Alison awoke to the crazy idea that she was trapped in a box of darkness. Her dreams had been a little mad while she slept, and she assumed it was just jet lag, and that somehow she’d fallen asleep in Terry’s dressing room, waiting for his return from the stage. She even managed to convince herself that she had switched off the lights and locked the door. It seemed the only logical explanation why she was now in darkness, on the floor.

She fumbled around on the floor and felt a strange mix of sand, hard boards and what she thought was fur, or some kind of fluff. She couldn’t work out what it was doing on Terry’s floor, and cursed herself for switching off the lights. She felt something land on her shoulder as she pulled herself from the floor, and put her hand out to touch it, assuming it was her hair. Whatever it was is was wet, and she instinctively drew back from it as she sat in the darkness, wondering why her head was pounding and her neck felt stiff and sore.

She rubbed her face and found wet around her mouth. She grimaced. How could she had dribbled in her sleep and not have noticed? She chuckled uneasily to herself as a flash back of a dream came to her. All she saw was Annabel’s face coming towards her and something shining in the dim light that had surrounded her and then…Alison shook her head. Something was up with her if she was dreaming of such crazy things.

Alison reached out around her, squinting her eyes against the gloom to see if she could see anything in Terry’s room that she could grasp hold of. She waved her arms around but touched nothing, and was aware that somehow the dressing room had gotten larger than she had at first thought. Somehow in her sleep she had managed to position herself in such a way that she wasn’t touching any furniture in the room at all.

She crept to her knees and felt a draft of cool air hit her, making the hairs on her arm stand on end and goose pimples track down her arms and neck. She began to crawl in what she hoped was the direction of the door, where she would be able to reach up and hit the light switch, but she after several minutes of heading in one direction and not seeming to get closer to anything, she stopped and a sudden realisation hit her full in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her chest and making panic rise in her throat.

The image of Annabel returned to her, and she suddenly remembered everything about Michael and Chelsea, and how she had heard Annabel’s phone call, and how she had led Alison to this place. Annabel’s eyes as she had whacked Alison with the bar were burned on Alison’s mind, and she shut her eyes to try and block them out.

So where was she? She knew she was somewhere in the theatre but she could hear nothing. She had a watch on, but what use was that? She couldn’t see it in the dark, and there wasn’t even a crack of light in this place. Who knows how long she had been down here in the darkness? Who knows if she’d ever be found alive? A chill ran down Alison’s spine and she grimaced. Who knew whether she’d be found at all?

She began scrambling around on the floor, trying desperately to find something, anything, to show her where she was. She began heading in one direction, hoping to finally hit something that would resemble a wall or a door, and she crawled determinedly on, not noticing the tears that had started crawling down her cheeks.

After what seemed an eternity she reached out and hit something hard. It rolled away from her and she reached out further and wrapped her hands around its cylindrical body. It wasn’t that heavy, but it had enough weight to cause some damage, and Alison knew that she was holding the bar that had smashed the back of her head open.

She pressed it to herself, feeling it up and down to see how long it was, and all the while thinking what she could do with it.

She crept forward again and bumped head first into something very solid. Putting the bar on the floor to her left, she pressed the palms of her hands against the cold, rough surface and almost laughed with happiness. She’d found a wall.

Alison knew it was stupid to cry over such a find; it was in no way an escape route, but it gave her enough hope and encouragement to carry on exploring her hiding place.

Picking the bar up she followed the wall with one hand touching it, and made her way around the room until she hit some wood and stopped.

She used the pole to test the wood, and then ran one hand from the floor all the way up and around it until she was standing fully tall and was almost certain it was a door.

Out of curiosity Alison raised her arms upwards and sighed when she didn’t touch what she hoped would be the ceiling. She was under the Bowl, and she would have thought the room heights would have been smaller here, but she was either too short or the rooms were taller here. She held up the bar and it scraped the ceiling, and she smiled a little. She was gradually imagining what the room was like, and soon she would be able to picture it all in her head, making herself feel a little more comfortable than she was earlier.

