In Harm's Way

by Owen Mullen

  Derek Crawford had no idea what was on the TV screen; he couldn’t concentrate, his mind wouldn’t let him. He hadn’t been to work in days. Crawford Cars would have to survive without him until he got his head sorted. He’d lost control of his life.

  From the bedroom, the depressing sound of his wife getting ready to meet another man slipped between the floorboards and drifted down.

  He imagined her fixing her hair, adding the finishing touches to her makeup, checking how she looked in the mirror they’d bought in a dusty antique shop in Auchterarder on a sunny Sunday afternoon. And earlier – carefully selecting underwear, drawing the stockings over her slim legs, putting on high-heels. Derek forced himself not to think about what she was doing and why. He wanted to rush upstairs, throw her on the bed and make love to her so hard that leaving him would be forgotten. Except it had gone beyond that. She was lost to him, and it would take a complete transformation to win her back.

  Mackenzie turned to the side and studied her reflection in the mirror, not unhappy with what she was seeing: the figure was good – even if she said so herself – and the face was still her face. Though the smoking would have to go. Derek ranted and raved every time she lit up. It was a filthy habit, he said. Nothing aged a woman more. And he was right. So far she’d got away with it, her skin was clear and the tell-tale downturn at the corners of the mouth hadn’t arrived. But they would, eventually. So she’d quit.

  When she wanted to. When she was ready. Her decision.

  The days of striving to please were over, especially when she could count the number of times she’d succeeded on one hand.

  She leaned closer to the glass, wondering if the lipstick made her look like a tart. And the heels – were they too high? Shag-me shoes Adele once called them and Mackenzie had laughed. The person she was meeting didn’t judge. Alec accepted her for who she was and didn’t insist she be somebody she wasn’t.

  Very different from Derek.

  She shouldn’t feel guilty. From the beginning she’d been honest with him about her previous life, freely admitting she hadn’t always made the smartest choices, especially with alcohol. It didn’t matter because by then he was already in love with her.

  Derek blamed himself: the signs had all been there. He just hadn’t recognised them.

  After twelve months of bliss, the lies started about what she’d done that day or money spent with nothing to show for it. He’d demand an explanation, she wouldn’t have one, and quarrels – often public, sometimes vicious – became a feature of their relationship. His response was to retreat into silence while his wife took refuge in drink.

  They hadn’t spoken since the morning after the party. Derek realised he preferred arguing to what they’d become. Ships that passed. People living together apart.

  Not so long ago, their differences were minor irritations, no more than blemishes on an otherwise perfect relationship. Ironically, he couldn’t remember what those differences had been. How sad was that?

  The previous night, when she left the house, he’d followed her again, using the shadows of the trees lining the avenue to hide. At the end of the road, the car sat with the engine idling, grey smoke sputtering from the exhaust. From where he was it was difficult to recognise the make. He got closer. It was the blue Vectra. Like Blair Gardiner’s. He’d watched her get in and the driver pull away, leaving him alone on the street, close to despair. Phoning Adele to see if Blair was home crossed his mind. He dismissed it, not ready to have his fear confirmed.

  Tonight – like last night and the one before – pretence at fidelity was abandoned because it was no longer necessary. Footsteps on the stairs and the latch closing on the front door told him she’d gone. Derek went to the kitchen and filled the kettle, his hands shaking. The clock on the wall said seven-fifteen.

  He would be waiting for her.

  * * *

  Mackenzie thought about yesterday. The guy in the black coat had freaked her out. She hadn’t told Derek. What was the point? She’d intended to talk to Alec about it and changed her mind. It had been such a wonderful evening she hadn’t wanted to spoil it with something that would probably turn out to be about nothing. When she got home she’d gone on the Internet and researched stalkers, surprised to discover how common they were. Most reports were about men stalking women although – occasionally – it was the other way round. She took comfort from the fact that thousands of people – male and female – had had the same experience as her. Occasionally the stalker turned out to be some jilted lover or former husband. Often the culprit was a mentally unstable stranger; sad and pathetic and harmless.

