Edward Pembroke is a teacher who only fantasises about enslaving a schoolgirl, until Dilan enters his world and he makes his dream a reality
Chapter 26
It was Christmas morning. Pembroke woke up instantly aware of what had been brought to him for his stocking downstairs. In a panic, he got up and checked the stairwell door under the stairs. He then checked the front and back doors, all locked. The rental car was still parked outside. He checked his phone—more Christmas messages, some from school teachers, and one from Ms. Hayes, a chemistry teacher in her late forties.
Was she interested in him? They say women are more interested in a man when he stops being single, and technically, he was no longer single. Perhaps he would now give off that aura and find the woman of his dreams. How ironic, he smiled.
He knew he had to check on Dilan. His first port of call was his study upstairs with his computer and monitors. Minutes went by as he started his system up and tried to get access to the cameras. However, they would not work. After a few minutes, he realized he had forgotten to turn on the cameras.
He sucked in air and cringed. Already, he was making stupid mistakes. He told himself that it was a harmless mistake at this stage, and he was bound to slip up sometimes. He was also frustrated; he had a history of being careless, and this mistake this early on had to mean he would do something stupid and get caught eventually.
His mind raced to last night. He had drank alcohol before the abduction which had been stupid, and there had been several occasions where he might have been seen. It was out of his hands now. He thought of the abduction of Sarah Everard in London. The policeman who had kidnapped her had been undone by dashcam footage from a motorist driving past as he stopped her. He thought of all the cars that had driven past him. He cursed the surveillance culture of the UK.
Would anyone have reported her missing? He looked up Fiona Monaghan on the internet and tried to get her on social media. He found her, but everything was private. He panicked again, even his phone would show this search, why was he searching for the foster carer of a missing girl on his phone the morning after her disappearance? He deleted the search on his phone.
He tried to remember the stoic sayings and told himself that was done was done. If he released her now, it would be disastrous; the best course was to keep going.
Now, he had to go down into the basement to check on her.
He brushed his teeth, and put on trainers, and a tracksuit again to prepare himself for a confrontation, he carried a baton he had intended for possible use on her legs.
He tried to be quiet but was not sure how much noise carried into the basement from outside. He opened the doors and emerged into the cage, having turned on the lights.
He could see the gynae table and saw the naked girl lying on top. Her head shot up.
Dilan had lain there all night. The headrest was conformable for her head but otherwise her back hurt from the flat steel surface. She had barely slept. She thought about how she might escape, and how she might get away from Mr Pembroke. She could not believe this was still happening, surely he must let her go? He was so gross and disgusting. She cringed at the memory of his thinning hair and wrinkly forehead she saw from looking down at him kissing her vagina last night. The hairs sprouting out from the backs of his shoulders. The girls laughing at him out of class. She despaired again; those bitches would laugh even harder at the thought of him naked, with her.
The door opened, it was him. She waited for a second person to come from behind but none did. Suddenly she flopped back as she heard the cage open. She listened to the footsteps as he approached.
“Merry Christmas, Dilan” He leered over her. His stomach jutted out from under him, and his double chin was more visible from the view from below him.
“Please… I’m hurt…” she moaned.
“He looked over naked body. The bruises were becoming more prominent, the bloody gauze on her left cheek was becoming darker red. Skin was peeling off her knees. He ran his hand over her face, and noticed a bump on her forehead he had missed from yesterday, caused by the fall to the ground after he kicked her.
Her angry, crinkled face stopped him from enjoying her body again. He felt his natural defensiveness come back in as when a child challenged him. He remembered to adopt his role, but at the same time was still nervous he would be caught in a few hours. A tentative part of him wondered that if he were to go easy on her down here now his sentence might be less. The terror of watching a police officer taking her away in a blanked while he sat in a police car filled his mind. In that scenario she would hold absolute power. Suddenly he resolved to clean his car and get rid of the incriminating evidence upstairs.
“Where does it hurt?” he asked quickly.
“All over” she replied. “And I’m thirsty”
He sighed. Where would he put her? She wasn’t ready for the relative freedom of the bed. “Stay here, I am going to get you something to eat and drink.”
He raced upstairs and got a glass of water, and some cereal with milk. A porcelain bowl, spoon and plastic cup of water. He carried them down with a small chair.
He took them into the basement, and placed the chair beside the gyna table. “I am going to release your hands, and you will get up, SLOWLY, understand?”
“Yes…”
“He put the food on the chair, and released her hands. She remained lying down. “Now get up and swing your legs over to this side.” She moved to the opposite side where the chair was. “Now stand up.”
It was the first time she had stood up properly and freely since the attack at Fiona’s house over twelve hours ago. He watched her little body jump off the table, her bottom rubbing against the side, as her dainty feet silently met the floor. “Good girl, now walk around the table, and sit on this chair”
Pembroke lifted the food of the table, not taking his eyes of the girl as she walked around with her back to him initially. He was ready to drop it if she made a move, and was crouching in an action mode. She tensed and stopped, sensing his mood. “It’s ok, just come and sit on this chair.”
She slowly tip toed forwards, and turned and sat down, facing perpendicular to him, and placed her hands between her knees. He kept looking at her as he placed the bowl and cup on the table in front of her. “Now eat” he said, and stepped back.
Like looking at a cat eating, he was transfixed by Dilan and moved to the back of the basement in case she tried anything. “Eat!”
Dilan, looked at the cereal, she was starving. She slowly ate it down, and sipped on the plastic glass of water. He watched her stomach ripple; it was so slim he wondered where she kept her organs. Her pelvic bones jutted out at the front and side.
“How is your stomach, are you hurt there?” he asked.
“A little” she responded. He was nervous, looking at her frame, at how much damage he could have done to her by kneeling on her last night, in a bid to cut off her windpipe and disable her. He remembered her face and thought that he would have killed her if he had kept his knee on her a few seconds longer. He feared that she might have internal bleeding or a rupture.
He noticed some more bruising on her ribs on her other side as he walked around. It would become clearer by tomorrow as the bruising would darken.
“Well, hopefully I don’t need to hurt you again.” He smiled cheerfully.
Dilan hovered up the food and the water. “Thank you” she said.
“My pleasure,” he responded, and took the bowl and cup in his hands. “Now do you need the toilet?”
“Yes,” she replied and he motioned to the toilet. He placed the bowl and cup on the third from bottom step of the stairs out of the basement and quickly moved back through the doors and cage and saw her pissing in the corner. He was not into scat at all, and regarded it as a distasteful necessity to have had to be supervising Dilan’s cleaning last night in terms of cleanliness and security. But it was also an important initiation of her into a totally dependent and privacy-free life.
She stared ahead awkwardly while finishing up on the toilet, and she turned around and flushed. “Now use the shower button, and wash your privates.” She turned it on and flinched as the water ran ice cold. “I don’t expect you to use cold water, though sometimes it will have to be done. It will turn warm in a moment, just wait.”
Eventually, she seemed to be satisfied with the temperature of the water, and turned the shower head upside down and into her privates and scrubbed with some soap. He marvelled at her body, she was something like the young Thai girls he had seen, their race making them diminutive even if actually in their twenties. Dilan’s Caucasian features and wavy hair, with her slim body and small breasts betrayed her youthful age and the only thing he could compare it to were the videos he had seen in grainy footage of young Russian girls, who looked as shy in the videos as Dilan did now, showing off her naked body to a man four times her age.
