Deliver Me

by Karen Cole

  Abby is suddenly overwhelmed by a terrible, chilling certainty. It’s him: this is the man that raped her and now he’s done something to Ellie, too. Disgust and pain well up inside her and she vomits all over the dashboard.

  ‘Oh dear,’ says Dr Rowe. He swerves into a lay-by. He seems almost as agitated as Abby.

  Abby acts instinctively, through fear. As soon as he stops, she opens the door and tries to get out. She needs to get out, away from this monster.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he says, gripping her arm tightly, pulling her back into the car. He leans across her, slams the door shut and applies the centralized locking.

  Keep calm, don’t panic. Don’t let him know you suspect anything.

  ‘I just need to get out for a minute,’ she says, trembling. ‘I think I’m going to throw up again.’

  But it’s too late. He knows. Her face has given it away, or else he’s realized his mistake about the adoption.

  ‘You’re shaking, Abigail. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re the mother of my child. But you know, that don’t you?’ He opens the glove compartment, gets out a cloth and wipes the dashboard. Then tenderly, carefully, wipes her mouth.

  You’re the mother of my child. It’s something else hearing it from his lips. No more pretending.

  ‘It was you,’ Abby blurts. ‘You raped me, took photos of me while I was unconscious. And you’ve done it to other women too, haven’t you?’

  He doesn’t answer immediately. He starts the engine again and drives on, his mouth set in a grim line. Abby looks out of the window at the gently rolling Cotswold hills. The sun has come out again; its rays dance and glitter on the river, mocking her.

  Dr Rowe grips the wheel.

  ‘There have been other women, Abigail, it’s true, but you’re special.’ He’s driving slowly, crawling along the road. A car behind hoots, swerves and overtakes on a blind corner. He doesn’t seem to notice. ‘Do you think things happen for a reason, Abigail?’ he says dreamily. ‘Because I do. When I found out you were pregnant, I knew it was all part of a plan. You were destined to be the mother of my child.’

  ‘You sent me all those flowers and messages too. You made your daughter buy that orchid for me. Why?’

  ‘I have to admit you were nothing to me at first. It was just sex. Like with all the others. But when you came to my surgery that day, I knew you were special then. This child is special. You must have felt it too. We are meant to be. I think you sense it too, deep inside, but you’re afraid of it. That’s why you decided to throw yourself away on that worthless young man.’

  He’s crazy, Abby realizes. Completely deranged.

  They wind slowly through a small village past a country pub. There’s a woman outside watering the window boxes. So near and yet so far. Could she bang on the window, attract her attention? No, that would only provoke him. She just needs to sit tight, go along with his lunacy until they reach the hospital. He’s told her he won’t hurt her. She holds on to that.

  But just out of the village, he veers off the road onto a small lane into the woods, and Abby’s heart plummets.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asks, trying to stay calm.

  He doesn’t answer. Despite the sunshine the road goes through a dark tunnel of trees. The road gets narrower and there is no other traffic. They are driving further and further into the depths of the forest.

  ‘This isn’t the way to the hospital. I need to go to hospital,’ she says.

  ‘That’s not possible I’m afraid.’

  He turns again down a dirt track and the car bumps over the muddy ground. And then another turning, down an even narrower road, almost a footpath. After what feels like forever, he pulls into a passing point and kills the engine. Abby looks around desperately. Where the hell are they? It’s the middle of the forest. They are next to a small wooden gate, but no one has been through the gate for a long time. It’s completely overgrown with weeds and stinging nettles.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ says Abby, and she hates herself for the way she sounds, her voice a small, scared whisper.

  Dr Rowe drums his fingers on the wheel and turns to her sighing.

  ‘I’d like to trust you, Abigail, but I don’t think I can, can I? If I take you to hospital, you’ll tell someone about us and they won’t understand.’

  ‘I won’t tell anyone, I promise.’ Abby has started crying, tears of terror and snot running down her nose. She wipes the snot away with her sleeve.

  ‘Don’t cry, Abigail. You’ll spoil your beautiful face.’

