Monica’s head jerked upwards as she inhaled a sudden breath. A wave of revulsion passed over her as she gagged on the rag tied over her mouth. Her eyelashes were clotted together with the mascara she had applied that morning, and she blinked hard to separate them. A sudden searing pain jackhammered from the back of her skull. She tried to touch her head, but her limbs were immobile. Were they numb? She jerked her wrists, but they were bound so tightly her fingers felt frozen. Panic and confusion flooded through her. She wriggled her toes, but they were bound at the ankles. A muffled whine escaped her lips. The lights of a Christmas tree blinked in the gloom, and the smell of ammonia rose from the floor and wrapped itself around her. The pain in her head, the stomach-churning smell, it was some kind of nightmare. It had to be.
She willed herself to awaken and find herself in bed with her husband, their limbs entangled under her crisp white duvet. He would bring her coffee and croissants hot from the oven, and tell her about his conference. But each inhalation defied the dream, bringing her deeper into the bowels of a nightmare. Instinct drove Monica to scream for help, but the sudden intake of stale air through her nostrils made her gag even more. Just what had she been doing to end up in this place? An image flashed before her mind; she was painting her nails because her husband was due home that night. Then the doorbell rang. What was that woman’s name? Lucy. She knew there was something weird about her, and yet she allowed her inside. Of all the stupid… why had she let her in? The last thing she remembered was showing her out in the hall… A pang of fear stabbed her heart. Had Lucy taken her captive because she rejected her? Wherever she was, Monica knew this was bad. Very bad.
Her wrists chafed against the binding, and her whole body ached. She was barefoot: her feet tied to the base of the chair with some kind of plastic rope. Wriggling her ankles, she loosened them enough to dig her toes into the soft black soil underfoot. Why had the makeshift floorboards been pulled up? Just what lay in the dirt underneath? She peered around the room, disorientated by the flashing lights. A grimy steel tap dripped water into a porcelain sink; on the walls – she squinted – were they tools? Was she in a workshop of some kind? Or was it something far worse? As the lights flashed on she made out the outlines of a hammer and a hacksaw. Her breath was coming faster now, wetting the gag bound hard around her parted mouth. Her saliva intermingled with the crusty fabric, and a sickly rusty tang filled her mouth. The same taste you got when you bit your lip when it was bleeding.
Realisation dawned on Monica. It was blood. But was it hers or someone else’s? She groaned, and the sound echoed around the dank room, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. Was she alone in this place? Her eyes rolled upwards to the single light bulb encased in a netting of cobwebs. Focus, she thought, trying to listen out for sound. She could not afford to panic; this was about survival. She pushed away the thoughts too terrifying to comprehend, grasping at her most recent memory instead. Just who was Lucy? She didn’t even know her surname. She replayed their conversation, closing her eyes to ease the throbbing pain in her skull. With hindsight, her reaction could not have been worse. Confessing that she had not enough time for an abortion was not the appropriate response to the daughter she gave up for adoption. But she was only being truthful, and she had presumed that, at her age, the woman would have got over it by now. Obviously not.
Tears rolled down Monica’s face as she thought about the life she had worked so hard to build. Her career, her home, her marriage: they had not come easy, and things were finally getting on track. The last argument she’d had with her husband was about them having a child together. He was unaware of Lucy, and she had not given her a moment’s thought. She was far from the maternal type, and never imagined her past would come back to haunt her in this way. Monica drew back in horror as the fairy lights illuminated the stains on the wooden floor. Whatever this place was, Lucy had no intention of letting her go. Her heart hammered in her chest as hysteria took control. She bit down hard on the gag and screamed.