Interlude #5
(Will You Walk into My Parlour, Said the Spider to the Fly.)
Penny stood next to the closed door and waited. She could hear Ryan moving in his room, the sounds clear enough to indicate that his door was still open to the corridor between his room and hers.
When the tall woman had indicated that Penny would have a room of her own, she almost blurted out an objection. It wasn’t that she had a driving need to share a man’s bed, despite her looks and nature she was just not that type of person. She knew many girls who practically paid for their transport by such a lack of discernment, and she knew how many would pay heavy prices for their choices. Sometimes, more often than they’d admit, having even the choice taken away from them. Penny was not keen on using the same tactics, but she also didn’t have a great desire to spend a night in this place entirely alone either.
Then she realised that her room was just steps away from his, and she had a confident feeling that he would do well by her if she needed him to. Like clings to like in life, and she would no more expect him to be without demons than she was, but there was recognition between them, a sympatico that bound them.
She could still hear his footsteps, and then the door closed. The click of its latch catching sounded loud, for the moment there was nothing else for her to hear. She had focused in on him.
It’s a little like love, he had said, and she had agreed.
She waited a little longer. She didn’t want him to be aware of her following actions. It would not be good for him to want to accompany her or try to talk her out of her self-imposed mission. She didn’t know if he would do either, but she didn’t want to waste any time with the possibility.
She had noticed instantly on entering the room that it had no windows. It was probably situated somewhere in the middle of the large structure. She even felt the possibility that they were a little underground level, she wasn’t certain but thought she felt the corridor sloping down as they went inside.
Another few minutes, she told herself, just enough time for Ryan to be in the shower or completely asleep.
She was tired as well. The day had been long, and more than a little eventful. She had known something was on its way since she had woken to the spider’s web decorated with dew. The sound of wind had been insistent, and the web trembled as the wind blew through it. The spider who had created it was large and clung on as if for dear life.
The morning was beautiful and bright. She had slept in an abandoned shelter at the side of the road, the kind they used to build for busses. A wooden bench made a serviceable bed away from scampering things, and the walls kept out any wind. The front was open to the elements, but the wind was pushing from the east, so it had been the perfect shelter for her. The spider had been on its web no more than a foot from her face when she woke. It seemed to be looking at her, and she had returned the favour.
It was that moment that brought the poem to mind.
Tiny baubles of dew decorated the fine threads. They trembled in the wind, glistening like jewels. Will you walk into my parlour, said the spider to the fly. One tiny drop of water fell, it hit her cheek and tumbled down it like a tear. ’Tis the prettiest little parlour that you ever did spy.
The poem slid from her mind as her eyes were captivated by the tiny creature and its beautiful home. One of its legs moved in an arc from one thread to another, and Penny – another person with another name at this point – decided to go in the direction it indicated. If it had moved north instead of south, she would never have seen that young man on the road, and she would never have found her way to the Candle & Bell Café and the man currently commanding such an influence over her life.
She recited the poem to herself. She knew it by heart. She had ever since she was a little girl. Other people thought she was the fly, but she was the spider. She now wondered if she were both. A little bit of spider and a bit of fly, a grotesque creation made in that teleport booth from that old movie.
The thought did not displease her.
She had always thought of herself as a pretty little monster.
Penny listened and heard silence, so she slipped out of her room. She paused with her back against the door, scanning the hallway, checking the wall, and ceiling. There were no cameras that she could see.
She had felt unsettled since the gate had rolled closed. The eerie silent efficiency of the men. The tall woman and her knowing eyes. The huge building with its strange towers and midnight deliveries. It had all added to the disquieting feeling that had fallen over her, but it also made her curious. It took money and influence to create a mini-empire, and Penny was curious what might have been in the back of that truck.
Penny quietly moved to the end of the corridor and then peered both ways before turning right and following the corridor back towards the loading bay. The route back to the doorway and the small courtyard beyond was easy to remember. Penny had an excellent memory and a perfect sense of direction. She was, she always thought, built for a life on the road. She could navigate situations that would make many others scream for the safety of their home.
The problem was that the door was locked and tracing the edges of it she noted that it was wired to trigger an intruder alarm if she tried to force or pick it. If she had any warning, she thought she could figure out how to get past the security, but she would be foolish to try just because of curiosity. Instead, she traced her way back until she came to a route that would take her towards the loading bay from inside the mansion.