Turning back to the door she banged on it with her metal bar and listened for any sounds, pressing her ear up against the rough wood, and knowing instinctively that no one would hear her from there. Annabel had brought her here for a reason after all, and she would in no way have taken her somewhere that she would have thought Alison would get out of.

Sinking to her haunches Alison rested her head against the door and wondered if that would be how she’d be found. Staring dumbly into the dark ahead of her and resting her head against the cracked wood of the door.

She closed her eyes and felt the throbbing of her head return with vengeance. Annabel really had given her a good smack, and Annabel rubbed her face again, trying to get rid of what she suspected was blood from her face.

Sighing gently she felt tears well up within her again, and knew that she had to get out. She had children and her husband to live for. It wasn’t fair that she should die like this, by herself and alone, without anyone knowing where she was.

Out of nowhere Alison thought she heard a noise. She cocked her head, straining to hear whatever it was she thought she heard.

Standing up and trembling as the noise grew, she wiped her face and grasped the bar in her hands as tightly as she could.

It sounded like singing. Someone was singing. She pressed her head against the door and listened as hard as she could, and then began slamming the bar against the wood with all her might. Why couldn’t she be heard? Why couldn’t the person singing hear her?

It occurred to her then that she may be hitting the wrong thing. Reaching up with the bar she began slamming it against the ceiling of the room, knocking dust and bits of wood into her face, making her cough and gag.

The singing stopped and Alison felt her heart stop. She listened closely and began banging again, but the voice sang again, and she thought, in the midst of her anguish, that perhaps she was dying and that the singing voice belonged to an angel coming to take her to heaven.

And the voice was truly wonderful to listen to. It soared in the emptiness and made her heart pound in her head, and she felt tears welling up again as she reached up and threw the bar with all of her might up into the dark.

The singing stopped, and was replaced by faint whistling. Alison sank on her heels and dropped her arms with the strain. Silence followed her and she couldn’t help but sob. It was probably concussion tricking her.

But then she heard a sound she didn’t expect.

“Hello?” a voice called.

Alison looked up into the dark and shouted with all her might, slamming the bar into the ceiling as hard as she could with what little strength she had left. She was not going to die in here. She refused to die in here.

“Hello, can you here me?” called the voice, and Alison shouted “hello!” back.

She heard noises above her, scraping and shouting and then the voice was much clearer, accompanied by another one she hadn’t heard yet.

“Help!” she cried loudly, and prayed to God that they were helping her.

************************************************************************************************************

Cary reached out in the dark, his flash light lighting the way for a little while, until suddenly he saw her, her face covered in dirt, blood and what he presumed was tears. Her mouth was cut, her nose and ears bleeding, and she was covered from head to toe in dirt, blood and mess.

But underneath it all he could see her face was beautiful, her eyes wide and grateful, her pale hands grasping the metal bar for dear life and her thin frame was elegant and well proportioned.

“My God!” he said as she crept towards the light. “How long have you been down here? What happened to you?”

Alison reached out towards the light and almost fell flat on her face as she stumbled forward. Strong hands caught her and she felt tears pouring down her face.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” was all she could say and she almost collapsed with exhaustion as the hands helped her out of the hole and onto the stage of the Hollywood Bowl.

She lay back on the wrecked platform and watched as the gentleman pulled himself out of the hole.

He had dark hair and dark eyes, and he broke into a small smile as he saw her looking at him. He leant over her and looked at her face, checking her out for anything majorly wrong.

“It’s ok,” he said softly, “I’m here, you are safe now…”

Alison let out a feeble whimper and held his hand tightly.

“What in hell happened to you?” he asked as he leant over her and she shut her eyes.

“Someone attacked me and shut me up in there. I know something that she doesn’t want to get out. But I need to go…” Alison said and sat bolt upright.

“I need to go!” she said urgently.

Cary rested his hands on her and shook his head. “You have to wait here until the ambulance comes!” he said. “You can’t go anywhere in the state you are in!”

Alison looked around rabidly for the iron bar and pressed it to his chest. “You tell them everything. Tell them this is the weapon and tell them to meet me at the Club on Wichards Street and they’ll have someone to arrest.”

