The Black Sheep

by Sophie McKenzie

  ‘She’s had the same drug as you,’ Dex says. He is frowning, clearly agitated. Is he high? His green eyes gleam like cats’ eyes in the moonlight. Dust motes float in the beam around his head. ‘She’ll be fine. You’ll both be fine.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ I fight against my bindings again. ‘Are you working for PAAUL? Helping your father? I don’t under—’

  ‘Dad has nothing to do with it. He lets me use his flat from time to time, that’s all,’ Dex says.

  ‘What about Uncle Perry?’ My words are cut off as Dex thrusts the scarf against my face, winding it around my mouth.

  He pulls it tight against the back of my head. I yell out but he just yanks on the scarf, knotting and reknotting it. I’m screaming now, but the sound can’t get out. I’m impotent. Panic courses through me.

  What are you doing? Where’s Ruby? Let me go!

  It’s all muffled. A second later, Dex is gone. The summer-house door bangs behind him.

  ‘Help!’ I yell. ‘Help!’

  A terrible silence falls.

  I sit, terrifying thoughts rampaging through my head. What is happening to Ruby? Is Rufus still okay? What is Dex going to do with us?

  I have no idea how much time has passed since I got in his car. It was early evening then. I wriggle back so I can see properly through the window. The moon is high in the night sky now. How many hours have passed? I look around. There’s no sign of my handbag, which contains my phone. Everything’s gone.

  I strain against my bindings again, wincing at the sharp nip of the rope around my wrists. And then, with a slow creak, the summer-house door opens. My sister stands, trembling, in the doorway.

  ‘Thank God.’ It comes out as an incoherent mumble. I twist around and hold up my wrists to indicate how they’re tied behind my back. ‘Lucy, get these off. Lucy!’ My words are inaudible but it must be obvious what I’m asking her to do. Still she doesn’t move, just stands looking at me with big eyes that gleam with fear in the moonlight.

  ‘Lucy!’ I don’t have time to be patient with her. I stamp my feet on the dusty summer-house floor. More tiny particles rise up into the moonbeams. ‘Get over here!’

  She scuttles over and crouches down beside me. She picks at the knots in the scarf around my mouth. I listen out for signs of Dex coming back. Impatient. Terrified. Adrenaline surging through me.

  It takes over a minute but at last the scarf around my mouth is loosened. My head feels clearer. ‘Dex has Ruby,’ I say, as soon as I can speak. I hold up my wrists for my sister to try and untie. ‘We have to find her, we have to go to the police.’

  Lucy steps away from me and stands up. She edges back to the doorway, fidgeting from side to side, murmuring something under her breath.

  ‘What are you saying?’ Fear and irritation rise inside me. ‘Come on! We have to get out of here.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Her bottom lip wobbles. ‘Francesca, I’m sorry but . . . I’m scared.’

  ‘Of what? Who?’ My breath catches in my throat. ‘Of Dex?’

  She nods, tears gleaming in her eyes. I kneel up, the floor hard under my knees. ‘Lucy, listen to me. I get that Dex has . . . has whatever he’s done . . . threatened you. He drugged me and tied me up. So I get that it’s shocking and . . . and terrifying, but—’

  ‘It’s not new,’ Lucy whispers.

  ‘What?’ I lean forward, trying to catch what she’s saying.

  ‘Dex . . . he’s been violent before . . . he raped me when I was fifteen.’

  ‘He raped you?’ My stomach falls away. ‘But . . . but . . .’ I shake my head. ‘That doesn’t make sense . . . Dex couldn’t . . .’

  I stop. Of course he could. If he could drug and kidnap and threaten, of course he could rape.

  I fall silent as two fat tears slide down Lucy’s cheeks.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. The worst response you can give a rape victim is to express disbelief that the crime took place. ‘I didn’t mean to doubt what you said.’

  ‘Dex did it. He raped me.’ She hesitates. ‘He made me pregnant.’

  I gasp. ‘That was his baby?’

  Lucy nods. ‘He didn’t . . . doesn’t . . . know it was his . . . I never told him at the time and when the abortion came out years later I don’t think he connected it . . . with . . .’ She pauses. ‘What he did . . . the rape . . . he acts like it never happened.’

  I stare at her, struggling to reframe the whole of the past fifteen years. ‘Jesus, I don’t . . . I can’t . . .’

