Close to the Edge

by Toby Faber

  Two hands, fingers extended against her bare back, slid between Laurie and the mattress, until she felt herself cradled in the arms of the man leaning over her. Then, with one heave, she was off the bed and being carried, for all the world like a bride crossing the marital threshold. Laurie shook her head to rid herself of the allusion as she was taken downstairs and dropped onto – the floor? For one heart-stopping moment Laurie believed it. The relief when she felt herself hitting soft plastic at knee height brought on another bout of hyperventilation. And why the plastic? They must have put it on the sofa before bringing her down.

  ‘All clear?’ It was the posh voice again, speaking close to Laurie’s ear. For a second she thought he was addressing her, but a ‘yep’ from across the room told its own story. Presumably the house was now checked, and Dad and Jess were as securely trussed as she was.

  ‘Right now, sweetheart. Don’t bother shouting: it will only make things worse. Understand?’

  Laurie nodded. In response, she felt gloved fingers search along her jaw, find the end of the tape covering her mouth and rip it off in a single swift motion that made no concession to the burning sensation it left behind. Laurie knew better than to scream but found herself trying to lift a hand in a reflex attempt to rub away the pain. The reminder that her arms were still taped together only reinforced her feeling of helplessness.

  ‘Right, now then. Tell us your password.’

  What was he going on about? The involuntary wrinkling of Laurie’s brow must have conveyed her confusion.

  There was a sigh, as if the man felt the inconvenience of having to deal with such patent stupidity. ‘The password you use on this laptop, of course.’

  ‘Why …?’ Laurie began, stopping as she felt a hand grab her chin.

  The voice bent close to her ear. ‘Because if you don’t we will hurt you and your darling Papa, a lot.’

  ‘Roxanne1,’ Laurie said, dully. She spelled it out. ‘All lower case.’

  She heard the tapping of a keyboard and a grunt of satisfaction. What was going on? There was hardly anything on the computer. And why hadn’t he mentioned Jess? Was it possible they hadn’t checked her room? Might she still be sleeping soundly in her bed, unaware of what was going on downstairs? How could Laurie warn her without letting them know there was someone else in the house?

  A bleep came from the computer, to a hiss of frustration from whoever had been using it.

  ‘What is it?’ The question was one that Laurie had wanted to ask for herself, but it came from the other man. So – they were both in the room.

  ‘Bitch has a different password for Gmail, but you’re going to tell us what it is, aren’t you, darling?’

  Laurie knew what she had to do; she had to have an excuse to shout. She shook her head.

  ‘I’m going to ask you nicely one more time.’ The low voice was right in Laurie’s ear and she had not even heard him approach. ‘What is the password?’ Laurie remained still, bracing herself for the blow that was bound to come. She breathed in, ready to deliver the scream that would warn Jess. But the chance did not come. Instead, she felt fresh tape being put over her mouth.

  ‘You’re not being very clever, are you, my love?’ And then, directed away from her: ‘Go into the kitchen and look for skewers. I’ll get her father.’

  Two sets of footsteps receded. One went into the kitchen, the other upstairs. Skewers? Laurie’s skin began to prickle. For the first time, she wondered if she was going to die.

  A crackle and muffled groan on the sofa beside her announced Dad’s arrival. Laurie wanted to look at him, to check he was unhurt, to exchange glances of reassurance. The inability to connect was an unexpected corollary to her blindness. She felt so isolated, so alone, despite the certain knowledge that the person she loved most in the world was right beside her.

  ‘Will these do?’ It was the man back from the kitchen.

  ‘Just perfect. Right, we need to keep their heads still. I don’t want to risk any scratches. Let’s use the table.’

  There was a noise that Laurie struggled to place, strangely light, almost airy – and then the unmistakable sound of tape being unrolled, accompanied by a single odd command, ‘Remember, we don’t want to damage the varnish.’

  Laurie was lifted, carried a short way, and laid down on a hard surface. Again, it was covered in plastic sheeting – that must have been the sound she had heard – and again she was surprised by the care with which the whole operation was carried out. What was it the devil said to Jesus in the wilderness? ‘And in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone.’ What made her think of that?

