Come Back to Me

by Sara Foster

  The chubby man moved around behind her, and she felt her clothes begin to be yanked off. She tried to scream again, and thrashed and struggled. Her T-shirt came up over her face, and she found her hands free, so fought to grab it and pull it down, twisting and writhing to get away.

  ‘Hold her,’ she heard someone say, and her top was left alone, pulled up to the neck. Hands instead found her own and yanked them both behind her head once more, crushing her wrists. More hands then grabbed and pinched at her skin, her breasts, worked their way along her thighs. The pain in her shoulder was unbearable.

  Something cold was at her throat. She could feel it slicing into her skin.

  She knew she was beaten.

  Then there was a weight on top of her. A moment later, rhythmic grunting.

  Pain everywhere.

  She closed her eyes against it all, tears still pushing their way through. Her body went limp, just waiting for the end, whatever it might be. She could hear the constant rush of water somewhere near, a gentle shussssssh that never stopped. The fight deserted her and a part of her mind flew away, higher and higher into the cloudless sky. It left her behind as it reached the vast blue void, up and up it went, searching for what lay beyond. Vowing never to come back down.

  When the weight lifted she automatically opened her eyes a fraction. Another man was striding over. This one wore a sleeveless lumberjack’s shirt, his arms muscular and strong and patched with tattoos, his face grim and determined, his eyes black holes like the others’, but his right cheek scythed vertically with a puckering scar.

  She quickly closed her eyes again as he fell on to her roughly, the rancid stench of alcohol mixed with sweat washing over her. She didn’t make a sound; pain annihilated any thought she tried to form. She still had her eyes closed when she heard a spitting noise and felt something wet land on her cheek. As the weight lifted off her, the man uttered the word ‘Bitch’ in a rasping whisper as he moved away.

  She heard sounds of movement coming closer once more, but there was another noise now, a whirring getting louder.

  ‘Shit,’ a voice said close to her ear. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Back in the fucking van,’ shouted another voice. ‘Get rid of her, quickly.’

  Cold metal was back against her throat, pressing hard. Her eyes closed in preparation for the end, and she dipped into an endless black void.

  38

  Alex didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, but at least three cups of tea were in front of him, all now cold. The room was bright and freshly painted, bare except for a chair and a beech-coloured table.

  His mind was a blurry carousel of thoughts.

  She was next to me.

  She was taken right out of my arms.

  And I didn’t stop it.

  I was too slow.

  I just let them take her.

  What if I never see her again?

  What if…

  What if…

  His throat felt constricted. His stomach burned. His chest was on fire.

  He looked up each time someone walked past the small window set into the door, willing them to come in and tell him something. Faces had peered in when he had first arrived, but now he had finished his witness statement they obviously had other things to attend to. He felt so impotent, sitting on his hands, waiting. He was ashamed of his inaction.

  He rocked on the chair, looking down at his clenched fists, his tight knuckles. He still didn’t understand it. How could he have just let them take her like that? He banged one fist on the table, feeling the tears threaten to unman him again. If only she’d been on the other side of him. If only he had caught hold of her hand for just that one moment he would have stood more of a chance.

  He could still hear the thud and scrape of her body against the van as she was pulled inside. He could see the thick hand grasping her arm, the face with vacant eyes. Passers-by had provided pieces of the number plate but when the police had looked it up nothing had registered. Number plates were easy to disguise, the sergeant had told Alex. Apart from that, all the witnesses could describe was a white van and a scruffy man inside. Hardly a great starting point for a lead to follow.

  He debated whether to call his parents for some support; but was stopped by the thought of how worried they would be. He still remembered the unbearable atmosphere in his home when Jamie had gone missing – his dad retreating into a stoic silence belied only by fingers that fumbled over every thing, while his mother repeatedly collapsed in tears. He couldn’t bear the thought of putting them through anything like that again. He knew he should call Amy’s parents, but he kept picturing her father’s expression at the airport as he entrusted Amy into Alex’s care, and he couldn’t face the conversation. In the first hour he had been hoping there would quickly be news; that they would find Amy fast. Then he could call once the crisis had passed, and relay the story in the past tense, assuring them that she was just shaken, but other wise fine. That they’d be home soon. But now, with each minute that ticked by, he lost a little bit more self-possession, and a little bit more hope.

