The Taken

by Casey Kelleher

  What was he doing here with Lena in the middle of the night?

  Lena walked through the gate, then stood waiting as the man locked it behind them.

  She didn’t seem distressed.

  Shit! They were leaving.

  Getting up, she ran to the side fence, to the hole that she’d crawled in through.

  She needed to get out of here, and fast. To follow them.

  Scampering back through the maze of headstones, Saskia sunk to her knees, ducking back underneath the broken railings, ignoring the sludge as she squeezed her way back into the muddy verge of the park.

  She needed to get round the front, to the main road, to keep Lena in her sights.

  She ran faster and, turning the corner, felt relief spread through her as she saw them once more. The two figures up ahead in the distance, walking side by side. They were on foot. That was something. She could follow them.

  Walking fast, she kept herself tucked in against the hedgerows, hiding amongst the shadows as she hurried along. Her eyes fixed on them both, concentrating.

  She didn’t hear the noise behind her until it was too late – the tread of footsteps catching her completely off guard.

  A strong arm grabbed at her, wrapping itself tightly around her. She opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her, before dragging her down to the ground.

  42

  Apprehensive as they walked in awkward silence through the heavily built-up housing estate, Lena hugged her daughter close to her, hoping that she was doing the right thing.

  Her feet throbbed as she walked. Swollen and blistered. She winced at every step as her soles hit the pavement, her toes frozen cold.

  Roza must be frozen with the cold too. Lena could feel her shivering despite being wrapped up in layers of clothes and blankets. She felt so guilty then; she’d tried so hard to keep Roza from getting wet today, but the downpour had soaked them both. If Colin hadn’t offered to take them in, they might not have made it to morning. Though now they were almost there Lena was doubting that Colin’s flat was going to bring her much refuge. Colin seemed preoccupied too. Hummed loudly to himself as Lena followed him; the noise sounded strained, disjointed.

  He hadn’t spoken a word to her since they’d left the cemetery. Looking up at the two tower blocks as she walked, she wasn’t sure what kind of a place she’d expected the man to live in, but it hadn’t been one like this.

  Looking around at the filth, the dirt, as she walked along the pathway of the large communal garden that ran right through the centre of flats, she couldn’t help but think how rundown and derelict the place was. The grass littered with rubbish. Carrier bags, empty beer cans, sweet wrappers.

  Passing a bench, Lena could see that it was part of a memorial. What was left of it. The brass engraved plaque was sprayed with graffiti, clinging to the scorched remains of the wooden slats that had been clearly set on fire. Nothing looked sacred.

  Everything here had been defaced, destroyed.

  Lena had expected London to be so much more glamorous than this. Back home in Albania she’d heard so many stories about royalty that lived here in England. About places like Kensington Palace. The Changing of the Guard. The Queen. The royal princes. Yet so far all Lena had seen was poverty, and lots of it. Depressing-looking tower blocks. Grey skies. Rain. Gloom. The people here seemed miserable, hostile.

  They’d come all this way to England, her and Ramiz, for what? So far, life was no better here for them than it had been at home. She still felt like a prisoner, still felt as if she was trapped. Only now she had even more people to run from: Ramiz, Korab, Vincent. She was no freer now than she had been back home. In fact, if anything she was worse off. Alone in the middle of the night, with only this strange man helping her. Desperate to keep Roza from getting ill again. From dying of hypothermia. Lena was doing everything in her power right now to keep herself from falling apart. She needed to keep focused. Stay strong.

  Reaching the main doorway of one of the tower blocks, Colin slowed down. Pulling the door open they both stepped into the cold, echoey hallway. Lena looked around at the grey concrete steps, the black metal handrail. It was all utterly stark, gloomy. Above them a bulb flickered. A strobe of bright light flashed erratically, casting shadows all around them as they walked. Ignoring the lift, Colin made his way up the concrete steps and Lena followed.

