Raffle Prize

Copyright Oggbashan December 2004

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

* * * * *

I'm on the fund-raising committee for our local kids' soccer team. I've been on it for years ever since my children were the right age to play kids' soccer. Sometimes it's boring. Sometimes it feels wonderful when one of our stars goes on to better things. Usually just knowing the kids get proper training and exercise that helps them in more things that football is enough.

And sometimes it gets me into awkward situations, like that Christmas Raffle ten years ago. It didn't look like it would be a good Christmas for me. Two years earlier, two days before Christmas, a hit and run drunk driver had killed my wife as she returned from buying the last few food items for the family Christmas dinner. The previous Christmas his trial was scheduled to start in January. There was no Christmas spirit in the family that year.

We hadn't even been able to bury Marjorie because his lawyer insisted that the police autopsy was flawed and that Marjorie must have had a pre-existing condition that caused her death, not the 'slight impact' with the defendant's car. It was no 'slight impact'. I had real difficulty proving to myself that the mangled remains were what was left of my wife's much-loved body. Her wedding ring had been wrenched off and lost as she was dragged along the road under his car. I had insisted on doing the identification myself. I couldn't leave that to the children.

The following Christmas I had still felt like loading a gun to shoot that driver. He was out on bail and driving around our town. He was eventually convicted of causing death by careless driving. I felt sick. After three months he was out of prison and driving again a few months later. We buried Marjorie on a bright May morning. He'd see many more Mays. Marjorie wouldn't. He didn't show any remorse and with the help of his lawyer he wriggled out of 'dangerous driving' and a longer sentence.

Two years after Marjorie's death I wasn't in a Christmas mood. I was still grieving. My daughter was still in Saudi Arabia. My son had been offered a brilliant job in Australia for a two-year term and had taken his wife and family with him. I would be joining them in mid January but I would be wholly alone at Christmas.

I carried on as usual, including selling tickets for the raffle. The draw took place at the football club on the Saturday afternoon two weeks before Christmas. All the winners were present except one – Elaine, Mrs Owens, my next door neighbour. I agreed to deliver the prize to her because the club secretary didn't want to leave it lying around over Christmas. Elaine's prize was a litre of a good single malt whisky. I'd have liked to win that.

Elaine had asked me to call her 'Mrs Owens' in company, actually her maiden name, even though I knew she and her partner weren't married. If they wanted to pretend they were married when they weren't, who was I to object? Elaine had been divorced from a rotter years before. Not her word for him – mine. I'd known him at school. Then he'd been a liar and a cheat. He had never changed and his marriage was doomed from the start. He had told Elaine that he had a fantastic job and good career prospects. He hadn't. He was a failing double-glazing salesman, not because he didn't have the line of talk, but because he screwed his employers. Eventually their house had been repossessed when his employers fired him and he went bankrupt, taking all Elaine's money as well as his. The whole edifice of lies came tumbling down and she realised he'd never change. He didn't contest the divorce. He was already chasing a rich widow. That ended with his conviction for embezzlement.

Terry, the next 'Mr. Owens', wasn't divorced yet. Elaine told me in confidence that he would be divorced early next year and then they would have a quiet registry office wedding. I wasn't sure that they would. I thought Elaine had found another rotter, just like her first husband. I had no real proof and I shouldn't interfere. One indication was that Terry let people assume they were buying their house. I knew they were renting – from me.

I knew rather more about Elaine than she might have liked. I knew her exact age. We had been contemporaries at school. When we met up at a school reunion in our twenties I already knew that she had odd ideas about sex.

She was generally a submissive that topped from the bottom. She was 'submissive' only in her scenario. She set the scene, wrote the script, directed the action. Her submission was a fake, a fantasy play, a charade. She could and sometimes would switch into being the mistress, not the slave. Several times when were post-graduate students at university together I had enjoyed her sexual games. I think I preferred her as the mistress. As the slave everything had to be perfect. A word not in the script, an action at the wrong time could turn her from an enjoyable partner to an angry bitch.

As the mistress she was too accommodating to be genuine. She once asked me "Where would you like to be lashed next?" What a question! If she was the mistress then the slave should accept whatever she did, not discuss where the lash should land.

