embedded in one of the walls. There was no control, though – no buttons or anything. It would just come on suddenly, bright and loud, like something snarling at me from the side of the room.’
‘And what did it show?’
‘The news sometimes. And ... other things. Things I didn’t like to look at. Videos of horrible things. Not the sort of things they’d ever show on normal television.’
She looked awkward, as though she didn’t want to talk about what she’d seen, what had been shown to her. Which was fine; from what she’d said, I could imagine. And in my head, taking her story at face value for now, I was beginning to work my way down a checklist. Isolation. Sensory deprivation. Visual and audial disruption. They were the kinds of things that Eileenhad mentioned earlier as key components of mind control and brainwashing.
Of course, another obvious one was torture.
‘You told me someone cut your face,’ I said.
She didn’t reply, and I had to prompt her.
‘Your scars, Charlie. You said someone did that to you. Who was it?’
‘I don’t want to talk about him.’
A man, then. Hardly unexpected, but it was something.
‘Was it the same man who was speaking to you in the ambulance the other day?’
‘No, no.’ She looked horrified at the idea. ‘The man in the ambulance was gentle, kind. Not like ... the one who did the cutting.’
‘Can you describe him, Charlie? The one who wasn’t kind?’
She shook her head.
‘It’s important,’ I said.
‘I can’t.’
The way she said it was final, and propped up in bed now, she looked exhausted. I knew I was going to have to wind the interview up soon and allow her to rest.
But I was also trying to run everything she’d told me through the filter that Eileen had suggested. What was real and what was fantasy here? It was entirely possible that someone really had held Charlie Matheson captive, and that they had tortured her, brainwashed her. I knew from experience that such men existed. But then the type of man who would do that didn’t normally let his victims go. And what to make of the story about the ambulance, and the other man – the kind one – who had been talking to her?
Where had she been held?
‘How long were you in the ambulance for?’ I said. ‘Before you woke up on the field?’
‘I don’t know. I was asleep.’
‘But the man was there, you said. The kind man who was telling you things. You must have been awake for some of it.’
‘I was drifting. It’s hard to remember.’ She closed her eyes and pressed her palm to her forehead. ‘And I need to. I know that I need to.’
‘Were you hungry or thirsty?’ I said. ‘Did you need the toilet?’
She shook her head, her eyes still closed.
‘I ate a meal before we left – sandwiches and an apple. I don’t remember much after that. I wasn’t hungry or thirsty when I woke up. I’m guessing it was an hour or two. I don’t know, but that feels right.’
‘Okay.’
Again, it was something, I supposed, but not much. A couple of hours’ driving meant she could have been held a hundred miles or more away, which was a hell of a search perimeter. A lot of basements. But it was obvious from her expression that we were done for now.
I stood up.
‘Thank you, Charlie. You get some rest and I’ll see what I can find out.’
‘Mercy,’ she said.
Her voice was urgent enough to make me pause in the doorway and look back at her. Her eyes were open now, and she was staring at me with something close to relief.
‘Mercy?’ I said.
‘That’s part of what the man was telling me in the ambulance. I remember now. That’s what I need. I think he wanted me to ask for mercy.’
I took it in.
‘He was going to hurt you?’
‘No, not him.’ She shook her head, as though it made even less sense to her than it did to me. ‘He wanted me to ask you for mercy.’
Merritt
God’s work
‘There’s nowhere else for them to go,’ Jennifer Buckle told him. ‘It’s no
‘And what did it show?’
‘The news sometimes. And ... other things. Things I didn’t like to look at. Videos of horrible things. Not the sort of things they’d ever show on normal television.’
She looked awkward, as though she didn’t want to talk about what she’d seen, what had been shown to her. Which was fine; from what she’d said, I could imagine. And in my head, taking her story at face value for now, I was beginning to work my way down a checklist. Isolation. Sensory deprivation. Visual and audial disruption. They were the kinds of things that Eileenhad mentioned earlier as key components of mind control and brainwashing.
Of course, another obvious one was torture.
‘You told me someone cut your face,’ I said.
She didn’t reply, and I had to prompt her.
‘Your scars, Charlie. You said someone did that to you. Who was it?’
‘I don’t want to talk about him.’
A man, then. Hardly unexpected, but it was something.
‘Was it the same man who was speaking to you in the ambulance the other day?’
‘No, no.’ She looked horrified at the idea. ‘The man in the ambulance was gentle, kind. Not like ... the one who did the cutting.’
‘Can you describe him, Charlie? The one who wasn’t kind?’
She shook her head.
‘It’s important,’ I said.
‘I can’t.’
The way she said it was final, and propped up in bed now, she looked exhausted. I knew I was going to have to wind the interview up soon and allow her to rest.
But I was also trying to run everything she’d told me through the filter that Eileen had suggested. What was real and what was fantasy here? It was entirely possible that someone really had held Charlie Matheson captive, and that they had tortured her, brainwashed her. I knew from experience that such men existed. But then the type of man who would do that didn’t normally let his victims go. And what to make of the story about the ambulance, and the other man – the kind one – who had been talking to her?
Where had she been held?
‘How long were you in the ambulance for?’ I said. ‘Before you woke up on the field?’
‘I don’t know. I was asleep.’
‘But the man was there, you said. The kind man who was telling you things. You must have been awake for some of it.’
‘I was drifting. It’s hard to remember.’ She closed her eyes and pressed her palm to her forehead. ‘And I need to. I know that I need to.’
‘Were you hungry or thirsty?’ I said. ‘Did you need the toilet?’
She shook her head, her eyes still closed.
‘I ate a meal before we left – sandwiches and an apple. I don’t remember much after that. I wasn’t hungry or thirsty when I woke up. I’m guessing it was an hour or two. I don’t know, but that feels right.’
‘Okay.’
Again, it was something, I supposed, but not much. A couple of hours’ driving meant she could have been held a hundred miles or more away, which was a hell of a search perimeter. A lot of basements. But it was obvious from her expression that we were done for now.
I stood up.
‘Thank you, Charlie. You get some rest and I’ll see what I can find out.’
‘Mercy,’ she said.
Her voice was urgent enough to make me pause in the doorway and look back at her. Her eyes were open now, and she was staring at me with something close to relief.
‘Mercy?’ I said.
‘That’s part of what the man was telling me in the ambulance. I remember now. That’s what I need. I think he wanted me to ask for mercy.’
I took it in.
‘He was going to hurt you?’
‘No, not him.’ She shook her head, as though it made even less sense to her than it did to me. ‘He wanted me to ask you for mercy.’
Merritt
God’s work
‘There’s nowhere else for them to go,’ Jennifer Buckle told him. ‘It’s no
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