Recompense

by Caroline Goldsworthy

  Chapter Forty-One

  28th August 2018

  Near Gippingford

  Joe Davis struggled against the bindings tying him to the hard-backed chair. ‘Hello? Hello, I know you’re there, I can hear you moving around,’ he called. ‘Come on. Take this blindfold off, you fucking bastard, let me see your face.’

  Footsteps approached and Davis tensed. Every fibre of his being alert. He tried to kick out, but the restraints were too tight. He felt a gag pressed against his mouth and he clenched his jaw so it could not be forced between his teeth.

  Strong fingers held his nose until he could bear it no more and he opened his mouth and the cloth was pushed in. Davis clamped his mouth shut, silently cheering when he heard his captor curse. His elation was short-lived when he was hit around the head with something heavy. The chair smashed to the floor and his captor grunted to pull him upright again.

  Davis felt dizzy and nauseous. He burped, tasting the tang of bile. He knew that puking was the last thing he should do. He’d choke on his own vomit, but, he wondered, perhaps that was his captor’s intention. He struggled against the coarse ropes and felt his skin begin to burn as the flesh tore. He sagged in the chair, despondent. Amazingly he slept.

  He woke to the sounds of a struggle and Aaron Hammond’s voice shouting to be released. Good, Aaron is here too. We’ll soon be out of this, he thought. His blindfold was lifted, and he blinked. His pupils contracting in the bright lights. He closed them and the images of the lights burned red and orange on his retina. For a while he kept his eyes closed, facing the direction of the lights. He dropped his head to his chin to open his eyes and get used to the brightness. To his side he could see another chair and a pair of denim-clad shins tied to the legs. He recognised the trainers of his friend.

  ‘Aaron, Aaron,’ he hissed. ‘You okay?’

  Hammond raised his head and stared at him. Davis could see Aaron’s eyes were wide and bloodshot, and unfocused. As he watched, Hammond’s eyes darted around, wide with fear at whatever monsters he saw.

  ‘What have you given him, you bastard?’ Davis rasped. ‘Let me go and fight me like a man.’

  Davis heard a laugh. The voice was amused. From behind the lights a figure appeared and approached Hammond, forcing him to drink from a bottle.

  ‘What are you doing to him?’ said Davis. ‘Can’t you see he’s had enough?’

  Their captor said nothing but walked to Davis and held the bottle to his mouth. It was water, cold sweet water. Davis drank and said, ‘Thank you.’

  The person remained silent but replaced the gags and blindfolds. Davis felt rather than saw the lights go out. The room became cooler and he wondered where they were being held. At least there’s electricity he thought, so near civilisation. If I can shout loud enough the next time the gag is off. The hope created by the thought perished almost immediately as the chugging noise he had heard in the background fell silent and he realised that it had been a generator.

  Joe woke when a bucket of icy water was thrown over him. He heard a second bucket being thrown and muffled sounds from Aaron. At least he’s still here, thought Joe.

  His blindfold was wrenched off and once again he was looking into the light from the portable lantern. Their captor stood behind the light.

  ‘Today, you have to make a decision,’ came the gravelly voice.

  Joe looked at the light, squinted and looked away again.

  ‘Head up. Look at each other. You need to decide which one of you dies.’

  Joe and Aaron looked at each other, eyes wide, shaking their heads.

  The kidnapper laughed. ‘I thought you would say that, but we’ll see how you feel after a few more days.’

  Aaron’s chair moved and Joe saw he was struggling to release himself. Was Aaron trying to get free and leave him behind? The bastard. Joe began to struggle with the ropes too. Trying to bite his way through the gag.

  His movements were met by more laughter and the figure strode from behind the light to stand in front of him. ‘Excellent. Absolutely perfect. Caged animals. Both of you prepared to sacrifice the other.’

  Joe squealed as he was zapped with a cattle prod. He bit down on the gag to overcome the pain and the shame of wetting himself.

  ‘You’re disgusting,’ said the voice. ‘Perhaps you should be the one to die?’