  More tape was being unrolled. Laurie attempted to wriggle. She shook her head from side to side, but as more and more tape was applied, encasing her head and sticking it to the table, she lost all freedom of movement. Now she truly was mummified. Only her ears and nostrils remained clear. It made her curiously aware of the sounds and smells around her: movement in the room, the pungency of her own sweat.

  Something brushed against Laurie’s leg. It was Dad, she realised, being strapped down next to her in much the same way. Since the comment about the varnish, neither of their captors had spoken.

  After some time (how long was it? Five minutes? An hour?), the sounds of movement stopped. Laurie could hear Dad’s breathing from the other end of the table – they must be lying head to tail – and nothing else. Were they being left alone? Was Laurie meant to stew in her fear, to become more likely to crack? If so, it was working.

  They were not alone. Suddenly, a voice sounded right in her ear, little more than a murmur, but close enough that she felt her eardrum flinch. ‘To tell the truth, my sweetness, I’d been hoping you might be a little bit uncooperative somewhere along the way. Of course, it makes things a little more difficult that we don’t want to leave a mark on you, but that’s just a challenge, more than anything else. Anyway, this is so you know what we’re doing to him.’

  Almost immediately, the voice was replaced by a strange tickling sensation, one that rapidly resolved itself into a sense of extreme discomfort. Something was being inserted into her ear. Laurie could guess what it was. NO … NO … NO. The tip of the skewer reached her eardrum and the fear that had been building within her resolved itself into a pain so acute that it occupied her entire being. Every muscle went rigid. Every nerve ending screamed for release. The membrane must have been perforated. Was the skewer still travelling on through her inner ear and into her brain/? Could eardrums repair themselves? Would she be deaf for ever?

  Suddenly, the pain was no more severe than the worst imaginable earache. The skewer had gone. Laurie could take stock, could re-engage, first with her body, and then with the world around her. With relief, she realised she could still hear, but it took a moment for her to grasp that the insistent humming that filled her ears was no more than her own attempt at a scream, muffled by the tape that still covered her mouth. With the realisation came silence, or what passed for it; Laurie was more conscious than ever of the sound of her breathing, its rapidity matched by the throb in her ear, as her adrenaline-fuelled heart tried to keep up with the demands that terror was placing upon it. Then she heard the voice again.

  ‘And of course there’s the nose as well.’

  Laurie stiffened as she felt the hairs inside her left nostril beginning to tickle. How far up would he push the skewer? Was there some sort of membrane there as well? Despite herself, Laurie found herself imagining the pain she had just felt in her ear, but this time focused on some area around the bridge of her nose, spreading out from there to her eyes and the rest of her head. She could feel the tears attempting to escape between her closed eyelids. Then she heard a low laugh in her ear.

  ‘Except we want you conscious, don’t we? Three grunts when you’re ready to talk.’

  The man paused, as if waiting for a response. It was all Laurie could do not to make the noises that he sought. Why was she holding out? For a goal that
might be entirely pointless, and certainly didn’t seem worth the pain? But she had come too far to crack now. She had to get things to the point where they removed the gag, where she could scream without arousing their suspicions. For the time being, silence was her only option.

  ‘Hmm. So that’s the way you want it? Well, let’s see how brave you are when it’s your Dad. Rip that off. I want her to hear this.’

  Laurie heard the sound of tape unsticking, and then, in what briefly felt like a victory, Dad’s voice. ‘What are you doing? Laurie, don’t tell them anything. No, stop. No … no … NO.’ If he had been about to say anything more, it was lost in a marrow-piercing scream. Laurie was sure she would never forget it, and knew she would never forgive herself for it.

  All thoughts of victory – of futile little goals – vanished. Let it end. Let it end now, please. Laurie grunted, and grunted again, and grunted a third time. Panic overtook her. What if the man hadn’t heard? Would he carry on? She did it again, more loudly. He had to hear, surely? For all she knew, he was preparing now to stick a skewer up Dad’s nose.

