《Betrayal》


 Chapter 1 - 14th May 1990

    The 14<sup>th</sup> of May 1990, a date that is permanently etched into my mind. I remember the details of that day like it was yesterday.


    I was 18 years old and my whole life lay in front of me. Little did I know when I woke that morning of the fateful sequence of events that would begin later in the day. Events that would shatter my very existence and come close to destroying the one closest to me.


    I woke early, around 6am as I usually did. I blinked my eyes in the bright morning sun, which was shining in through the thin, pink curtains of my bedroom. Small slivers of light danced around the room, sunlight reflecting off the crystals hanging from my light shade.


    I threw off the light duvet cover and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I can still feel every sensation of that morning, sensations that at the time I took for granted. The soft caress of a silk night dress against my skin, the thick, plush carpet beneath my bare feet. Simple things but things that I would, in time come to long for.


    The smallest details linger with me even now. My room wasn¡¯t large, but it was comfortable. A white wardrobe stood in the corner of the room, full almost to bursting with my many clothes. A low dresser sat next to my bed. My personal possessions were laid out upon it, my makeup, necklaces, rings and a small inconspicuous wooden box, the contents of which would prove to be the first domino to fall, in a line leading to my eventual undoing.


    The walls of my bedroom, a pastel pink were adorned with my own artwork, my paintings and drawings. I used to love nothing more than to lose myself with a pencil or paintbrush and bring into reality, those fanciful scenes that played out in my imagination. A unicorn galloping, carefree across a flowering meadow. A leaf clad fairy, cautiously dipping her toe into a shimmering, silver pool.


    To this day, how I long for my mind to allow me to see those most wonderous and magical imaginings once again, rather than the darkness and horrors that plague my thoughts now.


    Pulling my nightdress off over my head, I reached for my towel. A simple, white but luxuriously soft bath towel. Wrapping it around myself, I left my bedroom and stepped out onto the well lit landing. The doors to the other bedrooms, those belonging to my parents and my brother were securely closed with the inhabitants soundly sleeping on the other sides. Our family dog, Bella, a large, black German Shepherd lay curled at the top of the stairs keeping guard over our apparently perfect little family.


    That was always how it was, the family sleeping with Bella dutifully keeping watch.


    I liked to get up early, before the house awoke into its usual chaotic din. At this time in the morning, the house was silent. The only sound was the soft hum of the fridge downstairs and a chatter of the birds drifting in though my open bedroom window.


    I stepped into the bathroom, the cool white tiles under my feet and the slight chill in the air prickling goose bumps on my skin. There was always a slight chill to the air in that bathroom, even when the rest of the house was warm. It wasn¡¯t something that I found unpleasant, if anything I found it rather invigorating.


    Letting the towel drop to my ankles, I stepped into the shower and turned the tap. The deliciously warm water splashed over my body before spiralling down the plughole. The heady scent from the essential oils in my soap filled the room. As I write this now so many years later, I can still smell those oils as if I were there, that intoxicating blend of peppermint and cedarwood.


    Such a simple thing in life, a warm shower and the soft, perfumed bubbles from that wonderful soap covering my skin.


    Stepping out of the shower I felt clean, my skin smooth and fragrant, my hair soft and shimmering.


    Picking the towel up from the floor, I dried myself off. I remember glancing at myself in the mirror and smiling while running a brush through my long, wavy blonde hair, wondering what this beautiful spring day had in store for me.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    I stepped out onto the landing, humming happily to myself. Bella looked up at me with her big brown eyes. She gave a small, contented wag of her tail before putting her head back down and slipping off to sleep again. I watched her for a few minutes, her paws twitched slightly, chasing whatever it was that she was chasing in her dream.


    Back in my bedroom I laid the towel down. I hadn¡¯t even thought to cover myself up on my way from the bathroom. Modesty wasn¡¯t something that I paid all that much heed to in those days. Partly because I didn¡¯t expect to see anyone up at that time of day but also partly because this was my house, my family and I was safe here. I was as yet unaware of the dark undercurrent simmering beneath the surface of this seemingly perfect family, blissfully unaware of that demon who was watching me, lying in wait, biding his time to strike at his prey.


    Sliding my drawer open, my hands came to rest of the delicate pink silk of a matching set of underwear. After slipping into those, I flung open my wardrobe door. Thumbing through the rails, I decided to pick out a pair of slim fit jeans and a blue crop top.


    Once dressed, I did that morning exactly what I would do most mornings. Pull out a sketch pad from my drawer, climb back onto my bed, sitting cross legged with the sketch pad on my lap and pencil in my hand and just create whatever wonderful scene my mind could come up with.


    Do you know the very strange thing, however? I can remember just about every little detail of that day, every small event, every sight, every sound, but the one thing I can¡¯t remember is what I drew. That may sound insignificant to you, but it was to be the last time that I ever did that, the last time that I would ever have a mind so carefree that I could just flitter away my time, letting my mind freely wander while taking part in such a delightful pastime.


    A couple of hours would have passed in that way before I put the pad and pencil down. I headed downstairs to get a quick breakfast before leaving the house to meet my best friend, Lela. I vividly remember Bella following me downstairs, her breath warm on the back of my legs.


    By the time I got to the kitchen, there was a faint smell of burnt toast in the air but Mum and Dad had already left for work. Mum was a nurse at the local clinic and my Dad owned the garage in town. The only other person in the room was Lars, my twin brother. He was sat at the dining table with a glass of orange juice, flicking through the pages of the latest issue of the computing magazine he bought every month.


    I remember the look he gave me that morning, glancing up from his reading. It was unusual, cold is the only word I can think of to describe it now, although at the time I paid it no real attention to the hidden message behind those eyes.


    As I said, this was unusual. He would normally be far more downcast and cowed when I was around him. There was a pang of irritation in the back of my head and my fists clenched, how has he got the cheek to look at me?


    ¡°What do you think you¡¯re looking at? Like what you see, do you?¡± I snarled those words at him, spat them with an icy venom. Smoothing my close, formfitting top down over my body to accentuate my curves, I continued, ¡°Keep your eyes to yourself, you pervy little freak!¡±


    There was a time when Lars and I were as close as twins can be, we were inseparable. But as we grew older, we drifted apart. That¡¯s reasonably natural for most siblings, I think. It happens as they find their own way in the World. But things with us were different. At the time I didn¡¯t realise quite how toxic our relationship had become.


    I do need to admit to you that more than a small part of that was my fault. I wasn¡¯t quite the sweet, little angel that I¡¯ve painted myself out to be so far. As in time, you¡¯ll come to find out.


    I had bullied Lars mercilessly. Said and did things that no sister should ever have inflicted upon her brother. When I think back on that time, I¡¯d like to be able to say that I can¡¯t believe that I was capable of the cruel things that I put him through. However, I know all too well now that I am capable of those things and far worse.


    At the time I thought nothing of it. He was my weird, nerdy twin brother, and I was one of the cool girls, part of the popular crowd. I was pretty and I was popular, he was scruffy and spotty with very few friends. When I was out socialising and partying, he¡¯d be sat on his own in his bedroom, doing whatever he did up there. He was nothing like me and back then I looked down on him for it, saw myself as so superior.


    So, when the other kids at school started to pick on him, I joined in. No, that¡¯s not entirely true, I didn¡¯t just join in. More often than not, I was the ringleader.


    I had no idea then the sort of damage I was doing and where my actions would lead.


    I said earlier that the 14<sup>th</sup> of May 1990 was the day in which that terrible sequence of events that would cause my life to spiral so disastrously out of control and ultimately cause me to lose everything, began.


    Well, that¡¯s not entirely true.


    I¡¯d already planted the seeds for those events myself, toppled that first domino a few years earlier.

 Chapter 2 - Lela

    I was just finishing the last of my breakfast. Toast with marmalade. The toast, still warm, glistened with melted butter and slathered with marmalade. Homemade marmalade, thick, orange and with just the right amount of bite.


    I licked the few scraps of marmalade from the tips of my fingers, savouring the taste, the sticky, tangy, sweetness. Brushing a handful of fallen crumbs from my chest, I peeked out of the window into the road outside.


    We lived in a relatively large house on the outskirts of Oslo. Behind the house, the Holmankollen, topped by its famous ski jump and the rugged mountains beyond rose into the sky.


    Those mountains hold many dear memories for me, family hiking and camping trips in the summers or cross-country skiing when the weather turned cold in the winter. Lars and I used to spend hours in those wooded hills hunting for trolls. We never did see one, but we were convinced that they were out there, watching us.


    That was before things changed between us.


    In front of the house, the ground dropped away, giving us the most amazing views over the city. That particular morning I remember well, the sun gleaming off the calm waters of the Oslofjord and thinking to myself that it looked like a ribbon of silver stretching into the distance. Contrasting sharply with the dark colours of the land rising up on either side. I would often gaze at the Fjord and imagine seeing the ancient long ships of the traders and raiders of the past. Their white sails filled with the wind, gliding out across the water and heading off to some far-flung land.


    Those memories of my old home, they seem so distant to me now although I still remember them clearly. How many years has it been since I was last there, I¡¯ve lost track? I¡¯ve thought about going back so many times but I don¡¯t think I could ever return, even the thought of those happy memories seems a cruel taunt now.


    I looked down at my watch, the hands showing fifteen minutes to ten. I tapped my foot a restless rhythm on the kitchen floor. Lela had promised to be here by half past nine, but then this was Lela, she never was one for punctuality. Knowing her, she would still be in bed sleeping off the effects of last night¡¯s party. My cheeks reddened at the memories of that party, or more specifically, the little private soiree I¡¯d had with Lela¡¯s older brother, Andrew.


    He was a handsome man, Andrew. Tall with short cropped dark hair, deep, dark eyes and finely chiselled features. A fisherman, four years older than I and the sort of man who most certainly knew his way around a woman.


    Not that I can claim to have been all that innocent myself back then.


    Looking at my watch, I could feel the irritation rising in me, tingling my skin. I tapped on the windowsill with my nails and shifted my feet impatiently. Although it¡¯s not really fair to blame Lela for that irritation. I could hear Lars behind me, flipping through his computer magazine, feel his eyes as he would occasionally glance up from his pages. Usually, I would have given him some barbed comment and told him to leave me alone, but I didn¡¯t on that morning. I think that perhaps I knew that something was different about him, something that made me slightly uneasy, a flicker in his eyes perhaps? Uneasy around Lars, as ridiculous as that sounds, I just wanted to be away from him.


    My ears pricked up as I heard a distant, high pitch hum coming from the street outside. I pulled aside the net curtains and peered out into the road again. Our house, placed as it was on an uphill slope with the front garden and driveway gradually descending down to the street below allowed for the most spectacular views over Oslo as I¡¯ve already mentioned but it also made for a great vantage point to see anything approaching along the road.


    Below the house, the road was narrow and lined with tall green pine trees. I could often lose myself staring at those trees. Watching the birds and, sometimes, if I was lucky enough, a red squirrel frolicking in the dense branches. Directly opposite our house was an opening in the trees leading into our neighbour¡¯s place. A large house, the ground floor was built from grey stone while the upper floor, brown wood.


    I glanced down the road, the hum, closer now resembled more the sound of a swarm of buzzing bees.


    The road sloped downhill gently around a bend. I strained, squinting to catch a glimpse. The buzz transformed into a high-pitched whine as it drew nearer, and at last, the source of that sound came into view. A leather-clad figure on an old 1970s, 125cc Honda emerged, the blue petrol tank faded and the leather bench seat worn, yet to the rider, it was a the most beautiful machine in existence. Lela rode into view.


    I watched as she stopped the bike at the bottom of our driveway. She pulled the silver helmet from her head and shook out her hair. Lela was one of those people who is just blessed with natural beauty. She glanced up towards the house, spotting me watching her from the kitchen window. Her eyes fixed on me, deep, dark eyes. The sort of eyes that you could tumble into and never escape. Her lips formed into a friendly smile, bright red and mesmerising.


    Lela Thorne, she¡¯d moved in next door to us when we were both six years old. We were living down near the Marina back then and she and her family had just moved over from London. Her dad worked for the British government and had just secured a role at the Embassy here in Oslo. Myself and Lela used to pretend that he was a spy on some secret MI6 mission to uncover Soviet agents hiding around the city. The truth of course, was a little less glamorous. He worked as a legal clerk.


    Lela and I, we took to each other the moment we first met. I remember it well, curiously peaking over the fence as our new neighbours unloaded various bags and boxes from the big grey van they had parked in the street. Outside the front of the house, I remember watching a dark haired girl, around about the same age as me, playing with a brown teddy bear.


    I¡¯ll never forget that moment she looked up and me and those dark, penetrating eyes first met mine. Her face split into the warmest, most contagious laugh that I could imagine. She picked up Mr Jones (which as I¡¯d learn later, was the name of the bear) by one leg and came running, barefooted across the soft grass of her lawn, the teddy bear bouncing beside her, to where I was cautiously watching.


    She spoke no Norwegian and I, no English but from that moment we became best friends. We¡¯d play for hours, Lela, me and back in those early day, Lars too. Everyday there would be another wonderous adventure to explore, we¡¯d hunt the fairies in our back gardens, we¡¯d splash with the mermaids in the Marina and ride unicorns across the fields.


    Lela was like another half of myself, we promised to always be there for each other, to always protect each other. I realise the bitter irony of that now. Lela, the girl who would grow into the woman who would eventually save me and pull me from the darkness. Lela, the woman who I in turn would betray in such a despicable and horrific way.


    I do wonder now, was that innocent meeting between two young girls so many years ago the event that toppled the first domino in the line that would eventually lead to my fate?


    Lela swung her leg over the motorbike seat, dismounting. Her riding leathers clung close to her shapely body, highlighting her curves in just the right way. I¡¯m not ashamed to admit that I probably stood there admiring her a little longer than perhaps I should have.


    Waving to her, I picked up my blue denim jacket and ran out of the kitchen.


    As I passed him, Lars muttered a barely audible but I¡¯m certain, inappropriate comment about Lela. Another strange act from him, he¡¯d never normally dare saying something like that where I could hear. I chose to ignore him rather than retaliate as I usually would have done, there was something prickling in the back of my subconscious today, something telling me that I needed to be wary of Lars.


    I can almost hear it now. As I ran past him that morning to leave the house, another domino fell.


    I ran down the hallway, my footsteps clicking on the wooden floor and echoing between the narrow walls. Flinging the door open, I blinked as the bright morning light dazzled my eyes and the warmth from that late Spring sun soaked into my skin.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    My eyes quickly adjusted and the shape of Lela, standing waiting for me beside that old motorbike came into focus. I could see her smiling and waving to me. Waving back and without hesitation I skipped like a giddy schoolgirl down the driveway to meet her.


    We fell into a warm embrace, our bodies pulled close. I could feel the warmth of her radiating through her riding leathers and with my chin on her shoulder, her soft, dark hair pressed against my cheek, I could smell her sweet, comforting and familiar scent. That combination of shampoo and the expensive perfume she¡¯d always bring back with her from those family visits back home to London.


    I¡¯ve tried so many times over the years to recreate that scent, shampoo and perfume but have never managed to get it quite right.


    As we released each other, Lela whispered into my ear a particularly lewd comment about me, her brother and last night¡¯s party. She laughed to herself in that truly hypnotic laugh that she had, before playfully elbowing me in the ribs and swinging her leg back over the seat of the bike.


    I remember laughing and shaking my head at the comment. I plucked the spare helmet from the back of the bike and put it on my head. It was a tatty looking, faded red helmet that was far too big for me. I distinctly remember the strange musty smell that it had, we never did figure out what that was.


    Why did I have a beaten up old helmet like that while Lela¡¯s was shining and elegant? Can a motorcycle helmet ever be called elegant? On Lela, just about anything could look elegant.


    We came across the helmet about a year earlier. Lela had just bought an old scramble bike off a boy at college. That was before she¡¯d got the Honda. She was pestering me to have a go on it but being a bit of a nervous one when it came to things like motorbikes, I was making up every excuse under the sun. One of those excuses was that I didn¡¯t have a helmet. Well, we just so happened to be walking through the market when what did Lela spot on a second hand stall? A tatty old, red motorcycle helmet.


