Times of Trouble

by Victoria Rollison

  ‘If you even lay a finger on me, I’ll fucking kill you. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.’ I tried my best to sound menacing and cold, as if I wasn’t scared. But my voice shook, and the man just laughed.

  He pulled up his shirt again, and the knife was the only thing I could see. My head pounded with fear, I didn’t know whether to scream or plead. In one motion, he pulled the knife from his waistband and sliced between my hands, cutting the plastic strap. Holding my hands together in his hand, he sliced through the strap holding my ankles. Blood rushed back into them, pins and needles followed, and I felt as disabled as I had when tied up.

  ‘If you so much as whimper, I’ll cut your throat.’

  To accentuate the threat, he held the knife to my throat, letting the cold metal touch my neck just under my jaw. I tried to plead with my eyes, but his face was impervious to emotion. He pulled me off the bed, my legs just able to hold me up. Then he prodded me towards the ensuite bathroom, holding the knife in front of him as a sign to obey. The taller man followed, and tossed a red lacy bra and matching undies into the empty wash basin.

  ‘Check if she’s got a mobile phone,’ he directed the fatter man.

  Before he could touch me, I reached into my back pocket and handed him my phone. I couldn’t bear his hands anywhere near me. The tall man spoke again, this time directly to me.

  ‘There’s makeup, and a hairbrush in the cabinet. Make yourself look nice, like you used to. And put the underwear on.’ Why were they making me do this?

  The man with the knife was still standing over me. They weren’t going to give me privacy to do what they asked. But I was terrified the large man would use the knife if I didn’t try to make myself look better. So I slowly opened the cabinet, and took out the hairbrush, trying to make them see I was willing to cooperate. My hair was a mess of tangles and I did my best to make it seem shiny and straight. But it was no use. There was a large black eyeliner pencil on the shelf, but my hand shook, as looking in the mirror, I tried to touch the tip onto my eyelid and draw a line around my eye. Not surprisingly, the line didn’t meet the edge of my eye properly; it sat too high on my eyelid, making me look like a child who’d found her mum’s makeup for the first time. I smudged the line downwards, hoping to make it less sharp and crooked. Then I picked up the mascara and rubbed it across my wet eyelashes as tears kept seeping down my cheeks. It smudged immediately under my eyes.

  The large man grunted, as if showing his disgust at my efforts. He turned his back for an instant, yelling to the taller man: ‘She’s making a right mess of herself. Maybe we should just get started anyway.’

  In the second he had his back turned, I reached into the bottom pocket of my cargo pants, and pulled out the spare piano wire I had stolen from Picasso. I had just enough time to stuff it into my mouth as he turned back around. I pretended to be struggling with my shoe laces, trying to get my shoe off to show I was undressing as I had been told.

  The taller man yelled back, again either forgetting or not caring I could hear him. ‘She needs to look beautiful as she dies. That was the whole point. Make sure she isn’t messing herself up on purpose.’

  Look beautiful as she dies? What are these people planning to do to me? Were they going to film me as they killed me? My body went rigid, and started to shake as I registered what he had said. They were going to kill me.

  ‘Get a move on. Your makeup looks fucking awful. You’re going to have to start again,’ he barked.

  I pulled off my other sneaker, and took a tissue out of the box on the basin, dabbing at the mascara smudged under my eye. The wire in my mouth was coiled tight, but I still had to keep my mouth completely closed to stop it from slipping out. I concentrated on that while I thought about my next move.

  The taller man yelled from the living area. ‘The camera is set up ready. Great shot of the harbour. I’m ready to start filming when you are.’ He sounded cheerful, excited even. And scarily well rehearsed. How many other times had they done this?

  I had never taken my clothes off in front of a man before, and this was the last man in the world I wanted to do it in front of. He was starting to get impatient, so I pulled down my pants and underwear quickly, shielding myself in the corner between the basin and wall, so all he could see was my bare behind. Stepping into the red undies, I felt like I was going to be sick. They were too small for me, and not suited to someone who didn’t prune their bikini line. I pulled my jumper and tee-shirt off just as quickly, and keeping my back to the man, clipped the bra on. It fitted slightly better than the undies. He spun me round roughly by the arm, and looked me up and down, obviously disappointed with what he saw.

