REHEARSAL
By
Brian Sands
The Most Dangerous Man Alive, Debra Paget
Chapter 7 Complications
Laura gradually became aware of her surroundings. Her head swam and she could make no sense of anything. Her arms and legs did not work properly. That bastard … she thought incoherently. My god, what’s happened to me? Where am I? It was a long time before the young woman came to a full awareness of her new situation.
She tried to move again, but with the same lack of result as before. She was lying on her side. Her shoulders were wedged tightly against metal above and below her. She could feel the chill of the alloy through her silk blouse. She tried to raise her head but bumped it against something that gave off a dull metallic thump. Was she folded into a box or a trunk of some kind? The thought drove her to panicked struggles. But again very little happened.
Laura found that her arms were bound behind her ... still bound behind her, she remembered. She felt the thin cords cutting into her wrists - the same cords that had bound her earlier - and above her elbows, and her legs were also tied together, at the ankles and above her knees. But worse than this was the huge wad of cloth that was still there, filling her mouth, and the tight wrappings of silk cloth that spread her jaws apart and sealed her mouth. How long had she been wearing that gag? The Director had put it on her hours ago, she thought she remembered. She tried to call out but the sound was immediately choked off.
But where was she? Laura tried to remember the last few minutes before she lost consciousness. Gradually it came back to her: their rehearsal, Alison tying her to the chair, the Director’s approval and willingness to try it out herself. Then, yes, that bastard Clive - or was he Ronald? ... Whatever. He wanted her out of the way. What did he say? Alison will fall for the story that she, Laura had decided to slip off home. But Alison would be surprised that her friend had not said goodbye first, wouldn’t she? Or would she, tipsy as she was?
Laura remembered being placed on the floor in front of the closet. That was it. That was where she must be now, lying on her side completely trussed up like a Christmas goose into almost total immobility. Still gagged. Her mind kept coming back to that awful discomfort. The gag seemed a lot tighter than before. Then she remembered how Ronald had callously tightened it. The bastard made sure that no whimpering would come from the closet for Alison to hear. Was the closet sound proof, then? She could hear nothing from outside.
Bound, gagged, unable to move, in total darkness and silence, Laura knew with a sick frightened feeling that she was probably a claustrophobic. Not - what was it called? - a merinthophobic. She was not worried about being tied up when she was among friends. But the combination of bonds and occlusion, and knowing that she was probably in the hands of a madman, was very unsettling. Someone please get me out of here, she thought desperately.
Laura lifted her head and bumped it gently against the metal above her that she guessed was one of the shelves in the cupboard. Could she signal her plight in this way? If she tried too hard, all she would get for her effort would be a headache. She tried to change position but she was too firmly wedged into the narrow space.
Then Laura heard the distant murmuring of conversation. So the closet/cupboard in which she was imprisoned was not soundproof. The level of the voices increased. Whoever it was, she guessed they were coming down the stairs. But she could not make out the words. She thought she could identify Ronald’s smarmy tones, and the woman’s voice was probably that of Alison. What were they saying? Maybe Ronald aka Clive - or vice versa - was explaining to Alison why her friend Laura had disappeared.
They must be in the main room by now, Laura reasoned, probably sitting on the sofa, probably sitting together, no doubt drinking another bottle of wine together. There were long pauses between snatches of conversation that Laura still could not put together into any coherence. She tilted her head back and tried to place her ear closer to the closet door, that is, if she was facing away from the door. It was difficult to judge. She might be facing the other way.
But it must be the door, for as the back of Laura’s head came to rest against it, she could distinguish some words: ... ‘I told you ...’ dull murmur. It was the man’s voice. ‘But ... not like her. Should have ... going ... Are you sure ... doing?’ That was Alison’s voice. Then Laura lost the connection. The strain was too great on her neck, with her shoulders trapped between the shelving. And tilting back her head made the gag stretch painfully against the corners of her mouth. To relieve the pain, she had to bend her head forward again.
The gag felt sodden in her mouth. It resisted any amount of pushing with her tongue, and it itched like hell. Laura cried out in anguish, not for the first time, but the impeding cloth and the wrapping about her jaws strangled the cry in her throat.
There seemed to be a very long period of silence. Laura did not like to think what that bastard was doing with her best friend. Had they left the room? And, if they had, what was going to become of her? What was Clive cooking up in that devious little mind of his? He has ‘the other woman’ - well, the original woman, Laura corrected herself - bound, gagged and secreted away. She was a potential hitch in his schemes, whatever they were. More than a potential problem, she corrected herself again. So he has to do something about me.
As Laura thought of the probable alternatives, she began to grow sick with fear. Was Clive capable of murder? She did not know the man well enough. Would he keep her on ice? But how long could that last? Alison would start to grow suspicious in the cold sober light of morning, especially when Laura failed to phone her with apologies and an explanation for her apparent abrupt departure.
