Control

Chapter Four: "The Box"

You can't know what nothingness is. You can't comprehend it because your world is thick with sensation. But Anne can understand it. Anne doesn't know where she is. She doesn't know how she came here. She doesn't know what "here" is. There's no texture, no figure, no light, no sound, nothing to break the nothingness. Black. Silent. She was somewhere and now she's not anywhere at all. She's twisted like a pretzel. She can't understand. She's trying to think but there's no sensation to wrap a thought around. Yes, now there's something. There's an ache in her shoulders, a dull little thing that soon blossoms to fill the void. Nature abhors a vacuum, don't you know, so the ache throbs throughout hers, expanding, filling, taking over all the space in her universe. Finally the pain gives her an anchor and she knows. Somehow she's at the bottom of a coal mine, trapped under a mile of rubble. How did it happen? She can't remember. She's dying alone. She tries to call for help but there's no air.

* * * * *

Wake up, Geoff!

If you sleep you'll crash, and who will rescue Anne? Stay awake. Find some radio station. Watch the half-moon skimming along the horizon, the same moon you saw last night. It's still there. It'll keep you going. It's your destination anyway. The silver apples of the moon. Follow them to your glimmering girl, with apple blossom in her hair.

Why that poem? You don't even like Yeats. Yeah, but it's how she got me. She came up to me at a party at the Dean's house where I was being shy. She asked me what I taught and I said poetry, then she recited the whole thing and I was hooked.

Hooked like a little silver trout? Yes, caught with a berry and a thread. Just like that. But stop. I don't want to think of that poem, especially not that poem, not tonight. You know how it goes, don't you? She called me by my name and ran, and faded through the brightening air. Don't fade away, Anne. I'm coming tonight, before the air brightens.

The lights of Roanoke pass on the right, leading down toward the Shenandoah Valley. For a short way there are street lights along the interstate, but then Geoffrey leaves them behind and the road gets dark again. Not as dark as for Anne. No, Geoffrey sees light everywhere. Under the moon the countryside is luscious, almost as beautiful as during the day, dotted with little lit-up homes that probably have people who are watching TV, secure and happy, maybe grumpy, maybe teasing each other, maybe running fingers around penis and vulva and embarrassed to be doing it with all the lights on. Anne would be amazed at so much light. It would blind her.

Wake up, Geoff!

What's Satan doing to her? Is he hurting her again, and taping it for his audience? Or is he forcing pleasure on her, standing there feeling his power, knowing however much he punishes her she can't resist him? He'll be taping that too, of course.

Or maybe she's dead. No! Maybe she died. Stop it! Maybe she is. Maybe he's skinned her and has hung her carcass like a side of beef and is letting her age, so she'll be more tender when he eats her. No!

Once the idea creeps in it doesn't want to leave.

Think! She was alive last night. I saw her! But maybe she died. No! It wasn't even a full day ago. Hah! You can die in an instant. He could kill her without even trying. Do you see her body? Do you see it hanging by the ankles, meat hooks through the ankles? She's alive! Really? Then maybe he's killing her right now.

Make the image go away! Try a poem again, a different poem. How's this one? Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace... Stop it! Wake up! I have to keep awake! Then what about this? I have known the inexorable sadness of pencils, neat in their boxes, dolor of pad and paperweight. Shit, oh shit. May as well go back to Yeats. Can't I remember any poems that end well? Maybe Dr. Seuss. Did I ever tell you how lucky you are? Oh fuck off!

Now other things push out the death thoughts, mainly sights from Satan's Web site, visuals of Anne being broken and feeling more ecstasy than Geoff could ever hope to give her.

There's one video in particular. They all share the essentials, but this one.... Geoff forgets the moon and forgets the road. He almost forgets what he's doing because of what's in his mind. Anne coming and coming, Satan having worked her well with sorcery. She's coming, and while she does Satan opens her labia to show off her inner lips and mouth to the camera. The mouth is opening and closing, like that of a fish, or a monster, something alien. It's a flower, pink and muscular like a closed-up rose or tulip, but it's trying to find a penis to feed on. The petals open and close. Geoff has never seen anything like it. He can't get it out of his mind.

He also can't forget the aftermath. Breathless words. "Thank you, Victor. Thank you. Thank you. Oh God."

