A Family By Design

by Olivia Rytwinski

  Lyssa heard the key turn in the lock. She collapsed onto the bed and sobbed. “Mummy, where are you?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  A Development

  Max had remained locked in the interview room all day, and was furious at being treated as though he was the monster who had snatched Lyssa. Periodically, he paced up and down the room like a caged animal before slumping back into his chair. Inspector Keir and Detective Brooks broke his isolation every so often to ask him a question, none of which suggested they were any closer to finding Lyssa or to releasing him. The clock on the wall was a continual reminder that he could do nothing to help find Lyssa, and instead he was wasting time behind closed doors; locked doors.

  It was a quarter to ten and still there was no word from Katriina. He knew how devastated she was by his deceit on top of Lyssa’s disappearance and that she had every reason to be.

  Detective Brooks opened the door and walked in, followed by Inspector Kier who held two cups.

  She placed one in front of Max. “There’s been a development,” she said, watching him carefully.

  He sensed it could be positive news and his heart pumped against his ribs.

  “Two walkers were up on Benn Arum this afternoon, and they believe they’ve spoken with Katriina. She was heading to a farm she wanted to have a look at it. She said it belonged to her family. The walkers passed a farm a short while before and told her this. It wasn’t until later that they linked her to Lyssa.”

  “Christ . . . how can she know?” said Max, and ran a shaking hand through his hair.

  “A team are on their way to the farm. I’m going back to keep track of developments.”

  “Please, I have to know if they find Lyssa, Kat . . .”

  Inspector Keir exchanged a look with Detective Brooks who nodded. “OK, but you cannot interfere with communications. Is that clear?” she said.

  “Guaranteed,” replied Max.

  “Lyssa might not be there. You do know that?” she said, and touched Max’s arm.

  “But there’s a chance,” he said, and his tears fell.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Nightfall

  I looked up through the branches at the darkened sky. Nightfall couldn’t come quickly enough. I made my way nervously around the farmhouse and prayed that I remained concealed by the undergrowth and trees. The farm wasn’t precisely as I remembered it from my nightmare, but it was the same farm, with the same distinctive stonewall and carriage arch. If the situation weren’t so fraught with danger, I would have been stunned by the amalgamation of dream with reality.

  The yard at the front lay covered with timeworn gravel that had mingled with the cold earth. Nettles and thistles forced their way through, some newly grown, delicate barbs atop, others dead, dry, and decayed. I moved further round and saw a blue car tucked against the side of the house.

  Fear and adrenaline had sustained me all day, and without it I would be an exhausted shell. I’d had little sleep since Lyssa’s disappearance, but despite that I felt my blood surge through me to energise my limbs and mind and my senses were primed with dread and anticipation.

  If Lyssa was in there, I had to get her away. I couldn’t turn back, and I was more than ready to fight for my flesh and blood, all the way if it proved necessary. The doubt and anxiety that had threatened to take hold surrendered to an unyielding purpose, and God only help the monster who stood in my way.

  A dark mist slunk its way towards me through the treetops, and I watched the farm as I awaited full darkness. I felt an all-pervading chill sink into my bones, which threatened to cloud my mind. Was I awaiting nightfall to avoid being seen or was I stalling, too afraid to risk going in? But if I delayed, I was leaving Lyssa open to any number of atrocities.

  I slid my hand into my pocket and withdrew the knife. My fingers curled around the handle with a decisive grip. I made my way between the trees, but remained within the boundary of the woods and continued around until I met the walled carriage arch. I’d reached a point of no return, and I strode to the back door and turned the handle. I wasn’t surprised to find it locked.