What Laura did know for sure was that she could do nothing about it. It was like the plot of the play they had been rehearsing. The villain controls the heroine by binding and gagging her so that she cannot interfere with his plans. And ultimately she is rescued by the hero and it all ends well, except for the villain of course who either goes to prison or comes to a bad end, like Sherlock Holmes’s arch-enemy Moriarty.
Real life is not like that. Sometimes villains get away with it for years until by a freak of circumstance the remains of their victims are discovered, unearthed by workmen or found in a cave by school children. A violent shiver of apprehension ran through Laura’s bound frame.
It happens all the time. Even in literary drama the exigencies of real life are played out in the most harrowing of tragedies. Laura thought of King Lear. The villains, their accessories, and their henchmen die - the stage of a Shakespearian tragedy is strewn with corpses at the final curtain, an old joke, exeunt all - but not until so many of the heroes and heroines meet the same fate. In King Lear it was Cordelia. In Titus Andronicus it was Lavinia. True, she did not die, but she was horribly mutilated.
Another shiver coursed through Laura’s body. I’m thinking rubbish. I must get a grip on myself. There was nothing for it but to wait out what might be hours of torture, bound and gagged like this. But life was so very different from fiction, and she could not see where it might all end.
*
ACT THREE, SCENE 3
THE SECRET ROOM, LATER THAT EVENING
(The curtain opens on DOLORES and GERTRUDE. They are still bound to their chairs, but DOLORES has managed to shift hers closer to that of GERTRUDE. DOLORES’ gag has dropped around her neck).
DOLORES: Oh my god, the gag was horrible! I’ll try to help you with yours, see whether I can get my teeth into it. (DOLORES pauses and looks thoughtfully at GERTRUDE). You do understand that we must try to help each other? (GERTRUDE grunts and nods her head).
(DOLORES leans over and tries to reach the knot of GERTRUDE’S gag from under her hair but appears to have little success. As she is working, neither woman notices the silent reappearance of THE MAN from left centre stage. THE MAN stands silently, watching DOLORES’ efforts for a long time. Although he is still masked, the attitude of his body reveals that he is highly amused).
DOLORES: (Sitting back in her chair and tossing her hair out of her eyes). Oof! It’s no use. I can’t get a grip on the knot because it’s tangled in your hair. I’ll get my breath back and try again. We have to find a way out of this. It’s obvious the man, whoever he is, is the killer.
THE MAN: (stepping into view). You’re half correct in what you say, my dear. But you won’t be getting out of anything. (As DOLORES opens her mouth to scream, THE MAN hooks the gag with his fingers and from the front stuffs it between DOLORES’ lips and reties it behind her ear so tightly that her mouth is forced wide open. DOLORES’ scream fades into a faint mewing sound). That’s better. One who should not speak, could speak, and the one who cannot speak but with whom I need to exchange a few words ... Well, the balance is nearly set right. (THE MAN walks to GERTRUDE and begins to unfasten her gag). There, now, say your piece. And don’t try to scream.
GERTRUDE: I- I’ve been thinking how it can be done.
THE MAN: (Still supercilious but showing a flicker of interest). Go On.
GERTRUDE: Keep the girl here until the Inspector’s given up questioning us. They’ll assume she’s the guilty one. And they’ll be busy searching the country for her. When the house is clear, we’ll take her to a more secure place and keep her there until I - we - find the new Will and destroy it. Or we can make changes to it so that it is in my favour.
THE MAN: More or less what I - we - intended. We’ve been through that scenario.
GERTRUDE: Oh, but, in return, you will let me go without harming me. And we’ll continue to hold the girl. I’ll soon discover whether she has relatives prepared to pay a good ransom to have her back.
THE MAN: Or else I shall deal with her how I wish. Interesting. I need more time to think it over before I decide to set you free. And, in the meantime, it’s obvious that you both have to be separated. This young woman is far too resourceful. But first ... (THE MAN moves towards GERTRUDE).
GERTRUDE: (Speaking quickly). And I don’t think you’re the murderer.
THE MAN: That’s gratifying. But you can’t be too sure can you? (He unties the gag from GERTRUDE’S neck and reties it firmly between her teeth, but not as tightly as when gagging DOLORES). Now ... to put the next step into action.
(He turns to DOLORES. He unties DOLORES from the chair - her hands remain bound behind her and her ankles tied together - and he proceeds to truss her up, arms to body, while he continues speaking).
