Death did not come as Anita expected. The tugging sensation lasted seconds as her bindings snapped against the pressure of the knife. First her wrists, then her ankles. It took a few seconds for full feeling to return, and as Lucy stood over her, knife in hand, she knew it would not pay to aggravate her captor.
They regarded each other with suspicion as Anita forced out a ‘thank you’, rubbing the redness from her torn wrists. She wanted to cry, but she had to hold it together because there was still a faint hope of escape. Lucy’s eyes never left hers as she took her place beside the tree, waiting for one false move.
‘Well, come on then, time to begin,’ Lucy said, still gripping the knife.
Anita rose, feeling like something from an old zombie movie as she hobbled, stiff and erratic, towards the tree. One foot in front of the other, she thought, resisting the temptation to glance up at the open door. Freedom was so close she could taste it, but she was not strong enough to run. Not yet. Her jeans had dried of their own accord, and the damp canvas swished as it rubbed against her thighs. Hunger consumed her. Her parched throat cried out for water, but, most importantly of all, she needed to find her daughter. Lucy grinned lewdly as Anita pretended to admire the decorations so carefully applied.
It was only then that Anita noticed the painstaking attention to detail. Shiny baubles, tiny wooden rocking horses, and glossy candy canes; they all graced the bent-up branches of the cheap synthetic tree. Anita imagined the previous victims cloaked in terror and confusion as they tried to understand their task. She suppressed a shudder. It was too late for them now. She had to focus on saving Sophie.
It was just her and Lucy now, whoever or whatever Lucy was. Anita was a naturally compassionate person, but she had carefully removed any remnants of pity for her captor. It was the only way if she was to kill without mercy in order to survive. She was confident there was nobody else involved. Lucy had made it very clear that she wanted it to be just them.
Lucy smiled that lewd grin as she fingered the decoration. There was a thirst behind her eyes and a storm cloud passed her face as light and dark battled for supremacy. Anita averted her gaze as panic rose in her chest, crawling like a long-legged spider up her throat and threatening to release the scream she had been suppressing since she awoke. She pressed her fingernails into her palms. If it were just her she might accept her fate, but the involvement of her daughter was something entirely different. She had allowed this woman into her home. And she would be the one to end this.
‘It’s almost Christmas,’ Lucy said, staring at the tree.
Anita touched the wiry green branches and smiled. Lucy was still holding the knife, and she wondered if she was waiting for the excuse to plunge it in her chest. ‘Yes, it is, and I’m so excited to be spending it with you.’
‘But what if Santa doesn’t bring me what I want, Mummy?’ Lucy’s knuckles whitened as her grip on the knife grew tighter.
The music box played eerily in the dim light. Like Lucy, it was off kilter, but Anita did not miss a beat as she recited her lines. Eyes shining, she stared at Lucy, praying that behind the ghoulish smile and freakish wig there lay a spark of compassion. ‘Do you hear that? I played it the night you were born. I promised you the world. And it’s time to keep my promises.’ She paused, placing her left hand on Lucy’s shoulder, just like they did in the movie scene.
Anita’s face creased in a smile as she delivered the last line. ‘My car’s waiting outside, sweetheart. You’re coming home with me.’ The music box wore down and came to a halt. Anita had delivered the line word for word. Lucy’s expression was one of wonder. Anita’s heart hammered as she considered her options. What now?
‘You did it,’ Lucy whispered, her mouth open in amazement. With icy fingertips she reached out and touched Anita’s face. It was as if she had never considered what to do when she got this far. ‘You actually did it.’
‘Of course I did, because every time I watched this movie I thought of you. Were you watching it too?’ Anita said, but her words were mechanical as fear robbed her voice of its empathy.
‘Yes, I was.’ A shadow crossed Lucy’s face and she narrowed her eyes. ‘Why did you give me up? You said I meant the world to you and you wanted us to be together; so why did you give me away?’
Anita’s glance flicked from Lucy to the knife which she was now clutching tightly to her chest. Was she imagining it or did Lucy seem disappointed because she had passed the test?
‘I was fifteen when I got pregnant. Mum had died the year before and Dad wasn’t coping. The first night I brought you home he threw you onto the bed because you were crying. He could have killed you. He had a terrible temper when he drank, and I could put up with him hurting me, but not my little girl. So I gave you up to keep you safe.’
Anita sighed as she recounted the fake story, hoping she was delivering a convincing performance. The reasons behind the adoption were personal and not to be shared with the monster she had come to hate. She blinked twice, conscious of the passing seconds as her daughter lay alone. ‘You were so beautiful, a perfect child. It was the best chance you had of living in a normal, happy home. But I never stopped hoping that you would come knocking on my door. And now here you are.’
‘Here I am,’ Lucy echoed, but her expression was vacant as she withdrew into herself.
