Personal Journal of Jonathon Frike
Date 05.24.92
We make promises that we can never keep, when we’re young we see things differently, forever and ever have a totally opposite meaning, darkness is an enemy and light a friend. Then for a time, sometimes briefly, it changes. We accept all that is evil and the unholy and without a problem we see the reality, then we spend the rest of our lives changing and supposedly growing to a mature level. What level though, an adult who is constantly searching for his youth ? Or, the one thing that we said we would never become, our parents.
Today something happened, she reappeared, taunting me, showing me the life of hope that she once gave me a vision of, and then, when I was 17 years old she took that from me, without a word she was gone. I never received a call, note or even crept into a dream that was meant to be for her.
Memo to Self: Consider changing dreams to include women that are out of reach.
What do I do ?
She asked to see me at the coffee shop tomorrow, I don’t even like coffee. I don’t know what to do. I try to think of a reason not to go and all that comes to mind is reasons to go. Revenge is the first feeling that would need to be satisfied, I mean she hurt me, emotionally that is. I hope that no one else reads this, a bloke talking about his feelings would not be had in this day and age.
Back to revenge, I could plague her mind with the thought that she could have had anything she wanted, if only she stayed with me, that I have moved on with my life since she left. Tell her that all is gone, and that she has missed the boat. Five years passed and I still loved her, and I know that if she told me that she loved me and wanted me back, that I would not tell her anything of the kind, I would be on my knees and thanking God for the return of this love.
You would think that I was married to this girl for 30 years, but Denise is the first love of my life, and there was no real closure, I mean, I don’t want closure, I just want some answers from here, and if she wants to start again, well who am I to argue with fate.
Anyway, I will write again tomorrow, maybe something, everything, anything might happen, and maybe she will let me know where she has been for the last five frigging years, it must be some story!
Personal Journal of Denise Jester
Date 05.24.92
Made the first step today, by accident. I spotted Jonathon, he is now working around the corner from my parents house, Assistant Manager, last that I knew it was a weekend job, but that was five years and a different life ago. Well I say five years but I really mean four and a half, it took he six month’s to wander and repair, mentally and physically. But I have to get the story straight, so telling it into these blank pages would be a start.
I was 16 years old and coming back to Ireland from the school trip. Coming back, leaving Le Harve for Rosslaire, there was something about standing alone on the deck of the ferry. There were the other members of the school trip, my own age, drinking, with the boys, but I wanted to be alone, eight days with this group and I needed my space, where better than the sea.
The sea was calm, the half moon broke the waves with small flakes of light. The cold wind was being matched by the heavy black overcoat that was part of my schools uniform, we could wear what we liked on the trip, but I knew that it was cold and knew that I would feel it. The heavy coat played with the elements allowing some of the bitter cold that I could feel on my face onto my arms and around my body. At this time, when it was needed, another coat was placed over my shoulders, I should have jolted with the suddenness of the action but I could not face the fact, if I did the garment may be removed. I calmly looked to my right to see the man I came to call Calais standing there.
If you look at Calais you see what everyone sees at first glances, a tall athletic man, raven colored hair, peppered with some grey, though you would not think of him as past his late twenties, his eyes a tragic mixture of light blue and drown, the whites of the eyes clear as fresh snow. He looked like Michelangelo’s statue of David.
“A cold night warmed by you, very easy to tolerate minus tempetures with good company. Are your parents on board ?” The calmness of his voice echoed through the sea beneath us. There was caring in his voice.
“No, I’m here on a school trip. I just like to spend time alone. Away from the cackle.” I surprised myself, no teenager admits the liking of being alone. But it was more than that, I didn’t know why I was saying this to a stranger. Calais gave off the impression to his soul that he knew where I was coming from. At 16 you feel that no person, and by that I mean your parents, understands you, and when you feel that someone does understand the pressure of the teen years, you cling to them and only with reluctance do you let go.
Calais sniffed the air, like an animal scenting danger. He took me under the arm and lead me toward the back of the ferry, I know that there is a sailor’s term for the back of the ship, but I ain’t no sailor.
It was pleasing, sharing body heat with this man, Calais describing the night and surroundings with his slight accent, I could not say for certain were it was from, but it sounded like Russian, but then again there was a hint of Irish from it too.
We walked for what seemed to be hours, but it was only minutes, we made our way to the heliport at the near top of the ferry. A helicopter was there, blades spinning around. The pilot was arguing with one of the ferry’s staff, from what I caught, there seemed to be some problem about the schedule.
Calais nodded to the pilot and the argument stopped. The staff member, a thin man, who could have been close to his own retirement, started to talk to Calais, then fell to the deck as Calais lifted his arms. Then blood came from the mans body and the sight stunned me in frozen fear. I swear I wanted to run, screaming, but the anxiety of the situation made me believe that if I ran I would suffer the same fate as the staff member.
A move quickly on Calais’ part ensured that I was on that helicopter with him. And that is all that I could remember about that night.
