Wish You Were Dead

6

In the pitch darkness, Jack Alexander was trying to think clearly, and his blinding headache made that hard. His skull felt like it had an ice pick sticking into it. His shoulders ached like hell. His wrists were bound tightly together in front of him by what felt like cable ties, which cut painfully into him. The ties were attached to a chain linked to a heavy metal ring fixed to the wall.

Try as he could, he was unable to get any slack to free the bindings. They felt like they were cutting into his wrists deeper and deeper. Was this what it would have felt like to be locked in a medieval torture chamber, he wondered?

He could only breathe through his nose, because his mouth was taped shut, preventing him from crying out. He was painfully hungry and very thirsty. And he needed to pee. He fought that, but it was getting harder with each passing minute. He had no idea how long he had been down here — wherever here was. Hours, for sure, since he had driven up to the front entrance of this horrible dump of a chateau.

Some holiday this was turning out to be, he thought, grimly.

All he could remember was walking up the steps to the front door. It had opened and he had seen an angry woman with her arm raised, holding what looked like a cosh, a split second before she brought it crashing down.

Then darkness and silence.

Until a short while ago, when he had heard voices. Familiar voices. Roy Grace. Cleo and — he was sure — Kaitlynn. Up until then the only sounds had been the occasional pained bark of a dog.

Worried out of his mind for them all — and especially for Kaitlynn — he had tried to shout out to them, to warn them to get the hell away, but no sound would come out of his mouth.

There was another surge of acute pain in his bladder. He clenched tight, fighting it with all his strength, willing it to pass. Thinking. All the time thinking. This must be a nightmare. The worst dream ever. He would wake up soon. Please.

Please.

Now he could hear music. Like a church choir singing.

Somehow, somehow, he had to warn them all to get away. To get help.

He also had the feeling that, wherever he was, he was not alone. He could sense other people in here with him. They were in a cellar, he guessed, from the cold and damp. He wanted to call out to them but, unable to move his mouth, he could only make the faintest of grunting sounds.