by Lee Isserow
6
Even though her vision was obscured by the crude blindfold, Lisa could feel eyes on her. The snores of her male kidnapper droned out, interspersed between overlong moments of silence that culminated with a gasp and grunt, before he resumed snoring. It reminded her of the way her father would breath when he slept, his body seemingly forgetting that it needed oxygen, then desperately trying to keep itself alive with a gasp.
Lisa couldn't remember if he had actually been to a doctor, or just self-diagnosed sleep apnoea, but he certainly never did anything about it. She could remember her mother complaining about it in pretty much every phone call until their passing.
Whilst the man was deep in slumber, it was the woman that Lisa could feel watching her. She occasionally shifted in her chair, moved around the room, left occasionally, and when she returned the aroma of cocoa lingered in the air, tracing her path from the door to her seat.
Lisa was feigning sleep. At some point the woman would leave for longer, go to the bathroom or go to bed, and then she'd make her move. She had spent every moment they were out of the room fighting at the bonds on her hands and feet, and just before they came into the room to watch her through the night, it started to feel like it would only take a little bit of manoeuvring to break free of the bonds around her ankles.
A soft clink from somewhere in the room indicated the female kidnapper had put her mug down. An audible sigh followed by the creak of floorboards as she rose to her feet, soft footsteps making their way towards her. A shadow crossed the blindfold, as the woman stood in front of a light opposite Lisa, another creak from the boards as the woman leant down.
Lisa tried to picture the scene in her mind's eye, imagine the layout of the room based on what she had heard, and how long it took the couple to get from the door to their chairs. She continued to pretend to be asleep as the woman moved closer to her, feeling her abductor's breath on her face.
Her eyes closed, she fought the very real need to pass out, her aching body begging to let go of consciousness. Lisa placed the front of her tongue between her teeth and bit it, forcing herself to stay awake, trying to will adrenaline through her exhausted bones, via pain if nothing else would work.
A hand was placed on her belly.
She froze as a chill shot down her spine, suppressing the desire to pull away. Throughout the pregnancy she had noticed that people seemed to think it was fine to touch her, just place an errant hand on her belly without permission. Most of them were friends, and of course some would ask first, but a curious amount of people acted as though her bump was fair game. She'd wanted to grab each of those hands and twist them at the wrist, throw the belly-stroker to the ground using a self-defence technique she could half-remember from a safety class run by someone from Take Back The Night over a decade ago.
Whilst restrained and flat on her back, that wasn't an option. Even if it was, she knew she had likely forgotten the swift movement required to incapacitate a groper. And in her current state, even if she could remember, would be unlikely to carry it out with the grace required. She stayed perfectly still, allowed her kidnapper to rest her hand on her belly and feel the baby's kicks.
A sob, or perhaps a melancholy-tinged chuckle came from the woman's lips, and the hand withdrew. The footsteps arced round the bed, and exited the room. Lisa waited, wanted to be sure the woman had left and the man was still asleep. Waited to hear a door down the hallway close, the click of a lock, then remained still until the next gasp and snore before fighting the ropes on her feet.
They gave way and she tried to sit herself up, belly disagreeing with her decision, but giving in. She turned to her right, and tried to use the combination of shoulder and collar bone to push the blindfold up. It was tied tighter than expected, but after a moment of struggling, she could see more of the floor, and when she lifted her head up, could see ahead of her. It wasn't perfect for an escape, but it would have to do.
Waiting for another snore, she got to her feet, balance a little off, steadying herself before toppling back down, and started to make her way around the room. The man was in the corner, his face against the wall, head back, mouth wide open, lip curled and brow furrowed. A permanent scowl etched upon his face, even though his consciousness was adrift in dream.
Arms still tied behind her back, she waddled round the bed towards the door, trying to keep her footsteps as quiet as possible. Crossing the threshold, she walked down the hallway past a closed door, the sound of running water reverberating off porcelain. She paused for a moment, trying to make out whether it was the woman on the toilet or washing her hands.
Hoping it was still the former, she turned the corner and tried to make her way down the stairs as quietly as possible. Lisa leaned her shoulder against the wall to make the passage downwards easier, rather than rock back and forth with every step on the slim, tall stairs and risk a fall.
As she came near to the bottom of the steps, a rush of water sounded from pipes somewhere in the walls, accompanying the roar of a flush from the toilet, and the groan of an old cistern refilling itself. Lisa hurried to the bottom of the stairs and tilted her head back, looking around for the front door. It lay directly ahead of her. She went towards it as fast as she could, and turned around, her bound hands feeling cool air from a gap where the door met the frame.
Leaning forward and pushing herself up on to tiptoes, she tried to leverage her arms upwards, feeling for a latch, her shoulders aching at the awkward angle they were being wrenched into. She unlocked it, but the door refused to budge. Feeling around desperately, her fingers found a bolt above the latch.
“Where is she?! Wake up!!” the woman shouted back up in the bedroom.
A slap resounded through the house, followed by groans and mumbles that Lisa couldn't make out.
She tugged at the bolt, her joints aching and resisting, begging to be allowed to relax, but she forced them to continue stretching, pulling, tugging at the bolt. It finally gave.
