Private Royals

Chapter 13

Abbie opened her eyes. She looked around her, and she wanted to cry.

The plate was empty. The powder was gone.

She ran her finger across the metal, hoping a few remaining grains might stick to her skin. She rubbed what little there was into her gums. They numbed, slightly, but it did little to take the edge off her anxiety — the fear of the inevitable crash after the highs, and the crushing realisation that she was not in her home.

Nor in anyone’s home, as far as she could tell.

Abbie looked at the four walls around her, hating the way the swirling patterns made her vision swim. She looked at the bed, and for the first time noted that it was bolted to the floor. Then she saw the lonely bucket in the corner of the small room, and the black object above her on the ceiling.

It was a camera, she realised.

Why the hell was there a camera on the ceiling?

Her heart beat faster, the pounding of blood in her temples at first obscuring the sounds from beyond the walls, but then she was sure of it. It reminded her of the mice in the family’s country manor house, scratching and scuffling out of sight — but this was too big to be any rodent.

And then Abbie heard the voices. Not words. Only voices. They were commanding. They were angry. Someone was arguing, and amongst that chaos there was the plaintive pleading of a person struck by the most terrible fear.

She stumbled to her feet, putting her ear to the cold metal wall.

‘Who’s out there?’ she shouted.

‘Abbie?’ someone sobbed. And then came a scream.

The kind of scream that marks the end of a life.