by Leanne Wood
“Thanks Simon, I’d really appreciate it if you could.”
Daniel ended the call and hoped Simon would return with good news. He quickly dialled Bridget’s number, wanting to keep her informed. Seconds later he threw his telephone. Fuck. Her mobile was still switched off. Why had she cut all communication? Didn’t she miss him as much as he missed her? He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms. Nothing more than to make her happy, to make her feel safe. He couldn’t do much of anything when she insisted on cutting off all communication. Why wouldn’t she talk? What was she doing? Was she okay?
Daniel knew his worrying would provide no answers. He could only focus on what he had going on in his life. He had to resolve his issues so he and Bridget could move forward together. He prayed he would deliver good news upon her return.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
C
oming to, Pierre found himself in a world of pain. He had lost all sense of time. He was exhausted, aching, and hungry. How long had he been held captive? It could have been hours; it could have been days. There was no way of telling. Surrounded by darkness, he was unable to move. Piercing jolts sheared through his straightened limbs. Blood crusted in his hair. Dried blood trailed from his bulging right eyebrow over his cheek and stopped in the well of his neck. His body was a mass of cuts, scratches and bruises. Pain was his master. Slight scabs had begun to form. He didn’t know where he was. All he could think about was the pain. His wrists ached. The palms of his hands burned. His lower limbs throbbed. Ragged breaths escaped his lips. Inhaling was torture on his busted ribs. He blinked furiously but his vision remained cloudy. He released an agonising groan. Instinctively, he tried to move his head, but couldn’t. Cold, hard pressure enveloped his forehead. A sharp force prevented him from raising his eyebrows. It was as if his head had been bound within an undersized knit cap made of steel.
He thought he could escape, but his nightmare had just begun. He was completely pinned and encased. Trapped. The silent blackness was terrifying and all consuming. Confined and struggling for air, his chest ached. With every breath he drew in filthy, mouldy air. The stench was overpowering. With his back pressed against a cold, hard surface, his chest, ankles and wrists securely restrained, he was completely immobilised and defenceless. And terrified.
Pierre was claustrophobic. The darkness was suffocating. Engulfed by panic, his whole body began to tremble, gasping for breath his heart began to pound wildly. Tears ran down his battered cheeks as he sobbed, and through it all nausea swirled in his gut. Were these the last moments of his life?
Someone or something had been approaching, he remembered that much. He had thought he would be rescued, and had surrendered to his pain and closed his eyes. He’d made one vital error. One stupid mistake. He should never have weakened. He’d never given in before, never backed down. Why had he chosen that one moment to wane? His fear quickly turned to annoyance then anger. How could he have been so stupid? He gasped as he struggled to catch his breath. He was a fighter, and he would go down fighting. He grimaced as his determination returned. Thoughts of death were ridiculous; giving up was not an option. He vowed he would never weaken again. Trapped as he was, was the work of his attacker. He’d been caught, but Pierre would do anything to stay alive. He would beg and plead. He would kick and scream. He would fight for his life.
A light shone from within the darkness. Pierre struggled to see. He had to know his enemy to beat them. The light disappeared. He could not give up hope.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
M
y intentions were interrupted by a noise from downstairs. Someone was in my house. How could I have been so careless as to leave the door unlocked? The footsteps became louder as they neared. There was no time to get to the door without being heard. Fear of being caught froze me in place. I dared not move. A creaking meant they’d made it to the top of the stairs. The floorboard at the end of the hallway had been loose for years. The squeak that was so annoying now rang out like a horrible alarm. Discovery was moments away. I turned towards Pierre, and lent close to his face; his eyes gave nothing away. If he’d heard the noise, he wasn’t letting on. It was vital I kept him quiet. I grabbed the hunting knife from my pocket and held it in front of his face. His terrified stare met mine. I placed the razor edge against his throat.
“Make one move, make one sound and I will slice your throat so fast you won’t have time to blink,” I whispered. His eyes fluttered. Tears fell. He understood. Move and die. Pierre’s life hinged on his ability to comply. Would he risk it against the hand of madness? Maybe, he thought this was his last chance. Would he scream or would he remain silent? While he couldn’t be trusted, for now he was under my control. I turned my attention to the door handle. I could not turn to look at Pierre. My focus had to be on the door. There was an intruder inside. I had to stop the intruder. My heart raced. My jaw clenched. I had walked the hallway countless times; twenty paces, it was only twenty paces long. The heavy footsteps advanced. I began to count down.
Twenty, nineteen, eighteen… thirteen, twelve, eleven… My breathing became rapid, choked by panic, I clenched my fist. My body tensed ready to launch an attack. If I was discovered, there was no way I’d be able to let this unknown person leave. I’d come too far to turn back now.
Eight, seven, six… Silence. The footsteps stopped. Fear constricted my chest. My breaths short and shallow. The door was solid timber, and if locked, it would have been an impenetrable barrier. But I had fucked up. How could I have been so careless?
Heart racing, my gaze was locked to the door. Who was it behind it? Why had they stopped? Come on; move if you’re going to move. What could they be doing? And why was someone in my house?
