The Devils' Cradle, page 4
Sam giggled.
“It’s just her nature, buddy. But it never hurts to remind her of her place in the pack, right?”
Sam nodded eagerly. But as Nina placed their hot breakfast before them, he noticed his son giving her a guilty glance.
Michael slammed his hand on the table, rattling the silverware. Sam jumped.
“None of that, buddy,” he said. “You have to remember; she’s lucky. She has us to keep her in line. Just imagine where she’d be without us. Homeless, on the streets, doing who-knows-what to get by.”
Michael gazed at the fear in Nina’s eyes, something she usually hid well. Now she looked like a frozen rabbit caught in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. Watching the cogs turn in that slow brain made him smile. Her greatest fear was Sam knowing where she came from, and in that moment, she thought he might be about to reveal that truth. That gave him a great deal of satisfaction. It was one of the many holds he had over her.
If she ever took the time to really think about it though, if she had even half a brain in her gorgeous head, she’d know he would never hurt Sam by revealing the truth about her sordid, miserable, pathetic past. An existence he’d saved her from when she stumbled into his house, into his life. An existence that would have killed her had it not been for his incredible kindness.
- 6 -
Nina rinsed off the breakfast dishes while Michael read the morning newspaper on his iPad. Before its invention, he’d read the real paper, and occasionally she’d found an issue in the recycling bin. On those rare days, she’d devoured every page before he came home, hungry for news of the outside world, hungry for any form of communication besides that provided by Michael or Greg. But when Michael had proudly brought home his new toy and explained how many things he could use it for, her heart sank. Especially when he made a point of showing her that the iPad could only be accessed with a password, just like his computer.
As she arranged the dishes in the dishwasher, then latched the door, she sensed Michael behind her, watching.
“Delicious, as always,” he said.
“You’re welcome.” She pressed the start button, keeping her back to him.
“I know I am.”
Her heart skittered before it re-set itself to a gallop. She didn’t want to turn around, but that’s what he expected, what he wanted. So she did.
Smiling that smile she knew meant trouble, he stepped into her personal space and reached for her hands. She knew better than to pull away or show any fear. Besides, she told herself, what was so frightening about a husband taking his wife’s hands in his? Gently, he caressed them as he brought them up and placed them on his shoulders.
See? There’s nothing to worry about. He just wants a hug from his loving wife before he heads off to work. He’s forgotten all about your slip.
He moved closer. Their bodies touched, but he kept coming, backing her up until her lower spine came into contact with the sharp edge of the granite bench-top. As he bent his head and pressed his lips against the side of her neck, she looked past Michael’s shoulder and saw Sam watching. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around Michael’s neck and pretended to enjoy his attention, something she often had to do so Sam would see nothing but his parent’s showing affection for each other.
She felt a tug on her neck as Michael drew her skin between his teeth and applied pressure. Just a little, enough to warn her he could tear that vulnerable flesh from her whenever he chose.
The force of his body against hers increased. A dull pain spread across her back where the unforgiving granite pressed into her. In an instant, he took her lips and thrust his tongue deep inside her mouth.
She wanted to gag, or bite, but either action would mean something far more unspeakable than what Michael already had planned for her. So she opened wider and fought every natural instinct to pull away as he ground against her, the solid granite feeling as if it would cut her in two at any moment. Pain flared as he pressed harder, and for a moment she thought she might pass out. The only thing that kept her conscious was Sam, and the knowledge that Michael’s body blocked their son’s view of what was really happening. If she blacked out, she wouldn’t be able to hide it from him. And that would mean further punishment.
But Michael seemed to be aware of her breaking point. Easing the pressure slightly, he slipped his lips from hers and drew a wet line across her cheek until he reached her ear. Without a moment’s hesitation, his tongue slithered around in exploration, then plunged, as if he were trying to drill a hole right into her brain. Just as suddenly as it began, he drew back slightly.
“Your punishment for that little violation of the rules will have to wait until tonight.”
As he spoke, his whisper flowed over her wet ear. Goose pimples exploded on her skin. It took everything she had to stop an involuntary shudder from taking over her body.
Giving her a quick peck on her cheek, Michael released her, and she smiled, making sure Sam couldn’t see anything other than his parents in love and happy.
Michael left the room, and she knew exactly where he was going. When he returned, sure enough, he held the television’s short antenna cable in his hand. He never, ever forgot to take it with him every day. Watching television on her own, television that he believed would put ideas in her head, was not allowed. The same logic applied to books. Fiction, the stuff of dreams and imagination, a means of escaping from reality, did not exist in this house.
No books, no television, no newspaper. He had created a world of isolation so profound she often wondered if she would be able to cope if she returned to the real world.
The only types of books allowed were cookbooks. Those she received on a regular basis. Every time Michael brought a new one into the house, the first part she devoured was the author’s biography. She felt a sense of connection with each and every one of them because cooking was the only forced task she enjoyed. More than enjoyed. When she cooked, she lost herself in measurements, slicing and dicing, mixing and creating. And it was the only thing she ever received a compliment for. Without the planning and preparation of meals every day, she wasn’t sure she’d still have her sanity.
