The Book of Revelation Read Free Page A

their identities. He would reveal as little of himself as possible. At the same time, there were things he needed to know. He had to try and find out who the women were, where they had taken him, and what they had in mind.
    “What do you want?” he said.
    The women glanced at each other.
    “Do you want money? Is that it?”
    “Money?” one of the women said. “No, we don’t want money.”
    This was not the woman who had spoken to him earlier. This woman’s voice was lower, huskier, as if she smoked. She had almost no accent.
    “So what do you want?” he said.
    The woman reached up with one hand to ease the hood away from her neck. Though the material did not look particularly coarse, it appeared to be chafing her. Her skin must be sensitive, he thought. She had white hands, with short, tapering fingers, and her nail-varnish was a dark purple-black, the colour of dried blood or cheap wine. He was noticing hands; hands were all that he was being shown.
    “We already have what we want,” the woman said. Then, turning to her two accomplices, she said, “Don’t you agree?”
    They nodded.
    Yes, this was a different woman. She seemed to have more authority. Maybe she was even the leader. In any group of three, there would have to be a leader.
    “We have some rules. . . .”
    The woman turned away and walked towards the alcove that housed the washing-machine and the tumble-drier. She moved slowly, and with a certain gravity, a sense of self-importance, like a judge. She told him that he should not, under any circumstances, try to escape. There was no point, actually. They had taken all the necessary precautions. They had thought of everything. She also warned him against any attempts at violence. She was sure, in any case, that it was not in his nature. If he behaved well, she said, he would be treated well. She paused, waiting for him to speak, perhaps, but when he chose to say nothing, she continued. There was a device close to his right hand. If he was hungry or thirsty, or if he needed to go to the bathroom, then all he had to do was press—
    “Actually,” he said, “I need it now.”
    “The bathroom?”
    He nodded.
    From where she was standing, the woman signalled to her two accomplices—a simple lowering of her head, a granting of permission. They turned and left the room. While they were gone, he examined the “device.” A square piece of metal—aluminium, by the look of it—had been screwed into the floor next to the mat. In the middle of this metal plate was a round white button. It looked like a light-switch or a door-bell. He pressed it once, but heard nothing.
    “Only when you need something,” the woman warned him.
    Her two accomplices returned, carrying handcuffs and leg-irons. One sat by his feet, the other by his head. For the first time, he noticed how each individual rail doubled back on itself, resembling the handle of a traditional umbrella. When he looked at two of the rails together, the two that held his feet, for instance, he saw they had been laid out in such a way that they formed a kind of fractured S:

    The woman sitting by his feet released the two smaller stainless-steel rings so they could run freely along their rails, then she brought his ankles close together and secured them with the irons. Only then did she unlock the larger stainless-steel rings. Once his legs were securely shackled, the second woman performed an almost identical manoeuvre on his hands, using the cuffs to fasten them behind his back. The two women worked in unison, in silence. At no point was any part of his body free. The routine was so efficient that it had to have been worked out in advance.
    They helped him slowly to his feet. Though he had only been lying down for a few hours, he felt an impatience in his muscles. Something fidgety. His body had been denied its afternoon’s exercise. He stood between the two women, moving his arms and legs, moving his head on his neck, as if he was going to give