by Ryan Casey
No. He couldn’t think that way.
He was here.
He had to take things one step at a time.
Find Ella.
Make sure she was okay.
That’s all that mattered now.
He reached the Land Rover and stopped.
He heard something inside the cabin. Something that sounded like a bang. Someone struggling.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Nausea crashed against him like a wave.
Because that shout.
It sounded familiar.
It sounded like someone he knew.
It sounded like Ella.
He went to take a step towards the cabin, and then he stopped.
He looked around at Dog. Sitting there. Tilting his head. Panting, as rain lashed down at him.
He put a hand on his head. Ruffled his fur. “You’re gonna wait out here, okay? I don’t want you getting yourself hurt. I don’t want to lose someone el... I don’t want to lose anyone today.”
Dog tilted his head again. Nudged Martin’s hand with his nose, then licked it with his sloppy tongue.
Martin smiled. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ to staying outside. You’re gonna be okay out here. You’re gonna be fine. I’ll come back for you. I... I promise.”
Dog rested his head on Martin’s hand. Looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes.
“I’ll come back,” Martin said. “I promise.”
He heard another shout inside.
His body went numb. He couldn’t wait around any longer.
He stood up. Rushed over to the front door.
Turned the handle.
The door didn’t budge.
“Shit.”
He turned it again. Body tingling all over. No sounds from inside for a while. He was torn. He wanted to smash the door down. But then he didn’t know who or what he was dealing with, so he didn’t want to alert whoever was here to his presence.
He wanted to be as sneaky as possible.
Even knowing how much danger Ella might be in.
He went to turn the handle again when he remembered something.
The back window. He’d always had problems with it, back when he and Sarah used to stay here. It didn’t lock. Used to rattle in the night. It didn’t bother him so much. He knew nobody was out here. Sometimes teased Sarah, told her the boogeyman was going to creep into the log cabin in the night, and only he could protect her.
But they’d cuddle up together and laugh it off.
That window.
He could use it to his advantage.
He crept around the back of the cabin. Kept low. He wanted to look through the window. He wanted to see if he could spot anyone inside.
But it was more important to keep a low profile.
It was more important to be patient.
He reached the back of the cabin. Saw that window.
His stomach turned.
The window was boarded up. He didn’t remember seeing it or hearing it when he was staying here. Damned Cynthia. All those years staying here and she never did a thing about it. Only addressed it when they actually stopped coming.
He studied the board. It didn’t look like it was firmly wedged against the frame. He knew he could yank it away and step inside.
But again. Noise. He didn’t want to draw any attention to himself.
He stood there, crowbar in hand, when he heard another muffled shout.
It was loud and clear, even though it was only a muffled shout that sounded guarded by a gag or something. Sent shivers right down Martin’s spine.
It was Ella.
He wanted to maintain his composure. He didn’t want to lose his shit and draw attention to himself.
But screw that. He was out of time.
He pulled back the crowbar.
Swung it around.
And he dragged that wooden board away from the window.
He pulled as hard as he could. For a moment, he didn’t think the wood was going to split away at all.
But then it cracked.
Echoed all around him.
He pulled against that wood some more, as loud as it sounded. He was sure whoever was inside would’ve heard him by now.
But he didn’t care. Not anymore.
All he cared about was Ella.
“I’m coming, Ella,” he muttered. “I’m coming.”
He kept on yanking and splitting the wood away until he was sure he could climb inside.
He turned around. Saw Dog sitting there. Staring up at him. Tongue dangling out.
“I’ll be back for you. Don’t worry.”
He swallowed a lump in his throat.
And then he climbed through the small gap, barely able to wedge himself through it, and dropped to the floor.
He dusted himself down. Rushed to his feet, even though his body ached. Urgency built some more. He raced his way out of the storeroom, through the kitchen and lounge area. No sign of anyone here.
Another bang.
Upstairs.
In the main bedroom.
He tightened his grip around his crowbar.
Braced himself for whatever he was going to find.
And then he ran up the creaky stairs.
He reached the top step, and he heard a man’s voice.
He didn’t hear anything after that.
He couldn’t focus on anything after that.
Being stealthy. Keeping a low profile.
Anything.
He just walked over to the bedroom door.
Yanked it open.
And when he saw inside the bedroom, his whole world turned upside down, all over again.
Chapter Forty-Five
Martin stood at the door to the master bedroom of the cabin, crowbar in hand, and tried to comprehend what he was looking at.
The curtains were closed. The room looked dark. Outside, he heard rain lashing down. The window rattled against its loose latch. He could feel a cold breeze breaking through into the room.
Ella lay on the bed. Ankles tied to the foot of the bed. Her left arm tied to the bedpost. Her right arm was free.
And there was a man crouched over her.
Knife in hand.