  I noticed a sash window and I peered around its edge. I pressed my nose against the glass. Through the darkened maw I could make out some chairs and a table, upon which lay strewn packets and bottles. I crouched down and crawled beneath the ledge and around the corner to what looked like an extension to the original building. I came upon a small window and looked through to a dark and unoccupied room. I pressed my fingers into the gap between the frame and felt it give. I wriggled my fingers and the window suddenly flew open with a dull thud. I froze and pleaded that the sound hadn’t travelled. The window ledge was shoulder level, and I looked around. I spotted an old metal washtub and tipped out the foetid water, turned it upside down and placed it beneath the sill. I dumped my rucksack, pocketed the knife and stepped onto the tub. With hands on the windowsill, I jumped up and eased myself headfirst over the other side. As my thigh scraped over the window frame, I gasped and pressed my palm across my mouth. The pain subsided and as my fingers touched an open toilet seat a foul smell hit me. I held my breath and lowered myself to the floor.

  Automatically, I grabbed my knife and listened for voices or movement. But everything remained still, except for my heartbeat which raced in my ears. I wondered if I’d made a mistake and the house was empty, or worse, that Lyssa lay unconscious or dead somewhere nearby. I pleaded; please be here, please be alive.

  Blinded by darkness, I touched the walls on either side. But then something stopped me. A sound. Undistinguishable at first. The soft scuffle of feet nearby. No, there was more than one person. I knew I must move quickly or be found. I slipped from the room, stepped down a short passageway and through an open doorway. I pressed myself up behind the door. Dryness filled my mouth, and my palms felt slick with sweat. I tightened my grip on the knife, and listened to movement in the passageway.

  A man’s voice, but I couldn’t catch the words. Then it became worryingly quiet. A minute or so passed, and I heard movements close by, nothing precise.

  Then a sudden whimper and a familiar voice filled my senses.

  I heard footsteps retreating, then a man’s vindictive tone, “What am I going to…”

  Relief surged through me – Lyssa was alive. I wanted to jump out, grab him by the neck and stab his eyes out, but I held back such dark impulses. I knew it was unwise and that I had to be clever. A certainty of purpose restrained my fear and dulled its ferocity.

  I wanted to shout out to Lyssa; to reassure her and warn her, but I didn’t. As soon as I felt sure they were at a safe enough distance, I traced their receding footsteps, and felt my way into the deeper recesses of the house. I noticed the second-hand beam of a torch as it glanced from the walls and ceilings, and it illuminated my way. Sounds thudded up the stairs. Then his muffled voice, cruel and punishing. A door slammed and startled me, but I stood my ground. Seconds later, another door closed and I knew he was coming back down. I drew back into the corner of the room and fell against something, an armchair. I squeezed behind it and hunched down just as torchlight beamed in and scanned the room. The light threw chilling, unfamiliar shadows onto the ceiling. I held my breath and every muscle fibre in my body tensed. I was all set to react, certain he had seen me. He moved and I heard his every breath. Gradually, the light ebbed into silence.

  I tried to slow my breathing, convinced the sound of my hammering heartbeat resonated through the room.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Running

  Corey lit the old oil lamp and placed it on the table. In the timeworn, long-abandoned kitchen, the light shone at just the right luminosity to give it a deceptive, homely glow. He picked up a can of lager, pulled the ring and slurped it and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He paused, belched and drank the rest. After throwing the can into the sink, he pulled his phone from his trouser pocket and went to his favourite website. The screen kept buffering.

  “You piece
of fuckin shite.” He threw the phone across the table; stared at it. No matter. He peered up at the ceiling and his eyes shuttered. He tugged at his flies and shoved his hand down his trousers. The skin across his face twitched as he fondled himself.

  She would be ready for him.

  He grabbed the lamp, walked up the stairs and reached for the key in the door.

  Overcome by tiredness, Lyssa had found relief in sleep and so didn’t hear the key in the lock. Didn’t hear him set the lamp on the chair.

  He watched her for a moment or two, then shook her. “Wakey, wakey!”

  Lyssa screamed, her face alarmed and she sat bolt upright.

  He snarled, and his face appeared flame red in the lamplight.

  Whimpering, she shuffled back.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “What? No!”

  “Do it! Or I will.” He grabbed her ankle.

  A dark shadow flickered across the floorboards. She glanced behind; saw something that made her think she was still asleep and dreaming.

