by G H Mockford
Thanks to the removal of the stone, Georgia heard the key and the door to next room open. Through the fireplace, Georgia saw the light appear on Felicity’s floor. Slowly, so as to make no noise, Georgia left the chair and crawled to the opening.
He had a bright lantern in one hand and a briefcase in the other. Thanks to the light, Georgia could see what he was wearing for the first time – jeans, white trainers and a pullover. So normal. The size and angle of the opening meant she couldn’t see his face. Georgia cursed, but a part of her was glad for small mercies.
She wanted to call out to Felicity but knew it would only expose their secret. Georgia had promised Felicity they would escape, and she meant it.
‘Good evening, Felicity. How’s the leg?’ he asked her. He was greeted by silence.
Through the hole, Georgia saw him walk to the side of the bed. He put the bag on the floor.
‘How’s your leg?’ he asked again. There was no answer. The sharp sound of the slap made Georgia jump and Felicity scream. ‘So you were only asleep. Good, it would be a shame if you died. I think it’s time we did something about that leg, don’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’ Felicity asked, the fear palpable in every syllable.
‘For your own welfare, I think it needs to come off.’
Felicity screamed.
Fifty
Georgia would have jumped at the terrified sound if she weren’t so paralysed with fear. Her out of control breathing sounded loud in the confines of the firebox. Worried that he would hear, Georgia started to shuffle back when he picked up his bag and walked towards her. Georgia froze again. It was only the sound of Felicity’s continued screams that drowned out her own short, sharp breaths.
His chin appeared in the opening as he bent down and placed the bag on the floor in front of the fire. He reached inside it.
Georgia stared at the bag. It was an old-fashioned doctor’s case, used to carry bottles of drugs and other paraphernalia. Fraser had one for his veterinary practice.
‘Do we need to bother with anesthesia?’ he said. ‘Painkillers perhaps?’ His hand came back out of the bag. It clutched a small, brown bottle as if it was a delicate egg, and a syringe. He stood and returned to Felicity.
It didn’t matter how much Georgia pressed her face against the cold marble hearth, she still couldn’t see his head through the opening. If she could get a little lower, perhaps. But it was impossible.
‘Here, be a dear and hold this,’ he said holding out the bottle to Felicity’s strapped up hand.
Georgia watched the poor woman as she lay, confined to the bed, and shook her head.
‘No, I suppose not,’ he answered. Then he raised the two objects above his head. They both disappeared from Georgia’s line of sight for a moment and then he returned the bottle to his pocket and then tapped the syringe before squirting some of its contents out. ‘We don’t want you getting any air into your blood stream, do we? Can’t risk a heart attack or something before the work’s done.’
‘No, no, please no,’ Felicity begged, her voice hoarse from the screaming.
‘Now come on, be a brave girl. It’s got to be done. If that leg doesn’t come off, you’ll get gangrene or something, and then you’ll die a slow, agonizing death. You don’t want that do you?’
‘No,’ Felicity wailed.
Georgia shook her head. How did he manage to make everything sound so rational? So reasonable?
‘That’s what I thought,’ he continued and then slid the needle into Felicity’s immobilized arm.
‘Leave her alone, you bastard,’ Georgia whispered, feeling some determination coming back to her. But it was useless. She was useless. There wasn’t anything she could do, nothing that wouldn’t result in her being in the same situation.
All Georgia could see was Felicity’s hair. She must have known Georgia was watching and rolled away. The poor woman didn’t want Georgia to see her pain, her anguish. Maybe she was afraid she would give her away if she glanced over at the fireplace even for a moment.
‘You’re braver than you think,’ Georgia whispered, unsure if she was talking to herself or Felicity, and then clamped her eyes shut to try to hold back the tears.
‘Now, let’s get the instruments ready while we wait for the drugs to work,’ he said.
