Lonely Girl

by Lynne Vincent McCarthy

  The bucket she set up for him also appears untouched, the fresh roll of toilet paper still sitting on the lid exactly as she left it.

  Ana drops the keys onto the top step and begins her descent. Her heavy boots clomp all the way down, dread rising in her gut with each step. She stops when she hits the concrete. She can’t even make out the rise and fall of his breathing.

  Maybe she gave him too much. He said he was in a lot of pain and all she did was give him headache tablets. Maybe whatever was making his head feel like it was going to explode finally did just that.

  Would that be so bad?

  Don’t.

  Ana once again steps over her chalk line. With each step closer she grows more afraid of what she might find under the blanket.

  Please don’t let him be dead.

  Careful what you wish for.

  Ana hears the warning loud and clear but still reaches to pull the blanket back and is still surprised when her legs are violently knocked out from under her. She falls hard, furiously scrambling, trying to fight her way up, but he has her held tight.

  ‘Stop fighting!’

  He throws her back on the mattress, his body pressed down into hers.

  Ana keeps struggling until she gets a hand free. She goes for his eyes but he anticipates her, grabbing her wrist and wrenching her arm back until she screams.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you but I will if you don’t stop.’

  Ana goes limp, panting heavily, her eyes locked with his, their faces so close she can feel the warm wave of his breath on her skin. The chain padlocked around his ankle does nothing to help her now.

  ‘How does it feel?’

  He’s mocking her, his voice surprisingly calm, almost pleasant. Unlike her he looks well rested and obviously pleased his plan worked.

  He has patience, you have to give him that.

  ‘They’ll come looking for me.’

  Ana is terrified but tries not to show it in her voice.

  ‘Will “they”?’

  He gazes down at her, calling her bluff.

  ‘Will they hear you if you call out for them? Go on, I won’t stop you.’

  He’s obviously decided she’s no threat now that he has the upper hand.

  You can use that. Wait for the opening. It’ll come.

  ‘No? Then where are the keys to this fucking chain?’

  He holds her down with one hand while searching her with the other. Ana can’t say a word, gagged by the shock of having his hands on her body. Luke, however, is focused on one thing only.

  ‘Where are they?!’

  Ana’s eyes betray her, flicking to the door. Luke raises his body until he can see the keys on the top step. She sees the opening and grabs it, drilling her fingers into his bruised ribs. His retaliating backhand slams her head so hard into the concrete that for a moment everything goes blank.

  ‘You’re going to get them for me. Understand?’

  Ana is completely dazed. All she can do is nod as he pulls her up and shoves her towards the door.

  She scrambles onto all fours, crawling for the stairs, the concrete unforgiving under her already bruised knees. She feels him shadowing her moves, his hands sliding down from her hips and along her legs, fingers biting into her flesh.

  He soon hits the limit of his chain but he keeps an iron grip on her ankles as she awkwardly clambers up the stairs. The edges cut sharply into her legs and ribs as she too reaches her limit, her body fully extended but still shy of the keys.

  ‘I can’t reach.’

  ‘Try harder.’ He lets go of one leg so she can stretch further, his other hand gripping tighter.

  Her hand settles on the keys but rather than let him have them she throws them wildly out through the door, surprising herself as well as him. He reacts quickly, yanking her violently backwards. She kicks back with her free leg as he reels her in and feels the edge of her heel connect, his whole body recoil.

  A feeling close to elation surges through her as she scrambles her way to the safety of the stairwell, but she stops herself from yelling out in triumph. Instead, she taunts him with silent defiance, lingering behind her chalk line at the very edge of his reach.

  She’s hurt him, she can see it in his struggle to get up and then to remain upright. She can also see he’s furious, not just at her, but at himself for having underestimated her.

  ‘How does it feel?’ she asks.

