It only seemed like yesterday that I'd fallen in love with Paul Chapman and yet at the same time everything now felt so fragmented. I could only remember pockets of time, little incidents of our life together before he took it away.
The first time our eyes met was during a lecture on our Criminal Psychology Masters course. He was five years older than me, extremely handsome and confident.
Our first date. It was at the Mean Fiddler in Harlesden to see some band I can't remember.
Our first kiss on the walk home from that same gig.
The first time we slept together, he was a master in the bedroom.
The flat we shared for a year and a half.
The day he told me he was leaving me for my best friend.
It was hard to believe that it was only just over a year ago that he'd reached into my heart and squeezed the life out of it.
And here he was now. Shrunk to a tiny size by some secret society who were on a murder spree.
I felt nauseous.
I slammed the lid of the box shut. My heart was hammering hard inside my chest. Slowly and very carefully I lifted the box up to my ear and listened to Paul shouting inside. His voice was quiet but very clear and certainly not squeaky which is what I was expecting as he was now so small.
"Let me out of here!" Shouted Paul. "Who are you? What the hell is going on?"
I could hear his tiny fists punching the inside of the box. He didn't recognize me? Could the angle that he was looking up at me at and the shock and surprise of seeing a giant person mean that he hadn't got a clear look at my face? I felt so excited and terrified at the same time.
I shook the box in my hand.
"You'd better stop making such a racket little man," I said fiercely, "or I might just do something I regret."
The noise within the box immediately stopped.
"That's better," I said. "Now I need to sort a few things out, so I will be gone for a little while, do you understand?"
There was a long pause before Paul answered, his voice trembling.
"Yes."
"Good. I will let you out of this box when I'm ready."
"Who are you? How is this possible?"
I smiled to myself. He hadn't seen my face and at his tiny size he didn't recognize my voice either.
"My name is Elle," I said. "And you belong to me now little man."
I placed the box on the coffee table next to the sofa. My mind was now racing. There were too many things to think about.
The phone rang.
I picked it out of its cradle and rushed out of the lounge and into my bedroom so Paul couldn't hear my conversation.
"I trust you have opened the package we sent you Detective Constable Stewart?"
The electronic voice sent a chill through my body. I could only muster one word.
"How?"
"You will find out how once you are fully accepted into our...group."
There were so many questions I needed answering.
"How did you get my home telephone number?" I asked. It was a question I had meant to ask last night, not that it mattered. I already knew the answer.
"We have our means Detective Constable Stewart. Now, you must read the instructions in the box carefully. You must do exactly as they say do you understand?"
Instructions? In the box?
"Why me?"
This question rather took the voice on the other end of the phone by surprise.
"Let us just say for now that you fit the profile we require to become part of our...group."
Again that hesitation before settling on a suitable word to describe these people. I wanted to ask about the murders. I wanted to ask who the group were. I wanted to...
I wanted to hold Paul in my hand and make him pay for the emotional mess he'd left me in, but that would come later. Maybe.
"Enjoy your new pet," said the voice. "We will be in contact shortly."
The line went dead.
I looked at the phone in my hand for a few minutes, trying to take in the morning's events. I needed a mask to hide behind. I threw the phone onto the bed and walked into the bathroom. Within minutes I was standing beneath a hot stream of water which bounced off my skin, spraying the shower screen and bathroom tiled wall next to me. I washed my hair slowly, massaging the shampoo and then conditioner deep into my scalp. I rinsed my hair, enjoying the tingling sensation of the water. I covered my body with Dove shower lotion, rubbing it in, in large circular motions. I watched the foam from my body flow down the plughole. I felt like I was washing Lisa Stewart away and replacing her with Elle. I needed to be Elle to get through this. Paul could not see me being weak, the way I was when I was with him. I needed to be strong. I stepped out of the shower and dried myself with a huge white fluffy towel which I used to wrap my hair up with once I was dry. I slipped on my bath robe and then glided out of the bathroom.
The face in the mirror smiled at me. It looked tired though.
I reached forward and plucked my foundation from the makeup case which was next to the half empty glass of Shiraz that I'd poured before coming into the bedroom. Slowly and evenly, the foundation coated the face on my skin, disguising the blemishes and blending out the freckles on my noise. Lipstick, eyeliner, mascara and eye makeup were all carefully added one by one. This is the way Elle wore her makeup. Classy and not too heavy but ever so slightly slutty. I bent forwards with my head over my knees and let my wet hair hang down from my head. I turned on the hairdryer, making sure the diffuser was in place so my hair didn't dry out, and then set to work on my hair.
Once my hair was almost dry I sat up and finished the job whilst looking in the mirror. Elle would be proud. I finished the glass of wine and then poured myself another from the bottle.
With my hair and face done, I got up from the stool and walked over to my wardrobe. I needed to feel sexy. To feel powerful. To feel irresistible.
