A couple of hours trudged by, maybe more. The sun had begun a gradual descent. The room was dimming. Just when she thought he wasn’t returning, he began climbing the stairs in no rush.
She tensed, couldn’t stop herself. He entered the room bringing his atmosphere with him and a black swimming costume which he hurled onto the bed. In his hands he held two bottles, shampoo, conditioner. He pushed the door shut with his foot. She sat, clenching her jaw to prevent her teeth from chattering, though the room was warm. He walked past her and went into the bathroom. Her eyes fixed longingly on the door. The shower started up in a gush.
He returned and ordered her to stand. She obeyed. He removed a small key from the back pocket of his jeans, not much more than an inch or so in length. He took her wrists one by one and unlatched her. He deposited the costume in her hands. Her wrists felt bare and cold where the leather bands had gripped her for days. The thought of returning to them shortly was too much. He stood right in front of her now, tall and imposing, filling the room, blocking her route to the door.
He took her arm and guided her to the bathroom. At the door, he ushered her inside and only closed the door three quarters of the way. The room was becoming steamy. The light was on. Her eyes darted round and settled on the window.
‘Two minutes to undress before I come in,’ he said from behind the door.
Naomi stood, not wanting to take her things off like this. As her eyes returned to the door, she could see his shadow on the floor. ‘Shut the door,’ she called.
‘One minute, fifty.’
‘I want some privacy.’
‘I’ve seen it all before,’ he said in a monotone, as if it bored him.
Stunned, Naomi thought back to the first morning and of finding herself cleaned and changed. She shivered.
‘One minute, thirty-five.’
Naomi stood, shaking, incensed. ‘What did you do?’
There was a hesitation, which she didn’t like. He cleared his throat.
‘What did you do?’ she tried again.
Naomi shuffled her feet and waited for an answer that wasn’t coming.
‘You’re down to a minute.’
This was all going wrong. She’d planned to be locked in the bathroom alone with time to assess the window and the chances of getting out of it. Instead, she’d have been in earshot of his breathing if the shower wasn’t spewing hot water into the bath. She looked down at the black swimming costume.
‘Forty-five seconds.’
In a mad panic, Naomi undid the jeans and yanked everything off the bottom half of her. The top half she’d do separately. She stepped inside the costume and frantically pulled it up, eager to cover herself. She pulled the nightshirt over her head and fumbled with her bra before tugging it away from her and throwing it onto the floor. She pulled the costume up and shoved her arms inside the straps. Her chest wasn’t covered at all. It was back to front.
‘Ten seconds.’
No. She ripped it off. It was rolled up on the floor. Without a stitch on, she snatched it up, shook it straight, flipped it round, stepped inside and pulled it up with force. She’d covered the bottom bit when his shadow shifted as he stepped forward to come in. She spun away from the door and finished the job with the hideous sensation of his eyes on her back. She pushed her arms inside the straps and untwisted them on her shoulders. It was a tight fit, but she was covered at least.
Without looking back, she stepped inside the bath and hid behind the smoked-glass shower screen, burying herself in wondrous hot water. She couldn’t see him now, but she could feel him there. His presence always changed the room. She closed her eyes anyway, and ran her fingers through her hair, head back. The shampoo and conditioner were nothing special. It wasn’t like she needed to look good. Worried he’d pull her out before she’d finished, she washed and conditioned her hair first thing. After that she stood for a few pleasurable minutes, an avalanche of hot water pouring over her, warming her through. Being in a bathing costume reminded her of school swimming lessons in Johannesburg, where she’d hated the lesson, but enjoyed the hot shower at the end.
Time passed, the best all week. He didn’t show himself, didn’t speak, didn’t move. After another ten minutes or so, she decided to get out before he forced the issue. She turned and found a round silver handle on the wall behind her. The water reduced until the handle stopped turning. The showerhead dripped a few times until silence returned. She stepped forward and saw him sitting on the toilet lid by the door. He stood, handed her a towel, told her she had two minutes to get dressed, went out, leaving the door open a little. This time, the only priority was to dress.
