Scare Me

by Richard Parker

  He quickly descended two flights of rough concrete steps, stopping at the first to put his sandals back on. They didn’t lead out onto the street though. He found himself in a warm, dark, low-ceilinged area and the sound of the frightened birds was in the air like an electrical charge. Tam worked out he was walking back in the direction he’d just come, underneath the factory floor. The odour here was like an assault and his chest tightened itself against it.

  As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness he could see grimy white shapes scuttling quickly out of his path. It felt soft underfoot and smelt like the bottom of his hamster’s cage magnified a thousand times. He heard an impact from the level above him and trotted on. Tam thought of his bed at home and the way his parents quietly stacked the dishes away so as not to wake him and his face started to tighten. But terror held his tears inside his head and although his legs kept moving him away from one danger he wasn’t sure if there was something worse waiting for him up ahead.

  Something struck his face hard and he instinctively put his hands up to knock it away. His fingers closed around something solid. It was a switch on a wire hanging from the ceiling. He held it firmly in his hand and looked back. He couldn’t even make out the steps. The door above must have closed. It felt like he had two hearts beating in his chest. Should he turn it on? Maybe for a few seconds, just to see where he was and if there was a way out. He could be wandering around down here forever otherwise.

  The switch was stiff and the edge of it cut into the pad of his thumb as he tried to push it. Tam felt dizzy and hoped he wouldn’t pass out as he had the couple of times he’d rolled too many oil barrels. Then his father had made him sit on the edge of the road with his head between his knees.

  He gripped the thick flex that connected the switch to the ceiling and managed to push in. Nothing happened. Birds brushed past his bare legs as he waited at the end of the wire. Then blinding, circular halogen bulbs clicked on and his eyelids tightened against the sudden, hot light.

  He squinted as the living carpet of birds tried to move away from him, their dirty feathers and burnt kneecaps wedging together. Tam saw the door to his left first; a thick metal panel on runners with no obvious lock or handle. He glanced back at the steps and was relieved to see nobody coming down them. Would he have to go back that way if he couldn’t open the door from this side?

  He returned his attention to the sealed exit and that was when he saw the girl sitting inside the cage.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Tam held his breath.

  It wasn’t Songsuda. His sister was slender and slightly built. The girl in the chicken wire cage was slim as well, but her limbs were much more sturdy. Even though she was seated and a handful of prisoner chickens pecked around her, he could also see she was significantly taller as well. She wore a dirty blue nightdress and her tanned calf muscles were locked against the low plastic seat she was squatting on. It looked like a potty. Tam was relieved to see a large padlock on the door of the cage.

  She must have heard him moving around. She was as motionless as he was. He bit his mouth shut so she couldn’t hear his heart stamping his chest. Could she hear anything at all through the black hood on her head? The thick blue plastic wire that secured it around her neck reminded Tam of his mother’s washing line.

  He looked at her boobs. Quickly first and then allowed himself a more lingering examination. Songsuda’s were only tiny bumps like his mother’s. These stretched her nightshirt as her chest heaved for breath.

  He quickly surveyed the rest of the chicken house. The halogen bulbs had illuminated a large stack of cages at the far wall, but they were all empty. The girl was alone here.

  He remained frozen and tried to estimate how much noise he’d already made. He’d agitated the chickens, but his feet had made hardly any noise on the soft layer of litter and droppings. Had she heard him turn on the light?

  Her head suddenly twisted left and she leaned forward on her perch as if trying to listen through the hood. He gritted his teeth and crouched low, but didn’t know why. She couldn’t see him. Why was she wearing the hood? Was she so ugly that she had to conceal her face? Tam remembered the old lady who used to live in their old complex. Her bottom jaw had been missing. His mother and father had always shown her great respect, as if somehow they couldn’t see her hideous appearance.

  Maybe this girl had the same problem. Perhaps that’s why she was locked away here. He wished the old lady had been. He and Songsuda had dreaded meeting her on the stairs.

  The girl swivelled her head the other way and he could hear bubbles rattling in her nostrils and mouth. She spoke, shortly and sharply. Tam couldn’t understand what she said. He was sure it was the language of the tourists, but it was muffled, as if she had something in her mouth. From the tone, he knew it was a question though.

  She repeated it, but he didn’t respond.

  The girl locked rigid and the hood suddenly exploded with anger. The words vibrated from her chest, her voice rusting in her dry throat and her body thrashing on the seat. For a moment he thought she had no arms from the elbows down. But as he took a few paces back he could see her wrists were tied behind her spine.

  She was dangerous. That was why she was locked up like this. Could she escape? His imagination raced as he envisaged what would happen if she broke out of the flimsy wire cage. This was a place he shouldn’t have seen until he was much older. It was time to run.

  Tam snatched air into his chest. He realised he’d have to pass in front of the cage to get to the sliding door behind it. The chickens inside and outside her cage babbled louder and flapped up loose feathers, echoing the frenzy in her voice as she screamed at him again. This time the alien words were fractured by sobs. The noise was sure to bring someone down to investigate. They’d probably call the police. How would he ever explain to them or his father what he was doing here in the middle of the night?

