This room is bigger than mine. The window is cloaked in shade and there is no view. It’s dark in here and just a little colder. I shiver from that cold as much as the fear that strikes my heart when I see the huge bed dominating the room. There are no covers, just a mattress covered in a black sheet. The walls are bare, with no pictures or decoration of any kind, and I see a wooden chair set in the corner facing the bed. Beside the chair is a wooden table on top of which appears to be some kind of recording equipment and I feel the fear for real for the very first time. Something’s wrong.
Mr Evans flicks a switch and I hear the equipment waking up and filling the room with evil.
He nods towards the bed and says abruptly, “Sit on the edge, we need to make a video for your father.”
“My father?” At the mere mention of him, my heart lifts. “Is he ok, is it over?”
“No.”
The terror strikes me as I stutter, “He’s not ok?”
“Yes - no, what I meant was, he needs to see you’re ok before he finishes the job.”
“Oh.”
I sit for a moment, a thousand questions battling to be heard, and I seize my chance and say quickly, “He is safe though—isn’t he?”
“Of course, he’s just waiting to leave and wanted to see your face before he goes.”
“Why can’t I call him, Facetime, wouldn’t that be better?”
“No.”
His voice is rough and brutal and not quite right. Why can’t I see my father? He wants to see me, but why like this? There’s something he’s not telling me and I need answers.
“Then why the video?”
I surprise myself with my question because Mr Evans scares me and just the sight of him frown in my direction causes my heart to race and the panic to set in. He’s holding back, I can feel it.
Sighing, he sits on the chair opposite the bed and says in a bored voice, “This is for your own protection, you know that. A phone signal would alert your father’s enemies to your location, and that is why we placed you here. If they knew where you were, you wouldn’t be safe. It’s why you must stay hidden because the moment they find you, we can’t protect you anymore.”
“Why not, you’re the police, you can lock them up?”
Rolling his eyes, he shuts me down in a second. “Do as I say and you may get through this. Now, I want you to look happy, content and above all, safe. Pretend you are talking to him face to face and assure him that everything is ok. He’s finding things tough and needs this to see him through the task ahead. Don’t fuck it up because if you do, you’ll probably never see him again.”
He turns to the camera and I sit shaking with fear. Never see him again. How is that even an option? I never knew this thing he had to do was that dangerous. I mean, I know it’s risky but never see him again. What does that mean?
As I face the camera with my ankles crossed and my hands in my lap, I appear calm and collected. Inside is a raging torrent of emotions that’s hard to navigate. Can I pull this off, it’s becoming increasingly obvious I need to because my father’s life depends on him seeing that I’m ok? So, as Mr Evans gives me the thumbs up, I do what is necessary to keep my father safe.
Smiling into the camera, I say lightly,
“I miss you dad.” A tear tries to find an escape route, but I blink it hastily away and try to smile when inside my heart is breaking.
“I just want you to know I’m fine, they are looking after me well and I’m just counting down the days until we’re back together. I have a warm bed and food and some books to occupy my time. I hope you have everything you want too and are thinking of me as much as I’m thinking about you. The place I’m staying in is nice and the people friendly.”
I pray that the guilt doesn’t betray me because I feel hot under the collar as I blatantly lie to my father. Whatever happens, I have it easier than him and he needs to think everything is ok.
It’s strange sitting in a bedroom with Mr Evans watching, talking to a camera, but I imagine my father on the other side of it desperately looking to see if I’m ok. I fix a smile on my face and make my voice light and care free. I want him to feel good about this call because I’m guessing he’s struggling just as much as I am and needs his mind put to rest. So, I babble on about how amazing this place is and talk about the people I’ve seen through the window as if they are actually friends of mine. I suppose I get so carried away in my descriptions, I forget that my every move is being watched by a pair of unfriendly eyes. It’s only as the conversation falters that I see Mr Evans throwing me a look that makes me feel uncomfortable.
As I say goodbye to my father, assuring him we will soon be reunited, I realise something is definitely wrong.
With another flick of the wrist, the equipment stops and there is just silence laced with an uneasy sense of foreboding. My heart pounds as Mr Evans looks at me a little differently and I shiver inside.
Then he says roughly, “I told you to stay hidden. From your conversation it’s obvious you’ve been spending rather a long time at that window and it’s only a matter of time before someone sees you, if they haven’t already.”
I’m not sure why, call it self-preservation, but I shake my head and blurt, “I made them up.”
His eyes narrow and he leans forward as if looking into the deep recesses of my mind. “You. Made. Them. Up.”
He savours every word as if it starts a new sentence, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.
Don’t ask me why, but what happens next is very important to me and I remain impassive and shrug. “There’s nothing else to do.”
He stares at me a little harder as if willing me to break and confess everything, but somehow, I feel as if I’ve dodged a bullet when he growls, “Back to your room.”
I shift off the bed and almost run to the door because this room unnerves me. There’s a sense of something not right here, and yet I don’t know what.
I head back and as I pass the staircase, look down them longingly at the front door, welcoming me through it like a beacon of safety. Why do I feel unsafe in what should surely be a safe house? Because of him. The way he looks at me and the promise of something out of my control lurking behind the corner.
As he follows me out of the room, I say impulsively, “I want to go downstairs.”
I’m surprised when he grabs my arm and forces me towards the door of my room, growling, “I don’t give a fuck what you want. This is for your own protection and you don’t have options. Just be grateful your cell is so luxurious because we can arrange a different holding tank for you if you don’t cooperate.”
He almost throws me inside the room and says harshly, “Stay away from the window, or else.”
He slams the door leaving me reeling. Or else what?
I hear the key turn in the lock and stand in the middle of the room wondering what the hell just happened. This isn’t right, surely.
I wander over to the table and note the food laid out for me. A bottle of water, a pack of sandwiches, a salad and some fruit. A packet of biscuits and a flask of tea. Hardly enough to keep me going through a few hours, let alone twelve. I know he’ll be back tomorrow, early in the morning before the neighbour’s wake. That meal will see me through to the evening and once again I will anticipate his visit with excitement because it’s the only thing that happens during my day.
However, this time it’s different because I see the innocent looking carrier bag holding some welcome entertainment. Books.
Quickly, I hurry over and empty the contents onto the bed and see two books gleaming up at me.
Reaching for the first one, I see a classic, Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice. Not my usual choice, but beggars can’t be choosers. Then I turn my attention to the other one and see a pretty cottage on the front, set by the sea. A light romance, something to lighten the darkness and make me believe in happy endings.
Seizing the book like a lifeline, I savour the moment. I turn the pages and see the words dancing like light before my eyes, and I sink down onto the bed and set about escaping my situation for as long as possible.