The Infirmary (DCI Ryan Mysteries prequel)(14)

“I thought you’d have more of a fighting spirit,” he said. “Why do you think I chose you?”

He leaned forward and pulled her eyelids with a gloved forefinger and thumb.

“Shock,” he told her, straightening up again. “A bit sooner than I thought but it’s different for everyone, I suppose.”

She continued to stare up at him from her inert position on the bed, wondering what he wanted from her. Perhaps she could bargain with him. If it was…if he wanted that, then she’d submit to it if he’d only let her go after he was done.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

“Wha— d’ you—”

She tried to formulate the words to offer a bargain, but the muscles of her mouth would not cooperate.

“What’s that?” He cocked a hand to his ear. “I didn’t quite catch it.”

She closed her eyes again, feeling her own tears run down the side of her neck.

“Now, now,” he crooned, tapping a finger against her nose with nauseating intimacy. “Don’t wear yourself out. I don’t want you passing out too quickly because there’s still a long way to go. We have plenty of time to get acquainted.”

He reached across and stuffed a scrap of material into her mouth, taping it securely in place. She was heavily sedated, and her faculties were so impaired there was little chance of her crying out for help, but you could never be too sure. Her nostrils flared widely as she struggled to draw air into her lungs, retching against the material and swallowing her own vomit.

“No, you don’t,” he said, slapping her face hard. “Pay attention.”

Her vision blurred, and her head lolled against the pillow.

“Perhaps you need something to wake you up,” he mused. “They say there’s nothing quite like pain to remind you that you’re alive.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. In her mind, she thrashed and kicked, struggled to escape. But when she caught sight of her left arm, she realised it was lying immobile in the same position as before.

It hadn’t moved.

She couldn’t move.

Her mind had conjured up an alternate reality, one where she was able to fight and claw, to tear away the skin of his face. But she could do none of those things, not now.

The scream bubbled up in her throat and came out as a low, keening wail against the gag as she choked against the saliva pooling in her mouth.

He watched the passing emotions on her face with a look of supreme indifference, as if she were a lab rat, something to be studied and dissected.

He leaned over again, scenting her fear and inhaling deeply.

“Cheer up, Nicola. You’re on holiday, remember? Right now, you’re enjoying the sunny climes of Fuerteventura. That’s what everybody thinks and that’s why nobody’s going to be calling around to see where you are. You don’t need to worry about a thing because I’ve taken care of everything.”

He reached for a mobile phone tucked away inside the bag he’d brought.

“Now, then, what have we here? Oh, yes. Your mum says she hopes you have a lovely time and she’s very jealous. She also says she hopes you managed to find a new bikini and with any luck you might find a bit of holiday romance. She wants to hear all about it when you get back,” he looked up at that, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. “There’s another message from Jacqui, who wants to know if you’ll swap shifts with her when you come back to work next week. Sorry to disappoint you, Jacqui,” he laughed, chucking the phone back into his bag now the novelty had worn off.

“Not very popular, are you, Nic? It’s been hours and you’ve only received two messages. Maybe it’s best all round that I’m going to kill you,” he said, gently. “You’re hardly lighting up the world, are you?”

His eyes were black chasms and she had been so mesmerised she didn’t see the knife until it was almost touching her.

Its blade caught the light and her mind became curiously detached, numbing itself to the inevitable. She willed herself to die, willed her heart to stop beating of its own accord before he had the satisfaction of taking it for himself.

“You should be flattered,” he was saying, while he went about the business of slicing away her remaining clothes. “I’m very selective about who I choose. Only the very best will do.”

He whistled to himself, a muffled, cheerful sound as he prepared his canvas.

“There,” he declared. “Now, we can make a start.”

*

Ryan awoke suddenly.

It took him a moment to orientate himself after the nightmare, to realise that the shadowy room was his bedroom and that he was alone. There was no ghoulish, decapitated figure lying beside him and it was his own sweat soaking the covers, not pints of wasted blood.

“Jesus,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes before reaching across to check the time.

Four-thirty.

He lay there for another minute or two, willing himself to sleep again, but it would not come. It had been a long briefing the previous evening and, by the time he’d divvied up responsibilities to key members of his task force, it had been almost midnight before he’d walked back through his own front door. Longer still until he’d been able to sleep and, even then, he owed a measly three hours’ rest to two large glasses of Rioja drunk in swift succession. That would explain the mild headache thumping around his skull, but it was better than the alternative.