He turned and looked at Martin right away. His eyes widened a little. Like he wasn’t expecting to see anyone. Like this wasn’t a part of his plan.
And then Ella—bruised, bloodied, but still her—looked over at him. A smile stretched across her face. “Dad?”
The look on the man’s face changed, then. He stayed perched over Ella. That knife in hand. Martin could see blood dripping from the knife. It was only then that he saw the light cut on her forearm. Not self-inflicted. Caused by this maniac.
They stood there. Martin. This man.
His daughter lay there. Helpless. Defenceless.
None of them said a word.
But the silence had to be broken.
Martin lifted his crowbar and raced across the room.
The man brought his knife down towards Ella. Martin watched it in slow motion.
But he had to keep going.
He had to stop him.
He had to—
The man lifted the knife. Swung it around at Martin.
And it almost hit Martin. Almost stabbed him.
But he dodged out of its way. Just in time.
Lowered his head.
And then he tackled him off the edge of the bed, as hard as he could.
The pair of them landed on the solid wooden floor. The man underneath him was well built. His breath reeked. His bright blue eyes looked creepy as hell. He wasn’t a full shilling, that much was clear.
But he kept on swinging that knife towards Martin. Jabbing it at him.
Martin grabbed the man by the throat. Squeezed as hard as he could until the guy’s eyes went bloodshot.
“You dare lay a finger on my family,” he said, shaking. “You dare—”
Out of nowhere, a kick, right to his balls. A paralysing, sick
ening pain stretched right down the length of his body.
And it caught him out. Just for a second, he dropped his guard.
And that’s when the man beneath him swung his knife towards his neck.
Martin rolled to his right. He didn’t want to lose his ground. He didn’t want to risk anything. Not while Ella was here. Not while she was still tied to that bed.
But he had to avoid that knife.
He had to get it out of the man’s hand.
He leaned to the right. Waited for the man’s knife to swing at him again, to jab towards him.
But then the man yanked his body upright. Nutted him, right in the bridge of his nose.
He tasted blood. Shook his head. Clutched on to his crowbar. Went to lift it up and finish this guy off.
And then he felt another punch, right in his balls.
Saw that knife swinging towards him.
And he had no choice.
He dropped to the right to avoid it. Hoped he had time to regain his ground, to grab that knife from the man’s clutches.
But he was already too late.
The man wrestled him down. Punched him, right across the face, so hard his ears started ringing. He tasted blood. Swore he felt a tooth crack on contact.
He tried to swing back around, to regain his ground, when he felt a stabbing sensation, right in the middle of his arm.
Martin cried out. He looked around.
The man’s knife pierced into his skin.
Blood pooled out.
His fingers lost their grip on the crowbar.
He looked around. Looked up at the man as he crouched on top of him. Gap-toothed, yellow smile. Bright blue eyes. Smirk on his face.
“You made a mistake ever coming here,” he said. “And I’m going to make you regret it. You and your daughter...”
He dug that knife further into Martin’s wrist, and Martin let out another cry...
Chapter Forty-Six
Martin lay on his back, knife to his throat, and he wasn’t sure what else he could do.
The man who’d kidnapped Ella perched over him. Smile on his face. Blood between his yellow teeth, dripping down onto Martin’s face. A crippling pain surged up Martin’s arm where he’d been stabbed. And as he lay there, unable to do a thing, all he could do was think of Ella. All he could think of was the pain she’d put herself through—physically—to try and mask her emotional pain. And how awful that was, especially now he felt it. Especially now he knew what it was like.
He wanted to do so much for her. He wanted to help her.
He wanted to step up to the plate and protect her.
But there was nothing he could do here.
There was nothing he could do to get out of this.
The man leaned further into Martin’s face. His breath stunk of rotten milk. Reminded Martin of the stench of his fridge in his flat back at home whenever he forgot to get any food in, which was more often than not. He got takeout more often than he should.
The relics of the old world, all coming back to him, right at the death.
“You made a mistake coming here,” the man said. “I mean, I admire you, in a way. Travelling all this distance for another human being. I’ve no idea how you found us. I’ve no idea what led you to me. Damn. If I was more sympathetic, I might even let you off the hook.”
He pushed that sharp blade further into Martin’s neck. So hard that Martin felt his skin breaking.
“But I’m not sympathetic,” he said. “If anything, this just convinces me of what I have to do. And it makes what happens next all the more glorious. All the more beautiful. I’ve waited so long to kill. I’ve been locked up inside for so, so damned long. And now it’s time to enjoy myself again. Now it’s time to make the most of this new world.”
He heard sobbing on the bed. Ella. He wanted to go up there. He wanted to hold her hand. “It’s—it’s okay. I’m here, Ella. I’m here.”
The man frowned. Leaned in closer to Martin. “What was that? You want to tell her something? Go on. Speak up. Tell her.”