Hair dripping, she towelled herself until she was dry enough. Again, he counted down so she knew how the time was passing. She put on her underwear, her back to the door, and pulled up the jeans which stuck uncomfortably to her legs, letting her know she wasn’t dry. With ten seconds to spare, she’d zipped up the fleece top and emerged from behind the door, determined to look calm. He stopped counting.
Naomi combed her hair with her fingers, pushing it back off her face. His dark hair was visible beneath his woolly mask. She looked him in the eye and fired her planned question. ‘Where are we?’
‘Lake district,’ he said.
Her mouth opened with the surprise. She hadn’t hoped of getting an answer. Encouraged, she went on. ‘Which part?’
‘A very pretty and very deserted part.’
She didn’t press him for more, no point. He stuck out his hand, indicating for her to walk round the edge of the bed and back to the wardrobe side where the chains lay waiting on the bed. She slowly circled the bed, in no rush to put them back on. The door was closed, but as she edged closer to it, she was aware it was unlocked. She concentrated on the handle, hoping to open it with the power of her mind.
While that didn’t happen, something equally as unlikely did. It seemed nothing short of a miracle and happened so fast, Naomi had no time to process it. She heard the high-pitched clink of a small key on the floor. She snatched a look behind. He’d dropped to his hands and knees in a flash and had an arm stretched under the bed. She saw an opportunity and instinctively bolted for the door.
‘No,’ he yelled, lunging full force across the floor to tackle her with his hands. He swiped at her ankles and caught hold of one. After a short tussle, she kicked herself free and turned the door handle and threw herself out of the room. She had the presence of mind to look behind. The key was in the door. She turned it half a second before he violently snatched the handle and pulled and kicked and threatened to break down the door.
Her legs turned weak. She stood in disbelief, wondering if the door would hold. He was swearing and issuing death threats behind it. Move, Naomi, move. In bare feet, she took hold of the banister and ran downstairs two at a time. The effort of him trying to tear the door down was banging in her ears all the way.
She was without a plan and shaking with the shock of finding herself on the free side of a locked door. Naomi landed in a small hallway with a cold quarry-tiled floor and a front door. Dim light came from a small glass window at the top of the door. She grasped the door handle and found the door was locked and needed a key. She frantically cast her gaze around. There were three oak doors, two closed, one slightly open with the light on. From the position beneath her room, the open door must be the kitchen. It was the last place he’d been. She flew towards it hoping to find keys to the car, and suddenly realised the banging had stopped upstairs.
What did that mean?
She soon found out. Behind the kitchen door was a round table dressed in a red and white gingham cloth. On it was a bowl of fake fruit and a mobile phone. Her heart leapt. With shaky hands, she picked it up. She was looking for keys and an exit now. In one corner of the kitchen was a door. She rushed to it and found a small pantry with a washing machine, a pair of old shoes and lots of shelves and empty jars. She shut the door. Keys, keys.
Some movement caught her eye through the ki
tchen window above the sink. As she glanced out she saw a denim leg in one corner of the window. No! He was climbing down the house and was almost on the ground. She heard him jump and land on gravel. Not wanting him to see her dash across the kitchen, she stood frozen, mind racing. She traced his noisy footsteps as he circled the cottage and put the key in the front door. With her options down to nothing, Naomi opened the pantry door and hid inside. It was black until her eyes adjusted, and smelled of onions and garlic bulbs and compost.
She held up the phone in the darkness. When she touched the screen an image flashed up of a victim, side on, surrounded by darkness, face and neck covered in blood, body zipped into a black bag. Her face was white, eyes closed, mouth open. As Naomi realised she was looking at herself, she clamped her mouth with her free hand to smother the gasp.
Had he heard it? She could hear him tearing around the downstairs of the house trying to sniff her out. He wasn’t calling her, which only made her more uneasy. She stood, waiting to be discovered. She’d had nightmares less terrifying. It was eerily quiet apart from snatched rustling noises and doors creaking open. Blotting out the bloody image, Naomi brought a number pad up and tried to remember her home phone number.
