Annette's Story arc
Annette Hardy hated crowds. She hated crowded places, even if the crowd was comprised of her friends. They made her feel as if she was choking. Choking on their used air. She hated the thought. Used air swelled around the table her group sat around in the Dark Angel. She rose quietly from the chattering female banter that threatened to consume her. She walked toward the bar, where for some reason, she noticed a young man sitting on his own in the corner. He sat there staring at his drink as he swirled the contents around in the glass. She was drawn to him, she did not know why. Perhaps, because he too, seemed to dislike crowds. She pulled out the seat next to him, but he did not seem to notice, so she did not sit. “Bartender, I'll have...” she looked down at the man's drink. “A scotch.” The bartender slid the drink forward and she casually snatched it up. The loner still failed to notice her. “Hi, I'm... Never mind!” She turned away, but his hand came up and touched her arm.
“I'm sorry... I didn't notice you were there. I was in another place. My name is Calvin.”
“Anette.” She extended her hand, which he shook hesitantly. “So Calvin, tell me about this place you were. Is it nice?”
“Not really.”
Anette looked up at the ceiling. It was like every other ceiling in down town LA. Patches of mold grew in the corners, the middle sagged under the weight of, what Anette guessed was, the sleeping tenant above and cracks were showing in almost every square foot. She felt thirsty and rolled from the edge of the bed, she staggered to the bedroom door and realised she did not know where the kitchen was. “Calvin!” she called out trying to penetrate the sound of the shower. “Yup?” he called back.
“Where's your kitchen?”
“Go right and it's the first door on the left!”
“Thanks!” She walk into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Well there's beer, she thought. She walked over to what she thought must be the pantry cupboard. Opening it she retrieved a jar of instant coffee and moved to the kettle and turned it on.
Calvin walked in buttoning his shirt. “I gotta go to work,” he said.
“On a Sunday?”
“Yeah.”
She smiled. “Well would you like some coffee, before you go?”
“No thanks I gotta run.”
“Well I'll leave my number on your fridge, If you're not back before I go!”
“Alright.” He gave an awkward grin and walked out the door.
“Bye!” She tried to call out, but he had already closed the door. The kettle beeped as the water boiled. She saw an empty mug next to the sink so she rinsed it and began to scoop coffee into a teaspoon, when she heard a knock at the door. She then realised she was only wearing a T-shirt. “Hang on a sec!”
They didn't. There was a loud crunch as the door was kicked to shards. Two men charged into the room, guns raised. Both wore black balaclavas that cover their face's. She raised her arms. “Calvin's... not here.” She stammered.
“Are you Anette Hardy?” Snapped one of them.
“Yeah.”
“Good!” he said, pulling a black sack, around the size of a persons head from his jacket. “Please come with us.”
~
“Black bags,” said David Carlson. “Why do we use black bags, to put the garbage in?”
“Black tells every one that the contents are not wanted in society,” replied his grandfather. David smiled as he tipped the remaining contents of his dinner plate into the bin. “Why are they putting people into black bags then?”
“Don't be silly David, no one is being put into black bags.”
~
The water was freezing. The ice cut the skin of her face. Why are they doing this? Where are the questions? Why aren't they asking any questions. She felt the hands that held her head down move to her arms. They dragged her backwards pulling her along the concrete floor. She could feel the raw skin on her ankles being torn from her flesh. The hands that held her tossed her into a freezing cell and she hit the floor face first. The pain was intense, her cheek stung with a ferocity only paralleled by the torture she had just endured. “There is more to come,” said a voice in the dark. “Much, much more. What's your name?”
“Annette.”
“That will change. My name was Cynthia; now it is Polaris. A star,” She added as if clarification was needed. “Why am I here?”
“You are here because they like the look of you.”
“Who are they?”
“They are Them. They are the shadows in the dark. They are the White Coats with needles Not one of us really knows.”
~
The sharp pain of dry-ice against her shoulder turned to numbness. She did not scream as the needle slid through her skin. She did not feel it. “Anette Hardy, when you rise from this table you will walk of your own accord to the desk in the corner of this room! Do you understand?” She could not see the mans face from behind the light that shone from his forehead. “I understand.”
“Will you comply?”
“No!”
~
Calvin fingered in the digits of his ATM pin code. Work? Thought Calvin. I have no job. A thin wad of cash shot from the machine. I have an account filled with money, from every-time Marvin Banes made me do something illegal.
Calvin remembered the first time Banes had told him to go down town with a message for some pimp who didn't do business the way Banes wanted. The young man's name was Jose`. Calvin had shot him in the head three times. Calvin was nineteen at the time.
Why did I lie to her? She was so pretty. Was she the girl?
“No, she was not,” said the baleful voice of contempt, that he had come to know as Angel.
Then why did you send me to the bar last night?
“You think to punish you, perhaps? No, I have the greater goal in mind.”
“What is your greater goal, Angel? Why did you bring me back?”
“So you can die like a man!”
~
Annette landed heavily as she was flung back into the cell. She no longer noticed pain it had all been driven from her by hours of torture. I will not comply.
“I hear that they still haven't broken you! Three days is longer than most of em last. Well done!” Polaris' voice was a welcome sound.
“No, they haven't. How did you know that?” She replied conversationally.
“A little bird told me, it came in through the window.” Polaris chuckled at her own joke. There were no windows. Annette winced when her own light laugh allowed blood to trickle form a cut on her forehead into her right eye.