  Mackenzie made a decision to focus on the positive: this was the third day she hadn’t had any alcohol. The miracle was she didn’t crave it. The first twenty-four hours had been rough – her head ached, she felt ill and whenever she remembered the show she’d made of herself – of both of them – at Adele’s, she thought she was going to be sick. Her sister was due an apology, no doubt about that, except Mackenzie wasn’t ready to face her. Not yet.

  The second day was better, only shame remained. Even in such a short time clarity had replaced confusion and she was certain she was doing the right thing. Derek couldn’t possibly be happy. God knows she wasn’t. Hurting him wasn’t what she wanted but he needed to accept the marriage was over, that she didn’t love him.

  Opposites attracted and so it was with them. The attention of a man, older, wiser, and more worldly than she could ever hope to be, had been flattering. Being with him made her feel special and protected in a way she’d never known. Other men were immature boys in comparison. Derek had been places and done things. Had adventures. For Christ’s sake, even Adele liked him.

  One morning Mackenzie woke up and knew she’d fallen for him. Within months they were engaged. She would’ve married right away, he’d insisted they slow down. If there were second thoughts, he’d said, now was the time. Once they’d taken their vows she would be his and it would be too late. His one condition – that they hold back physically until after they were married – had taken her aback. She’d promised to respect his wish, a promise she’d broken on the couch in his living-room one night after they’d shared a second bottle of wine, most of it drunk by her.

  Slowly, completely, he’d dominated her until she was afraid she might suffocate with the intensity of it. Afterwards, Derek held her in his arms and told stories of how wonderful it would be when she was his wife. Those stories came true and lasted a year before Mackenzie realised the mistake she’d made.

  It began with disagreements over inconsequential things which grew heated, difficult to put behind them. And the sex, so fabulous in the beginning, became infrequent, brief and unfulfilling. Derek found fault with her to the extent she couldn’t please him even with the simplest tasks. It was obvious he was as disappointed in her as she was with him. The generosity he’d shown in the beginning dissipated, replaced by accusations she didn’t understand.

  Mackenzie had managed to keep her drinking to acceptable levels when she met Derek. For a long time he didn’t see her drunk. But as their relationship deteriorated, she found herself reaching for her old friend. And her alcoholism was where she’d left it; it hadn’t gone anywhere. Giving in to it was easier than confronting the truth.

  * * *

  The avenue was deserted except for a group of young girls in the distance, playing a game. It had been a sunny day and, on most windows, the blinds were drawn against the glare. Who knew what went on behind them? Mackenzie was leaving a sham marriage. It wouldn’t be the only one in this respectable suburb. She dismissed the thought. Other people’s relationships were their business. There was nothing to be gained by speculating. She was headed for a new life and freedom and, in case she forgot, hardly in a position to cast the first stone.

  Her step quickened when she saw the tail-end of the car at the corner. Without meaning to, she smiled. Some women might disapprove of what she was doing. Others would support her, call her brave
. Bravery had nothing to do with it. She had no choice, and, for the first time in a long time, Mackenzie was happy.

  She didn’t pay attention to the white van at the kerb or register the sound of someone behind her. When she did, it was too late. A hand closed over her face and a sweet smell filled her nostrils. She felt herself being dragged backwards before she sank into unconsciousness. The rear doors of the van closed. The driver got in and drove away.

  No one saw. Like a leaf falling to the ground, it went unnoticed.

  Mackenzie Crawford’s new life would have to wait.

  * * *

  Alec drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. If Mackenzie was coming she should have been here by now. The last time they’d spoken she’d seemed so sure, so certain, and he’d believed her because he’d wanted to believe her. Of course what he was asking her to do wasn’t easy. No matter how miserable she was, choosing to remain unhappy meant not having to burn bridges.