  Luke remains silent as he moves towards her, the chain dragging across the concrete behind him. He can’t reach her, she knows that, but is still relieved when he’s stopped a good arm’s reach short of the chalk line. His gaze drills into her but she refuses to back down.

  ‘Tell me something … How do you explain the food and the toilet to your “friends” upstairs who think I’m still unconscious?’

  Ana balks, not yet ready to let go of them. Her friends.

  ‘I didn’t have to explain anything. They had to go away and –’

  ‘Left you alone with a killer?’

  It’s a weak attempt to keep her story going and they both know it.

  ‘Did you have imaginary friends when you were a kid too?’

  He’s smiling. He’s actually smiling.

  ‘You’re not very good at this, are you?’

  He points to the ceiling, mocking her now and enjoying it a little too much.

  ‘There’s only ever been one set of footsteps … There is no one else. Just you. And me.’

  Ana doesn’t have to say anything for him to know it’s true.

  ‘Is there even a dead girl? Or did you make her up too?’

  Ana’s eyes flick to the newspaper, still lying where she dropped it in their struggle, by the mattress behind him. That’s her evidence. Her way of regaining control.

  Ana sees him waver ever so slightly before snatching the paper up.

  He’s turned slightly away so she can’t see his face but he’s gone very still. She waits, holding her breath, not taking her eyes off him as he studies the face smiling back at him from the front page.

  He remembers her.

  He thrusts the paper aside.

  ‘I don’t know that woman.’

  Neither did I at first, Ana thinks. She also thinks there’s something a little too adamant in his reaction and, if Ana is not wrong, a flash of vulnerability. Maybe even fear. Ana pulls the identikit poster out of her back pocket and unfolds it, thrusting it out to him. ‘What about him? Do you know him?’

  Luke barely glances at it but when he speaks again it’s from a much more subdued place.

  ‘Help me out here because I’m trying to understand … If this is about justice for her then why not hand me over to the cops? Why not let them decide if I’m guilty? Why lock me up down here?’

  ‘Because you were hurt and …’ She stops, silently grasping for words.

  He’s looking squarely at her now.

  ‘You’re not sure, are you?’

  He knows he’s nailed it, can see it in her face.

  Ana can’t stay still any longer. She feels his eyes follow as she approaches the tray, intent on getting out of there.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asks. ‘Your real one.’

  Don’t.

  She could lie again and almost does – her mother’s name is on the tip of her tongue – but something makes her tell the truth.

  ‘Ana.’

  Well done! Now he knows your name and can describe the place he’s held. Idiot!

  Does it matter, really? By the time they work it out – if they work it out – she and River will be long gone.

  She sees his eyes drawn back to the newspaper.

  ‘This … Rebecca … She was a friend of yours?’

  Ana shakes her head.

  Luke frowns.

  ‘So, if you don’t know her and if you’re not some crazy stalker, what is this then? Are you some sort of man-hating vigilante out for revenge? Did someone hurt you?’

  ‘No, they didn’t,’ she protests. ‘I�
��m not –’

  ‘Look, I don’t know what your game is here but whatever it is it’s a little bit too freaky. Even for me.’

  What does he mean by that? Even for me?

  ‘Let me go now and I promise I won’t tell anyone what you’ve done. It’ll stay between you and me.’ His tone is gentle now, infuriatingly sure that he can handle her.

  ‘It’s a good deal. You should take it before one of us gets hurt.’

  Ana knows he’s going to say anything he can to derail her but still it rocks her, playing as it does into a very real fear. That one she keeps secreted away, filed within the strict order she maintains over her life. Or used to.

  The fear that it’s only a matter of time before she goes batshit crazy.

  Ana reaches for the tray, quickly sliding it back to her side of the chalk line.

  ‘Where are you going, Ana?’ he says, deliberately, and for the first time, forming her name on his lips.

  ‘I … you need to eat and –’

  ‘You need to sedate me again?’

  Ana remains there, crouched over the tray.