“Good, now dry yourself off” he threw her a towel. She rubbed herself and remained sideways, as if to bare herself frontally would be more naked.
“Give me the towel” she handed it over and brushed her hair back with her hand. “Now stand still, with your hand by your side.” She obeyed. She was scared but couldn’t’ see anything else to do. He was so much bigger than her, and the memory of her attacking him holding her down, striking her last night in the basement, meant that her survival instinct kicked in and told her to just obey him.
“Good. Now it is Christmas but I have some business to attend to.” He licked his lips and reminded himself he should not be embarrassed and needed to be open about what was happening. “I m going to take care of your clothes, and then clean my car. It is very important that your disappearance from the outside world goes smoothly, so that we can enjoy our time together without interference.”
He thought about what she must be feeling. “I am going to make sure that there is no hope anyone will take you out of here. Look at me!” She moved her head up, and stared at him, with her mouth open in a kind of horrified fascination as if she was looking at a car crash. “Very soon we can both relax. And I will educate you into your new life here, with me.”
She remained silent. What could she say? All she could do was hope and pray. The more she thought about her situation, the crazier it got, so she began to just concentrate on the moment. Feeling overwhelmed, she instinctively began to dissociate from her surroundings. She stared blankly at the wall, trying to detach herself from the situation.
“Now come back to this table, I am going to settle you back in. It will not be for long, I am going to tidy up upstairs and should be back in a few hours.” He pointed to the table. She hopped back on and lay down, starring the black ceiling as he took her little wrists and tightly wrapped the velcro around them and attached them the to the D rings. As before, he left her legs free so she could sit up, and even crouch up but her hands would remain attached to the side of the table.
He looked at her, motionless as a doll, staring blankly upwards. He wondered what was going through her mind.
Dilan had learned to disassociate from an early age. Her earliest memories had been with her parents as they were living in a tent in a refugee camp in the Syrian/Turkish border. Her mother told her of their house in Kobani which seemed like heaven compared to this. Her father had a first wife, and three sons, whom she only met briefly in the camp. One son was already in the army. She was the only child of his second marriage. Her father would tell her that they would soon be able to return to Kobani.
They could have gone to Germany at first but her father did not want to abandon his first family and his son who was in the government army. He also had a blacksmith business in town with expensive tools hidden away, and did not want to give it up. The town of Kobani had already been severely damaged in battles between ISIS and Kurdish forces. But it was now over a year later. Surely it should be safe?
In the late summer of 2016, her father had gone on his own to visit Kobani. She and her mother never saw him again. He stopped answering phone calls, and his phone went dead. Days went by with no news. Eventually, her mother called her half brothers, who told her that they had news that he had been found dead in his shop. Apparently, he had disturbed and argued with outsiders who had taken over this shop and were using his equipment. Neighbours had contacted the sons but did not have the details of Dilan or her mother.
Her mother, Yasmin was Syrian Arabic, not Kurdish, but had married a Kurdish man and taken his name of Barzini. She had been ostracised by her family as a result. She had no one therefore but Dilan.
The borders with Europe were closed, and word was that they should stay in the camp. They lived with Kurdish families who were initially kind, but soon things took a turn to the worse. Dilan’s mother was still young and attractive; she was still in her late twenties. She started getting proposals for marriage and the other wives grew jealous of her, especially as an Arab and not a Kurd.
Yasmin was also alarmed at the attention young Dilan was getting. Only the men seemed to be able to leave to go into Turkey to try and get to Europe, the women forced to stay behind. For safety, she decided to start at relationship with Erdil, a Turkish security guard. Dilan liked Erdil at first, and he would take them out of the camp on little trips. Eventually, he promised them he would take them to Istanbul to live with his parents. Dilan’s mother was reluctant; she did not love this man and was not interested in living in a strange city. So Erdil left her and shortly afterwards quit his job at the camp and they never saw him again.
Dilan remembered the next man her mother got together with. A married father of five, he was very friendly to her, and made her mother laugh. Word quickly got around the camp. Of course they blamed her, not the man. One night, a group of women had broken into their tent, and beat Yasmin to a pulp in front of Dilan. One of the women spat in Dilan’s face and called her a daughter of a whore.
From that point on, as Dilan walked around the camp, she heard the laughter from the other children and women as they teased her : “fahiseya”, “ereb”. Her friends would one moment laugh and play with her, then bring out those hurtful words; she was the daughter of a whore, an Arab, an outsider. She tuned out of these by inventing scenarios in her head, and pretending to hear loud music in her ears, anything to get away from her surroundings. It was a technique that would, unfortunately, be needed for her to blot out unpleasant realities again and again throughout her life.
Now in the present, she stared up at the ceiling. There was no escape, she was able to move around, but eventually she relaxed down on her back, her head on the head rest. Nothing to do but wait… she only prayed Mr Pembroke would not hurt her and that he only wanted sex with her. The women and the children in the camp had really wanted to hurt her, they really hated her. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine something, anything, different to this.
Chapter 27
As Pembroke walked out of the basement, he was able to glance at the screens outside the padded door and could see a color version of his captive lying on the table. He went straight upstairs with the discarded clothes and closed all the doors, though did not lower the horizontal door down. This took quite a bit of effort to open up and close, and each time would necessitate rearranging the contents of the broom cupboard, so he decided to leave it unless he was expecting visitors. Then he realized – this was the crucial early stage; what if the police knocked and inspected the broom cupboard and grew curious about the stairs? He pulled the door down from its upright position until it snapped into place as a ‘floor’ of the cupboard, then moved the contents of a broom and some old wires into it. He would need some permanent things to keep handy to be moved into the cupboard on top of the door, including a carpet, and made a note to do this. Next, he went upstairs to his study and turned on the computers.
He logged in to his secret account and saw the camera views of the outside of his house. He then clicked a few more buttons and entered a passkey to get to his ‘other cameras.’ He was treated to a huge display on his monitor of Dilan lying on the table; her fingers were twinkling away as if listening to music and her fingers and toes wriggled.
He instantly minimised the screen and looked around. No one could see the screen; he had made sure there was no view through the window where anyone could see. He had spent many an hour masturbating to legal and illegal porn and even within his house this was his “safe space”.
He turned on the microphones and listened. There was very little sound, but then Dilan was not making much noise. He turned it up and thought he could hear her breathing. He decided against trying the speakers to talk to Dilan; he would do this later. He turned everything off before going downstairs.
He wondered what to do first: drive into town and throw out the clothes (both his own from last night and the torn shreds of Dilan’s) or clean the car. If he drove off, then at least the police would not be able to see him if they decided to pay a visit. Cleaning the car on Christmas day morning might seem strange. He opened the car and was shocked at the state of it—mud everywhere, even on the windows; the boot was the same. He could see strands of her hair everywhere. He looked around; no one could see directly into his yard, but they might hear the humming of a vacuum.
He also thought of this camera now holding extremely incriminating evidence. He wondered whether he should hide it. It seemed ridiculous, he lived alone in a big house, and he could not think of anywhere to hide his camera, so he placed it in its normal drawers. It would seem stranger if police saw it lodged somewhere as if hidden.