  Suddenly, she heard the voice back in her ear. ‘You get one chance: the password. Understand?’

  Unable even to nod, Laurie could only grunt in reply. It was enough. The tape was ripped again from her mouth. The pain in her ear was so intense there was no way Laurie could have shouted, even without the warning. Instead, it was all she could do to whisper, ‘Roxanne123,’ taking a deep breath before she continued, ‘same as before, but with a capital X and one-two-three on the end.’

  There was tapping at the keyboard, then silence. Laurie waited, focused on her pain, panic building once again. What if she’d got it wrong? What would he do next? How was Dad? All she could hear from him was rapid breathing.

  Then the man spoke. ‘Right, clean these up and put them back exactly where you found them. I’m going to get on with this.’ He paused before adding, unnecessarily in Laurie’s case at least, ‘One more squeak out of either of you and you’ll both regret it.’ The tapping started once again. She had got the password right. Surely this would all be over soon.

  Sounds came from the kitchen. The man who’d sucked at her breast was, Laurie realised, busy washing up the instruments of torture. What would a running tap and scrubbing brush mean to her now? Would she ever be able to look at a skewer again? It was unlikely to matter, of course. Please God, let them kill her quickly. The kitchen drawer closed with a thud; returning footsteps indicated that the washer-up must have finished his task. Why hadn’t he turned off the tap?

  Whump! What was that? Laurie puzzled to make sense of what she just heard. Had her computer fallen on the floor? The tapping had stopped. Then, in quick succession, she heard two more thumps. The last of them including a cracking sound that instantly took her back to falling off Roxanne and the broken collarbone. Oh God! Had they started hitting Dad? No, the sound was further away than that.

  Was that a groan? Where did it come from? The kitchen? Footsteps ran from the room, leading to three more rapid thwacks, then a clatter – something wooden had fallen on the floor – followed by a series of softer thumps, accompanied by Jess’s voice, repeating with every thump, ‘You bastards, you bastards, you bastards.’ Then there was silence, interrupted by occasional sharp sobs.

  ‘Jess,’ Laurie tried to speak, but got no further, as the pain in her ear crescendoed once again. Had she been heard? Yes: there was the sound of returning footsteps, accompanied by sharp, deep, rapid breaths. But they did not approach the table. Instead, Laurie heard a rustling sound. Was she taking the plastic sheeting off the sofa? Surely they should be leaving everything as undisturbed as possible for the police? ‘Jess,’ Laurie tried whispering, ‘what are you doing?’

  The reply came from Dad, and he sounded fine – no need to whisper for him. ‘She knows we’re here. darling. How are you?’

  Dad! Laurie could almost weep with relief at the sound of his voice. She breathed in deeply before whispering again, ‘Dad! Are you OK?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, darling. They wanted you to hear me scream. Let’s just say I gave them what they wanted without waiting for a reason.’

  Despite the all-encompassing pain in her ear, despite the horror of what they had just been through, despite the uncertainty as they lay there, blind and immobile, Laurie had to allow herself a feeling of triumph. Trust Dad to be one step ahead.

  Meanwhile, Jess had been moving around in the kitchen. What was she doing? That click and accompanying swoosh sounded like she was opening the outside door. The subsequent draught provided confirmation. Then there was silence; it lasted so long that Laurie tried another whisper – ‘Dad?’ – but before he could reply, she heard a car pulling up outside. Was that the police? Perhaps Jess had phoned them after all.

  The car’s door opened. Someone got out and came in through the open door, walking right up to the table. Something dropped on the floor. Then, finally, Jess spoke, in a tone that sounded incongruously playful. ‘Sorry about the delay my darlings. Laurie love, I hope you won’t mind, but I think it would probably be better if I set your Dad free first.’

  Laurie was in no mood to ask any questions and no hurry to move. She could only imagine how her ear would feel when she did.

