Hold Still – Tim Adler #3: A Psychological Thriller

by Tim Adler

  Kate started running, not knowing where she was going, terrified that she was about to brain herself on something: a petrol pump or a parked car. She called it running, but really it was just a lurching stagger. The ground was rising now, and she guessed she was scaling an embankment. Her breath felt hot and ragged inside the pillowcase. There was shouting in Albanian behind her. She tried screaming for the first time, but it came out feebly. "Please help. Help. HELP." She sensed the men coming up fast. The ground was falling now, and she reckoned she was stumbling down onto the hard shoulder. A lorry buffeted past and the ground shook. Surely somebody would stop once they saw this handcuffed woman with a pillowcase over her head? Kate began screaming until she thought her lungs would bleed. A car horn blared and she felt an articulated lorry slam past, vibrating the air. "My God, I could have been killed," she thought. She was running blindfold across three lanes of motorway. Any moment another car would hit her. Why wasn't anybody stopping? Couldn't they see what was happening?

  Suddenly she felt hands take hold of her. Thank God she was safe.

  "You fucking crazy. I no hurt you," Teardrop hissed. He smelled rank, even through the pillowcase. Kate recoiled and began struggling, but the gangster's arms were around her chest, half-lifting, half-dragging her back the way they had come. He pulled the pillowcase off, and she really kicked this time. She couldn't believe nobody was stopping – a woman was being kidnapped, disappearing out of the world, and no-one was lifting a finger. Everything seemed to be happening in super slow motion. Kate was yelling and fighting as the Albanian dragged her up the embankment. Suddenly, though, she had nothing left to give. She felt drained. Her body dropped, and Teardrop dragged her back down the hill towards the car transporter. Mr Punch and another man, who she guessed was the driver, were waiting. He was a big, bald-headed guy who looked like a bodybuilder who had let himself go. The bottommost car boot was open, and Kate knew what they were going to do. "Wait," she said as Mr Punch grabbed her trouser legs and all three of them lifted her up. She glimpsed bare trees and the sky cartwheeling as they threw her into the boot. Priest was already lying there, and she landed heavily on top of him. Priest struggled and tried to tell her something but his mouth was taped up. "Please," she tried again as Teardrop reached down and slapped duct tape across her mouth. The last thing she saw was the car boot slamming down.

  Darkness. The two of them were finally alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Kate's cheek was jammed against the felt of the car boot. She and Priest lay awkwardly against each other, panting as they got their breath back. Priest shifted his legs so Kate could get comfortable. The tape was suffocating, and Kate panicked as she tried to get air into her lungs. Muffled Albanian voices outside.

  Kate felt uncontrollable fear: she wasn't ready for dying, there was still so much of life that she wanted to live. Pressure built on the bridge of her nose and she knew she was about to cry. They would kill her, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. She wished she could reach out and hold Priest's hand, anything for the reassuring touch of another human being. Instead, they were trussed like animals for slaughter. Paul, I miss you so much. She thought about all the people she would never get a chance to say goodbye to, imagining Estelle's happy snort of laughter as she recounted her latest adventure, Colin's wry smile as he came towards her in his electric wheelchair. She had a vision of her mother standing over her freshly dug grave before she finally turned away.

  Kate wasn't ready to say goodbye. Was Priest thinking the same thing? That he would never see his ex-wife or daughter again? You've got to stop thinking like this, Kate told herself, you can't just give in.

  The engine started up and they lurched forward.

  Teardrop said his Big Boss, this Zogaj, wanted to see them. If they were on the M25, she guessed they were on their way to Dover, and that could only mean they were heading back to Albania. "And what shall we do in Illyria?" A line of Shakespeare came back to her. She had played Viola in a wooden school production of Twelfth Night. Illyria was the old name for Albania. Now she dreaded the answer. The police would never find them. They would be tortured and killed, their bodies dumped somewhere and quickly forgotten. "Kate Julia," she told herself. "You have got to get a grip."