I slipped on my favourite push up bra and black silk thong. Then I slipped on a pair of nylon holdups and a sixties style low cut mini dress with a green floral print that showed off my curves to good effect. Now there was just the choice of shoes to make. I looked in the bottom of my wardrobe and spotted the perfect pair. A lovely pair of black nine west high heeled shoes. Perfect. I checked myself in the mirror. This was definitely what Elle would wear. An excitement began to flow through my body and I found it hard to remind myself that the reason I was doing all of this was to find a serial killer.
I took another sip of wine. Was Paul really in a shoebox on my coffee table?
I giggled out loud and then quickly clamped my hand over my mouth. This whole thing was starting to run away from me and what I was about to do next had absolutely nothing to do with my police investigation.
This was purely personal.
Wine glass in hand, I walked into the kitchen and placed the roll of sellotape, the pair of scissors and the old pink georgette scarf that I'd taken from my dresser onto the kitchen table. The glass of wine and a can of ice cold diet coke from the fridge joined the two items and formed an uneasy looking quintet of items. There was just one more thing that I needed. I looked around the kitchen and hunted through all the kitchen drawers until I'd found something that would do my bidding perfectly.
"So, once again, it's the kitchen that will see all the action."
I took another sip of wine and giggled again. I was definitely feeling a little bit tipsy and ever so uninhibited.
Tiptoeing into the lounge I gently picked up the box and carried back into the kitchen. I sat the box down on the table and then seated myself on one of the kitchen chairs.
I tapped on the box with my finger nail.
"Are you ready little man?" I asked.
"Ready? Ready for what? I still don't know what's going on."
Paul sounded scared. Good, I thought to myself.
This was going to feel very strange.
I opened the lid of the box slowly and deliberately, keeping it angled so Paul could not see my face. I held the pink georgette scarf in front of me. As I moved the box lid out of the way I could see Paul through the translucent material. He was sitting in the box very quietly.
"Oh my God!" He managed to yell before I enveloped him in the scarf. He kicked and struggled as I lifted him out of the box. I could feel the excitement in me getting more intense as I held him in my hand, wrapped in the scarf. I laughed out loud again.
"You're so small," I laughed. "So totally helpless."
"Who are you?" He screamed. "What the fuck is going on?"
"I am going to lie you face down on the table little man," I hissed. "You will look directly at the table. If I see you turn your head slightly I will put you on the floor and I will take great delight in crushing you beneath my foot. Am I clear?"
I could see Paul's head nodding beneath the fabric, his body a ghostly silhouette within my fingers.
"Yes, yes," he said. "Totally clear."
I lowered him onto the kitchen table so he was lying on his stomach, leaving the scarf covering him. I tore off four strips of sellotape.
"What's that?" He asked nervously. "Oh God what are you going to do to me?"
He was whimpering slightly now which gave me an additional surge of confidence. I licked my lips and took another sip of wine. This was really turning me on. I let that thought linger in my head for a moment before beginning my work on Paul. I removed the scarf quickly and then placed the palm of my hand onto his back, pressing him down onto the table with just enough force to keep him from moving. My hand easily covered his entire body with about an inch to spare from the top of his head to the end of my finger tips. I could feel his heart beating like a frightened rabbit. His breathing was coming in short gasps. In four quick movements I taped his arms and legs to the kitchen table so that he lay spread-eagled face down. With that done I sat back in my chair and smiled. Now there was just the washcloth to take care of. I grabbed it between my finger and thumb and pulled the make shift toga away from Paul leaving him stark naked, taped to my table. I looked at his tiny perfect body. He had always kept himself in shape and the year he had been away from me had been no exception. I admired his well muscled shoulders, his broad back that tapered down to a slim waist and then the perfect arse that I could have quite easily have sunk my teeth into. I reached out and touched his naked bottom, running my index finger over it. I traced my finger up and down his spine and then back down over his tiny bum and then down between his thighs.
"You will address me as Mistress," I said with a whisper. "Is that understood little man?"
Mistress? Where had that come from? Was I really Mistress material?
Despite the sense of terror he must have been feeling, I could sense that Paul was really starting to enjoy my wandering finger routine. He was squirming slightly, as if to accommodate what was starting to stir between his legs.
"Yes Mistress," replied Paul, his voice sounding distant.
"You will answer my questions truthfully."
I picked up the artists paint brush that I'd found in the kitchen drawer and gently traced the brush up the inside of Paul's thighs. He gave a little gasp as I gently massaged his tiny sensitive bits with the soft bristles of the paint brush.
"Yes Mistress."
Paul's breathing was starting to quicken.
"If you tell the truth then there will be more of this."
I pressed a little harder with the brush and Paul let out a groan of pleasure and sexual desire.
"Oh my God," I heard him whisper under his breath.
"If you lie though."
I flipped the paintbrush round and pressed the hard plastic end between his buttocks, just enough to shock him.
"How humiliating, to be raped by a tiny paintbrush," I said.
"Oh shit no, no!" He yelled.
