The hair on the back of Anita’s neck stood sentry as the music box tinkled in the stifling air. Each pin slowly plucked the steel drum, enhancing the terror of her surroundings. As the tune slowly wound down, Anita took in Lucy’s hopeful features, her eyes roaming over her clothes. The blonde wig, the old-fashioned clothing, and a little girl in search of her mummy… a spark of recognition lit in her brain. Could it be? She replayed a movie soundtrack in the confines of her mind. Lucy’s Christmas. Of course. She had watched it dozens of times. It was the music box that had put her off. The tune wasn’t the same. But it was close enough for her to recognise the meaning. Her pulse quickened. So this is what her captor meant. Images flashed in her mind, aiding her recollection. As if she herself was in a scene of a movie. But there was no kidnap scene involved. She had to find her own way out of that. ‘I remember,’ Anita said, her voice raking through her dry throat.
A raspy breath cooled her cheek. ‘Good. Then you’ll know what to say.’
The others could not have known what Lucy meant. And perhaps Lucy had set them up to fail all along. But as the music box was tightly wound for the second time the answers instantly appeared to Anita. For it was a movie she had cried over many times, her lips forming soundless words as she relayed each scene. Lucy’s eyes flitted up to the basement door which had been left tantalisingly open. Anita jerked against her bindings as Lucy looked away. But it was no use. She could barely move. Frustrated tears sprang to her eyes, and a sob escaped her throat before she could close her mouth to stop it. She hadn’t eaten a thing. Nor had she been allowed to use the toilet and had suffered the shame of warm urine trickling down the thin material of her jeans. Each moment of discomfort made her heart ache for Sophie. Where was she? And how was she coping? She would not survive much longer, if indeed she was alive at all. She had to face the truth. Help was not coming. It was up to her to break free.
Lucy’s eyes narrowed as she turned to face her. Her voice was churlish, spoken in a tone better suited to a sulking child. ‘You’re crying. Why are you crying?’
Anita sniffed, delivering a watery smile. ‘It’s because I’m so happy.’ Her heart faltered in the hope that she would be believed. Her voice was smooth, her words delivered in the same calm tones she had learned in her training as a counsellor.
Lucy regarded her for a few minutes before nodding her head and laying down the music box. It gave a little tinkle, the last strands of ‘Hush Little Baby’ echoing in their darkened chamber. Her blonde curls looked freakishly out of place, and now that her face was scrubbed clean Anita could see her for what she really was.
‘Are you ready to play?’ Lucy said, tongue darting across her teeth like an animal about to devour its prey.
Anita nodded. She knew what would happen if she got it wrong. She wanted to scream Sophie’s name, to know that her little girl was safe. She told herself that she was still alive. Their bond was strong, and in the depths of her being she felt her daughter’s life force pulsating faintly, just as it did when she was pregnant.
Her flesh and blood. Unlike the creature before her.
She stared at the back of Lucy’s head, sending invisible daggers of hate. There was something about their demeanour that told Anita this would not end well. The least she could do was to give herself a fighting chance as the final moments drew near. ‘Could you untie me? The woman in the movie was standing beside the tree; I think it would be better if we got it right, don’t you?’
Lucy frowned. Her childish voice dissipated as she spoke, and her tone was low and guttural. ‘You better not play any tricks. If you play tricks I’ll kill Sophie. I mean it.’
Anita’s heart pounded in her chest surging a shot of adrenalin through her veins. Her body was preparing for the fight, and she fought hard to portray an expression of calm. She was weak and dizzy and needed time to gather her strength. She made a silent vow. Once unbound, she would never allow Lucy to bind her again. ‘As I said, I’ve been waiting all my life to meet you. Why would I want to run away now?’
Lucy delivered a narrow-eyed glance. It was a look that said she was not so easily fooled, and she turned to delve her hand into the shoe box she had rested on the shelf.
Anita caught the glint of steel as Lucy drew near. It was a boning knife with a six-inch blade. Anita recognised it as she had a similar one at home. One she had lost. Or had she? Lately, things had been going missing, objects had been moved. She had thought she was going mad, but now… her eyes widened as Lucy approached. How many times had she been in her home before they met? Lucy’s eyes held a manic stare, her tongue darting from between her teeth to lick her lips once more.
‘Please don’t,’ Anita whimpered, as Lucy stood behind her; the cool blade kissing the skin on her wrists. Anita closed her eyes: blocking out the basement, the smells, and the lunatic tugging at her wrists… until all she could see was Sophie’s face. If she was going to die, she would take love with her in her final moments, not terror or despair.