Anita had dealt with many disturbed people and she recognised the signs. Lucy was totally unpredictable and could react without warning. Anita glanced from the knife to the door, her heart sinking. It took all of her strength just to stand. The time it would take for her to reach the stairs would not ensure her safety. But how long was Lucy going to continue with this charade? She could not afford to wait hours, days or weeks for this game to reach a conclusion. Perhaps it was revenge for years of abuse; a way of killing her mother for surrendering her to the wolves all those years ago. Anita knew deep down that it was not going to end well, because she could see that a part of Lucy relished the kill. She had no intention of returning her daughter to safety as promised, or of setting her free. Because, despite Lucy’s twisted desperation to recreate an idyllic family scene, in the real world, dreams didn’t always come true.
‘Lucy,’ Anita said, bringing her thoughts back, ‘I need to use the toilet. Can you show me where it is?’ She longed to escape the stench of the pit they were in and raked in a breath as anxiety pressed down hard on her chest.
‘Do you like the decorations? They’re pretty aren’t they, especially these baubles,’ Lucy said, touching them gently.
Fear tightened its hold, and Anita’s chest heaved as the warm birth of panic made itself known. Slipping the glass bauble from the tree, she held it up under the light. ‘I like this one the best. See how it sparkles, just like the one in the movie.’
Anita allowed it to slip through her fingers and fall on the floor. She knew it would provoke anger, but just a few seconds of distraction was all she needed to make her escape. It was now or never. Because she knew that Lucy would never let her go.
‘What have you done?’ Lucy said, bowing her head to stare at the bauble, which had broken into a hundred pieces against the wooden floor.
Drawing up all of her strength Anita brought forward her knee, smashing Lucy hard in the face. A strangled scream erupted as cartilage cracked upon impact. The clang of a knife reverberated in the room as she dropped the implement, clutching at her bleeding nose. Staggering back, her legs buckled, making her cry out as she hit her head against the floor. With shaking limbs Anita darted for the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Slamming the door behind her, she swivelled her head left and right, limbs shaking, eyes straining against the natural light. Just as she had imagined, she had been held captive in somebody’s home. The scent of disinfectant overpowered her senses, but it was a blessed relief compared to what she had been forced to endure below. ‘Sophie, where are you?’ Anita cried, barely recognising the sound of her own voice as it rebounded around the cluttered rooms.
A cat mewed on the landing, curling its tail around her legs. Anita drew away, clouded in confusion. Here in the midst of all this horror was a family pet. A symbol of everyday life, out of place with the monstrosity of the situation.
She glanced at the back door: the promise of freedom so close to hand. But she was not leaving without her daughter. Lucy said Sophie was asleep. She had to be upstairs. Stumbling into the hall, she forced her legs up the narrow stairs. If she could just grab Sophie and run there was still time to get away. Turning left and right, she flung open doors, peering inside each room before moving on. Hot press, bedroom, bathroom. With each empty room her despair mounted, until she came to the last door on the right. Her eyes fell on the protruding metal padlock. For once, luck was on her side. It wasn’t locked. A cry of relief rose from her throat as she threw it on the floor.
Slamming back the door, her jubilance was short-lived as she caught sight of the small figure on the single bed. ‘Sophie,’ she cried. ‘Oh my baby, what has she done to you?’ Relief and anger rose in equal measures. The cheap grey tracksuit Sophie was wearing was bulked at the crotch from the nappy underneath, and a thin layer of sweat glazed her brow. ‘Mummy’s here,’ Anita cried, laying the tips of her shaking fingers onto her daughter’s face. She was still alive; there was still time. Slowly she peeled back the plaster holding the drip in place. But as she did so the image of a face fell into her peripheral vision.
Heart hammering, Anita glanced to the side, a cold trickle of fear encasing her in an icy grip. It was not a person, but an array of wigs on styrofoam heads. Her lungs expelled the breath she was holding as she peered at the dresser to her right. Eyeshadows, foundation, perfume; every spare inch was covered with make-up and jewellery of varying colours and brands.
Above them, a dozen photos were sellotaped to the mirror. It was her: walking to school with Sophie, driving the car, and even in the supermarket on the weekly food shop. Time stood still as Anita glared in disbelief. The creak of a floorboard brought with it a renewed sense of urgency, and she babbled nonsensically, kissing her daughter’s cheek as she scooped her up from the bed.
Sophie was alive, but for how long? She had to get out before her legs gave away. She turned for the door, fear slicing through her like an icy spear. But it was not a wig that made her recoil in horror. It was the person in the doorway, standing with their fists clenched.
‘Help me,’ Anita whispered, clinging to her child with the last of her strength. But as the stranger advanced upon her Anita knew that help was very far away.