Читать книгу DEAD GONE - Luca Veste, Luca Veste - Страница 17

She’d been asleep.

Lying on the mattress, or at least what she hoped was a mattress, sleep had taken her without her welcoming it. She’d been crying, she remembered that. And then she was floating into nothingness. As random thoughts and words faded away, she couldn’t recall at what point the room disappeared around her.

She’d been dreaming. Lost on a whisper of consciousness, gone forever.

She rubbed at her eyes with greasy palms. At least she wasn’t crying anymore, that was a bonus. One-nil to the petrified girl in the pitch black room.

She took her palms away. Her eyes fighting to become accustomed to the dark once more. She could make out some shapes, but nothing concrete.

She laughed, the sound of it echoing back from the walls. It made her recoil, it didn’t sound like her.

Everything surrounding her was concrete. The walls, the floor. But from touch alone, she guessed the door was something a little different.

She stood, found the wall next to the mattress. Placed her left palm against it, and walked slowly, tracing her way around the room. She stopped as she got to the corner, turned to her right and carried on. She passed her fingers over the ridges of the door, into the next corner. Turned right and walked forward.

Her foot struck porcelain. She felt around the top of the cistern and then downwards, finding the seat. She placed it down and turned around.

After she relieved herself, she instinctively reached for toilet roll. She was surprised to find some there, thinking it would be another home comfort she would have to do without. She flushed, and started the process again. Placing her fingers against the wall above the toilet and moving back towards the mattress in the corner of the same wall. Her feet bumped against something and she stopped. Crouching down, she moved her hand down and began feeling around. More smooth surface. She knocked on it, the sound created sounding similar to the toilet she’d discovered earlier. She grasped both sides of the porcelain, feeling with her palms as she stood up. As she reached the top, it became wider, before dipping down dramatically on the other side.

She felt the outline of something metallic, a hole at one end, fixed to a smooth surface.

A sink.

She tried the tap, twisting it. Water came out, cold. She ran her hands underneath. She cupped her hands together and splashed her face.

This was good. A place she could wash and feel refreshed at any time. ‘Things are looking up,’ she said aloud, the sarcasm echoing back at her.

Great, talk to yourself out loud. That’ll stop you going crazy, she thought.

She turned the tap off, and moved her hands around, trying to feel for a plug. She couldn’t find one. It’ll do though, she decided.

She wiped her hands dry on the front of her dress, then moved back toward the mattress and stood next to it. She could feel the frustration bubbling up inside her again, her hands gripping the ends of her skirt and twisting it around and around. Nobody had the right to do this to her, nobody. She wanted to do something, anything, to release it.

‘Can you hear me? I’m talking to you. Can you hear me? Let me out now. People will be looking for me, people you don’t want to meet. You best let me go now, you bastard.’ Her hands were shaking. Not just through anger and frustration.

It was fear. She needed to control herself, push down the dread which was swarming over her. She was stuck there. In the darkness with no escape.

‘Let me out, please. Just let me go.’

Silence was her reward. She listened closely for anything else.

There was something, she couldn’t place what it was though. She moved alongside the mattress again, trying to pinpoint the noise. In the next corner she stopped and listened.

A light humming noise from above her. She looked up but couldn’t see anything. Just darkness.

She reached up towards the sound, but her small stature betrayed her. Her arms slumped back to her sides. She needed something to occupy her, to stop the terror bubbling inside her from increasing. She placed her back to the wall, the mattress to her right, and counted off paces to the next wall.

‘One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six …’

Her foot hit the wall. The door was to her left. She placed her back to it and walked towards the toilet.

‘One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven …’

On the seventh pace she slipped her foot past the toilet bowl and hit wall.

Six by seven. Almost as big as the box room at her home.

A noise by the door, a lock turning. She turned towards it and something clanged down. The hatch. Something was pushed through, clattered to the floor. The hatch closed again. Jemma stayed still for a moment.

No sound.

She went towards the door, pausing as her feet brushed against something. She bent down and felt around. A plastic bag, something squishing inside as she squeezed the content. Her mouth salivated as she realised what it was. From the shape and texture she thought it was some kind of sandwich. She moved her hand around and found something else. It was wrapped, long, rectangular. Chocolate bar she guessed.

She was hungry, but stopped herself from tearing open the food and devouring it. Anything could be in there. She didn’t want to lose any more control than she already had.

‘I’m not eating this, you hear me? Someone’s coming for me. I don’t need this.’

She threw the bag containing the sandwiches against the door. Lifted herself up and moved back to the mattress.

‘Someone’s coming for me. You hear that you fucking shit, you best hear me. You’re screwed, you hear that. There’ll be nothing left of you.’

She heard a whirring noise. It came to her then, what it was.

‘You’re filming me? You sick twisted animal. Film this.’

She stuck two fingers up towards the corner where she thought the camera was placed.

Lights blared out. She shielded her eyes. Bright light from the ceiling illuminated the room. She’d been in darkness so long it took a while for her to remove her arm from her eyes. She squinted against the brightness. The walls were dark, her eyes adjusting constantly against the sudden light. All around her, written on the wall. Words and words. Blood red, daubed across, surrounding her, causing her to flinch back. She moved towards the writing, reaching out her hand and tracing a fingertip over the words.

Alone, friendless, abandoned, deserted, forsaken, solitary.

Isolated.

Over and over. Written on the walls. She pulled her fingers back, looking at the tips of them as she did. Red stains.

She looked around and saw the sandwiches near the door, the Crunchie bar lying close by.

‘No one is coming. Eat, don’t eat. Nothing changes that simple fact. You’re alone here.’

The voice seeped from the walls, like blood running down the concrete. The words in red becoming larger, pulsating, alive. She blinked, and they went back to normal.

‘You fucking … I’ll kill you. I’ll tear you apart, you sick bastard.’

A low chuckling sound was her response.

Then, the lights went out. The darkness returned.

That was day one.