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.

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

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

But no people.

knocks again. Still with no reply, she tries the handle,

This time, she can't see in.

the wall around a corner 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 brick wall.

suggestions, racial slurs and the political comment of the unthinking and the unknowing, sits by crude images; coarse, badly drawn.

the building is still being

something resists from the other side. But as she tries again, pushing harder, screws suck out from sockets in ancient timbers and, screeching

through then

with litter: Fast-food cartons and drinks bottles compete with cigarette butts, used condoms and broken glass. An old mattress lies soaked and stinking, surrounded by foil and hypos. In one corner, a

The only clean thing to be seen is a car, a top-end model, new and freshly waxed but with

and dark-glazed windows are barred on the outside. There is only one door, solidly constructed in steel although rusted in places.

This isn’t what she

What did she expect?

her hair. With the smallest of whines,

she reaches, pulls

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

narrow and winding, leading both up and down;

… upwards…

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

What's that sound?

Sobbing?

of the stairs. A

sound of

voice; loud, violent. “Shut the fuck up or you'll know about it.”

metallic

Boots stamping away

… and silence.

sweat on her skin, Mitch takes a step up, then another.

top, a corridor stretching right 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 a cord, casting

the corridor, doors; steel, set in heavy metal frames and with sliding peepholes. Heavy bolts at top and bottom partner a

cheapens speaker and listener. But it comes no closer. Mitch tries to

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 business, vanishing into a crevice in worm-infested floorboards while

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

pretty. Some not so much so. But all

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

on the thin mattresses, others sit on the bed, a scanty

peers into the gloom, one of the girls

Shhh... It’s alright. I’m a

women, some barely children. All so

to limbs or face. Many stand, reaching out hands; imploring,

let

to the fore turns, yammering something to the others, waving

the draw-hole. “I’m coming. I’ll help. But you have

top bolt which slides smoothly and silently open. The bottom bolt too. But she struggles

Nothing…

but a

The door opens.