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s no need to worry about that, babe¡± she giggled, while running over to the stall and buying it.


    That was Lela all over, she was always trying to push me out of my comfort zone. She was also always there to catch me if I fell, something that never changed.


    With the helmet on my head and fastened as well as it would fasten, I pulled down the visor and jumped up behind, Lela. Wrapping my arms tightly around her slender waist.


    The engine roared into life and we sped out onto the open road. That¡¯s how I imaged we looked anyway, on that old Honda, picking our way through the steep, narrow roads on the outskirts of Oslo.


    Lela was a bit of a paradox, on one hand she was beautiful, elegant and feminine. On the other she was a wild child with a love of motorbikes, rock music and parties. Parties really were her thing, Friday night, Saturday night, Sunday night and any other night that she could find an excuse for one.


    Her parents had sadly divorced a few years before with her mum moving back to England. Her dad had a more senior role with the British Embassy now and because of that, he was often working away from home. That meant that Lela¡¯s house had become the main venue if you wanted a good party. Even if there wasn¡¯t a party planned, Lela would usually be more than happy to get one started for you. There was always plenty of music, drink and of course, men.


    I held on tightly to Lela as we hurtled along the winding roads, weaving in and out of the traffic, heading in towards central Oslo.


    If there was any point in my life that I wish I could go back to it would probably be to that point in time, carefree, pressed up behind my best friend on that old motorbike. That day was the last day that we would ever be together and free of the darkness that was very soon about to descend.


    The Honda¡¯s engine ticked a steady rhythm, the roads ever widening as we drew closer to the centre of the city.


    All of a sudden, as if we had been magically transported to some other wonderous world, the houses gave way to the wide green open space of the Frogner Park.


    Lela shouted something, inaudible through the muffling of her helmet and the noise of the engine. I couldn¡¯t hear the words but I knew what it was that she asked. She pulled the bike over to a stop as I tapped her leg in acceptance. I watched as a light blue tram rolled by, gliding down the warm, sunlit street before swinging my leg over the seat and dismounting from the bike. Lela stood waiting for me, smiling that warm, alluring smile with her silver helmet tucked under her arm.


    I pulled my own helmet off of my head and gave my hair a shake. How did Lela¡¯s hair always look so immaculate, even after just removing a helmet? Mine, no doubt resembled a frizzy bird¡¯s nest.


    Lela laughed as she watched me try to straighten my hair, ¡°we¡¯ll be here all day if we have to wait for you to sort out that mess. Come on.¡±. She took my hand and we walked towards the emerald green expanse stretching out before us.


    We did that day what we¡¯d done so many times before. Hand in hand, enjoying the peace and tranquillity of the park around us. The bright sun shone through the trees, causing them to appear to glow with every shade of green that you could imagine. Every sight, every sound, every smell that day seemed somehow more vivid than usual. The sounds of the birds in the trees, of children playing, dogs barking. The earthy smell of the ground mingling with the sweet scent of the pine trees. It is a simple thing, to spend a day like that with a beloved friend, something that¡¯s easy to take for granted.


    We gazed in wonder at the statues in the Vigeland sculpture park. Beautiful and intricate, statues depicting all facets of human existence. Love, joy, happiness, weakness, conflict and despair.


    ¡°How many times have we walked through here? This place never fails to inspire¡±, Lela spoke, her voice tinged with awe. She put an arm around my waist and offered me one of those smiles that only Lela can manage.


    ¡°It is beautiful¡±, I replied. But despite the warmth of the day, despite the ever comforting presence of Lela next to me, something felt different inside me. I can¡¯t explain what the feeling was. In the past I¡¯d only seen the beauty and love in those statues. Today however I noticed something different, the small bronze statue of a child throwing a tantrum, the man struggling under the weight of a giant bowl. There was something darker in those sculptures which I¡¯d never seen before, a suffering, an anger, a despair.


    ¡°Come on, Heidi. Let¡¯s get ourselves to the shops. See if we can find you something new for tonight¡¯s party.¡± Lela¡¯s melodious voice instantly brushed away whatever darkness had just crept into my mind.


    Laughing like silly schoolgirls, we ran hand in hand out of the park. We made our way past the majestic Royal Palace. The bright red Royal Standard, depicting a golden lion, fluttered lazily from its flagpole atop the roof. Past the palace and towards the Sentrum.


    The Sentrum was a bustling, vibrant place. Street vendors selling fragrant flowers, the splash of their colour mixing with the sights of musicians and entertainers. All manner of shops lined the wide streets and the chatter and laughter of people going about their day to day business filled the air.


    I thought Oslo was a wonderful place, I loved the bustle and the vibe.


    ¡°Oh, Oslo¡¯s nice¡± Lela would often chide ¡°but you should come to London with me one day, it makes this look like a village green market¡±.


    She told me so many stories about London, the shops, the art galleries, the museums and buildings. It sounded like a fantastic, magical city. I promised her that one day I would visit and see all those things for myself. That was one promise to her that I did keep, although not quite in the way or for the reasons that we both had intended.


    We spent the next few hours exploring the many clothes shops and boutiques that the city had to offer. We laughed together, spinning in front of mirrors while trying on outfits that we could never even dream of affording. We¡¯d make flirtatious comments as we thumbed through rails of lingerie, giggling when we managed to make the other¡¯s cheeks turn red.


    ¡°Oh, look at this Heidi¡± Lela called from a couple of rails over.


    I glanced up, saw her holding up a pink dress. ¡°This would be perfect on you and I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯d turn a few heads at tonight¡¯s party¡±, Lela continued with a sly wink.


    I walked over to her taking the dress. The dress was made from a wondrously soft velvet, it was short with a low, diving neckline.


    ¡°Oh, Lela it¡¯d be just right but I can never afford that¡±, turning the price tag over in my hand.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you worry about the price, call it a treat to my best friend¡±, Lela smiled, taking back the dress and walking over to the counter.


    Did Lela have any flaws? She was beautiful, kind, considerate and generous.


    As the afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the city, the two of us found our selves sitting beside the Oslofjord, dipping our toes into the sharp, icy waters.


    Lela looked over at me, a thoughtful look in those dark eyes of hers. ¡°Do you ever wonder what the future holds?¡±.


    I remember smiling back at her, we had so many dreams, so many aspirations. ¡°I really have no idea but whatever it is, we¡¯ll face it together¡±.


    Lela smiled softly, taking my hand, our fingers naturally intertwining. Looking out over the calm waters, the sun softly beating down and my friend at my side, I felt a sense of peace and contentment.


    It was a moment that lingers with me still, all those hopes and dreams. All that promise for a future which fate had already decided never could be.


    It was late in the afternoon when Lela dropped me back outside my house. I dismounted and hung the helmet onto the back of her bike. We kissed each other on the cheek and embraced in one final, farewell hug. I held on to her tighter and for longer than I usually would have done that day, perhaps some part of me knew what was to come.


    When I did let her go, I turned my back and started to walk up the driveway towards my house.


    ¡°I¡¯ll pick you up at eight, it¡¯s going to be a special party tonight so make sure you¡¯re ready¡± I heard her calling from behind me just as the engine started up and the whine of that old Honda disappeared down the hill.


    That would be the last that I¡¯d see of my dearest Lela for a long time.


    As I reached the door of my house, putting my hand on the brass doorknob, another domino wobbled and prepared to fall.

 Chapter 3 - Lars

    Chapter 3 - Lars


    I pushed open my front door and stepped inside. The hallway seemed dark and foreboding after the bright, warm sunshine outside. Prickles rose on my skin from a slight chill in the air, a feeling out of place on that warm, spring day.


    The hallway extended before me, with its polished wooden floor guiding the way into the lounge. Doors on either side led to the study on the right and the kitchen on the left. Just before the kitchen door, the staircase wound its way upstairs, leading to the bedrooms.


    The walls of the hallway were painted in a light, spearmint green and hung with framed pictures. Pictures of family holidays, childhood birthday parties, beautiful memories from a simple and happy time which hardly seems real to me now. Alongside those photos were also a number of my own artworks. A family portrait which I¡¯d painted as a gift to my parents on their wedding anniversary, a pencil drawing of Bella lounging sleepily in front of the fireplace.


    I remember looking around for Bella, usually when I got home I¡¯d be greeted with an excited wagging tail and a slobbery lick. Not on that day however. I guessed she must be sleeping upstairs. Knowing her, she would have snuck into one of the bedrooms and curled up on the bed. My room seemed to be her favourite, I was forever having to brush off the dog hairs from my duvet in the evenings.


    I swallowed hard, my throat felt dry so deciding to get myself a drink of water I walked along the hallway, towards the kitchen door. My footsteps, echoing softly as I went. Upon reaching the kitchen door, I pushed it open and stepped inside.


    In contrast to the narrow, dimly lit hallway, the kitchen was large and airy. Bright white tiles covered the floor with a red, geometrically patterned carpet at the centre of the room. The walls, a mix of white paint and pine cladding, contributed to the bright and spacious feel. A large window overlooked the front of the house, while double doors led to the garden at the back.


    Whitewashed, pine cupboards lined the walls and a thick marble worksurface extended along the far side of the room.


    Just in front of the double doors stood our dining table and chairs. Made from oak, they were heavy and solid. They had originally belonged to my grandparents and were well worn, with an old world charm. This vintage furniture provided a lovely contrast against our otherwise modernly decorated home.


    It was then when my eyes fell on Lars, sitting at the far chair. He was leant over, his elbows resting on the table and his chin in his hands. He fixed his gaze on me, his deep blue eyes seemed cold and icy. His face was expressionless except for the very slight turn of a sneer at the corner of his mouth.


    My twin brother, Lars. He stood only slightly taller than me with blonde hair cut short into a crew cut. He was of a quite large build although slightly overweight and his skin had a rough, textured appearance.


    At the time I¡¯d have described our relationship as strained, although that would have been an understatement. We had been close as children but from the age of around 12 years old, things started to deteriorate between us.


    It all began when we started at lower secondary school. Lela, having a brother a few years above us, already knew a number of the older children at our new school. I was in awe of them, I wanted to be like them, to be popular with them.


    I settled into school very quickly. The girls accepted and welcomed both Lela and myself, we joined their groups and quickly made new friends. Being attractive as we were back then, we also found ourselves popular with the boys.


    Unfortunately for Lars, things weren¡¯t quite so simple. He didn¡¯t find making friends very easy, he struggled in social situations and was awkward in conversation. Up until that point however, he¡¯d always had me there by his side to help him through when things were difficult.


    Struggling to fit in and having not managed to make his own friends, Lars started doing what he¡¯d always done and that was to come to me for friendship. He would sit with me at lunchtimes and seek me out during break.


    It was a bitterly cold day in February, myself and Lela were huddled outside the front of the school talking to a group of boys, a year or two older than us. Lars had been wandering around on his own, as usual. I remember watching him as he spotted me from across the playground, a big smile spread across his face and he turned and started walking towards his sister.


    That was when the bullying started.


    I was about to wave to him and beckon him over to me when a couple of the older boys also saw him coming. A malicious look crossed their faces as one of them shouted out loudly, ¡°oh look Heidi, here comes that little lost puppy of yours¡±.


    Another of them added at the top of his voice, ¡°yeah Heidi, perhaps you need to get him a lead and collar, so he doesn¡¯t keep getting lost¡±.


    The children around us all erupted in laughter, more unkind comments and puppy dog jibes could be heard muttered around the group.


    Lars¡¯ smile faded, his eyes widened in shock as the taunts registered with him. His eyes met mine, glistening from the tears that were beginning to well up.


    My heart twisted in my chest as I watched the colour drain from Lars¡¯ face. A face that just moments ago had been lit up with brotherly love and happiness at seeing me, now quivered. His shoulders slumped and with his feet shuffling nervously, he looked to me. Pleading with me silently for reassurance and comfort.


    My eyes met his, I considered running to him, taking him in my arms and comforting him. I looked at him, hesitated for a second or two and then I opened my mouth and laughed.


    It was a forced laugh, it sounded hollow to me. But it was a laugh.


    As I laughed along with the other children, Lars stumbled backwards as if he¡¯d been struck. His eyes filled with tears as he turned and ran. And I, his sister, I just continued laughing and jeering with the others. What I wouldn¡¯t give now to be able to go back to that moment, I would run over to Lars, pull him into my embrace and return the love that he¡¯d shown to me. If only I could go back and be a sister to him, instead I betrayed him in a horrible way. Things could have turned out so differently.


    Betrayal of those closest to me seems to be something that I have a bit of a habit for.


    But I didn¡¯t, I didn¡¯t go to him, I didn¡¯t make it all better. To be honest, I wanted to but at the same time I desperately wanted to be popular, to fit in. In that moment I felt that I had a choice to make, a choice between my brother and popularity.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    The lure of acceptance was too strong.


    That was the day that something changed in me. Looking back now I can see it clearly, feel the darkness creeping into my mind and soul.


    From what started as a bit of jeering quickly escalated. Name calling turned into stone throwing and as if that wasn¡¯t enough, it soon became physical beatings. And where was I while all this was going on? Was I looking out for him? Was I protecting him? No, I was right in the middle of it all. More often than not, it was me who would hurl the first insult, throw the first stone and as much as it pains me now to admit it, when my brother lay in the dirt, curled defensively into a ball, shielding himself from yet another beating, I too would lash out. A passing kick as I walked past him. Leaving him, my own twin brother, laying bruised on the ground.


    I don¡¯t remember exactly when it happened or how it happened but somewhere along the way I became toxic towards my brother.


    Any time that something positive happened in his life, I¡¯d do my best to destroy it. When he got his first and only girlfriend, I spread vicious about him, determined to destroy that relationship. They were lies of course but that didn¡¯t matter to me, all I wanted was to stamp on any little piece of happiness that he¡¯d found.


    When he won a school science prize, I laughed at him, belittled him for it and then cheered when a boy from the oldest year knocked the book that had been his prize, out of his hands and into a puddle. I was the first to start jumping and stomping on that book. I was quickly joined by the others and we didn¡¯t stop until my brother¡¯s prize was little more than a pile of torn pages and soggy mush.


    All this had a big effect on Lars. He became a recluse, retreated further into himself. His days at school would be spent sitting on his own, trying to avoid myself and the other children who would torment him. After school, he would run home as quickly as possible as not to be subjected to another beating. Once home, he¡¯d go straight to his room and rarely venture out.


    On that day however, the afternoon of the 14<sup>th</sup> May 1990, as Lars looked at me, as he met my gaze I saw something different in him. It had been there earlier, I¡¯d not paid any attention to it but now I saw it. There was none of the usual downtrodden defeat. That defeat had been replaced by something else. Something dark and chilling. All I saw in his eyes that afternoon was hate. Hate and malice.


    He looked at me and smiled, it was a smile that carried no warmth however. It was cold and cynical, a smile that sent chills down my spine.


    ¡°Good afternoon, Sister Dearest. It¡¯s so nice to see you, I hope you had a wonderful day out with Lela?¡±, the way he spoke made me shudder.  His tone was empty of emotion, the use of the phrase ¡®Sister Dearest¡¯, a reversal of the phrase ¡®Brother Dearest¡¯, the phrase I¡¯d use to address him when I was being particularly venomous towards him, the words felt like an icy dagger plunging into me.


    It was then that I spotted it. I felt my heart skip a beat. Sitting there on that table in front of Lars was a small wooden box with a silver catch. My body broke out into a cold sweat, my stomach was a twisted jumble of emotions, anger bubbled up inside me. Anger towards Lars, anger at him for going into my room, invading my private space and taking that box from my dresser. But that anger was edged with horror and fear, fear that he¡¯d opened that box and a horror at the thought of the sort of damage that its contents could do to me.


    I unleashed a torrent of insults at him as I lunged forward, grabbing the box from his grasp. Holding it tightly against my chest, I retreated to the far corner of the kitchen like a wounded animal, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and fury.


    The box was nothing special, it was a small wooden box held closed by a tiny silver catch. My hands shook as I tried to unfasten the catch. Lars just sat there smiling at me as I struggled with the small hook, my shaking hands unable to release it from its eye. Eventually after what had felt to me, an age I managed to release the catch and throw open the lid.