She was careful, checking for cameras and pausing if any noise indicated people were nearby. The first thing she noticed was a change in her footfalls. Though the hallways were carpeted she could hear a subtle difference in the sound. It changed from quiet to the echo of a large undecorated room, so she slowed and trod more carefully.
Minutes later she found the other side of the loading bay doors.
The carpet ended abruptly, its edge secured by a metal plate, and its absence revealed bare concrete. The wall was gone too, where up to this point Penny had followed wood panelling separated by windows at regular intervals there was now a gap through which she could see the wide expanse of warehouse space. On the far side, through a raised loading bay shutter, she could make out the back of a trailer, its back still down.
She paused and listened.
She immediately knew that no one was nearby, but she waited until there was no doubt before she moved into the loading bay. Her feet made a hollow sound against the bare floor, the high ceiling reflecting the noise at her. Across the far wall was a series of empty cages, their gates open and along the opposing wall was assorted machinery used to load or unload vehicles.
Penny glanced over it all, then moved directly to the back of the trailer.
The doors leading into the box trailer were shut and the latch was closed, a padlock securing it. Penny tugged on it uselessly. She always wondered why people did that in movies, then surprised herself by doing the same thing.
She examined the lock. Live was a series of choices. Sometimes people made good ones, and sometimes bad, but often they had no idea what the ultimate result would be of the ones they made. She dropped the lock and it collided with the door making a dull clang.
The tiny office would have something she could use. The desk drawers were unlocked and contained the usual odds-and-ends typical to an office. She found a handful of paperclips, three of which were heavy duty enough to fulfil her purpose for them, a small pocketknife, and an unopened pack of gum. She took it all.
Back at the trailer she unwound the paperclips. They were made of thick wire, and it took until there were red indentations in each of her fingers before they were fit for her purpose. She unwrapped the gum and took a stick, it was cola flavour that seemed to fizzle on her tongue, and then she went to work.
Twenty-six seconds later the padlock was free. She inspected it with pride and then hung it on the waistband of her denim skirt as a trophy. The heavy latches were swung free, and the door opened to reveal six pallets, three against the left wall and three against the right. Between them, there was enough space for her to walk in a zigzag along the length of the trailer. She walked the route, inspecting each pallet as she passed.
They were covered in black plastic that looked a little like plastic wrap, the tops were similarly covered. The contents of each looked the same shape and size, and if she tapped on one, she got the same dull thud as a response. She tried shifting one, but it may as well have been glued to the trailer’s base.
All this way and she was none the wiser to what the trailer contained. If she tore the wrapping off, they would know someone had looked at the contents, but if she didn’t, she would never know, and she needed to know.
She ran her fingertips along the wrapping, finding the edge she peeled a section of it free until one edge of the package beneath was exposed. She tapped at it, then took one of the paperclips and scraped at its surface.
It looked like concrete. A block of it was four feet square and two feet high.
She covered it and moved on to the next, carefully unwinding the wrapping to reveal the porous grey material beneath. She did the same to two others before she became content that they were all the same.
Penny closed the trailer, then reattached the padlock and after a quick check to make sure she had left everything as she found it, she made her way to her room.
A spider was at work, and the spider’s parlour was probably the prettiest she’d ever seen. It knew how to draw in its prey without its prey becoming aware of it.
Her suspicions had been confirmed. Something was wrong, but she was still more convinced that Ryan knew nothing of what was happening around him. Ryan was not the spider, which meant that Ryan was almost certainly the fly. The precious cargo was not the contents of the trailer, it was what sat in the cab.
It was either Ryan or herself.
She no longer worried about being observed as she moved through the winding corridors. She thought there was a good chance that whoever had orchestrated the drama she had become a part of was aware of her actions. Either that or did not care.
Penny went directly to her closet and inventoried its contents. At first, she was elated at what she had found. Then the implications of what she had discovered there descended on her and she grew contemplative. She took each item out and unfolded it onto the bed covers, there was a towel, and a bathrobe that was as thick as a quilt and as fluffy as a kitten. Then there were several pairs of fresh underwear, a nightgown, black trousers, a white blouse, and – finally – a little black dress with glittering spiral detail that became more intricate the closer she looked.
She checked the labels: Balmain Paris, Coco Chanel, Agent Provocateur, and found no sizes noted in any of them, but she knew by sight alone that it would all fit her perfectly.
