The full moon pressed through the thick clouds in the sky above and illuminated the tidy cobblestone streets of Havenbrook, amidst which an impressive grand mansion was nestled. Behind the playfully ornamented steel gates, Sherry Jones, the co-founder of a prestigious local magazine, was hosting a glamorous party. A soft breeze from the ocean carried the faint echoes of cheerful laughter towards the quaint outskirts of town,
Effortlessly Sherry mingled with her guests in the spacious dining room. Her well-timed laughter was captivating. In her elegantly flowing dress, and with her perfectly made up face, she was the personification of sophistication, grace and success. Flooding in through the wide windows in the ceiling, the milky moonlight was her spotlight. Whenever it hit her face, she wore it like glamorous make-up that complimented her blonde and perfectly curled hair.
Her beauty was flawless; her charm, effortless. Between sips of fizzy champagne, she talked about art and politics with the local elite, as if there was no topic in the world that she didn't understand. She had it all, her life wasn´t missing anything. With her perfect job, her perfect home, and her perfect self. With her attentive and successful husband, whose gentle hand on her back supports her through the night, and with her considerate scholarship-children, who helped her with the party preparations.
All of it would have been perfect, for sure. If she had been, but she was not, and none of this was what she wanted. To Sherry, her own life was a facade, no more than a pretense. But once it is built, it is hard to get out of it.
The moon hung high over Havenbrook and cast a silvery glow on the streets as Sherry stepped out of the dining room. Laughter and the clinking of crystal glasses faded behind her. Left was only the soft rustle of leaves, and the distant hum of the night.
To her, it sounded exciting.
With a soft sigh, she sucked the cool air of the night into her mouth, a brief escape from the suffocating perfection inside her house.
"Hey, Sherry! You coming back?" a voice followed her from the dining room, that of Lisa, her magazine's art director, and the closest that Sherry had to a friend.
"Just one second! I need to get some air!" She replied, and because she was so used to it, she forced a smile, even though it couldn´t quite reach Lisa's eyes.
For a while, her glances were wandering back and forth between the patio door and the steel gates that seperated the estate from the world outside.
She couldn´t do it anymore. She needed to get away. From here, and from her own pretense.
Slowly, she got moving. She passed a dozens of SUWs in the parking lot, made her way across the gravel path and reached the night porter in his booth at the ornamented gates. Accompanied by a nod, she gave him half a smile, and with a rattle, the gates opened up.
A last glance over her shoulder, where the mansion cast its artificially bright light onto the wild romantic garden, before she walked out. With the moonlight swirling around her petite silhouette, she wandered down the wealthiest areas in town. On the surface of its well-kept streets, the shine from above was reflecting just as much as on her perfectly manicured nails. Behind her, the darkness started devouring the estate that she had left, and the smaller it grew, the messier became her environment.
She passed quaint shops and flower-lined windows, little streams, and perfectly trimmed lawns. Every now and then, she stopped to peek into a neighbour´s window. Through half-open curtains, she saw picture-perfect families sitting around well-laid dining tables, knowing that all of it was fake.
It seemed idyllic. At least on the surface, but beneath it, Havenbrook was fractured. A shiver ran down her spine, when she glanced towards the train bridge on the outskirts of town, where between the shadows, the imperfections and outcasts of society were to be found. So you would hear in the wealthy areas out here.
She reached the tall oak trees that lined the local park, and slowed down her pace, her glances glued to the dark outline of the bridge on the far horizon. The expression on her face looked somewhat afraid, but at the same time envious.
What was it like out here?
She had always been wondering. That, and whether or not, out there, she would be happier than here.
The more caught up she got in her thoughts, the less attention she paid to her environment. When a dark silhouette emerged from the shadows of the park right next to her, she didn't see it coming. A hooded man, skinny and tall, built up in front of her, and her heart started racing. She flinched back and tried to make out his face, but it was too dark for that.
"Excuse me," she tried to sound confident, "can I help you in some way?"
It happened too fast. Before she could react, he lunged.
"Shut up!" She heard his low, menacing voice as he pressed his rough hand over her mouth.
With the scent of the ocean on his palm, he muffled her scream. Only low remnants of it remained, before the night swallowed them. Her fear and his hand compromised her breathing, when he dragged her away. In her head, only the haunting echoes of the laughter at the party that she had left.
Panic twisted in her gut as he violently thrusted her into a van. Behind them, the door slammed shut. Like agitated birds, her eyes started fluttering through the darkness. The thick air carried a musty smell and crept into her lungs as he tossed her around. Suddenly she felt a rough rope biting into her wrists.
Get off of me, she thought, the eyes closed and the lips pressed together, when all at once, he was gone.
Seconds after he had tied her up, the pressure of his hands lifted off her limbs, and she heard his car keys turning in the lock. Afterwards, the starting engine.
Where were they going?
On the drive , the car was jolting monotonously. It reminded her of her son. When he would teeth, she would put his carrier on top of the shaking dryer to help him fall asleep. The memory of it was a reminder that she was a mother. It was what she needed at this moment.
This cannot be happening, she thought. I can´t let it happen, my children are counting on me!
She needed a plan.
Which direction was he taking?
Where was he going?
How many bends had he taken?
She tried to count them, but the adrenaline made it hard to concentrate. She failed to hold a single thought, until the jolting stopped and the turning key in the lock killed the humming noises of the engine.
What did he want?
Was he going to kill her?
When he rattled the door open to drag her out, a scream climbed onto her tongue, but before she could open her mouth, he knocked her out.
She didn´t know how much time had passed when she blinked the next time. Slowly she woke up, a bleeding wound on her forehead. The mouth, duct-taped, and her wrists, the tied together. Underneath her, a basement ground, cemented and cold, while around her she saw bars of steel.
Panic befell her.
She was caged.
Shook by her shock, she sat up and saw the heavy chains that her ankles were in.
Where was she?
She wanted to shout, she wanted to scream, but only a whiny groan made it out from underneath the tape.
Blinking over and over again, her eyes were trying to search the darkness, but she could only see decaying walls that were dripping of moisture.
Then, all of a sudden, the shadows next to her started moving.
Quietly gasping, she flinched back.
Was someone there with her?
There was. A black cat the silhouette of which was slowly and calmly emerging from the shadows.
Like angry bulls, Sherry´s thoughts started running wild as the cat approached. It started rubbing its head against her bare skin when she felt it, a metal pendant on its collar.
The cat started purring.
Was it his?
The longer it rubbed its head against her, the more Sherry started wondering.
Until, all of a sudden, she felt an idea growing inside her.
There was a chance, she could see it right in front of herself. No matter what it would take, she would make it out of there.