    Hurriedly I searched through the contents of that box. It held all manner of my keepsakes. Letters from past boyfriends, notes from Lela, various little trinkets each with some sentimental value that I¡¯d picked up over the years. But these things weren¡¯t the things that I was frantically searching for. Deep down in my heart I think I knew that they weren¡¯t going to be there, that Lars had already found and taken them.


    I heard my brother laughing softly, ¡°I don¡¯t suppose it¡¯s these you¡¯re looking for is it, Sister Dearest?¡±.


    My body shook uncontrollably as I looked up and saw him waving a small bundle of Polaroid photos. At the sight of them, my heart sank deeper, the air froze in my lungs.


    To call those photos private would be a major understatement. The damage that they could do if they were ever exposed would be catastrophic. They captured very personal and intimate moments between myself and Asmund Hansen. The fact that my brother had got his hands on incriminating photos of me was bad enough but that was only a small part of the true scale of the situation.


    Asmund Hansen was Lela¡¯s boyfriend.


    The pair had been together since they were 13 years old and she absolutely doted on him.


    While I wasn''t the only girl Asmund had been with during his relationship with Lela, she always seemed oblivious to his infidelities. That doesn''t however, excuse what I did.


    Why had I kept those photos? I really couldn¡¯t tell you. It wasn¡¯t something that I was proud of, it was a stupid mistake, a moment of weakness, a silly one night stand. It happened after one of Lela¡¯s parties, Asmund and I had both had a little too much to drink. He had offered to walk me home, to which I accepted thinking nothing of it. I had no intention of anything other than to go home but for one reason or another we ended up back at Asmund¡¯s flat for one last drink. I honestly can¡¯t remember who made the first move, but I do remember him placing a hand on my thigh and the situation spiralling from there.


    Asmund was, like myself studying art. He had been working on a project, a photographic study of everyday life captured through his Polaroid camera. I remember, though the night is hazy, him pulling out his Polaroid camera and suggesting we take some intimate photos. I still don''t know why I agreed. I suppose I was caught up in the excitement and exhilaration of the moment.


    That was the first time that I was to betray Lela, my beautiful, dearest friend. If she¡¯d known what had happened between myself and Asmund, it would have destroyed our friendship. I feared that it would have destroyed her.


    Now those photos were in Lars¡¯ hands. I screamed at him to give them back to me, shouted until my voice was hoarse and the whole time he just smiled at me. He didn¡¯t say a word, just sat there smiling.


    Eventually he did speak, he spoke in a cold, toneless voice, it was a voice that I barely recognised. ¡°Such strong emotions, Heidi, it¡¯s really quite touching. Please now, do come, sit down. I wouldn¡¯t want you getting yourself too flustered.¡± Lars gestured to the chain beside him.


    My head shook slowly, my feet rooted to the ground. I couldn¡¯t have moved if I¡¯d wanted to.


    Lars watching me falter, smiled slightly, his voice soft, ¡°Now, Sister Dearest, I think we¡¯ve got a few things to chat about, haven¡¯t we? These photos of you for starters, they really are quite revealing, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡±.


    His cold gaze was fixed on me, he watched as I struggled to speak, tried to form the words that just wouldn¡¯t come. ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯d be a terrible thing if they somehow found their way into your delightful friend¡¯s possession?¡±, watching me visibly flinch at the vision of Lela¡¯s face, hurt and betrayed which came into my mind.


    ¡°Anyway, enough of those silly photos, I was thinking that it¡¯d be quite kind and sisterly of you to do a few things for me?¡±


    ¡°What, Lars, what do you want from me?¡±, I spoke, my tone quivering with the mix of emotions that I felt in myself.


    What did he want? Was this purely just revenge for the hurt and suffering that I¡¯d caused him?


    ¡°Oh my dearest Sister, I¡¯m sure I can think of a thing or two¡±, that thin smile returning to his lips as he spoke.


    I staggered back as if struck. I could hardly believe what was happening. My stomach tightened, pulse quickening noticeably. Would he really carry out his threat? Lela had been a friend to him as well, before things had changed and despite being constantly by my side, one thing that she never did was to take part in the bullying.


    Part of me was tempted to call his bluff, to try to snatch those photos out of his hand but something about that chilly demeanour held me back, told me not to push him.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t do this Lars, please don¡¯t do it me, please don¡¯t do it to Lela. You know what seeing those photos would do to her? She has never hurt you, she doesn¡¯t deserve this!¡±, my voice desperate and pleading.


    Lars looked at me for a second, I felt a surge of hope that he might have listened to my words. But then his face settled back into that cold, expressionless mould, he leant back in his chair and he simply shrugged.

 Chapter 4 - Velvet Dress

    Goosebumps pricked on my skin, hairs rose and a cold sweat dampened my palms.


    My eyes flicked nervously back and forth between Lars¡¯ cold, narrow gaze and the packet of Polaroid photos that he was holding out in front of him, displaying them as if they were some sort of perverse trophy.


    How did he know about those photos? Would he really show them to Lela? What did he want from me? How was I going to get them back?


    My mind was swimming with thoughts and questions, I had to calm down, I had to focus on what was happening. I had to find a way out of this situation, out of the corner that Lars had backed me into.


    ¡°Please Lars,¡±, my voice came out just a little too high, just a little too strained with emotion. Swallowing hard, I tried to steady myself, ¡°let me have those photos back. Lela was a friend to you as well, you couldn¡¯t hurt her like this, could you?¡±.


    For a fleeting moment something seemed to change in his eyes, the hardness seemed to melt away. A thoughtfulness perhaps? But the moment passed quickly, whatever it was, it was gone within a blink and replaced with that same cold, emotionless nothing that had been there before.


    ¡°WAS, Heidi! She WAS my friend¡± those words came slowly, deliberately, a sneer touching the corners of his mouth.


    ¡°She never did anything to you,¡± I pleaded with him, ¡°she never hurt you in any way¡±, and it was true. She had never once uttered even the slightest insult, never cast a stone or landed a blow. While I was at the front, shouting, encouraging the others in their cruel abuse of Lars, Lela would be stood at the edge of the group, her expression unreadable.


    I had hoped that might strike a chord in him, awaken some sort of compassion but my hopes were in vain, he just looked me directly in the eyes and started to laugh, a cold, grating laugh.


    ¡°She didn¡¯t do anything to me, but she didn¡¯t help me either, did she? Was she ever really MY friend? She''s just as responsible as the rest of you, complicit by her inaction!¡±, Lars spat those words at me, spat them with a sort of vicious hatred that I¡¯d never seen in him before, never imagined possible from him.


    Something in his tone grated on my nerves. What right did he have to speak about Lela like this? Maybe it was the sudden flare of passion in his eyes, replacing that icy nothingness. It stirred something inside of me.


    I wasn¡¯t prepared to stand for this, not from Lars of all people.


    My body tensed, I curled my hands into tight fists. The sharp pain of my long, pink painted nails biting into my palms felt in some way satisfying. My knuckles turned white as an anger began to rise in me like an inferno, starting in my stomach it rose to engulf me. My jaw tightened, eyes narrowing to glare to Lars.


    ¡°Lars, you give me back those photos now and we¡¯ll pretend this never happened.¡±, my voice was dark, full of an implied threat.


    He just looked back at me, his face blank, devoid of all emotion and feeling. The anger that I¡¯d seen in him a few moments ago had been replaced, a return to that cold, emotionless mask.


    The way he looked at me, the sheer contempt in his eyes, a cocky confidence coming from a belief that he held all of the cards. Something inside me snapped.


    A scream flooded from deep within my chest. No words, just a loud, shrill, primal scream. How dare he do this? How dare he steal something so personal and private? How dare he threaten me? How dare he talk so calmly of hurting Lela?


    I surged forward from my corner of the kitchen, I ran at him. My feet slipping slightly on that tiled floor, across the room, rounding the old oak table, towards Lars I bolted.


    He just sat there, watching my charge. I don¡¯t remember his expression, everything was a blur of red, the sound of my heart beat loudly in my ears. I rounded the table. My fists clenching tighter. I approached Lars but I never reached him.


    It was a brutal strike. He moved in a blur of motion, striking, driving the heel of his hand, hard into the centre of my chest with a dull thud. I gasped as the air was forced from my lungs, searing pain spreading outwards from my sternum.


    I stumbled backwards, my feet losing their grip on the smooth tiles. Yellow, twinkling stars exploded into my vision and my ears rang, a high pitched whine as I struck the hard ground. My head slammed into the cold, tiled floor with a crack, sending a sharp jolt through my skull. The kitchen seemed to spin around me in a nauseating blur. The metallic scent of blood filed my nostrils.


    What had just happened? My senses were muddled.


    A jolt of sharp pain shot up my arm from my elbow as I lay on the floor, wincing in agony. The crushing sensation in my chest made it impossible to move. I lay there unable to speak, gasping for the breath that had just been knocked out of me.


    Finally, my head started to clear. I managed to bring my breathing under some sort of control. Blinking the shocked tears out of my eyes, I looked up. Standing there, towering over me stood Lars. Looking down at me, his expression lacking any sign of emotion.


    I tried to pull myself up but my injured elbow gave way with a searing jolt. At that moment I realised how helpless I was, how I was totally at his mercy.


    I flinched, pulling myself into a protective ball as Lars pulled his foot back, preparing to kick.


    He laughed manically as his foot stopped, poised just centimetres from my face, ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Sister Dearest?¡±, his eyes narrowing, lips tightening as he spoke, ¡°You didn¡¯t think that I would have kicked you while you¡¯re down, did you? I¡¯m not some sort of monster, you know?¡±, a chuckle escaped his lips again, amused by his own words. Words that were edged with sarcasm, a stark reminder to me of the times that I had done exactly that to him. A passing kick while he lay defenceless on the ground.


    As I look back now, I realise that this was the moment when everything changed.


    ¡°What do you want from me, Lars¡±, my voice shook, the tone breaking as I tried so desperately to hold back the tears.


    ¡°Now that¡¯s the question, isn¡¯t it? I can think of a few things.¡±, his voice took on a new tang, an almost hungry edge. At that moment something flashed across his eyes, something dark, a darkness even deeper than what had been there before. I shivered, as if I¡¯d had a bucket of ice water thrown over me.


    My whole body shuddered, that look in his eyes seemed hauntingly familiar. Tugging at some distant memory that I couldn¡¯t quite place.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°But for the time being, why don¡¯t you just scurry off upstairs to your room. I think it¡¯d be a kind, sisterly thing to let me have the house to myself for a few hours, don¡¯t you?¡±


    I was in no place to argue with him. Wiping away the tears from my eyes and trying to regain some form of dignity, I attempted to pull myself to me feet. Despite my body aching from the fall, my elbow protesting at the slightest weight, I managed to stand.


    My head was a jumble of thoughts and emotions as I left that kitchen. I struggled to piece together what had just happened. My brother, usually so meek and cowed, me usually so haughty and superior. At least that was how I had seen things up until a few minutes ago. Now everything had changed. When had Lars become so cold? Had this been gradually building in him and I just hadn¡¯t noticed? How had he known about those photos? Perhaps he¡¯d just been looking for something to use against me and got lucky?


    All those thoughts and questions were spinning around inside my head, tumbling over on top of each other as I reached my bedroom door.


    I pushed the door open and allowed myself a slight smile, the familiarity of my room gave me a small sense of comfort. The pastel pink walls, the pink curtains, my bed¡­


    A sudden movement, a dark shape rising quickly from my bed instantly pushed aside those thoughts and brought me back to the present with a start.


    Bella startled awake from where she lay, curled up in the middle of my bed. She lifted her head and fixed those deep, dark eyes on me. Her tail, gently wagging back and forth.


    I kicked my shoes off into the corner of the room and dashed across the soft, carpeted floor towards my bed. As soon as I reached Bella, I threw my arms around her neck. Her soft, black fur was warm and comforting against my cheek, her gentle breath, panting in my ear seemed to keep time with the rhythm of my frantic heart, beating in my chest.


    It was only then, with my face buried into Bella¡¯s neck did I allow those tears, which in front of Lars, I had been trying hard to hold, to finally start flowing.


    They were tears of fear, the fear of my brother, the fear of what he might do. I had never seen that look in his eyes before, it had been like looking into the eyes of a beast and it terrified me. At that moment in time, under all the confusion that I had spinning in my mind, I never could have imagined the lengths that Lars would go to, the depths of depravity that he was capable of descending into.


    There were also tears of shame and guilt. The memory of that night with Asmund flashed through my mind. Of Lela¡¯s friendly smile, the laughs, the warm embrace we shared as I left the party, Asmund by my side. Up until then I hadn¡¯t really given all that much thought to what had happened between us. I¡¯d brushed it aside, it wasn¡¯t the first or the last time that Asmund had been unfaithful to Lela and if I had ever really thought about it at all, I think that I just blamed it on him. It was just another indiscretion on his part. That was how I had seen many things at the time. I blamed others, unwilling to take any responsibility for my actions.


    But I was equally to blame, I had been flirting with him at the party and while I may not remember now who made the first move back at his house, I certainly didn¡¯t raise any objections when things started to go further.


    Now it was time for me to take responsibility, time for me to pay the dear price for my actions.


    ¡°Oh, Bella what have I done? How could I do that to her?¡±, I sobbed softly burying my face into Bella¡¯s fur.


    The big german shepherd looked at me, from the look in her eyes I was convinced that she knew something of what was going on, there was a look of sadness and sympathy in that face. Her long, wet tongue drew across my cheek. A simple show of affection from a dog to a human but it was exactly what I needed. As Bella continued licking me, her tongue seemed to wash away some of the dread in my heart. It was comforting.


    My thoughts turned back to Lela¡¯s party that evening. I really wasn¡¯t in the mood to party after what had just happened. I was close to calling her and giving her some excuse as to why I couldn¡¯t go. I couldn¡¯t face the world, I couldn¡¯t bear to face Lela, to look into her eyes.


    But just then I felt something change, just as it had for a moment downstairs, a flicker of defiance pushed through the fear and guilt. Why should I allow him to win, why should I allow him to control me? That voice grew louder in my mind. It pushed back the shadows. He may have shaken me, I might even have to go along with whatever blackmail he had in mind but I wasn¡¯t about to let him win.


    My pounding heart slowed, my breathing became softer, a strength returned to me. I released Bella from my embrace, pushed myself upright to sit on the edge of the bed. I dried my eyes on the hem of my top and took a deep breath, air filling my lungs, revitalising me.


    Ok, Lars had some photos and he was going to use them to blackmail me. I had no choice but to go along with whatever he wanted, at least for now, at least until I could manage to find a way out of the hole in which I found myself. Those photos would destroy my friendship but worse than that, they would devastate Lela. We had promised to protect each other, Lela and I and that¡¯s what I was going to do.


    Looking after Lela had to be my priority here.


    Whatever it was that Lars had in mind, it couldn¡¯t be that bad, could it? Whatever it was, I¡¯d be able to deal with it. I kept telling myself that over and over, I repeated it so many times that I actually started to believe it true.


    How bad could it really be? I had no idea. The dominoes where tumbling quickly now but I couldn¡¯t hear them.


    I needed a distraction from all this, I needed to take my mind off the whole nasty affair and Lela¡¯s party seemed like the perfect escape.


    I¡¯d wear that dress that she had bought me earlier in the day. It seemed like a small beacon of light and love, shining though the darkness which had descended on my life that afternoon. I glanced around the room, searching for it. Not on my bed, not on my dresser or the wardrobe.


    Downstairs!


    The realisation struck me, I must have left it in the kitchen. I could always wear something else, the thought did cross my mind. I had plenty of dresses, it wouldn¡¯t matter. But the memory of Lela¡¯s excited face when she had found that dress for me, the way she had held it up against me. She had been right, it was perfect. And she had spent so much on it, too much if I¡¯m honest.


    But that dress was downstairs, and downstairs was Lars.


    I kept telling myself that I was being foolish, this was my house, I had a right to go as I pleased. Lars couldn¡¯t stop me doing that.


    Emboldened by my newly found conviction I managed to steel myself and as softly as I could, I pushed open my bedroom door.


