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.

clean white paint frames polished glass. The sashes on the inside are new, replacements probably for

she peers inside; a lounge or waiting area perhaps, with

But no people.

Still with no reply, she

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

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

sexually unlikely suggestions, 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

the building is

rotted. When she tries the latch, something resists from the other side. But as she tries

passes through

An old mattress lies soaked and stinking, surrounded by foil and hypos. In one corner, a drain blocked by

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

red-brick walls 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 is no handle, just a lock; large, heavy-duty,

hovers. This isn’t what she

What did she expect?

whines, the door swings

heart drumming, tentatively, she reaches,

on the back of the door: Emergency Exit: Lift Bar. Stone steps lead up and forward to some brighter light, perhaps a hallway. What might be sunshine spills from the

inside; to right and left, more steps, narrow and winding, leading both up and down; a

… upwards…

dank. It smells of mildew and abandonment, rats and hopelessness. Ragged holes gape through the plaster, bleeding wires that anchor

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

down the stygian well of the stairs. A voice screams, pleads and ends in

sound of metal on

loud, violent. “Shut the fuck up or you'll know about it.” Another scream. A female

metallic clang

stamping away

… and silence.

step up, then another. Her heels click on

of bars cast over the paint. A single bulb dangles on a cord, casting a sparse light.

the length of the corridor, doors; steel, set in heavy metal frames and with

and cursing; crude language; the kind that cheapens speaker and listener. But it comes no closer. Mitch tries to suck a little

startles, pushing a fist to her mouth to suppress the shriek. Eyes darting, she follows the movement, but the rat isn’t interested in her. It goes about its

the nearest, biting down against revulsion as ancient carpet sucks at her soles. Laughter rebounds once more down the passage and she freezes, but the noise is no closer than it was. Slowly, carefully, she slides the

not so much

the far end, a window, painted out and barred. Lined along either side are metal-framed beds. Even from here, Mitch can see that the

shackled at the ankle. Some lie on the thin mattresses, others sit on the bed, a scanty blanket tugged around

peers into the gloom, one of the girls opens her mouth as though to

It’s alright.

women, some barely

pale and drawn. Eyes red with tears and hopelessness. Some bear bruises to limbs or face. Many stand, reaching out hands; imploring, weeping, a

Don’t let

to the fore turns, yammering something to the others, waving down with her palms and the others fall

“I’m coming. I’ll

from beyond the door, Mitch eases the top bolt which slides smoothly and silently open. The bottom bolt too. But she struggles with the bar

Nothing…

but a taut

The door opens.