Stolen Girl

by Sarah A. Denzil

  I gently nod my head, and I think he takes this to mean compliance. What it actually means is that I’m distracted by thoughts about how to sneak back out of the house at 3 a.m. without the police seeing me. I’m now convinced that they’re watching me. Amy could be a threat to me, she could come to my house. They know this. They want to catch her. But Amy isn’t going to do anything if she knows the police are involved. Does she have a camera set up somewhere near my house? Another trail cam, perhaps? Or is she just following me?

  It’s just after 1.30 by the time I get home. I pace the kitchen, chewing my lip. I’ll have to walk, it’s the only way. Driving would attract too much attention from the surveillance team. But the walk will take at least an hour, which means I need to leave now.

  I grab one of the sharpest knives from the kitchen and tuck it into a belt loop on my jeans. I put on a dark jacket with a hood and slip my phone into the pocket. The wire and earpiece have already been removed. But I remove the GPS tracker from my wrist and place it on the kitchen table. Then I slip through the hallway to the back door. There’s one camera at the back of the house, but I know the range, and I know where to step to avoid being seen.

  The garden nightlight has been broken for years, so I don’t have to worry about that. Still, I hurry to the opposite end of the garden, staying close to the fence where the camera can’t see me. It’s at the wall at the end of the garden where I need to be the most careful. I pull myself up the wall. It’s a five-foot drop onto the pavement below, not something I would normally have the nerve to do, but I let my body slide down while bending my knees as I land, taking the pressure off my ankles. Even with this method, the jolt sends me toppling forward and I almost fall to my knees. When I stand straight, I shake out both legs, paranoid about twisted ankles, but neither seems injured. I sigh in relief.

  The village is silent in the early hours of the morning. Sticking to side streets, it doesn’t take me long to find the path that leads around the woods towards the Wetherington Estate. For the first time in weeks I feel cold in my clothes, despite the hooded jacket. It’s too big for me now, bought at another time, and I shiver inside the long sleeves that cover my fingers. I wrap my arms around my body and begin to feel as though this is happening to someone else. A character from a movie. Someone who can fight and win every time. A cynical part of my brain considers the possibility that I used up all of my luck when I saved Aiden from Jake.

  Away from the road, I use the torch app on my smartphone. But I keep it directed on the ground to guide my feet, rather than swinging it around and attracting anyone watching. Then I stop. I’m barely five minutes away from the field, all too aware of how alone I am in this. My heart is heavy as I send Aiden the text message I’d planned before I left.

  I’m meeting Amy at 3 a.m. on the Wetherington Estate.

  If I don’t come home, try to track my phone.

  I’m going to get Gina back. I love you.

  As soon as it’s sent, I break into a jog. This gets my blood pumping and my body warm. Soon enough I’m climbing into the field and striding towards the tree. I daren’t allow the light to pick out the great oak in case I see her, or worse, another note. Another hoop to jump through. I break out into a sprint, desperate for it all to be over. The sheep disperse in a panic.

  The place is almost completely silent when I arrive. My breath is ragged, and the leaves rustle above me, but there’s nothing else.

  ‘Amy,’ I say breathlessly to the whispering leaves. ‘Where are you?’

  I’m here, I think I made it. Give me my daughter.

  But there’s no one here and no note. I take a slow, measured walk around the circumference of the oak. It confirms that I’m alone.

  My fist thuds against the bark of the tree once. Twice. Behind there is a third thud; the sound of feet hitting the ground.

  Before I can turn around, a skinny hand circles my arm. I attempt to twist away, but the person continues to grip my forearm. Before I can react, they push up my jacket sleeve and something cold and metal is forced against my skin. It pinches me and I let out a cry of surprise. When I look down at my wrist, there’s a silver hoop around it. I try to pull it away and see the other arm connected to mine via a handcuff. In the split second before I find the person’s face, I imagine that Stevenson has arrested me for disobeying his orders. But it isn’t Stevenson. It’s her, and she’s handcuffed to me. The rustling of the leaves wasn’t just wind, Amy was hiding up there in the dark, and she dropped from one of the branches to surprise me.