  Her body was starting to cramp, too, as they tried to get comfortable. If only they could speak and comfort each other, that would be something. Kate thought she was starting to hallucinate as she lay there in the darkness. Mad, scary images piled on top of one another as she imagined being buried alive in an open coffin, while dirt took ages to reach her as it fell slowly from above. Finally it covered her face.

  The engine roar kept her tethered to reality, though. Their only chance to escape would be when they stopped at border control: they could attract attention if they made enough noise. A customs officer or a policeman might ask the driver to open the boot. It was the only thing she could think of. After that they would quietly disappear into Eastern Europe.

  After what felt like hours, the lorry downshifted and they began to slow. The transporter veered to the left, and Kate guessed they must be turning off for Dover. The urge to pee was also building. Oh, God, please not now. She couldn't bear the thought of humiliating herself like this. The gears kept shifting down and finally the air brakes shuddered as they came to a stop.

  Her ears strained in the velvety blackness. Sure enough, she heard voices. Kate started banging on the floor with her feet. This must be passport control. She tried shouting, but the effort was useless. Instead, she redoubled her efforts with the one bit of body she could move. Priest, cottoning on to what she was up to, shifted around and he, too, started thumping. Kate stopped and listened. Her eyes were watering in her overwhelming desire to pee, but the voices seemed to be moving away. The lorry started up again, reverberating. So that was it, the idea of escape was useless. She moved away from Priest as much as she could and finally allowed self-pity to take hold. She started reciting the Lord's Prayer, sorry for all the things she'd got wrong in her life – "Our Father, who art in heaven" – only she couldn't remember what came next.

  The transporter stopped again, and this time the engine was switched off. Cramp was setting in, and Kate and Priest shifted around. It was both cold and claustrophobic. Kate thought she could hear the plangent bark of seagulls, which meant they must be at the ferry terminal. The gangsters would load them onto the ferry and they would roll off at the other end, disappearing into the continent, never to be heard of again. Goodbye, everyone.

  A gnawing hunger was building, and she tried to remember the last time she'd eaten, pushing food around her plate in Priest's flat. It felt like a lifetime ago. Her voracious hunger took hold as she lay there with Priest's knees digging into her. Finally they were on the move again, up a ramp and into what she guessed was a ferry hold. She could hear other lorries. The engine switched off. The only way she could take her mind off food – the idea of gorging herself on salty peanuts, something she normally never ate – was by trying to go to sleep.

  Psychedelic freak-show images of neon cathedrals and Teardrop's looming clown face crowded her mind. She wanted to let go and felt herself falling. Teardrop's spinning face was the last thing she remembered before she slept.

  Her head banged against the metal boot, and she realised they were on the move again. Kate felt the transporter roll off the ferry. She wasn't ready to wake up yet. How long had she been asleep? A minute? An hour? Exhaustion saturated her bones like cancer. The rocking continued and she opened her eyes, dimly able to see in front of her. Light must be coming in from somewhere, because it wasn't totally dark. She shifted around. Priest, who was lying with his back to Kate, found her hands and gave them a squeeze. Hello to you, too. The transporter thumped over something, and she wondered how many hours of this there were to go. Her hunger pangs had returned with a vengeance; it felt as if they'd spent eons already in the boot.

  Finally the transporter stopped again – she heard the shudder of
air brakes – and she felt the engine idling before it died with a final shake. They must have arrived. Kate shrank at the prospect of what was going to happen. Voices. The boot popped open with a hydraulic suck, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the view: Teardrop and Mr Punch silhouetted with a grey porridge sky behind them. When Teardrop pulled off the duct tape, she thought he was taking her lips with it. My God, that hurt. As the men pushed her onto the ground, she was too much in shock to speak. Her legs felt wobbly as Teardrop cut the ties, his clasp knife yanking upwards under the nylon cord.

  It was early morning. They were parked in a forest and the air felt cold and wet, as if a heavy fog had just lifted. Every part of her body hurt. What are we doing here, she thought, as she watched a magpie fly up into the trees. One for sorrow. Priest, too, was hauled out of the boot, and the Albanians cut his hands free as well. "You okay?" he said hoarsely. Kate nodded. They had both become unused to speaking.