  Lucy sniffs back her tears. ‘It’s not just what he did to me. Dex has killed people too. I swear I didn’t know until just now but he’s the person Uncle Perry used.’

  ‘Dex is the killer?’ My head spins. ‘The PAAUL killer?’

  Lucy nods again.

  I slump down, sitting back on my heels. My arms ache from being tied together. I don’t understand how any of this is possible. How can charming, irresponsible, light-hearted Dex have raped his child cousin? Or carried out assassinations for PAAUL? ‘But he isn’t even religious . . .’ I bleat.

  ‘I know.’ Lucy gulps. ‘Uncle Perry’s paying him. I heard them talking on the phone just now.’

  ‘Oh, Christ. What about Graham? Is he involved too?’

  ‘No. Dex was just using his flat. He often borrows it.’ She makes a face. ‘I think he takes women there.’

  Oh, Christ, my poor Ruby.

  ‘And I think Uncle Graham owes him,’ Lucy muses. ‘Whatever, it’s not like the two of them are close. When you think about it, Dex isn’t really close to anyone.’

  He’s close to me, I think. He was close to Caspian. A memory of Dex and Caspian watching Six Nations rugby over a beer in our living room sears through me. Caspian was laughing at something Dex said. Dex could always make him laugh. He has always made me laugh too. The three of us were friends.

  ‘Dex needed money that badly?’ My voice is hollow. The ropes around my wrists and ankles bite harder. This is surreal. A nightmare from which I will surely soon wake up. I suddenly feel desperately alone. If only Harry were here. But he is gone and Ruby is taken and the people I love are ruthless or weak.

  ‘He’s in a lot of debt,’ Lucy goes on. ‘He likes expensive stuff. You know that. And his dad spent everything and Dex’s job doesn’t pay that much and you know how he feels about his divorce and all the maintenance payments . . .’

  ‘Okay.’ I hold out my wrists again, shoving all the confusion to the back of my mind. ‘All that doesn’t matter right now. You need to untie me and let’s get out of here and go to the police and tell them everything so they can find Ruby.’

  Lucy looks away.

  ‘Lucy, please, you have to be brave. Dex has Ruby.’ The thought turns my stomach. If he’s really capable of rape and murder what might he do to my sweet little girl? ‘Think how scared Ruby will be? Come on, Luce, you can do this.’

  ‘Ruby’s okay,’ she says, meeting my gaze. ‘She’s fine. Dex put her indoors, up in my bedroom. She’s fast asleep, doesn’t know anything about what’s happened.’

  ‘You’re certain?’ A thread of relief weaves through my shock and fear.

  ‘Dex would never hurt her,’ Lucy goes on, sounding more emphatic. ‘He just wanted to stop you going to the police.’

  ‘I need to get to her.’ I hold up my hands again, twisting round to show her the way they’re tied. The rope cuts into me, fiercer than ever. ‘Lucy, please. Ruby’s all alone.’

  Lucy fidgets, fingers twisting nervously around each other. ‘I daren’t. I’m so scared. Dex is . . . he’ll hurt us . . .’ She dissolves into tears.

  ‘Okay.’ My mind reels, searching for a way to persuade her. I have to get to Ruby. Think. ‘I’ll do whatever Dex wants,’ I plead. ‘Let me go into the house and talk to him. I’ll be fine if I know Ruby’s okay. But it’s been hours and—’

  ‘It’s not that late,’ Lucy interrupts. ‘Only just past midnight.’

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ I ask, fresh hope sprouting. My
father might be prepared to cover up for his brother, but not if it means threatening the lives of his daughter and granddaughter. ‘Earlier you said Dad would be home soon, is he back yet?’

  ‘He never arrived. Jacqueline called him away again. They’re out all night now,’ Lucy says. ‘He left a message on the house phone. It’s somewhere with no phone signal. They won’t be back till tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Right.’ I grimace. ‘Come on, Lucy, we need to find Ruby and—’

  ‘I told you, Ruby’s okay,’ Lucy says.

  ‘Lucy, for God’s sake, you don’t know how she is,’ I erupt. ‘She’s been given a drug and . . . and Dex isn’t a doctor, he might have given her too much of whatever it—’

  ‘He won’t have. He told me when I found out what he’s been doing. He’s used to using drugs like that. It’s how he overpowers people before . . . before killing them . . .’ Lucy leans against the doorframe. ‘He did it to you.’

