Not Dead Enough

to find in the gift box. He’d never bought her a gift before, except some flowers a couple of times recently when he’d come over to her flat. But whatever it was, nothing felt right; it was as if the world was suddenly skewed on its axis.
    And with every layer she removed she was starting to have a really bad feeling about what was in the box.
    But then she got down to the last layer of tissue paper. She felt something that was part hard, part soft and yielding, as if it was made of leather, and she realized what it might be. And she relaxed. Smiled at him. The sod was teasing her, it was all a wind-up! ‘A handbag!’ she said with a squeal. ‘It’s a handbag, isn’t it? You darling! How did you know I desperately need a new bag? Did I tell you?’
    But he wasn’t smiling back. ‘Just open it,’ he said again, coldly.
    And that brief moment of good feeling evaporated as her world skewed again. There was not one shred of warmth coming back from his expression or his words. Her fear deepened. And just how strange was it that he was giving her a present on the day his wife was found dead? Then, finally, she removed the last layer of tissue.
    And stared down in shock at the object that was revealed.
    It wasn’t a handbag at all, but something strange and sinister-looking, a helmet of some kind, grey, with bug-eyed glass lenses and a strap, and a ribbed tube hanging down with some kind of filter on the end. A gas mask, she realized with dismay, the kind she’d seen on soldiers’ faces out in Iraq, or maybe it was older. It had a musty, rubbery smell.
    She looked up at him in surprise. ‘Are we about to be invaded or something?’
    ‘Put it on.’
    ‘You want me to wear this?’
    ‘Put it on.’
    She held it to her face and instantly lowered it, wrinkling her nose. ‘You really want me to wear this? You want to make love with me wearing it?’ She grinned, a little stupefied, her fear subsiding. ‘Is that going to turn you on or something?’
    For an answer, he ripped it out of her hands, jammed it against her face, then pulled the strap over the back of her head, trapping some of her hair painfully. The strap was so tight it hurt.
    For a moment, she was completely disoriented. The lenses were grimy, smeared and heavily tinted. She could only see him, and the room, partially, in a green haze. When she turned her head, he disappeared for a moment and she had to swivel her head back to see him again. She heard the sound of her own breathing, hollow exhalations like the roar of the sea in her ears.
    ‘I can’t breathe,’ she said, panicking, claustrophobia gripping her, her voice muffled.
    ‘Of course you can fucking breathe.’ His voice was muzzy, distorted.
    In panic she tried to pull the mask off. But his hands gripped hers, forcing them away from the strap, gripping them so hard they were hurting. ‘Stop being a stupid bitch,’ he said.
    She was whimpering. ‘Brian, I don’t like this game.’
    Almost instantly she felt herself pushed down on her back, on the bed. As the walls, then the ceiling scudded past her eyes, her panic worsened. ‘Nooo!’ She lashed out with her feet, felt her right foot strike something hard. Heard him roar in pain. Then she broke free from his hands, rolled away, and suddenly she was falling. She crashed painfully on to the carpeted floor.
    ‘Fucking bitch!’
    Struggling to get to her knees, she put her hands up to the mask, tugged at the strap, then felt an agonizing, crunching blow in her stomach which belted all the wind out of her. She doubled up in pain, shocked at the realization of what had happened.
    He had hit her.
    And suddenly she sensed that the stakes had changed. He had gone insane.
    He hurled her on to the bed and the backs of her legs struck the edge. She screamed out at him, but her voice remained trapped inside the mask.
    Have to get away from him , she realized. Have to get out of here .
    She felt her T-shirt being torn off. For a moment, she stopped resisting, thinking, trying to make a plan. The booming of her breathing was deafening. Have to get the damn mask off . Her heart was thudding painfully. Have to get to the door, downstairs, to the guys downstairs. They will help me.
    She snapped her head right, then left, checking what was on her bedside tables that she could use as a weapon. ‘Brian, please, Brian—’
    She felt his hand, hard as a hammer, strike the side of the mask, jarring her neck.
    There was a book, a thick hardback Bill