  Lyssa watched her mum hold a finger to her lips before leaping onto his back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him backwards.

  “Run Lyssa! Get out. Find help.”

  “Mummy!”

  Lyssa watched them crash to the floor. She paused for only a second before running past them and feeling her way down the stairs. With her arms outstretched she found the front door. She heard loud thuds and shouting from upstairs, but knew she must get away.

  She scrabbled around and turned the door handle, but it was locked. Sobbing, she ran her shaking hands up and down, found a bolt, twisted and dragged it sideways. The door swung open and she ran into the darkness, gulping the air.

  A wind bit at her skin, but despite the chill, her body prickled with fear and sweat. She wanted only to run away in any direction, but she had to be smart. She made out the dense profile of the treetops against the night sky, but to her left it appeared less dense. As she stepped forward the ground beneath her feet felt solid, flatter, and she guessed she was on a road or path. She walked on, and when she felt certain, she ran. As her eyes adjusted to the night she sensed the direction of the track, but there were no lights visible in all directions. A sudden gust of wind slammed at her back, and whipped up the leaves and branches in the trees around her. Certain she had heard a voice, she stopped and turned around, but now there was nothing above the wind as it swept past her, and urged her to keep on going.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Violent Fury

  We slammed against the wall and collapsed into a heap of flailing limbs and frantic minds. I’d caught a glimpse of Lyssa as she rushed past us and out of the doorway, free from immediate danger. Thank God. He rolled, and his back fell like a lead weight against my chest. His bulk crushed the air from me, and I pushed with all the force I could muster to get him off. My right hand was empty, and I knew I’d already dropped the knife. I scratched around on the floorboards and tried to locate it. He spun around and scrambled to his knees. I sat up; his black eyes narrowed and his top lip curled in anger. He straddled me, grabbed my wrists and slammed me back against the floor. I tried to wrench my hands from his grasp. His face hovered inches from mine and I watched the spittle as it ran down his chin and flash on his parted lips. “You cunt. How the fuck did you find me? Who’s with you?”

  “The police,” I said, without hesitation. A shudder of doubt appeared in his eyes, and for a split second I sensed his fear.

  He slapped my face, but I barely felt it.

  “Don’t believe you. I’m surprised Max isn’t with you. Neglecting his husbandly duties is he?”

  I kicked beneath his full weight and spat in his face. Then I felt his wrath as he slapped me again, but this time with full-force. My head cracked against the wall and my vision swam. Everything flashed white.

  I hadn’t planned for this. In my fury I’d thought I could overpower him. But I’d dropped the knife instead of ramming it in his back when I’d had the chance. Again, I twisted sideways, but it was hopeless. Then I lay still and hoped he’d relax his hold.

  “That’s better, missy. If you stop struggling, we’ll get down to it. I was going to have Lyssa. She’s been giving me the eye since I picked her up.”

  The only words I heard were, ‘was going to,’ and in that instant, I thanked God that he hadn’t.

  He would rape me instead. But to do that he’d have to move, and that would be my opportunity. He wasn’t heavily built, nor tall. Yet my strength was severely diminished by fatigue from the past few days, and now a paralysing fear had taken hold and I couldn’t overpower him. He grasped my hands and pinned them to the floor, and with his other hand he ripped down the zip of my coat and then yanked my fleece up to my chin. In the shadowy lamplight, I watched as he stared and leered, then he rubbed my naked breasts, and grunted like a rutting beast. I gritted my teeth as the terror welled up within me. He grappled at my trousers and wrenched them over my hips. He undid his trousers, and as he did I felt his weight lift. Without hesitation I seized the opportunity and swung my knee up. He didn’t flinch. Instantly I swung it hard again, and this time I knew I had struck my target.

  He howled and released his grip on my hands. I wriggled back and kicked him full-force in the balls. His face contorted in agony, and he toppled sideways with a thud and curled into a ball.

