To Keep You Safe

by Kate Bradley

  There would be no commute today because it was Saturday. I had no gun, just my emergency knife which I kept in my glove box. It wasn’t actually my army knife because I’d had to return it like the rest of my kit, but one I’d bought in an army surplus store, buying from under the counter. It had a serrated edge sharp enough to cut skin at breathing distance, and was 6 inches and therefore over the legal carry limit.

  I ran my finger along the blade, watching the blood bead.

  I knew there was more than one man, because I’d seen another sitting up front in the van.

  I could take two, maybe three, but four would be too much – in another time and place I might have hoped it was possible if I’d a lucky break, but I no longer believed in lucky breaks. Did I ever? I wondered.

  No.

  But two men or twenty, I knew I would die trying. Somewhere between the hotel room and this car, I had had an epiphany – I realised that my life was useless. My job made me useful to society, but after seeing that condom on the floor, I was hit with an almost overwhelming understanding that I was pointless. Serving Queen and Country had stopped me from feeling that. But like Destiny now, that life was far away from me. I couldn’t get one of them back, but I would die trying to save the other one.

  I turned the knife over in my hands, no longer seeing it. I was thinking through my options. The facts were this: I knew where her aunt lived; I knew roughly where her old children’s home was, but a quick check on Google told me that I wouldn’t be able to get an accurate address from the Internet; I also knew the van that she would’ve been taken in; I knew the face of one of the people she would be with; I knew it was early on a Saturday morning so most people were asleep – this meant I would have at least two hours of driving every road in the city to look for the van, but I had nothing to lose by starting with her aunt’s house first.

  I turned the car key. In fact, I thought, I should wake her up because she might know where else we could look.

  I pulled out of the car park. If her aunt was caring enough to take Destiny in, then she would be caring enough to help me find her. I wondered what she would say when she answered the door so early and found me standing there.

  Saturday

  05:27

  Jenni

  I stood on the doorstep that I had stood on only nine hours ago, but that felt like an age. The green door was black under the light of the moon, its bronze knocker even duller.

  I was glad of the six hours’ sleep I’d had – my usual. More and I felt muddle-headed. Now I was mentally fighting fit; I imagined waking the aunt – it would take several knocks, and she, perhaps only thirty, would come tussle-headed and dressing-gowned to the door. She would be expecting police, as I was under no illusions that if she was related to Destiny, then she’d be no angel.

  I lifted the knocker. The road was silent, with no sign of anyone. I’d parked far down the road, near the junction, keen not to wake the neighbours. I paused, thinking through all the possible variations of the next thing that would happen. Perhaps a man would come to the door instead; perhaps her aunt had a boyfriend or a husband. Perhaps a son.

  I hesitated. I knew nothing about this aunt. But what else could I do? Although I knew this was true, it was a terrible time to wake someone, a stranger.

  I bent down and pressed open the flap of the letterbox to see if I could see a light on inside. As soon as I pushed against the flap, I got a waft of a familiar smell – cannabis. I shone my light inside. The house looked like a hovel. There were no coats or shoes in the hallway. This wasn’t the ordered life of someone who would be much help.

  I decided I would wake her but only after I’d exhausted my other options. I glanced at my watch and decided if I hadn’t found Destiny by six thirty, I’d come back. And if we hadn’t found her by seven o’clock, I’d go to the police and tell them everything.

  Perhaps it would be a good move to get a sense of this aunt first. I had nowhere else to look. I decided I’d go round to the rear of the house, perhaps bunk over a wall – it would make sense to do a recce before knocking the door.

  Only three houses up, I could see what I’d missed before – there was an arch between two terraces, showing a path that would lead to the rear.

  As I stepped under the archway, something scuttled on the gravel ahead of me. I moved the torch and the beam picked out a fox; it glanced back at me, eyes green fire in my torch beam, before it turned and ran silently away.

