#oldstories

Patsy, Duke, and Buchanan Hall

How could you not possibly like a local place, where both Patsy Cline and Duke Ellington have performed in the past? Buchanan Hall, a small venue just down the road in Upperville, VA, hosted both of those greats during it’s storied past. The best part? The Hall continues as a focus for music and good times today with their weekly Farmers Market. Buchanan Hall has existed since the late 1920s,…

“I know you hate life darling, but thats why I am here.” He traveled half way across the world to meet her in her homeland. She was nervous, but he was right. In the last couple years she had lost her friends. She was in university but classes were kicking her ass. That, combined with the recent issues with her family, threw her in a downward spiral that only seemed to get worse.

And here he was. In a coffee shop just a few from her home, offering to get rid of all of that. “I have two first class tickets back to America, and I want you to come with me. I have the money to take care of you. You won’t need a job, won’t need school.” He grabbed her hand and she felt safe. He really cared about her.

“Now, when your visa is up, I know you won’t want to go back, and I want to help hide you. But that means we can’t go through the airport together, and you have to leave any electronics here.” She looked down at her phone and he let her think. Her friends hated her. Her family was always fighting and never really reached out unless they needed her. She really didn’t interact with anyone anymore, and if she did she could just log on to her social media over there. She nodded. “Ok.”

He smiled “Very good. You have two days to pack. I can help if you wish.” She nodded with a smile.

Two days later he plopped down into the seat next to her on the plane. He barely acknowledged her, but she knew it was for the best. She had two suitcases, plus his, packed with clothing and small trinkets to remind her of home.

Her six months were amazing. They went out constantly on dates, out to bars, picnics, restraunts, and as many places as possible where they needed ID. He informed her how she wouldn’t be able to show her identification after her visa expired. Not only did he take care of her, buying her food, cooking occasionally, letting her live in his massive house, but he also lavishly spoiled her. They had hot passionate sex, and she couldn’t think of a place in his house they hadn’t fucked. She was living her best life.

A week after her visa expired, he woke her with a soft kiss on the lips. He was never the one to get up first, it was suspicious, but he seemed excited. He led her outside and to a cellar door she had never spotted before. He brought her down and entered a cold concrete room, sealed shut with a prison-like metal door. Inside was a bed, and little else.

He brought a chain down from a loop in the ceiling and opened up thick metal cuffs. “Wrists.” He said, his voice still soft.

“What are you doing?” She asked, her voice still filled with early morning confusion.

“Wrists.” He repeated, his voice unwavering.

She sighed and held out her wrists, only for them to be wrapped in the cold thick steel. Not a second passed before he yanked on the other end of the chain, walking towards the door. She was pulled to the center of the room.

“Hey! What are you doing! Stop!” She squeeled, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

He continued to pull until she was hoisted off her feet, her weight resting on her wrists. He hooked the chain into the wall. A knife seemed to magically appear in his hands as he walked towards her, circling her as he dragged the tip against her bare abdomen, around her sides, and up her back.

“You want me to stop? I’ll gladly hand you over to immigration. Let you get deported and rot in jail.” His blade flicked backwards and her shirt fell forward, and just before she could say anything, he sliced off the arms of the shirt, knicking the back of her biceps, and watched as the shirt fell to the ground and exposed her bare back.

The knife danced on her back, making her jerk as he etched the small cuts of a design she couldn’t see into her back. She was stuck. No phone, no internet, no family, not even the government would help her. What other choice did she have?

“We are going to work really close together. Once you are nice and trained, you earn that bed over there.” His knife slid down the back of her legs, this time stinging much more.

She couldn’t help but cry. What more could she do? No words would help. As he stepped around her and collected her clothes from the ground, her sobbing dropped her head to see the blood trickle down the back of her legs to hit the cold floor.

He left the room with her clothes and came back with a bullwhip. “You know how much I love you, princess. And how much it hurts me to see you hurt. But I need to hurt you worse than you can imagine, so you know what I can do. Otherwise you won’t listen.”

Last week it rained pretty heavily one day. Late at night I took Carmen out to do her business and it was still raining. I grabbed one of our umbrellas and as I opened it, thought of Grandma Grubaugh. I’d given her the umbrella as a young man. It returned to me when she passed away.  I remember as a child, we kids would give Grandma and Grandpa Grubaugh some sort of homemade Christmas gift, or…