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“HEY!” SHE CALLED. “HEY! You need to wake up now. We don’t have time for this.”
Shit, shit, shit.
The blow to the head she’d given him to keep him quiet had been too hard. Now what was she supposed to do? She’d reacted out of panic, of fear that whoever had been walking around upstairs would find them. Would the person come back? Had they heard anything suspicious? She thought she’d managed to silence him in time, but she had no way of knowing if the person had left because they’d done what they’d come here to do, or if they’d heard something and had decided to either come back with help, or else go to the police.
The constant sense of the trickle of time passing refused to leave her. It chewed at the edges of her mind like rats on a sack of corn, leaving her frayed and anxious. She paced the floor and nibbled on her lower lip, her fists clenching and unclenching. How was she supposed to fix this? Would more cold water to the face wake him?
She came to a rest in front of him again. Every muscle in her body was taut with tension, and an irrational anger bubbled up inside her. Though it wasn’t his fault he was unconscious, it still felt as though he was doing this purely to spite her. If he wasn’t aware of what was going on around him, she couldn’t even use the threat of more pain to get him to tell her what she needed to know.
Though it was of no use for the moment, she went to the small rucksack she’d brought with her. Crouching beside the bag, she undid the top and pulled out a notepad and ballpoint pen. It was the only way she could think of for him to tell her what she needed without allowing him to speak. She couldn’t let him talk. That was where the danger lay. But if she could break him enough to prefer to tell the truth, rather than use the freed hand to try to escape, he could write down what she needed to know.
With a sigh, she let the two items drop from her fingers, back into the bag. She wasn’t going to need them any time soon, not if he remained unconscious.
She had no choice but to try the water again. She had a second small bottle in her bag, but she hadn’t wanted to waste it by throwing it on him. Aware that this might take some time, she’d brought water and snacks for herself. She hadn’t wanted anything to drive her from this place until she’d got what she needed. There was a small toilet down here, so that wasn’t a problem for her. As for him, he could piss himself for all she cared, and it probably wouldn’t be long before he did exactly that.
With the second water bottle clutched in her hand, she got back to her feet. She cracked open the lid and exhaled another long sigh. She hadn’t considered how much this was going to take out of her. Exhaustion weighted her limbs and made her eyes heavy and sore. All she wanted was for this to be over.
“Hey,” she said again, raising her voice as much as she dared. “I don’t want to waste my water on your stupid face.”
There was no response. His breathing was shallow and ragged, his complexion pale, as though all the blood had sunk to his feet. His hands were still tied above his head, and she noted the tips of his fingers had turned a purple-blue, the nail-beds almost grey. Was his heart still pumping blood right around his body? At what point did gravity start to win?
She realised she’d just been standing there, staring, not acting, and shook herself from her thoughts. None of that mattered. She needed to focus.
“You’re making me do this,” she told him, even though he was unresponsive, and once more threw water in his face.
The water had the same effect as the previous time, jerking him into consciousness. His head rolled on his shoulders, and his eyelids flickered.
But then a strange noise came from deep inside his chest, and he started to retch.
She widened her eyes in horror, her understanding of what was happening sinking in. He was going to throw up, and right now he had a gag covering his mouth. If he was sick with that still blocking his airways, there was a good chance he’d either choke or he’d aspirate vomit, which would be just as deadly. She didn’t want to remove the gag, but she couldn’t have him dead, either. If he died, all hope would be lost.
With a cry of panic and fear, she dropped the bottle and ran behind him. The gag was tied at the back of his head, and her fingers shook as she worked the knot. His heaving body didn’t help, his movements pulling the gag out of her grasp.
“For fuck’s sake! Keep still!”
Finally, the knot came loose and she was able to yank the material away from his face. Just in time, as he retched a third time and his body was able to release what he’d been holding back. Watery vomit splattered the floor, splashing down his naked chest. She turned away, her wrist pressed to her nose, trying not to look. But she knew she couldn’t just leave him. Without the gag, he was dangerous.
“Please ...” He groaned, his eyes fluttering. “Don’t do this.”
She couldn’t risk him saying anything more. It looked as though he’d finished being sick. Working quickly, staying behind him to avoid the mess, she tied the gag back around his face, ensuring he wouldn’t be able to say anything more. The hit to the head she’d given him must have concussed him, which had caused the vomiting. The reasons behind it didn’t help anything, however. Now she had to deal with the result.
