Rebecca sat in the dark, her head throbbing and her hands tied securely to a pole in front of her. It took her a few minutes to remember what had happened. The last thing she remembered was trying to run and cold, sharp rocks beneath her cheek.
Beneath her now was dirt. Tilting her head back carefully to try to lessen the insistent pounding behind her eyes and the nausea in her stomach, she could make out the high tin roof above her. As her eyes got used to the dark, shadows began to take shape and she made a better assessment of her location: she was in a storeroom of some kind, or a shed.
She slowly got to her knees, barely maintaining a tenuous hold on her stomach contents. Her hands were secured around a pole that went from the floor to the roof, with no hope of sliding her tied hands up and over. In fact, they were tied quite tightly and she was unable to move them freely in either direction.
She struggled for a while, tugging and pulling at her bonds to no avail. Her wrists were sore; she could feel them burning from the friction she’d created trying to loosen the rope, and with a frustrated growl, she rested her head against the cold metal of the pole and fought to stop the renewed nausea her exertion had caused. In an attempt to take her mind off her physical ills, she tried to make out any sounds that might give her some clue of her whereabouts.
There was nothing, just the gentle whisper of the wind as it blew through trees somewhere in the distance. She frowned, trying to piece it together. You only heard that sound when you were near the creek.
She tried to get a better look at her surroundings. She was obviously not in town, so whoever was responsible must have brought her out to a farm somewhere. As far as she could make out, the shed didn’t look familiar. A tarp covered something that resembled a piece of machinery in the far corner and there were lots of old drums stacked around her, smelling strongly of leftover diesel and pesticides.
The flash of memory, that instant of fear that struck her as she’d seen the look of pure venom on Charles Green’s face, made her shiver all over again. She recalled the few times she’d seen him since coming back home, and the only time that really stood out was at the hospital the night they brought in his mother. Rebecca tried to recall anything odd about him – anything that may have warned her that he was a psychopath, hell-bent on killing her, but nothing came to mind. He’d seemed polite, quiet – almost meek. Surely if he’d been stalking her he’d have shown some kind of animosity towards her at the hospital? What had she missed?
A shuffling noise outside alerted her to someone approaching and her breath froze in her lungs. A blinding shaft of sunshine hit her in the eyes as the door was thrown open and she squinted at the silhouette in the doorway.
‘I was hoping you’d still be out.’
He stepped further into the shed and Rebecca caught a glimpse of his face. It was twisted in a grimace, a mask of hatred. Charles Green. Any hope of rescue faded.
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘You really have no idea? None?’
Fear such as she’d never known before sliced through her and Rebecca fought to hold on to her common sense. She needed to keep him talking to neutralise the situation. The trick was finding a way to do so without antagonising him further – not easy with someone who seemed this unstable.
‘No. I don’t.’ She spoke slowly and calmly.
‘You make me sick,’ he spat, taking a step forwards. ‘You have the nerve to come back to town and flaunt your life in front of everyone. How do you think my parents feel, seeing you and your kids laughing and enjoying life, when their child is dead and cold in the ground? How do you think they feel?’ he yelled.
Just stay calm, she told herself. He was obviously suffering some kind of mental illness. Knowing the family he came from, it’d probably been untreated all his life. His mother wouldn’t have dared gone behind her bully of a husband’s back to seek medical intervention for Charles if she’d suspected there was something wrong, and Jock Green would be too self-absorbed to even notice his youngest son wasn’t quite right.
‘I didn’t mean to flaunt anything; I came back to Macksville because I wanted to be with my family. I certainly didn’t do it to hurt anyone.’
‘You enjoy making sure everyone knows how happy you are. I’ve seen you – I’ve been watching you for a long time, Rebecca.’
‘The phone calls,’ she said slowly as things began to fall into place. The open window. ‘You were in my house.’ She was unable to hide the anger in her tone.
He seemed to be enjoying the fact that he’d managed to unsettle her. ‘I know everything about you, Rebecca.’
She felt violated. This man had been inside her house, touching her things. He’d been in her children’s room. She felt ill at the thought, then outraged. ‘That was you that day. Outside my house, talking to my children.’
‘I was just saying hello. I would never hurt them, Rebecca. I like kids.’ He shrugged.
He just enjoyed kidnapping and murdering their parents. Well, that was comforting; nice to know he drew the line somewhere.
‘Charles, please, if you like kids, then you have to realise what you’ll be doing to them by doing this. Kids need their mother.’
‘They’ll just figure out, like I did, that their mother didn’t put them first. Look at you! You’re like a bitch in heat over Taylor. I’ve seen him sneak away from your house, lookin’ all smug and happy with himself. I know what you two were doin’ in there. Slut.’
She swallowed the sting of his insult; she needed to control her anger and disgust and try to establish some kind of connection with him if she wanted to get out of this.
‘Your mother loves you, Charles. She just didn’t know how to get out of her situation.’
‘Shut up! You know nothing about my mother.’
‘I know she is worn down and frightened.’
