The soup starts to boil and Ana lifts it off the hotplate. She scrambles through the cupboards, searching for an old thermos which she finds under the sink. As she grabs it she’s surprised to see an old bottle of bourbon sitting behind it. It’s the same brand as the one Luke left behind the tree but unlike that one this one is full. Ana knows what it is. It’s the last of her mother’s supply shoved under the sink years ago and forgotten. She glances up at the monitor. They shared the same poison, Luke and her mother.
Ana slams the cupboard shut and sets the thermos on the bench and it’s only then she notices the silence. She can’t hear Luke struggling at all anymore. Has he freed himself already?
The splatter of urine hitting plastic is followed by the distinct sound of relief. The stream goes on for an extended time and then dribbles briefly off before starting up again. That’s one thing he wasn’t lying about, Ana thinks, as she sets the thermos down on the bench. She stops to centre herself before opening the kitchen drawer and reaching for the plastic bag of pills. This next two will make six in total she’s used but at this stage she’s less worried about their effect on him than she is about her dwindling supply. Luke clearly has a strong constitution but it’s only a matter of time before Lenny realises there are drugs missing. If she’s lucky he’ll look to Kristy before he even considers that Ana could have taken them but what she uses now she may not be able to replace.
No matter what happens, right now, Ana knows there is no choice. She needs to shut Luke down and she needs to do it now.
*
Ana pauses just inside the closed door, clutching the thermos and a big bottle of water to her chest. She spent time outside preparing herself but as soon as she stepped inside she felt the intoxication of it hit her again. She stands there now, trying to contain that strange and unexpected blend of fear and excitement in her belly. Mostly trying to stop it showing on her face.
Luke is hunched against the pillar, staring up at her, hands hidden under the blanket. Thanks to her peephole, she knows he hasn’t managed to free himself yet but she can read nothing in his face. It’s disconcerting.
‘Show me your hands,’ she says in the firmest tone she can muster.
He stares back at her for a long moment before lifting his hands free of the blanket. He winces from the effort, elbows protectively hugging his ribs.
Ana can see the frayed edges of the tape but they both play it cool, she pretending not to notice the damage he’s done while he does his best to conceal the worst of it against his body.
Ana places the keys to the door on the top step and descends.
‘I didn’t tell them you were awake,’ she says, keeping her voice low.
Luke glances up at the ceiling, straining to hear something. Anything. When he speaks, he matches her volume. ‘I hope it’s not going to get you in trouble. Helping me like this.’
Ana kneels by the bed. She busies herself retrieving the packet of Nurofen from her pocket, popping two capsules from their casing. For a brief moment she lets herself drift into the fantasy, as if it really were the truth, indulging just a little in the feeling that they could be in this thing together.
She can feel his eyes on her as she reaches for the water. Just as she’s wondering how to do it he helps her out.
‘Thank you,’ he says, shifting a little towards her, giving her access to his tongue.
Ana balks but then drops the two capsules in his mouth and brings the bottle to his lips. He clamps onto it, sucking the water back while she holds it steady. When he’s drunk his fill he leans back into the pillar again, wiping the excess from his mouth on the shoulder of his T-shirt before returning his focus to Ana. She feels her face flushing under his gaze.
‘Why me? What do they think I’ve done?’
Ana tries to remain casual as she takes a plastic spoon from her pocket. She can’t have him suspecting the food is drugged. She glances up, briefly meeting his eyes. He’s waiting for her answer.
‘I told you, I’m not supposed to talk to you … They wouldn’t like it.’
‘Please, you have to believe me,’ he says, reaching his bound hands towards her. ‘I’m searching my mind trying to remember but I can’t –’ His fingers graze hers and Ana pulls away as if burned, the breath leaving her body.
He’s aware, or canny enough, to immediately give her space.
Ana studies him closely, seeing his struggle to recall. If it is an act, it’s a good one.
‘What do you remember?’
‘I had a fight with my wife.’
Wife?
‘I remember that pretty clearly but it gets kinda hazy after that.’
‘You’re married?’
He nods.
‘She kicked me out … I remember drinking. A lot … I vaguely recall sleeping in my van. After that it’s all a blank …’ He looks and sounds so completely genuine it throws her. ‘My head … it feels like it’s going to explode. What the fuck did they do to me?’
Ana knows how a good liar would answer that question. They’d find a thread of truth and stick as close as possible to it, no matter how thin it might be. With that, good liars can spin a story real enough to convince even themselves. Is that what he’s doing now?
‘You were hit,’ she says. ‘Hard.’
She feels the burning rush of guilt rising on her face and hopes he doesn’t notice. If he is lying he’s much better at it than she is.
He winces as he feels his wound through the bandaging, confused.
‘This was you?’ he asks.
For a moment Ana thinks he remembers she was the one who hit him but he’s simply referring to the bandage around his head. For now it appears he has bought her story completely.
Ana nods mutely, gaining confidence in playing her part.
‘It hurts like hell. How did I get here?’
She responds with a small shrug of her shoulders, feigning innocence. ‘I don’t know anything really, when they brought you home you were already unconscious.’