  39

  Amy heard screaming as she came to. It sounded dislocated. She could feel the grass, wet and slimy, against her back, cool air on her face, and her tongue bone-dry and swollen against the oily cloth in her mouth.

  ‘Chris,’ a voice was shrieking above her head. ‘Chris, quickly. Oh my god, QUICKLY.’

  Then there was another voice, a deeper one. ‘Oh Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,’ it said over and over.

  Amy tried to turn onto her side to curl up, but she couldn’t move. It felt as though there were a slab of concrete on top of her, pinning her down.

  ‘Fuck, she’s moving. She’s alive.’ It was the deep voice.

  ‘Chris, give me the picnic blanket now. NOW!’ the female one shouted shakily. ‘AND GO AND PHONE THE FUCKING POLICE.’

  Amy felt coarse material covering her, rubbing painfully against her leg. The woman’s voice kept repeating words: ‘You’re all right, love, you’re all right, you’ll be all right now, you’re all right.’ Amy could hear the woman crying over her as she spoke. A warm hand stroked her brow and hair, and she tried to pull away but couldn’t move. She felt some tugs as the woman attempted to break the thick black tape wound around her head, pulling her hair, and then she stopped and left it alone.

  Amy kept her eyes closed.

  More voices.

  ‘Grab the stretcher, Brett,’ someone said.

  A radio crackled.

  ‘Caucasian female, young,’ someone else said.

  The radio crackled again.

  ‘Could well be,’ the voice replied.

  ‘Hello there, hello?’ A finger pressed against Amy’s eyelid and lifted it up, shining a bright light into it. She winced involuntarily. ‘We’ve got you, you’re safe now.’

  ‘She’s conscious,’ someone called, and it seemed as though more people crowded around her.

  Something soft was pressed gently against her neck. Then she heard the snip snip of scissors next to each ear, and the cloth was pulled from her mouth. She gasped one, two great lungfuls of air, her whole body contorting upwards at the sudden freedom, vomit coming from her mouth and running over her chin, and then she heard an almighty wailing begin. This time she knew it came from her own body, because she felt the quaking tremor of it as it filled her ears.

  Her eyes flicked open and there was a snapshot of shocked and stricken faces. A uniformed policeman gaping at her with his mouth a slack O. A middle-aged woman’s back heaving as she sobbed into the chest of a man in shorts and T-shirt, who had his arms round the lady and was looking away from the scene and into the distance, his face grim. And then a green uniform, a face close to Amy’s, leaning in, saying ‘for the pain’, which she heard, although it sounded like one of the records her dad used to play where he would slow the speed right down to make her laugh at the sound of deep, treacly voices. She stared upwards, beyond the few trees that peered over the scene, up into t
he clear void that still beckoned her, where a part of her already lurked, looking down. She felt the inconsequential stab of a needle and her mind moved off again and up into the air towards the endless blue of the sky.

  40

  Alex looked up at the sound of the door opening. The detective in charge – Thompson, he thought his name was – came in, grim-faced.

  Alex clenched his fists hard under the table as the policeman began to speak.

  ‘We’ve found the van. It was abandoned in a remote parking spot – and originally stolen. We think they switched to another car, as there are tyre tracks leading away from the scene.’

  His heart skittered. ‘Amy?’

  ‘No sign, I’m afraid… We’re searching the area now.’ The man paused. ‘You know, you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to, Mr Markham.’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re free to leave the police station whenever you like. It’s been almost five hours and there are no developments yet. It might… take a while. Of course, you’re welcome to stay, but if you give me your mobile number I’ll keep you fully informed. Maybe you’d rather find somewhere more comfortable to wait?’

