The Contra

By Rebecca Palmer

Missing. Lost. Dead?

People go missing every year. More than 600,000, in fact. Sometimes they are found. Sometimes, so much time goes by that people eventually give up. They must be dead. They’re gone. Vanished.

Where do they go?

Tess is one of those 600,000 people. Except she is not dead. Not lost. Tess has been taken.

Plucked from her taken-for-granted life and thrust into an impossible place, she must adapt to survive.

Is she trapped forever... or can she escape from The Contra?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Sep 3, 2022

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Jigsaw

Sometimes, it appears that you have all the fundamental sections in your life which should make you complete: a house, a husband, good friends, a supportive family, and the perfect job—yet still there’s something missing. Almost like a young child faced with their future as a series of jigsaw pieces they must collect and slot into place along the way; although I was lucky enough to have all of my pieces, the picture I was presented with when my jigsaw was finally complete appeared bland. It was not exciting. Somehow, there was still something missing, I just didn’t know what.

My job, my husband, my family, all the major things in my life which I somehow cast aside and deemed as being not that important in relation to ‘finding myself’—I now realise they were the best things in my life until I neglected to appreciate them. The picture on my jigsaw only looked bland because that was the way I chose to see it. Others would have found my jigsaw exhilarating; others would have envied my complete jigsaw as they scraped to find even one piece of theirs.

It’s been five days since they took me here. I have to admit it is truly beautiful, and there appears to be no conflict or war. It feels like I’ve left my world where things were like Desperate Housewives on a daily basis to stepping onto the set of High School Musical. Everyone has a cheesy smile on their face and, God forbid, people even break into song at least twice a day, with everyone joining in like some bizarre kind of cult. Cult. That’s a good word for it. I feel like an outsider here. I’m told I will get used to it. I’ve been provided with my new ‘home’ and people keep smiling and waving at me as if they’ve known me for years. I believe I’ve cried enough tears these past few days than all these people here combined have cried in years.

On arrival to this strange and unfamiliar place, I was presented with five pairs of the ghastliest large frilly knickers and two identically hideous bras, which resembled maternity bras as opposed to the lace lingerie I was used to back home, alongside two towels and a notebook. I wasn’t entirely sure what the notebook was initially for; however, an old and overly happy woman told me it was to ‘write down my thoughts and feelings’. Initially I thought how this was a rather odd thing to be presented alongside clean underwear and towels. Then again what wasn’t odd about this place? I understand now that perhaps the notebook was their way of trying to give you some sanity through a safe space—the only space—to express your true feelings.

I am aware that I have jumped ahead of myself, but I suppose that’s what I’ve always done in life. I was never one of these kinds of women to live in the moment; everything had to be pre-planned and booked. Spontaneity just wasn’t my style. From a young girl I had my whole life mapped out. I would go to university, fall in love, get the perfect job, and marry my perfect man. They were my pieces of the jigsaw. I went to a fantastic University, studied Law, met Jake in my second year, and we married at the age of twenty-five, just three months after I graduated. I enjoy helping people complete their jigsaws. Or should I say enjoyed. My never-ending optimism seems to be vastly running out in this place. It’s my job to create solutions for people, to be able to see the bigger picture and create resolutions, and for the first time in my life I’m struggling to see any solution or plausible explanation for what has occurred in these past five days.

Here’s my story.

Chapter 2

Day One

A Friday afternoon. I always took Friday afternoons off so I could do the food shopping and meet for a Costa with my friends Sophie and Avril. It had been our tradition for as long as I could remember. I ordered a caramel latte as always, we moaned about life as always, then once back home in my modestly sized three-bedroomed detached house, I changed into my pink gym wear and went for a jog. As always. And that’s where it happened. I remember running down Butt Lane, through the park connecting the two villages and that’s it, that’s where my memory completely disappears. The next thing I remember I was sat in a white armchair, in a small room completely made of white. White floors, white carpet, white furniture. For a second, I thought I’d gone to heaven. I know what you’re thinking, how can you know exactly where you are at one moment, then all of a sudden be in a room you do not recognise? How is that even possible? I had no idea.

After realising that I wasn’t religious and so couldn’t be in heaven, my second thought was that I was in some kind of hospital and must have collapsed in the park or something. I glanced down at myself and soon ruled that out when I realised that I was still in my freshly laundered, pink gym wear. I glanced at my watch and realised it was missing, so was my wedding ring. That’s when panic began to set in. Had I been mugged? Assaulted?

I rose from the chair, and as I did so an alarm rang. I say alarm, but it was more like one of those annoying TV advert jingles that get stuck in your head for days. I realised there was no window, so I walked hesitantly towards the door but after just two small steps the door was flung open. A woman, completely immaculate and also dressed solely in white, glided into the room. She smiled in a way in which I can only describe as creepily. Her eyes looked me up and down, and I just stared there, gobsmacked, unable to quite believe what I was seeing. Then it hit me, I was dreaming. I must have been dreaming. After a very long four minutes or so passed she walked towards me and grasped my hands, gazing into my eyes, unblinking. I flinched and moved backwards. I didn’t like to be touched. Especially by some strange woman who looked like she was wearing my great grandmother’s nightgown in the middle of the afternoon.

Jane. She suddenly stated in a high-pitched, sing-song voice which you’d expect from a six-year-old rather than a forty-something-year-old. I stared at her for a few seconds before responding.

Erm… No. My name… it’s Tess. Her smile suddenly disappeared at this statement.

