the stun-gun he’d used to take her. The thing he’d used to defile Karen Green. ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her. ‘If they try and make you do something you shouldn’t, I’ll use this.’ He looked puzzled by her expression of fear. ‘It won’t hurt you,’ he promised. ‘It’ll just stop them making you do things. It keeps them away.’
‘I need to clean up, that’s all,’ she told him.
He considered her for a long time before speaking. ‘OK,’ he said, and moved towards her cage slowly and carefully, his eyes never leaving hers. Within a few short steps he was at her cage, almost as close to her as he’d been when he took her, his pallid skin and stained crooked teeth clearly visible, his arms thin, but sinewy and strong, the arteries and veins blue and swollen. He took a key carefully from his other tracksuit pocket and tentatively held it close to the lock. He considered her again, then gave a broad smile, pushed the key into the lock and turned it. A slight moment of hesitation and then he swung the door open, the hinges squealing and the wire of the cage reverberating. He stepped back, the stun-gun in his hand at his side. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘this way,’ and pointed towards the old hospital screen.
Louise walked in a hunched, squatted gait towards the opening, the pain of her muscles cramping matched only by the fear that made her heart send shock waves through her chest. She paused for a moment at the entrance and waited for him to take a few more steps back, at last pushing herself through into the room, stretching her sore, stiff body, straightening for the first time in a day and a half, but all the time careful not to let the duvet slip from her shoulders and show him her nakedness. ‘Behind the screen,’ he instructed her. ‘You can get cleaned up there and there’s a toilet you can use. It’s only a chemical one, but it works well enough.’
‘Thank you,’ she forced herself to tell him, when all she really wanted to do was spit in his face. As she rounded the screen she saw her facilities – an old, stained sink barely attached to the cellar wall; rusty, limescale-crusted metal taps and a new-looking chemical toilet set low on the floor. She guessed he had recently installed the toilet, but clearly he had been planning for this for some time. Her eyes searched around for anything she could fashion into a weapon. There was nothing. She swallowed her disappointment and her rising tears.
She could feel him on the other side of the screen, watching her through the thin fabric, waiting for her to drop the duvet, his imagination removing the barrier, his eyes flicking across her skin. ‘Are you all right in there?’ he asked, as if she was in a separate room.
‘Yes,’ she stuttered in reply. ‘Just getting things ready.’
‘The hot water tap’s the one on the left,’ he warned her.
She let the water run hot before putting the chained plug in the sink and allowing it to fill, looking over her shoulder at his silhouette behind her, allowing the duvet to slip to the floor, leaving her standing naked and vulnerable in a way she’d never felt until now. Quickly she began to wash, using the sliver of soap he’d left on the sink to try and cleanse her skin of as much of him as she could. All the time she knew he was watching her, watching her hands moving over her own damp, shiny body. She rinsed herself clean of the soap and looked around for a towel, a sense of panic rising as she realized there wasn’t one next to the sink, the panic easing when she saw it on the table by the tray of food he’d brought. Hurriedly she patted herself dry, the stale smell of the scratchy towel making her want to retch. She could hear him, breathing heavily as he watched her. Pulling the duvet over herself, she stepped out from behind the screen.
‘Take the tray,’ he said. ‘It’s all for you.’
She studied the tray and the items on it suspiciously. A white-bread sandwich, some
‘I need to clean up, that’s all,’ she told him.
He considered her for a long time before speaking. ‘OK,’ he said, and moved towards her cage slowly and carefully, his eyes never leaving hers. Within a few short steps he was at her cage, almost as close to her as he’d been when he took her, his pallid skin and stained crooked teeth clearly visible, his arms thin, but sinewy and strong, the arteries and veins blue and swollen. He took a key carefully from his other tracksuit pocket and tentatively held it close to the lock. He considered her again, then gave a broad smile, pushed the key into the lock and turned it. A slight moment of hesitation and then he swung the door open, the hinges squealing and the wire of the cage reverberating. He stepped back, the stun-gun in his hand at his side. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘this way,’ and pointed towards the old hospital screen.
Louise walked in a hunched, squatted gait towards the opening, the pain of her muscles cramping matched only by the fear that made her heart send shock waves through her chest. She paused for a moment at the entrance and waited for him to take a few more steps back, at last pushing herself through into the room, stretching her sore, stiff body, straightening for the first time in a day and a half, but all the time careful not to let the duvet slip from her shoulders and show him her nakedness. ‘Behind the screen,’ he instructed her. ‘You can get cleaned up there and there’s a toilet you can use. It’s only a chemical one, but it works well enough.’
‘Thank you,’ she forced herself to tell him, when all she really wanted to do was spit in his face. As she rounded the screen she saw her facilities – an old, stained sink barely attached to the cellar wall; rusty, limescale-crusted metal taps and a new-looking chemical toilet set low on the floor. She guessed he had recently installed the toilet, but clearly he had been planning for this for some time. Her eyes searched around for anything she could fashion into a weapon. There was nothing. She swallowed her disappointment and her rising tears.
She could feel him on the other side of the screen, watching her through the thin fabric, waiting for her to drop the duvet, his imagination removing the barrier, his eyes flicking across her skin. ‘Are you all right in there?’ he asked, as if she was in a separate room.
‘Yes,’ she stuttered in reply. ‘Just getting things ready.’
‘The hot water tap’s the one on the left,’ he warned her.
She let the water run hot before putting the chained plug in the sink and allowing it to fill, looking over her shoulder at his silhouette behind her, allowing the duvet to slip to the floor, leaving her standing naked and vulnerable in a way she’d never felt until now. Quickly she began to wash, using the sliver of soap he’d left on the sink to try and cleanse her skin of as much of him as she could. All the time she knew he was watching her, watching her hands moving over her own damp, shiny body. She rinsed herself clean of the soap and looked around for a towel, a sense of panic rising as she realized there wasn’t one next to the sink, the panic easing when she saw it on the table by the tray of food he’d brought. Hurriedly she patted herself dry, the stale smell of the scratchy towel making her want to retch. She could hear him, breathing heavily as he watched her. Pulling the duvet over herself, she stepped out from behind the screen.
‘Take the tray,’ he said. ‘It’s all for you.’
She studied the tray and the items on it suspiciously. A white-bread sandwich, some
Similar Books