* * * * *

Anne floats at the bottom of the world, packed neatly in her pencil box. She can hear her breathing, and her moaning when she has air for moaning, if she is conscious enough to pay attention, but even then she doesn't always know she's the source. What can she feel? She can feel her shoulders ease from their sockets. She has nothing else, no sound, no sight, no smell, no movement, no sense of anything outside her skin. She is as alone as anyone has ever been, given forever to contemplate her insignificance.

When she's less conscious she sometimes has brilliant visions and she takes deep breaths and smells the world and runs and flails her arms. When she's more conscious she struggles to breathe and remembers she has orders to think of her husband, though it makes her tremble to do it. What is she to think about? About discipline. When he put her in here he told her to think of a punishment severe enough to atone for disobedience. What did she do? She said something bad. Now she has to think of something harsh, and maybe when she does he'll come back.

She has to think of her husband because He's her world, her Lord. He rules the garden of earthly delights. So she trembles. Fear of her Lord is the beginning of wisdom. There used to be another world -- wasn't there? -- but that passed away. There was another man, but don't think of him. No. She was bad. He hated her. There's only Victor. How many eons has she been in this place? Someday He will return to let her see again and hear again and feel more pleasure and pain than she can endure. For now, though, there's only ache.

Please come, my darling. Please. My shoulders. They hurt so. I can't stand it anymore. Please hurry. I'll be so good. I'll do everything you want, only please, my shoulders. I'll be perfect. Oh God, they hurt. I can't, I just can't stand it anymore. Loosen me just for a minute, just for a second. Please, my darling. Please. Oh please.

If Victor were here he'd be intimate. He'd brush his whiskered cheeks across my neck, breathe into my ear. He'd make me kiss him. Kiss me. Be loving about it. Yes, darling. I will. Kiss you lovingly, your wonderful mouth. Oh please! My shoulders.

It wouldn't always have been that way. It hasn't been long since she could resist, struggle, withdraw, feign, make an impression of full submission and love without being whole- hearted. Was it so recently? She can't remember very well. She knows he hurt her relentlessly and kept her bound. He made her suffer until she faded out, and he began again when she came around, doing it forever, until she became obedient. Love me. Yes my love. Want me. Please, I want you. But she still keeps losing her way and doing something bad. If he were here he'd tell her, when you are really a very good girl I'll give you a little present, but not until then. Now let's continue your training, to help you overcome your will.

His voice is rich and breathy in her ear while he pulls back on her arms to make them hurt even more. You're forgetting. You're forgetting to submit. You want to assert yourself. You want me to undo what I want.

I'm sorry, darling. I try and I try, but I'm so weak. Oh my shoulders! Please, loosen them just a little? Please?

When was it that she became too weary to resist any further? She grew so tired. She was empty and it went on without end. He was never impatient about it. He didn't let her sleep, or rest, or move. All she could do was hurt and try to be loving for him. It was then it first came over her in a blaze of clarity, certainty that his will was right and true and he was worthy of her absolute devotion. But she keeps forgetting -- she's so stupid, such a useless bitch -- and he has to begin all over, until she remembers again. If only she can make herself be good enough for him.

He's still speaking. Submit. Remember the pleasure I get from this. Think of my desire.

I am, darling, but I just can't stand it. I need your help. Please help me.

* * * * *

Wake up, Geoff, you asshole!

Remember what you have to do. You have to kill that son of a bitch and take her away. How should I do it? Just kill him. Shoot the bastard and take her from him. Carry Anne away with you. Take her home with you, your love forever. Make her safe. Hold her. Care for her and bring her back to the world of light and love, sweet soft fucking in the afternoon, her body warm against your back at night, her breath on your neck. Run your lips down the side of her neck. Remember how she smelled? Caress her as she sleeps. Gently. That's right. Like that. Move your hands over all her hills and hollows. Drive down into the valley where she's waiting. The valley is hills and hollows. The moon lights it like candles light Anne, coolly and evenly, leaving a half shadow between her labia, like the headlights along the highway with a half shadow between them, moving into the night, into her mystery. My Anne. My darling. She wakes already inflamed, already with a catch in her breathing, already wanting, and it's exactly here that Geoffrey runs off the road.

