The crimson pool on the floor by my feet is growing, the cut on my arm bleeding profusely and dripping onto it, a constant trickle of red liquid spreading and slowly congealing. It’s not a main artery. I’d be dead by now if that were the case, but it’s deep, folds of pink jelly-like flesh surrounding the wound. And it’s painful, a stinging, throbbing sensation that is making my eyes water. Just another injury to add to my ever-growing list. Another thing to slow me down when we finally make a run for it out of here.
My second attempt at climbing through the broken window was soon thwarted by a gouge from an unseen shard of glass as I reached out with my right arm to search for more drainpipes or lengths of guttering that would help us escape. It was pointless. There was nothing, only the old decayed one that had fallen away after my earlier attempts to climb it. It is now lying in pieces on the concrete path below.
I had let out a scream as the glass pierced my skin. And then came the blood. And the delayed wave of pain up and down my arm that sent me crashing to the floor with a shriek. The gloopy crimson blood. So much of it. It’s hard to believe it will ever stop.
‘Here,’ Izzie says, pulling off her fleece, ‘we can use this instead.’
She kicks away the lengths of blood-soaked muslin that did nothing to stem the bleeding and squats beside me. Wrapping the thickest part around the gaping wound, she uses the arms of the fleece to tie it.
‘As tight as you can,’ I say. ‘Like a tourniquet to help stop the bleeding.’
‘Is that okay?’ She is staring up at me, pity and fear in her expression. Fear at our current predicament and my injury, but more than that, fear at the fact we may never get out of here. It’s evident in her face: the way her eyes flick about, her body language, the weakness in her voice. I can see it in her, how she is beginning to fold under the pressure, her resilience and anger waning, replaced by a sense of hopelessness. She looks tiny, as if she has shrunk to half her usual size. Already slightly built, she now appears to be a slip of a thing. A helpless child.
‘I met her one day while I was out running,’ she says, her voice taking me by surprise. ‘We got chatting. It only happened once or twice. She said that she didn’t usually take the route I was on and that it was nice to meet somebody.’
Shock renders me silent. I nod, willing her to continue. I want to hear this. I need to hear it, to find out how we both ended up here, being held against our will. To discover that I wasn’t the only one caught out by her manipulative, wily ways, that I’m not the mug I thought I was for falling for it.
‘She seemed really nice. I didn’t realise it was her at first, when I woke up here. With the mask and everything, and then the shock, it took a little while for me to piece it all together in my head, but I’m certain of it now. As soon as she stopped trying to disguise her voice, I knew. I just knew…’
Tears spill out onto her face, a stream of them dripping down her cheeks, dripping onto her T-shirt. She sniffs and laughs, wiping them away with the back of her hand. ‘That’s why I’m wearing these.’ She points down to her Lycra trousers and top. ‘But I suppose that at least my fleece has come in handy, hasn’t it?’
I should laugh and manage to force a smile. I think I’ve forgotten how to be happy, how the sound of laughter feels in my throat, the noise it makes as it emerges out of my mouth unbidden, a reflex action to a humorous event or sentence.
‘The last thing I remember is me and her talking near the fence in the woods. She offered me a drink, told me it was the latest sports drink and would help combat my exhaustion. I’m new to running and believed her. Stupid of me. So stupid…’
‘And she drugged you.’ My voice is full of resignation and anger because I fell for it too. ‘Same here. We worked together in the same office. By the time I left work, I was already feeling a bit tired and woozy. She must have followed me, waited till I was ready to collapse, and then – well you know the rest.’
Izzie nods and I want to tell her not to be so hard on herself, that I thought I knew her, could count on her, that I’m fairly streetwise and even I succumbed to her nasty, scheming little tricks.
‘Maybe it’s true, what they tell you on the television,’ Izzie whispers reflectively, ‘that most crimes are committed by people we know. It’s not strangers on the street who do these kinds of things, it’s the people we think we can trust. They’re the ones we should be scared of.’
I stare at the recently applied fabric on my arm, praying it’s enough to stop the flow of blood. ‘She is a master manipulator. That’s how she got us here. Not because we’re stupid and she is more intelligent. It happened because we trusted her and she took advantage of that fact.’
We sit for a few seconds, digesting all this information, my mind wondering if I have the strength to cope with the idea of my own demise in this rotten place. I’m incredibly thirsty. I’m tired and hungry and I am also in a great deal of pain, but most of all, worse than all of those things, I am feeling stripped of my earlier feelings of optimism.
I think of my family, my mum and dad. Even Brett, for all of his faults. I’ve wondered if the police have questioned him over my disappearance, whether he has thought about me as much as I’ve thought about him. The boyfriend is almost always the first obvious suspect. I hope the police went easy on him. He’s a philanderer not a kidnapper or potential murderer.