  She clambers out of the car. Her heart is firing off like a machine gun, her mind racing. She watches as he opens the boot, rummaging inside for something. This is her chance while he’s distracted. She acts instinctively, running back along the path they’ve taken. But she gets no further than three metres before a wave of pain surges over her. She calls out in agony and frustration, and doubles over, clutching her belly. Her legs are shaking as if she’s been electrocuted. She feels helpless, like livestock, as Dr Rowe strolls up behind her and calmly clamps his hand over her mouth.

  ‘You silly girl,’ he says. ‘You’re in labour. Where do you think you’re going?’ She doesn’t struggle much after that, and she waits, docile, as he pushes the gate open and bundles her through. Then they are stumbling up an escarpment through dense trees. They don’t go far, just until the path is out of sight. He stops and forces her roughly down to the ground against a tree trunk.

  ‘You’re too stubborn for your own good. Just like your sister,’ he says.

  At the mention of Ellie, Abby starts crying again.

  ‘What have you done with Ellie?’ she whimpers.

  Dr Rowe sighs, and sits down next to her, placing his briefcase and his doctor’s bag next to him on the ground. ‘It’s a shame. I didn’t want to hurt her, you know that. I always liked Elizabeth. I thought she was a very fine doctor. But she had to go poking her nose into things that didn’t concern her.’

  ‘She found the photographs on your computer,’ Abby says. She sees suddenly how it must have happened. When Ellie couldn’t access her patient files on her own computer she must have tried Dr Rowe’s. Instead of finding the files, she must have stumbled on the photos of Abby and the other women. Abby tries to imagine what she must have felt. Shock? Horror? Had she tried to phone her then? Was that what the missed calls were? If only she had answered. Whatever Ellie’s feelings were, she’d had the presence of mind to save the pictures to her email. Then what? Did she confront him?

  Oh, Ellie, she thinks. That’s precisely what Ellie would have done – especially if she thought she was defending her little sister.

  Dr Rowe puts his head in his hands. ‘What a mess,’ he says. After a while he lifts his head and rubs his eyes. ‘She was going to tell the police. I couldn’t let her. I would have lost everything. My job, my children. Our baby.’

  ‘What did you do to her?’ Abby stares at him in horror.

  He stares straight ahead as if he’s looking at something in the distance.

  ‘The human skull is made up of twenty-two bones. It’s surprisingly easy to break, considering it protects the brain. Bad design. The weakest point is where the four bones meet; the frontal, the parietal, the sphenoid and temporal bones.’

  Abby bellows with rage. She tries to stand up. She would kill him now if she could. ‘What the fuck did you do to her?’ she screams.

  ‘You need to shut the hell up,’ he snaps, striding over and pushing her back down. He pulls a roll of tape from his bag, wrapping it around her mouth and wrists.

  Abby’s anger leaves her, replaced with a terrible hopelessness. She starts snivelling. Midges circle her head and small insects bite her thighs. She stares up at the sky, blue between a small gap in the trees.

  Thirty-Nine

  Pain. This pain is new, a monster
obliterating everything else, even the horror of her situation, and she surrenders to it. This baby is coming regardless of what she does. Ellie is dead, and she needs to grieve, but right now there is no room for grief. The baby is ruthless in its blind struggle for life.

  She’s dimly aware of the passing of time, of the darkness encroaching, of Dr Rowe pacing up and down. The trees look sinister in the dusk, with their twisted black branches. The only light comes from his phone and when he switches it off it’s almost completely dark. For a while he drops off to sleep and she considers an escape attempt, but it’s impossible to move. She’s paralysed by the pain. Instead she looks up at the sky. Just a small patch of black sky studded with stars. Most of the time, though, she’s absorbed by pain and the pain is absorbed by her. It seems to become part of her, like it’s always been there.

  When the baby starts crowning at daybreak, she’s so exhausted and worn down, she’s almost grateful to Dr Rowe. As he delivers the baby he barks instructions to her – when to push and when to breathe – and she is powerless to do anything but what he says.

