Читать книгу The Principle of Evil: A Fast-Paced Serial Killer Thriller - T.M.E. Walsh - Страница 21

02:03 a.m.

She was freezing.

That was Nola’s first thought when she opened her eyes for the first time since being attacked in the bath. She didn’t know how long she’d been out cold. There was no concept of time down there with so little light, just a sense of dread and heaviness in the air.

She noticed the small lamp on a table in the corner. She tried to think but her head felt heavy, especially when she tried to pull herself up from the floor. She felt a sharp tug at her skin when she moved her hands.

She stared at the medieval-style shackles that circled around a pipe fixed to the wall and, instinctively, pulled the chain hard. The pipe vibrated, and metal bit tighter into her skin. She stifled a groan of desperation and pulled at the shackles again and again until she broke the skin and her wrists ached. She felt tears wash her cheeks as she began to sob.

*

Upstairs, the man smiled as he turned the volume down low on his television set. He wanted to imagine her pain, her desperation. It felt empowering. Although the basement was carefully soundproofed, he still heard the rumble in the pipe. Nola was finally awake, and probably cold and hungry. She would also be very scared… perfect.

*

She heard the floorboards creak above her, and sucked in a deep breath before screaming. It wasn’t until her throat felt red-raw that she stopped. She swallowed hard, the sensation akin to swallowing ground glass.

She heard the door at the top of the stairs groan, as locks were turned and a bolt drawn back. Her heart thundered against her chest, and she realised she was holding her breath. The door swung open and she saw his feet on the top of the wooden stairs. She pulled herself to her feet, the chain ringing against the pipe.

She backed against the wall.

The man slowly came down the stairs, taking his time, prolonging the agony inside her. Each creak of the wood under his weight made her nerves alive with fear.

‘Aaron?’

He stopped.

Inside, she cursed herself. She may not be the brightest but she felt really stupid for not realising that “Aaron” was not his real name. Everything about this man was a lie, and she’d fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.

He continued down the stairs. She pushed herself further back against the wall, as if she could melt and hide inside the walls themselves.

He approached her with caution, and she noted the tray he was carrying, balancing a jug of water and a plate with a lid. It was like one of the stainless steel plates containing food she’d had in hospital once.

Underneath one arm he clutched neatly folded clothes. He stopped a few feet in front of her, watching her recoil. He frowned as he went to the table. She watched him like a hawk as he sat the tray down. Unfolding the clothes from under his arm, he turned to her, eyes hidden in the shadows cast across his face.

‘Are you thirsty?’

Silence.

Neither could hear anything but the sound of their own breathing. His eyes met hers. Nola Grant was scared all right. Scared to death almost.

‘You must stay hydrated to keep your strength up.’

She almost buckled at his words. ‘You’re not going to kill me?’ she said, a new wave of hope flooding her senses. His eyes narrowed, before looking back at the table.

‘I didn’t say that.’

Pause. ‘I just want to go home.’

He breathed in sharply and went to speak, but firmly shut his mouth and she immediately felt her heart sink. A fearful sweat took hold of her. Whatever nasty thought he had in his head quickly disappeared as he held up a pair of jeans and a thin jumper.

‘I’ve brought you a different set of clothes,’ he said, as he looked at her from head to toe. ‘Yours are… unsuitable.’

He edged closer, until he stood within a few inches of touching her. ‘I think I got your size right. I got the smallest in the shop, size six.’ Her eyes were silently questioning him. ‘Here, let me help you.’

As he reached out to touch her, she sank to the floor, drew up her legs towards her torso, raising her arms to protect herself.

‘Don’t touch me!’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said, kneeling beside her on the rough cold concrete. He slipped his fingers down the waistband of her leggings, but she kicked him hard in the jaw, sending his head reeling to one side with a crack.

Then there was silence.

She pulled herself upright. His face was turned away from her, and he was bent forward to one side.

‘Now you know why I took those heels off you.’

She froze at the tone of his voice.

He swung his head back around to stare at her. His eyes were darker than before. They were frightening, almost no iris, just pupils dark and wide, bottomless holes.

He spat blood from his mouth onto the floor, narrowly missing her leg. She watched him arch a finger inside his mouth, pull it out and inspect the blood on his fingertip. He’d bitten his cheek with the force of her blow. It took every ounce of strength to suppress his inner rage.