Five paces back from my door, meant they were near the bathroom, but still there was only silence. If they’d gone into the bathroom to use the toilet, I hadn’t heard it flush. Why would someone enter my house, walk upstairs unannounced and go to the bathroom? There was a bathroom downstairs. Something was wrong. It was all too bizarre. I toyed with the idea of opening the door; played the scenario over in my mind. Relaxing my left hand I reached towards the handle, but I wasn’t close enough. Opening the door meant removing the knife from Pierre’s neck. If I did that, he could scream. And any movement from me might alert whoever was outside. And I couldn’t risk being caught by whoever was outside. I was trapped.
I waited for one minute and then one minute more. The footsteps returned. Step. Pause. Step. Pause. My body tensed. What were they doing? Two footsteps. Pause. I waited. I was ready to slice then attack. There was no way Pierre would leave alive. He had to be punished. He was an evil ape.
One, two, three, I counted the steps… they had changed. Retreating. They continued to recede. The floorboard squeaked. I released a loud sigh. My shoulders relaxed in relief. Removing the knife from Pierre’s throat, a thin red line with a few droplets of blood showed where the razor sharp blade had sat. The front door slammed, and my knees buckled as I collapsed to the coolness of the plastic-covered floor.
I sat for a moment, and shook my head. No explanation would justify my being there in this predicament. No explaining could excuse Pierre’s restrained body. I had been lucky. I gathered my thoughts, annoyed that I’d made many mistakes. Foolish mistakes. And that increased my risk of being caught.
I thought my plan had been fool proof. It was not. And now, I couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Luck had been on my side this time, but the intruder could still be lurking. I pushed to my feet and glanced towards Pierre. He remained silent, and stared at me through his tears. For once he was doing as I wanted.
Enough was enough. It was time to finish what I had started.
It was time to put Pierre down.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
P
ierre strained to see where his attacker had gone. Silence ruled. He was alone. He listened for them as he sucked in short breaths that released as harsh rattles. Hope was fading.
Mental determination could not fix broken bones. But now, he suspected something far more serious. Something life threatening. His future appeared dark. The stabbing pain in his chest and shortness of breath was likely a collapsed lung. And he could still feel the cold sting of the blade that had been pressed to his throat. Alive he might be, but his life was no longer his. He was a slave to the control of his attacker. Random thoughts swooped, Pierre clenched his hands in anger, his eyelids pulled up and sweat bit at his stare. Trembling invaded, his mouth stretched and his breath echoed. Fuck! This is bullshit. This can’t be happening! A cold wash ran down his back. “Help! Let me out of here, please someone, anyone! Help! I’m in here! Help!” he screamed. Spittle flew as he screwed his eyes shut, and battled to catch his breath.
Bang!
Pierre’s eyes sprung open, a sense of doom churned within his gut. All the while his mind raced. Shadows danced around the walls. A halo of light showed oily black soot marked walls from mounted candles. Long trails of wax ran down and pooled on the black plastic.
His attacker returned. They began to pace. Heavy footsteps circled him. He was tightly encased. Strapped. Helpless. Lifting his gaze, his red-rimmed eyes implored his attacker for mercy. Pierre would say anything to stop the torment, to ease the excruciating pain. “Please, let me go. I won’t say a word. I promise, please!” His words fell on deaf ears. He tried to analyse the room but his head pounded, distracting him. What happened? What sparked his nightmare? Who was this mad person? Pierre knew there were so many contenders, but how did they appear to know so much about him? His anguished cries for help went unanswered. It was a powerless terror from which he could not escape. His thoughts returned to the first person he had suspected. It had to be Bridget Tilner. Fucken bitch!
Pacing the room, his attacker appeared extremely agitated. Their identity remained concealed by a black balaclava, long jacket and heavy boots. The pacing stopped, and those cold eyes locked to his.
“Why are you doing this? I promised I wouldn’t talk,” Pierre said, his voice cracking under his fear.
No answer. They peered down into the wooden box, and it was clear they took pleasure in watching him tremble.
They leaned closer. “Your day of reckoning has come,” they whispered, before turning and walking from sight. My day of reckoning, who do you think you are – God.
A tapping sound, like slow clapping. He strained to see what was making the noise and wished he hadn’t.
“No… Please no! You don’t have to do that… Please.”
Warmth filled his pants. Tears streamed from his eyes. He began to sweat as he followed the pounding metal. His attacker was relentless and unforgiving. They stepped closer. As they swung the metal claw close to his face, he felt the whoosh of air. He stared defiantly. He could feel the wetness in his pants as it cooled. He was relieved the room was darkened. No way would he let his attacker think it was a sign of weakness. You know what? Fuck it. If I’m going to die, then I’m not going to die crying and begging. I’m going to defy you the whole fucking way, and if I can take just a little bit of satisfaction away from you, then bravo me.
Sucking in a deep breath, he released a thunderous roar and spat. “Fuck you!”
The swinging and tapping stopped. His attacker leaned forward. Pierre could feel their warm breath. He could smell the scent of peppermint.
“Outside the rain pelted and the wind blew. What would happen next, no one knew. Your eyes filled with terror, your body now strapped. My anger is seething, with a hammer I tap. What will happen next?” his attacker whispered then laughed.