    The sounds of the TV could be heard drifting up from the lounge, the loud explosions and sporadic gun fire. That gave me some hope, if Lars was in there watching a film there was a good chance that I¡¯d be able to get into the kitchen and retrieve my dress without being noticed.


    I stepped softly out onto the landing, crept as quietly as I could down, freezing as every creaking floorboard seemed to echo around the house, until I reached the hallway below. The door to the lounge was open, I could see the large red sofa facing the TV. My breath caught, he was there too, slumped on the sofa, his back to me.


    Holding my breath I slowly tiptoed to the kitchen. As soon as I reached the door, I spotted it, a pink carrier bag laying on the floor. The pink, a radiant splash of colour against the dark shadows which seemed to be consuming the rest of the house.


    I picked it up, fingers fumbling on the handle. Just get the bag and get upstairs I told myself, before slowly making my way back to the hallway and from there, being as quiet as I could to the stairs.


    My dad had recently invested in a surround sound system for the lounge and Lars was making full use of it. The thundering booms made the house vibrate. It was so loud that I doubt there was any way that he¡¯d ever have been able to hear me. But I was taking no chances as I slowly and quietly made my way back to my bedroom. I softly closed the door and with relief I let out the breath that I hadn¡¯t realised I had been holding. Bella, who was watching me from on my bed tilted her head with a quizzical expression.


    I tried to push Lars from my mind and concentrate on the familiar ritual of getting myself ready.


    Looking in the mirror I gasped, who was this horror looking back at me? My eyes red and bloodshot. My eyeliner streaming thick and black down my cheeks. My lipstick, once a vibrant pink was smudged and smeared and a small trickle of blood ran down from my nose.


    I sighed and set about repairing the damage, removing and reapplying until my face was presentable again.


    I wriggled out of my jeans and pulled my top off over my head. Tossing them onto the end of my bed, I picked up the carrier bag.


    Pulling out that beautiful dress, the velvet, light and soft to my touch. Stepping into it, I pulled up the zip. The soft fabric felt warm and welcoming, seemingly brushing away the weight from my shoulders.


    As I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the dress down, a small smile spread across my lips. I looked perfect, the dress was a little shorter than I¡¯d realised in the shop and the neckline a little lower, but it was perfect. Looking at myself, I felt a brief glow of confidence.


    This girl was ready to party.

 Chapter 5 - Party

    I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. The dress that Lela had bought for me was a perfect fit. Slightly shorter than I had expected it to be with a deep, plunging neckline but it clung to my body perfectly. The fabric was light and soft, feeling fantastic against my skin.


    I smiled to myself, I looked good and looking good made me feel good. I tried to convince myself that the effects of the earlier unpleasantness with Lars had faded from my mind. I tried to push the feelings of fear and dread down and replace them with confidence and determination. I wasn¡¯t about to let Lars break me. Yes, he had me backed into a corner at the moment but I had to believe that I could deal with him and whatever he was going to throw at me.


    I was naive, I was blissfully unaware of the storm clouds which were gathering just over the horizon.


    I winced slightly, my breath causing a stabbing jolt of pain in my chest where Lars had struck me. It was a stark reminder that however strong I was starting to feel, I needed to be cautious around my brother, play this game of his very carefully indeed. That was the first time that he had ever physically attacked me, it was the first time that I¡¯d ever been physically attacked by anyone, but if he could do it once then there was nothing to say that he wouldn¡¯t do it again.


    I made my way over to my dresser, plucking up a small gold watch which I proceeded to fasten around my wrist. The watch was beautifully delicate and exquisitely crafted, with alternating links of yellow and white gold. The square face of the watch was set with mother of pearl, shimmering with an iridescent glow. It had been a gift from my grandfather on my 18th birthday.


    I had some wonderful memories of my grandfather, especially those moments watching him fishing in the lake behind his house. I was never one for fishing myself but there was something magical about that lake. I could spend hours sitting in the little boating hut nestled up to its bank, watching the silvery ripples in the water created by Grandfather, casting and reeling in his line. Sadly, he had passed away only a few weeks after my birthday. That watch was his last gift.


    The thin hands pointed to half past seven. I was expecting Lela to pick me up around eight o¡¯clock, so that gave me half an hour. Half an hour until I could escape to some sort of normality.


    A cloud of uncertainty began to creep into my mind, I was unsure of what to do. Stay in my bedroom, or head downstairs, downstairs to where Lars was waiting? I struggled, feeling myself being pulled between surrender and resistance. I knew I had to go along with his blackmail, whatever form that would take. There was no other choice, but still, I refused to let him see any fear in me. This was my house too, and I wasn¡¯t prepared to let him forget that easily. He had shaken me earlier, but I had to regather myself and stand strong.


    I pushed open my bedroom door and stepped out onto the landing. He¡¯s down there. The thought caused my shoulders to twitch, a cold chill ran down my spine. The hallway at the bottom of the stairs looked darker than normal, shadows clung to the walls, reaching up towards me, twisting into menacing shapes. Just my imagination, surely? My heart pounded in my chest, its rhythm beating in my ears. They¡¯re just shadows.


    Bella let out a soft whine from where she still lay on my bed, her ears down, her brown eyes, wide and fixed on me.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok, girl¡¯, I tried to force my voice to sound reassuring and steady while keeping my eyes glued on the base of the staircase. I wasn¡¯t going to let Lars get into my head, I really wasn¡¯t.


    Slowly, as quietly as I could manage, I started to descend those stairs, descend into the dim light below. The loud booms from that surround sound system in the lounge resonating through the house, causing the walls to vibrate with a steady rhythm. Those sounds caused a cautious confidence to grow in me. Confidence from the knowledge that he was probably still glued to that television screen.


    As soon as I reached the hallway I quickly rounded the door into the kitchen, holding my breath.


    I didn¡¯t see him at first, the dazzling evening sun pouring in through the kitchen window hid him in its golden brightness. But slowly, his form, silhouetted against that window came into focus. Lars turned to face me as I entered the room and despite my resolve, a sudden jolt shot through my chest and my breath caught in my throat.


    ¡°Oh, you didn¡¯t have make such an effort for me¡±, Lars¡¯ voice was soft with a feigned warmth. His gaze seemed to linger on me, scanning me up and down. I suddenly felt exposed, as if my dress had become too short and the neckline too deep. As he looked at me with an unreadable expression a cold shiver ran down my spine.


    I can remember a nervous giggle escaping my lips, ¡°I¡¯m just about to head out to a party with Lela. She¡¯ll be picking me up in a few minutes.¡±. it took all my concentration to keep my voice steady while inside my stomach was turning over itself.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°You¡¯re going out?¡±, Lars said, his mouth dropping into a sad pout although the frosty edge in his voice gave him away. ¡°I was thinking that perhaps we could have a nice film night together. A little bit of brother and sister time, just like we used to. Couldn¡¯t you tell Lela that you can¡¯t make it, that something else has come up?¡±, it was phrased as a question but his eyes, narrow and hard told me that it was anything but.


    A film night with him? The thought threw me off guard, that was something which I hadn¡¯t expected. ¡°Lars, you can''t stop me from going out, going to the party. I¡¯ll go along with your little blackmail but you can¡¯t control me.¡±.


    He looked at me, his eyes opening wide in mocking innocence, ¡°oh I¡¯m not going to stop you, Sister Dearest. You can go to the party if you want to but just let me have a little chat with the lovely Lela first. I¡¯ve got something to show her which I think she might find rather interesting¡±.


    His threat hung in the air as he watched me for my reaction. My back stiffed, my mind raced, trying to think of a solution. The earlier confidence that I had, I felt it drain from me. He had me where he wanted me and we both knew it. I couldn¡¯t risk those photos falling into Lela¡¯s hands.


    It was just at that moment, the whine of an old Honda making its way up the hillside filtered in through the open window.


    Lars¡¯ ears pricked up at the sound, ¡°That¡¯s rather unfortunate, isn¡¯t it? Don¡¯t worry, we can still have our film night together. I¡¯ll pop out there and make up an excuse for you. You just wait here, and keep away from that window.¡±, those last words were edged with cold threat.


    ¡°Lars¡­¡±, I was about to argue with him, tell him that he couldn¡¯t control my life but as soon as I opened my mouth, he took a step towards me. He fixed me with his stony gaze, his entire body looked tense, menacing. Any words that I was about to speak stuck in my throat. Unconsciously I stepped backwards.


    Lars¡¯, head nodding slowly and with a small satisfied smile on his face, he strode past me and into the hallway.


    A jumbled frenzy of emotions crashed and tumbled through my mind. My earlier resolve was beginning to shake, my mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. I had expected some simple blackmail from Lars, but this felt like something different. Control over me, was that what he really wanted? Control?


    I could hear a voice inside my head, be clam, breath, it told me. Play along with this game of his for the time being. He had shown that he was dangerous, no longer that meek and downtrodden boy I had known. Something had changed in him, he was dark, unpredictable and I needed to be careful, be clever. Play along until I can find something to use against him, something to regain at least a part of the leverage that he now held over me.


    I don¡¯t know how long I stood in that kitchen for, waiting with nothing but that tempest spinning inside of my head and the steady ticking of the wall clock for company. It felt like hours, although I¡¯m sure it was probably no more than a few minutes before Lars returned. He entered the room, a satisfied grin on his face.


    ¡°There we go Sister Dearest, we¡¯re all set for some cosy brother and sister film time¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s Lela, what did you tell her?¡±, my voice trembled as I spoke. Part of me wouldn¡¯t have been surprised to hear that he had already given her the photos.


    Lars must have guessed where my thoughts were going, ¡°Don¡¯t worry Sister Dearest, I promised that I wouldn¡¯t let her know about your little indiscretions¡­ as long as you do what I ask.¡± there was an edge to those last few words, his voice soft with an implied threat. His tone softened further as he continued, ¡°I told her that you¡¯d gone out to a club with your boyfriend¡±.


    ¡°Lars, I don¡¯t have a boyfriend.¡±, There was a flutter in my heart, had he just made a mistake? Surely Lela would see through him and notice that something was wrong? I didn¡¯t realise the at time quite what a cleverly crafted ruse my fictional boyfriend would turn out to be.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you?¡±, Lars exclaimed, eye widening with mock surprise. ¡°Lela did seem a little confused about that too, at first. But then she just chuckled and said something about you choosing your latest conquest over her.¡± He paused for a second, an eyebrow raising as he carried on, ¡°Latest conquest, I wonder what she meant by that?¡±.


    The brief glimmer of hope I had evaporated, my heart sank at the realisation that Lela had bought the lie. I had no choice but to go along with this game. For the moment I was up against the ropes. A brisk draught from the hallway made me shiver and I suddenly felt very exposed.


    I looked up into Lars¡¯ eyes, speaking with a strained voice, ¡°OK, fine. Get the film ready and I¡¯ll get changed.¡±.


    An almost predatory look crossed my brother¡¯s face. ¡°Changed? Why would you want to do that? I thought you got yourself all dressed up especially for our night in together¡±, his voice tinged with feigned disappointment.


    In that moment I felt very uncomfortable. The dress which I had been so excited to wear earlier, now felt almost scandalous. I nervously fiddled with the hem, pulling it down, trying to cover myself.


    My mind raced frantically, trying to find any excuse, any way to escape his hungry glare, ¡°They¡¯ll be home soon¡±, my voice was meek, ¡°Mum and Dad. This dress, it¡¯s not really appropriate for a family film night¡±. It was a feeble plea and I knew it, but in that moment, under his gaze, I couldn¡¯t think of anything better.


    For a split second, a thoughtful look passed across Lars¡¯ face. I allowed myself to hope that he might be considering my words. But then he let out a soft chuckle.


    ¡°Oh, Sister Dearest! Are you so preoccupied with your own life, so self-centred that you¡¯ve forgotten what the date is today?¡±


    It was the 14<sup>th</sup> May. I stood for a few moments. That date did seem familiar. And then it dawned on me, Mum and Dad¡¯s wedding anniversary. Not just any wedding anniversary, it was their silver wedding anniversary and I had completely forgotten it.


    It was just then that another crushing realisation hit me.


    That morning when I came down to breakfast and I didn¡¯t see them, I¡¯d just assumed that they had already left for work. But they hadn¡¯t gone to work that day. They hadn¡¯t gone to work because they¡¯d left to tour Italy, celebrating their anniversary.


    Lars had planned this whole thing, plotted and waited until he knew that he had me alone in the house. Alone and trapped with him for two weeks. Two long weeks.

 Chapter 6 - Chocolate and Red Wine

    That sudden realisation struck me. Those photos hadn¡¯t been some chance finding for Lars. He¡¯d planned this. He had orchestrated it all. The timing, our parents going away, an empty house, me alone with him for two weeks. I stood frozen to the spot, waves of panic washing over me. Air think and constricting, closed in around me, suffocating.


    The bright, evening sunlight dimmed, a shadow flickering across the window. The room seemed suddenly smaller somehow, the walls pressed in on me. My chest tight, every breath became a forced effort.


    How long had he known about those photos? How long had he been waiting? What did he want from me? Was this simply for revenge or was there something more, something darker? My mind spun with these thoughts as I once again found myself trying to make some sense of the situation.


    Jaw tightening, teeth clenching, eyes widening. My lips parted in a soundless gesture. Lars seeing everything in my face, sensing my innermost fears, placed a hand on my shoulder. I recoiled, his touch seemingly sending a searing jolt down my arm.


    ¡°Oh, come now, Sister Dearest¡±, Lars¡¯ voice hollow, echoing around the room. ¡°aren¡¯t you looking forward to a bit of quality time with your brother? A good opportunity for us to get to know one another again, some bonding time. Just you and me, alone in this house¡±.


    Alone in this house. Those words of his lingered in my ears, their whispered promise repeating over and over. Alone. The way that he said that word haunted me. I couldn¡¯t put my finger on exactly what, but it felt dark, menacing even.


    ¡°Two weeks¡±, I muttered those words, my voice small and broken. Two weeks. My stomach turning, twisting inside of me. I had never wanted him to see me so visibly shaken. I had promised myself to be strong, to try to hold on to some level of control. But the revelation, the thought of two weeks alone with him, that glint in his eyes, the look of a predator stalking its prey, my blood ran cold.


    My gaze lifted towards him, a tremor rippled through my body as our eyes met. His, that piercing blue held me. No warmth, no emotion. His face expressionless, cold and blank.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been looking forward to this film night for quite some time now. Why don¡¯t you go and make yourself comfortable on the sofa and I¡¯ll go and fetch a few little treats that I picked up for us earlier today¡±.


    What was he planning? A cold, tingling sensation inside my chest told me that this was more than just blackmail. Taking a step backwards, eyes wandering to the front door desperate to find an escape route. The thought to make a run for it briefly crossed my mind but Lars was too close, I would never get there in time.


    A few minutes ago his eyes had seemed frosty, his lips thin and his voice hollow, lacking emotion, but something had changed. His skin seemed paler, something new flickered in his eyes, something unnatural. A slight, almost cruel smile curved his lips. His shadow stretched out across the floor, reaching towards me.


    His eyes widened, the smile broadening across his face, a look of satisfaction. I had no choice, my shoulders slumping I stepped into hallway, evening shadows starting to creep along its length. Each step, slow, shuffling, dragging my feet on that long walk towards the lounge.


    Despite the warm Spring evening outside, the air in the lounge bit me as I entered with an unseasonal chill, a shiver rippled over me, muscles tensing. The chill that I¡¯d felt earlier in the hallway seemed to be amplified in here.


    The room was usually the central point of our family life. Buzzing with conversation and laughter, today felt cold and empty. The open fireplace was bare.  The lightly painted walls, usually giving the room a bright and airy feel, on that day felt cold and featureless. The maroon carpeted floor offered no warmth beneath my feet. The heavy burgundy curtains drawn, casting the room in a grey, dim gloom. In front of me, its back to me, facing the television, suddenly seeming large and intimidating was our sofa.


    Breath shaking, rasping in my lungs, I walked over to that red sofa and took a seat.


    The red, corded cushions offered me little comfort, the rough texture rubbing at my skin like sandpaper. My body restlessly shifting, trying to find a position I could settle in.


