Chloe After Dark

Chapter 24

Chloe knew she was going to die. She'd risked everything on a daring gamble, and it had not paid off. She could tell from the rough way he manhandled her back to the warehouse and shouted at her aggressively all the way that he was ready to discard her. It was just a question of when. So, she felt bewildered when he found an old boiler suit and made her put it on, telling her to clean the warehouse from floor to ceiling. "You must work all night. I want this place spotless!"
​"What?"
He slapped her face hard. "You heard me. Don't register your dissent by pretending not to understand!"
​"Don't hit me, you fucking animal."
He slapped her again, this time a backhand that knocked her sideways. "You never seem to learn, do you? Do it because I say so!" He shouted these last words right into her face.
Chloe could see he intended to degrade and humiliate her before killing her. This was her punishment for injuring him and trying to escape. His neck was obviously troubling him because the wound was still oozing blood, and he held it a lot, occasionally grimacing in pain. It was equally clear he was tough, and as an ex-soldier, used to being wounded. That was part of the job, par for the course. There was no hope he wouldn't be able to carry on as a result of her attack. Quite the opposite. Everything he did and said indicated he was all fired up and the end was in sight.
​Chloe worked all night on the totally pointless task of cleaning the derelict warehouse. She swept up piles of dirt and rubbish from the floor, scooping the rubble into an empty garbage bag with her bare hands. She scrubbed the toilet and washbasin with an old scrubbing brush that was too big for the job, and received another angry smack across the side of the head because they were not clean enough. Then she was made to wash the windows, standing on a wobbly wooden stepladder and risking cutting her hand to shreds on the pieces of broken glass. As dawn broke, she was allowed a short break and given something to eat. Only, this time, her hands were tied behind her back and she was forced to kneel and eat the leftover pizza from a plate on the floor with just her mouth.
​"This is a technique used in thought-reform," he told her as she struggled to bite a piece and try to chew it. "It rewards the prisoner for obedience and at the same time makes it clear who is in control." Chloe only took a couple of mouthfuls. The pizza was rubbery and almost impossible to swallow. She desperately wanted a drink of water but knew better than to ask for one. It would only result in an accusation of impudence and another stinging blow.
​The warehouse was as clean as it could be, although it really didn't look a lot different, and Chloe wondered what was coming next. As long as she was made to do these ridiculous tasks, getting filthy and choking with dust, at least she was still alive. But the time would soon come when he tired of tormenting her and brought matters to a close. Where's he gone? I can't see him now! He's been watching all night long...A brief flash of light from one of the newly cleaned windows alerted her to danger. Spinning round, she saw Darren coming up behind her with his knife raised and the look of a maniac on his face. She jumped aside, all her instincts for survival kicking in, and the blade swept down through thin air. For a split second, he looked surprised, then gave a roar of fury as he charged after her, brandishing his knife. She was already fleeing in terror and had something of a head start over him, but where could she go? The adrenaline pumping through her veins heightened her senses, and she spotted an old wooden ladder running up the wall beside the empty barrels. What am I thinking? I can't climb anything-that's my worst nightmare! Then she realized this situation was a far worse nightmare, a matter of life and death. If she had any chance of escaping this madman, she had to climb that ladder. I can do it! I can do it! I've said that a lot recently, but this is different. It's major league, and my life depends on it. Reaching the ladder, adrenaline shot through her as she grabbed hold of the bottom rungs, but broke away, woodworm having turned them to powdery dust. Oh, God! This isn't happening! What the fuck do I do now? Her only choice was to try the rungs further up. She failed to reach them with her first two jumps, but the sound of Darren rapidly coming up behind her, shouting obscenities, gave her the strength to reach the lowest rung at the third attempt. Hauling herself up with her arms, she was just in time to miss another scything blow from the knife that nicked the leg of her overalls but failed to draw blood. Mercifully, the ladder was sound further up, and she made her way upward as fast as she could. Keep breathing and don't look down. That's what they say in the movies, isn't it, when someone has to make a dangerous climb? God, this feels like a movie, only it's even more unreal! Is this really happening to me? It can't be me doing this! Someone, please wake me up!