Her brain was so scrambled, the number wouldn’t file out. Come on. Her mind was as unresponsive as road kill. Think! After a frantic search, her brain released the area code. Once she started pressing, her fingers knew the sequence.
She put the phone to her ear, darkening the little room again. A slim strip of light sat on the floor beneath the door. Noises of him drawing closer fed through the gap. Her breathing was too heavy. Just as the phone started ringing, he burst into the kitchen. She stifled the urge to scream. The ringtone was blasting in her ear. She pressed it to her head to reduce the noise. Someone picked up the phone.
‘Hello, Hamiltons.’ It was Camilla. Her voice sounded almost normal, but Naomi read the pain in it. The familiarity jerked tears. Naomi stood still for a moment, eyes dripping, torn between the need to speak and the need to be silent. She daren’t sniff. It dawned on her that he would notice the missing phone. She’d never escape him anyway. It was as though behind the closed door, she could see what was happening through the eye of her senses. He’d noticed the missing phone because he was striding heavily across the kitchen now.
‘Hello?’ Camilla’s voice again, drizzled with either irritation or pain. She wouldn’t stay connected for much longer.
Naomi tried to speak and found her vocal chords locked. She was equally afraid of Camilla hanging up as she was of the monster bursting in.
It had to be now. Talk, she yelled inside her head. Two things happened simultaneously. The door flung open with the monster, taller and more agitated than ever filling the doorway. And Naomi shouted, ‘Mum?’
He pounced. She expected him to grab the phone first, so her efforts to spin away from him and guard it were wasted. Instead, he clamped her mouth before she could scream, then prised the phone from her fingers. Naomi heard Camilla’s voice. ‘Naomi? Is that –’
He cut her off.
‘Big mistake,’ he snarled. ‘Big. Mistake.’
Naomi’s eyes were misted with tears. Her body was weak. He stood, gripping her left arm with one hand, seething with rage, panting noisily inside his mask.
‘I wanted my family to know I was alive,’ she sobbed.
‘Did you call anyone else?’ he yelled. Naomi didn’t answer. She was struggling to breathe. ‘Answer me or I swear –’
‘No. No,’ she said.
He let go of her arm and held the phone up as if remembering he could check it for details. Naomi stood, shaking, while he satisfied himself she was telling the truth. She was desperately pleading with God in her head that she’d be locked inside her room again and left alone.
He stood silent and still a moment. The last of the daylight seeped in behind him. She dropped her head, too afraid to meet his eyes in the claustrophobic space. After what felt like a lifetime, he brutally seized one arm and marched her back upstairs. All the way, he followed her in silence. They filed into the bedroom. One of the French doors was open where he’d escaped. The curtains flapped gently. The room was cold from fresh air and smelled of open countryside.
Naomi sat on the bed and submissively held out her arms. She wanted to be chained up and left. She wanted solitude, silence, the comfort of the locked door with him on the other side of it. Her persistent thought and worst worry was him not leaving. As he wrapped the chains around her wrists again and locked them into place, she closed her eyes and held a private counsel with God about the injustice of it all.
She sat, unmoving, while he secured her wrists then went to the bathroom. He came out with her wet towel and used underwear and nightshirt. He stuffed them aggressively inside the washing bag on the wardrobe floor, then snapped the door shut. Why was he clearing up at a time like this? Too afraid to draw attention to herself, she tried to breathe silently and fought the urge to pant. Her chest felt tense. Camilla’s voice was still calling her name inside her head. At least she’d given her parents some hope. They would tell Nathan and the police. It had been worth it.
‘You may have just handed yourself a death sentence,’ he said.
I’ll face it, just get out and don’t touch me.