  Something doesn’t look right. It takes her a moment to work out what it is. She moves the wrapped sandwiches and the bottle aside. It’s not there.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Where’s what?’

  Luke is looking back at her blankly.

  ‘The plastic spoon for the yoghurt. Where is it?’

  ‘I haven’t gone anywhere near that tray. Are you sure there was a spoon?’

  Ana is frozen to the spot.

  ‘Maybe you left it in your pocket.’

  Knocking you off your feet wasn’t his only surprise then.

  She stares back at him, her body rigid.

  ‘Come on, Ana, I thought you wanted to play.’

  Ana leaves the tray where it is and tries not to run as she heads for the stairs, acutely aware of his eyes following.

  ‘I know you’ve been watching me,’ he calls after her. ‘I can feel you through the door.’

  His words have stopped her in the doorway.

  ‘Is it really that hard for you to get a man that you have to run one down?’

  Ana forces herself to look back at him. More than that, to meet his gaze. He might be smart but this confidence of his could be his weakness. He doesn’t realise he’s given himself away. He said he has no memory of that night but he’s just admitted that he knows she hit him with her car.

  What else does he remember? More than he wants her to know, that much is certain. ‘You have no idea who I am or what I’m capable of.’

  ‘No, I don’t, but I want to.’

  He’s good.

  But he’s still the one chained up down here. Ana can’t stop herself smiling at that, even though every part of her wants to collapse right now.

  ‘I’m the girl who no one knows in the house where no one comes. Anything could happen here and no one will ever find out. In here, you don’t exist because I barely exist.’

  She doesn’t wait to see the effect of her words. She’s too intent on making sure the last words are hers. As she shuts the door she feels it burst out of her, the panic she’s been holding down since he grabbed her. She also realises now how hurt she is. She holds a hand to her burning cheek where a nasty bruise is already blooming. With her other hand she feels the back of her head. A massive lump is coming up from where her head hit the concrete.

  Ana looks back at the door, every part of her wanting to look through the peephole.

  He can feel you.

  Ana reluctantly steps away. She makes her way back to the kitchen but stops in her tracks as she steps onto the floorboards, remembering he can also hear her movements through the floor. If he thinks she’s up here then he won’t be paying too much attention to the door.

  Stomping loudly, she makes her way down to the bedroom where she quietly slips her boots off. Then she quickly creeps back up the hallway and through the kitchen in her bare feet.

  *

  The chain drags along the ground as Luke stalks like a caged animal in and out of view, until he suddenly stops.

  He knows you’re there.

  No, he doesn’t.

  Ana holds her breath, ready to pull away if she needs to, but his focus is elsewhere. She watches as he leans into the shadows to pick up something.

  River’s ball.

  Ana is furious, her first instinct is to burst in and rip it away from him but she checks it and waits.

  She watches him return to the mattress, seeing the effort it takes to ease his injured body down. Straight away he hides the ball between the mattress and the pillar, no doubt planning how he’ll use it as a weapon next time she enters. A hard throw at her head could startle her long enough to give him an advantage but even so there’s nothing he can do without the key to the padlock securing his chain. She’ll make sure to leave the keys in the garage from now on.

  If he gets hold of her again he could seriously hurt her. Could even kill her without stopping to think that in the process he’d be killing himself, a slow death by starvation chained to a pillar while her body rots away beside him. She’s not assuming this man is rational enough to think before he acts. He’s a trapped animal and that makes him unpredictable.

  He continues to sit there brooding, absently rubbing at the spot on his side where Ana jabbed him. Ana is about to pull away when she sees him reach across the mattress for the newspaper. Then he does something unexpected. He gently smooths his hand over it and sits there gazing intently down at Rebecca’s picture. Ana can’t see his face through the peephole but the shift in his body language tells her everything.

  He may not want to admit it to Ana, perhaps not even to himself, but he remembers her. Ana sees him looking up at the ceiling, listening for her movements from above. She pulls back before he looks at the door.

