Splinter

45

‘Help. Please help me.’

Marc shrank back. The voice grew louder. ‘Don’t go! Don’t leave me here!’

Although he’d taken only a quick look and drawn the drapes aside for only a moment, he was sure the cradle contained nothing but a little pillow. He might have overlooked some pyjamas, a baby’s toy or a blanket, but he certainly hadn’t failed to see a living occupant, least of all one big enough to address him in such a deep male voice.

‘Who’s there?’ he asked, convinced that he was talking to a recording.

He was all the more startled to receive an answer. ‘Thank God you came, Marc.’

It knows my name. How does it know my name?

His heart beat faster. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded, reaching gingerly for the curtains. He was still a good metre from the cradle and had to force himself to approach it again.

‘I’m the one you’re looking for,’ said the man. His hoarse, rather distorted voice sounded quite unfamiliar.

Marc drew back the curtain. The first thing he saw was the white pillow. Then he saw the numerals embroidered in red on the pillowcase:

13 / 11

Just as it dawned on him that this was today’s date, he spotted the baby monitor. He picked it up, staring incredulously at the mouthpiece – and almost dropped it when the man spoke again. ‘Please come and get me.’

He noticed the metallic echo only now, although the quality of the digital radio was several times better than that of a normal telephone.

He put the device to his lips and spoke straight into it: ‘What is all this?’

‘I… I’m an acquaintance…’

There was a hiss, followed by the sound of static on the line.

‘…an acquaintance of your wife. Please help me.’

‘Where are you?’

Another hiss, then the man said quietly: ‘I’m down here. In the cellar.’