  She yanks me forward. ‘Come on.’ I realise there’s some wildness in my eyes when she adds, ‘If you try anything, all it will do is delay being reunited with your daughter. Don’t even bother.’

  I grit my teeth. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I’ll show you if you walk with me.’ She pulls me again and then stops. ‘Wait a minute.’ Her free hand pats down my jeans, from hip to ankle. It takes all of my willpower not to grab her by the throat, to try and take control, but she has my daughter in a secret location. If I hurt Amy I might never know where Gina is. Eventually Amy’s hand discovers the knife. ‘Still playing with knives, I see.’ She removes it from the belt loop on my jeans and tosses it over to the tree. Then she pulls my phone out of my pocket and does the same. ‘The instructions were pretty simple, Emma. But then I could never teach your son any listening skills, either.’

  I bite my tongue and follow her as she begins to walk. The cuff binds us; we’re fused by metal. Is hers chafing as much as mine? She doesn’t seem to notice as we walk.

  ‘Where is she, Amy? Have you hurt her? Just tell me she’s OK. Please.’

  The world isn’t dark enough for me to miss the smirk that lifts the side of her mouth. The dread comes to me with a cold, prickling sensation that spreads over my skin. What has she planned for us?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  AMY

  Every now and then our arms brush together, the waterproof material of her jacket crinkling against mine. In this late hour, every sound is amplified. It feeds my adrenaline.

  Soon I’ll bring her to you. That’s the next step of the plan. Soon Emma will understand why this has to happen, why it was inevitable that we would end here.

  But I must admit, I didn’t expect Emma to go to the police. When I saw DCI Stevenson enter her house, I knew I had to adjust the plan. That was why I used the second note. I knew Emma would come back alone if the first time didn’t work. But the police are on high alert now, which may make leaving Bishoptown even trickier.

  ‘Where is my daughter?’ Emma asks. She yanks at the cuffs, almost knocking me off balance.

  I grab her by the jacket and pull her closer.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you to behave yourself?’

  She cringes away from me, away from my lips at her ear.

  Not even Emma will be able to get out of these handcuffs. I have to remind myself that I’m still in control, that she will be with you soon, that I’ve done everything I can to make this plan work. And it will work, I have faith in it. There’s a secret weapon in my pocket.

  ‘We need to go,’ I say. But before we go, I retrieve the switchblade hidden in my coat pocket and brandish it close to her ribs. ‘If you try to scream, I won’t hesitate.’

  Emma nods.

  Everything is under control. I place the knife back in my pocket.

  I lead the way and we stumble along in the dark because I won’t use a torch. I need my free arm to subdue Emma in case she tries anything. Physically, we’re pretty evenly matched, though I believe I’m stronger from the gardening and hunting back at the chapel. Emma has lost weight, but she has the ferocious desire to save her child.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asks.

  I don’t answer her.

  ‘How have you done all of this alone? Do you have some little protégée under your wing, like Hugh controlled you? How have you organised this?’

  Again, I don’t answer.

  Eventually, the terrain
becomes slippery and Emma focuses her attention on making sure she doesn’t fall. I keep my eyes on the trees, searching for the tiny clues I left myself when I planned this walk. Very thin swatches of yellow fabric, ripped from a shirt, tied around whatever will be visible to me in the dark. There’s just enough moonlight to pick them out and allow me to follow my way to where I parked the car.

  Emma is silent as we come out the other side of the woods next to the road. I see her head move from side to side as she searches for help.

  ‘Remember that I will stab you if you scream. You’ll never see your daughter again.’

  My own heart is pounding now. The car is parked in the driveway of an old, unused property five minutes up the road. I decided to use that spot because not everyone knows it’s empty. If I’m right, then the police would drive straight past the car, assume it belongs to the homeowner, and not even think to check it. But what I can’t predict is whether the police will pull me over as I drive out of the village. I know the less travelled route, and I know the tiny country roads that they might not, but it still means relying on a little bit of luck.

