Sincerely, Jennifer x

It’s the hope that kills you. That’s what they say. He’s kept me here much longer than you, and if you wondered why I was so pleased to see you, it’s because he promised I could go as soon as you arrived.

Like I said, it’s the hope. I know it sounds cruel, but I would have come back for you. I’d get some help together. Maybe the police, or just passers by, whoever I could find, and I would have rescued you.

It’s my fault that you’re here. He asked who he should be replaced with, and I just stared at him blankly, almost tired, but just a little too much on edge to feel the sweet embrace of sleep. He snapped his fingers in my face, stamping and screaming until I started reeling off the lines we had rehearsed.

Redhead.

Early thirties.

Brown eyes.

He’s trying to grow up, you see. He wants to be mature. No more chasing after little girls and partying students. No more. He hit his fists against the wall as he screamed. He wanted me to say it with more enthusiasm. He wanted me to give my approval. He wanted me to play along.

Redhead.

Early thirties.

Brown eyes.

No more puking party girls. No more children from outside of the village school. No more confused tourists. He wanted a wife, and if I wasn’t ready to commit, I’d have to play cupid.

I just wanted the noise to stop.

The farmer wanted a wife.

I wanted the noise to stop.

I was so tired.

He’d kept me awake for three days at that point, and I just wanted some peace and quiet. Sounds mad, doesn’t it? Peace and quiet while being held captive in the basement of a mad man, but I’ve been here so long that it made sense to me.

Seventy days of suffering. That’s how long it was until you came along. I scratched each day into the wall when it was done. I survived for seventy days, and as he carried you through the door, I thought it was over.

I thought that he’d be true to his word. There was a girl here before me, a bit younger, mousy and unassuming. I could see her in the cage as I woke up chained to the radiator, with a sore head and no memory of the night before. It was quite a shock when she started swearing and scratching at the bars, kicking and screaming until he came downstairs to shut her up.

I started screaming too as he walked through the door, but as you now know, nobody could hear us. He shut me up swiftly, lifting his shotgun from his side and pointing it in my direction. She didn’t seem phased, but she didn’t stick around long. He knelt down, unlocked the cage and watched her scramble across the room and up the stairs.

That’s when he told me that I could leave too. Not right away, of course, but when he found someone else. It was a game, he said. We’d just play for a little while, and then someone else would be tagged in.

I didn’t want to play, but I didn’t want to die either, so I nodded, letting him think that I’d be part of it.

He didn’t want me forever, he said. I wasn’t his type. Grown up enough, but my hair was a little too dark, and my eyes were wrong, so we’d just play for a little, so he could practice and then I’d be free.

That’s what he promised.

He left me alone for an hour or two. I thought I heard some kind of commotion upstairs, lots of banging and screaming, but it was probably nothing.

I just sat there, on the filthy floor, trying to comprehend the mess I was in.

The walls were covered in scratches and stains, and after a while, overwhelmed, I began to count them, pausing every now and then to stare at the stoic clock that sat, sadly above the door.

Fifty seven stains of varying colours and textures, and two hundred and ninety seven scratches littered the walls. I didn’t know how they got there on my first day, but now I do.

You’d be surprised how far your blood can fly when you’re hit with enough force.

It was every day at two and eight. AM and PM. No reason was ever given, it was just his way. An hour after the beating was a bowl of soup and a cup of tea. Never kept much of it down, of course, with a swollen mouth.

You’ll know all this. We’ve become sisters in suffering. You’re not talking to me right now, but we’re in this together.

We’d play husband and wife for hours at a time. I’d shuffle round the basement, my chains clanking as my arms and legs ached after hours in the cage while he had been working. I’d play pretend, making invisible dinners in the invisible oven as he told me about his day on the farm.

After dinner, we’d practice going to bed. Brushing our teeth with invisible toothbrushes, moving our hands up and down in front of our faces in the gritty, grimy mirror that was stuck to the wall. Then, we’d retire to the floor, pulling the scratchy, woollen blanket over our bodies as he climbed on top of me.

In and out.

In and out.

He never waited until I was ready. He obviously didn’t ask. Just straight in.

In and out.

In and out.

I used to cry, but after a while, I made friends with the ceiling, and all her scars. I’d stare up at her, silently asking about her day, imagining that she would answer, and we’d have a lovely conversation until he grunted, sighed and fell to the floor beside me in a heap.