  I gulp, my heart hammering. All I can think about is getting Ruby away from Dex. Ruby is far younger than Lucy was when she says he raped her . . . but how can I be sure that Dex won’t . . . I can’t let myself think it. A dead, sick feeling fills my gut. What else can I say to Lucy?

  What will make her listen?

  ‘What about God?’ I plead. ‘Think about what God would want you to do. You’ve said yourself Dex is violent and dangerous. God would want you to do something about that. If you won’t untie me, then go and call the police.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You can. Where’s your mobile?’

  ‘Dex has it,’ she says, in a voice so utterly helpless that I swear if my hands were free I might just slap her face in frustration.

  ‘So go into the house and find the nearest phone, the one in the hall, and dial 999. That’s all you have to—’

  ‘I can’t.’ Her voice rises.

  ‘Okay, okay.’ I think fast. ‘Look at it this way: we know Dex is a killer and if you and me and Ruby are in his way, he’ll kill us too, won’t he?’

  She gives an imperceptible nod.

  ‘So it’s just a matter of time. Now . . . tell me, did Dex send you to talk to me?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t know I’m here.’

  ‘So you were brave enough to come and find me. You can be brave enough to call the police. Please, Lucy.’

  She meets my gaze. ‘I can’t,’ she says. ‘Dex is a psychopath. He’ll kill me.’

  My heart sinks. She’s not going to budge. Or maybe she needs more time to build up her nerve.

  ‘Will you at least go and check on Ruby again?’ I ask, trying to make my tone more conciliatory. If I can just get Lucy to take baby steps towards action, perhaps I can increase her confidence to the point where she’s prepared to take a bigger risk.

  ‘Okay,’ she says, turning.

  ‘If Ruby’s awake,’ I call after her, ‘tell her I love her and that I’m coming for her.’

  But Lucy has already slipped away.

  I turn my attention to the rope that binds my hands and feet. It’s tightly wound and there’s no way I can reach the knot, but maybe I can cut through the rope on something sharp. Lucy hasn’t replaced the scarf that Dex used to gag my mouth, but I don’t want to alert him to the fact by yelling for help. Anyway, I know from my childhood that the trees surrounding the summer house deaden most noises.

  I shuffle across the floor in search of anything that might cut through my bindings. I’m certain there are no knives or tools in here. Nothing useful. It’s mostly just old games and bits of garden furniture – but maybe I can find a piece of broken metal or splintered wood.

  I manage to yank one of the loungers a few inches away from the wall where it’s stashed. I turn my back to the spring and rub the rope against its rough edge.

  It’s no way near sharp enough. Swearing under my breath I haul myself over to the tin box that contains the boules set. The edge of that is sharper – I remember Mum warning us about it when we were little – but still not remotely capable of cutting through rope.

  I squint out of the window. It’s an almost full moon, thank goodness, and my eyes have adjusted to the gloom inside the summer house. I look around, still determined. I’m coming, Ruby. And that’s when I see Mum’s old sewing kit on a shelf above the pile of loungers. She was very taken with the hobby when I was in my teens, when Lucy was still at primary school. I think it came after her life-drawing phase and before she tried to write a novel. For a few months she sat at a recently purchased top-end sewing machine, surrounded by silks and soft jersey fabrics, trying to make me and Lucy dresses. As so often with Mum, she’d bitten off more than she could chew and after several frustrating weeks all she’d managed to finish was a sky blue pinafore dress for Lucy with a crooked hem. The sewing kit ended up in here, along with so many of her other things. I’m certain it will contain a pair of scissors. Strong scissors, hopefully sharp enough to penetrate the rope around my wrists and ankles.

  I force myself to my feet. I can’t reach the sewing box with my hands but I head-butt the shelf. Once. Twice. I’m panting with the effort. At last the box falls with a smash. Its contents scatter across the floor: skeins of thread and folds of green silk and blue jersey and long needles still in their packets. A thimble rolls across the floor, glinting in the moonlight.

  I peer at the thread and the fabric and the needles, desperately sifting them with my bound feet. My heart bangs against my ribs as I look for the scissors. I keep this up for five minutes, my ears pricked for the sound of anyone approaching. The night is silent, my ragged breathing the only sound I can hear.