  Phuong, too, was being manhandled out of a boot further up the line. So they were taking her back to Albania as well, now she had become too hot for them in England. "Where are we?" Kate asked. Mr Punch said nothing but held out a cardboard sandwich box and a bottle of water. Kate tore into the sandwich, wolfing it down as her stomach groaned with pleasure. The processed cheese tasted like the finest fillet steak. Her tongue ran the pulpy mess around her gums, trying to extract as much goodness as possible. Priest was gobbling his sandwich as well. Only when she uncapped the bottle did she realise how thirsty she was – Kate drained the water in three or four long glugs.

  "Why are we here?" she gasped, wiping her mouth. "Long way yet," said Teardrop. He really did have the saddest face, as if he was crying inside. Mr Punch grinned and jerked his head towards the boot. "No, you can't put me back in there," she said. Seeing that she wasn't going to go quietly, the men picked Kate up and bundled her back into the car. Her scream ripped the early morning air. But it was useless: there was nobody around to hear her. This time they were being separated. Priest was led off to another car stacked on the transporter. Phuong was also being herded onto the metal gangway. "Remember your promise," she heard him say as the boot slammed down.

  The engine started up again and she lay there in the dark trembling and frightened, trying to imagine their route. She saw it as one of those animated lines working its way across a map of Europe: eight hours to Italy, and then another eight to Croatia, before dropping down the Adriatic coast to Albania.

  They were definitely on the motorway now. The transporter rattled as they went over a rough piece of road. Claustrophobia started to build again. As she lay there in the dark, lurid images crowded her thoughts. She tried thinking about something else, but it was impossible. The moment she recalled a happy time with Paul, unnameable dread would seep into her heart. It was like she was looking over the edge hundreds of feet below.

  Finally the van stopped. Kate's mind momentarily jumped with hope before another kind of panic set in – she was impatient to be out. She couldn't bear to be kept waiting.

  It was dark outside, so they must have been travelling all day, although she had no idea if it was evening or morning. They were in a lorry park, and a motorway service station was lit up in the distance. How funny to think that all around her everyday life was still going on. Teardrop helped her out onto the ramp. "Please. I am sick," she began. There was no sensation in her arms and legs, and she felt feverish. The red tip of Teardrop's cigarette glowed in the dark. Mr Punch lifted his sweater to show off a handgun jammed into his waistband. "Period," she continued, miming rubbing her stomach and inserting a tampon. Teardrop said something in Albanian and Mr Punch stepped forward and gripped her wrist, pulling her towards the service station. She thought she saw his lip curl in distaste beneath the acid-orange street lamp. His body emitted a fishy odour. Teardrop just stood there smoking his cigarette. Kate tried memorising the transporter licence plate as Mr Punch pulled her away. Even at night he wore his bug sunglasses. It had begun to snow, and Kate thought about her mother and Christmas as they approached the motorway services entrance. Her mother was expecting her this weekend. Mummy would know something was wrong when she didn't answer her phone, and the alarm would be raised. Stop fooling yourself, Kate thought grimly. Nobody would come.

  Inside, carols played: the cosy melancholy of Silent Night parped over the loudspeakers. People milled around her, going about their business, oblivious to the fact that she was being taken against her will. Kate thought about screaming and making a run for it but, as if he could read her mind, Mr Punch tightened his grip. They veered towards a shop selling newspapers, magazines and confectionery. Tampons and other loosely medical products were in a middle aisle. Kate glared at Mr Punch and shook her hand free, squatting down in front of the mouthwash and aspirin. She picked up a box of tampons while deftly slipping a marker pen into her leather jacket. There was an ugly black bulb in the ceiling that she guessed was the CCTV camera, and she deliberately stood up slowly, letting herself be seen. Somebody would recognise her, she thought wildly. Mr Punch handed Kate a ten euro note and stood to one side as she approached the counter. There was a box on the counter selling loose balloons, and she picked up a couple of those as well. People were queuing behind her. "Please," she whispered, sliding the money across. "You must help me." "Non capisco," said the cashier flatly. "Call the police," Kate persevered. The queue was becoming restive and somebody said something. Mr Punch appeared between people's heads.

