The day I went missing
Part 4
‘I didn’t know you were still here,’ a voice says, startling me, ‘You’re working late.’
I place the snow globe down carefully, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
‘Yes,’ I reply, looking up at Mark.
‘What are you working on?’
‘Just finishing up a story.’
He smiles, baring a line of neat white teeth.
‘Tell me about it,’ he says, shifting his head to one side. He sticks a thumb over his shoulder. ‘I was just headed off actually. I could drop you home?’
‘I live in the other direction.’
He frowns, but then smiles sardonically. ‘How do you know?’
‘I just … It’s a guess. I live in a pretty rough part of town; I imagine you don’t.’
‘Ah, well, I don’t mind. You shouldn’t walk back by yourself, anyway. You can tell me about this story on the way.’
‘Sure,’ I say, my hands shaking. ‘Let me just get my things.’
I look down at the open notepad on my desk. The page and the list I started of birthday ideas for Mum. Underneath I quickly scrawl, ‘Snow globe, Snoopy mug, Funko Pop.’ It’s all I can do. I drop the pen on the table and grip my phone.
‘Let’s go,’ I say, pulling my bag over my shoulder. I walk towards him, but he doesn’t move. He has an arm planted firmly across the door. He isn’t looking at me, he’s looking back at my desk. He glances down at my bag and smiles.
‘I’m in the underground carpark. We can take the lift.’
We walk silently along the corridor and wait for the lift. My chest rises and falls quickly and I do my best to disguise it, but I can’t. I risk looking up at him, but he is perfectly calm.
When we’re in the lift, I twist my head to the side and glance up at the camera at the top. It’s usually flickering red, but my stomach drops when the red flash never comes. Maybe I just imagined it, but no, I’ve been in this lift a hundred times, it’s always done that.
The lift doors slide open and we step out into a concrete underground carpark. There are a few cars dotted around, but Mark strides purposefully across the space towards a silver Mercedes on the other side. The only noise is the echo of our footsteps.
I pause by the passenger side of the car. I don’t have to get in, I could walk away. I could call the police now and beg them to help. I could go to the press anyway. But I’ve been here before. Not me, but some other girl who had those thoughts and didn’t get in this car and went and called the police and sent an email to the press and posted online and it was all buried, it was all forgotten.
I open the door and climb in. The car is immaculate and smells of fresh leather and peppery aftershave. Mark leans forward and grips the gear stick, running his other hand across the wheel. He shifts it into gear and pulls away, slowly making his way through the car park until we get to the security barrier.
‘Oh,’ he says, feigning looking in his pockets. ‘I forgot my fob, can I use yours?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know where I put mine.’ I swallow, but my throat is dry and hoarse.
‘Really?’ he says, and reaches over. I think he’s about to grab my hair, but instead he runs a hand along the side of my neck, his fingertips pinching the collar of my coat, peeling it back to reveal my lanyard.
He looks slightly frustrated as he waits for me to pull it off and hand it over to him. He slides the window down, reaching across and swiping my fob across the machine.
‘I live in Knowles,’ I say, ‘you want to turn left.’
But he doesn’t, he turns right.
‘I know a quicker route.’ I twist my head slightly to the left, but I can’t see if he’s locked the doors or not. ‘So, what’s this story you’re working on?’
‘I think you know,’ I say, bluntly.
He nods. ‘I think I do too, but I wouldn’t be a good journalist if I didn’t check my sources,’ he says. We stop at a red light and I think about making a run for it, my hand twitching towards the handle, just as the lights turn amber. ‘I just wanted to give you some advice,’ he says, pulling away. ‘I remember when I started out and I had these ideas of how I was going to do better and change the world, but you soon realise, Katy, that this world isn’t getting any better. And all you can do to survive it is to be selfish. So that’s my advice to you.’
‘I don’t think that makes a good journalist.’
‘Well, that’s where we’ll disagree. I’ve been in this seat a lot longer than you.’ He pauses, just as we start winding along the road next to the gorge, towards Clifton Suspension Bridge. ‘You know as well as I do that a lot of people have stakes in this game you’re playing.’
‘I’m not playing a game.’
‘I think you are, but I wanted to give you a little friendly warning that you will lose, Katy. This is way beyond you and whatever you think you know.’ He sighs. ‘So, what is that?’
‘Women have come forward.’
He laughs, unexpectedly, a loud, brash laugh that startles me. ‘Annie had a little chitchat with you over a cup of tea and now you think you know what happened. She was drunk, Katy. She did something she regretted and now you’re making a song and dance about it.’
‘That’s not what happened.’
He slams the wheel. The car is steaming up, a heat emanating off him as he swerves onto the bridge, foot on the gas. The road is empty ahead as we cross into Leigh Woods.
‘Where are we going?’
‘I just wanted to take you for a drive, to explain to you exactly what happened. Annie drank too much, she slept with someone important, and now she’s trying to blackmail me.’
‘Blackmail you?’
‘That’s what this is, isn’t it? A shakedown.’
‘No, she’s—’
‘Oh please, Katy, she’s not serious, you’re both not serious about trying to go to the police with this, are you? Or the press? They would laugh you out the door. There’s something you must realise: you are not in control here.’
‘There are others,’ I whisper.
‘Others?’
‘It wasn’t just Annie. She told me about your club, about how scared she was. She said there were others.’
He smiles.
‘Hand over that USB, Katy, now, and I’ll take you home.’
I close my eyes, trying to steady my breath. ‘What USB?’
‘Let’s not. Hand it over and I’ll drop you home and we’ll pretend this never happened.’
‘And what happens to Annie? Or you? Or all the other girls?’
He’s silent for a moment, before he pulls over on a quiet, narrow country road. The woods to the right, a faint cry of a bird in the distance. He taps the wheel before whispering, ‘No one knows you’re here, Katy. Get out the car.’
I look down the empty dark road. Where does he expect me to go? I could try and get an Uber or taxi. I could walk home? I reach down to grab my bag. I just need to get out of this car.
‘Leave it,’ he says firmly.
‘I—’
‘I know you have something of mine in that bag, something important, so I suggest you get out of the car and leave it.’
I start to ask how I’ll get home, but he doesn’t care. He’s delivered his warning shot.
‘I need my phone,’ I whisper.
‘You don’t. You can walk.’
He unlocks the door and leans over me, his face inches from mine, and yanks the handle, releasing the door.
‘Get out,’ he says. ‘Now.’
It’s raining hard now and I pull my hood up as I swing my legs out of the car.
‘Oh and Katy,’ he calls after me, his voice almost drowned out by the beating of rain on his windshield, the windscreen wipers squeaking to the rhythm. ‘If you have any other secrets, I will find them.’ He pulls the door shut and drives away, disappearing around the corner under a sheet of grey rain.
I start walking in the opposite direction. I just need to get far away from him. My legs are heavy at first, but I break into a run, and I don’t even hear it coming until it slows just ahead of me and pulls over. A white van. I don’t stop running, but the van keeps up my pace with me until it pulls out in front and stops me in my tracks.
A man immediately opens the door, holding a finger to his lips.
‘Please,’ he shouts above the thunder of rain. ‘I need you to get in the van.’
I scream, twisting away, willing my legs, my lungs to catch up, to fight. I start running, but he’s back in the van, he’s after me. The edge of the woods is the only opening I see, and I propel my arms forward, heading into the unknown, fighting over fallen logs until I’m plunged into complete darkness, branches scratching and whipping my face. I slow down, uncertainty in every step.
There’s a sudden dip and I fall.