by Amy M. Reade
Shortly after our last movie ended, I got a text from Seamus.
Is it ok to come back?
Yes, I texted back.
Is she still mad?
Not 2 bad.
Be there soon.
Seamus was back at the flat within thirty minutes, bearing all his painting supplies and two bags of groceries. He set everything on the kitchen counter with a thump. He turned to Sylvie, Ellie, and me, rubbing his hands together. “A real treat for dinner tonight, my ladies. Cottage pie, cauliflower, pickled onions, and Empire biscuits.”
“What are Empire biscuits?” Ellie asked.
Seamus tweaked her nose. “They’re biscuits with jam and icing. How does raspberry jam sound?”
“Good!”
“Then we shall have raspberry Empire biscuits. I think we should call them raspberry Ellie biscuits, don’t you?”
Ellie threw her head back and laughed.
Seamus got to work on the cottage pie first. He dry-fried the lamb while the potatoes boiled, then added the vegetables and other ingredients to the meat. Ellie watched in fascination as Seamus deftly sliced mushrooms and diced carrots. He showed her how to thicken the meat mixture with flour, butter, and broth, and let her help stir everything together. The pie was assembled and in the oven in no time. Sylvie announced that she had a raging headache, most likely from watching movies during the afternoon, and was going to lie down until dinnertime.
Seamus was ready to make the “Ellie biscuits.” He let Ellie help him make the dough, then they rolled it out and cut it into rounds. He left them next to the oven to pop in when the cottage pie was ready. He turned to Ellie. “Next we’ll put some raspberry jam in a bowl, and we scoop a bit of it onto each biscuit when it comes out of the oven.”
He opened the refrigerator door and rummaged around, then closed the door and went to the cupboard. After rifling through its contents, he looked at Ellie again. “I’m sorry, lass, I don’t seem to have any raspberry jam. How about strawberry-rhubarb? We have some of that.”
Ellie wrinkled her nose. “That’s okay. Maybe we can have the cookies without jam.”
I jumped up from the kitchen table. “I’ll run over to the shop and get some raspberry jam. Ellie biscuits won’t taste the same without it.”
“Och, Greer, you don’t have to do that,” Seamus said. “I’ll go.” He untied the apron he always wore around his waist while he worked in the kitchen. “Wait. I’ve got to cook and mash the cauliflower. Are you sure you don’t mind going, Greer?”
“Not at all. Be back in a jiffy.”
I took a raincoat from the hook by the front door, gave Ellie a peck on the cheek, and hurried out into the fine mist that was falling from the sky.
I had already forgotten my promise to James that I wouldn’t go anywhere alone.
CHAPTER 23
It was dark and the pavement was slick. Tiny raindrops fell into my eyes, so I pulled my hood over my face and walked briskly toward the closest market.
I didn’t see the man behind me.
I paused at the corner to check for cars before stepping into the street. That’s when I felt the first hammering blow from behind. My shoulder exploded in pain and, out of sheer surprise, I turned around to see what had hit me.
I somehow knew what was coming next, but I didn’t have time to duck before he punched me full in the face. I heard a loud cracking sound, and pain shot through my jaw like a burst of flame. I fell to the ground and the man, who had so far made only grunting sounds, kicked my ribs, then yanked my arms behind me. I closed my eyes against the pain and heard moaning—was that me? I wanted to fight, but my body wasn’t mine. Then I heard duct tape ripping. My assailant bound my hands, then my elbows, tightly in front of me. He grabbed my upper arm and jolted me to my feet.
I got my first good look at him—it was the man from St. Giles Cathedral. The one who had followed me into Princes Street Gardens and assaulted me. As I struggled to free myself, he glanced up the street toward my flat.
A car pulled up to the curb. My momentary flash of hope was dashed when a person jumped out and opened the back door. I couldn’t see a face, but the figure was too big to be a woman. My assailant shoved me into the back seat and crowded in next to me. He pulled a strip of cloth from his coat pocket and tied it over my eyes. Everything went black. The coarse fabric rubbed against the skin around my eyes. I heard that ripping sound again, and I jerked my head from side to side to keep him from taping my mouth closed. The kidnapper slapped my face. As my jaw exploded in a fresh wave of pain, he taped my mouth shut. I had no more fight left to give.
