Читать книгу The Fear: The sensational new thriller from the Sunday Times bestseller that you need to read in 2018 - C.L. Taylor, C.L. Taylor, C. L. Taylor - Страница 21

It all happens so quickly. One second Mike is on the other side of the barn, the next he’s speeding towards me, a look of absolute fury on his face. With no time to run, all I can do is raise my hands in self-defence and brace myself. In a heartbeat he’s right next to me but he’s unsteady on his feet and I’m quicker and fitter than he is and, as his fingers grasp at my hair, I swerve out of reach. Before he can regain his balance, I shift my weight to the left and kick out with my right leg. The sole of my trainer smashes into Mike’s bad leg. It’s like felling a tree with a single axe blow, the way he lurches to one side, his left leg crumpling beneath him. I kick out at him again, this time landing my foot square in his chest. The force of the blow sends him reeling backwards and through the open door of one of the cages. His arms flail at his sides as he tries and fails to weave his fingers through the metal bars, then SMACK, the back of his head makes contact with a pile of bricks stacked up next to a bucket.

He’s not moving. His eyes are closed, his neck tilted to the left, his head propped up on a brick, his fingers unfurled and slack at his sides. Across the barn the armchair lies on its side; Mike’s mobile phone is half-buried in the straw beside it. I reach into my back pocket for my mobile. No reception.

‘Mike?’ I take a step towards the cage. My heart is beating so hard I feel sick. When his head hit the brick it sounded like a watermelon being hurled at the floor. If he’s not dead he’s badly injured. I need to call an ambulance.

I move towards the entrance to the barn, hesitate, then walk back to the cage. I should lock it. Just in case he comes round and tries to find me. Mike’s eyes are still closed and he hasn’t changed position.

‘Mike!’ I shout his name. ‘Mike, wake up!’

When he doesn’t stir, I cross the barn and pull a bamboo stick from a pile propped up in the corner. I push it into Mike’s leg. He doesn’t so much as twitch. I prod him harder. Nothing.

I step into the cage, not taking my eyes off his face as I crouch down and reach for his wrist. His eyes remain closed, his lips slightly parted as I extend the first two fingers of my left hand and feel for his pulse. If he’s got one, I’ll lock him in and ring an ambulance. If he’s dead, I’ll ring the police.

My hand is shaking so much I can’t hold my fingers still against the thin skin of his wrist. I try again, wrapping my thumb around to anchor them in place, but I can’t feel anything. I’ve only ever taken my own pulse before. Rain is battering against the roof of the shed and the wind is whistling through the open door. Was that a dull throb I just felt beneath my fingertips? I close my eyes to concentrate. Yes, there’s a pulse. It’s strong and deep and—

A scream catches in my throat as Mike’s arm twists beneath my hand, his fingers close around my wrist and he looks straight at me.

‘It’s you.’

It’s not the tone of his voice that makes me scrabble to my feet, run out of the cage and slam the door shut. It’s the hate in his eyes.

I grab at the padlock, dangling from the catch, but I’m shaking so much I drop it. As I crouch down to pick it up, Mike presses his hand to the back of his head and rolls onto his side. He groans as he gets to his knees.

‘Lou! What the fuck are you doing, you stupid—’

He slams up against the door and tries to grab my hand through the bars but he’s too slow.

Click.

I squeeze the lock shut and jump away from the cage.

Mike grabs hold of the bars and shakes the door. All six cages rattle and shake and, for one horrible moment, I think the whole thing is going to tip over and pin me to the ground, but it holds firm. It must be bolted to the floor.

‘Open the fucking door!’ Mike shouts. He reaches a hand behind his head, then looks at his fingers. They’re slick with blood. There’s blood on one of the bricks in the pile in the corner too. He sees me looking and picks one up.

‘The police are going to have a field day with you,’ he says as he walks back to the door. ‘Assault and imprisonment. Five years is nothing compared to what you’re going to get.’ I inch to my left, preparing to run. He’s going to push the brick through the bars and try and smash the lock off.

But the brick won’t fit between the bars, no matter which way he turns it. The gap is too small.

‘Fuck’s sake!’ He takes two steps back, then hurls the brick at the door. It bounces straight off, narrowly missing his foot as it lands.

Mike launches himself at the door. SMASH! He drives his shoulder into the bars. The padlock swings back and forth, but it doesn’t open.

‘Open the fucking door!’ He grips the bars and shakes the cage. ‘Lou … Louise … what are you fucking doing? Just open the fucking door.’

I’m as far away from him as I can get, backed up against the barn wall, my hands pressed against the wood. Rough, spiky splinters scratch at my fingertips.

‘Lou, please.’ He softens his tone. ‘Just open the door. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen. I promise,’ he holds up his hands, palms out, ‘I won’t lay a finger on you. I’ll just get back in my van and go home. Neither of us need ever mention this again.’

‘You’ll go to the police.’

‘I won’t. I swear. I know what it’s like inside. I wouldn’t put you through that.’

‘Yes you would.’ I’m surprised to hear myself laugh.

‘I really wouldn’t …’ he tails off as he looks me up and down. His eyes linger on my small breasts, then drift southwards. ‘You’ve changed.’