Georgia didn’t freeze this time or even flinch. If she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her. The sound of his footsteps, and then of his rummaging in his bag, forced Georgia to open her eyes again. Her curiosity, as grim as it was, was just too strong.
He pulled out a small rusty saw with a curved wooden handle. Georgia had seen her mother use a similar one in her garden to prune the trees around the pool and tennis court. A pile of rags followed. Picking them up, he returned to the side of the bed.
‘Right, let’s make a start. No need to scrub up or even wear gloves.’ He held up the rusted blade and ran his fingertip over the teeth. ‘Sharper than it looks.’
Felicity screamed again. There were no swear words. No names. Just pure, unleashed fear.
When the scream finally became nothing but a whimper, he spoke. ‘Wait. I almost forgot.’ He returned to the bag. Again his chin was exposed, and Georgia saw him smile as he removed more objects from the bag. She’d no idea what they were, but once he returned to the bed, he connected the parts together.
It was an iPod and speakers.
‘Fabulous piece of kit this,’ he said, though Georgia had no clue to whom. Was it Felicity? Himself? Did he know she was watching after all? ‘They have their own battery to power an amplifier. It’s surprising the amount of volume they produce.’
Georgia shook her head in despair, or incredulity – she wasn’t sure.
He truly was insane.
He brought the iPod closer to his face. Georgia heard a faint tone and then he said, ‘Play playlist, blood work.’ The iPod repeated the words back to him and then the music started.
Carmina Burana by Carl Orff.
Georgia recognized it straight away. Fraser played it all the time. He would stand in the living room and pretend to conduct the orchestra. Was she utterly surrounded by nutters?
‘Brace yourself, Felicity, this might hurt a bit,’ he yelled over the sound of the opera and went about his bloody work.
Georgia moved away. Felicity’s wails became unbearable, and Georgia’s only hope was that someone would hear, either the terrible cries of pain or the opera singing, and come to their aid.
But no one did.
In the end, Felicity fell silent, and Georgia presumed it had all become too much and she’d passed out.
Despite the sickness in her stomach, Georgia reached for the sandwiches and ate.
Fifty-One
WEDNESDAY Time Unknown
It was light when Georgia opened her eyes. The usual wave of sickness washed over her but she couldn’t be sure if it were the after effects of the sandwiches or the memories of what she’d witnessed.
A new plate of food was left for her and a drink. Georgia rooted through them even though she didn’t feel hungry. Jam today. So thick in places it stained the bread.
A cry escaped her lips and her manacled hand clamped over her mouth. Buried at the centre of the pile was a severed finger. Its nail was ragged and chipped.
Georgia threw the plate away sending its contents flying. Oh my god. Was it even jam? Georgia thought. Then, feeling terrible about her selfishness, her mind turned to Felicity. Was it her finger? He was only meant to be taking her leg off.
Georgia stopped and examined what she’d just thought. Had she become so used to the horrors now that it all seemed so normal? Only meant to be taking her leg off. Was this how it started for Felicity? Was she now on the same slippery slope into insanity as her housemate and captor?
No, she couldn’t be. Not yet. If she were, she wouldn’t have thought anything of that one, stray thought. It would have slipped past unnoticed.
Georgia rose from her chair and made her way to the fir
eplace, kicking the offending sandwiches out of the way as she went.
The mantelpiece felt cold through her clothes as she leaned against it to steady herself. After a few deep breaths, Georgia lowered herself to the floor and looked through the open firebox.
She vomited until there wasn’t anything left to bring up and her rib cage ached. A bloody pile of severed limbs were stacked like a pile of wood next to the fire. A pale, stiff hand pointed at her accusingly, the middle finger missing.
Georgia fell back and scrambled away, but all she got was a framed view of the bed. If she thought Felicity looked like a corpse yesterday, today she was certain.
The grey sheet was now almost entirely a red-brown, reminding her of the wall of a coffee shop.
Felicity was dead. Surely?