THE MAN: There’s a convenient little nook back there in the narrow passages, a sort of monk’s cell. Or shall we call it an oubliette, loosely speaking? Just the place to store a pretty kidnap prisoner where she won’t get into mischief. (DOLORES’ arms are bound by now and THE MAN seats her on the chair where be begins to tie her legs at the knees. DOLORES shakes her head and moans softly through her gag). Uh huh, I don’t understand a word you’re trying to say but I’m sure as hell it’s of no importance, just: (speaking in a falsetto voice). Untie me. Let me go. I won’t tell anyone. Is that right, kiddo? (DOLORES nods her head). Hard luck. Oh I advise you to keep still. You’ll only hurt yourself struggling against those ropes. (DOLORES appears to take the advice. She sits still, looking daggers at her captor. She turns her head towards GERTRUDE, her brow knit in a puzzled frown). Upsy-daisy.
(THE MAN stands DOLORES on her feet and hoists her over his shoulder. He casts a quick glance at GERTRUDE then exits upper stage left. DOLORES raises her face imploringly towards GERTRUDE, who turns her head away. THE MAN and DOLORES are gone. The stage lights dim. A long time passes, about half a minute, during which GERTRUDE sits still, unusually calm.
Then THE MAN reappears, upper stage left. He is alone. His steps are brisk and no longer stealthy. He goes to GERTRUDE and with a few quick movements removes her gag and unfastens the ropes around her body. He stands GERTRUDE on her feet - GERTRUDE is now free but with her hands still tied behind her. She is facing the audience. THE MAN is facing GERTRUDE with his back to the audience. He removes his mask and reaches around GERTRUDE, untying her hands. When GERTRUDE’S hands are free, she puts her arms around THE MAN’S neck).
GERTRUDE: I thought this part of the plan would never end.
THE MAN: I know. We had to make it look good.
GERTRUDE: Do you think the little fool suspects anything?
THE MAN: No. You played your part extremely well.
GERTRUDE: She won’t come to any harm, will she? You won’t hurt her?
THE MAN: Don’t you worry. She’ll be a little shaken up, and maybe in shock after the week of captivity she’s about to experience. But I’m not a murderer ... Darling!
GERTRUDE: Darling! (They embrace and kiss. It is a long passionate kiss).
THE MAN: (Breaking away with obvious reluctance). Come on, we’d better retire to the drawing room. (They both walk arm in arm towards centre stage left. Then, when they are standing in shadow so that their faces cannot be seen, GERTRUDE stops abruptly).
GERTRUDE: But, darling. A thought has just occurred to me. Who is the murderer?
(GERTRUDE and THE MAN stand facing each other tensely. The lights around them dim until only the two chairs in which the women were bound are spotlighted. The spotlight fades).
CURTAIN
*
Laura awoke with a start. The indistinct voices from outside the closet could no longer be heard. She must have slipped into unconsciousness again from the combination of shock and the stifling narrow space in which she lay.
How long have I been out?
The question remained unanswered and was forgotten with the turning of a key in the closet door. It brought her attention to the immediate present. The door opened behind her and rough hands took her under each armpit and hauled her out onto the basement carpet where she lay limp and helpless. Her captor was breathing heavily and Laura caught the scent of fear in his sweat.
‘Too many complications,’ muttered Clive under his breath as he rolled Laura onto her back. Laura looked up at him, her eyes wide over the gag.
‘Oh yeah,’ Clive continued, ‘Not only do I find you on the scene complicating my little scam with Alison. I have to meet the "Grand Director" too!’
He stood her on her feet. Laura swayed and her legs buckled under her. ‘Upsy daisy.’ Clive lifted her unceremoniously over his shoulder and began to walk across the room.
‘Where the hell do I put you?’ the man asked under his breath. ‘I could hear you bumping about against the closet door. Can’t leave you there. Alison, the little fool, is half drunk and took my word for it that it was mice.’
Mice, thought Alison in silent response to the man’s inane statement, I mean to say!
Clive was fiddling frantically with the handle to the door into the adjoining storeroom, the one that Laura remembered was full of old furniture. ‘Not only that,’ he continued, ‘now the bloody playwright’s going to put in an appearance. Bloody Delia Biancoflore. She’s a smart one, they say. Bit of a private detective, they say. That’s all I bloody need!’
Clive had managed to open the door and they were in the small room full of old furniture and bric-a-bras.
‘And you’re no better.’
He entered the room with his burden still over his shoulder and closed and locked the door behind them.
‘You’re pretty smart too. Saw through my little schemes, damn you!’
Clive almost threw Laura into one of the chairs not seriously broken. To Laura’s surprise, he untied the wrapping part of her gag and let the silk fall around her neck. Laura pushed the linen wadding past her teeth with her tongue and spat it out. She immediately went into a paroxysm of coughing.