Cary grabbed her hand. “This is crazy!” He said and she looked down at him with wide eyes.

“I know but if I don’t do this now more people will get hurt.”

Cary stood up next to her and felt a sudden protective urge to hold her in his arms. “Promise me you’ll be safe.” He said and she nodded quickly. She was about to break free from him when he stopped her.

“What’s your name?” he asked, and smiled gently at her. “For the cops?”

“Alison Jones.” She said and ran quickly from the stage and off towards the exit of the auditorium.

“Alison!” he called and she felt herself stop in her tracks. She turned just as something flew through the air towards her and, without flinching she caught the car keys in her hand.

“Mustang.” He said and waved her off. “Take care!”

**************************************************************************************************************

Alison drove like a maniac across this unfamiliar town and shot out into oncoming traffic more than once in her pursuit of the party she knew she needed to race to. She swerved and avoided and nearly smashed into a fire hydrant, but she refused to slow down.

Slamming her foot down on the accelerator she ploughed head first into a small side street and nearly knocked down several of the people stood in the road there. Winding down the window of the Mustang she stuck her head out and shouted to the person nearest her.

“Excuse me!” she called and the youth turned in her direction, giving her a startled glance and then nudging her friend beside her.

Alison caught a glimpse of herself in the rear view mirror and felt her stomach flip. Not only was she filthier than she had ever been in her life, she was covered in more blood than she thought was humanly possible, and as she looked back out of the window, she noticed the two girls stood conservatively back from the vehicle.

“Excuse me!” she called and the girls crept a little closer.

“Yeah?” asked the blonde haired one, and Alison leant out of the window.

“Can you tell me where Wichards Street is?”

One girl looked at the other and then pointed back down the street.

“Go back down there and then right across the road. Go for about five minutes and you’ll see it on your right.” She hesitated. “Are you alright ma’am?”

Alison smiled gratefully. “I’m fine girls. Just a little accident that’s all, and I need to find someone. Thanks for your help!” she said and pulled away from the two girls, who shrugged their shoulders and returned back to the group.

Alison reversed the Mustang and sped out across the road, cutting up several cars as she sprinted across the highway and a dimly lit street. She kept her eyes peeled and even slowed the vehicle to make sure she didn’t miss anything.

And there the club was, luminescent and purple with sheets and bulbs and glass things hanging from every possible niche of the building.

Pulling the car to a screech outside she spilled from the car to the amused gasping and stifled laughter of the queuing hoards, eager to get inside.

“Excuse me ma’am,” said one bouncer as Alison picked herself up from the red carpet. He paused when he saw her appearance and crept closer to her, holding her elbow with a hand and leading her quickly inside where she was placed in a small room just inside the entrance.

Alison felt stupid and yet like she was being questioned by the Spanish Inquisition as two bouncers returned and looked her up and down.

“Who are you?” they asked as she sat calmly with her hands in her lap.

“Alison Jones.” She said and one of the bouncers cocked his head.

“Terry’s wife?” he asked and she nodded eagerly. Rummaging around in a pocket she flipped open her wallet and passed him her credit cards.

“I know I haven’t got a picture but it’s me, believe me.”

He picked up the card and flipped it over, looking from it to his colleague and nodding.

“I believe you ma’am,” he said, “I’ve seen your picture before. We all had to learn them so we’d recognise the party goers.”

Alison breathed a sigh of relief.

“Would you mind telling us what happened to you?” asked the other bouncer.

Alison breathed deeply. “I’d rather just speak to my husband right now.” She said slowly, not knowing whether these two people were under Annabel’s employment. She smiled weakly. “I’ve just had an accident that’s all, and all I want to do is see my husband.”

The bouncers nodded. “We’ll fetch him for you ma’am.” Said the second bouncer and disappeared, leaving Alison alone with the first one.

He offered her a handkerchief, and produced a small mirror for her to clean herself up with.

When the door reopened, she’d managed to clear a lot of the blood from her face and had even removed some of the dirt from her hands and arms, but as soon as she saw Terry she didn’t care.