As Georgia sat there staring, one image filled her mind. Felicity turned and looked at her and said, ‘You are his favorite now.’
Georgia got to her feet. She had to get the hell out of here. Now.
She ran to the door.
The chain snapped tight and almost tore her arm out of its socket, leaving her fingers tantalizingly close to the swooping door handle. It seemed to be smiling at her. Mocking her. Enjoying her fear and panic.
Georgia turned and faced the plate on the wall to which she was attached. Taking the chain in both hands, she pulled.
And pulled.
The fitting in the wall didn’t budge.
‘Think, Georgia. Think,’ she said, as she went back to the chair and picked up the can of pop that had been left for her. Cherryade in a bright red can. Was this another of his cruel, twisted ideas? It was sealed. How could it be filled with anything else?
Georgia popped the lid and slowly brought the can to her lips. It smelled of sugar and chemicals designed to replicate cherries.
She took a small sip, ready to spit it out.
It was cherryade.
She swilled it around her mouth and spat out the taste and remains of her vomit into the bucket. Then she drank the whole can down while she wondered how she would clean up the stinking mess by the fire.
Georgia could swear she could feel the sugar rushing through her blood. She would need the energy. It felt good.
She sat on the floor underneath the bracket on the wall and gathered up the chain.
And pulled.
Her arms. Her legs. Her stomach muscles. Everything went into the effort until her body shook as the lactic acid flooded her body, rendering the sugar hit all but useless.
Nothing had happened. The chain was still resolutely attached to the wall.
Felicity was right. It was impossible to escape.
Georgia allowed herself to drop back to the floor, her strained stomach muscles screaming in pain.
And cried.
Even if she were his favorite now, he would eventually grow tired of her, and despite what she said to Felicity, there was no way she was going to degrade herself by…seeing to his needs.
She had to find another way to escape. She looked across at her plate of spilled food. She could starve herself to death. Georgia got up and stamped on the red-stained offerings, imagining each attack was on his face, or his balls. It was the least he deserved.
Then she stamped on the plate, which had somehow miraculously had survived the earlier attack. It cracked and split into knife-like shards.
Georgia stopped.
She stared down at the fragments, so bright against the dark wood flooring.
Her trembling fingers picked up the longest, straightest piece and brought it up to her eyes. She examined it. The other piece had worked on the wall. Her wrists were softer. Easy to puncture and tear.
Eyes fixed on her way out of the nightmare, Georgia went to the window with the broken shutter. She opened the broken side first and lowered it to the floor, her exhausted arm muscles protesting as she did so. Placing the shard on the windowsill, she opened the second.
‘If I’m going to die, I’m going to die in the warmth of the sun,’ she said. Then, taking the shutter in both hands, she rammed it against the boards that covered the window.
After fifteen blows, she’d not made any impact and was about to give up when she realized this if she held the shutter horizontally she could ram one board at a time.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The sound reverberated up her arms and around the room. After six, powerful blows, the first board popped off. Bright sunshine streamed in and onto her face. It felt warm on her chilled skin, and despite her grim intention, it filled her with life and energy. Georgia continued battering the window until an area of light large enough for her to lie down in covered the floor.
Her hand trembled as she took her destiny off the windowsill and sat down in the blessed pool of light. Georgia lifted her face and looked at the sun. It was low in the autumn sky.
When she looked down, her left arm was resting on her leg, her wrist exposed as if subconsciously she’d prepared herself. As Georgia brought it to her wrist, the end of the homemade sacrificial dagger danced around.
She smiled with grim satisfaction. She’d lost, but so had he.
The first bead of blood appeared and a sharp pain shot through Georgia’s wrist. She was trembling so much she’d not realized how close the point was. She willed her hand to push the shard deeper inside her, but it refused to obey. She tried to push her arm up with her leg, but that wouldn’t move either.
Tears rolled down her face as she choked out the words, ‘I love you, Mum. And you Fr…Dad. Goodbye.’
