I have said before that most of the early days that I spent in that basement have blurred into one. When I look back now it’s often difficult to distinguish one day from the next. My existence was just a continual sequence of monotonous cycles, light and dark, days and nights all bleeding into each other. Yet there are some memories that do stand out to me, they remain etched in my memory.

  There is one such memory that will always be with me, a memory that is impossible to forget. It clings on like a bright red stain of blood on the otherwise grey fabric of my life.

  I can remember that there was a biting chill in the air that morning. I was huddled near to the wall. My arms were wrapped around myself as shivers coursed through my body. My dress, damp to the touch, offered no comfort or protection. Even the light from the small window struggled to penetrate the darkness on that particular morning, it never quite managed to reach me.

  I should have known that something was different about that morning, that something was wrong. There was a strange nagging feeling of unease in the back of my mind. The click of Lars’ key in the lock was somehow sharper than usual, the sound of the door opening, that grating of the rusted hinges was particularly jarring, setting my teeth on edge more than usual. Even his footsteps seemed different, louder, slower and more deliberate than his usual, slightly more hurried arrival.

  He hesitated as he stepped into the basement, pausing for just a moment, a stillness hung in the air as his cold gaze locked on to mine. His dark shadow stretched out across the ground towards me, reaching out at me menacingly. His steps were long and purposeful, each one bringing him closer to me. His eyes never left mine as he approached.

  He knelt down beside me on one knee, looking at me with eyes wide and inquisitive. His lips were pressed together, lines forming at the corner of his mouth. His chin looked rough, prickling with short, light stubble. That was another peculiarity, I don’t think I ever remember Lars not shaving in the morning.

  I watched him as he tossed the dark khaki duffle bag off of his shoulder and onto the floor with a dull thump. It was the same bag that he always brought with him. He pulled open the zip and reached in with one hand. An apprehensive tingle flickered over me as I wondered what he’d brought for me that day. There was always that little hope inside me that it would be one of those rare days when he’d pull out something special for me, perhaps he’d have some cheese or a cold cut of meat. They are such simple luxuries but they seemed delightful back then, something different to break up the monotony of dried out leftovers, cold rice or bland, flavourless pasta.

  My eyes caught a glint of silver as his hand withdrew from the bag. A tin! For a moment my heart skipped, excitement bloomed inside of me. This was something new, he hadn’t brought me a tin before. What could it possibly be?! So many possibilities tumbled excitedly through my mind, pilchards, mackerel, sardines, perhaps even corned beef or beans. How long had it been since I had tasted any of those things? Eagerly, my gaze settled on the label. It was a distinctive label, red with bold white writing. A logo that I recognised instantly. The air in my lungs turned cold, it hit me like a physical blow, knocking all of that excitement that I had been feeling from me. My stomach turned in revulsion.

  Dog Food?

  Did he really expect me to eat dog food? I couldn't believe what I was seeing, it must be a joke, some cruel trick of his. It was with eyes wide and incredulous that I watched him cut into the top of the tin with his penknife, prise it open and tip out the brown, gelatinous gloop into the bowl before me.

  What was this? Was I supposed to plead and beg with him for something better, something human? Was this what I had been reduced to?

  A chuckle could clearly be heard, low, bubbling in his throat, his shoulders were twitching. His eyes narrowed as he looked at me, the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement.

  “Eat up then, Sister Dearest.” his tone, high, quivering and unsteady as he tried to contain the laughter that was rising up inside of him.

  That was when I realised that this wasn’t a joke, there was no trick. He was serious!

  My gaze fixed on the ‘food’ in front of me. My mind was a battleground, the desire for sustenance, the need to quell the deep gnawing hunger that was eating away inside of me fought against the feelings of abhorrence and disgust that twisted my insides.

  Lars noticed my hesitation instantly. Of course he did, he had expected it, he had been watching for it. The smirk which turned up the corner of his mouth told me all that I needed to know. This was all part of his sick little game.