He came into the room with a drink in his hand, but it was soon discarded as he saw his wife and the state she was in.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked as he strode across the room and enveloped her in his arms.

Alison couldn’t believe she was shaking now and suddenly knew there were tears on her face. For a few moments all she could do was cry and hold onto him, and the bouncers, aware of the privacy that was needed, positioned themselves carefully outside of the room, and shut the door.

“I had no idea where you’d gone!” he said, his eyes watery. “What happened, Alison?”

Alison bit her lip as it quivered and fought to calm herself.

“Annabel hit me.” She said, and when she saw Terry’s confused face she decided it would be best to start from the beginning.

As she told her tale Terry’s face went from pale and shocked to red and angry. When she finished he sat back on his chair and his fists were clenched together.

“I can’t believe that woman!” he said through gritted teeth and then he frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Alison asked and looked at her husband anxiously.

Terry looked up at her and touched her knee. “She took Michael away with her over an hour ago.” He said and Alison felt her heart flip.

“She really wants him for herself Terry. There’s no telling of how far she’d go!”

Terry nodded and then stood up. “We’ve got to consult the others.” He said, and knocked on the door.

“Everything OK Mr Jones?” asked the first bouncer and Terry nodded, still with a frown emblazoned on his face.

“Yes everything’s fine Ron. Can you call Mr Idle, Mr Gilliam, Mr Cleese and Mr Chapman in here for me? It’s urgent that we speak with them.”

Ron nodded and disappeared, leaving his counterpart to guard the door.

**************************************************************************************************************

Michael woke with a pounding head ache in the middle of a room he didn’t recognise, but knew instantly was a Hotel room. He checked about himself for anything to show how he’d come here and spotted his small holdall and passport on the dresser.

Sitting up gingerly he looked to the side of himself and grimaced as pain shot through every muscle in his body. He pulled himself from under the sheets and looked at his naked body for a moment, noticing the slightly swollen appearance of his legs and thighs.

What the hell had happened last night? The only thing he could remember was drinking at the party and everything after that seemed blurry and dreamlike.

Michael squinted in the sun and turned onto his left side, feeling how numb his left leg felt. He looked at it and noticed a couple of small marks on his thigh, but ignored them as what he commonly termed as “drunk punches”, the little marks that one always seemed to acquire when you got so drunk you couldn’t remember doing anything or feeling anything that would hurt you.

He saw another bag on the floor on the other side of his bed and knew that he must’ve brought someone with him. He knew who it was because of the smell that wafted to him from the crumpled pillow next to him, and he sighed.

Obviously he had not told her that they couldn’t see each other anymore. Was it make up sex? What had HAPPENED last night? He scoffed at himself, knowing that he always did stupid things when he’d had a few too many.

Suddenly a door opened and he heard footsteps approach, and there was Annabel, freshly wet from a shower, wrapped up in a white flannel dressing gown and looking remarkably ok for such a late night.

“Hey sleepy head.” She said and crept onto the bed beside him. “You hit the deck like a log when we got in last night.” She slipped a hand under the covers. “I had to undress you.” She said with a small grin.

Michael looked down at her and felt her hand make its way up his body until she was stroking his stomach. For someone so beautiful, so intelligent, she was often as cold as ice even when she was trying to be warm, and Michael knew that he could never love her. He knew he would have to end it.

“Where are we?” he asked and she laughed loudly.

“Yeah pull the other one Michael!” she said and grabbed his side in a tease.

Michael tried to put on his serious face and mean it as she tickled him. “No, Annabel, honestly. Where the hell are we?”

Her smile disappeared and suddenly a look of fear mixed with confusion was staring at him. “Las Vegas Michael. Where else?”

It was his turn to go deathly serious, and he didn’t even need to concentrate to keep it there. “What?”

“Last night at the party you asked me to marry you…” Annabel began and watched as Michael’s face went white. “You said we should go to Las Vegas that very instant and get married.”

Michael began shaking and pushed back the covers of the bed and stood up. It took him a moment before he realised that the room was spinning as he pulled on some boxers and a pair of jeans lain on the top of his bag.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What the FUCK had gone on last night?