He closed and secured the French doors then left the room, locking it noisily and deliberately behind him. He thudded down the stairs. It went chillingly quiet, leaving Naomi to wrestle with her thoughts in the growing darkness. Would anyone find her before it was too late? You may have just handed yourself a death sentence, was repeating mercilessly. For a pleasant September evening, the room was as chilled as the grave and Naomi sat as stiff as a corpse within it.
11
LIBERTY
‘Annabel’s car could be a complete write-off,’ Camilla’s exasperated voice boomed into Naomi’s left ear. She switched the phone to the other side and sat on the nearest thing, which happened to be the rickety wooden chair she used as a piano stool. She thought Camilla had phoned to rant about Nathan, but instead she was learning that Annie had crashed her car.
‘Is anyone hurt?’
‘No, no, I don’t think so. A little shaken maybe,’ Camilla said, typically brushing it off. ‘Annabel’s pride has suffered the worst bruising. If she’s going to enter into a serious debate while she’s driving, she needs to learn to multitask. It’s the first rule of becoming a woman.’
Serious debate. Naomi didn’t like the sound of those two words and didn’t want to pursue the topic at all. Her mind was searching for something else to say, but Camilla spoke again.
‘Maybe you can solve this debate for us.’
Too late. ‘Solve what?’
‘Well, it’ll be a simple enough question for you. Annabel seems to think that there’s no romantic involvement between you and . . . ’
A pause. ‘Nathan?’ Naomi offered, sure that it was more a case of Camilla being unwilling to say his name than having forgotten it already. Bad sign.
‘Exactly. While I was under the impression that there was something quite definite going on.’
‘Definite?’ she said, stalling, madly trying to organise her thoughts.
‘Yes, definite.’
There was a short silence, but Naomi came back quickly. ‘Why do you think that?’
Camilla sighed. ‘Naomi, just answer the question please. Which one of us is right?’
‘I honestly didn’t hear a question.’
Naomi shut her eyes. Her jaw was tense. She couldn’t fathom how Camilla could pin her into a corner like this. Why couldn’t she just tell her mum to butt out like Annabel always did?
Camilla’s voice turned sharp and short. ‘I’ll simplify: have you entered into a relationship with that man?’
Naomi had one hand pressed against her forehead now. ‘He’s a friend, Mum, so of course we have a relationship.’
Camilla panted hard. ‘The last time I had a conversation this ridiculous I was tryin
g to get an answer out of my local MP about plans to erect wind turbines. I’ll be plainer. Has your male friend, Nathaniel Stone, exceeded the boundaries of what anyone would call friendship, and kissed you?’
Naomi could feel the heat travelling up her neck like a furnace. It reached her cheeks. She stood and walked to the window and opened it, glad she wasn’t under the gaze of Camilla’s all-searching eyes. ‘Mum, this is embarrassing. I really don’t feel comfortable answering questions like that.’
‘Which can only mean he has. Oh marvellous!’
Nathan’s words were tumble-drying inside her head. Don’t take any nonsense. Let her know who’s in control of your life. He didn’t know Camilla.
‘Mum, please. It just means I don’t feel comfortable answering personal questions, that’s all.’
Naomi had started to congratulate herself for calmly holding her ground when the next question, disguised as a non-question, threw her. ‘I sincerely hope you haven’t slept with him.’
‘Of course I haven’t,’ she fired defensively. She felt the sting of regret as soon as the words flew out. She’d just answered both questions. Camilla would easily suss what had been left unsaid.
‘Thank goodness,’ Camilla said. ‘In that case, you’re not attached to him. The first time lives in the memory for evermore, Naomi, and with no good reason at all. The emotional entanglements can be a real nuisance. See how you got over the last one so quickly because you kept the relationship . . . simple?’
‘Last one?’
‘You know. Tim whatever-his-surname-was.’
‘Who?’ Naomi wasn’t with it.
‘The string player with the straw hair.’
‘Tom.’ Naomi remembered the months of grieving over what happened with Tom. It was anything but simple. The mention of his name sparked some anger. ‘Butterworth.’
Either Side of Midnight (The Midnight Saga Book 1) Page 13