  I jumped up and secured my clothes, frantic to get away. But then a glint of metal caught my eye. The knife, just inches from his head. Its reflection flickered in the lamplight, calling out to me like a gemstone. I reached for it, but as I bent and clasped it, his hand shot out and clutched my calf.

  “No fucking chance.” He spat the words like a venomous snake biting its prey.

  I pulled my leg away, but his grip remained strong. I booted his face with my other foot but he barely registered any pain. He leaped to his feet and gripped my shoulders. Then he shook me with a force that propelled me backwards into the wall. He rammed his body against mine with one hand grasped around my neck. With the other hand he wrestled with his trousers, then pulled at mine.

  “Get off me you bastard,” I screamed.

  Then he grinned at me; evil and repugnant. His breath smelled foul and his teeth were discoloured and rotten. I raised my knee, but he’d already anticipated the move and pressed his knees against my legs.

  “Get off me… please.” Petrified and powerless, I knew I wouldn’t stop him. I pleaded with him, anything to prevent the inevitable.

  He forced himself up against me and tightened his hold around my neck. I felt the air burn and stick in my throat, and I tugged and scratched at his wrists in a futile attempt to pull his hands away.

  I met his eyes and saw into the deepest darkness of them and glimpsed Lyssa’s terrified face. Then as her image paled, I saw laid bare the depth of violent fury and rotten hatred that had grown and festered within him for twenty years. Something within me snapped. An immense rage fired up from deep inside of me. I wasn’t about to fail my daughter now, not after everything she had been through. If he thought I would lie back and let him kill me, he was mistaken. I gripped the knife, thrust it upwards and plunged the blade deep into the yielding flesh of his belly. I withdrew and thrust again. I didn’t want to kill him; I wanted to live. As I withdrew the knife the second time the fury in his eyes faded and died, and was instantly replaced by stunned shock. He gawped at me, his mouth slack. I felt his hand slip from my neck, and he looked down.

  The colour in his face drained and he clutched his stomach. “What have you done?” He staggered back and fell.

  “Nothing you don’t deserve you sick bastard.”

  Terrified, I staggered from the room. In the dark, I missed my step at the top of the stairs and fell. I turned a full somersault and slid down the last few steps. I stood up, disoriented, but a sudden breeze whipped my hair. I saw my escape route and ran.

  “Lyssa!” I called.

  My thoughts were confused and my actions
out of control. What had I done? What if I’d killed him? What if I hadn’t hurt him enough and right now he was coming after us? I no longer had the knife in my hand. Did I drop it in the room after I stabbed him, or had I released it as I’d fallen down the stairs?

  Frantic and crying, I called as I ran, “Lyssa. Please baby.”

  How long had we fought? It hadn’t seemed like long, so why hadn’t I caught up with her? The wind gusted and I sensed a storm neared. I looked ahead to headlights that approached fast and I stopped in the middle of the track and waved my arms. The vehicle skidded to a halt, the doors flew open and two officers got out. I sank to my knees and sobbed.

  “Mrs O’Donnell?” A female officer crouched beside me.

  “Have you seen Lyssa?” I cried. “She should be in front of me.”

  “How long ago?” she said.

  “About five, ten minutes. Oh, I don’t know.”

  “Perhaps she’s hiding somewhere,” she said.

  “She might have reached the village, it’s only a couple of miles,” the male officer said.

  “No. She can’t have gone that far. Please Lyssa. Where are you?” I screamed into the blackness.

  “If she’s not with him then she’s out of immediate danger. We’ll drive up. Reinforcements are coming.”

  “I’m Constable Newton,” she said. “This is Constable Briggs.”

  In the car, Constable Briggs turned on the radio. “Tango Charlie 431 control. We’ve found Katriina O’Donnell on the lane approaching Deeren Farm. Lyssa has escaped her abductor, over. He paused. “Copy that. Another pause. “Negative, no sign of Lyssa. When backup arrives, flash the beacon to reassure her. She may be scared and hiding, over. Affirmative, heading up there.”