Looking Good Dead

49

Kellie tried to move, but the pain in her arms worsened each time she struggled, the string, or wire, or whatever had been tied around them cutting deeper and deeper into her flesh. And when she tried to shout, the deep sound made her whole face vibrate and stayed trapped in her mouth.

‘Mmmmnnnnnnnnnnnuuuug.’

She could see nothing, could not open her eyes. There was total bitumen blackness beyond the images inside her head. She could hear nothing except for the sound of her blood roaring in her ears. The sound of her own fear.

Shaking in terror and from cold. And from lack of alcohol.

Her throat was parched. She needed a drink. Desperately, desperately needed a gulp of vodka. And water.

Her crotch was cold and itchy. A while ago, when she had finally let go of the urine she could no longer contain, it had felt strangely, comfortably warm for several minutes. Until it had started to turn cold. Occasionally she could smell it; then it would just be the musty, chilly, cellar smell again.

She had no idea what the time was. Nor where she was. Her head pounded. Cold, sick fear swirled in the deep, black well of her insides, swirled in the blood inside her veins. She was so scared it was impossible to think clearly.

Just occasionally, she thought she could hear the very faint sound of traffic. An occasional siren. Coming to rescue her?

But she had no idea where she was.

Tears welled in her sealed eyes. She wanted Tom, she wanted Jessica and Max, wanted to hear all their voices, feel their arms around her. She tried to remember those moments, those confused, all-speeded-up moments.

She had driven Mandy Morrison home. Pulled up outside her parents’ modern Spanish-style house in swanky Tongdean Lane, a steep hill near the Withdean sports stadium. She sat in the car, music playing on the radio, waiting to see that Mandy had let herself safely in the front door before driving on.

Mandy had opened the door, gone inside, turned and waved and closed the door.

Then the passenger door of her car had opened.

And the rear door behind her.

A hand as strong as steel had pulled her neck back. Then something wet and acrid was being held against her nose.

She whimpered at the memory.

Then she was here.

Shaking uncontrollably.

On her back on a rock-hard floor.

She struggled, trying to move her arms again, but the pain became unbearable. She tried to move her legs, but they felt cemented together. Her breathing was getting faster, her chest tightening.

She felt light pouring onto her. The darkness behind her eyelids became a red haze.

Then she emitted a muffled bellow of pain as tape was ripped away from her eyes, taking what felt like half her skin. And she blinked, momentarily dazzled by the light. A squat man with a smug grin and wavy silver hair pulled back into a small pigtail, grossly overweight, in a baggy shirt open to the navel, was standing over her.

At first she felt relief; she thought this man had come to help her. She tried to speak to him, but all she could make was a gurgling sound.

He stared back at her without speaking, eyeing her up and down with an expression of deep thoughtfulness. Then, finally, he smiled at her, and her heart leapt. He had come to help her – he was going to get her out of here, take her home to Tom and Jessica and Max!

Suddenly his tongue slipped out of his lips and gave a quick flick, like a snake’s, wiping all the way round them, moistening them. Then he said in an American accent, ‘You look like a woman who takes it up the ass.’

He put his hand in his pocket and Kellie heard the clink of metal. As fear squeezed her, crushing every cell in her body, she saw a delicate silver chain swing from his fingers.

‘I’ve brought you a present, Kellie,’ he said in a voice that told her he was her new best friend. He held it up in front of her face; there was a small pendant hanging from the chain, and in the poor light she couldn’t quite make out the design engraved on it. It looked like some kind of beetle.

‘You can relax,’ he said. ‘We’re just going to take a few pictures for your family album!’

‘Grnnnngwg,’ she responded.

‘If you’re a good girl and do exactly what I tell you, I might even let you have a drink. Stoli vodka’, he said. ‘That’s your favourite, isn’t it?’

In his other hand he held up a bottle.

‘I wouldn’t want you to die of thirst,’ he added. ‘That would really be a waste.’