“How'd you not hear a fucking pregnant woman walk past you like a fucking elephant?”
“I was taking a piss!”
Footsteps thudded in the hallway above as Lisa let go of the bolt. A sharp pain ran through her shoulders, all the way across her ribs and upper back. As if she had wrenched the muscles and sockets in ways they should have never been made to move.
Her fingers were reluctant to respond, but she gritted her teeth and forced them to clamber to the latch as she heard feet thundering down the stairs behind her. The latch turned and she stepped back as the door came towards her, rushing inwards with a cool breeze of night air.
Her bare feet found the cold stone pathway, arms falling limp behind as she made her way down towards the street ahead, a ragged hedge lining the small front yard. Just as the road was in sight, a sturdy grip pulled the rope at her hands, rough fingers wrapping around her mouth, pulling her back towards the house.
She tried to scream, but it came out as muffles. Trying to bite the fingers, she got responses of grunts, and the taste of something sharp and dirty, a smell of stale beer and cigarettes on the hand gagging her. Before she knew it, she was back in the house, door slammed behind them.
“That was your fucking fault.” the woman said.
“I was asleep!” the man replied.
“No fucking excuse.”
There was the sound of fabric bring torn. The hand was pulled from her mouth, screams let free for a moment until a more secure gag was tied behind her head with a hard tug, the same around her ankles. Lisa felt coarse, fat fingers reach under her pits, and smaller, warmer hands take her legs.
“You got her?” asked the man.
“Yeah I've fucking got her.”
“Ready?”
“Yeah. Go on.”
The two abductors lifted Lisa's struggling body and took her back up the stairs, dropping her on the uncomfortable spring-laden bead.
“Do we have any more rope?” he asked.
“Yeah, just a sec.”
&n
bsp; Smaller footsteps left the room as the man's larger thudding footsteps paced back and forth at the foot of the bed.
“Don’t struggle love.” he said to Lisa, in a hushed tone. “This’ll all be over soon enough...”
The lighter footsteps returned, and Lisa felt the two of them sit on the bed, tying the rope around the makeshift bonds they had tied downstairs.
“She’s not going anywhere now.” said the man, as the knotting ceased.
Lisa could feel the weight shift as he leant in towards the woman. She heard the fabric of his sweatshirt against her jumper, a hug.
Despite how they talked to each other, how they shouted and screamed, her abductors seemed to be in love, or at least some kind of love.
Lisa sat on the bed, motionless behind them as them embraced, wishing she could nurse her aching shoulders. She might have been caught, but now she knew the layout of the house, and would bide her time for the next chance to escape.
7
I walked into the bank with the empty leather holdall clutched in my hand. Try as I might, I felt self-conscious as I passed the security guard on the way towards the financial advisor's booth, but tried to push those thoughts aside. They'd only make my actions appear more suspicious than they actually were, and what I was about to do wasn't exactly out of the ordinary.
I had called ahead to arrange the appointment, and spent the best part of the morning going through every bag we had in the house. The holdall was the least conspicuous of all the bags stacked in our closet. It was bigger than it needed to be, too big, but the other options weren't big enough, like some kind of goldilocks conundrum around the money I was about to withdraw. Not that I had actually seen fifty thousand pounds in cash with my own eyes, but a casual estimation based on the dimensions of a fifty pound note and the obvious bit of math that there would be a thousand of them made the bag the only option. I had thought too much about it, but in all honesty, I was grateful to be distracted whilst I made those stupid, pointless mental calculations. Arriving at the desk set within the booth walls, a small, plump woman rose to her feet, revealing herself not much taller at her full height than when she was sat down in the chair.
“Miss Weston?” she asked
“Mrs.” I corrected.
“Mrs Weston, of course.” the woman seemed flustered, a bright crimson punctuating her round cheeks as she gestured for me to take a seat.
I sat opposite the small advisor, a tag on her lapel revealing her name as Rachel, and her position as Customer Service Assistant, rather than Financial Advisor.
“My name's Rach, Rachel, I'll be your financial advisor for today.”
“You're not on the phone, Rachel.” I said, adopting the tone I often used for meetings. Asserting dominance, whilst maintaining a false smile that I hoped at least appeared genuine. I had practised it in the mirror, and in front of Lisa, who laughed right in my face for even contemplating a fake smile to manipulate clients. “Is this your first time in the box?” I asked Rachel, eyes narrowing slightly to force wrinkles to crease and become more defined. Attempting to underline my smile as genuine.
“Yeah! Sorry, I'm not usually nervous like this, but Paul, the guy who sits here, he's off sick. Well, not sick, his wife's having the baby induced today, see!” she turned around a photo frame on the desk in which a stout, balding man and his diminutive wife were cradling her belly.
I felt the smile fall from my face as I looked at the happy couple, then reasserted it, curved my lips upwards, narrowing my eyes again.
“So what can I do for you today?” Rachel asked, the embarrassment fading, her big, bright eyes staring at me, peeking through an over-long ginger fringe
“I'd like to close my accounts.” I said, smile steadfast on my lips.
