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

a lounge or waiting area perhaps, with low settees, a coffee table

But no people.

moves back to the door and knocks again. Still with no reply, she tries

This time,

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

unthinking and the unknowing,

is still being

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

passes through then

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

wall and wide enough to take vehicles, are barred on the inside. The only clean thing to be seen is a car, a top-end model, new and freshly waxed but with the tyres splashed green by

are barred on the outside. There is only one door, solidly constructed in steel although rusted in places. There is

Mitch hovers. This isn’t

What did she expect?

hair. With the smallest of whines, the door

she reaches, pulls the door

a peeling notice on the back of the door: Emergency Exit: Lift Bar. Stone steps lead up and forward to

right and left, more steps, narrow and winding,

… upwards…

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

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

stairs. A voice

The sound

the fuck up or you'll know about it.” Another scream. A female

the metallic

Boots stamping away

… and silence.

rubs slick palms. Her breathing sharp and shallow, 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 she pauses to slip them off. Then, shoes in hand, stepping

the silhouette of bars cast over the paint.

doors; steel, set in 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 speaker and listener. But it comes no closer. Mitch tries to suck a little saliva into her mouth, swallowing against a tight

mouth to suppress the shriek. Eyes darting, she follows the movement, but the rat isn’t interested in her.

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 peephole. Well-greased, it opens with barely a sound, but nonetheless, faces swing her way at the slight scrape

not so

along either side are metal-framed beds. Even from here, Mitch can see that the frames are

occupant, shackled at the ankle. Some lie on the

the girls opens her mouth

Shhh... It’s alright. I’m a

many: some barely women, some barely children. All so

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

let them

girl to the fore turns, yammering something to the others, waving down with her

“I’m coming. I’ll help. But you have to be

smoothly and silently open. The bottom bolt too. But she struggles with the bar which grates a protest

Nothing…

but a taut

The door opens.