"No...?"
"No Mistress," he yelled, "I'll tell you the truth. Ask me anything."
I pulled the paintbrush away from Paul and smiled. I knew that was one of his worst fears.
"Have you ever been unfaithful?"
There was a long pause. I could almost hear Paul's brain working away. Do I tell the truth and risk getting squished because this giant woman is some kind of magical psycho dominatrix with a complete downer on men, or do I tell a lie and risk getting squashed because she already knows personal stuff about me? Paul of course was totally predictable.
"Never Mistress."
I decided to spare him the paintbrush for now. Instead I picked up the ice cold can of diet coke and lowered it onto his back. He screamed a high pitched squeal. I lifted up the can and then placed it back on his back. His little legs tried to break free from the tape but he was going nowhere. He was mine now. I left the can on his back for about ten seconds and then lifted it off, placing it back on the table.
"It'll be the paintbrush next time," I said coldly.
Paul's teeth were chattering as he spoke.
"Okay, okay," he said. "I have been unfaithful Mistress."
"How many times? Who with?"
"Who with?" He repeated. "Why should you care..."
His words were cut short as the coke can descended onto his back once more. Paul yelled out and he desperately tried to twist his body away from the freezing cold metal.
"I'm growing bored of you little man," I said. "Maybe I'll sell you to the gay couple upstairs. I'm sure they'd love to keep you as a pet. Justin and Lance I think they're names are. Imagine what you would have to do to keep them pleased."
I lifted up the coke can and placed it back onto the table once more.
"No please Mistress," cried Paul. "I'll never lie to you again."
"Go on little man," I said ordering him to speak.
I needed to hear him say all the things that he'd done to me, all the things that had left my life sprawled in every direction like an emotional train wreck.
Paul spoke for some time. Every now and then he would sob and then speak some more. I drank my glass of wine as I listened intently. Hearing his words brought it all back. The good times that we'd shared together and the bad times we'd spent apart from each other. I needed to hear every word he said because it was time to stop feeling so insecure and dreadful about myself.
But this was a therapy I didn't need.
He'd cheated on every girlfriend he'd ever had.
He'd even cheated on Jill six months after leaving me for her and she'd ended their relationship immediately. I never knew that. It was hard not to feel sorry for Jill knowing she was going through the same pains It was six months ago. Every relationship this man came into contact with he tainted including the string of girlfriends he'd had after Jill, all of whom overlapped each other.
Yet still, as he lay there face down taped to my kitchen table, I could feel my heart opening up to him again.
I shook my head. This was no time to be weak.
"Do you have any regrets?" I asked.
There was a very long pause this time. I had the feeling that Paul didn't want to tell me what was on his mind in case it angered me.
"The truth," I said.
"Lisa," he said, adding the 'mistress' a few seconds later.
I shook my head, confused. Had he known who I was all along? I was just about to speak when Paul carried on talking.
"I really regret breaking Lisa's heart," he said softly. "She was the best thing that ever happened to me. I've never been able to get it back Mistress."
I blinked back the tears that were starting to well up in my eyes. Streaking mascara was the last thing I needed right now. I had to remain strong.
"I need to ask a question Mistress."
"Go ahead."
"What is going on? Why am I here? How did I get to be this size?"
There was genuine panic and concern in Paul's voice which did not surprise me. He was usually the one in control. He controlled his relationships, he controlled what happened in the bedroom and he controlled those around him in his life. He was a master manipulator.
"That's three questions," I said trying to stall him so I could think up a reasonable response.
I picked up my wine glass and emptied the last of it into my mouth.
"I'm afraid your arrogant attitude to women has not gone unnoticed," I said. "So, here you are."
"But this is impossible!" He screamed. "I can't really be this small! Have you drugged me? Is that it? Is this all an hallucination?"
I leaned forward and let my hair brush over his naked body. My breathing was deep and his hair swayed with every breath I exhaled. I got closer and closer to him until my lips were just above his right ear. I could feel him tense up. A little whimper escaped his lips.
"This is no hallucination," I whispered. "This is your worst nightmare."
I ran the tip of my tongue down his spine.
"Imagine the worst things I could possibly do to you little man," I said. "You're nothing more than my pet now. My sex toy if I please. Entertainment for my friends. Something to take my frustrations out on and, eventually, something I will get bored of and dispose of the in the same way I dispose of a piece of rubbish."
Paul was crying now. His shoulders shuddered uncontrollably.
Had I gone too far? I suddenly felt so guilty. I wanted to pick him up in my hands and hold him to me. I wanted to kiss him all over and make everything alright. The feelings I had for him, those same feelings that I thought I had conquered were slowly coming back to me.
An idea was forming in my mind. For this to work, I needed to be Elle for now. I needed to be strong so if reconciliation did happen, Paul would never stray again.
Elle was going to be his nightmare, but I was going to save him from Elle so he would be eternally grateful to me.
Forever mine.