GUESSWORDS

"What's the fucking point, Jonathon? I tell you what man, you are
being both unfair and discriminative. What is the fucking point of
putting on a video if you're the only one who can see it?"
I make the appropriate soothing noises, a little irritated.
"Look, you can still listen to it can't you?"
"Oh-ho, very fucking funny. Let's all wordplay to the blind man
buff."

His voice has reached the biting point on its levels of sarcasm. I
sigh inwardly, only too aware that the slightest expulsion of breath on
my part would be picked up instantly and analysed.
"That wasn't purposeful. I won't watch the whole thing, I'll save it
for later, okay? I'm just curious to know what I spent my money on is
all."
He snorts. There's sarcasm in that too. Also at biting point. Biting
point is dangerous where Tim is concerned.
"You mean, you actually paid money for this? Your hard-earned pennies?
On a videotape from a bloke down the pub? Jeez, talk about cliched.
Give it to me. Give it me!"

I noiselessly grind my teeth, leaning over to his armchair to settle
the tape in his grasping fingers. He splays them out over it, creeping,
gleaning. Another snort.
"Christ almighty Jonathon, it's not even a real video! There's no
sticker&;#8230;I bet there's not even a label on it in pencil, is
there? You've been ripped off, mate. Come on then, whack it on, let's
watch last night's 'Changing Rooms' courtesy of Mr Scam from 'Down The
Pub'."
He dangles it between finger and thumb, waiting for me to take it off
him. I snatch it and shove it into the slit in the machine, pressing
play with my forefinger simultaneously.
"You'd better fucking describe what's happening to me, in detail, or
else I shall report your discriminations to the local council, you
fuckhead."
I shush him impatiently, focusing on the blank black screen. It's
exciting. If it's a scam, it's a scam - someone found a button marked
'exploitation' and pushed it, good on him. If it's something else -
well, that's something else, innit?

The screen flickers into action. It's fizzing. Snow. The
disappointment is a release, undoing my scrunched fists. The palms
actually hurt from my fingernails, fucking hell.
"Nothing, is it? Blank? Or have you muted it because it's last week's
'Eastenders' omnibus and you don't want to spoil the surprise for
me?"

He sneers. Then the flickers stop, and become a picture. I shush him
again, mutter 'hang on' with a flap of my hand, even though he can't
see it. The picture is blurred though, just a mess of colours. Sandy
beige, grey, a streak of brown. Interested, I lean forward, hearing Tim
snort once again, although quieter this time. Just as my upper body
starts moving, the camera zooms in, clearing the screen of blurriness.
I must've gasped at this point because Tim leans forward himself, also
suddenly interested.
"What, what is it? There's no sound, I haven't a fucking clue what's
going on. What is it? Is it porn?"
His voice has a wicked edge to it. I gulp.
"No, no Tim, I don't think it's porn, it's-"
The picture swings up and down, as if the camera is being adjusted,
then settles on the best frame.
"It's-"
"Describe it well, Jonathon - remember I'm blank about this, in the
dark. I see nothing, not one pixel."
"I'll try. It's&;#8230;a girl. Well, the shot itself is framed by
something - there's like a dark border, uneven, around it. Like, I
dunno - like it's being filmed through a crack in the wall or
something. I think it actually might be. It's home footage - or at
least, filmed on a cheap camcorder. So anyway, in the centre of the
picture is this girl - shit, that's what the streak of brown
was-"
"What?"
"Oh, nothing, just when it was out of focus before. This girl-"
"How old?"
"How the fuck should I know? Will you stop interrupting? If I'm gonna
do this for you then let me fucking do it, okay? Maybe about, not sure,
hard to tell - I'd guess around eighteen?"
"Mmmm-mmm."
He draws in his breath and makes lip-smacking noises.
"Stop it!"
Something in my voice shuts him up. I take a deep breath, and
continue.