  Joe wriggled and tried to plead with the figure, but they simply laughed and walked over to Aaron. The person leaned forward to say something to Aaron then darted back before the headbutt could connect. Then it was Aaron’s turn to squeal as the prod was held to his stomach. Joe smelt the flesh burning and Aaron’s muffled mutterings became sobs. Joe hung his head and breathed a sigh of relief – Aaron had been chosen, not him. Joe was panting so loudly that he did not notice that his captor had returned and was staring down at him. Joe looked up. Their eyes were visible through the mask’s eye holes, but there was no pity there. No empathy. Certainly no chance of release. As the cattle prod was placed against his genitals, in the moment the pain began, Joe saw those eyes sparkle with joy.

  Later when Joe recovered consciousness once more, he was unbound from the chair. It sat in the corner of the small room where he was now detained. Joe looked around. He could not see a window, not even a gap in the door and he wondered if he was being watched. Then he saw the tiny red blink in the corner above the chair. A camera. The bastard had him on camera. Despite the agony from his burning scrotum, he stood on the chair to try and reach the feed to his captor. Trying to take away their means of spying on him. Enjoying his pain in comfort from a distance. His fingers were just within reach when he crashed to the floor. Stunned he lay there for a moment and when his vision returned, he saw that a leg of the chair had been virtually sawn through and had given way under his weight.

  ‘Bastard,’ he yelled at the camera and went back to the dirty mattress on the floor. Briefly he wondered where Aaron was and if he was still alive. But only for a few moments. He had more important things to think about.

  Himself.

  Aaron Hammond was thinking about his own escape. He was under no illusions about Joe Davis and knew that JD would put himself first above anyone and everyone else. Wincing and holding back sobs, he peeled back his T-shirt and looked at the wound on his stomach. The flesh was blistered and some of it was black. Where the prod had gone through the layers of skin, Aaron thought he could see the damaged tissue. He held the corner of the T-shirt up and tied it in a knot so that it would not fall on the wound. He eased himself into a lying position on his back with his knees raised so he didn’t stretch the skin. He did wonder how Joe was faring as the prod hadn’t been applied to Joe’s stomach, but he was also aware that the length of contact had been much shorter, so Joe’s condition should be better than his. Not for the first time, he regretted ever moving into Joe’s orbit.

  Aaron flinched as he heard the door to his metal cubicle clang. It slid open a crack and a tray was shoved through the door. A sandwich, a two litre bottle of water and a first aid kit. Aaron looked at the figure.

  ‘You’re fucking kidding me, aren’t you? These are third degree burns. I’m gonna need more than a fucking first aid kit,’ he began. He stopped, as he realised he was being laughed at. ‘I’m going to die here, aren’t I?’

  The figure nodded, then they closed and locked the door and Aaron heard their short stride click on the passageway as they ambled away.

  Aaron reached for the water bottle and holding back screams of pain he unscrewed the lid and sipped the warm fluid. He put the odd taste down to the water’s temperature. He poked at the sandwich but was unable to face eating. Should he tend to the wound? he wondered. He opened the first aid kit, this time biting his tongue to prevent himself from screaming and unfolded the zip bag. His breathing was heavy and laboured. It was making his stomach feel worse, so he tried to slow it down, but still it came in short pants. There were instructions for treating burns and he read them and applied the dressings. He tried to lie down agai
n and eased himself back into position slowly and carefully. Damn the instructions. He was feeling dizzy and was going to fall down if he didn’t lie down and the likelihood, he realised, that he was going to die in this prison anyway, seemed to lessen the dangers of lying down with a burn. He started to shiver although he was sweating and he could feel his skin becoming clammy. His breathing had slowed, and although now it was very shallow, he yawned. How can I be tired? he wondered. He closed his eyes and lost consciousness.