I knew what really hurt Elaine about her first husband's lies. She had been trying to have a baby after years of failure. Elaine had saved up for the specialist treatment for herself. His bankruptcy took that money and she no longer wanted a baby by him. That had been her last chance and now she'd never have children. Elaine could never forgive him for that.

Marjorie and I had been some of her many friends who helped support her through her husband's bankruptcy and divorce. We had let the house we owned to her because no other landlord would consider the wife of a bankrupt and convicted embezzler. We'd never had cause to regret it. I was regretting it now. Terry, her new partner, wasn't good for her. The rent payments were becoming erratic.

Terry drove an expensive car. She had a rusty little hatchback. I knew she was earning more than he was. He spent more than he earned and Elaine was subsidising him. It wouldn't be long before something drastic happened. I was glad that I'd refused to make Terry a joint tenant. I knew Elaine and trusted her. I didn't trust him. Elaine was cool towards me for weeks after I refused to change the contract. I'd ensured that he was only a tenant by her permission and had no rights. If she said 'Go' Terry had to go.

I was reluctant to deliver the raffle prize to Elaine. I wasn't sure she had fully forgiven me for my refusal to include Terry on the rental agreement. I thought her continued coolness might be because I'd forced her to look seriously about where their relationship was going. Some of our mutual friends had told me that Elaine's attitude to Terry had been changing even before I refused to make him a joint tenant. I didn't have any expectations of replacing Terry as her partner. Elaine was a friend that I had been close to years ago. I still had fond memories of her. That was all they were. They were faintly enduring memories of a long gone past.

I couldn't let the club secretary down. If I refused he would ask why. I couldn't give a rational answer. I just wanted to stay clear of Mr and Mrs Owens. I sensed that there would be a break-up soon. I didn't want to be the cause or even an irritant that might spark a row.

I had walked to and from the football club. It was about a mile and good exercise on that chilly day. The walk back in the dark was less enjoyable. The bottle in its plastic carrier bag had been a nuisance. I would be glad to be rid of it and rid of the dread I had about approaching Elaine. Would she still be cool or would she be reasonable again?

I saw that his and her cars were on the drive. Would that be good or bad? I didn't know. The Christmas tree in the front window wasn't lit. I walked by the side of their house towards their back door. Our town is like that. Front doors are for formal calls from the Vicar or for weddings and funerals. Everything and everybody else went to the back door. As I passed their front window I was aware that the television was turned up louder than usual.

I knocked at the obscure glass of the back door. No answer. The kitchen window was too high for me to see in. I tried the door handle. It moved. I opened the door wide, shouting "Mrs Owens! Mr Owens!". No response. I walked in. There was some light from the hall but the kitchen itself was in unlit and comparatively dark until my eyes adjusted.

I saw the outline of Elaine spread-eagled on her back on the kitchen table. I turned the kitchen lights on. Her wrists and ankles were lashed to the table's legs. Her breasts, pointing at the ceiling, strained the tight skinny top. Even in the dim light I could see that her breasts were as shapely as my memory of them. Her head was hanging over the far side of the table. Her long brunette hair nearly touched the floor.

I could see a dark blue scarf tied tightly across her lower face. That was unusual. Elaine wanted to talk during the games, to direct, to pretend to plead. She hadn't liked being gagged. Maybe she had changed her scenario? Even if she had it wasn't my concern. I would have retreated hurriedly, embarrassed at interrupting one of her sexual role-plays, even when she writhed frantically and muffled grunts came past her gag, until I noticed something else. I put the whisky bottle down hurriedly.

Elaine had wet herself. There was urine staining her white slacks between her thighs and a pool on the floor. She would never have let herself do that when we had played similar games. I couldn't think that she had changed that much. I moved to her head. Her eyes stared up at me, pleading.

I carefully untied the scarf and removed it. Under it was a ball-gag with the ties biting into her cheeks. It was a struggle to undo that because I was wearing gloves. I hadn't taken them off because I thought this might be a crime scene. I didn't want my prints everywhere. I wouldn't have put it past Terry to blackmail me for interfering with his so-called wife.