Penny undressed, folding her clothes carefully and placing them on the floor beside the bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had changed her clothes, and she thought they needed incineration rather than cleaning, but they were all she had. Then she took the towel and went into the bathroom.
The gleaming marble seemed to glow as the light from the diffused lights set into the ceiling hit it. It seemed as if the light was coming from nowhere in particular. She saw herself in the full-length mirror and did not recognise herself. The last time she had seen herself so starkly lit in all her glory was at the family home. She had been a girl then, and carried a little more weight that the road had burned from her.
She ran her hand through her hair and turned slightly to the side. She was not vain, but she did know a useful tool when she saw it, and her body had served her better than she would ever have imagined.
Penny began her shower as Ryan collapsed on his bed. She stood under the rushing water and tried to read the labels of the various bottles on the slim Perspex shelf behind it. She tried to remember when to use conditioner on her hair, but eventually gave up and selected an all-over shower crème.
She wondered if the years on the road had robbed her of her femininity, or whether she was one of those women whose nature was naturally more masculine. She knew the use of her gender was cynical and more than a little manipulative. Usually, she could read the man she had selected and would know instinctively when she could push further and when she should run.
This one was different.
He had said it was a little like falling in love and she had agreed. It was, but it was quite different too. She appreciated his strong body and steely gaze as much as he admired her slight stature and slim waist. They shared those looks and seemed to know each other’s minds. But that’s not why she climbed into that cab with him, and she doubted it was the reason he agreed that she could.
The lather the shower crème produced smelled of strawberries, and she wondered idly if he liked strawberries. She had always liked strawberries, but she rarely had the chance to enjoy fresh ones. The best she could manage was the concoction served up in drive-by cafés. Even in the best it always tasted wrong, but she could never decide why.
They were always slightly off.
But then there was so much that seemed slightly off. That clothing hung casually in that wardrobe. Women’s clothes that are exactly her size. Women’s clothes for someone they had no idea was arriving for a late-night visit.
She had not seen Ryan make or take any calls during their journey, and there wasn’t a moment where he could have secretly called ahead.
There was no surprise at her arrival. The tall woman had led them to these rooms as if it were all in the plan.
She rinsed the soap from her body dried with a towel so thick it was as if she buffed her flesh with a cloud. She considered the clothes but felt self-conscious wearing any of them. So instead she just took the bathrobe and wrapped it around herself.
Penny looked again at the clothes. She could get dressed, collect anything of value and go. By the time the others woke, she would have fabricated a story and found someone to spare a passenger seat. It would be easy with these clothes. She could play a girl on the way home from a party, someone abandoned by a cruel partner.
But you would be the cruel partner. She told herself.
The idea came crashing to a stop.
Penny carefully opened the door to her room and looked down the corridor. It was empty, and a scan of the walls and ceiling revealed no security cameras. She had assumed that there would be cameras to monitor the delivery man and his on-road entertainment.
That was what they thought of them both, she was certain of it. She had seen it in the tall woman’s eyes.
She scampered across the hallway and tried the door to Ryan’s room. It was unlocked, she opened it and slipped inside.
The room had no windows, but the light had been left on so she could see Ryan half-wrapped in sheets as he lay sprawled across the mattress. The sheet had been forced around him as he seemed to fight against an unseen force. She moved over to the bed, and that was when she heard him muttering.
“Who does Ryan serve?” It was a groan of words dredged from the well of the man’s anguish. It was the sound of rush eating away at fine filigree. Ryan’s hands were raised as if he were warding off something, and Penny took them and eased them down. “Who does Ryan serve?”
“He serves himself.” She replied. Her voice was as gentle as a breeze.
Ryan turned in his sleep, twisting.
She moved closer and slipped into the bed beside him, pulling the sheet over them. Her head pressed against his chest. The bathrobe she wore brushed against his flesh. His skin was hot against her own.
“He serves himself!” She moaned, and the dream ended, but Ryan did not wake.
Penny slipped the bathrobe from her shoulders and pushed it to the foot of the bed. She pressed herself against him and he sighed and moved closer. She breathed in the scent of soap and flesh and slid her hand over his chest and down under the sheet.
“Ryan,” she whispered into his ear before she kissed his lips.
He opened his eyes, they were half-lidded and he looked at her as if he still believed he was dreaming. She kissed him again, and this time he returned her kiss and when she felt his hand slide over her flesh her breath caught in her throat.