A witness reported, on Christmas morning, a middle-aged bachelor who lived alone, hovering and cleaning his car.” He heard this in his head as an inevitable first clue towards him as a suspect. He decided to forgo the vacuum for now but began cleaning the car boot with wipes to get rid of the mud, picking up as many hairs as he could find and stuffing them into another plastic bag. Her saliva and DNA were likely everywhere. He could return this to the rental company’s office in a few days and then forget about it as long as he had it clean. He turned to the front seat, scrubbed the mud out, and checked the compartments and under the seat for any remnants of her things and his “kit”. Every now and then, he looked up to check if anyone had come into his yard or was watching.
He was satisfied for now; he would vacuum it later. For the time being, he decided to drive into town to discard all the rubbish. He quickly made himself a coffee and decided against any type of disguise. From now on, he would be plain Mr. Pembroke. He went upstairs and checked on Dilan on the screens. She was now up on her haunches, her hands still tied down, and she was likely stretching herself.
He went downstairs again, needing to lift the door again just to access the stairwell. This was a good workout, he thought. He went through the doors and was able to use the codes to get in; he did not need the key but could program it so that both key and code were needed. He contemplated the horror of being trapped with Dilan if he happened to lose the key inside the basement. He would have to think long and hard about using a key, he thought.
“Hello, my dear. Are you OK?”
“Yes,” she responded automatically.
“Now, we skipped all of this morning, but remember you have to call me ‘sir,’ always.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” He stroked her face and ran his fingers over the slight bump on her forehead, her cuts and grazes, and onto a dark patch on her rib cage.
“Ahhh,” her body seized up, and she clenched her teeth.
“Ah, I am sorry. I did not want to be rough with you, but how else could I have you here.” He smiled at her. She did not respond.
“You are so beautiful” his hands started making long sweeping movements over her body. She did not flinch. He pinched her nipples and the insides of her thighs, the only places where she had enough flesh to pinch on her front side. Suddenly relishing his power over her, he pulled back her hair, and started to inspect her ears. No prostitute would ever have let him inspect her ears as if she were a doll, now Pembroke could do whatever he wanted no matter how weird. He traced the folds as they disappeared into her brain, and tugged gently at her earlobes. He reached over to the other one, and gently poked his finger so that his nail went into the crevice.
“No, it hurts please don’t” she exclaimed and pulled her head away.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to…inspect you,” he said. He had not intended to go any further but did not want to be seen surrendering to her command. So, he traced his fingertip a little more around the tender flesh of her inner ear. Next, he inspected her nose; it was relatively clean, indicating that she had not been crying since being untied earlier this morning. He gently massaged the tip of her nose and explored each nostril with his finger, then traced a fingertip from her nose tip to the space between her eyes. He examined her eyebrows, looking for any signs of plucking, but could find none. Her eyebrows were fine, dark, and perfectly arched. Her eyes blinked rapidly, darting to the side. He looked deep into her pupils, seeing the mixture of green and brown.
“I cannot wait to enjoy you more; we have all the time in the world together.”
He decided against moving her. He was happy to leave her to her trancelike state and her own thoughts and went back upstairs. He thought he should really go somewhere today and googled for church services. It would be strange to be inside.
“He drove his normal car into town and dropped off the rubbish in a bin on a quiet road, where he could be confident there were no surveillance cameras. He had an hour to kill before service, so he drove around the town centre. On a whim, he walked over to the bin where he had thrown away Dilan’s devices last night. He looked down and could see the bag protruding from the rubbish.
The town centre was quiet, he thought. Suddenly, he wondered about her phones. He could leave them there, and they would eventually die and be carted away. Perhaps he could book a train to London, stick the bag there, and hop off. Should he check if the bag was still there? It suddenly occurred to him that if the phone had been tracked, the police might have already traced it and decided to keep watch in case anyone came for it. Suddenly, he looked around nervously. His fingerprints or DNA might be in the bag. Hell… damn these electronic devices. He strolled around, thinking he was making himself look suspicious.
Suddenly, he remembered what Dilan had told him last night about her belongings in room 203… he had completely forgotten it. The key card was back in the basement. He moaned in anguish that he was only a hundred meters from the hotel. His stomach rumbled with stress.
Did the suitcase exist? Did he need to get it? He got back in his car and drove off. He thought about skipping the church service; his nerves might betray him. Nevertheless, he decided to go. He Googled whether a phone could be tracked when the battery dies. They could be tracked to their last known location, possibly to within a few meters. So, if they track the last location to a bin, it may still have the phone in it. Therefore, one would check CCTV footage for whoever had put things in the bin. He thought that the authorities might believe it had been in the nearby hotel. What an idiotic decision. He started imagining that they could use this information years, even months from now.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the window. It was Ms. Heath, an elderly lady. ‘Oh hello Edward, Merry Christmas.’ ‘Merry Christmas!’ called back Pembroke. He got out and hugged Ms. Heath; she had been his old teacher when he was a boy. They reminisced, and he escorted her inside. The service went on for over an hour. Pembroke’s mind was all over the place. Should he leave the bag in the bin? Where could he take it? What was he going to do about the suitcase in the hotel? He started sweating.
He was caught going out of the service by some old contemporaries and had as friendly a chat as could be possible in the circumstances. He stiffened when he recognised Nigel the policeman. He half expected him to start talking about this missing girl story.
He drove back and made himself another coffee. He had no Christmas dinner and frankly had no appetite not for food, nor for sex. He checked the monitors, and saw that Dilan was lying back, her eyes closed as if asleep.
The success of his plans rested on Dilan not being missed nor ever treated as a serious missing person.
Chapter 28
“Hello Dilan” he spoke as he entered the basement betraying his nervousness. “I have brought some food and drink. I am also going to put you into something more comfortable.”
He brought in a fold up chair and table and set up food and drink. He then released her restraints, and beckoned her to sit. She rubbed her wrists together, tenderly pulled herself up, swung her legs around, hopped off, and plumped her bare bottom on the plastic chair. She remained sullen and quiet.
Pembroke walked around and inspected the basement, patiently waiting for her to finish.
“Would you like to use the toilet?” She nodded and he pointed to the corner toilet. She sat down and stared ahead, doing her business, now more closely resembling sulking teenager than the traumatised and shocked victim she was last night.
“Now clean yourself, you are Middle Eastern so you should know it’s better to wash with water than paper so you better get used to this”
Dilan flushed and washed herself with the showerhead and dried off with the towel. Suddenly she looked around and stared at him inquisitively as to what was to be done next. The beauty of her eyes and the neutral expression disarmed Pembroke. He smiled at her, and there was moment of silence between them.
We should get you dressed a little. Come over here and stand on this spot,” he pointed at a point midway between the wall and the gynecological table. She followed obediently and stood with her feet together. Pembroke walked backward, keeping his eyes on her, as he went to the pile of her clothes. He already had a stockpile of clothes he had picked out for her behind the partition in the bedroom, but for now, he wanted her to be in her own clothes.
He picked out a pair of light green underwear and threw them at her. ‘Nice, put them on!’ She stretched them as if testing the elastic, then bent down, slipped her legs through them, and pulled them up tight. ‘Turn around, let me see.’ She turned around, and Pembroke took in the sight of her pert bottom already snugly embracing the panties, fitting perfectly. ‘Very nice.’
He selected a tight black vest and threw it at her. ‘Put it on.’ She pulled it over her head, freed her hair, and dragged it down over her breasts until it covered her belly button, leaving a strip of skin between the edge of the vest and the top of the green underwear. He picked up a hairband and tossed it on the ground. ‘Tie your hair back, it’s not a suggestion.’ She tied her hair into a ponytail, the same movement he had seen a thousand times in class, from a thousand girls, and it always captivated him.