"She's pretty. She's out cold. At least, I hope she's out cold. Her
head has fallen onto her right shoulder, and her body is all slumped
down in the chair. She's - shit, she's fucking tied up man! Her arms
are all tied together, behind the chair!"
"Fucking hell. What kind of shit have you got there? What has this guy
sold you? You must describe everything exactly as you see it Jon, you
must!"
"Okay, okay. It's just a normal chair she's tied up to - plain cheap
wood, something like from a dining room or something. She's not gagged
though. Her clothes&;#8230;her clothes are just plain black, black
trousers, black blouse, black Doc Martens, but&;#8230;there's
something not right&;#8230;"
Next I must have gasped again without realising. Tim's in there like a
shot.
"What is it? What do you see now? Someone else?"
"No, no, not that. It's her clothes&;#8230;just&;#8230;"
I lean further forward, pressing my hands on the floor like an athlete
about to launch, squinting at the small screen.
"They're - they're ripped! Not a lot, but around the neck. I think
there are bruises round her neck, too, it's hard to tell. Shit, I hope
she's not dead!"

Next instant, as the 'd' is still out in the air, we know she's not
dead at all. Because she starts screaming. Bloodcurdling - hell,
heartcurdling screams. From deep in her stomach. I glance at Tim. He
looks pale in the light from the TV. Pale and frozen, face inclined
toward the fear he cannot see. I hasten to reassure him.
"It's okay Tim, it's still just her, she's just woken up."
I see him visibly relax back into his chair a little.

"Turn it up," he commands, "right up. And tell me absolutely
everything that happens."
She's still screaming. Her body is moving fiercely with restrained
energy, and she thrashes her head from side to side, looking around
with big round panicked eyes, examining her surroundings. I relate
these last few details to Tim, and turn the sound up as far as it will
go.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" he says, his mouth hanging open.

Abruptly, the screams stop. From the corner of my eye, I see Tim open
his mouth, about to demand more information, but he is silenced by what
happens next. An audible - I swear - change in atmosphere on the
screen, a sudden shift in the girl's mood. I think it might be a
recognition or a realisation, but I decide to keep this idea to myself
for the moment. Then she speaks.
"So this is it, is it papa? Pops, daddy, GEOFFREY FUCKING KEATON? You
don't like what your baby's done, what you THINK your baby's been up
to, so you lock her in the fucking bunker? Awww daddums, really good
decision you made there. Now LET ME OUT!"
She shuts her mouth, letting her shoulders slump. I take advantage of
the pause, not wanting to stop the tape.

"I saw her - I think - realise what happened. Where she was, I mean.
She must recognise where she is."
"And did her dad come into the room or something? Is she actually
talking to him? I didn't hear footsteps."
"No, I don't think so. She seems to be shouting at the walls; maybe
hoping to be heard somewhere else. But&;#8230;her vision isn't
trained on the camera."
"What? She's not looking at the camera?"
"No. I don't think she knows she's being-"
"Let me out! Untie me! Please papa, then we can talk,
or&;#8230;"
Her voice trails off.
"She's looking around, like she expects papa to walk in."
We wait with her for a few minutes. She too realises he's apparently
not coming, and sighs, loudly.
"This is so dumb! How long are you gonna keep me here dad? 'Til I've
learned my fucking lesson? I'm not a little girl anymore you know, you
can't just shove me in a playpen and tell me to behave. OR TIE ME UP IN
A FUCKING BUNKER!"

This last sentence is roared with frustration. I realise I am holding
my breath and expel it all in one sharp push. She sighs again.
"If only&;#8230;"
I can't hear the rest, she's mumbling. I rewind it, pause it, and turn
to Tim.
"You know you're always boasting about that superior hearing you've
supposedly got? Well, use it now. What the fuck is she saying
here?"
As I press play, he tilts his head to one side. She repeats her wish. I
pause the tape again.
"Well?"
"I think it's&;#8230;I'm pretty sure she's saying 'If only I had a
pen and paper'."
I look back at the stilled girl, bewildered, and let the tape run
on.

"Now she's slumping in her chair, like she's exhausted, or still
waiting. Hang on - shit, her whole face has changed. She's leaning
forward, at least, as far as the ties will let her, and craning her
head to look at something off-screen in front of her."
"What is it? What?"
"I don't know, it's off screen. I told you, this is being filmed from
another room, remember? All I can see is her and a little of what
surrounds her. Not enough to be incriminating, I guess&;#8230;She's
shaking her head - she looks furious.