  *

  Ana digs around inside the freezer until she finds an old, nearly empty bottle.

  Vodka for breakfast. That’ll do nicely.

  She lowers herself down to the floor next to River’s bed and chokes back the remains in one hit.

  From the monitor she can hear the now familiar scraping of the chain against the concrete. He’s on the move again, as agitated as she is. She holds the cold bottle to her burning face as she looks around her kitchen. It’s as big a mess as she feels. Her meticulous order shattered. Is it weird that she feels like the wronged one, she wonders, when she brought all this on herself by putting him down there in the first place?

  River nudges her hand, sensing her distraction and wanting reassurance. Ana looks down at him, seeing how weak and fragile he is. She leans close, resting her forehead against his.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay …’ she mumbles, even though none of this is okay.

  They both jump as violent banging echoes up from below. He’s hitting the chain against something. Trying to break it. The sound of it is punctuated by equally violent outbursts from Luke himself. He’s in a rage.

  Ana propels herself over to the kitchen bench where she snatches up River’s medicine. She notices her hand is shaking as she returns to his side and drops some of the liquid onto his tongue. She doesn’t even hesitate to do the same for herself.

  Luke is smart enough to know he can no longer pretend he doesn’t know Rebecca but Ana can no longer pretend what she’s doing here is okay either. Ana and River simultaneously look at the monitor as the sound from below stops as abruptly as it started. A long silence falls before it’s replaced by another sound. The slow scraping of plastic against concrete – at least that’s what it sounds like.

  Ana knows what he’s up to. He’s making a weapon. A shiv, they call it in prison slang. She knows all about that from her teenage addiction to TV crime dramas. Made from anything at hand – anything that can be sharpened to a point – a splinter of wood, a toothbrush … a plastic spoon. He is a prisoner, after all, so she shouldn’t be surprised when he acts like one. Isn’t that exactly what she’s been p
ushing him towards?

  She can’t believe that just a few hours ago she had almost convinced herself he could be innocent. He’s not behaving like an innocent man now.

  As the sound continues Ana gets up. All she really wants to do right now is crawl into bed and lose herself in sleep but she knows she won’t sleep. Not in this house.

  ‘Come.’

  River follows her, both of them limping for the front door.

  TWENTY-NINE

  She’s being pursued. Hunted like an animal.

  She felt him out there – stalking her – from the moment she left the house but she has the advantage now. He’s in her forest. It’ll be easy to lose him here and once lost he’ll never find his way out. The never-ending forest protecting its own.

  Why then can she still hear him? Like a wild boar barrelling through the undergrowth, slowly but surely gaining on her.

  She’s not moving quickly enough. She’s barely moving at all.

  She spots the branch blocking the path but can’t lift her feet. She can’t avoid it. Falling, landing hard. Flat on her face.

  As she struggles to get back up it hits her. This body isn’t hers. Her arms stiff, hands useless. She can’t even bend her elbows. All she can do is lie still, a blank-faced mannequin gazing up at the night sky, a crack running across her cheek from where she hit the ground.

  It should hurt but it doesn’t. All she feels is emptiness and the terrible knowledge that she is nothing more than a hollow hard shell.

  All at once he’s there, a dark shadow filling her vision. She still can’t see his face.

  *

  Seven miles of white sand stretch out either side of Ana, who is curled up fast asleep on River’s car blanket. The water is flat and crystal clear, the beach protected by the distant shores of the bay – the far-off headland that leads to Port Arthur on one side, Bruny Island somewhere in the distance on the other. A glimpse of ocean lays in-between and at the very end of that the wilds of Antarctica.

  Beside Ana, River sits upright. Standing watch. His eyes follow a dog running with its owner along the shoreline, tracking their silhouettes until they disappear from view. He casts a glance at Ana before resting his head down on his paws but a moment later is up on his feet, limping slowly towards the water.