He is a Monster - Chapter 1 (Madison)

He was coming again. She could hear the unusual rhythm of his footfalls approaching her bedroom door, his intention obvious. Her breathing quickened, the plan clear in her mind, but her legs trembling at the thought of going through with it.

It would work. It had to.

She had spent the last few days plotting the intricacies of the escape. Everything from the left-over mentos and soda, to the syringe full of ketamine in her hand, which she had been drugged with countless times before. He had carelessly left it in the room last time, expecting her to resist his advances, but when she didn't, he placed it on the bedside table, forgetting about it after having his way with her.

She could hear him fidgeting with the lock on the door as a wild panic arose in her heart. She stuffed the mentos into her mouth and took in a mouthful of soda. Quickly lying down on the bed, she allowed the froth that was quickly forming to ooze out of her mouth and spill onto the bedsheet. The sensation was uncomfortable, but she forced herself to remain still. The door creaked open as he stepped through. He began to unbuckle his belt, grunting at her in an attempt to wake her from what he supposed was a midday nap. Thinking she was unconscious, he advanced slowly toward the bed. He had a bad leg that was devoid of any sensation, apparently from some sort of accident, which gave him an unusual gait. His steps quickened as he approached the bed, realizing that something was wrong. He was leaning over her in a matter of seconds, his face inches away from hers. As usual, his breath reeked of alcohol. But there was also another smell, a more familiar one. Was he wearing cologne? The smell reminded her of her father, and she had the sudden urge to open her eyes and hug him. She quickly mastered it and kept her eyes closed. He remained hovering over her for a few moments longer, then groaned deeply as he sat down on the bed beside her.

What was he doing? Would he still go through with it, even in her current state? She could be dead for all he knew. She felt a sudden jolt as he scooped her up and over his shoulder. She tightened her grip on the syringe and opened her eyes as she slouched over his back, her dark blonde hair hanging loosely beneath her. Pure adrenaline rushed through her as she realized that everything was going exactly as she had planned.

Would it really work? It had to.

She only had a few seconds to act before he put her down again.

She hesitated–there was still time to bail. She could drop the syringe now and allow him to nurse her out of her state. He would be none the wiser and everything would be okay.

No! It would not be okay. None of this was okay. She should be at home with her father and mother and not here in this hell. Strengthening her resolve, she aimed the syringe at his thigh and injected the drug into his flesh.

He stopped.

Had he felt it? How could he, his leg was numb? She was certain it was the correct leg. Would he beat her unconscious? Would he inject her with another syringe? Would he lock her in the room before she could escape?

Don't move, she thought to herself. He pulled her back over his shoulder and eased her down and onto the kitchen table, her body limp in his arms. Her heartrate slowed as she understood that he hadn't realized what she had done. It usually took a couple of minutes for it to work on her. He was bigger than her, so a minute longer for him, she figured.

Three minutes.

He took a rag from the sink and wiped the froth from her mouth. It was warm, which soothed her cold skin. He reached down under the kitchen sink and pulled out a small jar. Unscrewing the lid, he placed the jar under her nose, allowing the fumes rising from it to fill her nostrils. The smell was pungent, like urine. What was it? Her senses were immediately overwhelmed. She sat up, gasping for air, her eyes wide with alertness. Everything was so sharp and clear. He was clear. His hair was a light brown and had receded half-way up his scalp. There was a scar across his right cheek, which crossed over his paper-thin lips. But it was his eyes that were his strongest feature. They were a bright blue and seemed to have a source of light emanating from behind them.

She broke the gaze and glanced over to the jar in his hand. The label said, Ammonium Carbonate. Shooting a curious look back at him, he began to chuckle. "It's what they use on boxers to wake them up," he explained with a grin. "You can't be sleeping in the middle of the day, Madison. I'll get you a glass of water," he said tenderly. Shuffling toward the edge of the table, she tracked his movements carefully as he filled a glass with water from the tap before carefully handing it to her.

Two minutes.