I wonder if they are still out there, searching for me. For us. Surely Izzie going missing has sparked a bigger investigation. Or have they given up on us? Wherever they will have looked in my life, a work colleague is probably the last person they would expect to be involved.
‘My head really hurts.’ Izzie is leaning forward, her forehead resting against her open palm.
‘You’re dehydrated.’ My voice is flat and monotone. I don’t even try to dress up my anguish. No need for any pretence and no energy for it either. Maybe this is it – the end. Maybe my mind is shutting down, my expiry date imminent. Maybe I’ve come to accept my fate. No fight left in me, my resistance tapering off into nothing.
‘Fresh air,’ she says, her voice a thin whisper. ‘I need to get some fresh air.’
I watch her stand and move towards the window. She leans her head downwards, her nose poking through a small gap in the splintered glass. And then I hear the gasp.
My head thumps, my entire body throbbing with pain as I try to stand up to join her to see what she can see.
‘Down there!’ Izzie says, her voice cracking, raw emotion filtering through. ‘She’s down there. Can you see?’
I crane my neck and see a figure in the distance, still an unrecognisable hazy blur but it’s definitely a person and they’re heading this way, their arms pumping furiously at their sides. I slump down out of sight, pulling Izzie down with me, a million ideas and questions whirring around in my brain. My back is pressed up against the wall, the feel of the cold brick kicking some life into my weary bones.
‘This is it, Izzie. We have to get it right this time. This is our last chance. Mess it up now and we’ll be dead in a couple of days if we don’t get any fluid into our bodies, maybe even sooner.’
Her eyes are wide, her mouth and jaw quivering as she listens to me. ‘I’m really scared. What the hell are we going to do?’
‘We watch and wait until she opens that door and as soon as a crack of light appears, we pull it open completely and push her down the stairs. No hesitating this time, we just go for it.’ I’m hissing at her now, desperation spilling out.
I don’t know if it’ll work but it’s all we’ve got and I’m prepared to give it a go. I’m beyond attempting to cover up my fear to try and embolden Izzie. We’re in this together. Whatever we manage to do will be a joint effort. I’m going to give it my all and pray that Izzie is too.
‘But what about your arm?’ She is staring down at the blue fleece that is rapidly turning a dark, dirty shade of red as blood continues to leak through it.
‘I’ll worry about my arm,’ I say, my voice suddenly steady and calm at the thought of what comes next, the possibility that at last, this could finally be it. ‘You just concentrate on yourself and getting out of here.’
We creep towards the door, a definite shudder taking hold in my limbs, my guts swirling like a tidal wave crashing against the lining of my stomach. I tell myself to stop it, that we’re at rock bottom and have nothing to lose. Except our freedom. I shut it out, that negative whispering voice that is echoing around my brain. We’re currently at rock bottom. The next rung down this particular ladder is certain death and I will fight that option until the dark hooded spectre drags me away kicking and screaming.
Together, we crouch behind the door, breaths suspended, arms, bodies poised for action. A noise outside. Somebody getting closer, their footsteps becoming louder, heading up the stairs, the graceless clump of their footfall a reminder that it’s almost at an end. We can do this. Together, we can do this. I tell myself this over and over, a mantra on repeat in my head. No room for failure. Freedom is a hair’s breadth away. Just a hair’s breadth is all it is.
The sound of a key turning. A twist of the handle, a deep groan as the door moves a fraction. I eye Izzie and nod, our bodies arched, hands outstretched, legs bent and ready to run and push her backwards down those stairs.
One, two, three.
We move together, our hands hitting the silhouetted figure in the chest with full force as we run and push. She topples backwards, her body bouncing off the walls, limbs flailing. The sound of a deep groan as she lands at the bottom with a crash. Then nothing.
And suddenly, the jumbled clatter of our feet as we half throw ourselves down the stairs, my legs weak and unsteady. Whether it’s the shock or dehydration or blood loss or perhaps a combination of all three things, I feel horribly sick and dizzy and have to stop to catch my breath, my hand resting against the wall for balance.
‘Deborah?’ Izzie is watching me, her hand reaching out to hold me up.
I willingly take it, wrapping my fingers around hers to keep myself upright. With my foot, I nudge at the body lying near my feet, pushing at it until it turns over and I can see their features clearly.
Merriel’s eyes are closed, a trickle of blood coming out from one of her nostrils.
‘Look! Over there.’ Izzie is pointing out of the open door that leads out on to the field.
Yvonne is running over towards us, her slim shape edging closer and closer. I keep hold of Izzie’s hand and step out into the daylight.