  On the radio a band was playing live and the balance wasn’t right; the bass guitar was louder than it should have been and the singer was out of tune. He dialled it down and checked his watch. A few more minutes and he’d go. The only thing to have happened in the last half-hour was a white van racing along the street, its diesel engine growling as it passed. Probably some young idiot trying to impress himself. Fine, as long as he was the only one he killed with his recklessness.

  So this was it. This was the chance. Take it or leave it. From here on he was out of it. The days of dropping everything and running whenever she called, frantic and distraught, were over. Life was too short. He wasn’t prepared to allow her to use him.

  Alec took a final look in the mirror; no sign of her.

  He sighed, turned on the ignition and pulled away.

  * * *

  The Baxter House

  Lowther Hills

  Mackenzie tried to open her eyes and couldn’t; she was blindfolded. The last thing she remembered was footsteps on the pavement behind her then a rough hand across her face and a strange smell.

  Now, cold metal pressed against her cheek and diesel fumes filled her nostrils. She heard the grumble of changing gears and knew she was on the floor in the back of a van – the white van she’d noticed in the street? She struggled against the bonds tying her wrists behind her and tried to call out. The gag bit into her. No words came. Panic overwhelmed her as the horror of her situation hit home: she’d been abducted.

  Alec had been there, she’d seen his car. Her new life had been waiting. He’d assume she’d changed her mind – again – and decided not to show up.

  He wouldn’t know where she was. Nobody would know.

  She writhed, kicking and struggling to free herself, driven by fear, almost choking on it, sobbing like a child. In the end, she curled into a ball and lay still. After what seemed like a long time she sensed the road rise and the van bump over uneven ground. Finally, it came to a stop. Mackenzie’s terror rose to new heights.

  The back doors opened and she was hauled into the cool night air. Her unseen kidnapper gripped her arm, ignoring her muffled cries. She dropped to her knees, resisting with everything she had. He pulled her upright and the gag came loose. Mackenzie’s screams amused him. He laughed, slapped her face and pressed it against a wall, grazing her cheek while he struggled to get her inside.

  ‘Scream all you want. No one will hear you.’

  A musty smell and an echo told her they were in an old building. He forced her forward. Mackenzie dug her heels into the rotten floorboards as hard as she could, only managing to make him angry. He swore, grabbed her by the hair and dragged her dead weight across the floor, then pushed her, still struggling, down steps. Without warning, he let go. She fell into space and landed heavily on the ground, kicking out blindly, finding her mark, hearing him curse. ‘Bitch! You bitch!’

  He punched her. She tasted blood. Her abductor struck her again and she passed out.

  When she came to, the gag and blindfold had been removed, her head hurt and the room spun out of control. From behind the damp walls and decaying plaster she heard scratching: rats. Mackenzie was terrified of rats.

  She retched, unable to prevent it, and emptied the contents of her stomach on the flagstone floor. Bile seared her throat, leaving a foul taste in her mouth and she shivered, terrified. In the silence the sounds of her ragged breathing and her beating heart were deafening. Scared to move in case she wasn’t alone, she forced herself to look at the awful place she’d been brought to, thankful he wasn’t there.

  Mackenzie tried to get up and found she was chained to a bed. Round her wrist a cold bracelet chaffed her skin, its dull rattle a terrible reminder of what had been done to her, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She pulled on it with all of her strength, desperately trying to free herself. It stretched as far as a chemical toilet and no further. She tried dragging the bed but it was bolted to the floor and wouldn’t move. Fear overwhelmed her. The mattress was tossed aside as she searched for a loose spring – anything she could use. There was nothing. Hope of escape died.

  Someone had planned this carefully. She was trapped.

  Mackenzie screamed again – over and over and over. Eventually, hoarse and exhausted, her cries faded to a whimper. Soon, even that stopped.