‘She never cared what happened to us.’ He spat the words with so much venom that Rebecca felt the hatred radiating from him. ‘She let that bastard beat us every damn day and did nothing. What kind of mother lets that happen? Then after Marty died, she didn’t even care about herself any more. I sure as hell didn’t exist. I’m glad the old bitch is dead.’
Oh my God. Beryl is dead? Rebecca’s blood ran cold at the thought.
‘I’ve been following you a long time. I was already thinking up ways I could hurt you when who do I see splashed all over the front page of the newspaper one day? Sebastian Taylor, war hero, macho man. He comes back and they write up a big piece on him in the paper like he’s some movie star or something.’
‘Marty died in an accident, a terrible accident. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.’
‘It was Taylor’s fault!’ Charles yelled, turning on his heel to cross to a dirty, oil-covered drum stored alongside a few others by the wall. ‘Well, I’m making sure he knows what it’s like to lose everyone he cares about, starting with you.’
She watched him prise open the drum’s lid and reach inside to lift out something wrapped in black plastic. He removed a small gadget from his pocket and connected it to the object in his hand, before carefully resting it on the top of the drum next to him.
‘We’ll soon see what a big hero he really is. Let’s see him rescue his damsel in distress from this,’ he said, then started murmuring and rambling under his breath, his voice anxious as he pulled out a roll of silver gaffer tape from his other pocket.
Rebecca had no idea what he was talking about but she heard the underlying malice in his tone and frantically scanned the inside of the dark shed for some kind of escape.
‘Charles, think about it. The police are going to find you. Untie me and I can talk to them, convince them it was all a big mistake. You need help. I can put you in touch with people who can help you.’
‘You think I’m crazy?’ he asked, sounding almost amused rather than angry.
‘I think you’ve been through a lot, and you need to talk to someone.’
‘You’re the crazy one, if you think I’m going to let you go.’
‘People will know I’m missing by now. They’ll have the police out looking for me. Let’s end this before it goes any further. I want to help you, Charles.’
‘This will end when I say it ends,’ he snarled, glaring at her with contempt. ‘The police aren’t going to suspect me. I’ve given them the perfect suspect – your precious Sebastian Taylor. Once they find your charred remains, and his body, they’ll write it off as a murder–suicide and everyone will see the big hero Taylor for what he really is: a good-for-nothing murderer.’
Charred remains? Rebecca felt her palms begin to sweat and a surge of panic clawed its way through her stomach. He was going to set fire to the shed? With her inside? This couldn’t be happening!
She forced a calmness into her voice she was far from feeling, calling on every strategy she’d ever used through the years to try to talk him down. ‘Killing me isn’t going to accomplish much. He’s leaving.’
For a moment the words hung between them. Seb had made it clear that it was over and had made sure he’d put her in her place. Maybe he wouldn’t come and find her, anyway. But how to convince Charles that his efforts would be wasted?
‘He doesn’t even love me,’ she said harshly, her words sounding wounded and raw, and cursed silently. The last person she wanted to witness her broken heart was some psychotic moron hell-bent on killing her.
His nasty chuckle caused her flagging spirits to rebel. How dare he stand there and laugh at her as he planned her death!
‘For a smart woman, you’re pretty stupid where Sebastian Taylor’s concerned. Of course he loves you. You really think I’d bother luring him in with just anyone?’
Absurdly, Rebecca felt her heart leap in a moment of elation, until she remembered she’d been kidnapped and her end was looking inevitable, imminent and messy. To say it took the edge off her happiness would be somewhat of an understatement.
He picked up the black parcel, crossing back to her with a sickening smile.
Rebecca tried to pull away from him as he knelt down beside her on the dirt floor. She watched him pull a long length of the silver tape off the roll, the sound loud in the muted silence of the old shed, and rip it with his teeth. She kicked out at him as he reached for her feet, but he caught them easily, securing them with the tape.
‘Charles, please – don’t do this.’ She hated that she sounded so pitiful.
Begging had little effect on him, though, as he leaned down and strapped the little black device around her chest, securing it with another length of tape.
‘Now, the fun bit.’ He pulled a mobile from his pocket and Rebecca saw that it was hers. Waving it before her eyes, he gave a small snigger. ‘Time to say goodbye. I’m off to make a very important phone call and then I’m gonna pay a visit to Sebastian’s dad,’ he told her gleefully. ‘It’s just a pity there’s no reception out here.’ His smile slipped and he looked genuinely disappointed.
Rebecca felt her hopes falling further. Knowing there was no reception here somehow made her feel even more isolated and alone.
‘I would have liked to have been here to see it through to the end. Oh well.’ He shrugged and sent her a lopsided grin. ‘I’ll be sure to give your love to Sebastian while I’m giving him instructions on how to find the pieces. Don’t go anywhere will you?’ he smirked, turning away to head out the door, slamming it with a foundation-shaking bang on his way out.
She heard an engine start up a little while later somewhere in the distance, and listened to it until it faded away, leaving her alone in the shed with only an ominous ticking to keep her company in the dark.