A thousand questions raced through Madelaine’s mind, each more alarming than the last. Where was she? Who was the man that had attacked her? And what did he intend to do with her?
He had fallen upon her in the loft – she’d been too stunned to react and came to a little while later on the floor of her bedroom. Her memory of what had happened then was confused and hazy – there seemed to have been some kind of commotion outside the house – and not long after she was being bundled into the trunk of her own car. She was bound, gagged and blindfolded and the hour or so that followed, as she rolled backwards and forwards in rhythm with the car’s stop-start progress, was the most terrifying of her life.
The darkness was all-consuming, the heat rising every minute, the air stale and unpleasant. Initially, she was convinced that she would die in there and that that was what her attacker had intended all along. But as the minutes passed, as the traffic noise outside lessened, another possibility presented itself to her. Was she being taken somewhere remote? If so, to what end? To be held hostage? Attacked? Killed?
Madelaine tried to keep her thoughts positive, to play out the best possible scenarios that might come from this horrific situation, but before she could settle on one which was palatable, the car juddered to a halt. Moments later, the trunk popped and she was hauled out into the open air. She was then dragged over rough ground, her ankles jarring nastily on what felt like small rocks, then suddenly she was inside again. Seconds later, she was forced down on to something hard – a seat of some kind – which her arms were secured to.
And then … she’d been left alone. She could hear the man moving about, but he wasn’t touching her, so she tried to gather her thoughts, to get a sense of her surroundings. She could smell paraffin, but also something else. Wood. Damp, rotting wood. She could hear things too. The man ranging around, the creak of the boards, but also the faint sound of laughter.
She sat helpless on the chair, her heart beating out the rhythm of her terror. She longed to know why she was here, what she had done to provoke this attack. She moved her head, desperate to free herself from her bonds, desperate to see or hear something that would give her a clue as to her likely fate. And as she shook and wriggled, she noticed something. Her blindfold had shifted slightly as she’d been manhandled into the shed and the material over her left eye was thinner and more gauze-like than the fabric which covered her right. Perhaps it was the border of the material, perhaps it had been torn – either way, if she closed her right eye, but kept her left open, she could just about make out the scene in front of her through the thin material.
She was in an outbuilding of some kind. The walls were a dark, brownish colour, but the floor was much lighter, almost white. Confused, Madelaine ran her feet over the area just in front of her to discover that it moved and crinkled. It was cold to the touch and felt like … plastic. Confused, terrified, Madelaine turned her attention to her attacker, who was busying himself nearby. He was average height and slightly overweight, the stomach area of his blue boiler suit bulging slightly. He still wore a ski mask, which terrified her, as she could only imagine what kind of monster lurked beneath it.
She had tried to remain positive in the midst of her ordeal, but now she instinctively knew that her abduction was linked to her recent actions on behalf of the community. She’d pushed this thought away, but now it returned, nagging and insistent. Suddenly she knew exactly why she’d been taken and what fate awaited her, a suspicion confirmed now as the man turned towards her, a large cleaver in his hand.
Her first instinct was to scream, but somehow she kept a rein on her terror. She was in grave peril now, but she had one tiny lifeline. Unless she was mistaken, her attacker didn’t know that she could see him. So, in spite of her hammering heart, Madelaine kept still. He was standing right in front of her – and Madelaine braced herself for the kiss of his blade – but instead he lowered himself to her level. They were almost nose to nose now, her captor taking great delight in studying her, hoping perhaps to see her quivering with fear.
Without warning, Madelaine launched herself forward. She was not thinking now, she was acting on instinct, crunching her forehead into her captor’s face. Howling in pain, the man fell backwards, hitting the floor hard. Madelaine didn’t hesitate, tipping herself forward, until her feet hit the floor and she could stand. Immediately, she overbalanced, the chair that she was now secured to almost dragging her back down. But wobbling, tottering, she regained her balance and scuttled forward as best she could.
Her attacker was still on the ground, moaning, so Madelaine made for the door. It didn’t appear to be locked and if she could open it, perhaps she could get away, call for help.
Her progress was stumbling, but miracle of miracles she had made it to the door. It was ajar, so, turning sideways, she wriggled the toes of her right foot into the crack and pushed with all her might. The door opened and she saw the muddy shoreline outside, the water beyond it. She scuttled forward … but suddenly found herself falling backwards. For a moment, she was bewildered, confused, but, craning round, she saw that her captor had hold of her chair and was dragging her back.
It was a fight to the death now and Madelaine struggled violently, screaming out her anger and fear all the while. But the momentum had shifted and she was pulled inexorably back into her prison. Moments later, she was back on the plastic sheet, exhausted and despairing. A savage blow rocked her back in her seat and when she’d managed to gather her senses again, she saw her captor standing in front of her, breathless, with flashing, angry eyes and that awful blade clutched in his hands.
She wanted to sob, to beg, but was suddenly unable to produce a sound, terror robbing her of her voice. And as her captor approached her, his blade raised to strike, all she could hear was that hideous, ringing laughter.