Martin wanted to say so much to Ella. He wanted to apologise to her. To tell her everything was going to be okay.
But he couldn’t.
Because he didn’t believe things were going to be okay.
He couldn’t see how anything was going to be okay.
Not while he lay here, bleeding out of his arm.
Not while Ella lay tied on the bed, unable to break free.
And not while this psychopath pinned him down.
“Go on,” the man said, more blood dripping between the gaps in his rotting teeth. “Tell your daughter what you’re going to do. Tell her how okay she’s going to be. Lie to her.”
Martin closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. And he said the only words he could say.
“I’m sorry, Ella.”
A pause. He didn’t see the man’s reaction ’cause he had his eyes closed. He didn’t hear any movement from Ella.
Only the beating of his own heart.
The sound of his own voice.
“I’m sorry I abandoned you,” Martin said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for your mum when she wasn’t well. I’m sorry for so many things. But I promise you something. I promise you we’re going to get out of this. I promise you we’re going to escape this mess. And I promise you whatever happens next, I’m going to be by your side. I’m going to be there for you. I’m not losing you. Not again. Not again.”
He kept his eyes closed. Kept on listening to that racing heart. To the heavy breathing of the man above him. The burning in his arm growing up to his shoulder. The knife digging into his neck even more.
Then he heard the man laugh.
“Wow,” he said. “Wow, that was quite something. Quite the motivational speech. Beautiful. Hell, look. I’m even shedding a tear. I’m actually shedding a tear. You know how long it is since I last shed a tear? You know how much it usually takes for me to shed a tear? Bravo, pal. Bravo.”
Martin stared up at him again. He didn’t see a shred of remorse on his face. He just saw pure composure. Pure, uncaring, detached composure.
He was a psycho. That was for sure. He was a lunatic.
And he wasn’t going to let Martin go.
“It’s just a pity it’s fantasy, isn’t it?” he said. “It’s just a pity that no matter how much you promise your daughter you’re getting out of here, no matter how much you peddle lies about how you’re going to get away and start a nice happy little family... it’s not true. Because I’m not letting you go anywhere. And I’m going to make you regret ever stepping back into this cabin. I’m going to make you suffer.”
He felt the knife press even further into his throat.
He closed his eyes and felt his eyes welling up even more. “I’m sorry, Ella. I tried my best. I tried my...”
He stopped talking, then.
Opened his eyes.
Stared up at this man.
And he realised something.
Sure, he’d tried.
He’d fought so far to get here.
He’d fought so much to put things right.
But he still had a chance to keep fighting.
He still had a chance to help her.
To save her.
“That’s... that’s the problem with people like you,” Martin said.
The man frowned. “What? What’s that?”
Martin swallowed a bloody lump. Took a deep breath. Smiled. “You don’t know love. So you don’t know how far someone will go for someone they love.”
A glimmer of confusion on the man’s face. “What—”
Martin swung his stabbed fist against the side of the man’s face.
And then he pushed up against the knife.
The man tumbled back, caught off guard. Martin’s neck felt sore, sliced, but he kept on pushing. He had to.
He punched him again even though his fist and his wrist wracked with pain.
He held the man’s throat with his shaking left hand.
Reached for his crowbar.
Tightened his grip.
“You’re the one who made the mistake,” Martin said. “You fucked with my family. Don’t ever fuck with my family.”
The man opened his mouth to beg.
Martin swung the crowbar down against his face.
Hard.
He didn’t look. He just kept on swinging that crowbar down. All the rage over what this man had done to Ella. All the pain of so many years, all pouring out.
He kept on swinging that crowbar; blood splattered up onto his hand until the man loosened his grip and went still.
He stayed there for a few seconds. The taste of vomit in his mouth. Stomach turning with what he’d just done. The smell of blood in the air. The body beneath him, twitching, all because of him.
He turned around, then. Looked over at Ella. His vision hazy. His arm aching with crippling pain.
He saw her lying there on the bed. Tears in her eyes. A little blood trickling from her arm.
But underneath that gag, smiling.
Smiling.
Martin got to his feet. He untied the ropes. Pulled them from her ankles and her wrists. Dragged the gag from her mouth.
And as blood pooled out of his arm, he reached for his daughter, and he wrapped his arms around her warm body.
And she wrapped her arms around his.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay.”
“I’m—”
“It’s okay, Dad. It’s okay.”
He held on to her like he’d held her in so many dreams. He didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want to lose her.
But the difference with his dreams was that she didn’t loosen her grip.
She didn’t slip from his arms.
She stayed there.
Holding him.
Crying with him.
Together.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Martin walked through the woods and hoped he could find what he was looking for.
It was a nice day. Felt more like summer than autumn. If it wasn’t for the orange leaves and the crunching of acorns underfoot, you could easily be tricked into believing it was the middle of July.