‘So this is your home?’ he asks. ‘And the others, are they your family?’
Ana closes her mouth, making it clear she won’t talk about ‘them’. She’s going to have to be careful what she says to him.
‘At least tell me how long I’ve been here.’
She has to stop to think. Has it really only been two days?
‘You’ve been out for a few hours,’ she tells him, figuring that sounds better than two days.
Luke stares back at her, like something doesn’t quite add up for him. He looks around, as if he’s trying to remember something.
‘No, I … I could have brain damage. Or a clot. I could die down here … Or is that what they want?’
Ana stares blankly back at him. He’s right. It could happen at any time, a damaged blood vessel rupturing in his head. If that happens, there will be little she can do about it.
‘Is that what you want?’ he pleads.
‘No!’ The word rips out of her, the force of it surprising both of them. He takes it as a positive sign and goes for broke. ‘Please, you need to get me out. Take me to a hospital. You could sneak back down in the night after –’
Ana shakes her head and returns her focus to the thermos, scooping up a spoonful of soup.
‘You should eat now. I can’t stay long.’
Without warning Luke explodes, knocking the spoon from her hand. ‘How can I defend myself when I don’t even know what the fuck is going on?’
He stops there, reading her body language as she stares down at the spoon. Every part of her is poised to run but she can’t, not until she gets him to eat.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean …’ He swallows his fury and awkwardly reaches with his bound hands to pick up the spoon and place it within her reach. It’s an obvious conciliatory gesture and has the intended effect of calming her fear.
Could she be wrong about him? Was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time?
She wipes the soup that spilled on
her hand onto her jeans and looks at the door. ‘They’ll hear you …’
Luke nods, making it clear he understands. He’s calm again now, he won’t be any more trouble.
Ana picks up the spoon, wiping it clean on her T-shirt.
‘Will you eat something if I tell you what I know?’
She takes his silence for yes.
As Ana dips the spoon back in the soup, she can feel his eyes on her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Luke starts. ‘I don’t –’ Ana shoves a spoonful of soup in his mouth to quiet him. She keeps her eyes down, focusing on the repetitive action of transferring the soup from thermos to mouth. He lets her feed him until most of it is gone but then will take no more. Not until she gives him something in return.
Ana drops the spoon into the thermos.
‘They told me you killed a woman.’
Any bravado he might have still had is instantly shattered.
‘What? Who?’
She can hear nothing but dismay in his voice.
‘No … They’re wrong. You have to believe me.’
‘Why? … Why do I have to believe you?’
‘Because that’s not me … it makes no sense. I can’t …’ Again he holds his head in his hands but whether it’s the drug taking effect or his struggle to comprehend is unclear. ‘I could never … Carla and I, we’ve been trying to have a kid. She thinks I don’t want it enough but –’
‘That’s your wife? Carla?’
Luke nods. ‘She’ll be worried when she doesn’t hear from me. You have to help me,’ he says, latching onto what he thinks is a way to connect with her. ‘Please …’
Ana can almost see his thought pattern. He knows his only way out is by getting to her and he thinks he’s reaching her. The ironic thing is that if there actually was someone else upstairs it might have worked. Even now she can feel it growing inside her, this insane urge to protect him from herself.
Ana returns her focus to the thermos, making it clear that she held up her side of their bargain and expects him to do the same. Luke accepts the remainder of the soup but she can feel his eyes on her, waiting for her response.
‘I’m the only one who knows you’re conscious,’ she says. ‘If I keep you sedated then maybe …’
His eyes find the thermos, realising his mistake and starting to feel the powerful pull of the drug in his system. ‘No, you can’t, I’ll be helpless … please, you don’t have to do this …’ He tries to fight it but has no strength left in his limbs. ‘We can just pretend, you and me …’
Ana encourages him down, gently shifting his head back on the pillow. ‘It’s okay, it’s better this way,’ she reassures him. ‘I’ll take care of you …’
She glimpses a moment of pure panic in Luke’s eyes before they close. At the same time the adrenaline that’s been keeping Ana going finally deserts her and she collapses, leaning heavily onto the mattress.
The fact that he doesn’t remember, or says he doesn’t, has thrown her big time. Yes, there may be a lot pointing to his guilt, but not the kind of hard evidence she needs to feel absolved of her own. Not yet anyway.
She recovers for a moment beside him before picking up his bound hands. He’s docile and barely conscious as she checks the bindings. They’re ragged and almost half chewed through. He would have got there eventually.
It hits her how close she came to losing control of the situation. She can’t take any more risks with him. If he did kill Rebecca, she’s in danger every time she walks down those stairs but even if he’s not a killer, he’s still a desperate man who will be looking to seize any avenue of escape. She can’t leave herself open.
*
Ana drags a rusty length of tow chain out from under the old wooden workbench in the garage. Like most things in the house it’s been there as long as she remembers. Like the tools hanging on the wall above the bench it probably belonged to the grandfather she never met. He may have been a bad taste in her grandmother’s mouth but in this minute, Ana is happy he existed and gives silent thanks for what he left behind.
