Deadline

Forty-seven

Emma put the bed back in its original position so that it covered the hole in the wall and the brickdust on the floor, and waited in silence with the hood in her hands. Her elbow ached where she'd smacked it on the floor, and she felt sick and thirsty.

The movement upstairs had stopped a few minutes ago, and now she couldn't hear anything. She wondered what to do. The problem was, she might be mobile, but the fact remained that she was still handcuffed and locked in here, and the chain was still attached to her ankle, which was definitely going to slow her down if she did make a run for it. And the silence scared her, because silence was what she associated with the cruel one.

Back later, bitch.

Maybe he was sharpening his knife right now?

But she couldn't just sit there waiting for him to come and kill her. Otherwise all her efforts would be in vain. No, she had to do something. A plan formed in her mind. She'd hide at the top of the steps behind the door, and when he came inside she'd push him down them before he had a chance to spot her. Then she'd make a break for it. It was pretty lame as plans went, but it was the best she could think up at the moment.

She lifted up the ankle chain and started to get up from the bed. And then stopped as the key turned in the lock and the door opened.

She was too late.

Hurriedly, she got back on the bed and let the chain slip to the floor. Her hands were shaking and she felt fear running up her spine. Was this it? The last seconds of her life, in a dingy, cold basement miles from home?

Silence.

She made no move to put on the hood as she stared towards the staircase.

The light came on, and she squinted against its brightness.

'Emma,' came a voice from the top of the steps, 'it's me.'

She felt a surge of excitement. It was the smelly one. She was going to be OK.

'Hi,' she said quietly. 'I'm here.'

'Put your hood on, honey. OK? It's almost time to go home.'

She did as she was told, hardly able to believe her luck.

'Am I honestly going home?'

'That's right,' he answered in that wheezy voice of his. 'It's over. Your mum paid the money so you don't have to stay here any more.'

She heard him come close. Smelled him, too, the BO so strong now it made her gag beneath the hood. He put something down on the floor by the bed and she thought she heard water sloshing.

'Am I going to go now?'

'Very soon. We'll just get you ready. Then there'll be a little journey, and that'll be it. Back home to your mum. First I'm going to give you a little wash, though. So you're all nice and clean.'

She felt a wet sponge on her left arm. It made her feel cold and itchy. He ran it slowly up and down before starting on the other one.

'Bet that feels good, doesn't it?'

'You don't need to do this. I can wait until I'm home.'

'I want to do it.'

He moved her arms to one side and lifted up her T-shirt, rubbing the sponge on her tummy in small circles. Water dripped down towards the top of her skirt, and she heard him swallow. It was a really horrible sound, like something a frog would make.

'What are you doing?' she whispered.

'Just washing you, darling,' he replied, lifting her T-shirt higher. Swallowing a second time.

That was when she realized with a sickening feeling that the nightmare hadn't ended after all.