​The ladder ran out beside the rickety top shelf of barrels, and Chloe realized she was stuck. She had gotten away as far as she could, but now there was nowhere else to go. Daring to look down, she saw Darren carrying the stepladder across the warehouse with a snarl of determination on his face. He knew the bottom end of the wall-ladder wouldn't hold his weight and was making sure he could follow her up there to finish her off. Waves of panic swept down her body, making her sway and reach out to the shelf beside the ladder to steady herself. It creaked and then cracked, making the nearest barrel roll off and head downward, bumping the others as it went. Darren was halfway up his stepladder, and she saw him look upward, his face suddenly white with shock. The barrel knocked him off the ladder before hitting the concrete floor with a deafening clang and bouncing away across the room. Darren staggered to his feet and looked up at her coldly.
"You fucking bitch! I am going to kill..." The rest of his words were drowned out by a growling rumble from beside her. She looked across and saw the other barrels starting to topple off the lower shelves, dislodged by the one that had fallen. In a matter of seconds, an avalanche of iron barrels was cascading toward the ground. This time, there was no escape for her stalker. The first one hit him on the shoulder, knocking him to the floor, and the others crushed his legs, his back, and smashed his skull. His cries of agony stopped abruptly, and in the silence, a large pool of blood began to flow out from under the metal pile. Chloe was so shell-shocked, she feared she would fall off her ladder and join him, so she stayed where she was for a very long time, clinging on until her knuckles turned white. When she was finally ready, she climbed back down very gingerly, testing every wooden rung before putting any weight on it. She jumped the final gap to the floor, staggering around like a drunken woman as she found her feet. Half wanting to and half not, she walked over to look at the scene. It should have revolted her, but she just felt elated. It's over now! He's gone! I'm free!
​The next moment, the side door through which the takeout had been delivered swung open and a familiar figure came inside. The man stopped and stared at her anxiously. "Ms. Milano? Is that you?"
Chloe had forgotten she was wearing filthy overalls and her face was black with grime. "How did you find me?" she managed to croak.
​"Cole's car. We've been scouring the city for it all week. An officer spotted it on his way back from a domestic on Oriole Crescent. Are you all right?"
Chloe ran across the room and threw herself into Lewis Madison's arms, sobbing uncontrollably like a young child being found and comforted by her father.

​​​​​***
Chloe spent the next few days in St. Michael's Hospital. She had endured extreme emotional conflict for a very long time and was now suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. She needed plenty of TLC and a calm environment in which to recover. The staff were very good, protecting her from the frenzy going on outside. The press splashed her story all over their front pages, with headlines like KIDNAP ORDEAL for RADIO STAR and SCARLETT'S NIGHTMARE FANTASY. They were desperate for the details of her story, the lurid combination of sex and violence being something that would sell thousands of extra copies, but the army of reporters clamoring for any scrap of information from people going in and out of the hospital were disappointed and eventually gave up, being forced to wait until later when they'd be told officially what happened. The police also wanted to interview her about the case, particularly as it involved a homicide, but they too had to wait until the medical team decided she was ready to relive her horrific ordeal. All she was allowed was one visitor a day.
​Blaire came first, carrying a huge bunch of flowers and a card signed by everyone at Fantasy FM. Along with the usual good wishes and messages of love, Jack had written, "Still waiting for the tow truck," and Tom, "Knew you were a fantasy-freak, but this was taking it a bit far," which made her chuckle, something she hadn't done for a very long time. Blaire didn't talk about the kidnapping and concentrated on telling Chloe everything that had happened during her absence. Blaire herself had stood in for her friend on Red Light Confessions, but admitted she wasn't half as good. "I haven't got your quick wit and love for humanity, hon," she said. "By the end of the week, I was having to bite my tongue with some of the callers-you know, 'Surely, you're not thinking that?' or 'For Christ's sake, get a life!'" This cheered Chloe up too, though the question of whether she would return to her job remained unasked and hung between them like the proverbial elephant in the room.
​Her mother came the following day, but was so emotional and stressed about the whole situation, she was asked to leave after about ten minutes. Even so, in that time, she managed to tell her daughter all the latest gossip and urge her to have counseling as soon as she was discharged.
​"Doctor Lee has helped so many people-"
​"Mom, we've had this conversation before," Chloe interrupted. "Doctor Lee's a phony who needs counseling himself."
​"I won't argue with you, dear, but promise me you'll consider it with somebody else."
​"I'll think about it."
​"No, you'll do it."
​"Oh, all right. I will. Anything to shut you up!"
Her mother's parting words were that she was staying at Chloe's apartment and would stay on after Chloe's discharge, to be with her. After such a terrible ordeal, she didn't want her daughter to be on her own.