  She could see him better now in this light. The back of him anyway. He was filthy. Covered in thick smears of mud, his trousers were caked, the back of his jacket too. He was a lot older than her. Catching the side of his face, she saw his skin was blotchy, lined, his hair thinning, a large bald spot in the middle revealing his scalp.

  Reaching the first landing Lena held her breath, shielding herself from the strong acidic smell of urine that dominated the passageway. Though she soon realised that the puddles of yellowy piss were the least of her problems as she looked down at her feet, the floor littered with broken bottles, shards of glass, discarded syringes. The place was disgusting.

  By the time that Colin stepped out onto the balcony where his flat stood she’d counted five flights of stairs. Five rancid, pissy landings. Out on the balcony now, the rush of cold air hit her and she gratefully gulped it down. Taking in the view as she walked, she tried to gather her bearings.

  It was still dark outside, but the warm glow of the street lamps below lit up the area enough so that Lena could work out roughly where she was. She could see the cemetery from here, or at least the boundaries of it. The high gates and hedges that surrounded the graveyard’s perimeter.

  From up this high London looked almost welcoming. The darkness of the night creating an illusion, a favourable blur, blotting out the dirt, the grime. Hiding its stark, ugly truth.

  Colin stopped walking, as they were outside his front door now. Eyeing the blue flaky paintwork, Lena saw the remnants of food that were smeared down it. Eggs? It had been sprayed with graffiti too; she couldn’t read the writing though. The bright scrawl was too faint, patchy, as if someone had tried to scrub it away.

  The silence was unbearable now; Colin still hadn’t spoken.

  Lena wondered if maybe he was regretting his offer to help her. Regretting letting a stranger into his home. If he was, he didn’t say. He didn’t say anything at all in fact.

  Instead, he fumbled inside his pocket, looking for his key. Opening the door he stepped aside politely, allowing Lena to walk in first, ahead of him. Grateful to be finally inside, out of the cold, Lena stood just inside the small, pokey hallway, looking anxiously around her.

  The first thing that hit her was the smell. Putrid, vile, like rotten vegetables.

  ‘The drains are blocked.’ Finally, Colin said something. Unfazed, he repeated his mother’s perpetual diagnosis as he helped Lena take off her coat; hanging it up on the coat hook for her.

  Lena nodded, not wanting to appear rude. The stench was overwhelming. Even worse than the smell at the Jungle, and that was saying something. She felt nauseous. Unable to control her reflexes, she gagged. Then again. This time she could taste the bile at the back of her throat. Swallowing it down, she covered her nose with her hand as she concentrated on breathing through her mouth. Colin looked at her blankly. She felt embarrassed then, as if she’d just insulted him. Insulted his home.

  ‘You can’t go in there,’ Colin said firmly as he saw Lena look towards the lounge door, to where the noise of the TV blasted through. ‘Mother is sleeping. She doesn’t like to be disturbed.’

  Lena nodded. Wondering how anyone could sleep through such a loud noise. The television was blaring. She was surprised that the neighbours hadn’t complained, but then, from what Lena had already seen of the estate, this place didn’t look like anyone took any notice of what went on.

  ‘My room’s through here.’

  Opening his bedroom door, Colin led Lena through. The place was a mess, clutter and chaos everywhere. Clothes scattered all over the floor; a heap of paperwork adorned
the desk. Books stacked up in piles, boxes full of junk. The noise was quieter in here, but the smell still lingered.

  Colin closed the door behind them.

  The noise startled Lena as she realised that they were alone. Alone in a bedroom with a man she hardly knew. She felt apprehensive once more.

  Colin must have felt it too, because he didn’t move. Instead, standing over by the door, nervously.

  ‘You can have the bed. Get some rest.’

  Lena nodded. She eyed the bed now. Unmade, messy; the blankets looked dirty, stained, but it was better than the cold hard ground of shop doorways and cemeteries. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress she lay Roza down beside her. Unwrapping the cold blanket from her, she placed her underneath the duvet, tucking it around her to keep her warm.

