Chapter 22

Rigid with fear, she lay silent—her eyes gummed tight with the remnants of dried blood, gaffer taped at the wrists and ankles. Maria tried to pull her legs towards her but the effort was too much for her—she relented.

Tears formed then started to flow as she recalled how he’d returned home and found her packing, flying into a rage within what seemed like seconds. That look in his eye, she knew then that he’d kill her.

She thought he’d never stop as his hands tightened around her throat, squeezing the life from her. She could feel herself drifting away, the darkness all-consuming.

The dimmed light from the hallway leaked into the garage, allowing just enough illumination to get her bearings. As she turned her head, a bolt of fresh pain seared through her damaged nerve endings. She wiped at her eyes with her bound wrists, the tape scraping against her skin. She had to remain strong, she could still make it, she had to believe.

Maria began to bite and tear at the tape. She rolled over on to her front, pulling herself along the dusty, cold concrete, her elbows scuffing against the floor, desperate to drag her battered body to the tool racking system that Garrett had been so OCD about installing. There had to be something there. Garrett was always tidying, a place for everything, neatly labelled and secured away. Surely to God there’d be a saw, or a box cutter knife, anything to cut through the tape. She shuffled along deeper into the darkness. It was futile, Garrett had left nothing at the bottom level except for old paint tins and discarded remnants of wallpaper, and the odd paint roller and a selection of hardened brushes.

Maria fought against her own frustration—she wanted to cry out and call for help, but the risk was too great. Closing her eyes, she hung her head fighting back the tears. There had to be another way.

She looked back to the internal garage door, it was a long shot, but maybe she could make it along the hallway to the front door and raise the alarm.

Where the fuck was Mrs. Johnson, the neighbourhood busybody, when she needed her?

The adrenaline surged as Maria began to push forward on her elbows and knees, ignoring the pain as the uneven concrete ripped into fresh skin.

Excited voices from the kitchen forced her to reconsider. They were getting closer; maybe Garrett had brought in help to finish the job. Maria turned, scrabbling back towards the polythene. Then out of the corner of her eye something caught her attention. She squinted against the low light. She hadn’t imagined it, a glint of something under the racking system. She reached in, pulling out a broken pair of black handled decorating scissors.

The voices were louder, advancing ever closer towards the garage. Maria scudded along the remaining distance to the sheeting and buried herself in the polythene. She held her breath, clasping the scissors between her bound wrists, vowing to stab the first bastard that dare try to lay a finger on her.