​Stephanie came to visit on several occasions, never staying long and always sounding upbeat. She told Chloe all about what she'd gotten up to with her hired hunk at the Masquerade Party, which made Chloe laugh out loud, even though she knew much of it was exaggeration. It was her friend's excitement and sense of fun that cheered her up so much. It was so outrageous and life-affirming that Chloe couldn't get enough of it. She sat up in bed each time with a big grin on her face as her friend rambled on with stories of her latest goings-on in her circle of Toronto high society. On one occasion, the nurse on duty had to ask Stephanie to leave because Chloe had laughed so much it had led to a fit of coughing and retching. Chloe begged her not to go, but she had to do what she was told.
​"See you again soon, babe! Won't be long before you're home."
​"Not sure about that. They say I'm suffering from borderline P-TSD."
​"What does that mean?"
​"Post-traumatic stress disorder."
​It was, in fact, just over two weeks before Chloe was discharged from St. Michael's. By then, she was old news, and only a couple of papers had sent anyone to photograph her leaving hospital. The police had interviewed her at the end of the first week and a statement had been issued to the press, something that was turned into a lurid account of sexual depravity and ultra-violence in the Sunday papers. Lewis Madison had also talked to the press, his dry summary of the case lending some vestige of fact to the sensational story that was being printed. Jack was waiting outside to drive her home, grinning from ear to ear. He stood leaning on a brand-new Skoda that Blaire had bought to replace the Ford, though secretly she hoped it would encourage Chloe to consider returning to Fantasy FM. As the car drove smoothly and silently away from the front steps, Chloe realized a whole chapter of her life was closing behind her. What was coming next?
​In the days that followed, with her mother fussing over her like an invalid, Chloe felt herself sinking lower and lower every day. Physically, she felt fine, but mentally, she could do nothing to stop the depression that had stalked her for so long from closing in around her like the incoming tide encircling a sandcastle. She didn't tell her mom about it, knowing she would hugely overreact, but kept it all to herself, staying in bed longer and longer each day under the pretext of being emotionally exhausted.
​"You need to see another doctor," her mother said sharply one afternoon, about three o'clock.
​"I'm fine, Mom, honestly."
​"How can you say that when you're behaving like this?"
​"I'm moving about. Eating a bit. Sleeping a lot? What's wrong with that? It's what you'd expect from someone in my position."
​"That's not the point, and you know it..."
Just then, the phone rang, and her mother answered it. She listened for a moment, looking very worried, and put the phone down hastily. "It's Miss Trina. She's had a nasty fall. I need to go and be with her."
​"Then go!"
​"I can't leave you here on your own, Chloe. You're not well enough."
​"Don't talk nonsense, Mom. I'll be okay. Miss Trina needs you far more than I do. Your work here is done, as they say."
Her mother hesitated for a moment, clearly wanting to go but feeling she should stay.
​"Come with me!"
​"Don't be ridiculous, Mother."
​"All right, I'll go, on one condition."
​"What's that?"
​"You call me twice a day, every day, morning and evening."
​"Agreed."
​"And you get in touch with a counselor right away."
​"That's two conditions."
"This isn't the time to be funny, Chloe! I'm in a terrible dilemma here."
​"No, you're not," Chloe said affectionately, steering her mother toward her bedroom to pack her clothes. "Off you go. I'll be perfectly all right here on my own. In fact, I'll be pleased with some peace and quiet."
They both laughed and gave each other a hug.
​The next day, Chloe didn't get up until early evening, and the following day, she failed to get up at all. Bed was the only place she wanted to be. The hours were endless, and she could not stop her mind from replaying over and over again all the awful scenes she'd been part of for so many months. As her mood drifted ever downward, she went through the "if only" scenario, regretting every decision and every action she'd made, especially her sexual adventures, about which she now felt deeply ashamed. By the end of the next three days at home on her own, she had reached rock bottom. Now, her thoughts ran incessantly on blame. This is all my fault. I brought this on myself with my immoral behavior. I'm a wicked person, and Darren was right about me. He told the truth. I was a whore, flouting my sexuality on the radio and in real life. I need to be punished for this, but there's nobody here to punish me. So, I need to do it for myself. I can't go on like this, weighed down by the burden of guilt for everything I've done. I must find some peace. My only hope is to find some peace.