The fear was almost as unbearable as the pain as another, larger bead of blood appeared.
Then, like an angel from above, a dog barked outside.
Fifty-Two
The instrument of death slipped from Georgia’s sweating fingers and clattered to the floor.
If there was a dog, there might be a dog owner.
Georgia clamped her hand over her wrist, ran to the window and looked outside for the first time. There were the remains of what had once probably been a beautiful ornamental garden, just like the one she’d imagined. The once cultivated plants and shrubs now grew wild and out of control. Patches of the gravel pathways were covered in grass where it had spread its roots, reclaiming the land that humanity had taken from it.
A quick search of the garden revealed no sign of a canine or a human.
Georgia’s heart sank, and not just at the lack of contact. She could see why this was the perfect place to hold people captive. Judging from what she could see through the bare trees, she was in the middle of nowhere. Fields and woods surrounded the house for as far as she could see. Separating the garden from the outside world was a brick wall, the top of which was bristling with razor wire.
Georgia went back to searching for the elusive animal. There were birds in the sky and a couple of squirrels in a nearby tree. But there was no dog. Anywhere.
She turned from the window. She must have imagined it. Was her fear playing tricks on her mind? Was it her soul telling her to hold on? Or was it—
There it was again.
It was the bark of a dog. A big one too, not a silly little thing like her mother’s pug.
‘Hello!’ Georgia shouted out the window. ‘Is there anybody there?’
A handful of birds flew up out of a nearby maple tree and at first Georgia thought she’d been the one to startle them, but then a Labrador came bounding out of the undergrowth.
Georgia allowed herself a smile. ‘Up here, boy,’ she called, leaning out of the window as far as the chain would allow her. The metal around her wrist dug into her.
The dog looked up at her, its tongue lolling out of its mouth, with a daft expression on its face. It barked playfully.
‘You on your own, boy?’ she said, and then muttered to herself, ‘Please don’t be on your own.’
The dog barked again and Georgia was certain she heard a quiet voice somewhere far off, maybe beyond the wall. ‘Hello? Is anyone there? I need help,’ Georgia called out, her eyes se
arching the bushes and trees. A strange mixture of desperation and hope filled her. Her legs went weak and she was forced to lean against the windowsill to keep herself up. ‘Your dog’s in the garden. I’m in the house. Please, help me.’
‘Jake?’ came a woman’s voice. Either she was shouting louder than before or she was getting closer. The woman called the dog’s name again and Georgia’s little ray of hope turned and scampered away, leaping away through the plants towards the familiar voice of its owner.
‘No, come back! Come back,’ Georgia wailed as the rustling and barking died away into the tangled forest. The garden wall was at least twenty metres away she guessed. There was still time to get the stranger’s attention. ‘Help,’ she shouted one more time and turned from the window.
The chance had gone, like a ship passing a desert island.
Georgia slid down the wall until she ended up a huddled mass on the floor. Then came the sound of crashing about in the undergrowth and the dog returned. Georgia’s heart soared again and she leapt to her feet.
‘Jake, you are a naughty boy,’ came the woman’s voice. She sounded old. All that Georgia worried about was would the old dear be able to find her way inside and then navigate her way through the twisted trees?
Georgia heard a crunch of gravel and she turned her head away from the dog and down at the reclaimed path. It was an old woman as she’d guessed. She wore a headscarf over her hair, a Barbour jacket and green wellies. She looked well-to-do, but if they were near Papplewick as Felicity – poor Felicity – had thought, that would make sense. You had to be loaded to live out here – just like Dad.
‘Hello, I’m up here,’ Georgia called down.
‘Good gracious,’ the old woman said, lifting her hand above her glasses. ‘What are you doing up there?’
Georgia laughed. Her rescuer sounded like the queen.
‘Funny is it? You frightened the life out of me. Come down from there, it’s dangerous. This house is up for demolition.’
