Chapter 1 – The Interview
The wind was strong as Carrie tripped down the road, her high heels falling between stones as she cursed softly, hoping no-one watching her would think she was mad, talking to herself. Her flowing blonde hair was whipping up and her hands tried desperately to calm it down, but the gusts were too strong, and within minutes, she figured she was better off trying to sort it out when she arrived.
Carrie was careless. That had always been her nickname. Careless Carrie from Camden. Her friends had laughed at her often, because however hard she tried, she was always dropping things, falling over, late for appointments, making mistakes in her work and generally being, as her mother called her, sloppy.
At 26, she felt it was time to get serious, to be a responsible adult, though she doubted she was capable. But here she was, this windswept day, heading towards an interview with good prospects. She had worked in a department store until last week. The boss finally gave her the sack after she managed to smash the ninth bottle of perfume in two months. She'd hated the job anyway, and was glad to be moving on. She just hoped this place would take her. She'd always wanted to work in fashion, and although this was a bottom of the rung position, she felt she'd be able to move up quickly, she was, at least, very ambitious.
She arrived at the address looking decidedly dishevelled. Typical, she thought, turning up to an interview in a fashion house, looking a wreck. She shrugged her shoulders, convinced they'd understand, since the weather was so goddamn awful, and she climbed the steps.
The confidence that Carrie had felt on the way to the interview suddenly evaporated as she pushed open the large glass door and stepped inside. Everything looked perfect, right down to the manicure on the nails of the receptionist. The walls were painted bright white, the pictures were classy and hung in beautiful silver frames, everything sparkled.
Carrie's heart sank. There was no way she'd get this job. She contemplated backing out there and then, but decided, since she'd come all this way, she may as well go for it. After all, with no other job in the pipeline, what did she have to lose?
Stepping up to the reception desk, Carrie cleared her throat. The receptionist looked up lazily.
"Yes?"
"I have an interview at 11am with Mr Thompson. My name is Carrie Rustin."
The receptionist's face didn't change. She just reached for the phone and pressed a couple of numbers, lifting the receiver to her ear and waiting for what seemed to Carrie, an eternity.
"His 11am is here."
The receptionist's voice dropped and she murmured into the phone, ending the call with a giggle.
Certain that the girl had been talking about her, Carrie's faced flushed crimson. She could feel the burn start at her neck and work its way up and she managed a slight scowl at the receptionist before she took the offered seat. Carrie crossed her legs while she waited. She had good legs, and she was proud of them, which was probably the reason she was always showing them off. Today she was wearing a skirt that was a little longer than usual, but still managed to flash a fair amount of flesh as it rode up her thigh. She often worked out at the gym, and it showed. Her waist was trim, her ass was tight, with soft curves, but she wasn't a petite girl, just shapely.
Carrie rested her elbow on her raised knee, her cleavage deepened as she leaned forward and she felt like kicking herself for not wearing a better bra.
A door to her left opened, and Carrie watched as a short, dumpy girl strode towards her. The girl looked her up and down and then spoke with one of the warmest voices Carrie had ever heard. Somehow, the voice didn't match the face.
"Mr Johnson will see you now. Don't worry Carrie, everything will be fine. Please, come with me."
Carrie stood up and brushed down her skirt, petting down her hair and attempting a smile.
"Sorry, it's so windy outside, I look terrible."
The girl smiled broadly back.
"It won't matter. Come."
The girl turned on her heels and led Carrie to the door she'd entered the reception area from. Carrie hadn't registered the girl's words at first, but as she followed, she realised they had seemed strange. Pushing that thought to the back of her mind, she stepped in front of the girl and through the doorway, into a long corridor, which again, was perfectly decorated.
At the end of the corridor there was a large oak door and the girl stood before it, Carrie at her side, and she knocked gently. There was a sound of rustling papers and a deep voice bellowed.
"Enter."