  Day Five

  The Baxter House

  Lowther Hills

  Mackenzie woke up to the nightmare her life had become. How could anybody sleep at a time like this? She forced herself to take stock: she was in a cellar, shackled to a bed, with no idea why. A battery light hanging from the handrail cast a yellow shadow across her prison and Mackenzie saw a cane chair and a gas heater at the other end of the windowless room. Fungus grew on the grey walls and the smell of damp and sour earth made her vomit a second time. Mucus ran from her nose and her eyes watered. Closing them brought no relief. Vague recollections swam behind them like fragments of a terrible dream, dark distant shapes on the margin of memory.

  Her mind wanted to deny the terrible reality. It was impossible: she’d been taken, sixty yards from her home, in broad daylight.

  None of her family had believed her. Derek had accused her of having a lover, Adele thought she was a drunk, making it up to hurt her husband, and Gavin and Monica saw her as a needy woman looking for attention. Even Blair, who was a friend, doubted her.

  Bastards. All of them bastards. Because she hadn’t imagined it. The stalker had been real. But the people who were supposed to love her had treated her like a difficult child. If it had been Adele or Monica they would have closed ranks and kept them safe.

  Not for her. They were to blame, they’d done this to her. And Mackenzie hated them for it. Why hadn’t she told Alec about the stalker? He would have believed her and known what to do. But she hadn’t and now it was too late. He’d be disappointed, though from the beginning he’d made it clear he’d respect her decision and wouldn’t try to contact her. Mackenzie was as alone as she’d ever been in her life.

  Hours – or maybe it was days later – a car door slammed and she tensed, more afraid than ever, aware she was completely at this stranger’s mercy.

  Heavy steps sounded on the floor above. A thin stream of fine earth fell like mist from the rafters. Mackenzie backed against the corner of the bed and drew her knees tight against her body.

  She shuddered. He was coming.

  * * *

  The door opened and the man in the black coat edged down the stairs carrying a cardboard box under his arm. He was wearing a balaclava. If it was meant to intimidate her it succeeded – although she could scarcely be more frightened than she already was.

  He knelt on the floor, opened the box and unpacked a carton of soup, three pre-prepared sandwiches and a coffee cup with Costa written on the side. From the bottom he took out a bottle of water, a bowl, toothpaste and a toothbrush.

  Mackenzie’s terror shot to a new level. He intended to keep her here. The shaking started, so bad she couldn’t stop it. She spoke, fighting
tears, close to hysterical. ‘You…you can’t keep me here, you can’t.’

  Her abductor went on with what he was doing. Mackenzie shouted and tore at the air. ‘Let me go! Let me go! Just let me go!’

  He threw a packet of sandwiches onto the bed. She ran at him until the chain hauled her back. The stalker didn’t flinch. He’d known how far it would play.

  Mascara ran in black rivulets down her face. The makeup, so carefully applied, was smudged and ruined. Mackenzie fell to the floor, distraught. She whispered. ‘What do you want? What the hell do you want? Speak to me. Please.’

  He got on his knees and used paper towels to clean up the mess she’d made being sick. Then he sat on the chair, his head tilted, observing her like a specimen in a jar. When he came towards her, she cowered like a beaten dog and drew away. His finger ran over the graze on her cheek, barely touching it. The gentleness of the gesture repelled her, degraded her in a way she couldn’t explain.

  There was one last item in the box. He tossed it into her lap and unlocked the padlock, releasing the chain. Mackenzie considered attacking him but realised it was doomed to fail. She was emotionally and physically exhausted: the energy to resist wasn’t there.

  Her dress was torn and dirty. She stepped out of it and into the grey tracksuit bottoms while the stalker devoured her with his eyes. When she was dressed he refastened the chain around her wrist. Mackenzie made a final attempt to understand why he was doing this. ‘How much longer will I be kept here?’

  Again, he ignored her.

  ‘What have I done to you? Why won’t you talk to me?’ She screamed. ‘Talk to me, you bastard! Talk to me!’ She begged. ‘Please, tell me why I’m here.’