Clive fished a small bottle from his pocket and held it to Laura’s lips. When she opened her mouth, she received a welcome draught of water.
‘Can’t have my little kidnap victim dying of thirst, can I? If I had only known what a responsibility it is to hold a woman prisoner ...’ Clive did not finish his sentence. Instead he began to untie Laura, only to bind her wrists to the armrests of the chair. When he had completed the wrist binding to his satisfaction, the man stood back and looked appraisingly at his victim. His face was suffused and he was breathing heavily.
‘I see that leaving the third button undone is back in fashion again. We can’t have that, can we, an unfinished job.’ He chortled softly to himself as he began to unfasten the remaining buttons of Laura’s blouse. When that was done, he pulled the flimsy garment almost off one shoulder.
Laura by now had managed to get her breath back. ‘Take your disgusting hands off me!’
‘Darling,’ Clive sneered, placing far too much emphasis on the word for Laura’s liking, ‘I always wondered whether your taste in lingerie matched the quality of your silk shirts. Well ...’
‘Harrumph!’
Ignoring Laura’s protests, Clive pulled the silk further to one side to reveal a snow-white bra beneath.
‘... And you don’t disappoint. Mmm ... lace. That half-cup style is mouth-watering.’
He began to fondle her breasts, hands cupping the translucent lace.
Laura tried unsuccessfully to butt Clive’s face with her head. ‘You revolting swine! Keep your creepy hands to yourself.’
Clive broke off and slapped his own wrist theatrically. ‘Later, Darling, when we have a spare moment, we’ll investigate whether your panties match that exquisite lace bra. And we will have spare moments, I guarantee.’
But, even as he spoke, Clive tweaked a fold of Laura’s skirt aside to reveal a glimpse of more opalescent lace.
‘Ahh, matching lingerie,’ he murmured, a thin bubble of spittle forming at the corner of his mouth. ‘I should have guessed.’
Rather than continue with what could only be useless protests with her hands tied, Laura tried to reason with her lascivious captor in an attempt to divert his mind from her body. Her ploy actually worked.
‘Clive, what do you think you’ll achieve by all this? The net of women who don’t trust you is closing around you every minute. You’re an ignoramus. Cut your losses and set me free. Don’t ruin your life more than you need to by doing something to me - or to the others - that you’ll regret. There’s still a chance to get off with a light sentence.’
‘Like embezzlement and depriving a woman of her liberty I believe they call it?’ Clive chided. ‘Come now, Laura. Do you really think I’m so stupid as to give up the piggy bank that dear sweet and drunk Alison can make available?’
The man took up more rope and continued to tie Laura very securely into the chair. Thin cord was wound about Laura’s waist, across her lap (to her relief) and around the seat of the chair.
‘I can’t see how you can pull a scam now.’
‘Wait and see! All I have to do is bluff it out when the playwright comes. And then, when the coast’s clear, I’ll have you in a nice quiet place of your own. And I mean quiet.’
He was holding the cloth that had been Laura’s gag. The wadding was still damp and she tried to turn her head away as once again it was stuffed past her teeth and into her mouth. The long strip of silk that had sealed it all in place before was now drawn between her jaws and wound around and between them several times.
‘A simple piece of thin silk. But if it’s tied tight enough ...’
Clive did not finish this sentence but demonstrated his point by jerking the gag painfully and tying it off. Laura retched faintly but managed to stay calm. Her anger fuelled her calmness. She sat still, looking defiantly at her captor as he bound her knees and ankles together and lashed them to one of the chair legs. He took time while he was doing this to run his hands over Laura’s calves and thighs.
‘Hmm. When I have you nice and secure, in a safe place, I’ll finish this off.’
Laura shuddered. But she continued to look daggers at the man. She was frightened, but her fear was blunted by the knowledge that Clive was beginning to panic. On the other hand, a panicked kidnapper was probably more dangerous.
And what might other complications bring? She had not met the playwright whose name, Delia Biancoflore, sounded sophisticated and impressive enough. She knew that the Director Eloise Mordaza and even carefree Alison were in awe of her. Maybe this other woman was to be Laura’s salvation. Delia Biancoflore was an unknown quantity: a smart woman, a detective in her spare time. No wonder Clive was worried.
He had gone, taking care to lock the door behind him. Laura experimented by trying to call for help, but the gag was agonisingly tight, choking her, and she knew that her voice could not be heard through the thick and heavy door between the two rooms. The cords were very tight and, like before, their knots were well out of reach.
Laura settled down to wait out the long hours she guessed were ahead of her. She strained to listen to whatever might be heard from the other room. And, after a while, she heard raised voices. The altercation going on, on the other side of the door, gave Laura a glimmer of hope.
Detective Book, Bindher.
To be Continued ...
ã Brian Sands January 2003