The girl opened the door and indicated that Carrie should go in. Carrie stepped gingerly inside and the large door closed behind her. Suddenly Carrie felt alone. She had felt far more comfortable with the small girl than she did right now. She gazed around the room. There was oak panelling on all the walls and a large oak desk in front of her. The wooden floors were dark and uninviting and there were heavy, old fashioned curtains on the windows. Carrie felt like running.
The chair behind the desk swivelled round and Mr Johnson's lips curled to a smile. There was something about that smile that was unnerving. Though the mouth smiled, the eyes didn't. There was no warmth in them.
"Sit."
Carrie shivered. She had been told many times that in an interview, eye contact was very important, but right now, there was no way she could look at this man. It wasn't that he looked odd. Quite the contrary. His greying hair was slightly wavy, his blue eyes were handsome, his face chiselled. He was good looking, there was no doubt about it, and in that pin striped suit he looked very smart, but there was just something Carrie didn't trust. Still, she sat in the chair opposite his, her legs pressed tightly together, and she rested her hands on her lap. To all intents and purposes, she looked impressive, and gave an impression of being organised and very together.
Mr Johnson stood up and walked around the desk. Perching on it in front of Carrie, his eyes moved slowly over her body. Carrie shuffled uncomfortably in the chair and Mr Johnson seemed to take that as a cue to walk again, this time walking behind her. Carrie couldn't move. Her heart was thumping, he seemed to be inspecting her. Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, he returned to his seat, leaning back into it and stretching his legs under the desk. He paused before speaking.
"The job is a difficult one. It might not have seemed it on paper but you will find it very stressful. How are you with stress Carrie?"
Straight into the interview then, she thought. No time to warm up or gather thoughts. Well, that's okay, the sooner it's over, the better.
"I'm good with stress Mr Johnson. I'm a very organised person," she lied, "and cope well under pressure."
Mr Johnson managed a half smile that almost showed in his eyes.
"Good. The job is yours. Follow me."
Mr Johnson rose and stretched his arm out, curling his finger at Carrie, beckoning her to follow. Her brow furrowed in slight confusion as he headed towards the wall. There he reached out for part of the panelling and it opened, revealing a secret room that Carrie hadn't even suspected was there.
"In there," he barked.
Carrie's face gave away the fear she suddenly felt, but stifling it, she moved inside the wall of the office. The door closed behind her and she stood, wide eyed as she looked around this new room. It was made of stone. It was cold and stark. There were tables and chains and hooks in the ceiling. Carrie had never seen anything like it. It looked like a dungeon. She opened her mouth to speak but found no words. Mr Johnson turned to her and grabbed her wrist. It was then she realised how tall he was. He towered over her and looked down with an evil glint in his eye.
"Clever, don't you think Carrie? So many young girls like you want to be in the fashion industry. So easy to lure you here with the promise of money and excitement, glitz and glamour. And an ideal way to find, how shall I put it, hmm? Yes, that's it. An ideal way to find sex slaves."
Carrie felt panic course through her body. She tried to shake her wrist free from his grasp but he was far too strong for her, and somewhere in the distance, she heard him laughing. She felt faint, her free hand grasped his fingers, trying to prise them off her, but even they were too strong, and as she fought to free herself, he grabbed her other hand and dragged her to a table, lifting her easily onto it before slapping her hard around the face. Carrie was stunned, the tears welling in her eyes as she wriggled in his grasp.
He grabbed her wrist once more, dragging it to a cuff that was fixed to the table and locking it into place. Carrie knew if she tugged to hard, she'd pull her arm out of it's socket. Her body was racked with sobs as she tried to scratch and bite her captor. He was having none of it. Swiftly he grabbed her other wrist and deftly cuffed it to the table. Carrie was kicking for all she was worth but Mr Johnson had expected that. He'd had it from all the girls, and Carrie was no different to the others. A little more feisty perhaps, and he'd seen through the smart appearance straight way, knowing this one to be one of life's messes. He grabbed her legs and cuffed those too, before standing back, folding his arms and smiling.