  At last I stop, utterly defeated.

  There are no scissors.

  I sink down onto the floor, tears leaking from my eyes.

  All I want is to get to Ruby, to save her, to make sure she and Rufus are all right, but I’m trapped here at Dex’s mercy, trussed up like an animal. Powerless to save myself or my children.

  If only Harry was here. Because he was right, all along, about PAAUL – he just got it wrong about who exactly was behind the crusade to kill the abortion doctors. And for all his lies, he was always on my side. But he is gone and I’m powerless, alone with my fear and my misery.

  Several long minutes pass. Is it really only just past midnight, as Lucy said? It feels like the middle of the night at the end of the world. I stare out at the moon, light filtering in through the trees. I’m freezing cold, my arms and legs are stiff, my back is sore and I can’t feel my hands and feet.

  A million thoughts go through my head: fury that Uncle Perry is prepared to hurt Ruby, bewilderment that Dex is unimaginably far from the charming cousin who I’ve known all my life. Lucy says Dex is a psychopath. True psychopaths lack conscience and empathy. Is that really Dex, who has always been so loving?

  Or has he? When I think back to the really tough times – Mum’s death and Caspian’s – Dex was hardly around. It was Ayesha I leaned on most, plus Dad and Lucy for practical things.

  But still . . . that doesn’t account for rape, does it? For murder?

  God, why does Lucy have to be so bloody weak? Did Dex even really rape her? Lucy is so odd . . . so infuriatingly passive . . . could she have misunderstood in some way? No. I feel guilty for even thinking it. Rape is rape. And maybe being raped and telling no one are part of what has made Lucy so different from other people. Right now she’s clearly suffering from . . . what’s it called? Ongoing Traumatic Relationship Syndrome or something. I did it on my degree. It’s where the victim is so locked into the abusive dynamic, like with battered wives, that she can’t break free.

  I shudder. If Dex is capable of rape and kidnapping and murder, I can see no reason why he will let Ruby or me go. Jacqueline and Dad are away all night. Dex can take his time dealing with us. There’s no one to help us.

  I miss Harry more than I would have imagined possible. It still feels surreal that Dex killed him. Fear grips me, a physical pain in my chest. Why doesn’t Lucy come back? What has De
x done to her and Ruby? What will he do to me?

  The key in the summer-house door turns. I scrabble away, towards the wall. Oh my God. Every nerve in my body is shrieking. It’s Dex, he’s come to kill me. I know it.

  The door opens slowly, casting a streak of light from the moon outside along the dusty wooden floor. I hold my breath as the toe of a brown leather boot appears around the edge of the door.

  The last person I expect to see steps into the moonlight.

  HARRY

  Harry peers into the gloom. Someone is definitely there, crouched in the dark corner of the summer house. His throat constricts. Is it Fran?

  ‘Harry!’ Her breath escapes in a gasp as her pale, terrified face turns towards the moonlight. And to him.

  He rushes over, taking in all at once the strain in her eyes and the ropes around her wrists and ankles and the hope and relief that jump and bump in his chest.

  ‘Are you all right?’ He hugs her, fierce and hard, fumbling for the ropes.

  ‘I . . . I thought you were dead.’ She leans against him; she’s trembling.

  ‘Not so far.’ He rubs his neck. ‘I got injected with something, knocked me out for hours. I came round in a garage with Dex standing over me. I thought he was going to kill me but he gave me food and drink then left me in there tied up for hours.’

  Harry brandishes the small knife Fran gave him when he last saw her, then starts sawing through the rope around her wrists.

  ‘My hands were tied tight to a pipe so I couldn’t get hold of this,’ he explains. ‘Dex got me out a few hours ago, brought me here in the boot of his car, then forced me into the utility room by the kitchen. I was tied up again of course, but this time I could reach my knife so—’

  ‘Did he hurt you?’ Fran’s eyes widen.

  ‘No.’ Harry concentrates on the rope. He’s about halfway through. ‘I saw you from the utility room, Dex carrying you out here. He wouldn’t say if you were okay, I’ve been going out of my—’

  ‘What about Ruby? Did you see Ruby? Is she okay?’ There’s a terrible urgency in Fran’s voice.

  ‘Ruby’s here?’