You Are Dead

38

Saturday 13 December

Logan lay in a cold sweat, in a vortex of fear, trying to focus her mind which lurched uncontrollably from terror to anger, then back to terror.

Hoping, praying that she would wake from this terrible nightmare.

At this moment, terror swirled inside her like cold, heavy darkness. It filled her mind, her heart, her lungs, her stomach. Her mouth was dry, she was shaking and whimpering, blinded by her stinging tears, and desperately trying to think clearly. To figure her way out of this.

Ever since realizing the muffled voice was clearly not Jamie’s, her mind had been in a mist. Who the hell was her captor? What was going on? Where was she? How long had she been here?

The pain where she had been burned on her thigh was agonizing, as if acid were eating through her flesh. The pain in her toe was bad too, a steady, insistent throbbing. But she was trying to ignore all the pain, to blot it out. To think. Think.

She had to think clearly.

She had an itch on her nose that was driving her crazy. It had been driving her crazy for what felt like an age.

Surely Jamie would have reported her missing? Wouldn’t people be out looking for her? Wouldn’t there be police combing the streets, fields, woods, dragging lakes, like she had seen in movies?

How long had she been here? How long? No matter how hard she writhed and twisted her head, she couldn’t see the face of her watch.

She thought back to when she had phoned Jamie. Hours ago? Days ago? Weeks ago? She’d heard the instant concern in his voice. He’d registered that she was frightened in those moments before her car door had been ripped open and she’d seen the masked face above her.

A tsunami of fear crashed through her at the memory.

Jamie must have tried to phone her back. What happened when he didn’t get an answer? He’d have gone to the police, surely? He’d have known she wasn’t joking. So what had he done, who had he alerted? What was happening out there beyond the walls of her prison?

Prison.

Captor.

Her anger flared again. Whoever the hell you are, what gives you the right to imprison me? How dare you do this to me? She writhed and pulled and pushed out against her increasingly painful bonds. Shit, this was ridiculous. She had so much to do. Patients who needed her. A big party on Saturday night that she had really been looking forward to, a reunion of all the girls from their year in school, and their partners, at the Exeter Street church hall they had all helped save from developers. There was going to be a load of people there she hadn’t seen in over five years.

With a sudden flash of panic she realized she didn’t know how far away Saturday night was. Or had it already passed?

Her mind kept veering to horror movies she’d seen. Crazies who kidnapped people and tortured and then killed them. Hostel. The Bone Collector. The Silence of the Lambs. Was this what had happened to her? Not here, not in Brighton, not in this city she loved and where she always felt so safe, surely not?

Then she thought of the screams of the woman she had heard. Followed by the terrible gurgling; the rasping sound, like a death rattle, then the silence. How long ago was that? Who else was in here? Was she going to be next?

She was bloody well not going to let that happen. Somehow she had to keep clear-headed. How did people get out of situations like this?

She tried again to move her arms, but they were strapped down too tightly. There was some kind of restraint across her midriff, across her neck, her thighs and her ankles. With all her strength she tried to raise her head again, until the strap cut into her throat too much.

What the hell was she in?

The burning sensation on the inside of her right leg suddenly became even more acute, as if it had caught fire. But she couldn’t even move her arms to touch the area.

She lay back in the pitch darkness, her mouth parched again. Her sugar levels were going down again, too, she realized, the all too familiar jittery feeling starting to return. Then she heard a noise that chilled her. Despite the sound being muffled, the words were clear.

A woman’s voice. Screaming. ‘Let me go, you bastard!’

Then the man’s voice, shouting out in anger and pain. ‘Owww!’ Then again, ‘Owww!’

Hope rose inside her.

‘Owww, you bitch.’

There was a crashing sound. She heard a woman’s voice yelling, ‘Get your hands off me, you bastard perv!’

Go! Logan urged. Go!

Then she heard a dull thud, followed by the woman screaming out in pain. Then another thud, like a hammer against a sack. Then another. Then the man’s voice, in a chilling rage.

‘Look what you’ve made me do, you bitch! You’ve spoiled my fun. You realize that? You’ve spoiled my fun.’

Then Logan heard the scream again. It was a terrible sound, deep, powerful, fuelled by absolute terror. ‘Help me, oh my God, help me!’

Then another thud.

Then silence.

Logan lay there, shaking. Waiting. Then the man’s voice again.

It was followed by another thud. Then another. Then another.

Then silence.

Logan lay, listening, trembling. But all she could hear was the silence.

She was sinking low, she realized. Heading into a hypo.

Suddenly she heard the sliding sound above her and, an instant later, was blinded by a brilliant beam of light. A lump of chocolate was rammed into her mouth. Then the muffled voice again.

‘Eat that. I don’t want to lose you, too. We’re not ready for that yet.’

‘Please — please tell me who you are?’ she spluttered through her mouthful of sweetness. ‘Tell me what you want? Please tell me?’

‘I have what I want,’ he replied.

The lid slid shut above her.