  She took her own shoes off, placing them on the floor, then dipped underneath the covers too, pulling her knees up to her chest as she hugged herself. She shivered violently, unable to get warm. It was as if the cold had got right down inside her bones. But she didn’t want to lie down yet, not while the man was still here. She’d wait for him to leave first.

  ‘I’ve got to go back out,’ he said. ‘Can I get you anything before I go? Something to eat? Some water?’

  Lena shook her head. Glad that the man wouldn’t be staying. She was ravenous. She hadn’t eaten since the previous morning, but she didn’t want food. She just wanted him to go so she could sleep. She’d given Roza her last bottle just before they’d gone back to the cemetery. She’d be okay until morning.

  Beyond exhausted, all Lena wanted to do was curl up and close her eyes.

  Just a few peaceful hours where she wouldn’t have to worry about anything or anyone. She wanted to forget about how cold she was, forget about the rumbling deep in her stomach.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ Colin said quietly.

  Then he was gone. Closing the door behind him.

  Lena breathed out a long slow breath she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding. She felt the tension in her back soften.

  She was relieved that he’d finally gone and listened as he moved about outside.

  The lounge door opened, the TV blasting out for a few minutes, then the door closed again and it was quieter once more. He was back out in the hallway now. She could hear him pulling his jacket back on, ready to go back out into the cold. To finish his night shift at the cemetery.

  Laying back against the pillows, she pulled the covers up around her and waited for the warmth.

  Then she heard the scrape of metal. The sound of a lock bolting shut. Sitting up, Lena was suddenly alert.

  He’d locked her in?

  Hearing the front door close, Lena jumped from the bed and crossed the floor in a panic. Pulling down the door handle the metal moved in her hand, but the door remained closed. Wrenching down the handle again, she tried to pull it open, but it wouldn’t budge.

  She banged her fists loudly against the wood then, pounded with every ounce of energy that she had left.

  Her fists felt raw, bruised. She’d thought that maybe she could alert his mother. Wake her from her sleep. Maybe if she made enough noise, she would hear her and come and let her out, but it was no use; the TV was too loud. It was drowning her out.

  The window, she thought. But, of course, it was locked too. The glass thick, double glazed, frosted, so that she couldn’t see out and no one out on the balcony could see inside.

  Scanning the room for some other way that she could get out, she spotted the other doorway in the corner of the room, peeping out from behind the large dresser. She didn’t hold out much hope, thinking that it might be a closet, a cupboard, or if it was a door it would be locked, but she had to at least try.

  Grabbing hold of the corners of the dresser she pulled at it with all her strength, dragging it across the floor, pulling it clear of the door.

  She ran around and yanked at the handle. It opened, but all hope was gone.

  It was just a cupboard. Bleak, bare. Empty, apart from a tiny doll: an old-fashioned doll that lay discarded in the corner.

  Lena crouched down on the floor, despair spreading through her. She wanted to scream, to cry.

  Her eyes focused now on the doll.

  It was dirty, naked, just its white soft body and its plastic limbs. It had an eye missing too.

  Lena shivered.

  Then she saw the scratches down the walls. Gouges set deep in the paintwork.

  Fingernails? Like someone had tried to claw their way out.

  Sliding down to the floor, Lena started to cry. She was scared. She had been so stupid, so thoughtless coming here. So desperate that she’d put her own and Roza’s lives in the hands of this stranger. No one even knew that she was here. Now she was trapped. There was no way out.

  She was completely at Colin’s mercy.

  43

  Saskia’s body slammed down to the cold, damp grass. Struggling, she kicked out, trying to fight off her assailant, but at this awkward angle she was at a disadvantage.

  Her attacker had struck from behind. Whoever was holding her had the upper hand; they had caught her unawares and they were stronger than she was too.

  She was being pulled backwards now, being forced down on the ground inside the bushes. Closing her eyes, Saskia felt a sharp sting of thorny twigs scraping across her face, ripping at her skin. She was being pulled further inside the undergrowth.

  Cold droplets cascaded down her neck, her back, from the rainwater on the leaves above her as they were disturbed.