  ‘You sure have let yourself go, Molly. You used to be a stunner. But the boss wants you in the movie, so you’ll have to do.’

  As he pushed me forward towards the bedroom, I caught the edge of the open bathroom door with my hand, and swung it closed in front of me. I could sense the knife just behind my back as I spun round to face the man. He was slow to react, and my forearm hit his wrist hard enough for him to drop the knife. Then I kicked him hard in the direction of his groin, just missing, and landing my foot into the top of his thigh. He called out, and lunged to pick up the knife. While his head was down, I spat the piano wire into my hand, grabbing the end of it with one hand, uncoiling it with the other. To my relief, it didn’t tangle, and as his fingers found the knife’s handle, I stepped on the blade and slid it away from him, so he almost toppled forward trying to reach it. Before he could look up, I looped the wire over his head, and swapping the ends from hand to hand, pulled it tight around his neck.

  The wire was thin and sharp, and as soon as I tightened it, his hands instinctively went to his throat, trying to pull it away so he could breathe. I had to get close to him to hold the wire taut. As I pulled harder, it disappeared in the flesh rolls on his neck. It was starting to cut the skin, burning it enough that it started to bleed. It was too tight for him to make any other sound except a gurgling noise in his throat. I twisted the wire round my hands, still pulling it as hard as I could, moving my hands closer together to get a better grip. My hands felt big and strong with the wire wound around them, the muscles in my fingers and palms strengthened by thousands of hours of piano practice. I felt suddenly powerful. All the anger and the fear inside me was making me stronger.

  I thought of the plans this men had for Sophie, and what they were going to do to me if I didn’t fight back. I thought of Katie in the train station, and the fear she must have felt when she was chased under a train. My wrists and fingers felt like steel as his arms flapped around trying to grab me but not getting any purchase. He was starting to panic, and as he dropped to his knees, I got an even better grip, and pulled tighter. When I felt all the air had gone out of his lungs, I pulled down with all my might, smashing the side of his head against the edge of the bath. Then I let go of the wire and jumped over his body, grabbing the knife that had come to a rest against the wall.

  Opening the door, I focused on the front entrance of the apartment, working out how quickly I could cover that distance and get out the door. I sprinted forward, hoping to make it before the other man saw me. But just as my hand grabbed the door handle, he got hold of my left arm, trying to tugg me back into the room. With a fierce stab of my hand, I punctured the knife into his arm. That snapped his fingers open, letting me go. It gave me the second I needed to get the door open. I ran faster than I ever had before, throwing myself towards the stairs and careering down, three steps at a time. I felt like my feet hardly touched the ground as I spiralled down down down towards the ground floor. I heard the man shout. The one I had stabbed was running after me. But I had got enough of a lead that he wasn’t close enough to grab me. Finally, a door said G. G for Ground. I slammed it open and slid barefoot across the plush foyer. There was no one there except the man behind the desk, who looked shocked to see me stumble towards him.

  ‘Please help me!’ I shrieked. ‘They’re trying to kill m
e.’

  He stepped out from behind the reception desk, just as the man chasing me came through the door. As he saw me diving behind the desk, he kept running, straight through the glass sliding doors, out towards the harbour, aware that unarmed, he would have no choice but to leave me be. I collapsed under the desk, hiding myself away, letting the darkness surround me. The receptionist was staring at me.

  ‘Call the police,’ I begged. ‘There’s another girl up there.’ I stayed crouched under the counter, trying to cover up my body. ‘And can someone please get me a bathrobe?’

  I didn’t know if the other man was dead or not. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be far behind the one that had bolted.

  I heard the receptionist pick up the phone and dial, asking the operator to get the police here quickly, as a woman had been attacked. He then called someone in the hotel, and asked them to bring a bath robe to reception, aware I was in no state to be left alone.