My attacker got out of the car and slammed the door. A moment later, he was in the driver’s seat. His companion said one word: “Go.”
I must have drifted in and out of consciousness while we drove. I tried breathing slowly and deeply, but the pain was excruciating. I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep until it was gone.
I don’t know how long we drove. But when the car slowed and I could feel it making several turns, I knew we were reaching our destination. When we stopped, rough hands pulled me out of the car. I could feel myself being propelled through a doorway. A flight of stairs, then a series of steps in a straight line, then another flight of stairs. Another doorway, then someone pushed me onto a piece of furniture. The door closed with a bang.
I stood up gingerly, using the backs of my knees to feel my way along the surface where I sat. The duct tape still held my wrists and elbows. Sensing I was on a sofa or a bed, I sat down again, then lay down on my side and curled into a fetal position. I couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in my ears, the sound of my fear and pain. At some point, I must have passed out.
The moment I awakened, the pain came back in a sickening rush. I took a few deep breaths to keep the bile from rising in my throat. Thoughts of Ellie crowded my mind. What was she thinking? After everything that had happened with Neill, how would she be able to handle my disappearance? How long had I been missing?
I heard a door creak open. Soft steps became louder as someone crept nearer. I tried to sit up and must have cringed, because I heard a low chuckle. Seconds later, a hand reached out and ripped the duct tape from my mouth, then removed my blindfold.
I blinked in the dim light of the room, pain and darkness blurring my vision. When everything came into focus, I found myself staring into a face that looked like Neill’s. My mind churned in slow motion. It wasn’t Neill—it couldn’t be!
It was Gerard.
I glanced around the small room that was my prison. It was a familiar cell—the same third-floor room at the house on Candlewick Lane; the room that had haunted my dreams since the last time I visited with Neill.
What was happening?
“Greer, you’ve made it impossible for me,” Gerard said, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.
“What are you talking about?” I croaked. “Can I have a drink, please?”
“Of course. Anything you want.” He smiled at me like a crocodile might. Goose bumps spread over my body.
He went to the doorway. “Mum, Greer wants a drink. Would you please bring up a glass of water? Oh, and a straw. I think she’s going to need it.”
Gerard turned back to me. “Now, where were we? Oh, I remember. You’ve made it impossible for me to continue my business because of your refusal to help Neill.”
“Help Neill how?”
“By giving him the money he needed. The ten thousand pounds.”
“But I did! I did give him the money.”
“Greer, Greer. Don’t play games with me. I think you’ve seen how things end up when you try to deceive me.” He wagged his finger at me.
“I’m not trying to deceive you.” How could I make him understand? And if he did, would he let me go? “I gave Neill the money he asked for that night in front of St. Giles.” The pain in my jaw kept me from speaking clearly. I hoped Gerard understood me anyway. “How did you kno
w about that money?”
“Who do you think he owes the money to? Myself, that’s who.”
I stared at him, dumbstruck. “Then who’s Arnie?”
“Someone who works for me.”
Janet came in, carrying a glass of water. She thrust it onto the table next to the bed. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Greer. How have you been?” She laughed and turned to Gerard. “What does she have to say for herself?”
“Not much. Broken jaw, I’m pretty sure.”
“We’ll have to get a doctor out here. How’s that sound, Greer?” She laughed again.
Dr. MacDonald’s face swam in front of my eyes. I shivered in fear. Janet smiled with malicious glee. “I think Dr. MacDonald would be a great help at a time like this. Don’t you think so, Gerard?”
“Yes, Mum. Now go. I want to talk to Greer alone.”
With a smirk, Janet closed the door firmly behind her.
“Now you’re going to tell me where that money is or I’ll hit you again.”
