Birdman

51

Bliss stood over her. Looking at her curiously as if she were a small snail he had found crawling across his living-room floor.

'Awake?' he murmured lightly.

'She's dying.' Rebecca tried to bend her legs up, get some leverage, but the tape dug into her flesh, cutting the blood supply. She gave up and dropped back, panting. 'If you don't stop you'll kill her.'

'Yes.' Bliss picked thoughtfully at the inside of his nostril. 'Yes.' He put his hand on his knees and bent in to get a better view of Joni, her head lolling limply against her chest. Then, nodding to himself, he straightened.

'Yes,' he said wiping his hands on his fat thighs. 'You're right. Now you. You want it again?'

Shaky, in pain, she held her hand up. 'Don't touch me.'

'Too late. I already have.'

'You're lying.'

'No,' he said pleasantly. 'After I splattered you all over my kitchen I fucked what was left. You were unconscious.'

Not true.

'Look.' He pressed the tip of his penis, wet and distended, between his fingers and smiled. 'See? I'm ready. I'll cut your tape off and then you can open your legs for me.'

'They know I'm with you. I called them before I came to your flat — told them where I was going. They're on the way.'

'Shut up.'

'It's true.' Her voice trembled but she kept her head up. 'First they'll telephone and then they'll arrive at the door.'

'I said shut up.' He rolled his tongue around his mouth. 'Now lie down quietly and—'

Suddenly, shockingly, from the hallway the phone rang. Bliss twitched, his eyes reluctantly flickering to the doorway, and Rebecca saw she had him.

He believed her.

'That's them,' she whispered, building on this stroke of serendipity. 'That's them on the phone.'

'Shut up.'

'Go on. Answer it and see.' She waved her hand at the door. 'It's them. They'll want to negotiate with you — they'll make you think you're safe, but whatever happens they'll get you, Malcolm—' She should have seen it coming, but Bliss was the one with the predator's heart, not she. 'SHUT UP, CUNT!' A foot slammed into her stomach.

She rolled sideways, panting, struggling not to vomit. Overhead the balloons shifted, murmuring and bouncing as if they'd like a better view of her struggle. Now she could hear Bliss rummaging in the kitchen drawers, in the drawers that she had earmarked knives and scissors. She rolled her eyes to the kitchen and just had time to see — gleaming gently as if it were capable of anticipation — a single, steel butcher's hook protruding from the ceiling, before Bliss came out carrying a length of electric flex and a roll of cling-film. He slid a scalpel up the inside of her thighs, splitting the tape.

'NOW OPEN YOUR FUCKING LEGS, CUNT!'

In spite of herself Rebecca started to whimper.