    The heavy thud of Lars¡¯ footsteps on the hallway floor echoed around the room, followed by an ominous, soft, pat pat pat on the carpet as he approached.


    I tried to keep my eyes fixed on the blank screen of the television as Lars rounded the sofa and settled down next to me. A shiver once again rippled through me, deeper this time. That icy chill hanging in the air now seemed to be radiating directly from his body, a malevolent aura surrounding him.


    When Lars next spoke, his voice had changed. He had taken on an almost cheerful tone although there was something about it that felt forced. It was just a bit too warm, just a bit too eager. ¡°Well, isn¡¯t this going to be lovely. Just like when we were little. Do you remember when we used to cuddle up under a blanket and watch films together?¡±, I felt his eyes turn to me, pupils fixing on me as if expecting an answer. When he received none, he continued. ¡°I¡¯ve got us a few treats to enjoy, a nice bottle of red wine and some chocolate. Look, they¡¯re your favourites. Do you remember?¡±


    He didn¡¯t wait for a response from me this time. Leaning forward, he placed a large bar of chocolate onto the coffee table in front of the sofa. That was followed by a couple of wine glasses which he set down carefully with a soft clink. He smiled back at me, a strange smile. A wide smile, welcoming and friendly. His eyes however, narrow, peering at me with an unsettling gleam, told a different story.


    I fixed my stare onto the black of the television screen, Lars¡¯ form, a shadowy shape in my peripheral vision. A bright light danced in the corner of my eye, a reflection from the bottle that Lars held in his hand. Carefully he twisted a corkscrew into the cork, squeaking shrill with every turn. Gradually the cork was eased from the neck, a pop as it came free. Placing the cork down on the table, he proceeded to pour out two glasses of wine, a stream of blood red liquid filling each.


    ¡°Do you remember what our favourite film was?¡±, glancing at me sideways, he didn¡¯t take his eyes off me until a nodded.


    ¡°Willy Wonka¡±, I named the film softly, my voice a small whisper. It was a film that we had watched together countless times as children. Whenever we opened a bar of chocolate we would always cross our fingers, hoping that inside there would be a golden ticket. A ticket to that wonderful world of music, chocolate rivers, fizzy lifting drink and everlasting gobstoppers.


    Lars smiled again, a warm smile that was betrayed by the heartless look that he still held in his eyes. ¡°Well what better film for our first film night together than Willy Wonka.¡±, with those words he picked up the television remote, pressing the play button.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The VCR started with a click and a whirr, the sound seemed to echo all too loudly in that quiet room. The TV flickered to life, it¡¯s light causing shadows to dance across the walls. The colours of the opening credits splashed across the screen, the theme tune, once a nostalgic comfort now felt like a taunt, a mocking reminder of those happy times.


    Leaning forward, Lars picked up the chocolate bar. He began to peel back the bright yellow wrapper, revealing the shining brown chocolate within. ¡°What do you think, Sister Dearest? Do you think we¡¯ll find a golden ticket in here?¡±, his eyebrows pulled down, his as lip pouting in feigned disappointment, ¡°oh looks like we¡¯re out of luck.¡±


    He broke of a piece for himself before offering the bar to me.


    The bar wrapped tightly in its bright yellow wrapper, that familiar logo of Freia milk chocolate, bright and red. It had been my favourite growing up. Dad would often buy me a bar as a treat when I¡¯d been good. I would skip excitedly down the stairs in the mornings to find that yellow treasure, shining, shimmering, magically in the morning sunlight. Just waiting for me on the kitchen table.


    Now it was Lars, hand reached out towards me, his grip tight, offering me that prize. Twisting, corrupting that memory from our childhood. People often said that they had the look of one and other, Dad and Lars. Their eyes shared the same deep blue, but Dad¡¯s eyes were large, filled with love and kindness, bright and radiant like the summer sun. Lars, looking at me now with eyes narrow, creased, calculating and cruel, pale and frigid as the midwinter moon.


    My hand quivering, I reached out to take the chocolate, his fingers brushed mine as he handed it to me. Something unsettling passed across his face at that moment. A flicker of an eyelid, a twitch of his cheek. It was a look that I would come to know very well in the months and years to follow, a look that would come to terrify me.


    Hands fumbling, I snapped off a small square, placing it into my mouth before dropping the rest of the bar back onto the coffee table. The chocolate was tasteless in my mouth, dry and unusually hard.


    Lars¡¯ bent forward to pick up a wine glass, putting it to his mouth to take a sip before settling back to watch the film. His attention appeared to be on the television but the occasional flicker in the corner of his eyes, glances in my direction were a constant and unsettling reminder of his presence.


    ¡°Are you not drinking tonight? That¡¯s unlike you, Heidi, you¡¯re usually the life and soul of the party, here let me.¡±. Lars lips stretched into a thin smile that never quite reached his eyes. He plucked the second wine glass off the table and handed it to me. The tall, crystal glass, a gift from Lela on my 18<sup>th</sup> birthday felt smooth and heavy in my hand. The delicate glass, inscribed simply with the words ¡®Love Always¡¯.


    The metallic, bitter taste caused a shudder to cross my body, my stomach to clench. I tried to concentrate on the film, to ignore his presence but I couldn¡¯t focus, my mind wandered.


    His body shifted, moving closer to me. His shoulder softly brushed against mine. My eyes were fixed on the television, my mind trying to concentrate on the brightly coloured oompa loompas, dancing and singing on the screen. Even with my gaze focused forward, he was still there, always there, that shadow in the corner of my eye. He watched me, I could feel it, his gaze intense, studying me. A predatory intensity that caused the hairs on my neck to stand on end.


    I flinched as I felt him place a hand, hot and clammy on my knee. I jumped, spilling a splash of wine into my lap, leaving a crimson stain, dark against the soft pink velvet. I was once again suddenly aware of the length of that dress.


    Head jerking, my eyes fixed on his. Muscles tensing at a fear building up inside of me.


    ¡°Lars!¡±, in my mind a forceful warning, came out shrill and quivering.


    This wasn¡¯t a simple case of blackmail. It wasn¡¯t about the photos. I wasn¡¯t going to be able to pay him off easily. It was in that moment that I began to realise Lars¡¯ plan. This was about control and intimidation. It had all been planned, orchestrated so very carefully. The timing, waiting until the house would be empty, waiting until we¡¯d be alone together for two weeks. He wanted to control me, manipulate and intimidate me.


    It was working. With his hand, a heavy weight, pressing down on my knee, eyes, sharp and intense. The nausea of terror span like a whirlpool in my gut. My mind raced. What did he want? What were his plans? And the most chilling of them all, what was he capable of?


    ¡°Lars, don¡¯t do this¡±, a voice with no strength or conviction, a voice quivering and shaking. Was that my voice? Did I really say those words? I felt detached, as if watching from the other side of the room.


    A smooth mask of innocence crossed his face, ¡°Do what, Sister Dearest? I was just thinking how nice it would be to cuddle up together and watch the end of this film. Just like we used to do when we were small.¡±, his face may have been innocent but his voice, low and husky had taken on an edge of malice.


    If Lars wanted to intimidate me, he was succeeding.


    His arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me in close to his body. He felt warm, sticky against the bare skin of my arms, his breath hot on my neck. The subtle, musky scent of him filled my nostrils. I shook, my body quivering uncontrollably, muscles convulsing. Part of me screamed to fight him, kick him, punch him until he let me go. Another part of me was terrified. What would he do if I fought him? Would it anger him, would he turn on me, lash out at me. What would he do to me?


    I didn¡¯t fight, I just lay there held in his arms. My gaze was fixed on the television screen, my mind, silently pleading for the closing credits, willing for an end to that film that stubbornly would not come.


    The figures on the television screen moved in slow motion, their words incomprehensible, the colours washed out, the songs without tune. I barely dared to move as that film drew on.


    If felt as if hours had passed until finally, I heard that tune, watched as the great glass elevator disappeared into the blue sky and Willy Wonka came to an end.


    Even then, I dared not move, frozen in place for endless minutes as time seemed to come to a stand still. The VCR clicked sharply and hummed a mechanical drone, spitting out the finished video cassette. The screen dissolved into a chaotic jumble of white and black, accompanied by a constant crackling, hiss. The static on the TV seemed to reflect the turmoil that I felt within myself. Paralysed, unable to move I fought inside myself, fought for the courage to speak, fought for some words that just refused come. I couldn¡¯t look in his eyes, my gazed fixed on the flickering screen.


    When I did finally manage it, my voice was quiet, lacking in any conviction, ¡°I¡¯m tired, Lars. I think I¡¯d like to go to bed now.¡±.


    ¡°Already? It¡¯s only early and I always thought you a party girl. But I suppose that it has been an eventful day for you, hasn¡¯t it?¡±, his voice took on an almost warm and understanding tone as he removed his arms from around me, releasing me from his forced embrace. He continued, ¡°Well that was a very pleasant evening for me, it¡¯s been a long time since we¡¯ve done that. I am really looking forward to a spending a lot more time with you.¡±, the warmth in his voice suddenly gave way to an icy chill with those last few words, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.


    Standing, I smoothed the wrinkles from my dress and with slow, unsteady legs I walked, my feet shuffling towards the lounge door. The room was a blur. I didn¡¯t look at him. I don¡¯t remember looking at anything, I don¡¯t remember much at all about leaving that room. All I know is that my mind was set solely on getting out of there, getting away from him.


    I walked slowly, purposefully, there was still a part of me, deep down inside me that was trying to resist, trying to be strong. As soon as I reached the hallway all that strength, all that resistance cracked and then shattered. I broke into a run, I couldn¡¯t help myself. Heart pounding inside my chest, drumming on my ribs as that dark hallway, the endless tunnel closed in around me, the walls trying to suffocate me. Up the stairs, stairs that were steeper than I ever remember them being. At the top, a glint of light shone, a glint of hope. I fixed my eyes on that light, it was like a shimmering portal to a different world, somewhere safe, somewhere away from this darkness.


    I ran into my bedroom, throwing the door shut behind me with as much force as I could manage. I had hoped to see Bella still there, still laying on my bed but that small glimmer of hope dissolved, heart sinking as I realised the room was empty, lonely.


    I threw myself onto my bed, burying myself into my soft duvet, clutching it close as I pulled myself into a tight ball.


    I slept very little that night, my body restless, my mind racing with thoughts, with memories. Memories of that day, of the peace and safety that I¡¯d felt when in Lela¡¯s company, her warm smile and her soft touch. Memories of the fear, of the uncertainty of Lars¡¯ touch, uncomfortable, tacky.


    Eventually I did fall asleep, but it wasn¡¯t a peaceful sleep, it wasn¡¯t restful. It was a haunted sleep. Haunted by the terrors the stalk the darkest of our dreams. Dreams of walking lost in a forest, a forest dense, thick with the smell of rotting leaves. A forest dark, gloomy and oppressive. In those forests lurked the shadow beast. Black and menacing, eyes glowing red like hot coals. Stalking me, slowly herding me into his trap.

 Chapter 7 - The Boathouse

    Skin prickling, a shiver ran down my spine. My thin pink nightdress clung to me, damp in the thick, cold, moist air. The sweet, sickly odour of rotting wood and leaves mixed with wet earth filled my nostrils, turning my stomach. A soft, wet carpet of mud and moss oozed between my toes.


    All around me, trees, their trunks, corrupt, and gnarled, twisting into grotesque shapes, towering oppressively, reaching up over my head, up towards the black darkness above. Branches tangling and intertwining to form an impenetrable canopy.


    Pulse racing, eyes darting around nervously as the scene seemed to twist and change in front of me. Trees shifted, changed shape. One minute bent and deformed, the next tall and straight but always threatening, always watching.


    My hand tightened around Astrid, pulling her into my chest for comfort. Her yellow woollen hair, soft and familiar against the underside of my chin. Astrid. My childhood doll, I hadn¡¯t seen her in years but of course she was here, Astrid went everywhere with me.


    Astrid¡¯s pink, round face looked up to me, her bright painted smile raising a flicker of warmth in my chest. The vibrant green of her dress, a striking contrast to the grey, colourless surroundings. Knitted for me on the day I had been born, a gift from Grandmother. I clutched her close, a faint smell of lavender bringing back memories of my grandparents, a fragile comfort against the chilling, supernatural gloom of the forest.


    A rustle! A snapping twig! My ears strained, eyes darted wildly, left and right, scanning the dense undergrowth for any sign of movement.


    He was out there, he was coming, I could feel him.


    Unseen eyes burned holes in my flesh, my bare feet shifted nervously on the loose, soggy ground.


    Run! Run! The voice inside my head shouted at me. But run to where? He was everywhere, he was all around me.


    My breath, a ragged panting, misting the air in front of me was the only sound in that otherwise deafening silence. No wind or bird song, nothing but silence existed in that unearthly place.


    My breath held in my throat, a crack barely audible behind me. My ears strained. Again, I heard it, unmistakable this time.


    He was coming!


    The icy hand of fear gripped my heart, my muscles tensing, springing me forward, forward towards that thick, foreboding wall of trees. Feet squelching as I charged through the slick mud.


    Sharp pain stung me, the tangle of bush and bramble thorn bit at me, ripped into my skin, snagging, tearing the fabric of my nightdress. The pain of the thorns I could cope with, that pain was infinitely more tolerable than the pain that I¡¯d have to endure if he caught me.


    Eyes frantic, left, right, desperately seeking somewhere to hide, somewhere that would be safe from him. Anywhere.


    A flicker of white, a movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Spinning around, my breath catching. An apparition, white, pale and luminous glided serenely towards me. A woman. Her form translucent, shimmering with an otherworldly light drifted past me serenely. She looked silently at me as she did so. Her face would once have been something of beauty but now was etched with the deep lines of pain and sorrow. A single tear ran down her cheek as our eyes met, an almost imperceptible quivering of her lower lip. Floating on past me, with an ethereal grace she dissolved into the smothering shadows of the forest.


    I watched her form fade from view. For a moment I was mesmerised by her ghostly grace but the sound of his approach snapped me back to the present. He was still out there, still coming for me. The thought spurring me forward, plunging me into the trees and away from the sounds of his advance.


    The dense thicket gave way, opening out into a clearing, the canopy above opening to the sky. A sky of shifting, swirling colours. An unnatural glow, not the beautiful dance of the Aurora but a twisted spectacle. Ribbons of blood red, tangling and twisting around tendrils of sickly green. Slithering, writhing like serpents across the night sky in a nauseating display. The celestial lights, casting long shadows into the clearing before me.


    My stomach fluttered in excitement as I glanced out into that clearing. In its centre lay a giant oak tree, green with moss and speckled with fungi and lichen.


    A hiding place.


    Bare feet sliding on the slippery ground, I ran towards that fallen tree, a new hope rose inside me. Beneath its great mass I could see a dark hollow beckoning me in, a safe haven.


    Mud, slick and wet on my skin, soaking, fouled my nightdress as I pulled myself down, wriggling, slithering beneath the remains of that hulking tree. Astrid, I tucked safely under me. My eyes squeezed shut. Don¡¯t find me. Please don¡¯t¡¯ find me.


    A sound, a distinctive sound. He was close. He was coming. Dead leaves rustling underfoot, it was unmistakable now. Breath holding in my lungs, muscles frozen solid. Every part of me still, every part of me silent. I knew only too well that any sound now would give me away. He¡¯d find me.


    Eyes opening just a crack, I dared to peek out from under that tree. He was there, I could see him now.


    The Shadow Beast.


    A dark, misty figure. Eyes bright red, two glowing coals set in that featureless face of black shadow.


    Sharp and acrid, the smell of him filled my senses. A smell all too familiar, threatening to overwhelm me.


    I barely dared to watch him from my fragile sanctuary beneath that tree.


    His glowing red gaze scanning, searching for me, sweeping that clearing, left, right. The steady, monotonous sound of him moving, pacing.


    ¡°Heidi¡­ come Heidi¡±, a slow, rasping whisper rising from the bottomless void of his misty form.


    Around and around the clearing I watched him. Slowly swaying back and forth as he shambled, circling. Softly repeating my name.


