The Prisoner(41)

Then a short silence, then his voice again. “Hunter, I need you to go to the office, there’s a file I need urgently. Call me when you get there, I’ll tell you where it is.”

The air around was suddenly charged with danger. I needed to move—but when I tried to lift my head, the dizziness was so bad I had to close my eyes. I waited for it to pass and when I opened them again, Ned was there, crouched down beside me.

“No!” I began scrabbling away from him, using my heels to push my body back. But he reached out and pressed a hand down on my chest, stopping my movements.

“Listen to me very carefully, Amelie.” His eyes found mine. I wanted to look away, look at anything but him, but I couldn’t. “In a minute, I will take you to your room and you will stay there until the month is up and then we will announce our separation as agreed. And you will be free to leave. But if you mention to anyone anything of what you might have witnessed today, if you even think of going to the police, I will kill your friend Carolyn, and then I will kill you. Do you understand?”

A terrible shaking took hold of me, so violent that my teeth chattered with it. Ned watched dispassionately for a moment, then asked me again.

“Do you understand?”

Speech was impossible, so I nodded, my head wobbling against the floor.

“Good.” He stood, pulled me to my feet. I fell against him, too dizzy to stand and he half-carried, half-dragged me up the stairs to my room.





CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE


PRESENT

Today, Monday, the ninth of September, is my last day in this room. Now that I know what the kidnappers have asked for, it seems unfathomable that Jethro Hawthorpe will stall any longer.

The abductor told Ned that his father didn’t take their ransom demands seriously at first—which suggests that now, he does. I need to leave before he pays, before I’m released with Ned.

The man comes, I’m ready. I’ve gone over it a hundred times, I know his movements, the way he always puts the tray down in the same place.

“Hey,” I say as he approaches. “How are you today?”

I sense him stoop, my hands are on my knees, the palms upturned. As he places the tray on the floor, I shoot them out and with all my strength, upend it over him. There’s a clatter of bowl and cup, I hear the whispered “Fuck,” I sense him stumble back and I scramble for the fallen tray. It’s in my hands, I leap to my feet, swing it hard, aiming for where I think his head is. There’s an almighty thwack as it connects, a clunk against his goggles. I hear his grunt of pain, I swing again, the force of the blow shuddering up my arms. Another curse, I dart to the right, throw the tray hard in his direction, and run for the door.

I’m almost there, my outstretched fingers are touching it, when a hand locks around my ankle. I stumble, grab hold of the door to stop myself from falling, and kick out with my leg, trying to loosen his hold. His fingers grip my ankle tighter, they’re like iron, I can’t lift my foot from the floor. I kick out with my other foot, feel the mass of his body, and kick harder, again and again and again.

He still won’t let go. I have no choice, I take my hands from the door, bend to pry his fingers from my ankle. But his other hand comes up, he pulls me down, I’m on top of him, his arms a vise around my body. In one quick movement, he flips me onto my back, traps my legs between his thighs, and holds me down with one giant hand on my chest. I open my mouth to scream but he silences me with his other hand, clamping it over my mouth. I twist my body, trying to free myself, trying to move him off me. But I’m powerless against his strength.

Wrenching my mouth from under his hand, I bring my teeth down and bite as hard as I can. He curses again, tries to free his hand. I bite harder, taste his blood, but I don’t let go. He removes the hand from my chest, and my body released, I surge up, still clenching his other hand between my teeth. And then, somehow, he spins me around, he’s crouched behind me now. I feel the heat of his body as he locks me against him with his free arm, and with his fingers, pinches my nose. My lungs tighten, I reflexively open my mouth for air. He pulls his other hand out from between my teeth and clamps it hard over my mouth. With my nose still pinched between his fingers, I can’t breathe.

Images flash through my mind, Lina’s heels scrabbling on the ground, her eyes rolling back in her head as Ned began to suffocate her. Panic grips me in its iron fist. This is it, I’m going to die, I’m going to die like Lina.

But I am not Lina, and he is not Ned. His hand is still over my mouth, but his fingers are no longer pinching my nose. My breath comes hard and fast, he is breathing hard too, the sound of it fills the room. I remember then, the day I had the panic attack, how he helped me, breathed with me, and tears spill from my eyes, down my cheeks, onto his bloodied hand. My body shudders with silent sobs, he doesn’t move, how can he? If he releases me, takes his hand from my mouth, Ned will hear my wails of frustration, of hopelessness, and remorse. So, he waits, he waits until I’m calm.

And then he leaves.





CHAPTER FORTY-SIX


PAST

Ned came to my room. I kept my eyes closed, my body still.

“You need to get up,” he said. “We’ve been invited to lunch.”

I didn’t reply and he moved nearer to my bed. My skin crawled.

“Did you hear what I said?”