  When he woke later, his breathing was still shallow and he began coughing, yelping with the pain that it caused to his stomach. His chest felt tight as if it were caught in a vice, all over his skin itched, and his vision was blurred, his eyes watering. His mouth and throat were dry and he eased himself close to the water and drank again. Then his stomach clenched and he tried to crawl to the bucket placed by the chair. It was too late. Sobbing he raised himself up clinging to the chair. He removed his jeans and boxers and flung them into the corner of the room. He took off his T-shirt and cleaned himself with that and the water.

  Once he was naked, the door opened and his captor stood on the threshold.

  ‘How are you doing?’ came the voice. ‘I see you’ve stripped off, getting warm were you? Clothes are so overrated, aren’t they? Do you remember those words, Aaron? Do you remember saying them?’

  He collapsed onto the chair. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘Why am I here? What have you done to me? I need medical attention. Take me to a hospital. Please. Please. Just make this stop.’

  ‘Please, please. Stop. Stop. Those are words you’ve heard before, aren’t they, Aaron? Someone begging you to stop. Begging! But did you listen? No, no you didn’t.’ The figure moved closer and Aaron could feel the spittle on his skin as they spoke to him. ‘You’re the architect of your own destruction, Aaron. No one made you drink the water.’

  Bleary-eyed, Aaron stared at them. ‘The water,’ he said. ‘What about the water?’

  ‘That’s where I put the ricin. You drank it. You’ve got about another forty-eight hours to live. I’ll keep dropping by to see how you’re getting on. Must make sure Joe is okay now. Take care.’ The figure stepped back into the corridor and closed the door behind them.

  Aaron, just as he lost consciousness again, was sure he heard them laughing.

  Aaron’s body was heavy, far too heavy to drag any distance, but the killer was having difficulty lifting the corpse into the shopping trolley, when an idea struck. Roll the body to the edge of the old loading bay, clamp the trolley in place with some bricks and off you go.

  The killer rolled Aaron’s body down the dark streets; austerity measures meant that there were no lights after midnight. Perfect for strolling with a body. The trolley rattled across the car park and the murderer, looking around to make sure no lights were turning on, reached the riverbank and tipped the trolley and its contents over. Aaron rolled free and with a final kick, the trolley trundled to the edge and plopped into the water. The killer looked around for twitching curtains and, satisfied that no one was taking any interest, took an envelope from their pocket. Opening it carefully, the killer removed the hairs and wrapped some carefully around Aaron’s fist and placed the remainder in the dead man’s jeans pocket, before rolling his body into the river.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  16th August 2018

  Nunney, Somerset

  Lissa crept downstairs and listened at the kitchen door. Voices conversing in a low murmur halted and she stepped backwards, away from the door, returning to the foot of the stairs. The kitchen door opened and Lissa ambled towards the doorway, sliding past her mother and into the kitchen. Her father smiled at her and poured coffee into a mug for her. She chose to ignore the scowl on her mother’s face, deciding to play the part of innocent. If Mummy wanted to think that she had listened at the door then let her, Lissa thought. It wasn’t as if she’d been able to hear anything.

  She blew on the hot coffee and sipped her drink slowly, watching a sunbeam twinkling as it caught specks of quartz on the surface of the breakfast bar. It was mesmerising and she was unable to draw her eyes away, but feeling the silence around her rather than simply noticing the absence of noise, she knew that once again she would have to have a tough conversation with her parents.

  Daddy was still smiling, she noticed, but even so she saw the worry in his eyes and extra lines on his face. Mummy’s face had that look of long-suffering patience, which never boded well and Lissa wondered how long it would be before the tears and recriminations began again. It had been the same over her A level choices. Try as she might, Mummy refused to listen to any of Lissa’s counterarguments against a whole raft of academic subjects. At least Daddy had taken her side and finally she was allowed to do art and photography as well as English and English Literature. Mummy had drawn the line at media studies and insisted on either history or geography. Lissa saw geography as useful for travel blogging. And so the battle was half won. As for this one to come, she didn’t have the same level of confidence as she’d had in her teens.

  ‘Well,’ Sandra said. ‘What now?’

  ‘Sandra,’ said Tony in a quiet voice. ‘Don’t start. She’s just got home.’

