The Death of Me

by Natalie Hames

  Pacing around the room, she began to sing the melody out loud. Her voice chasing away the loneliness of isolation and creating an imaginary company, as if splitting her into two people – one being the real Grace, the other an ethereal version of herself. She raised an arm in the air and danced with the plastic ballerina, the volume of her voice increasing until it filled the whole room with life. Transporting her into another place where the lights never went out. One where her muscles felt strong and her stomach never rumbled with hunger and swelled with pain. The light flickered again, breaking her out of her fantasy and replacing it with the nightmare of her reality. She held her breath as she memorised where everything was positioned in readiness for the bottomless plunge into darkness. The mattress, her water and meagre food supplies of crisps and processed packets of meat and cheese, the bucket she had been using as a toilet since her capture. The light flickered again, settling on a dim glow as it used the last of its battery and she shot across the room back to the mattress.

  “Not long now,” she told her ethereal self. “Then we’ll be in darkness. Stay with me, won’t you? Please don’t leave.”

  She picked up the jewellery box and clutched it to her chest.

  “If I die…”

  The box was made of compressed cardboard and the damp from the floor had caused the pink satin behind the ballerina to loosen. Carefully, she worked the tip of her finger underneath the edge and prised it down to expose the plain grey backing.

  “If I die then they’ll want to know who I was,” she whispered.

  Her small slender hand swept the dusty floor by her feet until her fingers found a tiny piece of mortar and she neatly etched her name into the lid. A sick pit formed deep in her stomach, overriding the hunger and she tried not to imagine the headstone on her grave as she observed her craftsmanship in the remains of the light.

  A bang, followed by a wave of intense crippling pain. Grace’s eyes shot open, searching the darkness. Was it a dream, or real? She formed her hands into tiny knuckles and rubbed the hollowed sockets of her eyes to check they were open, unable to differentiate between the blackness of the room and the back of her closed eyelids. The jewellery box, still clutched to her chest reminded her of what she had been doing in the moments prior to sleep and she opened it to let the haunting melody anchor her awareness.

  Voices.

  Her heart thumped against her chest as she listened, her breathing shallow so as not to block out the noise filtering through from above her head.

  “Someone’s here,” she whispered to her other self. “It’s not him though.”

  She huddled as far into the corner of the mattress as possible and pulled her knees to her chest, the jewellery box now closed and silent. Two voices, maybe three. Laughing and chatting. Footsteps, large and heavy overhead, moving across to the top of the stairs then dropping hard onto the first step. She counted. Sixteen steps for the first flight followed by a pause as they turned to descend the next nine. The voices got louder.

  “Two. There’s two of them,” she whispered.

  The voices let out a burst of laughter followed by more talking once they reached the foot of the second flight. They moved around the room beyond the door, knocking on the old boilers as they talked. It was unclear what they were saying, the echo unable to penetrate the solid door which stood between them and her prison.

  “What do you think, shall I call out? Maybe they’re policemen, looking for me.”

  Maybe they’ve come to kill me.

  Her mind teased, robbing her of the confidence she needed and keeping her silent. A beam of light shot under the narrow gap at the base of the door, then disappeared. The voices were close, only the other side of the door. She huddled closer to the corner of the wall, burying her face into the blue dress covering her knees and she pinched her forearm to check if the darkness was playing tricks on her dreams.

  “I’m definitely awake,” she whispered, as the sharp pain of the pinch registered.

  The beam of light reappeared for a second till the darkness swallowed it up and replaced it with the voices. Grace stared in the direction she had last seen it, frozen in fear as she listened to the familiar sound of the lock on the top of the door being slid back. The glow of light appeared again, followed by the bottom lock clanking as it was also slid back.

  “They’re coming in. What shall I do?”

  The doorknob rattled, but no one appeared.

  “It’s jammed,” one of the voices said.

  “Give it a hard pull.”

  The doorknob turned for a second time followed by a loud thud as the man yanked at the swollen door and it burst open.

  “What the fuck? There’s a girl in here.”

  He shone his torch at Grace and she raised her arm to shield her eyes from the blinding light.

  “Please,” she said, feebly. “My name is Grace…Grace Dalton. I’m alive.”

  She squinted through her open fingers attempting to see their faces as she waited for their response.

  “Tell my dad to come and get me, please?”

  The broad outlines of the two men were barely visible through the brightness of the torch light as they stood, motionless. Their visit to the deserted flats was strictly unofficial, just a quick sweep of the building to confirm its layout so their boss would be able to execute his plans. It was to be a smooth operation and one which was set to prove extremely profitable if handled correctly.

  “What are we going to do, now?” the man nearest the doorway asked.

  Grace continued to squint, forcing her eyes to look past the centre of the beam to the figures behind. The man nearest to her holding the torch seemed to be the one in charge, the one with the answers.

  “How did you get here?” he asked.