“Gerard,” I murmured, “I gave the money to Neill the night he was killed. I don’t know where it is now. Someone took it from him. Probably the same person who killed him.”
Gerard gave me a long look. Did he believe me? Did he know who killed Neill?
He clearly didn’t know what to believe. He didn’t hit me, as I feared he would, but he didn’t ask any more questions, either. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I heard the key scraping in the lock and knew I was again a prisoner in the third floor room.
Even if I hadn’t been bound in duct tape, banging on the soundproof door would have been useless—I knew that from bitter experience. At least now I could see, but I couldn’t reach the glass Janet had left. It sat there as a tantalizing mockery of my pain and thirst.
By now, it was completely dark. There was no clock in the room, and I had forgotten my mobile phone when I left the flat. I was hungry, but even if Janet brought food for me there was no way I could eat it, as my jaw was in racking pain.
My thoughts returned to my family. They must be wondering where I was. I hoped Sylvie or Seamus had called the police. Was Ellie afraid? Was she wondering why first Dad, then Mum, had gone away? Imagining my daughter’s fear and pain, I could barely breathe.
I lay back down on the bed. Tears of pain, of fear, of anger slipped over the bridge of my nose and pooled under my face. There was no way out of this, except for sleep.
I awoke hours later when someone opened the door. The room was in utter darkness, so I couldn’t see who it was. The person did not speak, but shined a flashlight into my face. I squinted to avoid the blinding light. The figure shifted the light and sliced through the duct tape on my wrists and arms with a small sharp knife. Then I was alone again in the inky blackness.
I reached for the glass of water and tried to drink, but I couldn’t open my mouth wide enough because of the pain in my jaw. The liquid dribbled down my chin. I felt around for the straw and pulled off its paper wrapper. This time I was able to sip some water and despite the pain it caused, I felt a trickle of relief as the water made its way down my parched throat.
I lay back down on the bed and stretched out on my back to ease my cramped muscles. But the pressure on my face from lying on my back was too much, and I rolled over on my side again.
Dawn was creeping through the high window in my prison when the door opened again. It was Janet. She stood in the doorway with a plate of scrambled eggs.
“You’ll just have to eat soft foods until you can get that jaw looked at.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
She set down the eggs on the table next to me and handed me a fork. “It’s your fault Neill’s dead. You’re lucky you’re getting any food from me at all. If Gerard hadn’t asked me to bring this to you, you’d starve for all I care.”
I was in no mood or condition to have a discussion about Neill, his death, his brother, or my feelings about any of it. I looked over at the plate, refusing to acknowledge Janet’s words. Eventually, she left.
Who had sliced off the duct tape last night? I doubted Janet would have done such a thing. That left only Alistair and Gerard—and possibly Beatrice, though I didn’t even know whether she still lived on Candlewick Lane.
As the morning dragged on, no one else came to my prison. When I tired of lying on the bed, I shifted to the floor, sitting against the bed and hugging my knees. Everything still hurt, and I couldn’t bear to touch my swollen face. I could only imagine how it looked.
I had nothing to do—nothing to look at, nothing to read, nothing to think about but my daughter, my family, and my misery. And James. I wondered if he were looking for me. I could picture Sylvie calling him, asking whether I had stopped at his flat.
But James and Sylvie wouldn’t be able to find me here. I knew that already from hard experience. I was hidden from the entire world, in a terrifying room of silence, alone with my bruises and heartaches.
Janet came upstairs twice with plates of food. In the middle of the day she brought neeps and tatties, then in the evening, she brought a barley pudding. I had to spit out the raisins and currants. I imagined her downstairs in the kitchen, mixing the hard fruits into the pudding with glee.
Gerard came upstairs as night fell. He yanked me to my feet. Janet stood behind him in the doorway. “What’re ye doin’?”
“None o’ your business, Mum. I have to take her somewhere.”
Janet stood aside as he pushed me through the door and down both sets of stairs to the front hall.