For a brief moment he recalled his mother’s words from when he was about twelve years old. “Jekyll and Hyde.” That was the only way she could ever describe him to anyone.

‘Don’t try that again, or I’ll have to shackle your ankles as well.’ He spoke quietly, but Nola recognised the very real threat behind his words. She recoiled as he reached out for her again. This was part of the humiliation he wanted her to feel, right down to her core.

‘I don’t want to change my clothes.’ She rushed her words, and even to her own ears, she could hear as the sentence tumbled from her mouth that the words sounded jumbled. Almost incoherent. She was losing her control.

‘Your clothes offend me, Nola. You will change or you won’t eat. That’s how it is. How it has to be.’ He sat forward and pulled her leggings over her small hips.

She squirmed. ‘No, please, let me change myself.’ She tried to push his hands away. The chain around the pipe vibrated under the strain. He looked at her, then the shackles. ‘Give me this one bit of dignity, please, I beg you.’

He weighed up her request. It wasn’t unreasonable and he didn’t want to touch her any more than was necessary. He nodded and he could visibly see her relief.

He moved so close, she could feel the heat of his breath. ‘I’m going to unlock your shackles. I’ll be waiting right outside the door whilst you change. When you’re decent, sit back on the floor and call for me.’

Nola nodded obediently, forcing a grateful smile.

He suddenly reached out and gripped her chin in his hand, twisting her face towards his. She felt flecks of spit on her lips as he spoke.

‘Listen to me carefully, Nola, this is very important… There is no other way out of this basement other than the door up those stairs.’

He saw her eyes glaze over again and a tear roll down her cheek. He watched it slide over her skin and felt an urge simmering inside him. He stretched out his tongue, catching the teardrops on the tip, and licked up the length of her cheek.

He closed his eyes, heard a desperate whimper escape her mouth. His eyes fluttered open. Hers were wide. Fearful.

‘I will always be right behind that door.’ He squeezed her chin hard. ‘Make sure you don’t forget that… Do you understand what I’m telling you?’

She blinked hard. She understood.

He produced a key from his pocket, held it in front of her eyes, then unlocked her shackles. He watched her rub each wrist before he passed her the clothes. When he reached the top of the stairs, he turned and glared at her.

‘Remember what I said.’

*

Nola changed quickly, never taking her eyes from the door. Her legs were trembling as she pulled the jeans up and over her hips. They were a perfect fit; the man had chosen well. When she pulled the jumper on, it also fit seamlessly. The man had guessed her size, which unnerved her even more.

Just how long has he been watching me?

Her eyes took in the room. She was desperate for a way out but was mindful of what he’d said to her, and she believed every word. She called out to him, and after a long pause he opened the door and came down the stairs towards her. He stared at her from head to toe, and nodded, pleased with himself.

‘You look much better. More respectable.’ Nola didn’t know why, but she found herself smiling at him, as if she needed his approval. She watched him pick up the shackles and raise them towards her. ‘Back in these, please.’

He saw her face fall.

‘It’s a necessity.’

Once he pulled the shackles around the pipe and cuffed her again, he retrieved the tray from the table and set it on the floor by her feet. He removed the lid, and steam from a hot casserole swirled up towards her, and her stomach tightened with pangs of hunger.

He looked at her face thoughtfully before pointing at the food. ‘Please eat.’

She sat on the floor cross-legged but hesitated. He smiled. ‘It’s fine. I’ve not poisoned it.’ He produced a plastic spoon, threw it into her lap. ‘Eat now, because there won’t be anything else for a while, and you’ll only get fed if you’re good.’

‘How long have I been out?’

His face was serious. ‘Not long enough for anyone to notice you’ve gone.’

She shivered at the words but found the strength to press him further. ‘Why am I here? What’ve I done?’ He twitched at her tone of voice, as if it were painful to his ears. He paused.

‘You’ll find out soon enough, just eat.’ He retrieved the water from the table and poured some into a plastic cup, then sat it down beside her. ‘Make sure you drink,’ he said, before climbing back up the stairs. When he reached the top he looked down at her and scanned the room, checking for anything that might be out of place. ‘You’ve got twenty minutes, then I’ll be taking your plate.’

She looked away, holding back her tears. ‘Don’t try anything stupid, and remember what I’ve told you.’ Then he slammed the door after him. As she heard the turn of a key and a bolt lock her away again, she flung her head back, letting out a guttural cry.