  I followed the path, and turned right. The footpath stretched down the back of the terrace; judging by the distance to the back of the house, the yards were small. I moved slowly down the path, careful to avoid the broken bottles, overgrown weeds and dog poo. I counted down the houses and, within a few short minutes, stood at the back of the aunt’s terrace.

  The wall between me and the house was six foot of brick. I placed my hands on the top, and pulled myself up a few inches, so I could have a clear sight of the house. Holding on to the wall, only my eyes looked over the top. Motionless, I surveyed the area.

  The backyard was little more than broken paving slabs and ambitious weeds inching out homes in broken grout. In one corner, a children’s cooker toy lay on one side, clearly long abandoned. There was a single garden chair facing away from the house. Several wine bottles were grouped together by the back door, as if left over from a party. It looked forgotten, not a place where anyone would linger.

  I paused. I could either retreat and approach the house openly from the front, or I could jump down and do further surveillance. But I couldn’t break the habit of a lifetime.

  The truth was, I had driven Destiny to a place that didn’t look like the kind of place I wanted for her. I wasn’t naive – there would never be a truly happy ever after for a girl like Destiny – but all I wanted was for her to have a chance. But this? My torch beam picked out the scattered fag butts dropped by the back door. Not this.

  There was a dim light coming from what looked like a basement window. People didn’t tend to leave basement lights on at night – porch or bathroom lights, perhaps, and in children’s bedrooms, definitely. But why light a basement?

  Perhaps it was better to check it out first.

  I bunked over the top and dropped silently to the ground.

  Saturday

  05:37

  Jenni

  The basement window was a long narrow oblong window that was only inches from the ground. I’d had to lie on the ground to get a proper look in, but even then, I could only see the top half of the room. The window was stuck shut, probably bolted from within. Not daring to use my torch, I examined the windowframe in the half-light. The paint had all but been chipped away, and the wood itself was damp and rotten. Even better, the putty was missing in places, cracked in others. Even with my finger, I could knock out whole chunks of it. Using my army knife, I eased out the entire top line of the putty and then the sides became free. I was careful to wedge the blade into the gap, so when the pane became loose, I was able to ease it towards me in one piece, only making a soft grating sound as I inched it out. I carefully placed it on the ground next to the window.

  With the windowpane missing, I was able to lean right through to get a proper look inside the basement.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  *

  The basement was about ten foot square, with a staircase on the side wall. The room was dark, lit by a single lantern, like the type used by night fishermen, which sat on the floor. The glow lit a circle of three metres, the rest of the room in shadow. In the gloom, against the far wall, lots of junk, tools, old bikes, were stacked against one side. On the other, also in the gloom, Destiny lay on her side, away from me, one arm and one leg chained to a weightlifting kettlebell. Near to her, in the light, stretched out on a second camping mat, was a middle-aged man. Lying next to him, a knife.

  Acid burned in my throat. How dare they? I wanted to tear him apart limb from limb. They – and it would be they, because this wasn’t the man I’d seen
– had taken Destiny from her place of safety, molested her and chained her like an animal in a filthy basement. How she would’ve tried to fight. Poor girl. If I hadn’t come, or if I had knocked on the door, what would’ve happened to her?

  I wouldn’t waste a second now. I would save Destiny.

  I pushed through the window, using my upper body strength to slowly lever myself down. I did twenty chin-ups a day, and my lats barely felt the pressure of my weight.

  Soft feet to the ground, I moved towards my prey.

  His mouth was open, and he sounded like he had sinus problems. He had stubble as though he hadn’t shaved in days, and his dark hair was starting to recede above a deformed ear. His skin had seen a lot of weather, but his face seemed gentle, even with a silvered trail of saliva leaving his mouth. His clothes looked cheap and had holes, not just at the knees of his jeans, but also at the elbows of his dirty sleeves. He had swallows tattooed on his hands, above each thumb. It used to mean that the tattooed had done time in prison, but perhaps it didn’t any more.

