You Are Dead

44

Saturday 13 December

Logan cried with terror and frustration. The salty tears stung her eyes, and she was desperate to wipe them. She struggled against her bonds, but still she could not move her arms. She lay in the pitch darkness, shaking, alternating with flashes of fury, her thoughts a constant jumble.

Was anyone looking for her?

Was she in Hell?

Her maternal grandmother was devout, a member of a strict chapel. She had warned Logan on every occasion they had met of Hell and Damnation. To beware of sinning and the consequences of being a sinner.

Had the old woman been right?

What the hell was going on? Who was this weirdo who was keeping her here? What was going on in the outside world beyond this hell hole?

Hell.

She was beginning to realize what Hell really was. Hell wasn’t some Biblical dungeon of fire and brimstone. Hell was darkness. Hell was listening to people she could not see and did not know crying out in terror and pain. Listening to people being hurt and dying.

Hell was eternal darkness and eternal fear.

Praying had not worked. It had changed nothing.

Her mouth was parched. She had to find a way of communicating with her captor. Had to bond with him, somehow. Whoever he was.

Wherever she was.

Sometime ago, she wasn’t sure if it was minutes or hours, she had heard what sounded like birdsong. Very faint. The dawn chorus? Sparrows, thrushes, starlings, blackbirds?

Was she in the city or in the countryside?

Suddenly, very faintly, she heard a siren wailing. Her hopes rose. The police? On their way? Still faint, as if in the distance, the siren grew louder. Louder still. Please, God! Please! Please!

Then it faded again.

Please come back. Please. Please. Come back.

Her thigh still burned like hell. Agonizing cramp had returned to her right leg and she couldn’t stretch it away. She wanted to scream out for help, but she was scared of the man. So scared.

She had to be smart. Strong. But how?

Her thoughts went back to the terrified voice she’d heard some while back.

Help me, oh my God, help me!

The thudding sounds. The cries. More thudding sounds.

And then silence.

Whoever had brought her here — the man in the shadows in the underground car park — must want something.

What?

What could she offer him? Her body? Money? Jamie had always been fascinated by television documentaries on serial killers.

She twisted in terror at the thought.

Maniacs who got pleasure out of torturing and killing women.

Please don’t let any of this be happening to me.

She heard a scraping sound above her. The lid was being moved back. She saw a green glow, then blinding light in her face.

Moments later she tasted honey. She sucked it gratefully. Then more. She swallowed. It was followed by deliciously cold water. She gulped it down. Then she said, ‘Can we talk? Please? Please can we talk?’

She heard another scraping sound. The lid was closing again.

Then silence.