After locking the antenna cable in his briefcase, Michael stopped at the table beside the internal garage door. Her heart jolted as he collected his wallet and scooped the loose change from the bowl. He pocketed the money without a glance and shrugged into his suit jacket.
Just hang on, only a few more seconds and he’ll be gone.
Michael picked up his briefcase, strode across the polished tiles and planted a kiss on top of Sam’s head.
“School report today, isn’t it?”
Sam turned in his chair and grinned at Michael. “Yep.”
“It’s ‘yes’. And I can’t wait to see the proof of just how smart you are.”
“Me too.”
Michael laughed, ruffled Sam’s hair and headed for the garage door.
“See you this afternoon.”
“Bye, Dad.”
While Nina waited for the door to click shut, Sam sipped at his orange juice in a perfect imitation of Michael.
But the click of the door wasn’t enough. She’d been fooled by that before, with Michael returning seconds later, having forgotten something. No, she waited for the rumble of the garage door, the rev of Michael’s Lexus. She waited for the sound of the engine to fade as he drove out, then the rumble of the descending door. Only then did she move.
With stilted steps, she rounded the kitchen bench and moved to the windows where she watched Michael’s car disappear around a bend in the long driveway.
“Don’t worry, Mum. He’ll be back.”
She turned, smiled. “I know, honey. Anyway, you’d better go put on your shoes and jacket.”
Sam hurried off, disappearing into the laundry off the family room where they kept their outdoor shoes and winter coats.
Nina stumbled to a chair at the table and sat as she pressed a hand to her lower back. Finally, she exhaled a silent breath in response to the pain she’d been hiding since the moment Michael ground her into that granite bench-top. She wished she could cry, but the urge to do so was nowhere to be found. Not after Michael taught her about the consequences of crying. A lesson taught with pliers one sunny afternoon. A lesson she would never forget.
“Mum? Where’s my jacket?” Sam called from the laundry.
Nina didn’t want to move. Sitting helped a little.
“It’s there, honey. In the cupboard.”
“I can’t see it!”
She inhaled as she rose to her feet and clicked across the tiles to the laundry. Sam stood in front of the open cupboard, hands on his hips as he waited for her to do what he was quite capable of doing himself. But she wouldn’t push it, not today, not when she was already in trouble.
She found the coat on the floor, where it must have fallen from its hanger. Sam turned his back to her. As she raised the coat, pain shot up her spine. Ignoring it, she helped him into the jacket, hiding the pain when he turned and let her zip him up.
If she wasn’t hurting, she would have enjoyed the simple task, a task that allowed her to be close to him, touch him without any complaints.
“Okay, all ready?”
“Yep... I mean, yes.”
She wanted to tell him he could say yep around her all he wanted, but decided against it. Something like that was bound to get back to Michael.
Reaching into the cupboard, she removed her long woollen coat and gingerly eased her arms into the sleeves.
“Mum? Is something wrong?”
Startled, she froze, not sure how to respond. How long had it been since someone asked about her wellbeing? She couldn’t remember, but the fact that her son was the one to ask filled her with hope. But if the reason he asked was because he saw her pain, well, that was unacceptable.
“I’m fine.” A little rattled, she turned him toward the door. “We’d better get a move on or you’ll miss the bus.”
Sam grabbed his school bag, and she helped wrestle it onto his back. Memories of her own school days were dim, but she certainly couldn’t remember having to lug around such a heavy load.
Outside, the frigid air stung her cheeks and froze the tip of her nose. As Sam walked along the driveway in front of her, she opened his school bag and removed a beanie.
“Honey, you’d better put this on.” He stopped and let her pull the beanie over his head and ears. “Better?”
He nodded and started along the driveway again. In her heels, Nina found it difficult to keep up, the pain in her back jarring with each step.
“Why don’t you slow down a little?” she asked.
“You’re the one who said we’d better hurry up.”
Despite the pain, she put on a burst of speed, the clicking of her heels muffled by the thick fog. The one kilometre walk to the gates at the end of the driveway seemed to take longer than usual when they were surrounded by mist. Just a trick of the mind, she knew. When she couldn’t see the gates, it seemed like she was trapped in a world with no escape, only endless whiteness.
Not long after Sam started attending school, she’d counted the steps from the door to the front gates. One thousand, five hundred and seventy nine steps. Back then, Sam sometimes wanted to be carried. When he first made such a request, she’d been thrilled. Any chance to hold him in her arms was a chance to experience heaven. But she soon discovered that a one kilometre walk in heels with a growing boy in her arms did not equate with heaven. Once again, Michael won his war to keep her as separate from Sam as possible.
As the black wrought iron gates materialized before them, she realised those days were long gone. Time moved so swiftly, even when she was forced to stand still.
“Got your clicker?” she asked.
Sam stopped, shrugged out of his school bag, unzipped it and pulled out a small remote control. He pointed it at the gates, pressed a button and watched them slowly swing inward.