Suddenly the door thrust open. A cool burst of fresh air washed over him. A body hurtled past, tripping on the black plastic. They slid across the plastic, stopping at the feet of the masked attacker.
Even from Pierre’s position, he could see the horror of the moment in this new person’s eyes. Their eyes darted around the room and they scrambled back, as their mind struggled to comprehend what they saw. Shock, Pierre knew well what it looked like, and this newcomer shook with it. A room covered in black plastic; a lone wooden box that resembled a coffin. Screams shot from the box, and the intruder’s mouth dropped open.
Pierre and his attacker had been caught. Neither had heard the approaching footsteps. Both were stunned. Pierre continued to scream. His prayers had been answered. The intruder and attacker locked eyes.
Pierre’s attacker lunged, covering the intruder’s mouth with a gloved hand. Muffled screams now met Pierre’s bellowing. His attacker was losing control. He would be saved. He would be freed.
There was nothing Pierre could do but listen to the scuffle. There had been no time to recognise the floundering figure. It could be anyone. It could be Samuel or Arthur. They could have escaped. It could be the police. Or a stranger. More importantly, they could be his ticket to freedom. Hope returned. He closed his eyes and willed them to overpower his attacker. The scuffling continued.
After what appeared an eternity, the intruder was dragged from the room kicking and screaming and a sob broke from Pierre. Doomed, he was, and he felt sick to the stomach.
Hope vanished.
CHAPTER FORTY
S
queezing pressure wrapped around the waist of the intruder, as they were dragged backwards down the hallway. Feeble resistance appeared pointless. A trail of black rubber showed where their shoes scuffed the floorboards. They kicked and screamed. They tried to grab a hold of passing doorways. Nothing could prevent the pulling. The masked attacker was too strong. Before they knew it, they were at the top of the stairs. Loud repetitive thuds rang out and pain shot through their heels on each descending step. Finally, the pressure was released. They dropped to the floor. They spun around. They glared at the masked person. They straightened their clothes. They shook their head. Their face contorted. Their eyes narrowed and nostrils flared.
“What the fuck! Oh my god,” they screamed, as they struggled to their feet, “you, it’s you,” they stuttered, “what have you done? Oh my god what have you done?”
The masked person stood frozen, legs slightly apart, hands on their hips. They were lost for words. They knew they had been caught. No explaining could excuse what had been discovered. Beyond the fear of exposure, was the fear their world was about to crumble. If they removed their mask they knew things would never be the same. But there was no hiding the truth. They had been recognised. They tugged at their black leather gloves. They removed them from their hands and flung them to the floor. They raised their trembling unclad hands. They grabbed the bottom of the balaclava and in one continuous motion, bit by bit, beyond their fear they revealed the person behind the mask. It was Daniel. The intruder was Bridget Tilner. She leapt to her feet. Her clenched fist struck his chest. He grabbed her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. He took a deep breath and held her from within striking reach.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, as he shook her.
She yanked herself from his grasp. “What the hell are you doing? What have you done?”
“I promised you wouldn’t have to worry about those bastards and you won’t.”
“Are you crazy? How did you get them here? You have to be mad,” she screeched.
“I am not mad, and I’m not crazy either. They drove here, and I’m simply doing what needs to be done.”
Bridget put her hands on her hips to stop them trembling, shook her head and closed her eyes. She released a loud sigh and stared at Daniel. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Why, why would they come here?”
“They camped here. I told you, I let people rent out my place. They’ve camped down by the river for the past two years,” Daniel replied, defensively.
“You let them come here, when you know how I feel about them? Why… why would you do that, tell me why?”
“My mother always told me to keep my friends close and my enemy closer.”
Anger burned through Bridget but she needed answers
, not excuses.
“How did they get here? Where’s their car? I saw no car.”
“I took it back.”
“You what? Where… where did you take it?”
“Why are you so pissed off? I said I’d look after you. I promised I’d keep you safe and that’s what I’ve done.” Daniel paused, his eyes widened as he threw up both hands. “You need to calm down. You need to understand. This is not a game any more. They were going to kill you, Bridget. They wanted you dead. Do you hear me? D.E.A.D. Dead. I had to stop them.”
The room began to spin, and Bridget’s knees buckled. “They were what?”
“They were going to kill you. Can’t you see? I had to stop them. I did it for you. I love you, Bridget.” Daniel said, as he took a step closer. “I had to help. You won’t have to worry any more. You asked how they got here. They all came together in Pierre’s ute. I had my motorbike. I drove his ute to his house. My motorbike was in the back. They were passed out from the drugs in the bottle of drink they had.” Bridget held Daniel’s gaze, her eyes brimming with tears. “And before you ask, no one saw me. You say I have helped you and taught you things. Well, you’ve taught me things too. And no, Pierre’s partner Judy was out. No one saw me. I was careful. I left no evidence. No one knows they came here. No one will suspect a thing. I promised they would never hurt you and they never will.”
Bridget reached for him and he wrapped his arms around her. She lowered her head to his chest and began to weep. “But where are they? I only saw a glimpse of that bastard… where’s Samuel? Where’s Arthur?”