Elaine worked her lips. She couldn't lift her head. That showed me how tired she must be.

"Shall I release you?" I asked.

"Yes." Elaine said faintly.

"It will take some time. The cords are buried in your skin." I said.

"Cut them!" She was insistent even if she couldn't speak loudly.

There was a block of kitchen knives on the work surface. I took a small one and cut her free. I had to lift her from the table. She couldn't stand. I hugged her briefly before putting her down on a kitchen stool. I massaged her cramped leg muscles while she rubbed her wrists. When she asked I brought her a glass of water. She swallowed some gingerly and then tossed off the rest.

"Bastard!" she said distinctly.

"Who?"

"Terry. He left me here for hours."

"For hours? What was he playing at?"

"He wasn't playing. Yesterday he wanted me to sign some cheques for him. I refused because they would bounce. I haven't got that much in my account. I thought that was it. This morning when he suggested some games I had forgotten about the cheques. Once he had me tied up he forced that ball-gag in my mouth and then wound the scarf over it. He said he wouldn't let me free until I agreed to sign the cheques for him. He left me. After an hour I would have agreed to anything but he never came back. All I could hear was the television."

"Didn't he come back to check you were OK?"

"Never. He gagged me, presented the ultimatum and then left. I thought he'd be back in ten minutes or so. I've been tied up almost all day."

"I can see that," I said, "you need something on your ankles and wrists."

"First Aid box is over there," Elaine pointed with her chin.

I opened it and found some antiseptic cream. I applied it carefully to her ankles. She applied it gently to her wrists.

"Andy?"

"Yes, Elaine."

"Will you keep quiet about this, please?"

"Of course, Elaine. It's not the sort of thing I'd tell anyone."

Elaine kissed me. She was a mess at that moment but still the attractive woman I'd known for years. It was a thank you kiss but acceptable.

"Would you do something else for me?"

"What do you want me to do?" I asked cautiously.

"I want you to be with me while I go to see what has happened to Terry. I'm sure he didn't intend to leave me that long, only long enough to agree to sign those cheques. Half an hour would have been long enough. I'm worried..."

"OK, Elaine, if that's what you want. I don't want to get involved..."

"You ARE involved, Andy. Not only did you release me: you are our landlord and we owe you a month's rent. If I had signed those cheques there would be no way we could pay that or next month's."

"Elaine, you know I trust you..."

"...but not Terry?"

I couldn't deny it.

"Come with me, please. I'm frightened about what I might find..."

I couldn't refuse that.

We walked to the living room. She led the way, holding my hand. The living room was in darkness except for the television. Terry was sprawled across the settee. Elaine turned the light on.

A pile of empty beer cans was on the coffee table. It looked as if Terry had drunk several six-packs. His head was thrown back and he was snoring softly. Elaine turned and dragged me back to the hall, switching the light off as she went. She pulled me back to the kitchen.

"He's drunk." She said unnecessarily.

I nodded. I could see that she was very angry.

"Can you do one last thing for me?"

I looked at her, wondering what I was getting into.

"Just go home and wait for me to join you in about half an hour. Please?"

"I can do that."

"Thank you."

Elaine pecked me on my cheek.

"Why did you come to my rescue, Andy? You don't normally call unannounced."

I pointed at the carrier bag.

"You won a bottle of whisky in the soccer club Christmas raffle. I was delivering it."

"Oh. That's the last thing Terry needs."

"YOU won it, not him."

"And why did you rescue me? You know I like to play games. Didn't you think this was just a game between husband and wife?"

Elaine emphasised 'husband' and 'wife' as if she found saying them difficult.

"I would have accepted that," I said, "except for..."

I pointed at the pool of urine on the kitchen floor. Elaine blushed.

"I knew you would never do that if it had been one of your games. That meant real distress."

"So Andy rescued the distressed matron?"

"If that is how you want to put it."

"Thank you, Andy, for taking the risk of interfering. It was a risk."

"I know. I didn't know what you would say when I took that scarf off. Once I saw the ball-gag I knew you hadn't consented."

"You know too much, Andy."