    He knew I was there, he could smell me.


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    The scene constantly changing, shifting before my eyes. In one moment I was surrounded by a thick, dense forest. In the next the trees would fade to reveal a darkened room, grey and featureless before swirling and again, transporting me back, surrounded once again by those dark, twisted trees.


    The Shadow Beast never changed, he was always there. His chilling presence constantly shuffling, stumbling, round and round. ¡°Heidi, come to me¡±, his voice like a viper¡¯s hiss.


    Oozing, squelching around me, I pressed myself down further into that rancid mud, squeezed myself tighter beneath that tree, trying to conceal myself further.


    ¡°Come Heidi, be a good girl¡± the dry, rustling whisper continuing to beckon me, trying to lure me out to where I knew he would strike, strike as he had done so many times before.


    The cold chill seeping through the thin fabric of my nightdress, soaking me. Thick, claggy mud stuck to my legs, arms and face. It matted my hair, clinging to me, plastering my scalp.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t find me, please don¡¯t see me¡±, a small voice, a child¡¯s voice whispered over and over in my head.


    Breath holding in my throat, burning in my lungs for as long as I could bear it. My chest ready to explode, I gradually exhaled, slowly, silently. Fear clenched every part of my being. Silence. Any sound, the softest murmur and I knew he¡¯d find me.


    The great fallen oak above me, like some magical tree creature, an ancient guardian, leaning over me protectively. Branches, green with moss and hung with vines. Giant arms surrounding, shielding, cradling me, concealing me from the evil that stalked just meters away.


    A soft hiss seemed to escape the bark of that tree, ¡°shhhhhh¡± it seemed to whisper, ¡°sssssafe¡±.


    The shuffling rustle of the Shadow Beast¡¯s movement began to fade. I saw him, as I dared peek out from underneath that fallen trunk, watched as his black, wispy form moved away, melting into the dim gloom of the forest around me. Into those surreal trees, twisting, changing before my eyes.


    Gone for now.


    Cool, sweet air filled my lungs. Sucking my breath in deeply I allowed myself to start breathing, a luxury I¡¯d been denying myself, fearing any sound, any sound that could give me away.


    Quivering and shaking, I lay there, in the mud and leaves, in the protective embrace of the tree. Long minutes passed, how many I couldn¡¯t tell you, until I was sure that the Beast had gone, sure that I was safe. Safe for now at least.


    I slithered out from under that tree, mud coating me. My arms, legs were caked in that black filth, my nightdress, stained and torn, dragged through the dirt. Twigs and leaves tangled and pulled in my hair.


    I groped in the hollow, desperate to find Astrid. Finger tips brushing the soft wool of the doll, I snatched at her, grabbed and pulling her out, pulling her close to me for comfort.


    My eyes, wide, scanning the trees, alert to any sign of movement. Ears straining, aching in the unearthly silence which enveloped this place, straining for any sound. Anything that could indicate his return.


    Just silence and stillness. He had left to find another prey.


    Turning I found the fallen trunk gone. Only moments before, where a rotting tree had lain now stood a strong oak tree, branches reaching out above me.


    All around were the constantly shifting shapes. The birch and aspen, twisted, bent and deformed. Tall pine trees, withered, their needles brown, their branches drooping. From deep within those corrupt branches where eyes, hundreds of eyes, flicking red, watching me. Always watching.


    Yet, surrounded by all that darkness and despair stood a strong, noble oak. The pattern of the bark seemed to form the features of a face. Eyes closed peacefully, Mouth carving a wide, welcoming smile.


    The vison of that tree caused something to stir, a flicker of a recollection just out of reach. There was something familiar about that oak tree, I had seen it before, I was sure of it.


    It wasn¡¯t until a number of years later, when I was going through some of my old sketch books that I realised why it had seemed so familiar. There, in that book I found an old pencil drawing of a mighty treeman standing protectively over a frightened fairy.


    With a jolt something grabbed my ankle, an icy hand gripped me, fingers chilling me to the bone.


    I spun around shaking my head, trees shifting, spinning before me. I was no longer in the forest but stood at the edge of a large lake, ankle deep in its water. Overhead the sky, still that myriad of snaking, seething colours, contorting in their ethereal performance. The water shimmered silver, no reflection of the skies above. A grey mist hanging low over its surface like a ghostly blanket swirling around me.


    Beyond the banks of the lake, the land lay dark, a blackness deeper than the darkest night. Trees lined the banks and from within those trees, peered out the same eyes, red, flickering. Not the eyes of the shadow beast but of another malignant force, always watching me, always judging me.


    I crouched down, gasping in the icy water as I began to scrub myself. The mud and leaves clung to me, my teeth chattering with the chill of each splash of water. I washed, rubbed at my legs, my arms, my face and hair. Cleansing myself of the forest¡¯s filth.


    Finally, looking down in the water, a face stared back up at me, a clean face, a child¡¯s face. Her blonde hair tied back into a plat, her blue eyes red and bloodshot, there was something about those eyes, something haunted, disconnected behind them. It wasn¡¯t the face of an eighteen year old woman, but it WAS my face.


    I gazed up, looking out on to the lake, out at the seemingly calm water, shimmering with an eerie silver light. A light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. The clam was deceptive. Under the surface, swirling and writhing were currents. Strong, powerful currents. Even in the shallow water where I stood, I could feel them. Tugging on me, pulling on my ankles. It was if a watery hand grabbing me, trying to drag me down into the endless, silver depths.


    Toes tingling, numbed by the piercing cold waters of the lake, I stepped backwards fighting the pull of the water¡¯s grasp.


    Backwards, feet slipping out from under me on the slick, green algae covered wood. Arms flailing, I scrambled to regain my balance.


    One moment cold water swirled around my ankles, the next slimy planks beneath my soles. I stood on a jetty reaching out into the lake.


    I knew this place.


    Behind me, nestled up against the shore, stood the boathouse. How many countless hours had I spent in that little boathouse gazing out onto that lake? Grandfather¡¯s boathouse. It was a small, squat building, walls of pine boarding glimmered a dim red in the surreal light. The double doors dominating the front of the boathouse loomed wide, gaping jaws into the blackness within. The roof steeply pitched and covered in green turf.


    Behind the boat house rose that forest of corrupted, ever shifting trees, rising dark and foreboding. My skin prickled and the hairs on my arms stood on end at the constant presence of those millions of eyes watching me from the dark depths of the trees.


    My ears pricked up, my eyes darting from tree to tree. He¡¯s still out there, he¡¯s still hunting. The chilling thought echoed relentlessly in my mind.


    On tip toe, gripping Astrid tightly I began to edge towards the gaping doors of the boathouse and the black void within.


    Once inside, the darkness consumed me. The walls shifting, changing. The scene swirled, rooms, places that seemed distantly familiar coming and going too quickly to discern any detail.


    In the corner a small figure huddled, buried in a blue blanket pulled tightly around himself as if shielding from something terrible. Even in the dim gloom the features of his face stood out perfectly. A young boy, around eight years old, terror etched on that innocent face. His head looked up as I entered, his blue, piercing eyes fixed on me. Eyes that were filled with tears, tears which on seeing me overflowed, streamed down his cheeks.


    ¡°Heidi¡­¡± Lars¡¯ voice was a broken sob.


    A lump tightened in my throat, a tide of emotion washed over me. A warm sense of compassion and love. I rushed to his side, kneeling beside him. Wrapping my arms around him, I pulled him in close to me. My twin brother buried his head into my shoulder, his small body trembling as he sobbed uncontrollably.


    A soft whimper escaped my lips, the horror, the fear, I couldn¡¯t keep it bottled up any longer. My shoulders begin quivering, my breath shuddering with every sob, my face suddenly awash with tears. I clutched Lars tighter as we knelt there together. Crying together. Myself, Lars and Astrid, together against the fear and horror, together against the darkness which that night was stalking us.


    Lars¡¯ small voice quivered in the dark sanctuary of the boathouse, trembling with every word, ¡°We¡¯ll look after each other won¡¯t we, Heidi? We¡¯ll protect each other?¡±.


    ¡°Always! Nothing can hurt us while we¡¯ve got each other¡±, I heard my voice saying.


    We both clung to each other, pulling ourselves into an even tighter ball as an ear splitting scream shattered the unearthly silence.


    The Shadow Beast had claimed a victim.

 Chapter 8 - Breakfast

    I woke with a start, cold sweat moistening my skin, that terrible scream still ringing in my ears.


    It had been a restless sleep, haunted by disturbing dreams. There had been something in those dreams, something about that Shadow Beast which felt eerily familiar. Something lurking in the back of my mind, a memory stirring deep in my subconscious, just out of reach.


    Driving rain drummed loudly on my window pane, a shrill howling and whistling of the wind blowing through the branches of the pine trees outside pierced the air. Creaking and cracking as they were tossed violently by the gusts, swaying this way and that.


    There was no bright sunshine on that morning, instead a dull grey gloom seemed to seep into the room. Shadows, dark and oppressive clung to the walls, leaning over me, threatening me.


    A damp chill lingered heavily in the air raising prickles on my skin, a shiver rippled down my spine. I wrapped my arms around myself, the soft feel of velvet brushing my skin. The velvet of last night¡¯s dress which I was still wearing. That beautiful dress, that gift from Lela.


    I pushed myself up on my bed, my elbow, swollen and purple, throbbing. A sharp, stabbing pain jolting through my chest with every breath. Those injuries bringing home the memory the attack by my brother and the threat which he posed to me.


    My room was as it always had been, but on that dim, stormy morning, something felt different, something felt wrong. The ominous space on my dresser where the little box of keepsakes had once stood. The little box which had held those photos. My paintings on the walls, those images from my fanciful imagination and vibrant dreams now seemed somehow, tainted. I could see something new in those pictures, there was something different about them. A darkness, an evil lurking just out of sight. That leaf clad fairy, dipping her toe into a shimmering pool, unaware of the danger, a dark shape lurking just beneath the surface, currents conspiring to pull her under. The galloping unicorn, a creature that I¡¯d once considered so carefree now seemed to be running from something. His eyes were open wide in fear, foam forming at his mouth.


    To me, sitting here now with the benefit of hindsight, it¡¯s blindingly obvious. But back then I just didn¡¯t realise the significance of those pictures. They were just sketches, doodles and paintings. Fancies of my imagination, dreams from a simple and innocent time. I didn¡¯t understand the meanings hidden in them, the messages that my subconscious had been trying to tell me for so long. I was blind to the secrets that it had locked away from me.


    Standing up I let myself fall into the familiar, mundane ritual of my morning routine. I undressed. Reaching behind my back, fingers finding the small zip. Pulling it down I let the dress fall into a heap of velvet at my feet. I discarded my underwear, throwing it in the direction of the washing basket. Unfastening the watch from around my wrist and carefully placing it on the dresser top.


    I reached for my towel, wrapping it tightly around myself. The soft, warm fabric allowed me some small measure of comfort against the heavy, clinging atmosphere in the room. Pulling open my bedroom door, I stepped out onto the landing.


    I was greeted with dark shadows, there was no sunlight to pierce the gloom. A strange silence had settled over the house, broken only by the sound of the rain and the monotonous tap, tap, tap of branches in the wind, knocking against the small window above the staircase. The doors to the other bedrooms were closed. Bella wasn¡¯t at her usual spot at the top of the stairs that morning. Where she¡¯d usually be laying protectively, there was just an empty space.


    I felt alone.


    Stepping into the bathroom, the cold tiles felt like ice beneath my feet. Shoulders shuddering, teeth chattering in the ever present chill of the room. Far from the exhilaration I usually felt from it, on that morning the air was frigid and biting.


    Breath catching in my throat, the air freezing in my lungs, an icy grip in my chest. I saw him.


    Standing there, by the bathroom mirror wearing only the underwear that he had slept in was Lars. He looked at me, his eyes widening as I stepped into the room, his expression, unreadable.


    My body tremored, a chilling wave of fear crashing over me, adding to the already wintry feel of the air. Dread rose up from the pit of my stomach. Droplets of moisture glistened my forehead, drips running down my back and chest, frosty trails left in their wake.


    I pulled the towel tighter around myself.


    A thin smile stretched his lips. His eyes, cold, shone with an unnerving glint, lingering on me for just a little too long. My feet shifted nervously on the floor as I wrapped my arms around myself, clutching the towel tightly. I felt exposed, vulnerable, naked in front of him. What was he doing here, what did he want of me? My mind flashed with images that I was desperate to push away.


    ¡°Good morning, Sister Dearest¡±, his voice smooth but with words that carried no warmth, ¡°oh have you hurt your elbow? That looks nasty, you might need to get it checked.¡±, his tone turned syrupy in concern but a sneer rose at the edge of his mouth, noticing the injury that he¡¯d inflicted on me the day before.


    I was alone in this house, alone with Lars. I was naked and vulnerable. It took all of my strength, but with a trembling voice I managed to form the words, ¡°What are you doing here Lars? I want to take a shower.¡±.


    Those eyes of his narrowed menacingly, his expression predatory. He looked like the cat who had just cornered a mouse and was contemplating what to do with it.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s ok. You jump right in, I really don¡¯t mind. I just thought it¡¯d be nice to have a little chat. Seeing as we got along so well last night.¡±


    My arms crossed over my chest, my hands tightly gripping the edge of towel, knuckles whitening. The things he was saying, this obviously calculated invasion of my privacy. What were his intentions? I looked into his eyes, searching for something, some clue as to what he wanted but there was nothing there. They were like empty pits just looking straight back at me, the cat sizing up its prey. The ever present ache in my elbow was a constant reminder of what he could be capable of, just a small taste of what was to come.


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    I fought myself, trying to find my voice. Finally, when it did come, it was a soft voice, barely above a whisper. ¡°Please Lars, I don¡¯t know what it is that you want, but can you please just let me have a shower?¡±.


    ¡°Of course my dear sister, go ahead¡±, keeping those soulless eyes fixed on me he nodded in the direction of the shower.


    My pulse racing, pounding inside me, feet frozen to the spot. We both knew all too well that he had me cornered. He was tormenting me, playing with me just as that cat would play with its mouse before finally lashing out and striking the fatal blow.


    With an overly theatrical gesture, Lars threw his arms out to the side as if he¡¯d suddenly come to some great realisation.


    ¡°Oh, are you feeling bashful? That¡¯s unlike you, you¡¯re not usually that shy. ¡°, pausing briefly, his eyebrow arching, a slight smirk playing at his lips, a barely audible chuckle deep in his throat, ¡°Of course I can let you have a little privacy, if that¡¯s what you¡¯d like. I¡¯ll make us some breakfast. It will be ready soon so do come straight down after your shower.¡±


    With those words he brushed past me, a small, contented smile crossing his face as he closed the door behind himself. As he did so, from the corner of my eye I caught a flash of movement, a slight flicker in the mirror. It was gone in a heartbeat but I knew what I¡¯d seen. Not Lars¡¯ reflection but a dark shadowy image, two red eyes glowing brightly within. The reflection had gone but the image lingered on in my mind.


    Drawing in a ragged breath, I lunged for the door catch. With fingers trembling, I rammed it across, bolting it securely with a sharp click. Lars was starting to worm his way into my head, I needed to find a way to regain control.


    Reluctantly I let the towel fall to the ground, the chill of the air biting my skin. Stepping into the shower I turned the tap. The tepid water began to cascade over my body, doing nothing to warm me. I felt numb, my body moving mechanically, just going through the motions. Scrubbing myself I barely noticed the fragrance of my soap. The peppermint and cedarwood, such a familiar scent, a scent usually so comforting now hardly even registered with me.


    Bubbles ran down into my eyes, stinging, burning, blurring my sight. Despite the pain, I didn¡¯t dare to close them. I knew that if I did the visions would return, visions of that shadowy creature from my dreams.


    The water drummed a steady rhythm on my head and shoulders, the falling water masking the tears that were running down my cheeks. Slumping against the cold, tiled wall, I slid down. Pulling my knees into my chest, I watched the water spiralling around and around, down into the plughole. Conflicting feelings tumbled over each other in my head, feelings of terror and feelings of gratitude. Terror at what Lars may do and the gratitude to him for leaving me, letting me have this shower in privacy.


