The Prisoner(45)

“That’s up to your father. Did you work out how much he’ll have to pay to get you back?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Ned, I told you how it worked, I told you that for every day your father refused to pay, we doubled the amount of the ransom. You’ve been here nearly four weeks; today is day twenty-six. If he paid today, how much do you think he’d owe us?”

“I don’t know—a few hundred thousand, a couple of million?”

I can almost see Ned shrugging his shoulders at the unimportance of such an amount.

“More than that, Ned, much more. Have another guess.”

“Ten million?”

“More.”

“It can’t be more, it’s not possible, not just from that doubling thing.”

The man laughs. “I tell you what, Ned, take the time to work it out. I’ll come back in a while for your answer.”

The door closes, Ned curses. And then I hear it, Ned counting, doubling, trying to hang on to numbers, cursing when they slip away from him.

I give up listening, pull my knees to my chest. If Ned’s abductor is telling the truth, they’ll be releasing him soon. What about me? Ned thinks I’m dead but that doesn’t mean they’ll release me somewhere else. Maybe they want to play a trick on him, say, “Look, she’s alive, we just made you think she was dead.”

Anxiety gnaws in the pit of my stomach. If that is what is going to happen, I don’t want to be released. I am safer here, in this pitch-black room, than I am in the outside world with Ned.





CHAPTER FIFTY


PAST

On the way back to Ned’s house, I stared straight ahead. Ned was riding up front next to Hunter, and I was sitting behind Hunter.

Had I done enough? Would Lukas call the police? My heart was racing, terrified that he might phone Ned and tell him what I’d said. But the car stayed silent. Perhaps, at this very moment, Lukas was phoning the police.

“There’s an accident on the A31,” Hunter said from the front of the car. “I’ll take the back roads to avoid it.”

“Whatever, you’re the driver, just get me home.” Ned’s tone was so dismissive that my hatred of him deepened. The thought of going back to his house made me breathless. I felt my panic rising and desperately tried to focus—when we arrived, I’d refuse to get out of the car. I’d wait until Ned had gotten out, I’d lock my door from the inside, then lock his so that he wouldn’t be able to get to me.

There was a sudden screech of tires and I saw a flash of black, a car overtaking us at tremendous speed. Our car swerved violently; I flew forward and was snapped back against the seat by my belt as the car braked to a stop.

“What the fuck!” Ned cursed.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Hawthorpe. I don’t know what that idiot—”

Hunter’s voice broke off, and looking through window, I saw that the car that had overtaken us had pulled in front of us, blocking our way. My heart leapt. It’s the police, Lukas must have phoned them, they’ve come to arrest Ned. But a man, dressed all in black, a balaclava over his head, got out of the car and walked toward us. He had a gun in his hand.

“What the—”

“Turn around!” Ned screamed, cutting Hunter off. “Back up! Now!”

Hunter gunned the car but before he could reverse, the gunman, who had continued walking calmly toward us, pulled open Hunter’s door. Hunter tried to close it, but the man reached in, stunned Hunter with his gun, snapped off his seat belt, and began dragging him from the car.

“NO!” I unclipped my seat belt, and threw myself over the seat, trying to grab hold of Hunter. But I was too late. His body thudded to the ground, I saw his arms and legs flail. Then three gunshots rang out, bang, bang, bang.

“HUNTER!” His name ripped from me, I twisted to the window and my heart stopped. He was lying facedown, blood pooling from his head.

“NO!” I screamed again. The gunman’s head jerked up. He looked straight at me and then, moving around Hunter’s body, he began walking toward my door. Suddenly, the car jerked forward, throwing me into the footwell. Ned had managed to get into the driver’s seat. But the car had stalled.

Ned gunned the car again, and as it shot forward, the gunman lunged for my door. But he was too late.

I climbed back onto the seat, looked out of the back window. Blood was seeping from Hunter’s body, a red pool on the black tarmac of the road.

“Stop!” I cried. “We need to call an ambulance!”

“Are you crazy?” Ned snarled.

“We can’t just leave him!”

Ned’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “He’s dead.”

“No, no.” My teeth were chattering as I shook my head in denial. “We need to go back. The gunman’s gone, I saw him drive off.” I threw the top of my body over the seat, made a grab for the steering wheel. “Stop the car! We need to go back!”

Ned’s hand lashed out and I felt a crack of pain. My head snapped back, and I slid between the seats, so dizzy that I began retching. I closed my eyes. Hunter is dead, Hunter is dead, Hunter is dead.

I didn’t realize I was sobbing until Ned yelled at me to shut up. I jammed a fist into my mouth, scared to anger him further. He was already driving too fast; from where I lay on the floor, trees flashed past in a kaleidoscope of green.