  Alex couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his tone as he jumped up in agitation. ‘Well, that’s great. We did have some sightseeing planned today, after all. I suppose although Amy’s been kidnapped there’s nothing to stop me… Then I’ll go back to our shabby little room and just set up camp till you find her. God, I can’t believe this.’

  ‘I do understand your distress, Mr Markham…’

  A woman opened the door and leaned in. ‘Sir.’ Her tone commanded his attention immediately.

  ‘Excuse me for a sec.’ Thompson got up and followed her out, closing the door behind him.

  Alex immediately headed over to the door and peered through the small window. They were talking outside, the woman animated and serious, the detective nodding with his lips a grim line, asking short questions and then nodding again. Not knowing was more unbearable than anything else. Alex was on the point of opening the door and demanding to be included in the conversation when the detective gave some instructions and the woman hurried off. Alex turned away from the door as the policeman came back in, but immediately swung around as the man announced, ‘They’ve found her…’

  When Alex saw Thompson’s stony expression his insides turned to ice. He began to hold his hand up, to ask him not to say any more, as the not knowing had instantly transformed itself into a blessing, but the policeman continued too quickly.

  ‘… and she’s alive, but she’s been badly hurt. We need to get to the hospital.’

  Alex’s knees gave way for a moment and he had to lean against the wall. Amy, Amy…

  While they raced to the hospital, image after sickening image strobed through Alex’s mind, but nothing could prepare him for the shock of seeing Amy in that hospital bed. He had to focus all his energy into pushing down the queasiness rising like a bubble of air inside him, before he threw up on those pristine white covers.

  She was asleep – sedated, they told him. They wouldn’t collect specimens for forensics until she woke up, and they asked him not to touch her until they had done so. However, much of the evidence of what had occurred was clear for all to see. On her face and the unbandaged portions of her arms – the only parts of her visible – purple bruises flared in patches. Even the uninjured skin was raw, red and blistered from where the sun had had its own cruel way with her.

  There were thick bandages on her left shoulder and wrist, but they were not as appalling as the large plaster stretched across her neck, covering the place where they had tried to slice her throat. Alex realised with a jolt that she was still there only because of poor execution on her attackers’ part.

  Less than six hours ago she had been walking next to him, laughing, intact and unscathed. God, how he wished he could have a moment alone with the animals that had done this to her. A moment would be all he would need.

  His legs felt unsteady and he stood with both palms on the edge of the mattress, letting his arms take his weight.

  ‘Hello?’

  He turned slowly, to find a woman by the door, dressed in a navy suit. She walked towards him. ‘I’m Isla Bardello.’ Held out a hand, which he shook silently. ‘I’m your family liaison officer. You must be Alex?’

  He nodded.

  She looked at Amy for a moment, and then said, ‘You know, if you need to let yourself go, that’s okay. While she’s asleep is a good time for you to cry or be angry. When she wakes up she’ll need you to be strong.’

  He didn’t know how to respond to this. Markham men did not emote on command, they found it difficult enough to do so at all. Especially in front of strangers. He couldn’t trust himself to have a conversation without losing control. He was not ready to be grateful for Amy’s life, as though he were thanking the bastards who had done this for the smallest of mercies. He was ready to punch flesh until he heard the bones splinter, to set fire to all the white transit vans he saw.

  She was waiting and he was flustered, so he tried out a smile. ‘Thanks. I’m okay.’

  She watched his face, and he wondered if she was disappointed in him. Then she straightened up, becoming more businesslike.

  ‘Have you spoken to Amy’s family?’

  ‘No. Have you?’

  She ignored the snippiness of his reply. ‘They need to be told. It would be more reassuring coming from someone they know.’

  Alex choked back an ugly laugh. There would be nothing reassuring to them in this news, whoever told them. He had already mentally gone over the dreaded conversation with Amy’s father a hundred times, trying to imagine what Raymond Duvalis would do when he heard about this.

  However, she was right. There was no choice: he needed to let Amy’s parents know.

