A ghostly pale face appears at the window and I scream.
This is it. They’ve come for me; she’s come to kill me. Oh God, oh God.
‘SOMEBODY HELP ME.’
My voice cracks into a whisper, because there’s nothing left of me, I’m an empty shell. A husk. I should have killed myself long ago, I think, as I stare death in the face. Her eyes are frenzied as she fixes her sights on me.
The key tones bleep and the door buzzes open but, to my surprise, she’s not wearing a medical gown or surgical mask; this woman is dressed head to toe in black – a goth, of all things, with tattoos climbing her neck. She’s wiry as a whippet, almost skeletal. Cracked lips and dark circles beneath her eyes. The Grim Reaper.
‘Stay away!’ I moan, trying to push along the bed, but my restraints hold me down. My left feels like right and the room is tipping. I sway and sink back into the mattress. A sitting duck.
With a look of sheer determination, she makes light work of the distance between us.
‘Get away!’
‘Shhhh,’ she hisses, pressing her finger to her lips.
‘Don’t come any closer.’ I start crying.
‘Fuck’s sake, be quiet,’ she says through gritted teeth.
‘HELP ME!’ I scream. ‘HELP ME!’
She clamps her hand over my mouth and looks me dead in the eye. ‘Shut up or we’re both dead.’
I swallow down my sob.
Her eyes run over me. ‘Christ, what have they done to you?’ Then there’s a jolt of recognition. A small gasp.
‘It’s you. I know you.’
‘What do you want?’
‘You’re the girl from the fire.’
‘Are you going to kill me?’
She picks up a vial from the trolley and exhales. ‘Benzodiazepines.’ She knocks the rest over carelessly. ‘Fuck me, there’s enough Valium here to tranquillize an elephant.’ She looks back at me. ‘How much of this stuff have they been giving you?’
‘Help me. Please.’ I swallow the bitter taste. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Shhhh.’ She checks over her shoulder. ‘I need to think. Think, Hollie, think.’ She twitches and rakes her nails across her hand. I notice how raw and inflamed her skin is. Scarred like mine.
Time passes, her eyes running the length of my body. A desperate look settles into her eyes. I know that look.
‘Get me out of here. Oh God, help me.’
She looks at me and I can see my fear reflected in her eyes. I know what she’s thinking. How am I going to carry her out of here without help?
Her eyes rake the room, searching for an answer. She notices the camera.
‘Fuck!’ she mutters. ‘Fuck. Fuck.’
She turns her back on me, heading out the way she came in.
‘DON’T LEAVE ME HERE!’ I scream.
‘Shut the fuck up!’ She looks back, flashing me angry eyes and I see fire in this girl. Maybe there is hope.
She picks up a tool off the trolley and crosses the room. Springing into the air, she knocks the camera off its fixing in one fell swoop. It clatters into the corner and she stamps on it. Smashing it until it’s in pieces. She drops the tool and it lands with an echoing clang. Her eyes narrow with determination as she returns to me.
‘Listen up, I’ll try to lift you off the bed. OK?’ She yanks the tubes from my nose and out of my vein, and I’m wincing as she pulls the wires off my chest.
‘My feet!’ I gasp.
She loosens the straps around my ankles and I feel a sudden release of pressure. She props up my back so I’m sat upright and we lock eyes.
‘Can you walk?’
‘Do I look like I can walk?’
‘You have to try, OK.’ She shows me a tense smile. ‘I’m Hollie, by the way.’
I recognize her. She looks terribly familiar, I’m certain I’ve seen her on TV somewhere.
Hollie tucks her head under my arm but the push and pull motion of lifting me up makes the room spin.
‘I can’t see straight.’ I collapse into her.
‘Come on, TRY!’ she puffs.
I’m almost off the bed, nearly there, when I hear the terrifyingly familiar sound. The noise I’ve grown accustomed to over the days, weeks, maybe months I’ve been held prisoner here. Footsteps, coming up fast.
‘They’re here!’ I moan.
She looks up. ‘Fuck.’
Hollie drops me back down. Shoves me along the bed.
‘Pretend you’re asleep.’
‘They’ve seen us.’ I try rolling back into position. ‘They know.’
‘Just do it.’
With clumsy fingers I reattach the electrical probes to my chest. The ECG machine comes back to life with my rapid heartbeat.
‘What are you going to do?’
She searches the room again, terror mounting behind her eyes.
‘I don’t know.’ Her eyes are wide in panic.
There is nowhere for her to hide, except . . .
‘Under the bed.’ I grab a fistful of bedding, letting it spill over onto the floor.
Hollie lowers onto all fours and then quickly rises back onto her feet.
‘What are you doing?’
She sprints across the room, collecting the broken pieces of camera into her arms before returning to my side. I hear the hard knock as her knees make contact with the floor, a shuffle as she crawls into the narrow space beneath me. I drape the sheet around her and she tugs the ends to meet the floor. I can hear her breathing heavily.
This can’t work. If they haven’t already seen us on CCTV, they’ll know within seconds. I shut my eyes and pretend to be asleep, drawing on what’s left of me to tame my ragged breathing, to quieten my noisy pulse.
The door unlocks and I tune in to the sounds.
Two pairs of feet. They’re whispering to one another in low threatening tones, but the routine feels the same. One moves around the side of the room, fiddling with the equipment. There’s a ripping noise, the sound of hands being wiped across overalls. The other comes to a stop at the end of my bed. I keep my eyes tightly shut and I pray for a miracle.
Pray. The word slides into my thoughts. A memory. A boy, a sweet religious boy. We were friends. Here? Is this where we met? But the image of his face passes by before I can grab hold of it, like a train leaving the station. I return to the room and the silence that’s opened up around me.
Why’s it gone quiet?
I think I can hear Hollie breathing, or maybe it’s me. My heartbeat, it’s as loud as a drum in my ear. I can sense their eyes watching me. Their thoughts ticking over. I hold my breath.
A sudden movement as one of them comes to my side. My heart jumps into my throat.
Another unbearable silence.
‘Silly girl, you’ve pulled your tube out again.’ I feel a tug on my wrist. A sharp scratch. I wince as the cannula re-enters my vein and tears leave the corners of my eyes.
‘Silly girl,’ she repeats in a European accent. French? There’s an edge to her tone now. A whimper leaves my mouth.
‘Why couldn’t you have behaved yourself?’
Oh God, they know.
‘You’ve only got yourself to blame. We tried everything.’
HELP ME! HELP ME! I scream inside.
I open my eyes to a face looming above. A triumphant crease settles around her eyes as she forces the last of what’s left in the syringe into my vein.
Within seconds, I’m swimming in a sea of turquoise tiles as the room swirls and wraps around me. My vision mists, the walls move inward as the hallucinations take hold.
‘That should do it. You know where to take her. And clean up this mess – leave no trace,’ the French woman says with irritation, although her voice sounds a million light years away. Slow and strung out as if my head is being held underwater.
I can see the light above me, skimming the surface of the water. It’s whispering to me, telling me to swim, swim towards it. Then I remember him, sweet, kind Martyn. My friend. What did they do to him? My muscles begin to loosen and collapse while the shadow that’s been looming behind steps into view. Wait, I recognize those eyes.
I know you.
‘It’s YOU!’ I manage to whisper before I drift away.
Far, far off in the distance, I hear the whipping noise of sheets being ripped off.
Then a scream as they drag tattoo girl out by her feet.