  What was clear, however, was that he was holding Destiny against her will. I had a flash of huge outrage. Where was the kindness? Where were the morals? How could they live with themselves?

  Looking at his knife, I removed my own, its weight familiar in my hand.

  I almost faltered. Unless one was sick, taking someone’s life was always hard, and hand-to-hand combat was the hardest and most intimate way of killing. Then there was the killing of a sleeping man, well, that was a class in its own. I knew what it was to draw a knife across someone’s neck, see his eyes flash open with first shock, then understanding.

  But I also knew that it would be impossible to get Destiny free without making a noise. This man probably had the key in his pocket and there would be at least one other man and a gun upstairs.

  I knew I would die fighting to save Destiny. And this man, with his broad knuckles and gentle face, would die fighting to keep her.

  Even then I paused.

  Even then, I thought about the choices I had. I could ring the police, but if I did it here, I would wake him. If I climbed back out and rang the police, he might hear me climbing out and then I would be further away from Destiny. I could tie him up, but it would mean a fight.

  The only answer was to kill him now. Get her out, before anyone upstairs realised. Then, with her safe, I could call the police.

  I shouldn’t hesitate. I had to put her first. Besides, anyone who took a child and then tied them up deserved no compassion.

  I took a deep breath and bent down, bringing the knife blade up to his neck.

  Saturday

  05:47

  Jenni

  I couldn’t do it. It was the realisation that I would have to wake Destiny, then get her to step round the huge puddle of blood he’d be lying in. She was just a child. She had been frightened enough.

  I thought again.

  I punched him in the face twice. He made a sound, perhaps trying to speak or maybe surprise. Blood spurted from his nose. I was becoming an expert in breaking noses. After punching him twice more, I knelt on his chest and put the knife to his neck. I leant in close to his ear. ‘You feel this?’ I hissed, pressing harder.

  He made a noise like air through water. Bubbles of blood popped.

  ‘Say it. Tell me what I have.’

  ‘A knife.’

  ‘Yes. Put your hands on your head.’ He did. ‘You are scum,’ I told him, still in a whisper. ‘And I might kill you. But first you are going to give me the key to those handcuffs. Where is it?’

  He made a noise and I repeated the question.

  ‘In my pocket.’

  ‘Good. In your jeans pocket or another pocket?’

  ‘I don’t want you to hurt me.’

  ‘I only hurt people who don’t do what I say. Tell me exactly where the keys are. You don’t want to make a mistake.’

  ‘This ain’t nothing to do with me! I’m just their lad. They won’t let me go home.’

  ‘Where is the key?’

  Big tears rolled from his eyes, falling into the heavy creases etched below. His expression and his speech pattern made me pause: this man evidently had a profound learning disability, I realised. I also realised that he might be telling the truth.

  ‘They’re in my jeans.’

  ‘Good choice. When I tell you, and not before, you’re going to reach in your jeans’ pocket. Tell me what I just said.’

  He repeated it back.

  ‘Good, but first, you’re going to tell me if you’re going to use your left hand or your right hand.’

  He was crying openly now, his head turned to one side. His chest under my knees heaved great silent sobs.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I tried again.

  ‘Gary.’

  ‘Gary, nice to meet you. My name is Jenni. I’m going to promise not to kill you if you can help me. Do you think you can do that, Gary?’

  He nodded, his movement jerky and exaggerated. ‘I’ll help you, Jenni. I promise.’

  ‘Good. Now are you going to use your left hand or your right?’

  ‘I don’t know which is which. I’m no good at that school stuff.’

  ‘OK, don’t worry. When I say “go”, you’re going to reach into your pocket with one hand and get your keys, while keeping your other hand on your head. Are you ready to do that?’

  Gary nodded miserably.

  ‘OK. Go.’

  Gary reached with one shaking hand into his pocket. But instead of taking it out, he looked at me. His eyes were wide, fully of emotion. ‘Can you take me with you, please?’

