Chapter 3
Chapter Three
THE TASKMASTER
They thought I wouldn’t remember. But I never forgot a single second of what happened to me that night... and afterwards.
Present day
The Taskmaster
A shipping container in the middle of an abandoned warehouse.
A warehouse on an old industrial estate.
An industrial estate no one ever came to because of the ‘Danger’ and ‘Keep Out’ signs... except for me.
I came here.
But only when I had reason to.
Today, I’d chosen to wear a yellow hazmat suit with steel-capped boots and a pair of surgical gloves. I liked the vibe this look gave. That what I was dealing with was toxic, and I needed protection.
I pulled the protective hood over my head as I stood outside the shipping container. The black breathing equipment was perfect, in my opinion, to complete the look. A breathing mask that’d soon become a death mask.
I lifted the metal handle on the door of the container and wrenched it open. The grind of metal as I pulled it made my teeth stand on edge, like nails down a chalkboard. But that feeling soon turned to anticipation when I saw what was waiting for me inside.
My breaths amplified, heavy rasps grating through the mask as I stepped into the container.
I walked slowly towards the metal chair that was secured to the floor.
A chair with a man strapped to it, his head covered with a cloth sack.
His snivels and grunts resonated off the metal walls as he heard me approach, and he tried to plead his innocence, begging for mercy through the gag in his mouth.
My footsteps were heavy. My movements slow and measured, just like I wanted them to be.
I was in total control of myself and this situation, but more importantly, of this man’s fate.
I stopped in front of him, taking a second to appreciate the moment. It was his turn now. His turn to find out what it was like to feel totally and utterly helpless.
I didn’t speak. Instead, I reached forward and grabbed the cloth sack from his head, pulling it off, then throwing it to the floor.
In front of me sat a pathetic excuse for a man.
He was elderly now, his hair thin and grey, his stomach even podgier than it was back then.
He peered up at me with eyes wide with terror, his head shaking as he gave a muffled cry and pulled on the restraints holding him down.
It wouldn’t do him any good. He wasn’t going anywhere.
I wasn’t an amateur. I knew what I was doing.
I continued my silence as I turned and walked over to a table set up to the side, where knives, axes, swords, pliers, every weapon you could think of and more were laid out ready.
But first, I picked up the remote control and turned to face the man.
I pointed at the television set on the far side of the container, letting him know I wanted him to watch it, and then I pressed play.
The TV came to life, playing a video I’d prerecorded.
The red, LED Halloween mask I wore filled the screen, with crosses for eyes and a stitched-up, smiling mouth, just like something from The Purge movies.
The guy in the chair snivelled, still pulling on his restraints.
He'd learn soon enough how futile that was. If he knew what was good for him, he’d listen to the damn video and stop fucking struggling.
He wasn’t getting out of here anytime soon.
I turned the volume up and moved to stand beside him as the voice changer I always used to disguise my real voice echoed around the shipping container.
“Good evening, Kevin, or as I like to call you, The Cherry Man.”
The rattling from the chair went silent. His eyes were transfixed on the screen now as my recorded voice continued.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.
” The red mask tilted as my head moved to the side in the video.
“And what made you so fucking special to end up in my playroom? Why you, Kevin? I must admit, it’s been a long time coming, but everything had to be right before you came here.
I needed this to be perfect... for you. You’re going to love what I have in store. ”
There was a pause. Then on the video, I asked, “Do you know why I call you The Cherry Man? Do you remember, Kevin?”
The guy shook his head, and I took a deep breath.
He fucking knew.
But I also knew he’d deny it, which was why I’d recorded the next part.
“I thought you’d play dumb, so I’m going to give you a little reminder. Take a trip down memory lane. But I must warn you, Kevin, this trip isn’t going to be much fun...” The mask moved closer, filling the screen with just the crosses for eyes. “For me or you. But especially you.”
Twenty-Four Years Ago...
“You’re going to love it here, Isaiah. Clivesdon House is a superb children’s home.
One of the best. The staff are so helpful.
In fact, they’re not like staff at all, more like second parents,” the social worker, Mr. Tolley, said.
He’d told me to call him Gabe, but Mum always said I should address adults with respect. He was Mr. Tolley.
He led me up the path towards the large white house with big windows.
It didn’t look like a children’s home; I couldn’t see any children playing outside like I used to see from my window in my old house.
I always liked watching the kids in the street.
I’d hoped that one day I might be able to join them, but Mum told me I wasn’t allowed to go outside.
I wasn’t allowed to be seen. I don’t know why.
When Mr. Tolley opened the door, the inside of the house seemed pretty quiet. I held his hand because I didn’t know what else to do. There was an ache in the pit of my stomach, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened to me to bring me here.
Since I’d hidden in my cubby hole, like Mum told me to, and watched my dad do what he did, everything went bad.
The bed in the hospital was comfier than my mattress at home, but I couldn’t sleep.
Different adults kept trying to get me to talk about what I’d seen, but I didn’t want to.
Talking meant thinking about it, and I didn’t want to remember.
On my first night at the hospital, one of the nurses made me have a bath.
I told her it wasn’t the right day for it, but she scolded me and then made me take my clothes off and get into the bath.
I thought nurses were supposed to look after you.
The ones I saw on TV were nice, but not this one.
She just sat at the side of the bath, staring weirdly at me and asking questions.
What had my dad done?
What did I see?
Why did my parents keep me locked away?
Did I know I didn’t have a birth certificate?
I had no idea what that was, but I stayed quiet.
Mum always told me to stay quiet. I didn’t want to upset Mum, and she might come back for me soon.
She would come back for me. I knew she would.
Dad always hurt her, and there was a lot of red stuff, but she told me she’d never leave me. She didn’t tell lies.