“Take a seat, please,” he gestured to the chair. She sat down; the thin fabric covering her bottom felt nice against the plastic seat, and she felt a little more at ease. Pembroke folded the table away and leaned it against the cage, then walked back and sat on the edge of the gynaecology table, facing downward at the demure Dilan, herself sitting with her ankles crossed, her hands together on top of her thighs, looking as modest as could be compared to previously, despite being in underwear.
Dilan wondered that would happen. She accepted that she would have very little agency other than to not make him want to kill her. Perhaps he had changed his mind and wanted to release her. How could she persuade him she wouldn’t tell anyone?
“Dilan, there are a few things we need to clear up.” He cleared his throat and smiled. “Remember, you told me about your personal things last night?…” He raised his eyebrows as if to prod Dilan to expand on it.
“Yes, sir,” said Dilan obediently. She stared to the side, then looked directly at him, as if she were back in class. “What would you like to know, sir?”
Pembroke felt this was going well. “What is in them, what do they mean to you, and why did you not have them last night?”
“Abdul, sir. He said he would keep them for me. I think he wants to keep them so I don’t leave him. He doesn’t mind if I go away for a while, but he keeps my things.”
“I understand,” said Pembroke, noting that he and Abdul were not so different. Poor Dilan. “And what is in them?”
“Photos of my parents. My mother’s things, jewellery, nothing expensive,” she replied, her eyes blinking.
“I see. I am sorry about your family. You can tell me about them sometime soon if you wish…” said Pembroke kindly. He did not have time to go into family details now and wanted her onside and not emotional.
“Thank you, sir.”
“So why do you have a card to get into Abdul’s room, and don’t they change the cards, the hotels, every day?”
“Abdul lives there; it’s his room. I have had that card for the last two months. It worked yesterday, no, the night before yesterday… it worked.”
“Can anyone go into the hotel and go into the room with a card?” He realized he would have to double-check this himself. It sounded too good to be true.
“Yes, sir, people go in and out all the time.”
It occurred to Pembroke that she might see this whole venture as a way of getting out of Abdul’s clutches, even if she were surely also thinking of escaping Pembroke’s clutches. “And you are sure it is room 203?”
“Yes, sir.”
Pembroke stared at her with teacher’s eyes to detect any lies. Could this be a trap, or at least an attempt to get him into a confrontation with this Abdul? He could not detect any lies, nor any way in which the specific action of going into room 203 with this card would trigger anything untoward. He then went to his next point.
“Now, your phones. Are they Android?”
“Yes, sir.”
He thanked God, privately. He had one Android battery charger in the house.
“Good. Now, I think I told you last night I had got rid of them. That’s not quite the truth. I have them squirreled away somewhere, ready to dispose of. But I think I have an idea. I can do something interesting with them first.”
He saw Dilan’s mouth turn down. She couldn’t hide her disdain for him, this reminder that she was his, and he was going to throw away what every teenage girl prized above more than anything, her phones.
“To get your possessions, I need to make sure Abdul is out of the hotel. To do that, I can text him from your phone, or on WhatsApp, and while he is out, voila, go in and get your things and bring them here. How’s that?”
“Thank you, sir, but… my phones are probably dead by now.”
“I can charge them. My only problem is that I cannot bring you to the phones, and I cannot bring the phones to you. Do you have any ideas?”
He waited for her thoughts. On one point, he was genuinely interested to hear of any suggestion. He was also keen to see if she would try to trick him, and the extent of her ability to do so.
She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know…” she said meekly and started rubbing her shoulders and looked down. She sniffed and started to cry.
“Now, now” said Pembroke. He suddenly remembered he was her kidnapper and desperately tried to regain his composure and assert himself. “I will need your phones and you will give me your pass key.” He paused. Now I don’t want any trickery. I know that if one enters a wrong code a certain number of times, the phone will take a selfie or will send out some message to someone.” He knew how to guard against the selfie but not the code. This was starting to feel like too much.
“But I want access to your phones” He suddenly realised that he may have to start physical threats.
“If you want your things back of course, if you don’t give me the pass codes for the phones then you won’t get your things back from the hotel.”
She was biting her lips trying not to cry.
“Don’t’ worry I won’t nosy around your phone” he lied. He suddenly started – “Why the hell did you have two phones anyway?”
“I had one, and then Abdul got me another. Just useful…” she shrugged. He found this hard to believe.
“Right, so just give me your login for both phones or do you have logins..?”
“The one with the unicorn sticker on the back… that one is 2010”
“The year of your birth” smiled Pembroke.
“And the one with Taylor Swift sticker on the back is “1234”
“Christ, you’re not going to be very good in cybersecurity, are you?” laughed Pembroke. He thought to himself that he now had enough information to charge the phones, turn them on, and take them somewhere—either leave them or put them on a train or something. It was Christmas, though, dammit.
“So how should I message this Abdul chap then?”
“Use the Taylor Swift phone, message him on WhatsApp; he is called ‘baddestboy.’”
“What?” scoffed Pembroke.
“He chose it,” she laughed nervously, rubbing her hands.
“B-a-d-d-e-s-t-b-o-y,” Pembroke repeated. “Okay, Jesus. And what should I message him? You know he is probably messaging you right now.”
“You can message him and say I’m at Sinan’s.”
Pembroke paused. Should he write this down? Was this code for ‘I am in trouble with the client’? “Who or what is Sinan’s?”
“He is a guy…” she shrugged. “He has a flat off Carp Hill.”
“Beside the school?”
“Yeah.”
“Won’t he just call Sinan?” asked Pembroke.
“Yeah, maybe…” she pouted.
“OK, now I am going to be very angry if you are not helpful. Perhaps we should message him saying you are outside the school gate, and you want to meet him now.”
“Yeah alright.”
Pembroke lost his temper but did not want to appear desperate. “Young lady I am doing you a huge favour. You want your things back?”
“Yes, if you like”
Pembroke squinted at her. Was she playing him? He should really just blanket refuse to get her things. She must have realised he was doing all this to cover up a kidnapping, not because of any concern for her.
Unfortunately, there were no accounts of successful kidnappings, only unsuccessful ones. He guessed that the quiet successful ones always contained a large degree of luck and trust in fate.
“Hotel Kingston?” he stood up.
“Yes” answered Dilan.
He had a fear that the next time he saw Dilan she might be in a witness box or covered in blankets surrounded by police in a TV news report. He was weighing up whether to leave her tied up, or in relative comfort. If his last interaction had some trace of kindness, maybe it would make his inevitable punishment a little easier, he theorised. He led her to the bedroom. The door was locked from the inside with a combination code. It had been “1971” the year of Pembroke’s’ birth, but upon hearing Dilan’s pass codes, he changed this upon entering. Ordering Dilan to turn around, watching her out of the corner of his eye, he changed it to “2398” a code he remembered from the school lockers in his previous job. If locked in, he had enough bulk that he could kick this door through, anyway.
“Now, this is a little more homely would you not agree?”
Dilan looked at the single bed, the small book shelf, and the bedside lamp. The walls were painted pink. It looked so innocent compared to the room on the other side.