    Gratitude? How could feel grateful?


    Time slipped past, I felt mesmerised by the water beating down and then swirling away into the plug. A loud, sharp knock at the door snapped me out of my trance, my heart leaping. Arms wrapped tightly around myself instinctively, trying to cover my nudity.


    He didn¡¯t attempt to open the door but I heard his voice from the other side, strong and confident. ¡°Sister Dearest, I¡¯ve made you some breakfast. It¡¯s your favourite, salmon and eggs.¡±. His voice conveyed a tone of kindness, the way he spoke was as if he was doing me some great kindness. ¡°Don¡¯t be long now.¡±.


    Body shaking, I slowly got to my feet and turned off the tap. As I stepped out of the shower the cold air of the bathroom once again nipped at my skin. Teeth chattering, I picked up the towel and started to dry myself, the towel felt cold and damp against me. I dried myself off as best I could, before wrapping it around me. Then, with a deep breath, hands shaking, I tentatively unbolted the door.


    Stepping out onto the landing I had half expected to find Lars waiting for me, but it was empty. The rhythm of the rain and the tap tap tap of the tree branches on that little window were the only sounds I could hear, although my nose did catch the smells of freshly cooked eggs drifting up from the kitchen below.


    Back in my bedroom and only once I was sure that the door was securely closed did I allow the towel to fall. Quickly grabbing some underwear from my drawer and jogging bottoms and a baggy blue jumper from my wardrobe, I started to get dressed.


    I sucked in a deep breath, wincing slightly at a sharp jolt from the pain still present in my chest. Hesitantly and with a quivering hand I slowly pushed open my door. Stepping out onto the landing, I slowly began descending the stairs one by one. An endless staircase leading down towards the dark, shadow shrouded hallway below.


    On reaching the hallway I was suddenly aware of the feeling of dozens of eyes, little flickers of red always just on the edge of my view, watching me. The family photos, my paintings, all looking at me, judging me. Judging me on all of the mistakes that I had made, judging me on all of the mistakes that were still to come.


    Among all those accusatory faces one photo stood out to me, shining brightly in the dim light. A photo of my father. My father as a young man, standing proudly dressed in the red tracksuit of the Norwegian cross country ski team. The resemblance between him and Lars was striking, but whereas Lars¡¯ face was cold and cruel, Dad¡¯s was one of warmth and love.


    His smile gave me the strength that I needed to step into the kitchen.


    ¡°There you are, my dear. I was starting to wonder if you¡¯d drowned up there. I hope you had an enjoyable shower?¡±, Lars¡¯ voice was one of genuine warmth but that warmth in his voice never touched his narrow eyes or twitching lips.


    He was sat at the head of table facing me, his elbows resting on its edge. In front of him was a plate of scrambled egg and smoked salmon. Another plate had been placed opposite. Cold blue eyes looked at me, his mouth smiling a smile that carried no kindness as he gestured to me to take a seat.


    I moved, almost unwillingly towards the table, as if compelled to by his silent command. My body felt numb. The details of the room are a haze to me now, looking back. All I remember clearly is the satisfied look on Lars¡¯ face as I sat down in front of the meal that he¡¯d prepared for me. It was the same look that we¡¯d give Bella after she¡¯d performed a new trick. A chilling thought.


    With an expectant look on his face, his head nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on me. I picked up the knife and fork. The utensils were heavy in my hands as I cut a bite and brought it to my lips. I would love to be able to tell you that the food was poorly prepared but I can¡¯t, Lars had done a very good job on my favourite breakfast. The eggs were cooked perfectly and the salmon was delicious. The flavours danced on my tongue, the eggs were soft and creamy, the salmon smooth with a rich smoky flavour that cut through perfectly. It was a strange feeling, the sensations of flavour, the enjoyment I felt at eating that meal contrasted sharply with the empty detachment that all of my other senses felt.


    ¡°Thank you¡±, I heard myself saying once I¡¯d finished the breakfast, my voice a shallow whisper.


    Looking at me, a flicker of triumph in his eyes, ¡°Why Heidi, I¡¯m so pleased that you enjoyed it¡±, it was the look of victory. He thought he¡¯d broken me, he thought that I was his.


    He was wrong, I was far from ready to lay down just yet.


    ¡°I assume that you¡¯re planning on staying home today?¡±, Lars¡¯ tone was sharp, suggesting less of a question and more of a command.


    ¡°I¡­ I guess so¡±, voice stammering under his heavy gaze. I wasn¡¯t ready to give up just yet, but I needed to be clever, pick my time carefully.


    Lars just nodded his head slowly, ¡°It¡¯s looking like the rain has stopped, I think I¡¯ll go out and wash the car. I won¡¯t be far, just outside¡±, his tone rising very slightly, just enough to emphasise those last couple of words.


    I felt a sudden flutter in my chest, some small glimmer of hope in the back of my mind. Was this going to be Lars¡¯ mistake? With him out of the house, perhaps I¡¯d have the chance to escape his clutches.


    If I could get to the phone¡­


    With Lars¡¯ eyes fixed on me, I tried the supress the smile that wanted to break out across my face. The edges of my mouth twitched, a feeling of warmth rising up inside me.


    Perhaps this was my time.

 Chapter 9 - Loganberry Tea

    My skin prickled, my stomach a fluttering mess of jumbled emotions. Nerves, excitement, apprehension, they all tumbled within me. Hands twitching, fidgeting on the table. My feet tapped a manic rhythm on the tiled floor. The ticking of the wall clock loud in my ears.


    The creak of an opening door was followed by a sudden thud, a thud which was echoed by the heart within my chest.


    Lars was out of the house, I was alone!


    But for how long? I had to act!


    Springing to my feet, knocking my chair clattering to the ground as I ran across the kitchen to the window.


    The rain had stopped but the clouds still hung, low and dark. I remember though, at that moment something catching my eye, a bright flicker. Out on the otherwise leaden waters of the Oslofjord, a sudden golden glimmer of light, a reflection from a break in the cloud. A glimmer of hope. A small, desperate hope.


    My entire body trembled, quivering as I watched him walking down the driveway, bucket in hand, towards his parked car.


    I had to act now, I didn¡¯t know when I¡¯d get another chance.


    The hallway! The phone!


    I ran. I ran from the kitchen to where our phone was hung on the hallway wall. My footsteps echoing loudly in my ears. My vision, a tunnel focused on that black box on the far wall. The phone, the phone was all that mattered.


    I almost tripped over Bella, who jumped, startled out of my way with a yelp. I flew out of the kitchen door. The hallway stretched in front of me, a long narrow passage.


    The phone! A light at the end of the tunnel.


    Hands shaking from the adrenaline surging through me, I grabbed the receiver, snatched it off the hook, cold and heavy in my hand. A quivering finger started to tap out a number, the small square buttons clicking with each press. 28 64¡­


    No! That was Lela¡¯s number. I couldn¡¯t speak to Lela, not about this.


    Anders! Anders could help get me out of this mess.


    29 53 73 56¡­.


    Silence. It wasn¡¯t ringing. Why wasn¡¯t it ringing?


    Frantically I tapped the cradle switch. Hammering it, rattling it with every strike.


    No ringtone!


    My breath froze, icy in my throat. Something was wrong.


    The cable, the telephone cable was missing.


    It had been removed.


    My stomach tightened, knotting instantly. The hope and excitement that had just moments ago filled me, melted away.


    Lars had taken it, he must have done!


    My hope of escape, gone.


    Knees quivering weakly before giving way. I fell backwards, back striking against the wall with a thump. My gaze fixed on the phone, staring at the empty socket on the wall, expecting the cable to just materialise. This couldn¡¯t be, the numbness of denial spread over me.


    I needed to be honest with myself. I was terrified of Lars, petrified at the thought of being alone with him, in this empty house for two weeks. At first, I had thought that this game of his was going to be a simple blackmail, but it was obvious to me now, that wasn¡¯t going to be the case. Things had gone far beyond that. The film night. Waiting for me before my shower. And now this, he had me trapped in my own house. A prisoner under my own roof.


    What game was he playing, I wasn¡¯t sure of anything anymore? Was this all just about revenge? Was he trying to break me emotionally? Just how far would he go? I had no answers to those questions back then, answers that would in time reveal themselves, answers that would prove to be horrific beyond anything I could ever have imagined.


    It was all about those photos, they were the only hold over me that he had. It was the photos that gave him his power. Take away the power of those photos and I knew that I¡¯d break his grip on me.


    My mind was racing. I could confess. I could speak to Lela, talk to her and try to explain what had happened between myself and Anders. My hands were shaking at the thought. It would devastate her, I knew that. It would seriously damage our friendship, possibly beyond repair but it would take the power away from Lars.


    But how? How could I reach out to her? No phone and no way out of the house. He would never let me.


    My mind lingered on those photos for a moment longer.


    Maybe there was another way. A fresh seed of hope, a warm bubble rose inside me.


    Those photos were his means of control, they were his weapon. There was a way that I could remove their influence without hurting Lela and destroying our friendship. Lars was out of the house. I needed to find where he¡¯d hidden them. I needed to get my hands on those photos.


    The bubble of hope grew inside me. My mind, which earlier had been a chaotic jumble of thoughts and feelings, began to settle. I was able to think clearly again, it was obvious, all I needed to do was find those photos.


    A small smile spread across my face.


    He was still outside.


    I still had time but that time that was slipping away with every tick of the clock.


    ¡°Bella, here girl¡±, my voice was strong and confident. A surge of energy tingled over me as a dark shape came loping out of the kitchen, big brown eyes looking up at me. Her tongue, warm and wet drew across my face as I bent down to her, ruffling the fur behind her ears. ¡°Play guard¡±, my finger pointing at the front door as I gave her the command.


    With a tail wagging back and forth, patting a rhythm on the floor, she sat facing the door, those big eyes fixed and intent. A simple command for a simple game, bark when someone enters the room. Usually, a game that we¡¯d play for fun, except today we weren¡¯t playing, today she was my alarm, my warning signal should Lars return.


    With my guard dog in place, my mind snapped back to the task in hand. Where were those photos? His bedroom was the most obvious answer, the room that I was least likely to enter.


    The loud tick of the wall clock reverberated in my skull, it was now or never.


    I had to move quickly.


    Running up the stairs, taking them two at a time in my urgency to reach the top. Halfway up my foot slipped, my shin slamming into the hard wooden edge of the step. Pain flared, sharp and intense, a warm trickle of blood running down my shin. Gasping, I grabbed the banister, trying to shut out the pain. I pulled myself to my feet, I had to keep going.


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    Reaching the top, there wasn¡¯t time to take in the details of the landing. My surroundings where a blur, there was only one thing that mattered, the second door. Lars¡¯ door.


    The adrenaline was flooding through me again, my body shaking, my senses seemed heightened. The rapid rhythm of my heart, beating against my ribcage.


    Fumbling with Lars¡¯ door handle, with trembling hands I turned the cold brass handle, swinging the door open.


    Where were they? Where would he have hidden them? The photos were the only thing on my mind as I stepped into his room.


    With curtains still drawn, the darkness of the room engulfed me. A musty smell, the scent of stale sweat and cheap deodorant assaulted my senses and made my stomach churn.


    Eyes twitched impatiently, left and right, straining, struggling to make out any details in the gloom.


    The blackness began to soften into a dull grey. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, objects began to emerge from the gloom. Lars¡¯ bed, unkempt and unmade in front of me. A wardrobe, large and imposing, seemingly towering over me, threatening me in my trespass. A chest of drawers, its top scattered with magazines and the occasional action figure was beside the head of his bed.


    A cold shudder ran down my spine, the feeling of being watched, of unseen eyes lurking in the shadows raised prickles on the back of my neck.


    The drawers, they had to be there!


    Hurriedly I lunged towards that chest of drawers, feet snagging and tangling in discarded clothing, causing me to stumble and trip as I went.


    Grabbing the rough wooden handles, I pulled open the top drawer. Socks, boxershorts, underpants. I threw them aside in my frantic search. Nothing.


    In my over eagerness, I yanked the second drawer clean out of the unit. It slammed onto the floor with a deafening thud, a thud which seemed to reverberate throughout the house. My breath held for a moment, palms moistening, ears straining for anything, any sign that I might have given myself away. There was only silence, no sound, nothing.


    Rummaging through his t-shirts. Desperately casting them aside, digging deep but again my search found nothing.


    Flinging the drawer across the floor, my hand reached for the third and final handle. Pulling it open revealed Lars¡¯ winter wear. Hats, gloves, thermals. How long had I been in here? How much longer did I have? Bella, my sentry on duty remained silent. I searched through that last drawer, my last hope. Spirits fading, my heart sinking with every moment. They weren¡¯t there.


    My eyes, now accustomed to the darkness darted around the room. Where else? Where else would he have hidden them?


    A flutter of excitement surged in me, my body tingling with relief. I hadn¡¯t noticed them before, they had been invisible in the low light of the room. But now I saw them. On Lars¡¯s bed sat a small packet of Polaroid photos, their smooth surface gleaming in the thin column of sunlight which found its way in through a crack in the curtains.


    My body shook uncontrollably as my hands closed around them. I grabbed them, pulling them towards me, holding them against my chest, scarcely believing it to be true.


    I had found the photos, Lars had nothing on me now. No tool to manipulate me any further.


    A deep, booming sound from downstairs brought me back to the present. It didn¡¯t register at first but then I recognised it, the sound of a dog barking.


    Lars was back in the house.


    I gripped those photos, held them tightly, they were my lifeline. This was it, this was my moment. A sense of elation flooded over me, my legs quivering, pulse racing. Taking a deep breath I stepped out of his room and onto the landing. I could hear him now, hear him coming up the stairs. His boots a heavy thud, thud, thud on the hard wooden steps.


    He saw me as soon as he rounded the stairs. His eyes narrowed, flicking between me and the open door to his bedroom.


    A slow, deep breath filled my lungs, my voice steady and confident as I spoke. ¡°I have them, Lars. I have the photos.¡±.


    His eyes narrowed further, lips pursing tightly, back straightening. He stood there motionless, his eyes moving slowly between my face and the small packet held tightly in my hand.


    I had expected rage and anger but when he did speak, his voice sounded low, condescending almost. ¡°You don¡¯t understand do you, Heidi?¡± pausing, taking a deep breath, ¡°This isn¡¯t about those photos, this is about you. You caused all of this.¡±.


    ¡°Me?!¡±, my voice, shrill in the air. An anger bubbling up in me. How could he insinuate that this was MY fault?


    ¡°You caused this,¡±, he repeated those words, his tone cool and calm, ¡°with your vanity, your self-centred arrogance. Tell me one thing, do you really feel no guilt for what you¡¯ve done?¡±


    I was taken back, I¡¯d expected this to be my moment of triumph and yet here Lars was trying to twist things. ¡°Me, Lars? Was it me who hit you yesterday? Was it me who threatened blackmail? What am I supposed to have done?¡±.


    For a very brief moment I felt a renewed confidence, a fire ignited within me. I was winning.


    I was back in control.


    ¡°Yes Heidi, it¡¯s what you¡¯ve done!¡±, a firmness had made its way into his tone. ¡°Answer me, what sort of person sleeps with her best friend''s boyfriend?¡±, it came across as a blunt statement rather than a question. ¡°Not just a best friend but the girl she claims to love as a sister? Tell me, what sort of morally and emotionally devoid person does something like that? Not only to commit the act, but to keep the evidence like some kind of trophy?¡± I opened my mouth to speak but Lars cut me off, ¡°You accuse me of wanting to hurt Lela, ask me how I can be so cruel, threatening to reveal those photos to her. Let me ask you, who is in those photos?¡±


    I wanted to argue but the words stuck in my throat.