When morning came, he’d lock me back in the cage, making me repeat all the things he really wanted in a wife.

Redhead.

Early thirties.

Brown eyes.

All the things I wasn’t. Well, almost. I was the right age but I fell down on everything else.

Not you, though. You were perfect. He said so every time he came down the stairs.

I’m just trying to explain. He was supposed to let me go, and then I’d get you some help. We were sisters, remember? I was always going to keep my promise.

Mind you, I don’t think the ones before me made it too far. The last one ran, and I was chained down here. It’s like I said, I heard lots of noise upstairs. Maybe she made it out? Maybe she didn’t? It’s doubtful though. Would either of us be here if she, or any of the others made it off the farm?

Maybe it was false hope all along? I suppose he got bored of stringing girls along with the promise of release, and decided to play a different game.

He says that I’ll do, and you sit there, staring off into space without a word.

Are you jealous Jenna?

Jealous Jenna, that’s what we’ll call you. The ceiling reckons your brown eyes have gone green with envy, because after all this time, he’s chosen me.

That’s what she just said.

“Robyn.” She said. “Jenna’s turning into the green eyed monster.”

Come to think of it, your eyes do look a little odd. Kind of glassy and glossed over.

You mustn’t take it personally. You’ve been in a strop for days now, but you have to understand, this isn’t my fault.

I was going to escape and get you some help, but now everything has changed, and we’ve got to make the best of it.

He tried with you, but it didn’t work out. You were perfect, but you weren’t ready to be a wife. That isn’t my fault either. I told him to be gentle with you, because you were still so new, but you cried too much, and you fought too much. You were delicate and he’s so rough.

He doesn’t like when you cry like that. I told you. He doesn’t like when you scream like that. He doesn’t like when you bleed like that. Jenna, I told you! He doesn’t like when you stop the game halfway through and just lie down on the floor, all still, like a statue, or a corpse, or…

Why did you do that?

I told you not to do that.

I nagged you both, like a wife. Perhaps that’s why he chose me in the end?

We are where we are. I’ll do, and you’ll make a lovely bridesmaid, so let’s just try and make it work for a little bit. You know how he gets when we don’t try, don’t you Jenna? He shouts. He screams. He smacks. He shatters.

The back of your head will recover one day. It’s stopped bleeding, and that’s a start, isn’t it? It dripped for what felt like days, and you just lay there, with a sad look on your face, in complete silence.

I’d make you invisible dinners when his Lordship was done with his, but you wouldn’t play along.

You wouldn’t play any games after that. I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.

There’s still hope!

I know that it isn’t ideal, but at least he’s decided now, so cheer up and talk to me.

It will only be for a little bit. We just have to endure this a little longer. Do you think that you can do that?

I’m going to be the wife now, Jenna. Do you understand? I’ll be the wife. He says that I’ll do, and last night, when we were practicing bedtime, he even told me that I was perfect, so I think that I can make him love me.

If I can make him really love me, we’ll go upstairs and get married for real, at a church, or a registry office. It can be at a bloody McDonald’s for all I care, because it will be outside, and I can scream, and cry. I can run and find a police officer, or a shop assistant, or a mortician. Whatever. It doesn’t matter who it is. Don’t you see? I can get us some help!

I promised you, and I’ll do it, I swear, so just hold on a little bit longer, and don’t look so sour with me.

You’ve been quiet for days, and I’m starting to feel like I’m talking to myself.

You’re being really awful to me Jenna. I stayed strong for you, even though I was disappointed to be sticking around, and I even took over your part in the game, so the least you can do is talk to me.

Tidy yourself up for the wedding, would you? There’s dried blood all down your front, and your face is stuck in this tragic mask of terror, like you’ve seen something awful. It will look terrible in the wedding photos, and he won’t like that.

We’ve got to keep him happy, remember. If I’m going to make him love me, and get outside for a proper wedding, so that I can get us some help, we’ve got to make sure that everything is how he wants it. No mistakes. No screw ups. Nothing but perfect.

Everything will be perfect, and we’ll get out of here soon.

Just keep the hope alive.

Oh, and Jenna, you might want to try a bit of perfume as well. I’m not trying to be rude, but you are starting to stink.