“And…” he said slowly and watched as Annabel’s face became still and she looked down at the bed.

“And we got married Michael.”

It was like a slap in the face. This was NOT what Michael wanted, and somehow he felt as though he’d been cheated into it. What had he been thinking? Why would he have suggested such a thing? It didn’t seem real that he would want to marry someone like Annabel, not real at all!

She threw a piece of paper on the bed and Michael was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. “This is the certificate isn’t it?” he asked stupidly and knew it was even before she replied.

“What’s going on Michael?” she asked pointedly and he saw the hurt look on her face. For all of her intelligence she wasn’t clever, and he looked at her with suspicion in his heart. There were so many facets of Annabel that sometimes he felt like he was looking at one of those dressing room mirrors, each showing a different side to someone.

“I don’t know what has happened here Annabel, but it’s going to be rectified.” He said bluntly. “I did not intend, nor ever do intend on being married to you.”

He saw her take it in, saw her face change very quickly from soft to sharp and harsh features, and then the coldness he had always sensed with her wafted over him like an ice cool wave.

“Pardon?” she said bitingly.

“I don’t know how you did it Annabel, but somehow I got tricked into marrying you, and I never wanted you for more than physical reasons.” He shook his head. “I’m in love with someone else for Christ’s sakes, and you know that. Everyone knows that.”

“Then why did you ask me to marry you Michael? Why did you say “I Do”? Why did you sign the fucking certificate and then fuck me?”

Michael winced at the language pouring out of her and frowned at her. “If I did it was not of my own doing.” He said and she laughed coldly.

“If you’re going to deny sleeping with me Michael, you’d better try harder, because I have all the evidence I need to prove it happened.”

Michael scowled at her and, without meaning to, put his hands on his hips. “What, a bit of paper?” he asked scornfully.

Annabel laughed again. “You were quite keen on getting married Michael, and even keener to get out the camera and film us on our wedding night.” She said and motioned towards her bag. “Don’t worry about it though. I’ll look after the film.”

Michael grabbed her bag and pulled out the camera, hunting for the cassette. She laughed at him again as he rummaged, but couldn’t find the film.

“Michael I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t leave it lying around for you to find now would I?”

Michael looked down at this woman, this creature he hardly knew, and frowned. “What do you want from me Annabel? Money? A job? What is it you want?”

Annabel looked up at him innocently. “All I’ve ever wanted is you Michael. All I want from you is your love.”

Michael shook his head and it was his turn to laugh. “And you think by marrying me and blackmailing me you’re going to get that love?” he asked and she looked at him with a dangerous look in her eye.

“If I can’t have you Michael, no one will.” She said and continued looking at him coldly.

Michael felt something crawl over his skin and he felt goose bumps rise and the hair on his arms stand on end. This woman was chilling him to the bone. There was something not quite as tame here as he’d first expected.

“What is that supposed to mean Annabel? There’s such a thing as a divorce you know.”

Annabel smiled gently. “You wouldn’t divorce me. You’re not like that.”

Michael scoffed. “You really don’t know me at all do you?” he said and Annabel’s face looked confused.

“You don’t think I won’t get divorced from you?” he asked and laughed. “Annabel you’re a fool! You may have married me, and under whatever circumstances you thought you could do it, but I will never be yours, NEVER.” He stood up from the bed and began stuffing things into his bag. Then he picked up the marriage certificate and ripped it up in front of her face. “I will never LOVE you!” he shouted and made for the door.

Annabel got off the bed and lunged for his back, grabbing his hair and pulling him down onto the floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted at her and they struggled on the floor, but she was a lot stronger than he had ever realised and as she pulled them over, with her sitting astraddle him, she locked her thighs around his chest and rested her knees on his wrists, and grappled in her dressing gown pockets for something.

Michael squirmed and struggled, and almost succeeded in bucking her off of him when he felt something sharp penetrate his thigh and he looked up at the woman on top of him, her hair wild over her face and her eyes looking deep into his with triumphant satisfaction.

“Remember Michael,” she hissed, “if I can’t have you then no one will.”

And Michael struggled weakly until finally the black took him.