Читать книгу The Taken Girls - G.D. Sanders - Страница 15

There was no sunlight and no birdsong as Lucy began to wake. Still drowsy, she reached out with her right hand to find Tomkins the Ted. These days he was the only one of her fluffy toys she allowed to share her bed. She couldn’t find him. He wasn’t there. That was strange; he was always there. Her uneasiness began to bubble into panic and then all was well. She was at the seaside. Tomkins must be safe at home. She was on the beach at Broadstairs. She could hear the Punch and Judy, ‘That’s the way to do it’.

‘Ah … you’re awake. Excuse the voice. Don’t be frightened. I’m going to treat you well.’

It wasn’t Mr Punch. She remembered that voice, those words. Her rising panic was replaced by a cold, debilitating fear. Lucy tried to turn towards the voice but couldn’t, her left arm was held by something soft but unyielding. She was helpless. Panic overcame her helplessness and she struggled against the restraint but it held firm. Fighting back tears of fear and frustration she raised her head and looked towards the voice. It was there, the figure from last night, standing outside the wire mesh partition, staring at her through two holes cut in its black hood. Without realizing what she was doing, Lucy began to scream.

The figure waited patiently until her cries weakened. Then the strange voice, the Mr Punch voice, came again.

‘Please don’t pull at the handcuff. I really don’t want you to hurt yourself. You’ll probably want to use the primitive sanitation. Remember the bucket at the end of the bed. There’s soap, water, and a towel on the table. I’ll step outside for ten minutes while you do what you have to do.’

Lucy watched him leave and biological necessity overcame her fear. The bucket disgusted her. It was difficult to use it while chained to the wall but she had no choice. She hurried to wash, not sure when he would return. It was at least ten minutes before she heard a knock and his Mr Punch voice call, ‘I’m coming in!’ She didn’t reply. A few moments later the door opened and he came back into the building.

‘Breakfast is limited this morning. There’s buttered toast with jam and tea, instant coffee or a glass of milk. The milk’s room temperature. There’s no fridge. Otherwise there’s water.’

Lucy wanted to be strong, to argue logically as she did in the debates at school but the panic returned, overwhelming her intentions.

‘I don’t want breakfast. Just let me go.’ She looked at him pleadingly, unable to keep the fear from her voice or the tears from her eyes. ‘Please … please let me go.’

He didn’t respond. The eyes behind the black hood looked at her impassively.

‘Why are you keeping me here? What do you want? Just let me go and I’ll not say anything. I’ll tell them I can’t remember what happened.’

Desperate to convince him, she was surprised that a clear logic was returning to her thoughts. To sway her captor she must tell him what he would like to hear.

‘I’ll say I don’t know what came over me, that when I came to my senses I found myself wandering the back streets of Canterbury. I was disorientated. Then I recognized where I was. I got myself together and walked home.’

While she spoke, the figure continued to remain silent but, as soon as she paused, it took command.

‘It’s imperative you remain here. You’ll be alone for much of the time but I’ll always return. Eventually, when I’m ready, I’ll let you go back to your family. For the moment, you need some food. I’ll get toast and while you’re eating we’ll make a shopping list for all the things you’ll need.’

He didn’t wait for a response but began to prepare breakfast.

Despite her fear Lucy decided it was best to play along with her captor. She was also hungry. As she ate the toast, he encouraged her to give him a list of what she would need: food and drink for a week and some changes of clothes. Already she was getting used to his Mr Punch voice.

‘I’ll get you a toothbrush and toothpaste, of course. However, perhaps there’ll be some more feminine items you’ll need. Remember you could be here for a month, perhaps six weeks or so. Here’s the list and a pencil. Write down all the extras you’ll need and add your sizes for the clothes.’

He asked her to give him the breakfast plate and glass through the slot in the chain link and, in return, passed her the paper and pencil. As she wrote he washed the breakfast things.

‘Have you finished?’

She offered the paper through the slot.

‘Don’t forget the pencil.’

She passed him the pencil.

‘I’m leaving now to do this shopping. It’ll take a few hours. Here’s a bottle of water and some biscuits.’

Lucy was beginning to feel more reassured and the waves of cold fear and panic were becoming less and less frequent. It was still an effort to be rational and pragmatic but that was the aim on which she must focus. Her screams and pleading had upset him. He was in control so she had little option but to do as he said. She needed him for food and drink. She must look for a weakness. What did he want? What did he plan to do? Trying to read him, to answer these questions, to search for a way out, would prevent the horror of her situation taking over her mind.

‘What about my parents?’

‘What about your parents?’ His tone lacked concern, as if her question was of no importance.

‘They’ll be worried.’

‘That’s unavoidable.’

Those were his last words before he turned and disappeared from the building leaving her chained and alone.

Rapidly, the ability to distract herself, to think of other things, slipped away. ‘When I’m ready, I’ll let you go.’ What was that all about? Just words, words spoken to reassure her, to keep her calm until … until he was ready; but ready for what? Lucy could not see beyond or around that unknown fate. It filled her head and robbed her of all thought and control. Girls who are taken are usually found dead. The thought which she’d struggled to push away hadn’t come as words but as an amorphous knowing whose meaning was only too clear: there was a very real chance he would kill her; she was going to die.

Lucy’s mouth felt dry, her skin damp, and her limbs began to tremble.

Desperately, she planted her feet, grasped the chain with both hands and pulled as hard as she could; nothing. She wrapped it once round her waist and threw her body backwards, crying out with pain as the links dug into her flesh. The chain held fast to the wall. She was totally helpless; unable to fight, unable to escape, and there was nowhere to hide. Overcome with dread, Lucy sank to the floor, drew her knees to her chest and encircled them with her arms in a vain attempt to stop the shaking. Please, if she was going to die, let it be quick, let it be painless.