Behind Closed Doors

by B.A. Paris

Surely I have a right to be angry!’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t. You have no rights at all.’

Jack knows there is nothing more comforting than routine so he denies me any semblance of it.

If he was able to fool me, if he was able, even for a few seconds, to make me forget what I knew about him, how would I ever be able to convince people that he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing?

When everything—the loneliness, the boredom, the fear, the despair—got too much to bear, I closed my eyes and thought of Millie.

The worst thing about these small forays into normality was the hope they gave me, because in public Jack reverted to the man I had fallen in love with.

‘Run,’ he would say. ‘Go on, go and tell that person over there, or perhaps that one over there, that I am holding you prisoner, that I am a monster, a murderer. But first, look around you. Look around this beautiful restaurant I have brought you to, and think, think about the delicious food you are eating and the wonderful wine in your glass. Do you look as if you are a prisoner? Do I look as if I am a monster, a murderer? I think not. But if you want to go ahead, I won’t stop you. I’m in the mood for some fun.’

‘She’s in there. But before you go and see her, you’d better take one of these.’ He took a roll of bin bags from where they were lying on a shelf, tore one off and handed it to me. ‘I think you might be needing it.’

I can’t help thinking it’s a shame he’s such a sadistic bastard, because he has wonderful manners.

‘Yes, you understand.’ Millie is adamant. ‘It simple, Grace. We kill Jorj Koony.’

She looks steadily back at me. ‘What colour was Millie’s room, Grace?’ I can barely get the word out. ‘Red,’ I tell her, my voice breaking. ‘Millie’s room was red.’ ‘That’s what I thought,’ she says softly.