  ‘Whatever you have planned,’ Emma says. There’s a change in her voice, she’s talking more smoothly, more quietly. It’s not quite patronising, but it’s close. ‘It isn’t too late to stop it. I know what I did to you and I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I went to your house and I saw the attic. I know that your home life was more complicated than anyone realised.’

  I reach inside my jacket pocket and wrap my fingers around the knife.

  ‘I think your aunt and uncle were probably horrible people, just like your mother.’ She glances at me, expecting a reaction. I give her none. ‘Listen to me, Amy. I can be on your side if you want me to. I’ll help you get out of Bishoptown and away from the police if you let me and Gina go. I know that you’re a product of your circumstances and I think that with some therapy you could move beyond this. You can get better.’

  I shake my head. She’s clueless.

  ‘Aiden is improving every day. You don’t see the struggles, do you? I’m with him and I see the nightmares. I see the flares in his temper and the way he doesn’t quite understand people. He’s not the boy he was when Hugh took him but he’s a good person with a bright future. You could be that too.’

  She’s breathless when she stops talking, and her eyes flick across to me every few seconds. That was all she had, an attempt to reason with me. Now she’s quiet because she’s scared. She wanted to control this situation, but she’s failed. I’m the one in control. Finally.

  I see the crumbled wall and the mossy, cracked drive. We’ve walked a long way and now the world’s colour palette is turning from black to a deep, royal blue. Soon the birds will start singing and the sun will rise. We need to move fast.

  It takes us around twenty minutes to walk to the car, which is not easy to spot unless you know it’s there. Emma seems taken aback by the vehicle tucked away. Perhaps she thought I was leading her to a hiding place in the woods.

  ‘How long have you been planning this?’ she asks.

  I shrug. ‘A long time.’

  ‘Before Hugh died?’

  I don’t tell her that her guess is right.

  ‘Is that your car?’ Emma asks.

  I nod.

  ‘I saw you following me once. I thought it was a photographer.’

  I can almost hear the internal conflict of her mind. She was this close to catching me. But also this far away.

  A blackbird chirrups. A reminder to hurry up. I unlock the car and then gently reach into my jeans pocket. Jacket pocket for the knife. Jeans for the other thing.

  With one hand, I thumb the cap off the top. Emma doesn’t see it coming when I plunge the needle into her neck and depress the syringe.

  She yelps.

  Shhhh, I tell her.

  ‘Please don’t,’ she whimpers. ‘Amy, please. We were friends once.’

  ‘There’s nothing left for me,’ I tell her as I toss the syringe into the passenger side of the car. ‘You took it all away. Now, in a few minutes you’ll be extremely drowsy, and I’d hate for you to hurt yourself. You’d better get into the car.’

  I dig deeper into my jeans pocket and retrieve the key for the handcuffs. Emma’s bottom lip is wobbling as I unlock my cuff, spin her around and cuff her other hand. The drugs are working quickly, she stumbles when I spin her.

  Then I shove her into the backseat, headfirst, and slam the door shut. She’ll roll around for a while. I would secure her, but I can’t waste time. I’ll stop after she passes out, tie her legs, and plug her into the seatbelt.

  We’re coming to join you, little one. Not long now.

  Chapter Thirty

  AIDEN

  Maybe now I know what it’s like, to have someone withdraw from you. Because when Mum called to tell us she wasn’t coming to collect me, it punched me in the gut. I already overheard Grandma saying to Dad that I’m the priority, and we have to make sure I’m safe. ‘If Emma is having a wobble, it’s best that Aiden isn’t with her.’

  Then the concern turned to practicalities, like where I was going to sleep. I didn’t have much of an opinion about this, but it caused an issue anyway. Grandad suggested I take one of the empty guest rooms. Dad told them I like the door left open and I can’t do that in the public part of the building. He suggested that he take the empty room and I stay in his room. I tried to tell them I’d take the sofa, but in the end, Dad’s idea won. I slept in his room with the door open and the creaking sounds of the old B&B filtering in.