  Grace slowly stood from her huddled position in the corner and he directed the beam down her body towards the floor returning it quickly to her face when she spoke.

  “I was kidnapped by a man on my way back from school—“

  “What man?” he interrupted.

  “I—I don’t know who he is. He won’t let me go, just keeps me here.”

  “Where is he now? Is he in the building?”

  Grace shook her head and shrugged.

  “I’ve no idea. He comes back to feed me and make sure I’m still alive. Please, you’ve got to get me out of here before he comes back.”

  The urgency in her voice spooked the second, less bold man, and he stepped backwards until he stood just outside of the doorway.

  “What shall we do?” he repeated the question to the first man. “Look at the state of her, she needs a doctor.”

  “I’m thinking,” he replied, still staring at Grace as he weighed up the options. “If we let her go the coppers will be all over this place.”

  “We can’t just leave her here, though.”

  The second man fidgeted in the doorway, anxious for his partner to come up with a solution as Grace awaited her fate.

  “She’s put a spanner in the works, for sure. The boss has a lot of money riding on this deal and he ain’t gonna let a slip of a girl send it tits up.”

  “So, what shall we do?” the man at the door asked for a third time and the repetition irritated the one in charge.

  “Will you stop asking me that?! It’s for the boss to decide. I say we leave her as we found her and report back to him. The chances are he’ll want her disposing of before the place goes up.”

  Grace slowly recoiled backwards, stepping onto the mattress until her back made contact with the wall. Why weren’t these men setting her free? What did he mean, ‘before the place goes up’? Her body shook, unable to cope with the mixture of opposing emotions as they surged through her system. The conflict between the relief she had been found against the fear of falling prey to an even worse fate broke her nerves.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  The dominant man agreed and lowered the beam of his torch as he turned back toward the open door.
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br />   “No! No, you can’t just walk away and leave me here,” Grace cried out, jumping to her feet.

  Making a dash across the room, she lunged, grabbing the man by the arm and he turned to face her, startled as she clung to the sleeve of his jacket.

  “Get off me,” he snapped, and shook his arm to free it from her grip. “We can’t let you go, it’d be more than our life’s worth.”

  Unable to shake her off, he rotated his arm sharply and twisted her fingers around causing her to release her grip. Desperate, she tried to grab him again only to feel herself thrust to the floor by a large, powerful hand.

  Suddenly, the door slammed shut.

  “No!” she screamed. “Don’t leave me here. I’m Grace Dalton and I’m alive.”

  She scrabbled over to the door, memorising where it was from the brief time it had been open and threw herself against it.

  “Please. Please, let me out. I want to go home…please,” she screamed, banging her tiny fists against the solid oak.

  The men were talking and she stopped banging, placing her open palms against the oak to steady herself while she pressed her ear to the door to listen. Maybe they’ll change their minds and set her free?

  “We can’t just leave her there,” the second man, said.

  “Listen. Do you fancy telling him why we’ve just lost him several million quid?”

  There was a brief silence as the second man didn’t offer a reply.

  “Nah, didn’t think so,” the first, grunted. “And I’ve no intention of becoming part of the foundations of this place.”

  Grace banged on the door in another attempt to be set free.

  “Please. I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go and I promise I won’t go to the police. Your boss will never know.”

  A silence fell for a moment and she placed her ear against the door to hear what they were saying. They mumbled, clearly not wanting her to hear their discussion. Then, she heard their footsteps ascending the stairs. Nine heavy steps, a pause while they turned followed by the next sixteen steps to the floor above.

  “They’ll come back. They have to come back,” she whispered, soothing herself as she found herself alone, gripped by the terror of darkness.

  Footsteps moved across the ceiling above, travelling over to the place where they had first entered and she held her breath waiting for the sound of the main door to close.

  “They won’t go. They won’t.”

  Then, the sound she had dreaded shattered what was left of her world. Sliding down the door, alone, disorientated and terrified, she huddled into a ball and sobbed as the pain returned stronger than ever.

  “I want my dad.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  Meeting Ian Headland the other day had reignited Phil’s obsession into Jason’s covert dealings with the criminal underworld. It was the first piece of tangible evidence to support his theories of a cover up in the Fletcher case and with his credibility taking a fall his mind was firmly set on pursuing his investigations further. It had been five months since his first visit to the strange road leading to St Jude’s and his collision with Baranski’s van, and he had not revisited as he had intended. A deluge of paperwork had landed on his desk, each task demanding a deadline and sending Grace’s file further down the pile. His gut instinct told him St Jude’s would provide an important piece of the jigsaw and it was time to refocus his investigations on finding out what lay beyond the ominous iron gates. His only obstacle was Katherine. He had managed to fool her the first time with his faked illness while she conveniently attended the dinner party at Henry and Jane’s house, but there were no more invitations scheduled. He had learnt that when lying it was always best to stay as near to the truth as possible from dealings with his mother as a boy, so he decided he would tell Katherine he was attending an undercover operation which would enable him to escape. The pregnancy was progressing well and didn’t want to run the risk of her waking up and discovering he wasn’t in the house.

