Chapter Seven; Intensive Care
Night no longer follows day held in near constant darkness.
Time passes slowly, excruciatingly slowly.
All bearings lost in the long-drawn-out hours or days in the darkness that disorientates.
Sanity tested in the darkness of the permanently drawn slats of the wooden blinds that enforce a level of darkness that only adds to the confusion of the time of day.
Time itself having little to no meaning. Sight permanently dialled up in the dim room even when precious light does break around the edge of drawn blinds.
Precious light casting menacing shadows over the devices of unimaginable torture that surround her. Surely, it's only a matter of time before she's subjected to their merciless grip and their barbarism.
Fears that fill the long-drawn-out hours tethered by a chain locked around her ankle.
The bite of the cruel steel shackle remorseless, she had long ago appreciated the futility of attempting to remove the heavy locked steel restraint that remained a constant around her ankle. The method of restraint offering at least enough freedom of movement for to her to be able to escape the bed and pace the room a little. Favourable tenfold therefore to the times she still finds herself restrained by all four limbs across the surface of the bed, just as she been held at the start of this ordeal.
The threat of the torture in her captivity nothing compared to the mental exhaustion of solitude.
Alone with only her own thoughts for company. Nothing makes sense everything is tainted black.
This is her life as she has reluctantly come to accept.
Daily, at least she perceives daily, the intrusion of him offering welcome fleeting moments of reprieve brought about by the door unlocking on his tall dark silhouette.
The brief conversations he offers, centre on delivery of constantly grim news in explanation of the seriousness of the situation faced in the outside world.
Her own dilemma fading into relative insignificance given his retelling of the ramifications of the virus outside the four walls that have come to define her solitary confinement.
She didn't believe him at first, couldn't bring herself to believe what he was telling her. Angrily denying his stories of unimaginable horrors until he proved it showing her snippets of headline news from his mobile phone.
Hospitals overrun; existing facilities hastily converted to emergency hospitals. Senior figures including the Prime Minister hospitalised with the virus, the later seemingly close to death on a specialist hospital ward. The country on its knees descending into social chaos and economic ruin while tens of thousands continue to fall ill and hundreds die from an air-born virus. A total of ten thousand deaths is unimaginable, the number growing exponentially every time she enquires, or he gives her an update. No certainty over the peak and the long-term impacts of the virus that tears not just through the country but decimates the world. Haunting images of mass graves dug for bodies piled high in America, death tolls comparable across European countries.
A cure seemingly impossible, a vaccine not available in time given the way the unstoppable disease has spread around the world.
She lost sight of when, but he started wearing a medical style mask that covered his mouth and face.
He was the only person she was ever exposed to. The only other living person she saw. The only one to tip her away from thoughts that lurched wildly in her increasingly unstable mind.
What was her fate what was the fate of the world?
Twisted haunting visions of death and pestilence filled her nightmares and her waking thoughts. Was she better off here? Was she safer here? Was he her protector her saviour?
Alone in the darkness, held captive she never saw her, only ever him.
Was she well? was Arabella healthy? was she even alive? If they both fell ill, if they both succumbed to the virus who would care for her, who would bring her the daily rations that sustained her?
In time she came to welcome the sound of the door unlocking, the moments of brief interaction. Always civil, always on soft tones, her intrigue in him grew daily. Despite her predicament she harboured no ill feeling towards him. At times he would stand over her, on other occasions he would sit on the end of the bed while she hungrily devoured whatever provisions he supplied.
On one occasion he provided the bitter sweetness of a dark chocolate. Unseen she saved half to be consumed at a later time, such was the reward and the pleasure she gleaned from the simple act of kindness. On another occasion the sweetness of orange juice substituted the usual bland bottled water.
She knew not to ask why they kept her here anymore, knew not to bargain for or attempt beg for her freedoms as she had during her first days. That had been explained by him. This was her penitence her punishment, Kimberley was dead, and it was her fault.
She needed to be punished, the brutality of her enforced isolation was little more than she deserved. She had listened intently as he'd explained to her, darkly painting the foreboding insight into her future should she not comply and how her acceptance and compliance would only serve her well in the long term.
Earn her reward she had yet to experience, beyond bitter dark chocolate and sweet sugary juice.
As she lay there, she heard the lock of door unlatch and swing slowly open.
She looked up at the figure in black silhouetted as ever against the stark bright light of the hallway behind him. A light that offended her vision causing her to squint her eyes near shut as he entered, a silver tray clasped between strong hands.
Lay on her back, dressed only in rose pink underwear she turned her head before rolling on to her right-hand side
A sincere smile crept across her lips.