The car veers to the right, onto the shoulder where it hits gravel and sounds like a bag of marbles emptied onto the floor, so when Geoffrey wakes he is disorganized, thinking about marbles. He jerks the wheel back and the car fishtails. A car shooting past him honks a long warning. The right rear fender bangs against the railing, then he has control again and he brings the car over to a stop.

He starts crying. In a second he's bawling like a baby. "I'm sorry Anne! I'm sorry! I can't do it. I don't know. I'm afraid I can't. I can't stay awake to get to you."

Stop it, damn it! Make yourself stop! If you break down she dies. You have to do it. No one else can. Why didn't you call the police? They might have gone to her. I don't know. They wouldn't have. Maybe they would have. It's too late, now. I have to keep going. You thought she'd come back to you if you were the big hero who rescued her. Well, she won't. She won't come back to you at all. Dreaming about being with her isn't going to help anything. She's not yours anymore. I know. I know. It's true. I'm sorry, Anne. I'll concentrate more. I have to save you. Then I have to let you go.

Geoffrey cries a minute or two longer, before he can make himself stop, then he shakes himself and reaches to the back seat for a soft drink from the cooler. Open it. Drink. He grabs a flashlight and gets out to check the damage to the car. There's a fender crease, maybe a yard long. He shines the light all over the right rear tire, feels it. "Shit!" Finally he gets back in, starts the engine and takes off again. The moon lights the valley below while he works to keep himself awake.

* * * * *

Anne has been struggling with herself, but she can't stop whimpering or trying to move. She's forgotten how to submit properly. He'll have to help her some more. If he would put his erection to her face she would show how good she can be. She would suck him sweetly while he hurt her so he could be pleasured by having her moan around his glans. She would treat his penis so lovingly, so softly, to make him happy. She might make him happy enough.

Where am I? How did I come here?

Anne is on her knees, open to him as always. While he pulls on her arms he pushes a thumb all the way into her rectum, plumbing the depth. Two other fingers plow her vagina. Maybe she's been good enough. Maybe he's going to give her a present, a respite. Please, love. Then he's caught her womb and her ass tightly, but his fingers come out and tickle her labia, all the way up to the end, then down, then again, then again, jacking up her desire, until there's nothing in her world but his face at hers, the smell of his breath and the whispered words of what he'll make her do to show her devotion. While he hurts her shoulders his thumb fucks her and his fingers touch and withdraw, over and over, barely touching her, just enough to keep her high. He tells her what she has to do. What is it?

Please no, darling. Oh! Oh! Please no. I can't do that. Please, I couldn't. Please, no. Oh! Please don't make me. Please no. She says that even though he's telling her he'll loosen her shoulders and flood her with pleasure once she says "yes." It must be a long time before she is aware once again that she can't move, can't speak, can't see, can't hear, can't do anything at all, and that she is completely alone. The throbbing in her shoulders overwhelms the throbbing in her sex.

* * * * *

It's not like last night, not in any way at all. Even the moon is different. Geoffrey is out in the country, but it's different. Gravel rattles under the car, and the moon lights a cloud of dust behind him. This country is different. It's close to Satan. Geoffrey can feel him. He just can't feel Anne.

There is a house far back from the road, up a dirt driveway, surrounded by fields of grass and night-mist. There are no near neighbors. As Geoffrey drives over the gravel he thinks of marbles and of almost crashing. He also thinks this is no site for a video studio. There's a mercury vapor light on a pole between the house and a shed, so bright the siding seems to gleam, both floors glowing in the night, but there are no other lights. It's only a few minutes after eleven. There should be lights. Don't dwell on what this could mean.

He drives past the house and around a bend, then turns around. What does the place remind him of? Sleepy Hollow.

Geoffrey drives back without headlights and stops a few hundred yards from the house. On the back seat are some night vision goggles. Through them the world stands out as fuzzy green on black. Can this be the place? It can't be. Well, what's here? A liquid propane tank. A car. One car. It's Anne's car! Anne's car. Anne's. Concentrate, dummy! What else is there? There's a large satellite dish. Where's Satan's car?

What if it's not the place? A premonition. Maybe it's just a diversion. What if they're three states away? What if Anne is dying across the continent, in L.A.? Okay, Geoffy, get down to business. If it's not the place you'll know in a few minutes. There's no sign of electronic devices. Though Satan would certainly be able to hide things. If he has them I can't sneak up. Where's that flak jacket? Damn it, I paid enough for it. I know I brought it! Load the gun. Stop shaking. Stop shaking. Control. Control. Deep breaths. Now drive right up to the door. Go in with force. Gun stuck in my belt. Safety off. Ready? Go.