    Something changed in Lars expression, I couldn¡¯t quite put my finger on what it was. A hint of vulnerability perhaps, ¡°And then there¡¯s me, your own brother. I relied on you, Heidi! For everything that I was subjected to, I managed to get through because I had you. I always had you to comfort me, take the pain away. Together we could escape this world. Together we could protect each other. But then you just cast me aside, abandoned me. For what? For popularity? You chose your appearance over your own twin brother. If it was only that, I think I could have coped. But it wasn¡¯t only that. The things he did, the things they did, the things you did. From then on I¡¯ve had to face those things alone. There was nobody to comfort me. Nobody to escape with to an imaginary world where we could pretend that everything was alright. There was no escape from any of it, the only choice I had was to endure¡±, his features hardened again, ¡°That was what you did to me, Heidi. Everything that has happened is of your own making.¡±


    My eyes blinked as I tried to form some words, tried to argue. But those words just wouldn¡¯t come. Thoughts spun through my head. Was Lars right? Was this all my own doing? I had betrayed Lela in a most awful way. I desperately tried to convince myself that I was remorseful for that but I couldn¡¯t. I¡¯d never allowed myself to believe that I¡¯d ever done anything wrong. And then of course there was Lars, my brother. He was right, we had been close, so close. He had needed me. That look in his eyes, the look when the other children started jeering at him, that still haunts me to this day. How could a sister be so cruel? And for what, for the acceptance of a group of children?


    He was right, it was me. This was all my fault.


    I blinked, tears starting to well in my eyes. What sort of monster was I? When I spoke, it was with a quiet, quivering voice, ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m so sorry Lars. So sorry for what I¡¯ve done¡±.


    A smile crossed Lars¡¯ face, a smile which at the time I took to be warm and forgiving.


    Lars glanced around, ¡°come downstairs with me where it¡¯s more comfortable, I¡¯ll make us a cup of tea and we can have a chat and talk things over.¡±


    I nodded slowly and followed as Lars lead the way downstairs.


    Bella was still sat, where I¡¯d left her in the hallway. Her big brown eyes followed Lars as he passed her, her ears set back, a low growl rumbling in her throat. With a small smile on my lips, I gave her a tickle under the chin reassuringly before following Lars into the Kitchen.


    My mind felt hollow, numb as I took a seat at the dining table. The surroundings seemed a blur to me as I grappled with the realisation of what I had done. I don¡¯t remember Lars making the tea but his soft voice brought me out of my daze.


    ¡°Here you go, we¡¯ll have plenty of time to talk things over¡±


    My hands closed around the steaming, warm cup. Raising it to my lips, the sweet smell of loganberries filled my senses. The scent breathing some sort of life back into me. Sipping the tea, the deep, rich berry flavour filled my mouth. It was a warm and comforting flavour. There was something else too, something that I didn¡¯t pay much attention to at the time, a slightly bitter aftertaste, an oily residue which clung to the inside of my mouth.


    While I gradually sipped the tea, I can vaguely remember Lars speaking but his words didn¡¯t register with me. His voice became deep and distorted, an echo as if I was listening to him underwater.


    A warm feeling engulfed me, a tingling spreading up from my toes and fingertips, a numbness settling over me. My limbs became heavy, unresponsive.


    Looking up at Lars, his face seemed to sway in my vision, drifting in and out of focus. The room tilted, spinning, swirling. Mind wandering as my thoughts shattered. Dreamlike visions mingling with the reality around me. Everything melting into shadow


    What was happening to me? I tried to fix myself on anything, the patterns on the cup in front of me, my brother¡¯s face. Anything to ground myself but everything shifted, writhing, constantly slipping away from me.


    I could feel no emotion, there was no fear in me. Just a hollow emptiness as, finally my heavy eyelids closed and I surrendered to the darkness.


    The last thing I heard was his voice, distant and blurred, ¡°I¡¯m sorry Sister Dearest, I didn¡¯t want to have to do this but it seems that I just can¡¯t trust you¡±

 Chapter 10 - The Staircase

    I fell into an unconscious state, consumed by the darkness that swallowed me. I wasn¡¯t awake but I wasn¡¯t asleep, my body floating in a black void of nothingness. There was no up and no down, my body drifting aimlessly on a sea of shadow. All sensations faded away, leaving nothing but an empty hole inside of me, a gaping hollow where my feelings should have been. There were sounds but they were distant, muffled and distorted, as if coming from underwater. I floated in that void, my mind detached, feeling strangely calm yet a faint feeling of uneasiness lingered on in the back of my consciousness. I had the vague awareness of being moved, the soft pressure of hands touching me, lifting me, gently swaying as if being carried.


    My mind was a broken mirror, memories shattered and fragmented. Glimmers, reflections of recollections appearing and then dissolving, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand before I could grasp them.


    Lars had lured me into his trap. He had baited me with the promise of reconciliation but it had all been a cruel ploy. I had been naive, in my desperation to escape his clutches I had been blind to the danger that he posed to me. He had offered me a way out, a false escape and I had fallen for his ruse, walked straight into his snare. Now he had me, I was defenceless, helpless, completely at his mercy. Even now, as I look back years later, the cold and calculating way in which he captured me, how easily he was able to play me sends a shiver down my spine.


    My mind swam and swirled, strange thoughts interspersed with disjointed memories. Fanciful, dreamlike images of unicorns, fairies and dragons floated before my eyes. Images from my childhood. Visions that twisted and corrupted as I watched. The unicorn¡¯s horn turning black, warping and bending. The fairies, screaming in agony, their limbs contorting into unnatural shapes. The Dragon, its eyes red shedding tears of blood. Those visions mixed with darker visions. Visons of the Shadow Beast, that dark apparition, his red eyes glowing, stalking me, calling out my name in the soft whispered hiss of his voice as he hunted me, trying to lure me to him. Jumbled in among the insanity of those visions where splinters of memories, pieces of my life. Memories of Lela, of shopping trips, warm cosy, cafes and parties. The sound of her infectious laughter. Memories of Lars, had we had an argument over something? He¡¯d found something of mine? But then we¡¯d sat down together, he had made me a cup of tea and we¡¯d made everything right. Hadn¡¯t we?


    Memories and visions coming and going, swirling into view and then gone before I could begin to grasp them.


    The world started to come back to me in fragments. Jumbled and disjointed at first but slowly shuffling, slotting back into place. The first thing that I can remember is the taste. A bitter, metallic taste, a taste which seemed to coat my tongue, sticking in my throat. My mouth was dry, no moisture just a thick oily residue clinging to the inside, instantly making me want to gag.


    My stomach, writhed, twisting and tightening in nausea. A dull ache hammering inside my skull and behind my eyes, an ache which seemed to grow stronger as the minutes passed.


    Gradually, as time passed my mind started to settle, the memories and thoughts started to come together. That surreal picture show of twisted visions playing out in my head began to slow down. It was replaced with a sense of confusion, confusion and something else. Another thought nagging at me from the edge of my subconscious, a thought just out of my reach.


    I screwed my eyelids tightly, the throbbing in my head was becoming unbearable. The nausea twisting inside my belly was now accompanied by the loud, slow drumming of my heart, beating at my ribcage.


    Gradually more sensations began to cut through that thick fog of my mind. The smell, a damp, musty smell. The air, heavy and stagnant.


    A cold chill rose up from the hard ground beneath me, a chill that bit into my skin, seeping deeper into my bones. Teeth chattering, I strained, struggled to move, desperately trying to pull my arm around myself but my muscles wouldn¡¯t listen, they refused to respond. Dull, throbbing aches tormented my limbs, limbs that felt heavy, heavy like lead weights. So, helpless, there I lay, shivers convulsing through my body, unable to move.


    My eyes slowly opened revealing nothing but the impenetrable black of darkness. My mind, a broken mirror desperately trying to piece together those shattered memories, to make some sort of sense out of them. A cup of tea, that was the last thing I could remember. A cup of tea with Lars, the picture looping around and around endlessly in my mind. That other something was there too, a shadow of a thought, a soft whisper, murmuring just out of my reach.


    I fought, battled against my own body, against the deep throbbing aches that had settled into my muscles. I willed them, forced them, commanded them to obey.


    I can¡¯t tell you how long it took, moments or hours they were all the same to me. A dull drip, drip, drip echoing from somewhere in the dark, like the ticking of a clock was all that I had to indicate the passing of time. But gradually the numbness started to fade, the aches began to recede. First came a tingling sensation, thousands of pins and needles prickling all over my body. In time that too began to dwindle and feeling gradually returned to my nerves. The ground beneath me seemed to solidify, cold, hard and rough. Stone or concrete perhaps.


    I lay face down on that ground, the texture coarse and gritty, scratching against my cheek. Grazes stung my knees and feet.


    Gritting my teeth, straining every muscle. It took all I had to attempt to push myself up. A sudden jolt of pain, searing, burning hot exploded in my elbow, causing it to give way and me to collapse back onto the ground.


    My elbow, the agony that I felt awakened something, a memory floating back to me. A flash of movement, the salty, sweet taste of blood in my mouth. A fight, had I been in a fight? A fight with who? Lars? But that didn¡¯t make any sense. Why would I have fought Lars? More memories started to slot back into place, the picture began to materialise before my eyes. I remembered, he had something of mine. Something that he¡¯d taken. He was threatening me, trying to blackmail me...


    The photos!


    It was then that it struck me, the memories flooding back to me, playing out one by one, a slide show flicking through my mind. Each one was sharp and clear, it was as if I was seeing them for the first time. A wave of nausea washed over me, my stomach wringing, emptied its contents. Bile, burning in my throat, splashed onto the hard ground where I lay.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    It was with that realisation that came the cold grip of fear, terror shuddered through me. Where was I? What had he done with me?


    Again, I tried to push myself up, muscles screaming in protest. My head pounding, thumping with a heavy throb. Stomach twisting again, a burning, acidic taste of vomit rising into my mouth once more, splattering onto the ground around me, splashing onto my arms.


    Every part of my body wanted to resist, wanted to just lay there in the filth but I fought it, forced myself to move. I struggled onto my side, muscles burning, a groan escaping my lips. With a heave, I finally managing to push myself up into a seated position. Exhausted, I dragged myself backwards until my back came to rest against the cold, hard, wall. My breathing coming in short, quick gasps.


    With eyes straining, I peered out into the darkness, fear gripping my chest. I was desperate for anything, anything to tell me where I was.


    A silver glint, a sliver of light cut through the black. A window perhaps?


    As I stared out, my eyes gradually started to adjust to the darkness. Black began to fade into dark grey. From the shadows, dark shapes began to take form.


    I was sat on a cold floor, laid with hard, uneven concrete slabs. Walls grey and featureless, surrounded me, rising up to the low ceiling above my head. Pipes snaked along those walls, around and up to whatever was above. A small, grimy rectangular window was positioned high on the wall to my left, allowing in a meagre amount of light, barely cutting through the dim gloom of the room.


    The air was thick and damp, the scent musty with the sweet hint of rot and decay. A cool draught brushed against my skin sending another shiver rippling through me, goose bumps raising on my arms.


    Old furniture, a few broken chairs and an old table missing a leg were piled in the far corner, long since abandoned. Wooden boxes of various sizes were scattered around the room, some lying broken and empty.


    Across from me, a narrow passage was just visible in the wall. Within that passage, a staircase ascended up, up and into the thick darkness above.


    My breath was ragged, rattling inside of me as another biting draught brought more shivers. My trembling hands gripped the hem of my dress, pulling it down, trying to cover my legs, seeking some small protection against the icy edge of the air.


    My dress?


    There was something odd about that, something seemed wrong. My brain scrabbled, struggling to understand, trying to find the answer. I glanced down at myself, at the velvet, pink dress that I was wearing. It was the dress that Lela had bought for me yesterday. Was it really only yesterday that I had seen her? It felt like a lifetime ago since we spent that day together in Oslo. My mind was drifting, time seemed to have lost all its meaning.


    That pink velvet dress, the red stain of spilt wine still dark in my lap. But I began to notice other stains too. The once vibrant pink was grubby, dark with dirt as if it¡¯d been dragged around the floor. It wasn¡¯t until later, when my mind began to clear, when the effects of whatever Lars had slipped into my tea began to wear off, the realisation began to dawn on me. I remembered dressing that morning, pulling on jogging bottoms and a blue jumper.


    I hadn¡¯t been wearing that dress.


    He must have put me in it, he must have dressed me. The grasp of fear, a grasp colder than the air around me began to grip me.


    What was he doing, what was his game?


    The insistent, monotonous drip, drip, drip echoed in my ears. Eyes wide darting around the room, I searched. Chairs, a table, old boxes, the stairs, the window¡­Eyes darting left, right seeking, searching, but for what I didn¡¯t know. Anything, anything that could give me some sort of explanation. Where was I? What was happening to me?


    As the throbbing in my head began to ease, I tried to pull myself to my feet. The room spinning and swaying before me. I reached out a hand, grabbing the wall for support, rough and cold beneath my fingers. My knees creaked, stiff and unsteady, muscles straining as they straightened. My chest tightened, squeezing and constricting my lungs. My breath coming in fast pants, heart pounding quickly in my ears as I staggered to my feet.


    Brushing myself down, my fingers traced the edges of my ribs and hips. The bones feeling sharp and unnaturally prominent. The dress hung loosely on my frame.


    I can remember fixing my eyes on that dark staircase. I can remember telling myself that I had to get out of there, I needed to get away before Lars returned. There was no other way out, those stairs were the only chance that I had. What was waiting at the top I didn¡¯t know, all I knew was that I had to take the chance. I had to escape.


    Unsteady, shaking, a foot reached forward, taking my first tentative step. Pulling, stretching my calf as I did so. Slowly, tentatively I released my grip on the wall, hand coming back to my side. The world tilted and swayed, I anchored my gaze on that staircase, arms reaching out to the side, desperate to keep my balance. A second step, my bare foot dragging forward across the rough, dusty ground.


    One step at a time.


    A third step, a fourth step...


    A little bubble of confidence began to rise in me, five, six, seven steps getting quicker.


    A little too confident perhaps. My weight shifted forwards a little too quickly, my knee wobbled under the strain before giving way. I Pitched forward, falling heavily onto the cold hard floor. My shoulder struck the ground first, searing pain shooting down my arm. My mouth opened in a scream but the only sound was a muffled gurgle. My throat was too dry and parched, lips sore, chapped and broken.


    With a painful effort, I climbed, slowly, unsteadily back to my feet. My shoulder, grazed from the fall, burned, glistening red in the dim light.


    Setting my eyes firmly on those dark steps once again. Steps wobbling and shuffling I slowly started to make my way forward. My feet, heavy, dragged as I stumbled on, naked skin rubbing raw against the rough stone floor.


    Stumbling on for what felt like miles, I eventually reached the passage and foot of the staircase. Hands grabbed forward, grasping the entrance to the passage, holding myself steady as my frantic breathing slowly returned to normal.


    The stairs lead upwards, upwards into a narrow stairwell, upwards into the dark shadows where just visible in the gloom was the outline of a door.


    One step at a time I began to climb, a relentless climb. Slowly, upwards into the darkness, upwards towards the door, towards the way out.


    The door was sturdy, made of rough wood, dark paint flaking off its surface. A round knob, a metallic glint in the low light catching my eye. A flutter of hope flickered inside me like the flame of a candle in the breeze as my hand reached out towards the knob.


    My hand gripped it tightly, the metal cold and smooth on my palm. I turned the handle and as I did so, that flame of hope flickered, danced one last time before going out.


    Locked!


    Of course it was going to be locked, why would Lars have taken all the trouble to get me here only to leave the door open so I could walk out?


    I sunk to the floor, huddling in the doorway, defeated.


    There was no way out, I was trapped. The heavy weight of despair settled on my shoulders. My mind wandered. Thoughts, images flashed before me, images of Lars, horrific thoughts that I desperately tried to push away, thoughts that frightened me, thoughts that I dared not let myself entertain.


    A sudden click cut through the terrors that were racing through my head. A rattle of metal on metal coming from the door behind me.


    A key in the lock, turning, the mechanism grinding. The door handle turned and with the rasp of old, rusted hinges the door began to open.


    My eyes screwed closed, blinded by the bright light bursting in through the opening door. Panic gripped me, my breath caught in my throat, someone was coming and there was nowhere to go, no escape.


    ¡°Oh look, Sleeping Beauty has woken up. What are you doing up here?¡±, a soft voice chuckled. A voice that I instantly recognised as Lars.

 Chapter 11 - Rye Bread and Smoked Salmon

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