  I sat in stunned silence, realising what I had just done. It had been so easy to hurt both the men. I hadn’t realised how much strength I would have when cornered. What if I had killed that man? The image of the cuts on the side of his neck, and the crunching sound of his head hitting the side of the bath, made me feel like I might vomit. I had stuck a knife into a man’s arm! He deserved it, but I couldn’t believe how easily I had done it. I had never thought I was capable of violence like that. Was it just the pressure of the situation, my survival instinct outweighing everything else? I found I was still clutching the knife, and there was blood on me too.

  The bathrobe arrived at the same time as two policemen ran into the foyer. And I exhaled for what felt like the first time in an hour.

  Chapter 30

  Vince was waiting for Jared to arrive at the beach house, when his phone rang. He saw it was Jared. What did he want that couldn't wait until he arrived? The movie wouldn't be done yet, and he wasn't meant to be hearing anything else until the filming was finished. Once Molly’s last performance was over, there was no one left to reveal what they knew about the business, and he was looking forward to opening a Shiraz with Jared to celebrate. Maybe Jared hit traffic, and was calling ahead to say he was late. But Vince immediately knew by Jared's tone that this was not a courtesy call. Shit.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked abruptly, stealing himself for another fuck up.

  Jared was, as ever, straightforward and concise in reporting the news. ‘She got away. She stabbed Jim in the arm, and ran. She somehow got away from Keith too’

  Vince couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Which one?’

  ‘Molly’

  ‘And where’s the other one?’

  ‘They left her in the room. She was out of it…they were waiting for her to wake up a bit when they found Molly.’

  ‘So they managed to find her, and let her go again? How the hell did that happen?’

  ‘I don’t know, she got Keith’s knife and stabbed Jim with it, the little bitch. Jim chased her but couldn't catch her. She must have called the police. God knows what she did to Keith.’

  Vince felt like his head might explode with anger. Who were these incompetent gits that Jared had hired? No doubt they had had a bit themselves. How else could they both let Molly go?

  ‘Christ, where are Keith and Jim now?’ he asked, scared he already knew the answer.

  ‘They took Keith away in an ambulance with the other girl. Molly went with the police.’

  This was getting worse and worse. Vince usually appreciated Jared's calm demeanour, but at this moment he hated it. He wanted someone to scream and rant with him.

  ‘And Jim?’

  ‘He called me on the way to the airport. He obviously didn't tell me where he was headed. He knows how heavy this is for us’.

  Us? What was this ‘us’ business? Vince paid Jared well to keep him out of everything. But Vince hated to admit, even to himself, that Molly going to the police was heavy for both of them.

  ‘How much stuff was in the apartment?’ Vince knew he had to ask, and probably wouldn’t like the answer.

  ‘Everything we filmed last month. Everything we did with the other girl this morning. Lots of shit.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Vince's usually deep voice rose two octaves.

  ‘I know this is bad, they've really fucked it up. I'll be at the house in half an hour.’ The phone went dead, and Vince didn't even have time to acknowledge that Jared hadn't asked permission to hang up.

  This was a fucking disaster. The things the police would find in the apartment were bad. Very bad. He’d definitely have to stop production for a while. And what would that fucker Keith say to the cops? He was up to his balls in it. Surely he wouldn’t be thick enough to give anything away? Keith had Jared's name, but not his. In the past they had been incredibly careful to keep the film side of the business separate from everything else. But with Bill out of it, and with trying to set up in Australia, there hadn’t been too many people he could rely on. So Jared had got more involved. Too involved maybe?

  But, thought Vince bitterly, the thing that really destroyed all his hard work was Molly. And now the police had her too. God knows how Bill ever let her find out what his business activities were. But somehow he did. And her dumb boyfriend tried to capitalise on this knowledge. Fucking idiots. Why couldn’t they just leave well enough alone? Bill was too easily linked to him. That was always the problem. He wanted someone he trusted working the production side, but Bill turned out to be a massive mistake. Jared had warned him Bill was incapable of discretion. And he’d thought this was just Jared being jealous that he hadn’t been given more responsibility himself. Well, it was coming back to bite them. It was Jared’s fault. He should have insisted. The best he could hope for was that if Molly did talk, Bill would never be found. That way the connection with him couldn't be made, and the rest of their business could continue as before.