As they walked to the end of the driveway, Sam kept stealing glances at her.
“What is it, honey?”
“I...I didn’t mean for you to get a smack.”
Concern and an apology? You must be doing something right.
Nina reached for him, and when he didn’t jerk away, she placed an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. Then he hugged her. Not his usual flimsy, half-hearted hug, but a hug with strength and truth behind it.
She stroked his head through the beanie. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I need to learn the rules better. Besides, it was just a pat really.”
He looked right into her eyes. “Really?”
How could she tell him that the slap on the face was nothing compared to the crushing her spine endured while his beloved dad pretended to hug her? Even if she found the guts to tell him the truth, he wouldn’t believe her.
“Really,” she said, hating herself for lying, but hating Michael more for forcing her into a position where she would have to break her son’s heart if she told the truth.
Sam suddenly jerked away, and for a second she thought he saw the lie in her eyes. Then the faint rumble of the bus approaching reached her ears.
“Quick, it’s coming,” Sam said, shooing her away as if she were a mongrel dog no one wanted.
From elation to devastation in two seconds.
Nina quickly planted a peck on his cheek.
“Muuuum! Go!” He hit the button on the remote control, sending the gates on their slow glide toward each other.
“I love you, honey. Have a fun day.” She hurried through the closing gates.
As she walked away, the bus stopped on the road’s shoulder, the door hissing before it lumbered back onto the road. A moment later, the gates clanged shut behind her, imprisoning her like they did every day.
In a prison of her own making.
The nine foot brick wall that stretched out on either side of the gates didn’t extend the entire length of the property. If she turned left or right and walked far enough, she would eventually reach a post and rail fence. A fence she could easily slip through.
But what then? Where would she go? The only family she had lived on this side of the gates.
No, it wasn’t a fence or locked gate keeping her prisoner. It was Sam.
Sam was her anchor, and until she found the strength to uproot him, she would never be free.
Tightening the coat around herself, she wondered if that strength existed inside her, or if it was fear, not weakness holding her back. For now, though, she didn’t want to think about it. Thinking about it only created anxiety, and inevitably, she ended up vomiting into the toilet, proving to herself just how weak she really was.
As she hurried into the house through the side door, she flung off her heels, padded to the side table, and dropped to her hands and knees. The heated marble warmed her hands as she reached beneath the table and closed her fist around the two dollar coin.
Crawling to the wall, she leaned against it as she stretched out her legs. Warm against her palm, the coin gave her comfort. She closed her eyes and sat with her stolen morsel. On the other side of the room, the wall clock ticked off the seconds in the otherwise silent house. It seemed to torment her, reminding her that the time for a decision was growing ever closer. Drawing in air, she let it leave her lungs in a long exhalation and opened her eyes.
If Michael saw her now, like some derelict on the ground, a resurrection from her past, he’d have a fit. As she smiled, an unexpected laugh escaped her throat.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, an involuntary response to any form of happiness.
Pressing her back against the wall for support, she felt the dull ache of a bruise across her spine and hips as she rose. Determined to worry about that later, she walked into the laundry and shut the door.
Opening her hand, Nina stared at the coin on her palm. The first time she’d taken one, she’d put it right back in the coin bowl after realising she had nowhere to hide it. That day, she set about trying to figure out the perfect place, the one place Michael would never think to look.
A few days later, she ran out of bleach while preparing to clean the ground floor bathroom. She remembered carrying the empty bottle to the garbage bin and, as she lifted the lid to throw it inside, it suddenly came to her.
Now, on her knees again, Nina opened the cupboard beneath the laundry trough. Pulling out boxes of detergent, cleaning chemicals and fabric softener, her hand finally came to rest on a bleach bottle. She dragged it out, unscrewed the lid, and dropped the coin inside. The rattle came immediately. She peered in through the top. The bottle was almost full.
How many did that make?
She reached back into the cupboard. Soon she had five plastic bottles of varying cleaning products lined up before her. Five bottles containing one and two dollar coins. She wondered how much that added up to and considered emptying one, counting it out then averaging it between the five bottles. But what if Michael made a surprise visit and caught her? She couldn’t risk it. Placing the heavy bottles back in their hiding place, she arranged the real cleaning products in front of them again.
Is it enough? Will it ever be enough? And how will you carry that load? It has to weigh at least twenty kilos. How far can you carry that and hold onto a son who won’t want to go anywhere with you?
She couldn’t think about that. Thinking about it gave her time to make excuses.
Shuffling into the family room, she decided to go about her daily routine. Without the distraction of a TV to watch or a book to read, each day seemed almost the same. The only variation was what she prepared for dinner every night, and whether or not she had to entertain a regular, but unwelcome guest.
In fact, she was sure Michael would be just as happy with a robot if it could cook and clean, and of course suck his dick and fuck whenever he wanted. She almost laughed at that thought, because wasn’t that what he’d created? Wasn’t she just as obedient and devoid of emotion as a robot?