“Now you don’t have t use the toilet, are you thirsty or anything?” He asked
“No sir, thank you”
“Excellent. Now I just have one restraint we need to use, let’s get it on….” He looked through a drawer and found what he was looking for. It was a leather restraint with padlock. He turned around and looked at Dilan as if she knew what to do. “Sit on the bed please and raise your…. let’s see… right leg. “
She did as she was told, and he grabbed her right ankle and clipped the leg restraint around her. He then brought out a cord, looped it around a little D-lock in the bed leg that Dilan had not noticed, and brought both ends of the cord into two holes in a larger padlock that looked like mountaineering equipment. Dilan stared at this; he was like a locksmith. The padlock clicked, and the cords were trapped like in a vice. He then reopened the padlock on her leg restraint and used it to loop the restraint and the padlock together. Both padlock and leg restraint padlock could only be opened with two tiny keys, which were both on a keyring he took from a drawer and put in his pocket. He smiled at her.
“I love this part, keeping you nice and safe for me when I get back.” She was not limited to moving only a metre away from the bed by the cord. “Now there are some books here. Good reading for a young lady like yourself. I hope you will try these, there won’t be any more phones for you I am afraid. This is much better.”
Dilan lay back on the bed, and tentatively pulled the covers over her.
“I am going to turn out the lights but you have the bedside lamp. I hope you can relax a little. I will be back later and we might be having some more fun later” he winked. He pulled back the covers and ran his hand over her thighs and over her crotch, marvelling at the fabric and her sudden twitching at this intrusion. He leaned in and kissed her on the mouth.
He got up, and took one last look at her before turning out the light, and going out the door. She looked at him while pulling the covers up to her nose.
Chapter 29
Pembroke glanced at his phone one last time, making sure he hadn’t missed any crucial messages. Satisfied, he left the phone behind, opting for a new disguise instead. Digging into his stash of leftover props from his acting days, he found a slightly ridiculous-looking wig. Despite its flamboyance, he believed it might prove useful in his current venture. With a baseball cap pulled low over it, the wig appeared more inconspicuous.
A moustache completed the ensemble, adding another layer of disguise. Pembroke dressed in jeans and a shirt combination he’d never worn before, aiming to blend in with the crowd. Over this, he donned a bright blue raincoat, an item that had never seen the light of day before and likely wouldn’t again after this mission.
To obscure his identity further, he put on a pair of his father’s old reading glasses. They weren’t fake, but they slightly altered his eyesight, allowing him to wear them discreetly for activities like skulking around hotels and rummaging through bins.
As he prepared to leave, Pembroke realized his phone’s battery was not fully charged. Deciding that the bins were unlikely to be changed on Christmas day, he reasoned there was no immediate hurry. Before setting out, he took a moment to charge the phone, ensuring he would have a reliable means of communication.
Turning on the concealed cameras, Pembroke observed the room through the lens. Dilan lay in bed, only her tousled hair visible above the covers, assuming a fetal position as she slept. The quiet atmosphere of the room contrasted with the tension building inside Pembroke as he prepared for his clandestine mission.
He took some photos on his phone of a bottle of beer with the TV in the background and sent it to a few whatsapp groups to join the obligatory camaraderie. He had very little alibi for the last 24 hours, but then again why should he? After an age, his battery charger was full, and he left the TV on, and got into his rental car, and drove off. Tomorrow morning, he could clean this from top to bottom including with a vacuum.
It was getting dark already. He made his way to the town centre and that blasted bin. He parked around the corner this time. The place was a little busier now, but the bins were between some parked cars, so it as easier this time to walk up, look around, and quickly drag the bag out of the bin. He walked casually back to his car. He prayed that no one would see him and recognise him. He bowed his head. He was dismayed to see a group of youths were now beside his car. They might be his pupils! So he crossed over the street and walked aimlessly along a side road. His must look crazily suspicious if anyone was watching him. After a minute, he walked back, praying they move on. The girls were in ridiculously short skirts, they must be freezing. They were still there; in fact one of them was leaning against his car!
This was all he needed. He considered now that he should take his disguise off, his moustache wig, glasses, and just walk over as normal Mr Pembroke with a bag under his arm. But he didn’t want to associate himself to more people with this car. The pupils at the school were all nosy about their teachers’ cars. He suddenly heard footsteps behind, and someone was walking his way. He turned and walked back his head bowed and passed by them, praying it was not someone he knew. He looked back, it was some old man, hopefully he had not twigged it was him. In the darkness he was hard to identify as himself let alone with the disguise.
He walked back and saw the youths had now walked off. He marched over, and sat in the front seat. He opened the bag. One phone was dead, the other still alive. He remembered which one was which. The unicorn one was still live.
Pembroke, feeling a need for additional precautions, retrieved some bluetech to cover the camera part of his phone. Shielding himself from potential prying eyes, he noticed numerous missed notifications, alluding to a bustling online presence. The phone was in “silent” mode, but the various social media icons on the screen hinted at a cacophony of activity—Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook, TikTok, and more.
Recalling the passcode proved to be a minor hiccup for Pembroke. After an initial mistake (1234), he remembered that this particular code dated back to 2010. With a sigh of relief, he gained access to the phone. Dilan had been truthful about this aspect.
Setting the phone aside, Pembroke brought out a phone charger and connected it to another dead phone he had with him. As the screen lit up and the charging process commenced, he noted that the unicorn phone still had a comfortable 25% battery remaining.
Pembroke began sifting through Dilan’s contacts, searching for someone named Abdul. His persistence paid off, as he found Abdul’s profile. However, he recalled that Dilan had mentioned “baddestboy” in connection with the other phone. Deciding to investigate this further, he reasoned that he would check the other phone at a later time, ensuring a thorough exploration of both devices for any potential clues.
She was now “online” on whatsapp. He read the messages. One was from a girl called Nadia saying “girl w r u ?” a few others. He went onto instagram, and noted her profile “keca.deryaye.007” He had brought his camera, and took some photos of the phone screen. He looked around…. A man in a car with a fake moustache, wig, glasses, taking photos on a camera of a phone screen of a young girls instagrams photos…. It struck him that this might sound utterly hilarious in court. His lust got the better of him as he rifled through her phone. Suddenly a message came down on snapchat “babe u about 4xmas then?” and he looked at the profile of a young Arabic looking guy. He scrolled through snapchat messages and tried to see if he recognised any of the boys and girls but saw none.
He recognised some more profiles on instagram from her schoolmates. He started going over her classmates profiles and started photographing them on his camera. He stopped to look at the results on his monitor. These had better be worth it….
Suddenly he heard loud laughing. He could hear voices about to come around the corner. He put the camera and phone on the passenger seat, and decided to drive off to another corner of the car park. He turned the engine just as he recognised one of the girls; it was Sehar Chaudhary, one of his pupils. He pulled his cap down and began to pull out. It attracted the attention of one of the lads with her, who just shouted out “fucking Honda” probably annoyed at the headlights. He could feel the eyes turn to him as he drove on. Then they passed by as he slowly took off. Could they have recognised him? He now thanked God he had kept his wig moustache and glasses on. He circled around and watched as they disappeared around a corner. What was with all these youngsters being about? It struck Pembroke that if he ever wanted to kidnap another hot young girl he just had to wait around here until one walked along by herself.