  The baby finally comes as the first glint of sunlight appears through the trees and it’s like a cork popping, Suddenly, there is no pain anymore and a huge feeling of relief. But the relief doesn’t last long. She’s quickly on her guard again as, with the pain gone, comes the realization of the danger she’s in. And it’s not just her. It’s this tiny, helpless creature too. She watches warily as Dr Rowe cuts the umbilical cord with surgical scissors.

  ‘I’ve only done this once before at medical school,’ he says conversationally as he ties the cord, and then he lays the baby gently on the ground, on the damp leaves. The baby makes a mewling noise. Abby stares at it. It’s a small, red wriggling thing, covered in mucus and blood. Abby feels a strong urge to protect it at all costs. She is rigid with fear as Dr Rowe picks the baby up and rocks her gently in his arms.

  ‘A fine, healthy baby girl,’ he pronounces. ‘How about we call her Sophie? I’ve always liked that name. I wanted to call my daughter Sophie, but my wife didn’t like it.’

  He carries on talking as if they’re a normal couple with their first child, and more than ever Abby realizes how completely detached from reality he is.

  ‘I’m so proud of you,’ he says. Then, to her horror, he rips the tape off her mouth and pecks her on the lips. Abby tries not to gag. She even kisses him back. Maybe she can convince him that she really is in love with him too.

  ‘We should take her to the hospital,’ she says, ‘to check that everything’s okay.’

  ‘She’s fine. Ten fingers, ten toes. Perfect in every way.’

  ‘Can I hold her?’ She struggles to her feet.

  ‘Lie down. You haven’t passed the afterbirth yet.’ He pushes her back down and something slithers out between her legs. He holds the most disgusting thing she’s ever seen. He waves it in her face, a translucent, slimy sack of veins and globules of what looks like clotted blood, and he laughs as she recoils.

  ‘Some people like to eat it. It’s meant to be very good for you.’

  Abby tries standing again. ‘Please . . .’ she says.

  ‘Lie down. You’re losing a lot of blood.’

  She looks down, and sure enough, there is a puddle of blood soaking into the mulch on the forest floor. Abby ignores it. She feels fine. She feels strong and determined. ‘Please let me hold her,’ she says, taking a step towards him. ‘If you untied my hands I would be able to hold her.’ Her eyes flicker down to the surgical scissors lying on the ground where he has left them. If she can persuade him to untie her hands maybe she can pick them up and take him by surprise.

  But he sees where she’s looking, and the smile vanishes from his face, and morphs into rage. Abby has never seen anyone’s mood change so swiftly and dramatically.

  ‘You think I was born yesterday?’ he says, picking up the scissors. He runs his hand over the blade. ‘You stupid bitch. Do you? Do you?!’

  ‘No . . . I just want to hold the baby . . . our baby.’ Abigail forces herself to smile at him desperately. ‘We could take her home, together. Nobody ever need know about this . . . Like you said, we love each other . . .’

  For a second, she thinks he’s buying it. He listens with his head on one side; his expression softens. But then he shakes his head violently and his face twists in anger. ‘You never loved me, did you? It was always him. That loser.’ He lunges towards her with the scissors and Abby dodges him.

  ‘Help!’ She screams, staggering towards the gate. ‘Help! Somebody help!’

  ‘Shut the fuck up,’ he hisses, dragging her back to the tree. He shoves her down and presses surgical tape over her mouth again.

  ‘What am I going to do with you, Abigail?’ He sighs. And Abby freezes with fear as he picks up the surgical scissors from where he’s dropped them, and crouches down beside her, holding the scissors to her throat.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you, but it would be so easy,’ he says softly. ‘There’s the jugular vein here and the carotid artery here.’ He presses her neck with his thumb. ‘If I slice through those, you’ll be dead in minutes.’

  Abby shakes her head. Tears of terror are running down her cheeks.

  ‘I don’t want to do it. I love you, Abigail, but I don’t know what else to do. I can’t trust you. Oh God . . .’ He sits back on his haunches and rocks backwards and forwards, dropping the scissors. He’s crying, Abigail realizes, feeling a flicker of hope. Maybe he’s having a change of heart. But then he makes a sudden snorting noise, stands up and strides over.

