Seven Days(14)

‘Help me?’ Maggie shook her head. ‘This isn’t helping me,’ she said. ‘This is the opposite of helping me.’

‘No,’ the man said. ‘You say that because you don’t understand. This is what you need. I’m giving you what you need.’

His pink, gummy smile came again. He looked at her, his eyes lidded. He was trying to be seductive, she realized. She shuddered.

The panic came closer to the surface. Her vision blurred. She took a deep breath. It was a struggle to retain what little control of herself she had left.

‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand. How is this what I need?’

‘Because this will keep you safe,’ the man said. ‘That’s all I want. To keep you safe.’

It was the worst possible situation. He thought he was doing the right thing, and people who thought that were nearly impossible to convince they were wrong, especially when they were crazy.

She didn’t know much – where she was, who he was, what his plans were – but she knew one thing. She knew she was in a lot of trouble.

‘Why me?’ she said. ‘Why do you care about me being safe?’

The man frowned. His expression darkened, his mouth flattening into an angry line. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he said.

It was far from obvious, but Maggie nodded. ‘Kind of,’ she said. ‘But not completely.’

The man raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, as though explaining something extremely simple to someone who should not need it explaining.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘Why would anyone do all this?’ Again, he gestured at the room. ‘I mean, there’s only one reason to go to all this trouble for someone, isn’t there?’

‘I suppose so,’ Maggie said. ‘It’s because …’ she paused, leaving the question hanging.

The man laughed. ‘I can’t believe I have to tell you!’ he said. ‘You really don’t know, do you?’

Maggie shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said. ‘Everything’s going to be OK, for the same reason that I built all of this.’ He smiled. ‘It’s because I love you, dummy. Why else would it be?’

Maggie stared at him.

‘You don’t – you can’t love me. You don’t even know me!’

The man giggled. ‘Come on now, Fruitcake, of course I do!’

Fruitcake? Had he called her Fruitcake? That was impossible. Only her dad called her that.

‘Who told you about Fruitcake?’ she whispered. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I know everything about you,’ he said. ‘I’ve been watching you for years. And now you’re mine.’ He smiled. ‘Safe and sound and all mine, forever and ever.’

Maggie felt bile rise in her throat. She leaned forward and retched, vomit splattering the carpet by the side of the bed. The man tutted. His expression had hardened, the anger back.

‘I’m sorry you did that,’ he said. ‘What a mess you made.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll bring you something to clean it up with tomorrow, but tonight, to remind you not to do it again, you can live with it.’

Maggie didn’t care. The room already smelled of vomit. She’d rip up a corner of carpet or pull the mattress over it and cover it somehow.

‘Fine,’ she said, looking up at him through narrowed eyes. Part of her knew antagonizing him was a bad idea, but she didn’t care. She was angry. ‘Leave it. If it means you go away then that’s fine by me.’

His expression hardened further. ‘I am trying,’ he said, slowly. ‘To help you. To take care of you. Have you any idea what could happen to you out there? Here you’re safe. Protected. Sheltered. Out there’ – he shook his head – ‘you could be ruined.’ He reached into the pocket of his robe and took out the packet of Marlboro Lights she had bought a few days back. ‘These, for example. It’s unbecoming for a young lady to smoke this filth. I can’t allow that. I have to help you. Don’t you see?’

Maggie ignored the question. ‘Leave me alone,’ she said. Her voice rose to a scream. ‘Just fucking fuck off!’

He flinched. ‘Don’t swear,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t like it. Good girls don’t swear. And you’re a good girl, which is why you’re here.’

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!’ Maggie screamed. ‘Fucking fuck off, you fucking bastard!’

He rubbed his cheek and temple. His left foot tapped on the floor. ‘I can’t,’ he began, ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this. This is awful, it’s’ – he puffed his cheeks out, his eyes twitching in agitation. ‘It’s simply not acceptable.’ The last words came out as a shout, and he glared at her, his body now still again. ‘Stop it. Stop it now. You’re ruining everything.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘You will,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to do this today. Not the first time we met. But I think I have to. I think I have to teach you a lesson. This really isn’t what I wanted, I’d like you to know that. But you leave me with no choice. This is your fault.’

His right hand went to the blue belt of his bathrobe. He undid the belt and the bathrobe opened. Underneath he was wearing a white T-shirt and pale blue Y-fronts. They were tented at the front. He gripped the cloth. ‘This is your doing, Fruitcake,’ he mumbled.