He saw the dead phone was still only at 8%. He decided against turning it on yet. He went back through Dilan’s phone. He could see messages in what looked like Turkish or Kurdish with an older man with kids in background. Perhaps this was family? He enlarged his profile and took some more pictures of him and noted his number on a note pad from his glove department. He then went through her own photo gallery. It wasn’t long before he found some nudes and he smiled. How greedy was he? He had the real thing at home but still wanted this. He took more and more photos. These would be from a time when she was free so would mean more.
He sat engrossed but apart from pictures and inane messages he didn’t learn much. He checked her internet history, just standard teenage girl stuff and a lot of Turkish and Kurdish things. He soon saw that this phone was dying. He looked at the other; it was now at 20%.
He looked around and decided to drive closer to the entrance of the Kingston hotel. He found a spot where he faced the entrance and could see people coming from nearly a hundred meters away. Now contemplating his next steps, he had the key card to room 203. In theory, he could just walk in without checking in, go straight into the room, take a green suitcase, and walk back out to the car. But who was in the room? With sudden inspiration, he looked up at the hotel and realized that all the windows were visible from the outside by walking around.
Getting out of the car and checking his disguise, he walked slowly towards the reception. Appearing to be in late middle age, he didn’t pose a threatening presence compared to the younger crowd. Inside, he noted there was just one man at the reception who barely looked up. Pembroke walked slowly and deliberately towards a set of stairs, waiting to be called back. Surprisingly, nothing happened. Relieved, he realized it was this easy to just walk in and out.
He reached the second floor and walked to room 203. Standing outside, he tried to listen and heard a TV in the background. Waiting for voices, he heard none. Continuing past the room, he reached a corridor window where he could see his car. Estimating that the window to room 203 must be three windows along, he walked back and listened again for any voices other than the TV. None. He then descended the stairs and left the hotel, walking around to find the window he was looking for, lights on behind a set of curtains. He mentally noted its location.
Returning to his car, he took a deep breath and turned on the Taylor Swift phone. A storm of notifications appeared. He went straight to the gallery and was delighted to find some lingerie photos of Dilan. He wondered who took them. The setting seemed to be a hotel room, and she was almost professionally made up.
He noticed that she had WhatsApp and text messages but no other real social media. He went through contacts and found “baddestboy” with a profile that matched Abdul. He compared it with Abdul’s profile from the other phone, and they had the same number. Had she forgotten that she saved it in the other phone?
He delved into her WhatsApp history with Abdul. It was a litany of youth text speak, which he barely understood. There were explicit pictures from Abdul, along with threats about her whereabouts and the people she was with. It was far from the complex relationships of Heathcliff and Cathy.
After mining her phones, he turned to the recent calls and messages. He thought about sending some messages to throw people off, but the only person he really knew anything about was Abdul.
He realized he had to arrange a meeting to get Abdul out of that room, or at least see what effect it would have, letting Abdul think Dilan was out and about. Unfortunately, it was Christmas day, and other than a few pubs or cafes, where would Dilan hang out?
Suddenly, his phone lit up. “baddestboy” was calling. He had obviously seen Dilan online. Pembroke left the phone on the seat. It was one thing tangling with a young girl. A young man like Abdul scared him. He breathed in, and then picked up the phone again. Follow up messages “where u at” “whats up” no expression of concern he thought, with some relief. He impulsively typed back “cant talk – come meet outside the church market” He hoped he would know about the church market which had been in the centre about 10 minutes away for the last three weeks.
He pressed send. A phone call back from Abdul via phone and whatsapp which Pembroke declined. He felt stressed out even thought it was just a phone. “Just come meet me” he messaged back. He thought to himself that there was no way he would meet anyone if they messaged like that. Oh well at least he was letting the world know Dilan was around and not dead or kidnapped, he thought. He left the phones face up on the passenger seat, and wondered where to drive to get rid of these phones once and for all. Maybe at the reservoir he could leave them in the water, police might think she had drowned? He glanced at the phone.
“Il b there in 15 you better be there” from baddetboy.”
Pembroke cursed. The message was a minute old, and it would only take someone like Abdul 8 or 9 minutes to get to the market. Maybe he needed some time to get ready, or perhaps he would be coming from a different place. He drove closer to the hotel door and parked about 15 meters from the entrance. This marked his third parking spot in the last hour. He hoped the receptionist would not be watching and noticing. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he pulled the cap down, put on the glasses, and looked over them at the hotel entrance. Taking the phones, he turned both to silent and placed them in his pocket. “2010 and 1234,” he intoned to himself in case he needed to unlock quickly.
Suddenly, a man who looked like Abdul burst out of the hotel. He resembled the profile photo and someone Dilan had met before. Pembroke quickly sent a message. “You coming?” He saw Abdul check his phone and noted the blue ticks showing the message was read. Breathing in and making sure he had the card, Pembroke opened his door and walked purposefully towards the hotel entrance as he saw Abdul disappear around the corner. Once again, the receptionist appeared to be engrossed in movies on his laptop. Pembroke nodded in a bored fashion, hiding his panic, but the receptionist just turned back to his laptop.
Pembroke hurried up the stairs, quickly finding his way back to 203. He checked his watch; it had been 4 minutes since he left his car. Listening at the door, there was no TV anymore. He knocked, still nothing. Then he placed the fob card and heard it “click.” He entered.
In the room, it was a mess. It stank of cannabis, and he couldn’t believe this could be allowed. He went through the wardrobe, bathroom, and under the desk before seeing a green suitcase under the bed. He pulled it out and opened it up. “Bingo.” Within it, he found documents written in Kurdish/Turkish, jewelry, and finally, a photograph of an Arabic-looking couple and a young girl. He zipped it back up and started to wheel it out of the door. Taking out the phones to check for messages one last time, he noted the time; it was now 10 minutes since Abdul had left. He saw more missed calls from Abdul and a message: “WHERE ARE YOU THERE’S NOBODY HERE.” Sucking in a breath, he turned off both phones and put them in his pocket. Their last location would now be in Abdul’s room. He wheeled the suitcase out, shut the door behind him, and looked at the suitcase – mint green. If he passed Abdul, he might recognize it. He avoided the lifts and carried it one-handed downstairs.
A few moments later, he had reached the bottom. He realized that Abdul might suspect this had been the trap that it was, and he would be hurrying, maybe even running, to the hotel. Pembroke walked through the reception, carrying the suitcase to avoid making a noise that might distract the receptionist. The doors opened, and cold air hit him. He dropped the suitcase to the ground and started wheeling it again. It was at that moment that a mixed group of men and women ran into him. They sounded Welsh, here for Christmas to visit relatives. “Oh, sorry,” he said in a neutral voice as a woman cackled back at him, “Merry Christmas, love, haha.” He had to walk backward into the hotel to let them in. “Here for the holidays?” said one man to him. They were all a bit drunk. “Yeah, big family gathering, so we just came for the night, bringing out the extra presents now, haha.” He shook the suitcase, and they laughed good-naturedly. Glancing up, he saw the receptionist looking at him and the group. Meanwhile, a shady Middle Eastern-looking youth went out to smoke a cigarette. Suddenly, he saw Abdul push through the group.
“Excuse me,” he said as he pushed past Pembroke. He did not look down and notice the green suitcase beside Pembroke’s leg. He brushed aggressively past a small blonde lady with the group. “What a rude man,” she said as he bounded up the stairs. “Well, I must be off… Merry Christmas,” said Pembroke as he walked off through the door again while the group walked into the lift. “Happy New Year,” they called back, waving.
