; small, the glass whited over and with the silhouette of bars cast over the paint. A single bulb dangles on

heavy metal frames and with sliding peepholes.

the dark hollow at the end of the corridor comes the sound of laughter and cursing; crude language; the kind that cheapens

follows the movement, but the

and she freezes, but the noise is no closer than it was. Slowly, carefully,

faces. Female faces. Some pretty. Some not so much so. But all frame eyes

painted out and barred. Lined along either side are metal-framed beds. Even from here, Mitch can see that the frames are bolted to

the thin mattresses, others sit on the

of the girls

alright. I’m a

barely women, some barely

drawn. Eyes red with tears and hopelessness. Some bear bruises to limbs or face. Many stand, reaching out hands; imploring, weeping, a rising babble of words that Mitch doesn’t

let them

the others, waving down with her palms and

I’ll help. But you have

and silently open. The bottom bolt too. But she struggles with the bar which grates a protest as she first lifts, then yanks it from tight sockets. She stiffens at the slight noise, air juddering from her lungs

Nothing…

a taut

The door opens.