When I woke, to warmth and sun, I knew that I could remember all that I needed too, the coldness, the killing and Calais. I was wearing white silk PJ’s and I could not see my clothes anywhere, I could not let myself think about being afraid, I knew that I was abducted and knew to get out of where ever I was I would have to have a clear head. I sat up on the bed and rubbed my head, the king size bed was quilted with satin sheets. Other than the bed there was no additional pieces of furniture in the room. The window was facing the sun, if I had gone to the Brownies like Mother had asked me too that would mean something rather than nothing. A sheet of lace covered the glass, I moved close to the window, maybe that could have been a way out for me, but if I had decided to make a escape I would have to contend with a drop of over one hundred feet, then have to battle through a dense forest. Something inside told me that I was not in Ireland.
The door beside the bed opened and Calais walked in carrying a tray, mixed items were on it, orange juice, selected fresh citrus fruits, and a cereal, my stomach was not in the mood, but it looked tempting.
“Why am I here?”
Calais placed the tray on the bed and sat beside it.
“Eat, you must be hungry.” I walked over to the food and threw the tray onto the floor. Calais was unmoved. “I understand why your emotions are controlling you, you want answers?”
It’s funny to me now, but when I first met this man his accent was something that I found attractive, though with every word that he could muster now he sounded like that bald villain from the Bond movies.
“I brought you here, I have searched my adult life for someone like you, you are here to satisfy a fantasy, a lifetime of pleasure.” I backed off, trying to put as much distance between Calais and myself as I could. “I’m not going to sleep with you! No!.
I could not tell the purpose of Calais’ laughter, it was deep, vibrating, like that feeling I got at a concert. I stood too close to the speakers, and when the bass player struck his instrument my bones rattled. The same feeling came to me at this point.
“You think that I want to fuck you, I have to say, I find that most amusing.” Okay, he could have stopped with the mocking tone in his voice, fear was slightly replaced with anger. I was not the most attractive girl in my class but I could hold my own.
“Though sex will be involved, and you will need to start taking the contraceptive pill right away, the other side to the equation will be here shortly, and you will be ready.” I could not fathom what was in store for me.
Personal Journal of Calais
10.28.1987
Finally I’ve found her. She is the absolute perfection that I’ve searched, in twenty five years. I know that she is the completed resurrection of my mother, every detail, from what I remember to the photos that I had saved.
My locators have found the second part of the whole, but doubt that his capture will be so easy.
Personal Journal of Denise Jester
Date 05.24.92
It took two days before Calais came back to my room, my meals were presented to me by a Butler, he said nothing and would not acknowledge my presence, a tray with food would come in, and the empty tray would be taken. The Butlers training must have been strict, his silent step was compelling to me, this big man, his form clinging to the white and black uniform.
Two days, nothing to do but think. Taking the contraceptive pill, as directed, I have no choice in what would happen to me. Reason had no place in this room, or this world that I was robbed to, reason to Calais, but my reasoning, of not getting knocked up through this nutcases over wound fantasy. Then Calais came calling back to me. His smile, charming, seductive, if not aware of the present situation I would allow myself to fall into that smile and those eyes.
“I have news, the second part of the whole is here. Soon you will be together again, soon, I, will be complete.” I could not comprehend this, why me, why not one of the other girls from the group, I mean, from all accounts they were complete sluts. I had fought Jonathon off in our relationship when he tried to get past first base.
Personal Journal of Calais
10.30.1987
She took the news well, or as well as one could hope for. I didn’t share the full hope of mine with her, for reason’s that I know she would not understand.
But now, I have the pieces and can move them in and out of the puzzle as I wish. My new part came from England, he is 20 years old, a soldier, like father was, and everything else would suit father as well, father and mother are dead. But now I have brought them back, and they will never leave me. Never leave me alone again. He is called Mark for now, and is heavily drugged, and may have to be kept that way for the conclusion of the scheme to be seen.
Some would think me crazy, others would call me genius.
Personal Journal of Denise Jester
Date 05.24.92
Weeks went by, not a sign of Calais, but still the muted Butler would come in and go out. What was about to happen?
This other piece, the crazy sonna-bitch Calais, answers, I just would like answers. There is nothing worse than a mind left to wonder. If I knew what was going to happen then at least I could panic or protest, but without information, anxiety or confrontation would be an exercise in futility.
Then, one morning I woke to find a beautiful white silk dress, that when held, was heavier than it looked. A simple note attached, in fancy writing, calligraphy style, ‘WEAR THIS TONIGHT!’ The butler came with the usual breakfast, but this time he would smile at me, freaking the hell out of me. I ate the cereal and drank the freshly squeezed orange juice. I passed the time by doing sit-ups and push-ups, exercise would pass the time well, soon I would take up running on the spot, just to prepare, I was turning into an athlete, I had little else to do. The darkness of night fell and the dress flowed down my body. It felt good to wear something other than the PJ’s. I would rather wear the elonged T-shirt that Jonathon bought me for Christmas past, at home, with my own room. My siblings next door, wrecking my head, it all would be welcome now.