“What? I...” Rachel looked around, panicking. “Accounts plural?” she asked, continuing to talk before the answer came. “But, are you sure you don't want to keep them? We could maybe give you a better offer, or a new account, have you got home insurance?”
“I'm sure.” I said, dominant tone overpowering the girl's desire to verbally expunge.
“Uhhh... Can I just look up your details?”
I gave her all the account information, showed identification and went through the obligatory security questions, then watched the little round woman's eyes widen as she saw the total.
“Do you... uh... want that in a cheque or money order or --”
“-- cash please.” I said, before Rachel had a chance to splutter another word.
“I'm going to just go, I uh, need speak to my supervisor, is that ok?”
I nodded, smile still at my lips, and waited patiently as I watched the small woman make her way over to an older, taller man in a suit. Arms behind his back, fingers interlinked, he bent forward at the waist to allow Rachel to whisper into his ear, occasionally gesturing and pointing at me.
'It's just procedure' I told myself, continuing to smile, waiting a moment before breaking eye contact to turn back to the desk, leaning back in the chair, fingers intertwining as I rested my hands in my lap. Let a silent count of twenty pass before looking back up at Rachel and her boss, raising my eyebrows in what I thought would be a relaxed, but bored fashion. Following it up by putting a little more effort into the smile. Rachel soon returned and sat back opposite me.
“Are you sure I can't say or do anything to keep you as a valued customer? We value your custom, and we'd love to --”
“-- I'm sure, I need the money in cash for a...” I trailed off, the confidence audibly wavering in my voice. “To buy a boat.” I said, assuming the younger woman wouldn't question whether that was how much a boat cost, nor why I couldn't pay with a simple bank transfer.
“That's exciting!” Rachel said, forgetting her professional manner, then catching herself. “But... are you sure we can't offer you a --”
“-- You really can't. I'd like to close my accounts and withdraw all the money, in cash please.”
The smile slowly withdrew, my dominant tone and position reinstated.
Rachel looked at me for a moment, frozen. She shrunk down in the chair, making her even smaller, head barely popping out over the desk. She nodded, typing some details into the computer before walking sheepishly to the security door by the counter, putting a code in to the lock and going directly to an unoccupied register. I watched as she typed yet further commands into the computer that sat adjacent, before she started withdrawing money in stacks.
I diverted my eyes from the small woman and looked ahead at the empty chair. Any remnants of the smile had faded, and I was trying to concentrate on where the rest of the day would take me. This was just a momentary distraction, I needed to be ready for the call, ready to meet my wife's abductor or abductors face to face, and get this whole mess over and done with.
“Here we go!” said Rachel, a tremor in her voice as she sat down in the empty seat, placing stacks of notes on the counter followed by a single twenty pound note, a pound coin, two twenty pence pieces, a fivepence and three pennies. “Would you like to count it?”
I leafed through the bundles of notes, the labels on the straps around them stating there were one hundred fifty pound notes, and the total value of each stack was five thousand pounds.
“That might take me a while.” I said. “Did these come straight out the drawer? Haven't been divvied up into the register?”
“Yeah. All brand new.”
I nodded, imparting that I didn't need to count it, and put the ten stacks directly into the holdall, followed by the extraneous note and change.
I tried to make a mental note to take the twenty and coins rolling around out before I handed the bag over to the kidnappers, so Lisa and I could at least eat for the few days after we went to the police and waited for them to bring the abductors to justice.
It couldn't be that hard a case to crack, I reckoned. They rented or owned the van, they would have gone past so many speed and CCTV cameras, all of London was covered in those number plate reco
gnition systems. All I needed to do was wait to get Lisa back, and we would have the money returned to us.
Not that it mattered, it was only money, but I wasn't going to let those bastards do this to another hapless couple.
Zipping up the holdall, I rose from my seat, putting a hand out for Rachel to shake, out of routine, rather than a genuine desire to thank her.
“Thank you very much.” I said, walking out past the security guard, trying to ignore his glances, trying to cease the paranoid narrative I was building in the back of my mind. Concentrating on the hand-over, I went to the car and put the bag in the passenger seat. This would all be over soon.
8
I spent the rest of the day waiting. Part of me cursed myself for insisting on getting up early, getting the first available appointment at the bank and closing the accounts first thing. It wasn't like I had anything else to do, and it didn't seem like the abductors were in a rush to give me details on the meet. I sat around, shifting the money from one bag to another, realising that it could quite easily fit in most of the handbags we had lying around. It was a waste of time, and I knew it, but there wasn't anything else to do with the day. I was hardly going to head over to the office and toil away under the thumb of an arsehole only to have to step out of a meeting giving the excuse “I just have to take this call with some kidnappers, hand over a ransom, and I'll be right back.”
Some hours were spent trying to sleep, which was totally fruitless. Eating didn't work, everything I consumed sat uncomfortably in a stomach shaken by anxiety, and came out not long after, as if my digestive tract was hastened by the worry, gut insistent on remaining empty for the duration.
The sun was setting by the time the phone finally rang, Lisa's name displayed on the screen, and a cold feeling coming over my whole body. I reached for the handset and swallowed over a lump in my throat before accepting the call.