A few steps brought her back around the front of him again, though she was careful where she stood. The floor was covered, as was most of his chest and the front of his jeans. Having to throw up while your hands were still tied above your head obviously didn’t leave much room for the vomit to go.
She spun away, her hand clamped over her mouth as she fought against the urge to be sick as well. She took shallow sips of air, trying not to breathe through her nose, nor inhale too deeply. Now what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t stand to be down here with him like this. In the confined space, the air became permeated with the stink of vomit, and it wasn’t as though there were any windows she could open. The only way to let in fresh air was via the door, and she was terrified the visitor would come back.
Her anger grew again, the same impotent fury that she’d experience when he’d passed out.
“Look what you’ve done!” she raged. “Look at this fucking mess! Did you do it on purpose? Did you think this would help you get away? That maybe I’d take pity on you and move you somewhere else?”
He lifted his eyes to hers and they rolled in their sockets, showing white forked with blood.
“No!” she yelled. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare pass out again. I’ve been pretty patient up until now, but my patience is seriously running thin. If you want to make it out of here alive, stop fucking around and tell me what I need to know. Where is she? What did you do with her?”
But his eyes rolled again, and she knew she wasn’t going to get an answer out of him yet. Perhaps he was just that little bit closer to being broken. The fight had gone out of his eyes, and she hoped it wasn’t going to return.
She couldn’t spend much more time down here like this, however. The stink of vomit was overwhelming, and she fought against her own gag reflex, not wanting to add to the mess. She hoped he was a little closer to telling her the truth, but she didn’t think she could stand another minute down here, never mind an hour, or however long it was going to take.
She cast her gaze back to the stairs and the bolted door at the top. Did she dare try to sneak out and see if she could find a mop and bucket to clean up with? She’d be gone for less than a minute, and would come straight back in again. But it would mean she’d be leaving him alone. What if this was all a trick and he’d been hoping that by being sick she’d be forced to leave him unattended?
There was a second door in the room—the one that led to the small, windowless cloakroom. Perhaps there would be cleaning products in there. She didn’t think she’d seen anything when she’d last been in there, but she hadn’t been looking and so might have missed it. Feeling hopeful, she left the mess to go into the toilet. A string hanging from the ceiling worked the bare lightbulb, and she tugged it as she entered, flooding the small space with harsh illumination. She squinted—the light where she was holding him was far dimmer—but quickly her eyes adjusted. Was there anything here she could use? One half-used roll of toilet tissue was hooked on a metal holder attached to the wall, and beside the toilet, on the floor, was a bottle of bleach. Hopeful, she picked it up, but her insides sank again. The bottle was too light to contain anything substantial. Besides, she wouldn’t be able to make much of a dent in the mess with only a few sheets of toilet roll. She needed a mop and a bucket.
Would there even be one upstairs? It wasn’t as though this place was inhabited. But she didn’t think she had much choice other than to go and look. Staying down here, suffocating in the stink of sick, wasn’t even an option.
She left the toilet, tugging the string to turn off the light, and pulled the door shut behind her. She cast another glance over at the man. He was still conscious, but barely. With his hands tied to the hook in the ceiling, and how pale and weak he appeared, it didn’t look like he’d be making a break to escape anytime soon. If she was going to do this, she’d be better doing it sooner rather than later, before he had the chance to recover.
Not letting herself have the time to talk herself out of it, she hurried for the stairs. Her heart pattered, her breath shallow, not only from her anxiety but also trying not to inhale. The smell was a little better at the top of the stairs, but only just. She paused at the top, listening hard. There was a chance someone had come back during all the commotion, and she didn’t want to open the door and run straight into them.
As far as she could tell, all was quiet. With her heart in her throat, she pulled back the bolt. It opened with a crack, making her wince, but then she turned the handle and opened the door. Blessedly fresh air hit her, and she gulped it down, her eyes watering. But she didn’t have the luxury of enjoying being out of the claustrophobic, stinking place. She needed to move fast.
Slipping out of the door, she went down the wide hallway, past the kitchen, to where the utility room was located. There was a sink and a tall cupboard in the corner. She went to the cupboard first, pulling it open to reveal what she needed, a mop and bucket. Then she checked the cupboard under the sink to reveal an array of cleaning products.
She sighed in relief. While cleaning up someone else’s vomit was never her idea of fun, she was thankful for the products. She moved quickly, gathering up what she needed, resisting the urge to linger.
Being down there, with him, was necessary, but all she really wanted was for this whole thing to be over.