Pembroke marched brusquely towards his car. Once he was in his car, he would be safe. He fully expected Abdul to march out of the hotel as fast as possible. If he put two and two together, he would think Dilan had tricked him and would check if her suitcase was still there. The walk seemed to take forever. Finally, he reached his car door. He was glad that he had parked so close. He opened the door, tossed the suitcase into the back seat, and closed the door.
Then he turned; Abdul had come out of the hotel. He stared ahead, at both Pembroke and the lone young man smoking further down. Pembroke had no suitcase, and nonchalantly looked up at Abdul, getting into his car. He was a white middle-aged man, not Dilan and hardly someone Dilan would consort with. Abdul made towards the youth, and he saw him run up to him and shake him. The two had an argument, while Pembroke reversed as far away as he could, then made to drive out of the car park. As he drove past, he turned and saw Abdul sprint back to the hotel.
Pembroke was leaving a long and longer list of circumstantial clues. He pulled into a supermarket car park a few minutes’ drive away and opened up the suitcase again. He searched for some kind of electronic device, but it all seemed like paperwork, photos, jewellery, and some clothes. Satisfied, he drove off again. This time, heading for home.
Chapter 30
It was 7.30pm when he got home. He carried the suitcase into the house, and left it in his living room. He went to his computer, and checked his screens. He went first downstairs again.
“Hello my dear. Sorry I was so long. I have some good news. I have your things!”
“Please, I need to go the toilet…” she said
“Oh of course, let me get that thing off you” He bent down while keeping an eye on her, and took his key out. He unlocked the two padlocks and put the cord and locks back in a drawer. She sat up, and put her hand between her legs.
“Please, can I go now?”
“Yes of course,” through this way, as he held the open apparition door open. “Go to the toilet.”
She scampered across the room, got to the toilet, and pulled down her panties, and sighed as the tinkle sounded around the room.
“I’m sorry; I don’t leave you so restrained in future.” He did wonder how he could trust her in future; he would have to allow her full reign of the basement if she needed the bathroom.
“Now wash and dry yourself” he pointed to the shower head. She mechanically followed the orders.
“You don’t seem so happy about the news about your suitcase” queried Pembroke.
“Thank you sir. Will I be able to have it?” she responded.
“Yes I think so, I will just take a look through it first. Then I will bring it down here. I want you to be as happy as possible. Did you read while I was away?”
“I don’t really understand those books…”
“Well you must. But if you have any books you want me to get for you, let me know”
She remained silent. “Can I have my phones sir?”
“Absolutely out of the question. You don’t need phones down here. They are very bad for you, you know. Now do not ask me about them again.”
He had googled and googled. Phones that were switched off could not be found. The phones in his pockets upstairs were not going to incriminate him.
“Sorry sir, but maybe you can use them for me” she said in a small voice.
Pembroke thought she must want him to get caught. Surely she wouldn’t be happy with him going through her phones. “Maybe, I will if I want.” She had pulled her panties up and was now tapping her stomach as if to await further instructions.
“Wait here, I will be back down shortly. Are you hungry?”
“Yes please, sir I’m starving.”
“Very well. First the suitcase, then your dinner.” Smiled Pembroke. He walked out of the cage and through the doors. He closed all the doors methodically .He must make this a habit and not take shortcuts.
He came back down with the suitcase. He looked at the screen and saw her walking around the basement; he smiled and waited at the padded door, watching her. She reminded him of Mowgli in the jungle boy, how she prowled around, trying to find something interesting. He watched her run her hands around the fucking bench.
He opened the padded door, she had snapped to attention with her hands by her side. He was pleased at the obedience that came as an instinct.
She looked at the suitcase and gasped. “Our friend Abdul will not be bothering you anymore.” He set it on the floor. “Why don’t you go through it yourself, while I make your dinner.”
“What time is it sir?”
“Ha I forgot to tell you. It is just coming up to eight o clock on the evening on Christmas day. You have been here about 24 days already. What a day, eh?” He smiled at her. It was partly an act on his part to be so theatrically evil, but also necessary he wanted to avoid a chink of sympathy.
He left after locking all the doors and went back upstairs. He went through his phone again. It wondered what he would have done all day. The church service, followed by wine and TV.
He took his wig and moustache and blue raincoat, and put them in a bin bag. Should he get rid of them now? Or wait until the morning? He resolved to wait until the morning and put it next to his bin. He went upstairs and turned on the screen. She was on her knees, reading through papers.
He went down to the kitchen, and put some chips in the microwave, opened some tuna, and chopped some tomatoes. He also grabbed a choc ice, took out the stick, and put it in a bowl with spoon. He brought a fold up table and chair back downstairs, checked the screen and saw her now sitting cross legged looking at photos. He pressed the code, and the handle and moved into the basement.
He was delighted to see that she had stood up by the time he had got into the cage. He punched in the further code, and brought in and set up the table and chair in front of her. “Take a seat, your dinner will be with you shortly.”
He disappeared and locked up behind him. He told him it must be like seatbelts, always lock up all doors. He went upstairs and got a plate of chips, tomatoes and tuna with the ice cream, and a glass of water. He carefully carried them downstairs, feeling like a servant. He had to keep putting down the tray to open the doors and codes and opened out into the cage. Dilan was sitting at the table, ankles crossed, hands clenched and pressed on her knees and her eyes cast on Pembroke.
Pembroke was weary of appearing like a clown and was not sure how to put it down on the ground while opening the cage door without looking unmanly. He suddenly got nervous as if he was a waiter at a wedding serving a wedding cake. Carefully he knelt down, then stood up and pushed the cage door open. He walked through and ordered her. “Go there, pick up the tray and carry it over to the table.” In this way he re-established hierarchy and got her to deal with the troublesome tray. She lifted it up, and nervously carried it through the cage door, and set it on the table, nearly knocking the glass over at the last.
“Now eat, you must be starving, this is your first proper meal here.” Pembroke lent back on the gyna table behind her and watched her as she ate. He was planning to only feed her healthy food. He had read of the “bottom diet” where gay men who bottomed for anal sex only ate certain food to make themselves clean. This thought occurred to him that Dilan must be as clean as possible and anal sex was high on the list of what he wanted to do. For now, he was not sure he wanted penetrative sex tonight. He felt exhausted and could not yet relax. He was now annoyed he would have to wait for ten days until he could hear any chat about Dilan at school at the earliest. He was hoping for an apathetic acceptance she had disappeared. Then he could finally enjoy her and try and build her new life.
When she had finished Pembroke told her to stand up and face against the wall. He was aware of how awkward it would be to carry the tray back up so did not want her to see. He gathered it up, checked she was obeying, and took the empty cutlery and tray back upstairs. He cleaned the plates and it occurred to him that if visitors came they might suspect he had cooked something for someone else. He had to be careful, like a full time spy.
He went back up to the screens to watch her. She was pacing around the room. She was an athletic looking girl and had been restrained for 24 hours, so she must be restless. Perhaps a peleton bike would be a good present for her. He decided now might be a good time to test the loudspeaker.
