Sanctuary for Susan (A)

There had been many other days like this. Day she would rather have
forgotten. Days she wished she could have missed. Under different
circumstances, the small living room of her council house, might almost
have been cosy. She did not have many possessions, and even less money,
but that wasn't the point. Susan felt cheated.

She looked at her eye, which was now swollen, in the make-up mirror she
kept in her handbag. A dark bruise had broken out, over her right eye,
and her nose was stinging her, although there was no evidence of the
pounding it had endured.

Susan was in her mid-thirties. An attractive young woman from
Camberwell who had seen so many of her dreams disintergrate before her
eyes. As a little girl she had wanted a pony, but it had not taken her
long to realise, that this idealised pony she craved was no substitute
for the love she wanted. Her mother decided it was preferable to live
'down under' rather than with a woman he did not love.

This helped to make Susan become a very insecure woman, and she
compensated for this feeling by becoming possessive of her son Troy.
She cherished him more than anyone else in the world, more than her
mother who had run off to Spain ten years earlier, with a boyfriend;
more than herself.

Suddenly, the front door was pulled open.
"Is that you Troy?" she hollered. There was no reply.
"I've told you before, don't slam the door! You're back from school
early today," Susan continued, "I hope you're not playing truant." The
door opened.
"Oh, it's you," said Susan angrily, "Get out."

The intruder entered and took a seat. He was a tall wiry man, about
forty-five years of age, who looked much younger. His name was Thomas B
McCall. He was quite ordinary to look at, and would not really have
stood out in a room in his casual dress, were it not for a distinctive
red bandana he wore draped over his forehead. Printed on the bandana in
large white letters were the words, "Death to all who get in my
way!"
"Who were you expecting?" asked Thomas mildly.
"Go," demanded Susan. She was beginning to flush.
"That's no way to treat a visitor," said Thomas. He shook his head,
coolly.
"Now, I've got a little job for you." She was disinterested.
"Knowing how short of the readies you are, I thought, this will do for
Susan," said Thomas. He smiled at her disingenuously. Susan was
shaking. She felt both angry and impotent.

Thomas thrust his fingers near her face.
"You won't let me down again, will you," he said, willing her to defy
him. She automatically covered her face, anticipating a blow, but it
never came. She took a deep breath.
"I could use the money, what have you got for me?"
"I've got a client called Sir Gregory Smythe," said Thomas. "Now he's
in the bleedin' House of Lords, and he's stinking rich," added
Thomas.
"I don't like politics," she remarked.
"This isn't ruddy politics, it's definitely not politics," replied the
pimp, ironically.
"Sir Gregory's normal, aside from one or two fetishes, and I want you
to service him," said Thomas.
"What fetishes?" said Susan fearfully. Thomas brushed the question
aside.
"I will be watching you, and I want no monkey business, no police, and
no heroics. Just do as I say, and you'll make some decent money from
this," she said.

With this, Thomas left and Susan sat down on the floor, sobbing and
shaking. She felt intimidated but did not know where to turn.
Thomas had arranged for her to see the client later that evening at
8pm. She wondered what had persuaded a well known politician to
approach a small time pimp like Thomas Bradley McCall. After all, it
would have been more sensible, Susan thought, for Sir Gregory to
approach a high class prostitute.

"I can't understand his motivation," she said to herself, as she went
into her bedroom to prepare herself for the client. Susan had arranged
for her son, Troy, to spend the night at his friends, which had pleased
Troy no end. He was a bright twelve year old boy, and Susan did not
want him seeing her with a client. She did try to shield her son, but
she feared he knew more than he was letting on.

Soon the doorbell rang. It was precisely 7.30pm. A short, stout man
introduced himself.
"I believe you're expecting me," he said. His manner was brisk, and
business like, as if he did not have much time.
"Yes, come in sir," said Susan awkwardly. She noticed the politician's
black Mercedes, parked around the corner from the council flats. In the
car, sat a driver who looked very mean and menacing.
"This way to the bedroom," said Susan, directing her client to follow
her. He did not speak to her as she unzipped her dress, but he
scrutinised her coldly.

He reached into his pocket and took out a shiny leather strap and then
he undressed.
"Stand in the corner, and drop your knickers," he told her. Susan
obeyed his instructions although her instinct was to throw the client
out.

He put the strap in his right hand, and approached her, stroking her
back, and buttocks gently.
"I have," he said, "paid Thomas ?2000 for this. So that settles your
fee."
Susan turned around quickly.
"What's your game?" she said angrily. "I am not going to allow any man
to beat me. I don't care how much you're willing to pay me. Get out,
and fuck off."
The client tutted.
"Thomas warned me that you were likely to react this way," he said,
attempting to kiss her. Susan spat at the politician with disgust. At
this, Sir Gregory's fists flailed at Susan unremittingly.
"Stop," she screamed, but he hit her harder, she tried to defend
herself, but he was too strong, and she soon passed out.
As she lay on the floor, the politician kicked her in the groin, and
then he dressed, closing the door quietly behind him as he
departed.