Ana lays the chain out across the concrete floor, checking how long it is before her attention returns to the open basement door and the man beyond it. Can she seriously go so far as to chain him?
She catches sight of her reflection in the old mirror that leans against the stack of things from the basement. She looks a distorted and crazed mess. She might not be able to chain him but that Ana – the one from the other side – she can do it.
That crazy bitch won’t even hesitate.
TWENTY-FOUR
Ana pulls a thick sock onto Luke’s right foot, hoping it’s enough to prevent the hard metal from chafing his skin. Looping the chain around his ankle, she joins the links with a padlock, grateful to find it a perfect fit. Tight enough to prevent him from working his foot through but not so tight as to cut off his circulation. She was worried she’d be forced to chain him by the neck, which would have felt far too brutal.
She drags the other end of the chain over to the closest pillar and padlocks it firmly around, making sure there’s enough slack to give him freedom of movement but keep him on the inside of the semicircular chalk line she’s now marked up at the bottom of the stairs. She’s already tested it out on herself so she knows exactly what he’ll be able to reach and, more importantly, what her parameters are. As long as she doesn’t step over the line she’ll be safe. She immediately feels more secure knowing there’s a barrier between them, even a mostly invisible one.
At the very edge of the chalk line – as far away from the mattress and the stairs as possible but still within his reach – sits a makeshift toilet. It’s just a sturdy plastic bucket covered by the old wooden toilet seat Ana has borrowed from her own bathroom, but it’s more practical than the other bucket she gave him. On top of the seat sits a fresh roll of environmentally friendly toilet paper and next to that a soft packet of Wet Ones.
Ana glances back at Luke. He looks all innocent again now, wearing his unconscious face. He is obviously clever and she will still have to be wary of getting too close to him, but nobody can chew through a metal chain. And while he might be able to pick a padlock Ana made sure that not so much as a stray nail remained within the reach of his chain. She even vacuumed the ground to be sure.
At least with his other limbs free he looks more comfortable now, which goes a little way towards alleviating her conscience. She tells herself that it’s not the innocent man he might be who she has chained. He’s a murder suspect, or will be once they have his van.
*
It’s dark and drizzling as Ana sprints steadily through the edges of forest. She roughly shadows the line of the road, using a small torch to light her way. In no time at all she passes the back of the property closest to hers but she can already feel in her legs the recent loss of her twice-daily walks with River. The muddy conditions and the low visibility aren’t making it any easier.
As always her mind is consumed with Luke, or rather the enigma that is Luke. His return to an unconscious state – or more specifically, the vulnerability that brings – both calms and empowers her, but it also worries her. The Luke who is in the basement now is the one she’s most comfortable with. Disarmed but still dangerous for a different reason. She needs to be careful not to let herself get too comfortable, or too clever. It won’t be long before he’s awake again and full of questions. It won’t take too long for him to work out that she’s completely alone here. When the mysterious people who ‘want to hurt him’ fail to show their faces, the brief grace period of pretending to be allies will be over. All she has done is buy herself some more time but she’s okay with that for now.
When she’s gone far enough from her house Ana pulls Luke’s mobile out of the pocket of her hoody and stops to turn it on. She feels a bit stupid, like she’s some kind of stalker, but the temptation to hear the voice of the woman Luke calls his wife is too strong to resist and she couldn’t risk activating it at the house. There’s not a lot of char
ge so she scrolls quickly through the contacts until she finds the number and hits dial, giving herself no time to second-guess her actions.
She walks on as she listens to the other end ringing, unable to stay still.
Carla answers after only three rings.
‘Luke, oh my god, where the hell have you been?’ The relief in the woman’s voice is evident but Ana can hear the underlying edge.
‘Please say something …’
Ana holds her breath.
‘Luke, baby, I’m sorry I kicked you out. Talk to me, please.’
So she really did kick him out then.
‘Luke? … Is that you?’
Ana slowly lets her breath out, listening to silence on the other end of the phone as Carla waits. It sounds like she’s put her hand over the receiver. When she speaks again Ana can hear the emotion in her voice.
‘If you’re in trouble I’ll help you. Please just tell me where you are?’
The question hangs in the air.
‘The police were here. They asked a lot of questions –’
Ana almost drops the phone as she hangs up and fumbles her way through powering it off. The mention of the police has her spooked. She has no idea how these things work in reality but she’s seen enough on television – the cops sitting there with the wife or girlfriend of their suspect, listening in, encouraging her to keep him on the phone. Maybe they’re even tracing the call right now.
Stop it, there can’t have been enough time for any of that yet.
Ana forces herself to take slow deep breaths, calming herself down. Then she shoves the phone back in her pocket and runs on. She runs until she reaches the river and keeps following its path. She doesn’t stop running until she reaches the entrance to the reserve.
Sure enough, the van is gone.
Exhausted, Ana pulls in deep draughts of air and looks up through the trees. The sky is about to open up. She needs to get home but first she needs to get rid of the phone. She heads straight to the river’s edge where she tosses it as far out into the water as she can.
Lonely Girl Page 15