  Her assailant stopped moving then.

  Saskia was on her stomach. Face down, her face in the ground. The heavy weight of something on top of her – her attacker was on top of her now. Pinning her legs down too. But Saskia wasn’t ready to give up just yet. Kicking her legs out forcefully, she had to fight. She wanted to scream, to shriek, to bite. Whatever it took to break free. She wasn’t just going to lie here and do nothing. She couldn’t.

  The hand hadn’t moved from her mouth; it stayed there, clamped tightly.

  Then she heard a voice whispering in her ear.

  ‘Don’t move.’

  Saskia recognised the voice instantly.

  Misty?

  What the fuck? Anger surged through her then, but still she couldn’t talk because of the hand around her mouth, gripping her.

  ‘I’m going to let go, but promise me you won’t make a sound,’ Misty spoke quietly. Her voice almost a whisper; her tone deadly serious.

  Saskia nodded, but it was a lie. She was going to bloody kill Misty for doing this. For terrifying the crap out of her. Saskia had thought she was going to be beaten, or raped, or worse still – murdered by some crazed psychopath.

  She’d lost Lena now too. What the fuck was Misty playing at? Misty moved her hand, and Saskia spun around ready to give her a mouthful.

  ‘Fuck, he’s here. Don’t move, Saskia. Don’t say a word… ’

  Misty held a finger up to her lips, signalling for Saskia’s silence. Her eyes flashing with urgency.

  Saskia could see by her friend’s expression that she wasn’t messing about, so she did as she was told. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Lying on the ground, side by side in silence, hidden under the shrubbery, they heard the crunch of gravel nearby.

  Peering out through the leaves and branches, Saskia could see a pair of men’s boots.

  She’d seen them before.

  Vincent’s.

  He was here.

  Flashing a look to Misty her friend didn’t respond, but remained completely still, her eyes staring ahead.

  Willing Vincent not to see them.

  Vincent stood there for a few moments, then turning on his heel, he walked away, further up the pathway.

  Peering in over the hedges, his eyes searched through the darkness past the headstones. He was looking for someone. Her, Saskia realised. Seconds later he was back. His boots standing directly in front of where they were both hiding. Saskia winced as she watched him come ne
arer. Closer. He’d found them.

  Closing her eyes, daring not to breathe, she was waiting for him to tear through the bushes, to grab her, hoist her out by her hair. Her heart was thumping inside her chest. Her body sticky with perspiration. They could run, she thought. They could get up now, and just run. As fast as they could. Before Vincent got them.

  Misty’s arm pressed down on Saskia’s shoulder, as if she was reading Saskia’s mind, and she shook her head. A warning.

  Then Saskia heard Vincent’s voice.

  ‘It’s me.’

  He was on his phone. Relief spread through her. He hadn’t seen them.

  ‘I’ve lost her, bruv.’

  Saskia felt sick then as she listened in to Vincent’s call. He was on the phone to his brother. He’d been following her – on Joshua Harper’s orders, it seemed.

  ‘She climbed the railings and cut through the park. Don’t take a fucking genius to work out that she ain’t here to feed the fucking ducks. I’m gonna put my money on her meeting the girl. She knows where she is, without a doubt… All right bruv, I’ll buzz you in a bit.’

  The conversation was over.

  ‘Fuck sake!’ Vincent muttered angrily before he started walking away.

  The girls waited in complete silence until the car engine started and Vincent drove off.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Saskia rested her face down in the ground.

  That had been close. Too close. She felt Misty relax beside her too.

  ‘You scared the shit out of me.’ Saskia finally spoke. ‘How did you know where to find me?’

  ‘I followed you too,’ Misty said. ‘Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but they think you know where Lena is. Joshua dragged me into the office earlier, practically interrogated me. He wanted to know what we knew. What Lena had told us. He thinks that we helped her escape. I told him the truth, that we had nothing to do with it, but he obviously didn’t believe me if he sent Vincent to follow you.’