The water in the bath got colder and colder.
I asked the nurse if I could get out, but she said no.
I asked her if she’d add more hot water, and she said she would.
.. if I talked to her or the police and answered their questions.
I wouldn’t do that. So, I shook my head and lifted my knees, wrapping my arms around them to try and get warm.
I would stay silent. I was good at those kinds of games.
I could sit in this freezing cold bath all day if I had to.
This was a better task than the ones my dad set for me.
A young nurse put her head around the door and then gestured for the older nurse to talk to her outside. They left the door open a little, and I could hear the younger nurse pleading with the older one to stop what she was doing. She told her that it was inhumane. Whatever that meant.
“He needs to talk. This will get him to do it,” she barked back. She didn’t know me very well. I was the master at doing tasks. The Taskmaster, Mum used to call me.
“Don’t you think he’s been through enough?” the younger nurse scolded, and the older one huffed.
“He might know where the others are. If we can help the police in any way, we have to do this. Whatever it takes, Georgie.”
I let my head fall onto my knees as I sat huddled in the bath, listening.
“I’m having no part in this,” the kinder, younger nurse said. “Shame on you.” And then the nasty one came back into the room, slamming the door behind her, making me flinch and sit up.
I don’t know how long I stayed in that bath, but it was dark again when I got out.
I didn’t speak to any of the doctors, nurses, or the police who came to see me at the hospital and ask about my mum.
I didn’t want to talk about it. Adult after adult tried, but I wasn’t going to fall for their tricks.
Mum would come soon, and then it’d all be sorted out.
They tried to be nice to me, but it didn’t feel real.
No one had put their arms around me or held me since the warm man had crawled into my space in the cubby hole.
I liked him. He smelt clean, like soap, and he knew about Thomas and trains.
I wished he’d come back again, but he didn’t.
And then one day, Mr. Tolley showed up and told me I had a new home.
I didn’t want a new home. I wanted to go back to my old one.
But I didn’t argue. This would be like another task for me to master.
I could go with him and visit this home. Maybe Mum would be there?
I had asked Mr. Tolley when I’d see her, and he’d smiled and told me to ‘hang in there’.
Then he said moving to Clivesdon House would be my first step to a new life.
That’s why I guessed Mum would be there too.
She’d told me we were running away to start a new life on the night she and Dad had the big fight. Maybe this was what she meant.
But she wasn’t there. Not yet, anyway.
Mr. Tolley led me into the white house and down the hall. Then he stopped outside a door and knocked on it.
A voice behind the door said, “Come in,” and Mr. Tolley pushed the door open, and we both walked inside.
There was a desk in the middle of the room, but no one was sitting at it. In the corner, slumped into an armchair was a man with ruddy cheeks and a large smile.
“Here he is,” Mr. Tolley announced cheerfully.
“Another one for you.” Then he let go of my hand as he crouched down to my level.
“This is Mr. Anders, but now you’re living here, you can call him Kevin.
He’s the night manager at Clivesdon. That means he’s like the nighttime dad for the boys that live here. Boys like you.”
Mr. Anders wasn’t my dad. I didn’t want him to be. But I stood still and stared at him as he held a white paper bag filled with something and munched as he grinned back at me.
“We’ll be fine, Gabe,” Mr. Anders said through a mouthful of food. “You can go. I’ll get Isaiah settled in.” He leaned forward and grinned wider, and the red stains on his teeth made me screw my face up. He looked gross.
“Thanks, Kev,” Mr. Tolley said, then he ruffled my hair, and stepped back towards the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He sighed and then added, “Good luck, little buddy,” before closing the door and leaving me alone with Mr. Anders. I never saw Mr. Tolley again.
I stood silently in the middle of the room, staring at the swirly carpet. Mr. Anders slapped his knee and said, “Come here, boy. Take a seat on your daddy’s lap and I can tell you all about your new home.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t want to sit on his lap, and I didn’t want a new home.
He sighed, and then he shuffled the white paper bag he was holding and asked, “Have you ever tried a cherry?”
I shook my head.
“No?” He sounded shocked. “You’ve never tried a cherry? You’re missing out.”
He pulled a shiny red cherry from his white bag and popped it into his mouth, making an ‘mmm’ sound as he did, and then he smiled at me again.
“They’re so sweet. Like the tastiest sweet any child could have.
Here...” He put his arm out, shaking the bag in my direction.
“Take one. You’ll love it. And you deserve a treat. ”
I did deserve a treat. And I liked sweet things. Mum used to sneak tiny squares of chocolate to me whenever Dad wasn’t watching.
I took a step towards him, eyeing the bag, and as if to tempt me further, he pulled the bag away. He took another cherry out for himself, sliding it into his mouth and making that ‘mmm’ sound again as he closed his eyes and chewed.
Then his eyes snapped open.
“Do you want one then?”
I nodded, and he held the bag out again. I took another step, reaching for the bag to take a cherry, but as I did, he grabbed my arm and yanked me onto his lap, wrapping his arm around my waist tightly so I couldn’t wriggle or escape.
“You’re a little fighter, aren’t you?” he whispered in my ear. “I like that. Now, open your mouth.”
He scooped a handful of cherries into his fat hand and let the white bag fall to the floor. Then he pressed them into my mouth, making me choke on them as he held his hand firmly in place, not letting me chew or spit any out.
I started to panic, and he held my head against his chest and growled in my ear. His breath and the boom of his voice made me shiver as it tickled my ear, but not in a good way, and I tried so hard to get away.
“I’ve given you something sweet, now you need to give me something,” he growled as he pushed his hand into the waistband of my trousers and then into my underwear.
I didn’t like cherries.
I hated them.
I hated him, too.
And one day, I’d show him exactly how much.