The driveway has no gate. No security. That seems to be a thing with Satan. Geoffrey roars up the long road, the car bumping and hitting bottom twice, making dust. Making noise. Close in, he can see window and door bars. Geoffrey gets out of the car with three different size crow bars to attack the security door. It takes less than a minute to spring it.

Jesus, it's shoddy!

Then to the wood door. It takes almost no time at all. He crashes through it and falls to the floor with the gun in front of him, scanning the room with the night goggles and listening. There's no sound at all. He goes through the house, turning on lights, first the ground floor, then the second. It's only afterwards that he thinks he should have used the night goggles all along. He was making himself a great target for anyone sitting in a darkened room. But no one was sitting there. No one is here at all.

* * * * *

Every so often a panic sweeps over Anne and she tries to scream and move her arms and legs. She can't do it for more than a few seconds before she gets light-headed and can't breathe, after which she shivers some more and makes little squeaks and slips back into a state that is close to, but not quite, unconsciousness.

* * * * *

The house is full of prints and photos of nudes. Some of them are noir, but not all. They aren't even pornographic. Some are reproductions of famous works. Otherwise the house seems completely domestic, the home of someone educated and refined. It's tasteful, not showy. Mixed furniture. Danish mixed with art deco mixed with old, leather-covered trunks and dark oak armoires. Lawyer's bookshelves hold a mixture of old, leather-bound books and paperbacks. The kitchen is contemporary, open and bright, with a butcher-block in the center. There isn't a smidgen of a mote of a hint that it covers a torture chamber, but it must.

And of course it does.

Geoffrey finds the basement door just off the kitchen. It's like nothing else in the house and he knows it must be what he's looking for. No other door would be steel, or fastened with two heavy padlocks. She must here. Pry on the locks, Geoff. Shit! Get the toolbox. There may only be two locks, but it takes twenty minutes with the power saw to get through them. A blade breaks half way through. There aren't any other special problems, though.

There's an ordinary light switch just inside the door. Ordinary wood stairs with smooth, bare, planks that lead to a plain landing. It is bare and smooth, too. A mundane stair. More stairs descend to the cement floor. Satan has to have some other security devices, doesn't he? Alarms? Cameras?

By the time Geoff has reached the landing he can see the whole layout. It's all here, spread out across the basement floor. The stage lights, the cameras, the treadmill. There are contraptions all over for immobilizing and displaying Anne. Geoffrey hasn't even seen them all on the Web site. He walks down into it. There aren't any sounds but his footsteps. Directly at the foot of the stairs is the device Satan uses to stretch her. It seems out of place, as though Satan has moved things around. Geoff runs a hand over it. It is a beautiful piece of furniture, polished, smooth, varnished. It reflects the computer's screen saver, showing tiny, reverse images of women being tortured. Anne isn't one of them. She isn't down here. She doesn't seem to be anywhere.

But there are shadowed areas. There are corners and separate rooms, and areas that are hidden behind the furnace, the water heater, pillars, the AC, a deep freeze, duct work. The place is a labyrinth. The floor isn't even; at one end it rises toward the ceiling, so that Geoff has to stoop to walk along it. He half-creeps to his left, around a corner, then turns another left and is in a narrow dark place. The floor descends again. After a moment he can stand erect. A few more feet and he turns left again and is back in the main area of the cellar, at the far end from where he began.

From here he can see a space under the landing. It seems to have a doorway, though it is small, fit only for a rabbit. Or Alice. Or Anne. Geoffrey shines the flashlight under the landing and there it is. He gets a tingling across his back and up his arms. I'm here Anne. Please be alive. One more steel door, not as small as he'd thought. How had it seemed so tiny? This one has only a single deadbolt, so once Geoff gets his toolbox he's through it in five minutes.

This is the place. Finally. It has to be. Geoffrey stoops a little to enter, and it really is awfully tiny, no more than a closet, absolutely black. It smells damp and earthy, but when he sweeps it with the flashlight the whole thing looks concrete. And there's the box. Just sitting there, in the middle of the floor. In the belly of the beast, he thinks. Again there is an ordinary switch and a single bulb.