"Thank you," she said genuinely. The taste of the sugary froth still lingered in her mouth, and she was keen to get rid of it. She gulped down the water quickly, not taking her eyes off him. As he watched her drink, his eyes suddenly narrowed.

"What's that in your hand?" His expression immediately hardened. He reached over and grabbed her wrist with a vicelike grip. She shrank inside. She hadn't planned on him noticing the syringe. She should have discarded it as soon as she injected it into his leg. How could she be so stupid? She opened her hand reflexively and he seized the empty syringe. "Where did you get this?" he thundered.

One minute.

"I–I found it on the table," she stammered.

"You're lying! There was nothing here when I put you down on it."

"I swear. It was there all along–"

Slap.

He struck her hard across the face. She gasped with shock before immediately breaking out into sobs. Her eyes blurred with hot tears, complementing the burning sensation growing on her cheek.

"Please. I'm sorry. Please," Madison sobbed.

"There, there. No need to cry," he said, his face softening. "I'm just looking out for you, sweetie. I don't want you to prick your finger. You never know who used that filthy thing before."

"Thank you," she replied, just loud enough for him to hear. She had learned that thanking him usually meant that the beatings would cease, however incredulous his reasons were for beating her. Slowly, Madison lifted her head up to look at him again. He blinked heavily.

Was it working? It had to.

He picked up the jar off the kitchen table again and took a sniff of the Ammonium Carbonate. "Ok, then," he exclaimed, suddenly lively again. "Off to your room. I'll be over in the evening," he said, tossing the empty syringe into the trash basket. She couldn't go back. If he locked her in, her whole plan would crumble, and she would be trapped again. She had to stall him. A few seconds is all she needed.

"Can I ask you something?" she blurted out. She had never had a proper conversation with him before.

"Not like you to ask questions. What do you want? Be quick about it. I'm tired." His eyes were getting heavy again and he was blinking rapidly now. He walked over to her room, expecting her to follow, but she remained where she was.

"I was wondering if I could have something to eat, since we are in the kitchen anyway. It would make me feel normal to eat in a kitchen again." If he fell for it, it would buy her enough time for the ketamine to overwhelm him and put him to sleep.

"I'll bring you something to eat in your room. Just get in there," he said, his voice elevating slightly as he took another whiff of the fumes. She glanced over to the empty syringe atop the trash basket. Realizing her blunder, she quickly snapped her head back to him. He looked at the trash basket, then back at her again. His eyes widened with realization. She had been found out. "You...You little rat," he snarled. He started toward her, stumbling slightly as he tried to propel himself forward. She quickly twisted her body and rolled over the table to separate herself from him. It was no use. He bounded onto the table effortlessly, the effects of the drug seemingly gone. She instinctively turned and ran, hoping any second that she could evade him would be the one she needed.

Surely it had been more than three minutes by now. Why wasn't it working?

Leaping through the kitchen, she entered the living room before bolting for the front door, sheer terror keeping her legs moving. Grabbing the door handle, she tugged at it with all her strength–it was locked.

At that moment, she realized that her miserable existence was about to get even worse. How would he repay her for what she had done? She could only imagine. She turned to face him, expecting the blow that would render her unconscious to arrive at any moment.

It didn't come.

Scanning the room, she spotted him, laying on the floor, a few paces away from her. She had done it. Her plan had worked.

Madison stared at him in shock for a few moments. How long had she been trapped in this house? She had lost track of time completely and wasn't even sure what month it was. Staring at him, she soaked up the scene before her. He was lying so still, breathing deeply against the carpet. He was so peaceful at that moment, so unlike what he had been like just a few seconds ago. She almost felt sorry for him, like she had wronged him somehow. Would he be mad when he woke up and saw that she was gone? Could she just leave him like that, so vulnerable? How could she? She walked over to her room and took the blanket off the bed, stroking the fluffy fibres of the blanket tenderly. She walked back into the living room and covered him with it.

"There, there. You'll be fine. Just wait here and I'll be back soon", she said as she walked over to the front door, unlocking it. She paused in the doorway and looked back, smiling affectionately.

Can I really leave him? Do I have to?

Read Chapter 2 here

Matthew Norman

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