by Andy Crowson
The Value of Life
Andy Crowson
Copyright 2005 Andy Crowson
The Value of Life
Chapter 1: K
The rain 'thunked' hollowly on the van roof: it would have made K drowsy if it hadn't been so cold. K had been waiting nearby for an hour now. He wasn't exactly scared as such, but he was nervous and the butterflies in his stomach didn't help.
He poured the last of the coffee from the thermos and sipped it. He had done this so many times in his head, on paper, in his dreams; he knew the whole plan back to front. It was just taking the first step that was hard. Up till this moment it had all been planning, now it was action. The alarm on his mobile phone activated and started vibrating in his hand but he didn't need it, he'd been looking at it. He knew he still had at least ten minutes before the kids made their way across the recreation ground and through the broken fence into Brighton Road. Then only one of the children would cross the street, turn right into Eastbourne Road and let himself into the ninth house in a street of poor quality, semi detached houses, with his own key.
This particular house had a small front garden between the pavement and the door, surrounded by an overgrown hedge and a broken gate that Daniel Reece Martin, the eleven year old son of Michael and Janet Martin, walked through, every school day, at 3:25, coming home to an empty house.
K looked solemnly at the bottle and the soft rag on the seat next to him, drank the last of his coffee and started the van. He put the heater on and let the van warm up, but there was no condensation on the windows as he'd had them both cracked open the entire time he'd been waiting. It was just as K was beginning to get so scared he might back out, that the three kids emerged through the fence into Brighton Road from the rec.
K watched as Daniel crossed the road and left the others. It was only then that he pulled out from the curb and slid from a side street into Brighton road, then right into Eastbourne Road, and pulled up in the empty space outside Number 18. He opened the bottle and soaked the rag with ether, then squeezing the dripping rag into his coat pocket, jumped out and walked round to the sliding door just as the boy approached.
K himself was wearing navy blue trousers, a navy blue polo shirt and a nondescript large navy blue jacket. He could have been a delivery driver for just about anyone. His timing was perfect and as the boy drew level and turned for the gate K spoke, "You live here kid, number 18?"
"Sure, you got somefing for us?" the kid asked excitedly.
"Your mum order a new widescreen telly set up?" K asked, pointing to the huge cardboard box in the back of the van.
"Yeah!" the kid replied, excited just to hope that she might have done.
"She in?" said K. "Or ya Dad, I need a lift?"
The kid looked puzzled and disappointed for a split second,
"Nan got sick and Mum went to look after her this mornin'," the boy lied. "Dad's at work but I got the key, I can let ya in." He looked hopeful.
K looked the kid up and down. He was small and thin, his clothes looked worn and his shoes were scuffed from black to grey at the toes. His black hair was short cropped and K thought it had the shapeless look of home cut hair.
"You look like a strong un, how about you give us a hand to get it out of the van then?" K invited.
The boy dropped his schoolbag just inside the gate and jumped into the van, K climbed in after him, one hand in his pocket. He slid the door shut and grabbed the boy in one swift movement, forcing the cloth over the child's mouth and nose whilst holding him still. It was much easier then K had thought it would be, and even though the kid struggled it was easy to hold him still. K had been worried about how much the van might rock if the boy struggled but he guessed hardly at all. As the seconds passed the boy became more subdued until he hardly moved.
K removed the rag, the boy was not fully unconscious but he was immobile and sedated. K bound the boy's hands with carpet tape and lifted him into the big box, covered him with a blanket and taped the lid shut. There were pillows inside the box, arranged so that the boy would remain sitting up and not choke should he vomit, but otherwise, it was dark and plain.
K stepped out from the side of the van, walked casually around to the driver's door, stepped in and checked his phone on the dash. It was 3:33, the whole thing had taken less than eight minutes and K figured he'd been outside the house for about four of those. He started the van and pulled out, using the act of checking for traffic to look at windows and up and down the street for anyone who might have seen something. There was no one. He turned right into Allcot Street and was gone.
The place K had chosen for the base of this project was an old railway cottage well away from anywhere else and on a disused railway line on the outskirts of the New Forest. He had bought it over a year ago when he had conceived the idea and decided to go ahead. When he had bought it there had been no electric or gas, no real roof to speak of over one half of the house and certainly no mod cons.
Even though he had never been that handy he had done most of the work himself. It'd taken all his free time, but that was not a problem - after all, there was precious little else to occupy him and he'd been thankful for the distraction.
Other than the electric company, a local roofer and a plumber for the gas, no one had been out here but him. He'd bought all the materials at various DIY stores and transported them out here in the van. He'd got pretty good over time and the place had turned out nice, but it was still simple. The model for soundproofing was taken from an internet website on building recording studios in your garage and the security was only meant to stump kids. Locking grates over the windows would not be so uncommon in this remote a place.
He pulled up outside and checked his watch, it was just starting to get dark and the long drive had made him hungry. The boy had come round about a half hour ago and after an initial bout of screaming had turned to crying softly.
K lifted the box out of the van onto a sack barrow and wheeled it into the cottage. He wheeled the box into a small sound proofed room that had once been a large wardrobe. It had no windows and was furnished only with a bed and table. But there was a TV, DVD, games console, a box of various DVDs and games. K had fitted a sink and toilet and put a fridge in the corner. This was, basically, a prison cell. A prison cell with the uniform waiting on the bed, a single set of blue Harry Potter pajamas.
K opened the box and at first the boy wouldn't look up, but when K lifted the boy to his feet he stood shakily and stared straight at him.
"I didn't do nuffin' wrong, please lemme go," he sobbed.
K undid the tape around the boy's arms and although it hadn't been very tight the boy still winced.
"Get washed and changed," K said, "you can watch TV while I fix dinner, I don't know about you but I'm starved." He shut the door behind him and wandered into the kitchen. When he returned to the cell the boy was sat in the pajamas on the bed watching TV. K had a homemade hamburger and chips on a plate. He put them on the bed and sat down.
"You know what kidnapping is?" he asked.
"Yeah," said the boy softly, "it's when you want money to give me back."
"That's right." K smiled. "That's what this is, so I'm gonna look after you, an' if you do as I say and be good, you're gonna be home with your Mum and Dad before you know it." The boy looked hopeful. "One thing though," K carried on, "I'm gonna be away from here for days at a time. It's totally safe here, you can't get out and no one but me can get in. There's plenty to eat and drink so long as you're not greedy and you've got everything you need here." The boy's face was passive for a while then he looked worried.
"It's gonna be OK." K said reassuringly.
"What if you die, in a crash or somefin'?" the boy said eyes widening. "I'll be s
tuck here."
"Nah you won't." K smiled. "I've got a plan for that haven't I?" K stood and turned to leave.
"Eat up now, I'll be here tonight but tomorrow I'll be gone again, I'll check in again later." He closed the door leaving the boy in the cell alone. When K checked in sometime after nine the kid was asleep on the bed, K switched off the TV and took the remains of dinner out on the tray, the kid had eaten and that was a good sign.