"I've known you a long time, Elaine. Some things are unlikely to change. You use to hate being gagged and would never allow anyone to do it to you. I didn't think you would be different now, however many other things might have changed."

"You were right, Andy. Thanks. I'll see you soon. Oh, if asked, can you say that another committee member delivered the bottle and let me go?"

"If that's what you want, yes."

"OK. I don't think Terry will ask me prove it. It's just that he has a thing about you. He knows you know that he has been telling lies about this house. He hates you for knowing."

"That's stupid. I'm your landlord. How could I not know?"

"That's the way he thinks. He is afraid you will burst his bubble."

"Why should I? You would be hurt too."

"And you still have a soft spot for me, haven't you Andy?"

I nodded. Elaine pecked me once more on the cheek as I left.

Back in my house I tidied up slightly. There wasn't much needed. I keep my house in reasonable order. I had two years in which to learn to look after myself. The routine had kept me from thinking too much about what might have been. Marjorie and I had intended to do so much together.

When I took Elaine's coat from her I was surprised by how she was dressed. She was wearing a long red silk sheath, higher heels than normal and her hair was up. She looked ready for an evening function not a visit to a neighbour. She noticed my surprise.

"I told Terry I was going out on the town. I drove to the end of the road, parked my car and walked back."

"Won't he object, or come looking for you?"

"He can't do either. He's trussed up like a chicken and gagged."

"That's dangerous!" I protested. "In that state he could choke."

"No he can't. I put a wide hollow tube in his mouth. If necessary he can be sick through it but he can't speak above a whisper. No one will hear him. He is propped up in front of the television watching an omnibus edition of an old soap on cable. They are doing twelve half-hour episodes back to back. He hates soaps and that one most of all. It is the worst punishment I could think of on the spur of the moment."

"What are you going to do about him, Elaine?"

"You mean apart from that? I know that I should have turned him out months ago. I've told him he has to leave tomorrow – forever. He didn't protest. He couldn't."

I didn't know how to ask the next question.

"He'd drunk a lot..."

"...And he'll wet himself, just as he made me. I've put a plastic tablecloth under him and moved all the rugs and furniture away apart from the dining room table. He is spread-eagled and tied hand and foot to its legs. The table is upside down and tilted so that with an old cushion under his head he can see the television. If he struggles all he will do is bring the table level. He can't even hear the television. I have turned the sound down and adjusted the Christmas lights so that they play 'White Christmas' continuously. Those musical lights were one of his stupid ideas."

"You have been busy yet you managed to dress up," I commented. I felt slightly sorry for Terry.

"I know. I was so angry that I worked quickly. This dress is easy to put on. I just pulled it down over my head and slipped into these shoes. Terry was convinced..."

"Your hair must have taken some time."

"No. I just grabbed it, twisted, a couple of grips and it's done. See."

Elaine pulled a few hairgrips out and shook her head. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders. She gathered it in one hand, twisted it into a rope, brought it up and in seconds it was back up. She let it fall again.

"I know you like my hair down, Andy, so I'll leave it like this."

"Why are you considering me?" I asked. "I would have thought your troubles with Terry were more important."

"They were. They aren't any more. We're finished. I've known for months and I should have done something earlier. I was always pleased that you and Marjorie were next door. I knew that I'd have a sympathetic ear or two and a cup of coffee whenever I needed them. Even though Marjorie has gone I knew that you would be here for me if I needed you. I need you this evening, please, Andy."

"And the coffee?"

"Yes please."

We sat and talked for hours. We remembered the good times. I learned more about Terry than I wanted to know. She said nothing about their sexual games. What she said about his financial stupidities was enough to make me very angry. Before Terry, Elaine had been self-sufficient. Marjorie, Elaine and I had even discussed selling the rented house to Elaine. He had exerted control over her by depriving her of money and spending it on himself. Now she was broke and she would be paying for Terry's expensive habits for months if not years.

I suspected that he had abused her in other ways. Elaine didn't have the self-confidence that she used to have. I'd almost have gone next door to kill him if I hadn't had this objection about killing a helpless man. I doubt I would have done it. I hated him for what he had done to Elaine. Such monsters should be strangled at birth, if you could tell which babies would be the monsters.