  Mummified, Laurie listened to the sound of Jess freeing Dad. If he was as tightly covered in tape as she was herself, then she could not be surprised at the time it was taking. Apart from a single ‘thank you’, Dad didn’t speak. At least she knew he was OK. Nothing else mattered really. Jess, too, was quiet. Finally a creak from the table and muffled thud from the floor showed that Dad was free enough to shift from one to the other. The footsteps that followed must have been his, because Laurie now felt fingers picking at the tape that bound her as, in contrast to her earlier silence, Jess suddenly became voluble. ‘Your Dad’s just popped upstairs. I think it’s probably best if I free your hands first. Then you can pull off the rest of the tape in your own time.’

  It was Laurie’s left hand – the one nearest the edge of the table – that Jess managed to unstick first. Laurie flexed it carefully, feeling pins and needles as the circulation returned, and brought it up to her face. Although she knew she was touching herself, and could feel the pressure on her cheeks through the tape that covered them, it was hard to connect it with the blank sensation coming from fingertips that were still numb. She felt strangely separated from her body. What could she look like, strapped down on a table like Gulliver in Lilliput? Was she even clothed? She moved her hand down her neck and felt the faint resistance of an elastic collar: yes, of course, she was still wearing the t-shirt in which she had gone to bed. What about Dad? Had he been naked on the table next to her? Had Jess seen him? It would explain why he’d gone upstairs.

  Laurie’s other hand was now free as well. She clapped them together, surprising herself with a noise that bore no relation to the dead weights she felt on the end of each arm, then shook and rubbed her wrists. Gradually, strength and feeling returned to her fingers. Now she could remove her blindfold. Jess guided her hand to the end of the tape. She grasped it, braced herself, and slowly peeled it off.

  After all that preparation and worry, there was really very little pain – certainly nothing like what Laurie had felt when the gag was ripped off earlier; the area round her mouth still tingled with the memory. That must be because she was doing it for herself: good old Jess. Even so, it took some time for Laurie’s eyes to adjust to the light, blinking as she saw the vague outline of her cousin carefully removing the other bits of tape attaching her to the table.

  Gradually, Laurie took in other details. Jess was in a t-shirt, whose plain white design Laurie recognised as her favourite bedtime attire. The red splotches on it were unmistakable. She’ll have to soak that in cold water, Laurie found herself thinking, before moving onto a more obvious concern: had Jess been attacked too? There was no sign of any injury, and she seemed to be moving freely enough.

  ‘There, I think that’s the l
ot.’ Jess stepped back from the table.

  Laurie was free. She thought about her ear, and realised the pain had reduced slightly. As if to test it, she lifted her head and gave it a little wiggle. There were no sharp stabs of agony, just a faint sense of incipient dizziness, enough to make her careful about sitting up, but no more than that. Using both elbows, she slowly raised her chest above the table and swung her legs round so that they dangled over towards the ground. For a brief moment she clenched her eyes shut, waiting for the rush of blood back to her temples that indicated the danger of a faint had passed. When she opened them again, she could, for the first time, look properly around.

  Jess stood before her, head cocked to one side, pale, wide-eyed with concern. She had jeans on below her t-shirt. She must have just pulled them on before coming downstairs. Laurie frowned, trying to make sense of it all. Hadn’t the men looked in her bedroom and found it empty?

  ‘Tea, that’s what you need.’ Jess nodded to herself, confident in her diagnosis, and moved off into the kitchen, leaving Laurie’s field of vision clear to see the rest of the room. The reason for the blood on Jess’s t-shirt was obvious. Laurie’s torturer was still sitting down, his face on the keyboard of Dad’s laptop. She could see a gloved hand dangling by his side. That sight alone brought back memories that made her flinch. It was the back of his head, however, that drew her gaze: not just the bloodied hair but the unnaturally flattened shape of it, as if his neck carried on in a straight line from his shoulders to his crown. Mesmerised, drawn to the scene despite her better judgement, Laurie got off the table and moved over for a closer look, taking small steps like a ninety-year-old. That wasn’t hair, she now realised – in fact, as far as she could see, his head was clean-shaven – it was … what? Gore? There was no other word for it. In any case, there was no doubt that he was dead.