| |
––––––––
IT HAD TAKEN NUMEROUS fresh buckets of water, which she’d filled from the tap in the small cloakroom, emptying the dirty water down the toilet, before things had started smelling better again. She’d even taken some of the toilet roll and cleaned the sick off the man’s chest, knowing she was probably going to have to get physically close to him again sometime soon.
He was fully awake now and watched her movements with careful intensity. The anger had dulled from his eyes, though, and she was pleased about that. Now she saw wariness, fear, trepidation, and that meant her plan was working. It was better that he was frightened of her rather than the other way around. His fear meant he was starting to understand the lengths she would go to, and that none of this was a joke.
With everything cleared away and the door locked behind her, she stood back in front of the man. She was exhausted, and from the way he hung, his head barely lifted, she thought he was, too. If only he’d just break, and then this would all be over.
“I need you to tell me where she is,” she said.
He lifted his chin. Weariness haunted his eyes, dark coal smudges creating hollowed sockets.
“Tell me,” she repeated, “and this can all end.”
He sucked in a shaky breath through his nose. For a moment, she thought he was going to shake his head again, but then he nodded.
Elation rose inside her, wild and joyful. She resisted the urge to clap or punch the air. “Good,” she said instead. “Good. Let’s do this, then.”
Turning her back on him, she went to her bag and took out the pen and notepad. “This is how it’s going to work. I’m going to free one of your hands, and you write down her location. Once I’ve found her, I will tell the police where you are, and they will come here and arrest you. Understood?”
Something she couldn’t quite read ghosted across his features, unsettling her.
“If you try anything, just remember that no one knows you’re here. If you somehow hurt me, and you’re tied up, you could end up dying down here, with no one the wiser.”
This was dangerous. If she freed his hand to allow him to write, he’d be able to untie himself. No, she shouldn’t untie his hand fully. She could just loosen it enough to allow him to bend his wrist and hold a pen. Then she’d be able to hold the notebook beneath the pen, which would let him write the location. Even his hand being loose made her nervous. But he looked weak and drained, dangling there. She knew he was a dangerous man, but right now she was the one who had the power. She needed to remember that.
Taking a steadying breath, she stepped forward, closing the gap between them. The bitter tang of his body odour hit her nostrils, but at least the stink of vomit had lessened. She wouldn’t have been able to get this close to him if it hadn’t. She was weak and shaky, but she needed to hide how she really felt. He’d sense the weakness in her and use it to his advantage. She was all too aware of his size compared to hers, and even with his hands tied, and with a concussion and after suffering a beating, he could still overpower her physically.
At the last minute, she remembered the cane. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was all she had. She might need to use both hands to loosen the knot around his hands, but if she had the cane close, clamped under her arm or between her thighs, at least it would be on hand to use it if he tried something.
He watched her warily from the side of his eye as she approached, the cane clutched in one hand, the notepad and pen in the other. She just needed to be brave for a little longer. She’d already done the hard part. As soon as he wrote down the location, this would all be over.
Needing her hands free, and realising she wasn’t able to put anything under her arm when she had to reach up high, she stopped at his side and shoved the items she was holding between her thighs. She stood on tiptoes to access the rope around his wrists. He continued to glare at her, but she did her best to ignore him.
Just a little longer, and this will all be over. You will have saved a life.
It was going to be a delicate balance—loosening the rope enough to let him move his hand, without it being so lose that he’d be able to yank himself free. Her fingertips found the knots, and she picked away at the one holding his right hand to the metal hook in the ceiling.
She didn’t want it to come undone completely, terrified he’d swing his arm in a punch and send her flying, but it needed to be loose enough for him to have movement to bend his wrist and hold a pen.
The knot came free, and she allowed it to unravel the smallest amount, before yanking the ends tight again. The man struggled, pulling at his bonds, his body winding, serpentine, but she worked quickly and, as planned, hadn’t given him enough to do anything with. She put her feet flat on the floor then bent to extract the pen and notepad from where they’d been clamped between her thighs.
Adrenaline rushed through her veins, her mouth running dry. Her tongue felt thick and fat against the roof of her mouth, and she hated that she was going to need to get so close to him to get this done. He was already tall, and with his hands pulled above his head, she had to stand on tiptoes in order to bring the notepad into a position where he’d be able to write on the paper it contained. Her breasts pressed against the side of his ribcage, but she leaned back as much as she could, trying to put distance between his head and her own.
She put the pen between his fingers. “Don’t try anything stupid. Just write down where she is.”
From her position, she wasn’t able to see what he was writing, only the underneath of the notepad. But the pen scratched against the paper, the movements slow and deliberate, like a child newly started school, just learning to make lines and curves to create a snaky version of their name.
He stopped writing, though the pen was still gripped between his fingers.
With her heart pounding, she pulled down the notepad so she was able to read what he’d written. Finally, she’d find out what she needed to know.
Her gaze took in the words.
Crazy bitch. Fuck you.
Rage poured through her. “This wasn’t the deal!” she yelled, glaring at him. “Write it down, you fucking bastard. Write down what you did with her!”
She pushed the notepad back again, no longer paying attention to her position in relation to his. She was no longer at the side of him, but in front. She was focused on getting the notepad underneath the pen again, and for him to write down what he’d promised.
With a muffled growl, he dropped the pen, and instead of trying to yank his hands free, he reached up, catching hold of the hook he’d been tied to. He hauled himself up, the muscles of his arms and shoulders bunching, and lifted his feet off the ground. It all happened too fast for her to realise his plan, but she reacted, bending to grab the cane from between her legs, intending to hit him with it again, and bring him back into line. But he used the hold on the massive hook to swing his body, and before she could straighten with the cane, his booted feet were in the air and swinging directly towards her face.