Calais called that night, it must have been about half past eight, he was wearing a Tux, I thought that the first time that I would have a gentleman call for me while wearing a Tux would be my Prom. This was not part of the plan. He led me to this grand ballroom, where a majestic table was set with places for three, I could smell a fine mixture of food cooking somewhere else.
Flowers seemed to sprout from the table and become with the wood. All the colours of the rainbow were suggested and mingled in the arrangements, fresh fruit was of the mixture. Candles burned, no other source of light was around. He placed me sitting on the right side of the table. The butler came in next, leading a young man, must have been in his early twenties, he held the young man under his elbow, I’d seen people lead the blind in a similar fashion, the reason for the leading in this case would be that the man I now know as Mark, was drugged, his eyes dopey and sunken into his skull. Mark was dressed in a uniform, though not from this period of time, it looked like an old WW2 uniform that you would see in a old film, you could see that the dry cleaning did not work fully, as the dust did not come completely off.
He was placed facing me, then Calais would sit at the head of the table. Mark was so doped that his head was resting on the back of the high reared chair. The butler came and served the meal, which I ate, Calais ate, Mark drooled. As a brief statement through the dinner Calais would reveal to me that Mark, this dapper army man, was being injected with a drug that made him groggy at the moment, but would make him more pleasing to be around later. This, now, after getting to know Mark, was due to the fact that Mark was violently against sleeping with someone, of my gender. The butler would feed Mark.
The drugging stopped with Mark, who would not do as Calais insisted, even through medication. Marks resistance caused serious trouble for the consistent flower arrangements that held to the table. Calais refused to hurt Mark, he would repeat to butler that he didn’t want to leave bruises on family, strange.
The sex thing, I guess, as that is all that I have, now. It seemed to be that Calais always wanted to see his parents make love, that was the ultimate fantasy, and the destination of our abduction.
But over the years that Mark and I were in his capture, the most sexual thing that we did was kissing, French style. Mark would continue the violence and tried to escape numerous times. This angered Calais, beyond belief, every attempt of release would bring Calais closer and closer to the one point, that I warned Mark of, Calais would eventually tire of these hassles and hurt Mark. I went along, with everything, I decided earlier in this ordeal that it would be the best way to secure my safety.
Marks final attempt of escape. He was gone for about three days, then he was brought back to the dining room. Calais was waiting, in his Christopher Lee inspired outfit, I kid you not, cloak and all. I was brought in first, the butler turned and left once I was in Calais’ company, Calais never spoke to me, he would not even look in my direction as he paced back and forth, in shadow, the mighty dining room window captured the full moon. There was no other light, other than the natural. Butler dragged Mark in by the hair, Mark looked like Charlie Sheen in the final scene of Platoon. Someone had gotten to him and given him a good going over. Mark was thrown at the feet of Calais.
“I would have made sure of your safety eternally.”
“But you would not allow me to be free.” Mark managed to get the words out, barely. He stretched for the breath to form the sentence, I was brought back to reality.
“I will set you free.” Calais raised a pistol from inside the cloak. The falling of Marks body, the loud noise coming from the gun, those memories never leave me.
I had come to an understanding that Calais needed both me and Mark. Without Mark there would be no use for me. I turned and ran, I saw the opportunity to leave, and the choice, stay and die, or make a run and maybe live again. I had spent nearly five years here, and now I wanted out. Even if I was to be spared, how long would I wait until Calais would find someone to take Marks place.
I could feel the fresh night air coming from somewhere, all I had to do was to find its source, taking a risk of a high window would be better than taking a risk with a bullet. I move quickly, never looking back, I reach a twisting staircase, the breeze is strong coming from up high, so I move, knocking all candles that light those passages that the moon could not. I didn’t know why I knocked them at the time, I could reason that I did it to block someone from following me, but then I could reason that I did it to see if the flames would spread, which they did, and kill those who remained.
The breeze, a pane of glass, and falling into damp leaves. That was all that I could remember.
Days passed and I woke. Clean, but in pain, in another white sterile room, but this one had the hint of safety and caring that Calais’ lacked. An armed guard at the door alerted a doctor when he saw that my eyes stirred. As my consciousness grew, I was told that I was found by a deserted castle, that someone had burned out. I learned that there were some bodies where found in the ashes, one which had a bullet hole in it, the others were unidentifiable, for now. I was flown home two weeks later, after the police had found a suitable suspect that would have started the fires, it seemed that they believed a little girl like me could never had started the blaze.
I have been in rehabilitation for the wounds, and scaring, but returned to find Jonathan waiting for me, in some ways.
Tomorrow I face him, tomorrow I will tell him word for word what happened to me, and tomorrow I will wake, just to find that the same fear is still within me.
I can get passed this, I know I can.
Personal Journal of Calais
05.24.92
Once again I have found her, and again I will posses her. She will be mine, and no matter how long it takes she will be joined, again.
The End.