Sophie by Guy Burt

Author:Guy Burt
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780345464422
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2003-07-01T04:00:00+00:00

nine

I had thought that I knew Matthew, but now I am getting to know him a second time. His quirks, his habitual movements, his turns of phrase—I watch them all with the intent fascination that comes as a part of fear. At the moment, there’s no one else that matters.

I keep returning to ideas of escape. They’re all impractical. There is nowhere nearby that I could get to, even if I somehow managed to leave this room. The farm down the road is a mile or more away, and as deserted as this place. I’m fully aware that there’s no point in thinking the same things again and again, but I can’t help myself. The moment I stop concentrating on what is actually in front of me, my mind turns immediately to dreams of running away from here, leaving him alone in the house with his candles and memories. I am constantly trying not to do this. There is a conviction building in me that the way to escape is buried in what he is saying, if I can only trace it through the knots and tangles of his story. I feel it. If I can piece together the past, the present will take care of itself.

I hope I am right. It sounds easy enough, but sometimes I worry that I am just comforting myself, that somewhere along the line my brain has realized there’s nothing I can do, and is just attempting to keep me calm. I don’t know. I feel that I’m playing tricks on myself.

Strangely, though, Matthew’s story is itself helping me. Not just in the way I’ve described—giving me more details of him and his past—but also in another way. It lets me see the Sophie of Matthew’s childhood through his eyes. And, whether he likes it or not, no matter what he tells me and himself about his being in control now, I know that when he looks at me, some portion of that little girl is still evident in what he sees. I thought at first that this was dangerous to me, but I have started to think that I was wrong, that in fact it may be a weapon to use against him. I am sure he doesn’t see it like this. He may not even be aware of it. It doesn’t matter; when I see a way that it might be used, I have it ready.

It occurs to me suddenly, in the middle of thinking all this, that he may be justified; after all, what else am I doing but keeping secrets, trying to hide the truth, plotting against him? It’s almost as if he were right about everything.

In another place, that thought would be amusing, but not here. I draw my legs up further, knees pushing against my chest, and hug my arms around my shins. The tape has twisted a little, cutting into my wrists, but I put up with it. It is another device with which to remind myself that I have to keep trying.

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