  Tam made a dash for the door, not even peeping at the cage as he passed it. He could hear her yells burning at his back as he looked for a handle or lock, but the metal in front of him held only a distorted reflection of his terror. He anticipated the hood appearing beside it and feeling her hands at his shoulders.

  He looked down and saw the pedal. It was a black and circular and jutted from the bottom of the door. Tam stamped it with his foot and felt its solid impact reverberate in the bone of his leg. But the door didn’t shift.

  He remembered a similar mechanism in the cold room of one of the restaurants he and his father delivered to and put his toes underneath the pedal. He prised it up, pressure against his bare toes as it refused to give. Then there was a sudden hollow click and bottom of the door was released. Tam got his fingers around the edge of it and yanked it along the runner.

  He heard something heavy and metallic rolling in the loading bay above and remembered he’d left the lights on. If the person from the security cabin came down they’d immediately know he’d been there. He turned, spotting the switch swinging on the wire.

  He closed his eyes and bolted back to it, his toes connecting with the soft bodies of the chickens. He didn’t open them until he’d used both thumbs to push the switch back off and everything was in darkness again. The girl didn’t stop screeching as he swerved around the cage and sprinted back to the door.

  Tam didn’t feel safe until he’d passed through the gap of gloomy light the other side of it and had slammed it back into position. He could still hear the girl, but the depth of the door and the sound of the chickens smothered her. Cool air goosebumped his bare arms and legs. He realised he was outside and at the bottom of a tarmac ramp.

  The door juddered back so a small gap let the screams escape again. As he ran Tam didn’t pause to consider what was at the top of the road.

  Will squeezed himself into a tight cubicle in Burrito Joe’s and looked at the plate of food he’d picked at random from the buffet counter. It was ludicrous to try and eat after what he’d just seen. But he knew the light-headedness he
was experiencing was because his body was refusing to function on caffeine alone.

  He took a bite from a meat-filled pancake, ground it, but couldn’t swallow. A rotund and goateed diner sitting in the far cubicle watched his attempts. A waitress refilled the man’s cup, but he didn’t break eye contact with Will.

  “No… thanks,” he said, as she came over to Will’s table. Hearing his own British accent made him feel even more conspicuous. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket, dialled and used it as an excuse to turn away from his observer.

  “I’m clear,” he said, as soon as Carla picked up.

  The line fizzed. “Are you… OK?” Her tone said she knew what a hopelessly inadequate question it was.

  “I can’t really talk.” How suspicious did that sound?

  “Have you called the number?”

  “Just about to.” He hinged open the lid of his laptop.

  “Shall I do it?”

  He visualised her sitting alone in his office. “No. I will.”

  “It was still engaged a couple of minutes ago, but maybe they’ll only receive calls from your mobile. Try to reason with them…”

  “They haven’t spoken to us yet. Look, I really can’t talk here.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on the website. Call me if you do make contact with them.”

  “I will.” He couldn’t think of anything else to add.

  Nor could she. They both hung up at the same time.

  He waited for the laptop to boot up and glanced around. He’d scarcely taken in the place as he’d entered. Just beyond his studious observer was a dimly lit Internet café, but the two men having a low conversation there didn’t look as if they were surfing. On the radio Tom Petty was “Free Fallin”.

  His shivered at the thought of his drop from the gate. He took a second mouthful of the pancake and tried to choke it down. The smell of stale fat was suffocating and the hollowed out eyes of the family he’d left behind bored into his memory.

  He was just accessing his emails when a hiss announced the presence of someone standing beside him. He turned to find a frown of hostility. The short stack of a man was at eye level and had his remaining straggles of hair pulled into a tight ponytail.

  “Sorry, sir, you’ll have to use the computers provided.” He sucked another breath from his inhaler – the source of the hiss – and nodded to the area at the back of the restaurant.

  “It’s OK. I’m nearly finished.” But Will sensed his transgression had already attracted unwanted attention from the other diners in the restaurant.

  “It’s ten dollars an hour. You can pay me now.”

  “There’s obviously coverage here. I’m happy to pay, but can I just finish off what I’m doing at this table?”

  “This is an eating area. That’s the Internet area. Not my rules. I’ll take the ten dollars and you can finish in there. You can take a beverage with you, but no food.” He hinged the lid of Will’s laptop shut like he was grinding an insect flat.

  Will sat motionless momentarily and then rose without a word and pulled the money out of his wallet. “Ten dollars.”

  “Another ten bucks if you need more than an hour.”

  “I won’t.”

  ‘Most of the guys here don’t. There’s no safe browsing here. Knock yourself out.” He smiled without using his eyes.

  As Will picked up his laptop the two men rose and moved past him. He seated himself in front of the first computer in the row of four. He used the grubby keyboard to sign into his emails via his Ingram account and found the image of Libby.

  He entered the digits on the sign round her neck into his mobile so he wouldn’t have to look at it each time. But then maybe that’s what he needed to see. He dialled.