No, child, now you are Jane. Bra size? I felt my jaw drop open. Was this woman for real? I watched her cross the room and open the white closet which was so small and blended in so perfectly to the wall behind it I hadn’t noticed it previously. Without waiting for my response, I could see her grabbing things from the wardrobe. That’s where she presented me with the terrifying elasticated knickers and the two bras. White of course.

Please correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m guessing you’re a 34B, child? Then, without waiting for a response, she attempted but failed, to grab my hand again and stated, this way, child. I didn’t know what scared me the most, the fact that I had no idea where I was, the fact that I kept getting called child when I was well into my twenties, or the fact that she had accurately guessed my bra size yet failed to present any rational explanation as to my current location or the reason for being where I was. My bewilderment at the situation deemed me silent as I felt my vocal cords being strangled by some invisible force. She led the way out of the room and what stood before me was the most peculiar scene I had ever come across. It turned out that the white room wasn’t part of a house as I’d automatically suspected, but rather a singular room stood in the middle of a field. I say field, but the grass was so perfect it looked like somebody had measured each blade and cut it slowly and accurately by hand. On the grass were approximately thirty people, standing in neat lines all with beaming smiles on their faces, dressed identically in pale colours with floral designs or smart trouser suits. I stopped dead. What the… Where was I?

Come, child. I felt her hand push me on my lower back, encouraging me forward. My feet felt like concrete, resisting her encouragement. She did a sweet, sickly cough as if to get everybody’s attention. Not that this was particularly necessary considering everyone was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Every single person was staring at me. I suddenly felt very hot. My gym clothes were sticking to me. They felt suffocating. Restricting.

This is Jane, everybody.

Tess, I muttered, correcting her under my breath.

I expect you’ll all ensure she settles in nicely and—

- wait what? Settle in? What does that mean? Where am I? It felt that no one could hear me, everyone was staring at me, smiling at me, the occasional person waving, but it felt as if I’d suddenly became mute. Waves of panic began to sweep over me, yet I was still attempting to process what was actually happening.

---

A young male, around the age of twenty, broke free from the lines of people on the perfect grass and walked towards us: slowly, and purposefully. His blue eyes glistened so brightly they looked Photoshopped, and his teeth so white they wouldn’t have looked out of place in the white room. He was undeniably handsome, in a Ken doll kind of way.

Jane, this is Timothy, he will show you your home, I’m sure you will find it most comfortable. She turned to walk away, making it obvious that she wasn’t about to offer any further explanation.

My home? What are you talking about? Where am I? Anger boiled inside me combining with panic like poison, desperate to escape. Listen to me! I suddenly yelled, in a voice so alien to me it shocked me, at her turned back. She stopped in her tracks, and slowly, too slowly, turned around with that same false smile glued to her face. It made me want to smack her.

Now, now, child. We do not accept anger or violence amongst The Contra. This is your first warning. Now, Timothy, please show Jane her home. I stared at her. First warning? What did that mean? What had she called this place? The country? Well, looking around I couldn’t see any sheep. In fact, glancing around all I could see was the white room with all these smiling, far too happy people lined up as if they were going to war in Disneyland high on drugs. I was aware that I had asked the question ‘where am I?’ three times so far and to my dismay I had failed to get any sort of answer.

Jane? Would you like to follow me? I spun round to see this Timothy smile ridiculously at me just like the rest of them, yet somehow, his smile didn’t appear as creepy as the others. More natural.

My name is Tess! I moaned in complete exasperated disbelief. I ran my hands over my face, a pain pulsating in my temples. Timothy began to walk towards the white room which we had just left, and relief flooded over me. Maybe this was where my strange dream was going to end. Any moment now Jake was going to wake me up, and he would laugh hysterically as I told him about all these weird people and the little, tiny details like the perfectly cut grass, then I would go downstairs to make breakfast before spending the whole Saturday together. As always. But that didn’t happen.

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Timothy led me behind the white room where a bright—and wait for it— white locker of about six foot was placed against the wall. He opened it and provided me with a handful of white fluffy towels. I decided I needed to change my action plan in order to get any answers. I was well known for my flirting abilities. I had no doubt that this boy wouldn’t be immune to them. Whilst his back was turned closing the locker door, I quickly licked my lips and pulled down my top a couple of inches to ensure he caught some cleavage. I touched his arm gently and softened my voice.

Timothy, hi, I’m Tess. I was wondering, please could you pinch me really hard so that I wake up from this crazy dream?—In fact, could you hit me really hard? That would possibly be more effective and probably quicker. His lips curled, and I could tell instantly he was smothering a laugh.

I’m sorry, Jane, I can’t tell you anything. Although I was incredibly frustrated, I sensed something in his eyes, almost sympathy combined with a sort of desperation. It was difficult to describe. He ran his fingers through his hair, which I decided was far too blond to be natural, and then tilted his head, indicating that we should be walking towards the woods. As we walked, I stole a glance over my shoulder to see if everyone was still stood in their places. Sure enough, no one had moved.

Weird, I muttered. I saw Timothy’s lips twitch again. We walked in silence for about ten minutes. So many questions were flying through my head at once and colliding that I struggled to verbalise them or categorise them in any such way. All of a sudden, Timothy spun round, his smile dropped.

Jane, we have approximately two minutes where there’s a blind spot in the cameras, we must keep walking else they will know something is wrong. Listen closely. You must do everything they say; you must abide by their rules. You’ve already been given your first warning. You need to trust me. I’m telling you all this because I wish someone had told me when I first arrived here. His eyes glared into mine. willing me to understand.