I'm right. She is furious. Her voice fills the room, coarse with
screaming and with its volume.
"You - you&;#8230;you bitch! You fucking bitch! How could you do
this to me dad, how could you do this?"
The picture swerves suddenly. The anonymous camera operator, the person
who I assumed had set the video up and quietly gone away, is very much
still there. A change in person surely would've made too much
noise?

"Oh my god. He's making a bloody feature film!"
"You what? What now?"
"The camera - the picture - it's moving like it did at the beginning.
Hang on - it's out of focus&;#8230;my god."
"What?" Tim's voice is almost frantic now, almost begging me for
images. I feel a momentary rush of power, to my surprise, and quickly
get rid of it.
"He's teasing her! Or torturing, or punishing&;#8230;she asked for a
pen and paper, right?"
"Right. So?"
"So what the camera has just tracked to, and is zoomed in on right now,
is like a desktop holder full of pens, like twenty pens or something,
and a whole stack of pads. A big pile!"
"Shit. Is this serious, do you think? I mean, for real?"
"I wish you could see it for yourself man, I really do. I think so,
yes."
"Well shouldn't we do something about it? Call the police or
something?"
"Jesus Tim, this could be years old, or turn out to be - a drama
rehearsal or something, what do I know? It might have a happy ending -
pops could walk in any second and give her a big kiss. We've got to
watch it."
"Fine" he says, unhappily. I sympathise with him for a second - it must
be so hard hearing all this intensity yet really not knowing what's
happening at all. Then I return my full concentration to the video
again.

She's crying. That slumped posture again, only this time it's not
because she's unconscious, or trying her best to get comfortable. It's
resignation. She slowly raises her head up towards the ceiling and
screams.
"Why daddy, why? Don't you know none of those things are true? That I
make them up? Hell, they don't even come from inside my head most of
the time, but from books I read, people I overhear in the street! Don't
you realise? That's not me, those words, they're just words. I'm still
me, papa?"
The whole of that is painfully delivered in an awful pleading tone. I
see in the set of Tim's shoulders, how tense he is, that he is thinking
exactly the same as me after hearing that. He senses me looking his
way. His voice is grim, and cracking.

"She knows, doesn't she? More than we do. She knows what kind of a man
her father is, doesn't she? Dammit, you heard that in her voice Jon,
you heard it, I know you did! Now please, can we just call the
police?"
Although it sickens me to say it, I truly believe we have no
choice.

"We've gotta just keep watching. It can't last much longer,
surely?"
I see panic in Tim's otherwise vacant eyes.
"You can't do this to me, dad, you can't! Why? Whywhywhywhy? To teach
me a lesson, is it? 'Cos the only thing it's teaching me is to hate you
and lust after all that plain white paper there! You can't stop it with
a few harsh words you know, it's part of me, it grows in me every day.
It's a need, NOT A DISEA-"

The tape reverts to a black blank screen once again. I tell Tim
quickly, hearing with a shock the sound of my voice, shaking. He
breathes out, a juddering, shuddering sound. We sit in quiet for a
moment, taking it all in, remembering, but at the same time, I know,
both trying to erase the picture of that skinny, scared girl from our
minds.
"Jonathon."
Tim is quiet, oh so quiet, but also surprisingly firm.
"I think you'd better tell me about the man you got this tape
from."
I swallow.
"Medium height, about mid-forties probably, black T-shirt I remember,
stretched over a huge belly-"
My voice must have been faint - Tim snaps me back to reality.

"Jonathon. Did you know him? Had you seen him there before? Did he
give a name at all?"
"No, never seen him before in my life. I was sitting on a stool at the
bar - it was near empty in there - and next thing I know he's sidled up
to me and is offering me the tape from a carrier bag. One pound fifty -
I was curious. I had to know what was on it, if there was anything on
it at all. He said his name was Jeff, he didn't know what was on it, a
mate had given it him all secretive like and he didn't have a video
player, so&;#8230;"

Tim and I turn to face each other. It's like I've been punched in the
face, and I think - I think - I actually flinch. The air buzzes as we
rewind my words.