  Chapter 31

  As I sat in the back of the police car, I felt embarrassed that I couldn’t stop crying. The police woman in the front seat was very patient, and told me to take my time before giving a statement. She had tried to insist we go to the hospital, to make sure I wasn’t in shock, but I refused. I was fine. Just upset, and a doctor couldn’t help me with that. I dabbed at my face with a tissue, and explained that I wanted to give a statement as soon as possible. I needed to give as much information as I could to help the police find my attackers. After they had given me some clothes to wear, I had asked if Detective Inspector Williamson would be able to see me at the station. He had been called in, and was on his way. I knew it would save time explaining what had happened, since he already knew most of the story I had to tell.

  As the car pulled up at the station, the policewoman told me that Williamson wasn’t there yet, but I could wait for him in a private interview room. I asked if I could make a phone call, and she showed me to a phone, standing close to me as if worried I might break down and collapse if someone wasn’t there to catch me. I needed to speak to mum. I typed in her home number because I didn’t know her mobile number by heart. My phone was either in that fat oaf's pocket, or still in the apartment.

  ‘Hello?’ mum sounded worried as she answered, as if she intuitively knew something was wrong. I thought I could be strong, but hearing her voice made me feel so scared and alone. I sobbed harder than ever.

  ‘Mum, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off alone...’

  ‘What’s wrong Ellen? What’s happened?’ mum’s voice was panicked, waiting to hear the worst.

  ‘I went to the hotel where I thought the men were, and they were there, and they got me and tried to kill me. It was...horrible...’ The tears were choking my throat. I couldn’t get any more words out.

  ‘Where are you? What did they do to you? Are you there Ellen?’ The policewoman passed me a tissue and I blew my nose hard, trying to gather some sort of composure.

  ‘They didn’t do anything. I got away, I... I’m with the police... they thought I was Sophie, mum. They wanted to kill
Sophie so they were going to kill me...’

  ‘Where is Sophie?’ The alarm in her voice heightened. I could barely recognise her in this state.

  ‘I don’t know mum. She’s fine, she wasn’t there. They don’t have any idea where she is either.’ I heard her breath in and out a couple of times. She didn’t know what to say next.

  ‘Mum, I just called to let you know I’m ok. I’m scared but I’m ok. I need to speak to the police now. Can you please give me Liam’s number so I can call him? I’ve lost my phone.’

  ‘Oh, ok.’

  I heard mum’s feet click quickly across the kitchen, trying to find the number. After a few seconds, she was back, and I jotted Liam’s number on my hand with the policewoman’s pen. Mum sounded stronger all of a sudden, as if she had come to terms with the fact I was ok.

  ‘I’m calling Andy to come and get you. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at the City Central police station in the city. It’s next to Town Hall station.’

  ‘Ok, I’m sure he’ll be there as quickly as he can.’

  Mum sounded like she felt helpless. Never before had I needed a hug from her like I did now. But she was too far away to comfort me, so she was sending me the only person she could think of who might make me feel a bit safer.

  ‘Mum, they’re going to get these people now. They’ll know who they are, and they’ll get them. Then they can’t hurt Sophie... or me. I know it was dangerous, but I got away. I’ll call you from Andy’s when we get back there. Promise.’

  I felt slightly stronger as I put down the phone. I turned, and I saw Detective Inspector Williamson walk through the door. He looked brisk and important as he strode towards me, staring at me up and down as if asking what happened to me, without words.

  ‘Do you feel ok to be interviewed now?’ he asked, obviously having been briefed on what had happened. I nodded and followed him into the same room we had been in yesterday morning. Part of me wanted to go back to that interview, and then live the last day again, avoiding my impulse to hunt down Bill Holland’s associates at the hotel. But then I reminded myself of the same thing I told mum; we were going to get them.