​By the weekend, Chloe's depression had totally engulfed her. Blaire and Stephanie were supposed to come around on Saturday afternoon, but she canceled them, saying she felt too tired for company, and rescheduled for the following week, knowing full well she wouldn't be there. Then, feeling like a zombie, she got dressed and went out to her local pharmacy to buy some paracetamol. They would only sell her two packets, a useless precaution because she just went to the pharmacy in the nearby supermarket and a number of other places, including a petrol station, to buy a load more. She went home carrying a bagful of packets, spending the rest of the afternoon carefully popping them out into a glass bowl on the coffee table. She left the empty packaging scattered all over the floor and sat back staring at the bowlful of hard, shiny white tablets that offered her salvation. Later that night, just before bedtime, she went into the kitchen and poured herself a big glass of water, but she put it down beside the bowl and drifted off to bed. The thought of swallowing all those tablets at that hour of the night made her feel sick.
​She stayed in bed for the whole of Sunday morning. Her thoughts were no longer occupied by guilt-she was beyond that now-and her whole focus was on when she should do the deed. It was no longer in question that this was the way to go. It was the only way that would give her the peace she so desperately craved. A little voice somewhere at the back of her mind was still telling her no, but with each passing hour, it was further drowned out by the absolute urge to end it all. At six o'clock, with sunshine streaming in from the lively street outside, she took her first tablet-only to be interrupted by her mobile.
​"You haven't called me!"
​"Sorry, Mom. I forgot."
​"What do you mean, you forgot? You can't forget! Are you okay?"
​"Of course, I am. Please stop worrying about me."
​"What are you doing now?"
​"Nothing much. Just sitting on the couch with a glass of water."
​"And what have you done today? Have you been out?"
​"Not today, Mom. As I told you, I went for a stroll around town yesterday, but I didn't feel the need today."
​"I'm not happy with you, Chloe. Miss Trina's well enough to be left alone now, so I'm coming back tomorrow. I'll see you about midday."
​"That's fine, Mom. I'll be here. Gotta go now. Bye."
Chloe put another tablet in her mouth, but it stuck in her throat, and she spat it out. What am I thinking of? Mom would never get over it. Neither would Blaire and Stephanie...or my work colleagues, for that matter. I owe it to them to keep going...She paused in her thoughts for a moment, feeling hugely let down and crying at the idea of not being able to escape her problems. Then a new resolve took over her mind. She was the mistress of her own destiny. It was her life, and she was at liberty to do what she liked with it. She would go ahead...later.
​Back in bed, Chloe lay on her side and watched the light outside giving way to an orange sunset and then darkness. Ten o'clock. That's the time I'm going to choose. Two and a half more hours to endure. Then it will all be over. I'm not worthy to be loved by friends and family. It'll be a mercy to be rid of me. It'll be a mercy to be rid of myself. Once or twice during the time that followed, Chloe heard voices down in the street, and twice thought she heard her name being called. She dismissed it as the drifting imagination of someone obsessing and half-asleep, and when the alarm buzzed on her phone, she got up as if instructed by someone else and walked back into the sitting room. The tablets were still on the table, waiting for her, and she fetched three glasses of cold water, knowing that swallowing enough would not be easy and would take a long time. No longer doubting this was the right thing to do-it was undoubtedly and absolutely the right thing to do-she reached forward and took two tablets out of the bowl. She tried to swallow them both at the same time, thinking this would speed things up, but they made her gag, and she had to spit them out and start again one at a time. Slowly, the total built up. Nine...ten...eleven. She had just swallowed her fifteenth tablet when the noises outside her window became a concerted shout.
​"WE WANT SCARLETT! WE WANT CHLOE! COME BACK, SCARLETT! COME BACK, CHLOE!"
Part of her wanted to ignore it and not be interrupted, but she was curious to know what was going on and wandered over to the window to look out. As soon as her face appeared, a huge cheer went up from the big crowd gathered in the street below. Some of them carried banners and placards repeating what they had just chanted, and all the faces looking up at her were filled with excitement and pleasure. ​
​"SCARLETT FOR RED LIGHT CONFESSIONS! SCARLETT FOR RED LIGHT CONFESSIONS!"
That was the chant taken up next, and with a jolt, Chloe realized she would not just devastate her immediate circle if she killed herself, she would devastate hundreds of thousands of her fans all over Canada. Instantly, she regretted what she had done and rushed to the bathroom, sticking two fingers down her throat and pressing hard on the back of her tongue. Moments later, she was violently sick, bringing up many of the tablets whole and some that had just started to dissolve. When she figured she'd done enough, she washed her face and cleaned her teeth to get rid of the foul taste in her mouth. On her way back to the window, she took a brush from her bag and tidied her hair. She looked ready, and felt ready, to face her public again. Pausing to take a long, deep breath, she strode over to the window.