  When I woke, the sunlight was coming from a different angle. The sheets didn’t smell like the detergent we use at home, instead they smelt floral, like Grandma’s perfume. There are boots next to the wardrobe and a large, grey T-shirt slung over the back of a chair. I feel guilty for sweating on the sheets and awkward as I make my way to the bathroom. I wish Mum was downstairs making toast. Gina at the table with her chubby hands banging the surface, her head bobbing around as she sings the theme song from her favourite TV show. Mum shushing her: ‘You’ll wake Denny up.’ And her: ‘What do you think I wanna do, stoo-pid’ with that sassy little hand gesture she does because it makes people laugh.

  I woke up slightly panicked, but with the sense that I’d slept the unmoving deep sleep of exhaustion. The kind of sleep I slept in the bunker at the end of a week of being afraid.

  In the shower, I feel the walls of the cubicle closing in, and only spend a few minutes in there, hastily letting the water rinse away the sweat, before hurrying back to Dad’s room to change. Then I make the bed, and sit for a moment, breathing deeply.

  I pick up my phone from Dad’s bedside table and notice a text from Mum. My fingers work fast, tapping in my passcode, bringing up the full message.

  I’m meeting Amy at 3 a.m. on the Wetherington Estate.

  If I don’t come home, try to track my phone.

  I’m going to get Gina back. I love you.

  I text back:

  Mum? Are you OK??

  And hurry down the stairs to the living area of the B&B. My chest feels like it’s gripped by a vice, and that pressure builds and builds with every step. The pressure of knowing I have to speak, that I have to tell them about the message. I should shout it to save time, but I can’t. Instead, I wander into the kitchen where Grandma is cooking bacon, and stand there, my mouth opening and shutting. She’s humming along to the radio. Grandad is flicking through the newspaper. I hear the sound of the television in the lounge and know Dad must be in there.

  ‘Good morning, lovely,’ Grandma says brightly. ‘How would you like your bacon?

  The words won’t come out. I think I make a strange stuttering sound. Grandad looks up from his newspaper and frowns, he folds it and places it down on the table.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ he asks. He gets up from the chair and makes his way to me, where I continue to open and shut my mouth like a fish.

  Both of them stand in front of me, staring, fr
owning, yet I still can’t get the words out. My scalp is hot, sweat beginning to bead at the pores. I hold out my hand with the phone in it, begging with my eyes for them to take it from me. I clutch my chest and pull in a deep breath.

  ‘Rob!’ Grandma calls as she ushers me over to the tiny little table and sits me down in Grandad’s original spot. ‘I’ll get you some water. Peter, will you read what he wants you to read?’

  ‘I don’t have my glasses,’ Grandad says, patting the top pocket of his shirt.

  It’s too much. They aren’t being urgent enough. Mum needs them and I can’t tell them what I need them to do. I screw my eyes shut and place my head on the table. Did Mum go alone to meet Amy? Did she call the police? How did she find Amy? Is she in danger?

  ‘Hurry up and find them!’ Grandma snaps at Grandad.

  ‘Everything all right?’ Dad’s voice now, he must have limped into the kitchen. I feel a hand on my back. It startles me, turns my body rigid. ‘Take a deep breath, matey.’

  ‘She’s gone,’ I groan. ‘She went.’

  ‘Who went, buddy?’ Dad says calmly.

  ‘Emma,’ Grandad says. ‘This message says she went to meet Amy last night.’

  When I raise my head, Dad has moved away from me and is staring at the phone. ‘Shit,’ he says. ‘You two call the police. Aiden, come with me. We’ll check the house and the Wetherington Estate.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s wise,’ Grandma says, her eyes moving towards me. ‘He’s upset.’

  ‘No, I want to go.’ I stand up on wobbling legs. At least if I go with Dad I’m doing something.

  Grandma wrings her hands tightly, but she agrees.

  ‘Call DCI Stevenson,’ Dad says. ‘Maybe he knows something about this. We don’t know if Emma went alone or if she went with the police.’ He glances at his watch and I know what he’s thinking. It’s after nine. If Mum got home safely, she would have called immediately to let us know. Or she would have at least texted me. If she had Gina with her, she’d want to tell us right away, she wouldn’t leave it all night. Something bad has happened. That’s why my body feels limp and unsteady.