Sleep evaded him last night, and his body and mind are feeling it. He has been here for hours now, the music assaulting his ears continuously. All of his muscles are aching through lack of proper movement, let alone exercise. It feels like he has no circulation – as though his blood slowed to a trickle and then began pooling and clotting in his inert frame.
His brain keeps replaying the moments of being stripped naked and then shorn of all his hair. He could not stop himself crying as Franklin roughly grasped fistfuls of hair and chopped through them brutally with his scissors. There was no attempt at precision or neatness. And to cap it all, Franklin fetched a hand mirror from the dresser and showed Parker the outcome, as if he were a professional hairdresser inviting expressions of approval from his customer. Parker didn’t want to look but couldn’t stop himself. A stranger stared back at him from that mirror. The haircut was uneven and patchy, his eyes bloodshot, his skin sallow. He looked on the edge of death.
And now there is another source of discomfort.
His bladder.
Overnight, it has filled almost to bursting point.
But along with the painful signals it sends him comes a plan. A vague plan, admittedly, but one carrying a glimmer of hope.
He will ask to use the toilet. And he won’t just say it’s to pee. He’ll say that he desperately needs to empty his bowels. Franklin can’t refuse him that, surely? Unbalanced though the man is, he’s also fastidious and methodical. He is on a mission. He told Parker he wants them to work as a pair, a joint force. He won’t want the distraction of a bed full of piss and crap in this nice bedroom of his.
And when he grants that simple request…
Well, that’s when Parker will rise up.
He is not much of a fighter generally. But these are unique circumstances. This is a matter of survival. He will do whatever it takes to overcome Franklin and get the fuck out of here, including hurting, maiming and maybe even killing the man.
Yes, killing.
And, truth be told, he might actually take pleasure in it. Franklin has caused him suffering and humiliation and fear. Parker feels he might feel the effects of the trauma for a long time to come. That deserves the severest kind of payback. Nobody would have to know it was done in part for the sweetness of revenge.
He has already scanned the room for possible weapons. There isn’t much on offer. His best option is probably the lamp on his bedside cabinet. It looks to be made of shiny steel. Many times in the night Parker has imagined using that lamp to strike Franklin repeatedly, breaking open that skull of his, battering his misfiring brain to mush, ramming the metal shaft down Franklin’s throat and electrocuting him.
He would gladly do all of that.
Franklin B Goodman, he thinks, you don’t know what you’ve let yourself in for.
As if sensing a summons, Franklin suddenly appears in the room. He is carrying what looks like a tray. He puts the tray down, then goes to the window and parts the curtains slightly, allowing in the morning light. Then he approaches Parker and strips away the duct tape before removing the earbuds and the gag.
Franklin brings one of the tiny speakers to his own ear.
‘Ah, that’s a beautiful song. Have you worked out the connection between all the songs on the playlist yet?’
‘I need the toilet,’ Parker says.
Franklin ignores the comment, and his voice grows sterner.
‘I said, do you know what links all the songs?’
Parker decides it’s best not to ignore him. ‘They’re all love songs.’
‘Yes, you’re right about that, but there’s more to it. Can you be a bit more specific?’
‘They’re all love songs I won’t want to hear again for the rest of my life.’ As he says this, he wonders whether the playlist will, in fact, be the last thing he hears before he dies.
Franklin stares down at him as though he’s trying to work out whether the answer is serious or made in jest. It seems to Parker that Franklin has a hard time reading people.
‘I’ll tell you,’ Franklin says, sounding almost gleeful that his riddle has not been solved. ‘They all have the word love in the title. You wouldn’t believe how many song titles there are out there that fall into that category.’
‘I need the toilet,’ Parker repeats. ‘I’m desperate.’
‘It just shows how important love is, don’t you think? For that many people to write songs about it. And that’s not to mention all the paintings and books with love as their theme. I think it’s incredible.’
‘If I don’t go now, I’m going to crap all over your bed. I’m sure you don’t want that to happen.’
‘Would you like some water? I’ve brought some up for you. You must be thirsty. You’d probably prefer tea or coffee, but I thought steaming hot beverages were a little risky in your current situation.’
‘Please, can I use your toilet?’
‘I’ve also brought up a couple of pastries. A croissant and a cinnamon swirl. They’re both delicious. Which would you like first? You’ll need to keep your strength up if you want to impress Megan.’
Parker loses it then. ‘I don’t want your fucking pastries or your fucking music. I want to take a shit. Am I managing to get that through your thick fucking skull?’
He wonders if he’s gone too far, but Franklin’s expression remains impassive.
‘You look tired. You know that you need plenty of sleep too, don’t you?’
‘What? Are you serious? You expect me to sleep? Could you get any sleep if you were tied up like this? Look at me, Franklin. Look at what you’ve done. This is insane. You have to see that. You’ve gone too far.’
Franklin finally seems to hear his words. ‘Can you ever go too far for love?’
‘Yes! Yes, you can! If it causes pain or suffering, then it’s not really about love, is it? It’s not making the world a better place. You want more love in the world? What you’re doing to me is the complete opposite of love. It’s not how human beings should behave with one another.’
Franklin is silent for a moment. And then:
‘My mother told me that sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.’