  ‘And she’ll want to be off again. Just as soon as she gets the chance. Won’t you?’ Sandra’s voice cracked and she gulped back her tears, trying to retain some dignity.

  If only she’d let herself cry, thought Lissa. If only. But that had never been her mother’s way.

  ‘I think it would be better if I went back to stay in Bristol,’ Lissa whispered. ‘Better for all of us, not just me.’

  ‘Can you stay sober?’ her mother retorted. ‘You didn’t even complete the twenty-eight day programme that we paid for.’

  ‘Yes,’ she muttered. ‘I think I can. If you’ll still allow me to see Torrie? I can’t afford her fees on my own.’

  ‘Of course, we will, sweetheart,’ said Tony. ‘Don’t worry about that. We only want the best for you. Both of us.’

  ‘Thanks, Daddy,’ Lissa said. ‘I’ll go and pack. Not that there’s much to pack. I’ll go back this afternoon. I’m seeing Torrie in the morning.’

  ‘Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll drive you over there. Mummy can follow behind in your car.’ He stood to kiss Lissa on the forehead. ‘I just want what’s best for you, darling. And so does your mother.’

  No one spoke as the Range Rover powered its way along country roads to Bristol. From her enhanced viewpoint, Lissa could see across recently harvested fields. Bales of straw were tightly bound and Lissa caressed her wrists where there were still bruises from her own restraints.

  But she had won hadn’t she? She was free at last and now she was going back to the flat where Mal would be waiting for her. None of her attempts to escape had been successful, although the soap in her mouth had been the best trick. She’d foamed at the mouth so much that they had called an ambulance. She was going to get out. She knew it. But Dr Last had come to see her. He leaned close to her and smelt the perfume from the soap lather.

  It was the final escapade though. She was causing too much disruption for the other patients and her parents were asked to take her home again. All thoughts of committal were rejected. Dr Last simply wanted to be rid of her.

  Well that was fine. She wasn’t too keen on him either.

  When the tyres crunched on gravel, Lissa woke from her reverie and saw the flat over the double garage waiting for her. She was home at last.

  She danced up the stairway and scrabbled to find the right key and open the front door. Stale air hit her and she rushed around to ventilate the flat. As she opened the window in her sitting room she saw her mother struggling on the stairs with shopping bags and Lissa ran down them to help her.

  After her mother had cleaned out the fridge Lissa packed the shopping away into it. She saw that her mother was peeking into all her cupboards and removing the cereal packets. Catching a maternal frown as the cereal packets clinked, Li
ssa hung her head, and her mother removed the hidden vodka bottles from the cartons.

  Daddy simply took the bottles and popped them in a box. His face was unreadable but the annoyance on her mother’s face was clear to all. Once the box was filled Daddy placed it in the car. He returned with an empty container.

  As her parents packed her clothes away and made up her bed, Lissa could hear more clinking and her mother muttering. She wondered if they would look in the cistern or down the back of the sofa where she was sitting. But in the end they did not. Lissa found herself surprised as she thought the cistern at least was a very obvious hiding spot, but then she remembered. She’d drunk that one and hadn’t replaced it. Currently she was quite literally sitting on her nest egg.

  Finally her parents were ready to leave her. Thank god, she thought, trying hard not to sigh audibly. Waving her farewells from the window, Lissa went to her bedroom and reached into the back of the wardrobe. Damn, they’d taken that one too. She’d have to get more delivered. Then she remembered that her parents had taken her credit cards. She’d agreed to place food orders through them. Controlling or what, she muttered under her breath.

  She squatted on the floor leaning back against her bed. The searching had made her sweaty and she pulled her jumper over her head. Scrunching it into a ball she threw it at the laundry basket. It fell to the floor and she heard her mother’s complaints. Heaving herself up she moved to the basket and lifted the lid. Then hesitated. Whose clothes were those? Dropping the jumper she tipped the basket’s contents onto the floor. What the hell, Mal? Am I doing your effing washing now too?