  ‘You leave me with no choice,’ he says. He puts his hands around her throat and she feels him begin to squeeze.

  No, no, no. Not like this. Please God, not like this. She’s choking. She can’t breathe. The pain is intense. She thrashes wildly like a trapped animal, kicking and struggling desperately to free her arms. His eyes are far away. Unreachable. Somewhere in the background she’s aware of the baby screaming.

  No, no, no. She’s losing consciousness. There’s a loud ringing in her ears and, everything blurs. She looks up at the trees, the green leaves. Stars seem to be bursting in the sky. Then, like a mirage of normality in this nightmare, a grey, shaggy dog comes bounding over the bank. She blinks. Is it a hallucination? A product of her brain shutting down? A lack of oxygen? The dog stops short, whimpers, then starts barking. Dr Rowe’s grip loosens and Abby gasps for breath.

  ‘Toby, where the hell are you?’ a woman’s voice, plummy, exasperated, clearly calls out. ‘Toby, come here, you bloody dog!’

  The sound is so mundane, and Abby has never been so glad to hear anything in her life. Dr Rowe lets go and stands up on alert. Abby coughs and splutters, gulping the air. Then she struggles to her feet and tries to call out. But it comes out as a grunt through the surgical tape.

  ‘Shut up, you bitch,’ hisses Dr Rowe, crouching low. He tries to scare the dog away, waving his arms threateningly but it’s already too late. A few seconds later an elderly lady in green wellingtons and a green anorak comes scrambling up the slope.

  Time stands still. Abby later remembers every tiny detail of this woman, from the stray grey hair on her coat to the way her mouth hangs open, looking from Abby to Dr Rowe to the baby, eyes wide with shock.

  ‘What on earth . . .’ she starts. Then she reaches in her pocket and pulls out a phone, fumbling with the buttons. At the same time, in one swift movement, Dr Rowe lunges at her, knocking her phone out of her hand.

  Abby watches in horror as he wrestles her to the ground, his hands at her throat. The woman screams, kicks and scratches and the dog barks and bites at his leg. But Dr Rowe is too strong.

  Abby keeps struggling to free her hands. She has to help her. She can’t let him kill her. Then out of nowhere she remembers . . . Danny. Danny in the staff room talking to her replacement – the two of them talking about the way to escape if someone has tie
d your hands. She has no idea if it really works, but she has to try. She raises her hands high above her head and brings her elbows down rapidly. The tape is supposed to tear, but it doesn’t work. She tries again, bringing her arms down as hard as she can. The tape stretches a bit. Again, and there is finally enough room for her to wriggle her hands free. She has no time to think. She snatches the scissors from where they’re lying on the ground and lunges at Dr Rowe. She acts instinctively, raising the blades and plunging them into his neck, right into the artery. Then she staggers back, horrified, as blood fountains out, spurting all over her.

  ‘What the . . . ?’ Dr Rowe says. He reels backwards, staring at her and clutching his neck, trying to stem the blood. Blood gushes out of his neck and trails down his chest.

  Abby stands transfixed, appalled. He takes a step towards her, then he keels over and lies on the ground, still holding his neck and making a gurgling noise. The dog is barking wildly now. The woman is gasping for breath. She struggles to her feet and grabs Abby’s hand.

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ she says.

  ‘Yes.’ Abby stands for a minute, stunned, paralysed with shock. Then the baby’s crying brings her to her senses.

  ‘The baby,’ she says, and she scoops her up in her arms. Together they head for the road. They don’t look back. Every second is time for Dr Rowe to recover and follow them, and with every breath she expects to hear him behind them. But they reach the road without incident and almost immediately manage to flag down a car.

  The driver screeches to a halt in the lay-by and winds down the window.

  ‘You okay, love?’ he asks.

  Abby is unable to answer. She feels faint and scared. The driver’s face is blurring, and his voice seems to be coming from a long way off. She feels herself swaying, clutching the baby close to her, afraid to drop her.

  Luckily, the old woman takes charge of the situation. ‘This young lady has just given birth. We need to get to the hospital as quickly as possible,’ she says.