  ‘You can use my mobile,’ she said, handing him the phone.

  ‘Thanks,’ he replied, taking it and wandering out of Amy’s room after a glance back.

  He searched the maze of linear corridors for somewhere private enough, ending up in the car park, on the far side by some eucalypts, their scent wafting over him as he dialled.

  It was breakfast time in the UK. He imagined Ray and Tess sitting in companionable silence in their small kitchen, unaware of the devastating news about to reach them.

  ‘Hello?’ It was Amy’s mother.

  ‘Tess, it’s Alex. There’s been an accident,’ he began, trying to sound calm. ‘But Amy’s alive.’

  ‘Oh my god.’ Her voice broke immediately as he cursed his wording – by telling her that Amy was alive he had reduced her daughter’s present condition in the world to one of mere survival – but he couldn’t think what else to say. He was about to add more when he heard rustling at the other end. Then a gruff voice said, ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Ray, it’s Alex.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Ray demanded.

  ‘Amy was grabbed off the street earlier today… and kidnapped. They found her a few hours later, but she’s been badly hurt. She’s in hospital; under sedation.’

  ‘What? Oh, Jesus, Jesus.’ There was a short pause, then, ‘Alex, tell me straight, how badly hurt? Will she be okay?’

  Unless Raymond Duvalis asked him directly, Alex knew he could not bear to explain what they had done to the man’s daughter.

  ‘I… I don’t know. Physically, yes, I think so. Mentally, I don’t know. She’s still sedated.’

  ‘They didn’t… Was it…?’

  Alex sucked in a breath. ‘Yes. And they meant to kill her.’ His voice cracked into a roughened croak. ‘They tried to cut her throat.’

  He could hear the other man’s breath rasping as this was taken in. ‘We’re coming,’ Ray growled down the phone. ‘We’ll be there as soon as possible. I’ll sort the flights out. How do I contact you?’

  ‘Er… I…’ Alex looked around. He realised he wasn’t even sure of the name of the hospital. ‘I’m not sure where we are, to be h
onest.’ He felt pathetic.

  ‘Get me a phone number, and the hospital details,’ Ray barked. ‘As quickly as you can.’

  ‘Okay,’ Alex replied, and heard the click as Ray hung up.

  He walked slowly back towards the ward, his legs dragging, his body feeling impossibly heavy, like he’d been drugged. He suddenly wanted to sleep, to sink into oblivion, where he could discard this day, the past six hours, at least for a while. He gave back Isla’s phone, and she told him she would return in an hour to check on Amy.

  Finally, they were left alone.

  Alex moved over to Amy’s face. The image he had of her sleeping just that morning overlaid the bruised, beaten face before him now. He went to stroke her hand, then remembered he couldn’t even touch her. The dam inside him crumbled and he finally broke down.

  41

  Mark waited at the bottom of the steps of one of Surrey’s grandest stately homes, fiddling with the hem of his dinner jacket.

  He had been looking forward to the Christmas ball all week. It was hosted sequentially by a number of top London law firms that fell just outside the Silver Circle, inviting barristers, solicitors and their aides to put aside their quarrelling for one evening in the spirit of Christmas festivity. It was a night of good-hearted camaraderie, but with an underbelly of point scoring that saw everyone on their guard. The occasion had also become a mock awards ceremony to publicly congratulate and commiserate with the year’s successes and failures of those gathered. Mark, as a rising star, had thus far only been mentioned favourably on the two previous occasions he’d attended, while this was Chloe’s maiden voyage into the jurisprudent atmosphere, so neither of them felt the same level of trepidation with which others from their office approached the event.

  ‘Looking for me?’

  Chloe was suddenly right in front of him. No wonder he had missed her, he thought, inhaling sharply at the sight of her. She had metamorphosised from besuited trainee lawyer to sexy and sophisticated debutante. Gleaming black satin hugged her body, accentuating her curves, the split skirt revealed flashes of tanned calves, and strappy black sandals sparkled as she moved.