“They still haven't told me why I am here.”
“They won't! Not until you break.” Polaris had a commanding edge in her voice. “Or at least until they think you have broken.” If there was not total darkness Annette would have seen the wink the other woman gave her.
A strange sleepiness took over her and cradling her head in her arms she slept. Polaris saw the door to the cell open slowly. Only a trace amount of light came through but there was enough for her to see a shadow in the door way. “She has been given a sedative she will not wake for another few hours. I'll do what I need to while she sleeps. Perhaps she'll be more cooperative tomorrow.”
“Thank you I need to get out of this cell for a while.” With that Polaris walked from the cell.
The feeling of pleasure no longer existed. Everything was fear. Fear and hatred this was an invasion of the worst kind. She felt someone else's power being forced upon her body. She tried to fight back at this invisible invader, but she could not. She tried to scream, to cry out in protest the the thrusting assault; yet she failed. When it was finally over she lay there broken and defeated. Her pride, along with her will to fight, lay shattered at her bleeding feet.
“Annette Hardy, will you comply?”
“Yes.”
Anette sat in the corner of her cell. She rocked gently back and forth. Tears welled in her eyes but did not fall. The arms were grabbing at her; she could not see them, but they were there. She could not quite feel them clawing at her skin, but she knew they were. Comply. She would comply with them, to stop the scratching. To stop the thrusting. To stop the pain. Co-operate. She will co-operate, to make them stop the tortures. “Polaris,” she called out.
“Yeah?”
“I think its time I give them what they want.”
“You did well to last this long. They'll be gentle!” Something in the back of Annette's mind jolted her upright. How does she know? She's with them. She's been helping them. I know it. “Did you see it?” She asked.
“See what?” Polaris' replied.
“Did you see me get raped?” Her voice was flat and edged with anger.
“No!” Polaris sounded stunned. She paused for a moment and added hastily , “I think you were dreaming.”
“Dreaming? I guess I was.” Liar! I will kill you. I will kill them all! She slumped back to the floor. “How silly of me!” You're first, bitch!
Annette Hardy hated needles. She hated them more now. Injections everyday; that was how she judged the passage of time in the dark, suffocating cells. She was in truth not sure if the injections were daily, she could not count the seconds when she was sleeping.
Three hundred and forty-seven thousand eight hundred and ninety.
That was how long it was since the rape.
And One.... And two...
She wanted to remember how long. She wanted to remember so she could make Them suffer for twice as long as she had.
And three.... And four...
The door swung open.
And five... And six...
“Hello, Miss Hardy. Please stand and come with me.” The voice was bright and cheerful.
And nine. Three hundred and forty-seven thousand nine hundred...
She stood automatically, almost it was another person controlling her body.
And two...
She walked along the dark corridor, following the sound of the cheerful voice.
And five... And six...
She walked into a bright, sunlit room. Two, florally decorated, yellow chairs were situated next to a tan-curtained window that over looked the hazy city bellow.
“Please, Miss Hardy, take a seat,” said the man had lead her from her cell. He was a remarkably tall man. Long dark hair tied behind his head. His smiling face, seemed a portrait of surreality.
And nine...
She sat in the chair to her right, numbed by the change in surroundings, unable to comprehend her circumstances.
“Well, I should introduce myself, shouldn't I? I'm Emanuel Crow. I'm a Doctor of Clinical Psychiatry and a Neurologist. You, my dear, are in good hands.”
And one!
Doctor Emanuel Crow sat awkwardly on the soft yellow arm chair, trying to cradle Annette Hardy's chart against his long arm at the same time as brushing his recently released hair from his eyes with the other. Chairs weren't really made for him so he was either forced to perch on the edge and risk intimidating his patients or leaning back into the seat, stretched outward. This made writing things down more of a chore than it should have been.
Scary! He thought. What happened to her?
He forced the warmest, widest smile he could and tried to think of what to say to the terrified looking woman huddled in the chair in front of him.
“Annette?” The woman did not respond. She just sat there staring at him, lips moving rapidly as she tapped each of her right-hand fingertips against the end of her thumb.
“Okay then! I'll just wait a few minutes while you get comfortable.” He scrambled round under his white coat, retrieving a pair of earphones from inside his jeans. From the other pocket he pulled an aging music player. “And while I wait i think I'll listen to something nice and relaxing.” He held his smile even as he leaned his head back, eyes closed,slipping the earphones inside his ears.
The hard metallic sounds of the late twentieth century oscillated inside ears, both relaxing and exiting his mind. He loved it all, not discriminating between the subcultures each of the Metal sub-genres seemed to either create or appeal to. Music, to him seemed to have become a fascinating sociological phenomenon.
He would wait to see how she reacted to his serene presence, and why not enjoy the time spent inside his own head?
His forced smile became real when an image of his wife and son came into his thoughts. To say he loved those two would be an obvious understatement. He lived for them. Breathed their very existence. As pleasant as thinking of his family was, he now found he had to force back the desire to rush through all of the days work so he could go home and see them. He had to fight the urge to run there, turn on the television, sit his son next to him, and watch old Family Guy episodes with his feet up.
He felt something brush gently against his neck. His eyes shot open and he saw his new patient standing over him, staring down at his face. He flicked out the earphones, trying to rise, but she forced him back down, pressing a pen against his throat.
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