  Back in the service station atrium she pulled Mr Punch towards the ladies toilet. Reluctantly he released her when she made it clear she needed to go inside.

  Once through the turnstile, Kate saw a couple of women standing in front of mirrors adjusting their hair. There was the sharp, sour smell of urine. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for a way out. Just cubicles and tiled walls. Nothing. "Does anybody here speak English?" Kate called out. The women regarded her before continuing their conversation in Italian. Panicked, she knew she was running out of time. She locked the toilet cubicle and looked for a cistern to hide the memory card inside. More floor-to-ceiling tiled walls. She was afraid of the way Mr Punch looked at her and suspected he would enjoy hurting her. If the men found the memory card, their one bargaining chip would be gone. If she hid it here, she could promise to bring them to it, at least buying her and Priest some more time.

  Except there was nowhere to hide the card.

  Fine, she would do it this way. Unbuttoning her jeans and pulling down her knickers, she worked the balloon with her fingers. It was uncomfortable and hard going but finally she got there.

  Uncapping the stolen pen, Kate wrote in large letters on the wall: "Kate Julia kidnapped. 4.12.15. Licence TR 1284 AA Call police." She was just looping the final "e" when the toilet stall door smashed open and Mr Punch grabbed hold of her, dragging Kate out. She let out an almighty scream, and she lashed out and kicked with everything she had. Mr Punch was dragging her towards the turnstile as she twisted and turned. He was not going to take her. She bit down on his forearm and tasted blood. Mr Punch grunted and backhanded Kate with his free arm, and she dimly recognised something spongy in her nose being thumped. First she was standing up and now she was sprawled on her back. She really was seeing stars. Mr Punch pulled Kate up again and this time she allowed herself to be manhandled, sniffing hard to keep blood out of her mouth.

  Back outside they rejoined the shoppers and piped music. Kate was too dazed to do anything this time. It all felt so unreal. Why wasn't anybody doing anything – couldn't they see what was happening? Mr Punch dragged Kate through the sliding doors into the cold and towards the lorry park.

  The car boot slammed with a definitive thunk.

  The pungent fumes from the diesel made the atmosphere suffocating. Ohmygodpleaseletmeoutofhere. The darkness was pressing down. She could visualise herself far off, sitting in a corner with her arms over her head, and she felt she was slipping into madness.

  She was buried alive again back inside the co
ffin. She could feel its silk walls as she pushed against the lid. She was going to get out of this, they were not going to kill her. The coffin became a boat dropped into the water as it headed downstream, gathering momentum as it approached the waterfall, before almost thoughtfully going over the edge, and there was a horrible weightless moment, except that she was now in deep space, far away from Earth, receding into darkness. Her body was floating further and further away. Silence. Just the sound of her panicked breathing. Hello, can you hear me? Please, somebody help me. Is anybody out there?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  There was a black 4x4 parked up ahead. They were in a conifer forest somewhere. It was early morning and so foggy that it was as if they were sitting inside a cloud that had covered the mountainside. There was the sound of running water and, high up in the trees, the cawing of crows. Dank. A man she hadn't seen before got out of the 4x4 – this one was a big guy who looked as if he was all solidly built muscle – and walked towards Teardrop. He had a widow's peak and simian features. Some kind of handover was going on. Had they been ransomed and passed on to another group? Was this why they had stopped on this godforsaken road, so they could be sold on to another gang? Mr Punch grinned as if he alone was the recipient of a vastly amusing private joke. Priest looked shaken as they stood there in the lunar early dawn. This was the first time he'd been freed from the car boot, and, unused to the light, he kept blinking. Kate noticed he was unsteady on his feet again. They must have really worked him over. Teardrop and the big man stood talking, embraced and walked in opposite directions. The bald Albanian thug climbed up into the transporter cab and switched on the engine. So they were swapping vehicles. Mr Punch pushed Kate's shoulder and she thought again about what Priest had said about trying to escape if she got the chance. The forest continued down the hill on their left. Her guts were twisting with anxiety, but she knew it was now or never. "RUN," she yelled, suddenly breaking free.