When Susan regained consciousness several hours later, she felt a
sudden sense of dread; for out of the corner of her eye, a figure was
lurking. Susan recognised him at once. He was silent, and this impelled
her to recognise the menace that faced her.
"So you think you can make me look stupid, do you?" asked Thomas
belligerently.
"It wasn't like that," protested Susan, "He was kinky and he became
violent for no reason," she attempted to explain to the pimp, but he
was unimpressed.
"You're no use to me unless you can work," he warned her. She got up to
leave, but Thomas blocked her way to the door.
Susan threatened to scream, but no sooner had the words left her mouth,
she heard the thunder of stereo speakers from a nearby flat on her
estate.
It was impossible for anyone to hear her screams over that din. It was
going to be a very noisy party. She could hear laughter and shouts of
delight in the distance. How she envied them.
She made a shrill whimper, as he approached her. Thomas's eyes glared
with a fury that terrified her. She retreated from him, and attempted
to make herself very small. If only she could shrink and disappear, and
never see Thomas again. However, the pimp had no intention of allowing
her to escape.

"I have been fair with you, but look how you repaid me," Thomas
chastised her. Susan was beginning to feel very nervous.
He continued, "You ungrateful bitch. You rejected one of my best
clients. That costs me, and now it will cost you." Thomas was seething
with anger. He grabbed hold of her wrist, but Susan pulled away, and
fell backwards, falling onto the dressing table, causing the objects on
the table to drop onto the tatty red bedroom carpet.
She scrabbled her hand over the carpet hoping to find an item she could
use to defend herself against the reign of blows she had braced herself
for. However, all Susan found was a plastic comb and an assortment of
cheap lipsticks.
In desperation, she searched again, and picked up a small pair of blunt
scissors that she had often used for cutting her toenails with. She
held onto the scissors and waited.
Aggressively, he pulled her onto her feet, and slapped her face.
"I am the Law," he growled, "You will obey me, or I will kill you." She
screamed with terror as he thumped her eye, with his clenched fist.
Susan backed away from Thomas in fear. In response, Thomas lunged at
her. Susan plunged the scissors in to his throat as a reflex
action.
Thomas groaned, as his blood spattered onto her still naked body. He
let go of her, and collapsed onto the floor.
"What have I done?" she asked herself, in panic. But as Susan regarded
the dying man, and remembered how he had made her life a living
nightmare for so long, she felt almost vindicated.
Susan quickly washed her body, and dressed. She found a large plastic
carrier bag, and packed it with as many clothes as she could fit into
it. Susan took her mauve purse from the mantelpiece and a packet of
cigarettes, and a cheap lighter, and then she rushed out of her flat,
slamming the door shut, as she declaimed her misfortune.
The wind chased after her, as Susan ran. When the police officer
signalled for her to stop, she did not cease running. However, when the
driver got out of the car she stopped in her tracks.
He projected an aura of calm around him. She had never known such a
protective feeling. Susan found this enigmatic quality to be very
reassuring. He was not like any other police officer she had ever
met.
When he spoke, her body quivered with a sensual delight.
"Susan," he said, "You need not run from me."
She thought about asking him how he knew her name, but her instinct was
to get away.
The uniformed man laughed out loud.
"What's so funny?" she asked.
"I've known you for a long time," he answered her.
She stared at him in a state of shock, mingled with amazement. Try as
she might, Susan could not place him.
"Although this will make no sense to you because you cannot remember
me," he continued.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"My name is Merryweather," he said, "And I know what you did and
why."

She felt he knew more about her than she knew about herself. Susan
could not explain this knowledge, for to her he was a complete
stranger. In the distance, she could hear the clash of police sirens
and she awaited what she took to be the inevitable arrest and prison
sentence.
To her amazement, the squad of police cars drove past them as if they
were invisible.
"Why didn't they stop?" said Susan, with incredulity.
"Oh, they didn't see us," said Merryweather. "I hope you're not
disappointed," he added with irony.
Susan was anything but disappointed.
"What are you?" she implored him.
His eyes burned with a light she could not bear to look upon. She
turned away, suddenly fearful.
"Do not be afraid, Susan, I am your guardian angel," he told her. His
words did not make any sense to her, and yet she was reluctant to
question him further, lest he be displeased with her.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, mustering all her courage. Susan
bowed before him, but averted her eyes from his gaze.
"No, Susan, do not bow to me. I am not the Lord. I am just his
servant," he reassured her.
She stood up, and faced him. He took Susan's arm carefully and pulled
her towards him. Merryweathers touch was warm and tender. He embraced
her delicately, like a father would embrace a daughter. She had never
experienced as deep a love as passed between them in those
moments.

He then let her go, and stepped back. She did not feel quite the same
as she had before the encounter.
"This is for you," said Merryweather. He handed her a golden key. "This
key opens the door to your new life. Your new home is in a prosperous
area," he said.
She noticed that the key had an inscription on it. She read it, 'Number
Seven, Parson's Street, St. John's Wood.'
"Why me?" she asked Merryweather.
"Ah," he said, "because this world needs angels."
He opened the police car and out came her son Troy. Susan had not seen
him before. He rushed up to his mother, and kissed her on the cheek.
Merryweather departed, but they did not notice him go, nor were they
aware that they had ever encountered him.