  “Be a good little doggy and eat up your dinner, Bella would have licked her bowl clean by now.” He was no longer attempting to hide his amusement. High pitched, his laughter was almost gleeful. “You do know, it’s very bad manners not to eat something that someone has so lovingly prepared for you?” His laughter stopped with that last sentence, his tone dropping deep, menacing, a warning. A silver glint flashed off the blade of his penknife as he rolled it between his fingers.

  He reached forward, holding out a silver spoon towards me. Fear drove me on, a fear of what might happen if I didn’t go along with what he wanted. My hand was shaking as I took it from him, my fingers closing around the cold, heavy metal. A sharp shiver ran down my spine.

  As I sank the spoon into the soft meat, my stomach twisted sharply in disgust. The muscles in my throat tightened, retching and gagging.

  “Be a good girl now, eat up.” there was no mistaking his voice now, it cut sharp, cruel and cold.

  My body froze, it refused to move. My hands were trembling violently from the fear that was starting to bubble up inside of me.

  Hunger gnawed at me, a deep hollow inside my gut willing me to eat.

  Fear and terror screamed loudly in my mind, warning me to comply, warning me to eat.

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  Yet, my insides knotted. My throat heaving as I sat there, stiff, staring at the dehumanising excuse for a meal that was laid out before me. He saw me as little more than an animal, perhaps not even an animal, perhaps something even less.

  How had things come to this?

  My mind churned as a chaotic mixture of contradicting emotions tumbled over each other, mixing together into a cocktail of indecision. I don’t know how long I sat there unmoving, with the spoon heavy in my hand. I was so lost in the tempest in my head that I don’t remember noticing Lars move.

  The first thing that I can remember were his hands as they brutally grabbed me, fingers digging deep into my shoulder joints, a pincer grip that sent painful, searing jolts of pain through me.

  A shrill scream tore from my mouth, a raw mixture of pain and shock that echoed around the bare room.

  He hauled me to my feet, his face just centimetres from mine. His skin was flushed crimson, eyes bloodshot and drawn narrow. The corner of his mouth twitching, his features twisted in fury.

  From that distance I could smell his breath, a stale, metallic odour. The smell of the morning after a heavy night of drinking, the smell of stale beer. That was another oddity that I hadn’t picked up on at the time, in that moment I was too consumed by terror to pay it much thought. But If I think back now, it does strike me as odd. Lars didn’t drink, at least not heavily. He might have had a glass or two with a meal or when he was sat in front of the television in the evening but never more than that and never beer.

  I was shaking like a leaf in his vicelike grip. My eyes were fixed on his, even with the terror that was surging through my body I couldn’t break away from that gaze.

  I had never seen him like this before, this was new. What had changed in him? What madness had taken hold of him? Had he really gone crazy or was this all just part of his calculated game? Was the dog food just some sort of test? Was it designed to degrade me, to break me? Perhaps it was all part of his manipulative plan? Perhaps he wanted me to react in the way that I had, perhaps he was just looking for an excuse to terrorise me further?

  They’re questions that even now, I’m not sure that I really know the answers to.

  Before that day, he would have usually just sat and watched me eat. Yes, there had been threats before, but usually they were nothing more than sharp words, never anything like this, never anything physical.

  He had struck me before, of course. Back when we were in the house, back when he’d first confronted me with those photos. His face had been full of rage then too, but there in that basement things seemed different. There was something deeper in him, something darker.

  It was then that the memories of those bruises came back to me, the bruises that were inflicted during the first few months of my confinement, the bruises that I still had no memory of getting. Those thoughts sent a fresh wave of terror surging through me, a chilling reminder of the complete control that he held over me and of the horrors that had occurred. Horrors that I couldn’t even recall. Other than a handful of confusing, fragmented memories, I didn’t know what had happened to me, what he’d done to me. All I had were hints of the things my brother was capable of.

  Time seemed to stop for me. I don’t know how long he held me for, suspended, my feet dangling in thin air. His face twisted as he screamed at me, his voice a loud boom, “Manners! Manners and respect! Have you forgotten them? I bring you food! But is there even a mutter of thanks from you? No! You just sit there with a disgusted look on your face! Perhaps it’s about time that we start those lessons again. Shall we do that, shall we have a little lesson in manners and respect?”