  His statement was so clearly meant, I felt confused. ‘What?’

  ‘I want to go with you. Please! You’re taking her, aren’t you?’

  The surprise of his request stunned me to silence. He took this as encouragement.

  ‘When you go, take me, please. I promise to be good.’

  I didn’t know what to say. When you hold a knife to a man’s neck, you don’t expect him to want to trot off behind you when you leave. ‘You get the key and we’ll see.’

  He spent time digging in his pocket. ‘It’s not there. Can I look in the other one? I promise not to do nothing.’ When I agreed he started to feel around in the other one.

  I heard keys before I saw them because he and I kept our eyes locked on each other the whole time.

  ‘I’ve found them!’ He managed to give me a huge smile. ‘Now can I go with you?’

  As I leant on his chest, him grinning at me like he was trying to sell me a car, I glanced over my shoulder: good, Destiny hadn’t moved. I did not want her to see this. ‘Maybe, Gary. Let’s see how this goes.’

  When I think about all that went wrong, it was this moment that I regret most of all. I hate myself that I didn’t just say ‘Yes.’ I evaluate all the possible reasons why I didn’t say yes: that my mind was already working at a hundred per cent listening for the man with the gun; I was concerned that Destiny would wake and be distressed; the planning of controlling a man thirty pounds heavier than me; the stress of considering my next move. I couldn’t – or wouldn’t – take on the commitment of a promise I hadn’t planned for. This all makes perfect sense, the logical side of me accepting these reasons as both accurate and rational. But sometimes, when I tire of thinking of Destiny, I think instead of Gary’s hopeful blue eyes as he asked me if I would take him with me.

  Now I know that what he really meant, if not with his words but with his pleading eyes, was: save me.

  But I did not save him. I could’ve just pointed to the window and told him to make a run for it. I know that if it had ended differently, that’s exactly what I would’ve done. But I didn’t.

  And that regret, that single word, maybe, piles up with all the other regrets, like stones in a dry stone wall, each interlocking with the others and gaining permanence over time. And the regret of not saving Gary remains one of the biggest and most permanent of all.

  Saturday

&n
bsp; 05:53

  Jenni

  I had the key in my hand. ‘OK. Now, Gary, you’re going to listen to some easy instructions. Very simple to follow. It’s going to end well for you. Are you ready for success?’

  Gary nodded.

  ‘That’s great. When I say “go”, you’re going to shut your eyes. Then you’re going to kneel forwards. What’s going to happen if you try to make a grab for me?’

  ‘I don’t want to make a grab for you.’

  ‘OK, but what could happen if you did?’

  ‘But I don’t want to.’

  I took a different tack. ‘That’s good, because if you did I’d have to kill you.’ He winced and despite him guarding Destiny and chaining her up like an animal in a filthy basement, I began to see him differently. There was something . . . innocent about this man. ‘You need to get on your knees with your eyes closed and your hands still on your head. Do you think you can do that for me, Gary?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re going to make a success of that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Remind me what you’re going to do.’

  He told me word for word.

  ‘OK, Gary, do it now.’ I moved off his chest, the point of my knife still against his neck. He didn’t move. Pause. Then: ‘Gary?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m waiting for you to say “go”.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘You said: “Do it now”.’

  ‘Go, Gary. Go.’

  Gary sat up, eyes shut and hands to his head. He got to his knees and waited. I gently pushed him forward so his forehead was touching the cement floor. ‘And stay exactly like that,’ I told him.

  I’d already realised that I had to leave him, as I had nothing to bind his hands. I could look for something suitable around the basement, or retrieve the cuffs from Destiny, but it amounted to the same thing – trusting him not to rush me. If I stepped away to find bonds, then he could rush me anyway and I needed to be out of there before the game-changer came in the room. The gun. There would be some people in the same situation who would’ve done things differently. But I made a judgement that Gary would stay put. I gave him a final warning about what would happen if he moved while I took the key to the sleeping Destiny.