There was obviously a boom or crackling sound, as he saw her jump up and start before he had said anything. He hoped the volume was not sky high… He said very quietly…” Dilan”
He saw Dilan look all around her. From her perspective, he thought, it could be a ghost, it could be anything. He resisted the urge to tell her to relax. “Dilan, this is your master, your owner.” It seemed Dilan now recognised the voice and calmed down, yet still looked around while she brought her hands clasped together under her chin. “Why don’t you stretch your legs a little longer. I will be down later to play with you. I will give you about ten minutes notice, whereupon I will want you to visit the toilet, shower yourself clean, brush your teeth, and change into some new clothes. For now, remain in those cute clothes, and relax until I message you again. “
He watched her pace around for several minutes. He went downstairs and brought up a glass of wine. He wanted to be careful not to get drunk but wanted to relax as well. This was better than any Christmas movie. He wanted to gauge her character. She went through her clothes but wisely resisted putting any on. She went into the bedroom and went through the drawers of clothes. He saw her pull out a sexy nurses outfit. She held it up to her as if to try it for size. She looked through the trousers and pyjamas and then rifled through the books. She read for a minute the first page of one before putting it back. She then started pacing around and around furiously, waving her arms.
Pembroke supped his wine and scrolled on his phone while watching her. He went through twitter, local newspapers and the local subreddit for any news about a missing girl. He entered her name in google and got no new information. She had now been “missing” for well over 24 hours yet presumably nothing had been reported. He tried to think logically how Abdul would react. His ‘girlfriend’ with whom he a very stormy and abusive relationship and who frequently walked out on him, had first gone to ground, then tricked him into taking back her things. She may or may not have used some unknown middle aged man to help her. She had maybe blocked him or dumped her phone. Abdul was hardly going to go to the police over this.
He told himself he must translate those Kurdish/Turkish messages. He was intrigued as to her family situation. He used to assume muslim girls all had large conservative families. It seemed, happily for him that Dilan had a dysfunctional family torn apart by war and geography. He opened up a document and began making a blank family tree for her. He put in spaces for her half brothers and parents. He also set out a list of people she knew including Abdul.
One problem he had, which he needed to think about now before he drank too much wine, was that she far from a virgin. He could use her condoms if it came to it, but it struck him that he did not want to penetrate her tonight and not just because of the risk of STDs. He also needed to start her on the contraceptive pill. He wondered should he get her drunk?
Chapter 31
Dilan paced around, brimming with energy. Her hips, sides, and knees ached from the cuts and bruises. Even touching her face caused pain where cuts and bruises adorned her skin. As she surveyed her surroundings, she sought information about her prison. The main room was painted in a lurid red, with rubber black flooring. It felt odd to have her belongings here; she realized she hardly had any possessions in the world. The place had a surprisingly pleasant smell.
Examining her bedroom, she found it to be a more welcoming pink. She considered reading the books, hoping they might offer an escape into another world. Despite her lack of concentration, she felt it could be a gateway out of her current situation.
She tightly gripped the bars of the cage, unable to reach through to the main door. Contemplating the keypad, she wondered whether she should try using it but ultimately decided against it. As she surveyed the equipment, a shudder ran through her. The worst, she believed, was not over. Could it be more than just Mr. Pembroke? He was her teacher, and she struggled to comprehend the situation in this unfamiliar country. Why did this happen to her? Why did other girls just have normal lives, and this was her fate?
Yasmin and Dilan had to leave the camp. Yasmin’s ex-lover provided them with some money, which they used to pay a trafficker to bring them to Antalya on the coast. Yasmin and Dilan shared a room in a hotel, and Yasmin found work as a cleaner. As summer approached, young Dilan marveled at the influx of Western tourists flooding the city, adorned in bikinis on the beach. Despite her mother’s conservative nature, always wearing a headscarf, Dilan embraced the local school and started learning Turkish.
In early 2019, Yasmin received distressing news about one of Dilan’s half-brothers who had died in Syria. Fearing that Dilan’s deceased father’s family might take her away, Yasmin kept this information from her. Dilan’s father’s brothers persisted in contacting them, and one of them, Mohammed, offered money in exchange for a meeting. They all convened in a teahouse in central Antalya. Yasmin, cautious of Mohammed, who was unlike her late husband and had a history of violence toward his own wife, had moved to England in the past few years with his own family. Mohammed offered assistance in moving to England.
That evening, Mohammed extended a further offer to Yasmin. The next morning, Dilan witnessed her uncle and mother exiting the same bedroom. She withdrew, pretending not to have seen anything. After Mohammed left, Yasmin revealed to Dilan that they would soon be leaving for England. In their modest apartment, they eagerly watched videos of England and exchanged beginner’s English phrases, both signing up for Duolingo on their phones.
A few weeks later, Yasmin inexplicably became depressed. She informed Dilan that they needed more money to move to England and decided to seek additional work. Gradually, Dilan noticed her mother staying out longer, well past her usual working hours and sometimes overnight. Eventually, Yasmin instructed Dilan to spend her days playing on the beach. Dilan observed unfamiliar men, overweight and blonde, entering and leaving their apartment.
Months later, Dilan was shocked when her mother returned home wearing a summer dress, a Western hat, sunglasses, and accompanied by Ole, a large, shy Norwegian man whom Yasmin introduced as her boyfriend. Dilan was surprised by her mother’s transformation, as Yasmin seemed happy and in complete control of Ole. Yasmin began talking about life in Norway, and both Yasmin and Ole conversed in their mutual broken English about school life in Norway.
But the relationship deteriorated. Ole disappeared one day in January, and Yasmin grew depressed. She tried to get her old job back as a cleaner, but soon was back to her real old work. This time, she barely concealed it form Dilan. Dilan remembered one terrible night. She was woken by screams and ran into the living room. Her mother was naked and holding a knife, and yelling at a red haired man to get out. He spat at her and when he saw Dilan, took his penis and started pulling on it in front of her. “Get out, Dilan get to your room” Yasmin cried.
The man laughed and advanced on her mother. Yasmin held her knife up while cursing at him. Dilan was terrified; she could see her mother did not have the strength to use it. The man grabbed the knife with one hand and her mother’s throat with the other.
“Get into that room… now” snarled the man in English. He pushed her through and Yasmin tripped over Dilan. “You sit there. You watch your mommy take it.” He sniggered. “Please, she is a child… please leave her alone…” Yasmin cried in broken English, pleading. “If you just shut up I might leave her alone. Now bend over.” Dilan watched, terrified, as the man slapped her mother’s buttocks, pushed her head down, and suddenly grabbed Dilan by the hair. “Look at mommy’s ass, isn’t that nice, huh?” Dilan had seen her mother naked before, but never like this , bent over and displayed like this. She had not seen adult female genitalia like this. He pushed her back down, and spat between her mother’s buttocks and on his penis.
Yasmin just lay down with her head on the pillow, moaning. Suddenly, the red haired man started to stuff his hard penis into her. Yasmin began to scream. “Keep fucking quiet, stick your head in that pillow or I’ll rape your daughter and cut you both!” Yasmin quietened and instead let out high pitched grunts of pain as she bit into the pillow and dug her nails into the sheets. Dilan sat back down against the wall, and cried as the man started mashing against her mother’s backside until he became like a piston. A few minutes later, he stopped; he put his clothes on, threw the knife into the corner of the room, and walked out the room. Yasmin remained with her face buried in the pillow, lay on her side and pulled her hands down between her legs, crying in pain. Dilan climbed onto the bed, hugged her mother and the two fell asleep together.
The next morning, their landlord came and gave them 24 hours notice to vacate the apartment.