  The vibrations of his voice echoed in my ears, hurting my head. I flinched at the spittle that landed on my face and stung my eyes as he bellowed those words at me.

  Then, with an animalistic roar which seemed to burst from his very core, his grip on me tightened, muscles tensed as he hurled me, slamming me down onto the floor.

  The first thing that I felt was a white hot agony flaring in my hip as I struck the cold, brutally hard concrete. Split seconds later came a sickening crack as my elbow crashed into the ground, the force sending a jolt of pure pain jarring my shoulder and neck.

  A freezing cold crashed over me. My hip and elbow stung, screaming out with a burning throb. My breathing stuttered, short, sharp gasps were all that I could manage.

  I could hear them then, those whispering voices in the shadows. Their red eyes flickering in the dark spaces of the basement, heartless, looking out, watching me.

  My terror filled eyes looked up at Lars, I watched in horror as he slowly and calmly bent down, reached into that duffle bag of his and pulled out a long, thin object. Dark leather glistening in the dim light of the window.

  The chill of the basement clung to me as he looked down, the light casting dark shadows across his cold, stony features. His eyes seemed to glow as he glared at me, like two deep red coals peering out from his dark, shadow covered face. The corner of his mouth rising in a twisted sneer.

  “I think I’ve been too easy on you lately, far too kind and forgiving. Have you forgotten why you’re here? Have you forgotten what you did? Why I’ve had to do what I’ve done?” he spoke softly now, in a voice barely above a whisper, in a voice cruel and empty.

  The breath caught in my throat, time stretching out to a crawl as I watched Lars raise the switch above his head. The black leather caught a reflection of the window’s light, shining brightly as it reached its peak. I could barely believe what was happening, my body was frozen, my eyes fixed on the leather as it descended towards me, watched as it moved in slow motion.

  A high pitched swoosh cut through the heavy silence, that was followed by a sharp, violent crack that rang in my ears. For a heartbeat, there was nothing else. Then, all of a sudden, it was as if a hot poker had been laid across me. A sharp, agonising sting ripped across my leg like barbed wire being drawn across my body. An intense burning seared into my flesh, a white hot line of fire spreading outward, branding my skin.

  A strangled gasp escaped from my throat. My fists clenched, tangling themselves in the velvet of my dress.

  He raised the switch again and again, swoosh, crack. I pulled my legs into my body, wrapping my arms around my knees defensively as once again the agony of the strike ripped across me.

  A steady rhythm now, crack, crack, crack. Each one like a thousand bee stings, burning, tearing into my flesh, torturing my body.

  A shrill screeching rang in my ears like the wail of a banshee. A sound that at first, I hadn’t recognised as the sound of my own screams.

  My legs, arms, back, each swing of the lash was like a viper striking at me, biting me.

  Desperately I wanted Lars to stop, I wanted to plead with him, beg for mercy but I couldn’t form any words. Anytime I opened my mouth the only thing that escaped was another garbled scream.

  I don’t know how long it lasted, I don’t know how many times he struck me, but eventually the torture did cease. I didn’t hear the words that he spoke, I didn’t hear him walk away. I didn’t hear him when he climbed those stairs and left me laying there on the cold floor, curled into a tight ball. Every inch of my body screamed out with a searing, relentless burning, as if a bucket of hot coals had been poured over me. A deep, throbbing ache from the bruises that he’d left on me. My skin was sticky with the blood and fluids that oozed from the welts that were rising all over me. My dress was torn and lacerated.

  My body was quivering, shaking with every sob that flowed out of me, every tear that ran down my cheeks. Tears of agony but also tears of humiliation and hopelessness. Even those sobs were themselves a torment. Every intake of breath causing me to writhe on the ground, each one sending a fresh wave of scalding punishment stabbing into my chest, burning my lungs.

  I really couldn’t tell you how many times I was hit, my body was covered in bruises and welts. I don’t think there was a single part of me that wasn’t purple or glistening red.