  Although the nights were rapidly drawing in, the late August sun was still casting its light until well after eight o’clock in the evening. He took the extra time to ensure he was prepared, unhampered by questions as Katherine curled up on the sofa watching television assuming he was leaving the house on work related business. He made sure to set his mobile phone to silent and changed the settings to night mode so he would be able to take videos and pictures without it flashing in case the need arose.

  “See you later,” he said, walking into the living room and giving Katherine a kiss goodbye. “Make sure to lock the house up before you go to bed and don’t wait up, it’s probably going to be a long night.”

  “Be careful, we need you back in one piece,” she replied, giving her tummy a rub.

  The street lights were flickering when he pulled off his driveway and headed for the direction of Broxbourne. Instead of turning down the private road as he did last time, he had decided to park in a residential area and walk the half mile to where the turning for St Jude’s was situated. The traffic was sparse for the time of night and by the time he reached Broxbourne and found a suitable place to park it was dark. A full moon lit his way as he made the last part of the journey on foot along the rural road which led to the turning for St Jude’s. There was no footpath along the roadside and he was aware his dark jeans and jacket were not the best items for drivers to see him. Not wanting to be hit by a car which may pass by, he made sure to walk on the opposite side of the road facing any oncoming traffic.

  Not a single car had passed him on the quiet back road and he felt like an SAS soldier on a covert mission dressed from head-to-toe in black. He checked around as he reached the entrance to the off road track which led to St Jude’s, then pulled out his torch and started to follow the track he had driven down on his previous visit. Nervous energy flushed through his veins, making his breathing short and strained. The feeling of being watched from the woods on either side of the track spooked him and childhood memories of ghosts and werewolves played havoc with his imagination. Images of the van tearing around the bend and clipping his car returned when he reached the spot where it had happened, refreshing him of all the details he had investigated so far.

  “Not far now,” he whispered to himself and he tried to zone out from the rustlings and noises made by the surrounding wildlife.

  Visibility was poor, with only the light coming from his torch illuminating a few feet ahead as the canopy of tree branches got thicker, blocking out any light from the moon. He felt vulnerable, as if walking into imminent danger. His fight or flight reflexes flipped between each option with every thump of his heart against his ribcage, and he battled to stop himself turning back. If his memory served him correctly he must be about half way and he quickened his pace, taking care to walk on the grass verge so he didn’t leave any footprints in the slippery sludge on the road. Determined to reach the gates, he focused on the ground and tried to ignore the woodland noises feeding his fear, and after a few minutes the gates appeared in the distance.

  Shadowy grey and barely visible, the two stone pillars stood menacing and ominous, his torch not powerful enough to bring them into clear focus. For a moment he had wondered if the whole thing had been a figment of his imagination, but as he moved forward and the beam of his torch got stronger any doubts he had, left his mind. They were real, and he ran his hand over the chain, shining the beam onto the padlock as he gave it a tug to see if it had been left unlocked then looked upwards to the unforgiving spikes along the top. He winced. Even if he managed to climb the height, the prospect of negotiating the iron points made him shudder.

  “One slip and I’ll end up a eunuch,” he murmured out loud.

  Dense bushes grew to the sides of each pillar and he started to force his way through on one side to see if there was a way around the gates instead. He fought with the foliage, its sharp branches embedding into his jacket and scratching at his hands as he tried to protect his face and eyes from the vicious barbs. After a few minut
es of pushing and unhooking his jacket he managed to reach the other side. Dense woodland covered the area ahead, partitioned by a high brick wall forming the boundary line for St Jude’s. He shone his torch along it to see if there was any way of climbing over but it was futile, and he decided to follow alongside it to look for an opportunity further along.

  The woodland was thick on his side of the wall but as he continued to walk an orange glow lit up the clear open sky from the other side. Knowing the light meant he must be near a building, he searched around for something to push himself up with which would enable him to see over the top. A thick branch came into view a little further ahead, extending above and over the wall, and he made his way over to the tree to search for footholds which would allow him to climb into its branches. As a boy he had climbed many trees so Phil didn’t find it too much of a challenge to scale its trunk, and soon he was in the tree and shuffling his way along the bough.

  A large Victorian style building with turrets and intricate carvings running along its stone walls came into view and Phil took out the binoculars from his rucksack. He scanned the building methodically, starting at one end and working his way along the bottom floor. Figures of people as they passed by the windows, their silhouettes outlining through the closed blinds drew his attention for a few moments until he moved up to the next floor. No light or activity appeared through the dark glass of the upstairs windows but he was just able to make out the edges of curtains and assumed they must be bedrooms. The style and age of the building indicated it was some kind of stately home but unlike most, it had residents.