“Get in the car,” he told me, jerking his head toward the driveway. Janet had followed us, and she finally dared to ask her son another question. “Are ye bringing her back here?”
“I don’t know what I’m doin’ wi’ her, Mum. Stop asking questions.”
Interesting. Even through the fear clouding my thoughts, I could tell that whatever Gerard’s plan was to hurt me, Janet wasn’t privy to all of it.
The man from St. Giles was in the driver’s seat. He hit the gas, and we drove off into the twilight. We made several stops—the bank, the grocery store, the liquor store. After the last stop, Gerard opened the back door and slid into the seat beside me. He unfurled the blindfold from his pocket and tied it around my face. I winced as the cloth dug into my skin and tightened against the bones that hurt so badly.
We drove in silence for what seemed about thirty minutes. I tried to guess where we were headed by noting how often the car seemed to turn or go around bends in the road, but I quickly lost track. Finally, the car pulled to a halt and Gerard, in a surreal repeat of the previous night, took my arm and steered me through another doorway. Once indoors, he ripped the blindfold off.
I recognized the place immediately from police photographs. I was in Neill’s flat. So Gerard had known about this place. Was he the owner?
He locked me in the bathroom, where there were no windows and no other means of escape. At least this was better than having to use the chamber pot as I had been forced to do at Janet’s house.
I slumped onto the floor with my back against the door. Not much sound came from the rest of the flat. I could hear the two men moving around and murmuring to each other, but I didn’t know if anyone else was with them or what they were discussing.
Eventually I heard the television come on, and then smelled the distinctive odor of cooked cabbage with vinegar. I could hear the tink of ceramic plates and cutlery. And before long, the men’s voices could be heard above the news program on TV.
They were arguing. And probably drinking, since their words became more slurred and more belligerent as they talked.
“What are we going to do with the good doctor?” It sounded like the man from St. Giles.
“I dunno. Maybe keep her here until everything dies down. Then we’ll decide where to put her.”
Put her? What were they going to do with me? My breathing was becoming heavier and more l
abored. I couldn’t think straight for worrying about Ellie. Who would take care of her if something happened to me? I remembered the quick peck on the cheek I had given her before I headed out—was that the last time I would ever see her? Hot tears fell from my eyes and my nose started running, but I didn’t want to sniff and miss any of the conversation. My lungs longed to hyperventilate, but I forced myself to take long, slow breaths to keep from blacking out.
The men appeared to have forgotten me because their words were unguarded now.
Or maybe it didn’t matter what I heard. Maybe I wouldn’t survive to tell anyone.
“Are we getting rid of her?”
“Maybe. She can identify both of us and she’s no more use to us if she doesn’t have the money.”
“Can she get it?”
“Maybe that boyfriend of hers can get it.”
I froze, straining to hear the rest of the conversation. Would they try to harm James as well?
“He’ll pony up if we tell him we’ll release Greer when he pays. Maybe we’ll take the kid, too, for extra insurance.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Neill had been right—we were still in danger and there was no way I could help any of us.
“Can the sister identify you?” the man from St. Giles asked. “From the day you beat her up?”
“I don’t think she got a good look at me. Damn those sisters—they look so much alike.”
So it had been Gerard who attacked Sylvie, thinking it was me. Fiery anger burned in the pit of my stomach.
I had to think of a way to get out of this mess. I had to find some way to contact Sylvie— to tell her where we were, to tell her to protect Ellie and to warn James that these monsters might be coming for him.
But how?
I struggled to stand, then hobbled over to the sink and drank from the faucet. Dazed, I watched the water swirl down the drain.
Slowly, an idea emerged from the blurriness of my mind.
I sat back down against the door and listened for any talk between the men, but they said nothing more. I heard the clunk of their dishes in the sink and then shuffling movements, but after that there was silence. I could hear a toilet flushing; there must have been a second bathroom in the flat. A door closed somewhere. I hoped they were going to sleep. I tried to peer under the bathroom door to see if any lights were on, but I couldn’t get down far enough to see. The pressure in my face was too painful.