  There was a beeping sound from the cubicle opposite and Will made eye contact with his fellow diner again. He’d pulled his paunch from behind the table and was standing up to reveal the dark blue police uniform he was wearing. The walkie-talkie clipped to the belt of his trousers had been responsible for the noise. He slowly rolled his sleeves down over his tattoos.

  Will turned away again pretending to study the computer screen, but saw nothing but the footprints of blood he’d left out of the house, up the driveway and through the gates of the murdered family. He’d wiped his shoes in the dry grass at the roadside, but now he wondered if there were any other droplets on his clothes, any telltale signs that he’d just fled a crime scene. Through the corner of his eye he could see the policeman dump some coins onto the table and take his time cleaning his moustache and goatee with a napkin.

  The sound of caged birds poured into his ear again.

  “I have the bracelet. Stop this,” Will whispered into the mouthpiece.

  The policeman paused and Will wondered if he’d overheard. He was trapped between recoiling from his presence and reaching out to him. He could tell him exactly what had happened in North Vine Street. Lead him to the location so the family could be released from their sick tableau.

  The sound of panicked birds cut out.

  The policeman dabbed at the hairs of his face. Will could hear the bristles against the cheap paper.

  No police. And even if he told this officer everything, his tip-off and his obvious presence at the scene would necessitate him being taken into custody immediately. He looked up from the greasy monitor and the officer sauntered away from his cubicle and then angled his waist against the counter while he chatted to the cashier.

  Will typed his name into a search engine, his fingers sticking to the keys. He opened up the website. There were six houses in the row besides his, one down and five to go. As soon as the police got into the villa and started to investigate, Will would quickly be implicated in the crime. The longer the family remained undiscovered the better it was for him. All he could do was wait for his next address.

  The door slammed shut as the policeman left.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  When the plastic pipe came the birds moved. A glow of yellow light seeped into the bottom of Libby’s hood as it was untied at the neck and momentarily lifted. The rag was dragged from her mouth and the pipe inserted so its sharp end struck the back of her throat. The liquid in the pipe was lukewarm and the first time it had been placed on her tongue Libby thought she was being poisoned. But it was water. It tasted stagnant and of flower petals and she was only given a few gulps before it was yanked from her teeth.

  Perhaps it was drugged. She still felt like her head was gyrating, twisting itself off her body. Then the food came; sickly and full of sugar, warm marzipan-tasting stodge with some sort of nut coating. Fingers pushed a few blocks of it into her mouth; fingers she could taste were sheathed in surgical rubber.

  She ground her second ration slowly; knowing that whoever was feeding her was waiting to insert another piece. They appeared to grow impatient and stuffed the rag back into her mouth before she’d finished chewing.

  Over hours, the waves of fear had finally subsided. Whoever was holding her liked to watch and no matter what she said to them or how much she screamed they never replied.

  She’d decided to choke on the food whatever happened and started pumping her shoulders and retching. There was no reaction from the person standing inches in front of her while she spluttered around the wet bung in her mouth.

  After what seemed like minutes, however, she’d seemed to convince them and the hood was swiftly lifted again and the rag removed. She tugged in air and the pipe was thrust back into her throat. She drew a few more droplets before it was extracted. The cloth was rammed back inside her mouth and the hood was secured tighter at the neck.

  Did they realise she’d been testing them? Now she knew they couldn’t let her die. But for how long? Were they demanding a ransom or was she being fed and watered for another use? She tried not to imagine what else she could be subjected to in this filthy place.

  Libby’s eyes still stung and she knew it was the ammonia of the chicken droppings she was sitting in. The darkness disoriented her
and she tried to repel the surges of dizziness by fixating on an image of where she was by using what she could feel and hear. She was sitting on the seat of what she assumed was a low plastic commode and her knickers had been removed to allow her to urinate.

  She knew she was in a cage somewhere damp. The chickens were all around her, their dry claws scratching the tops of her bound bare feet as they walked across them. Their beaks pecked at her shins, but it happened so often she no longer reacted. She could feel the resistance of something on the top of her head. When she tried to straighten, it bit into her neck, but gave slightly against her scalp. She assumed it was the chicken wire roof of the cage, which meant it was about four feet high.

  She’d initially thought she was naked. But when she twisted her body she could feel the material of the nightdress she’d been wearing in the hotel as far as her hips. It had been lifted above her waist so she wouldn’t soil it.

  What else did she know? Not how many people were watching her. It could be one, it could be twenty. She also didn’t know what had happened to Luke. She had a vague recollection of leaning against the heat of somebody’s back and the flash of a camera before she’d been injected, but the details were as vague as her abduction. She had no memory of being driven or carried here, only of a shape in the dark of their hotel room and a sudden weight on her face. She’d breathed in the fumes coming off whatever had forced her head into the pillow.

  Maybe Luke was nearby, imprisoned in a cage like hers. She could hear a reverberation of his voice in her head, his usually calm tone raised in aggression. She was sure there’d been a violent struggle in the hotel room. Libby could feel scratches on her face still burning. Luke’s parents didn’t have the sort of money that hers did. If it were a ransom he wouldn’t be worth taking. Maybe they’d left him in the hotel room and he’d already reported her missing. Or maybe he was already lying dead there – or a few feet away.