by Jan McDonald
She came to a sudden decision, stubbed out the cigarette and stood up quickly. “It’s late. I have to go. I’m really sorry for wasting your time.”
Lane stood up and put her hand on Kat’s emaciated arm. “There’s no hurry. Stay and talk. We can talk about something else. Stay for a while, at least have a cup of tea.”
Kat pulled away from her and headed for the door. “I’m sorry. You don’t understand. Can’t you see? It’s almost dark. I need to get home. I have to.”
CHAPTER THREE
Kat’s heart rate was off the chart and the offending muscle pounded painfully against her ribs; she was barely breathing and her throat was dry as the panic attack took hold. She’d been stupid and naïve to think she could get away with being out in the dark.
The traffic ahead had come to a standstill, and flashing blue lights gave the reason. She swerved out of the motionless line of vehicles that were blocking the mountain road and into a lay-by, prompting the blaring of several horns. She was out of the car in seconds, not even taking time to lock it, not caring for the consequences of this open invitation – let them take it, she didn’t care.
She was only minutes away from the safe haven of her cottage if she ran. The last remaining threads of composure went into freefall as the twilight conceded to darkness and rational thought took flight. She ran blindly past the line of cars, ignoring the voice in the fluorescent yellow jacket calling to her, asking if she was all right, pushing herself to run faster down the lane to where her cottage waited to give her refuge.
Out of breath and trembling she stopped at her gate, bent forwards, hands on her thighs while her breathing steadied and the sharp pain in her chest began to subside. It was over, enough was enough; she’d resign herself to the fact she was going to die and just stay the hell away from everyone while she did so. She was oblivious to the dark outline waiting for her in the shadows.
He stepped from out of the deepening darkness and grabbed at her hair from behind, before she even saw or heard him. His knee thumped into the middle of her back pushing her hard against the wall, grazing her cheek against the brickwork and she felt the cold of a steel blade at her throat.
Sickened and winded, her mind raced, yanked her into the present with self preservation expelling previous thoughts and bringing rationality into sharp focus. Humour him, she thought. That’s the only way.
“I don’t have much money, but you can have what I’ve got. Let me just get my purse from my bag. I won’t scream, just don’t cut me. Please.”
Don’t cut me, don’t cut me, please, don’t cut me, she thought. I can’t deal with blood.
The cold steel pressed against her throat.
“I don’t want your money. I want you to come with me.”
Lava streams of panic erupted in her chest until she felt she would explode. What was this? Rape? Kidnap?
His voice didn’t sound old, probably in his late teens. He was powerful and she was no match for him.
“What do you want? I told you I don’t have much money. Let me go, please.”
“And I told you that you’re coming with me.” He pressed the steel blade harder against her throat. “You are going to do just what I tell you. Aren’t you?”
She managed a weak, “Yes.”
His free hand pulled and twisted her left arm roughly behind her and he moved his knee to hold it against her back and grabbed the other with savage force, sending flames of pain searing into her shoulder and fireworks to her head. She felt metal tightening around her wrists and biting into her flesh; she had to relax her arms, desperate as she was to prevent being cut.
He spun her around and pushed her down her path into the lane, prodding her forwards to the car that, previously unnoticed, loomed out of the darkness.
She was trembling as he shoved her roughly into the passenger seat, but managed to dredge up enough courage to take a good look at him. She’d been right: he was probably eighteen or nineteen, good-looking from what she could see in the dim glow from the lit dashboard. He was dressed completely in black and affected dark glasses in blatant disregard for the fact that it was night.
Let him stay in control, don’t freak him out. Try and talk your way out of it. “What do you want?” she whispered hoarsely.
“I want you to help me. You are the quack that lives here?”
She nodded. “I don’t keep any drugs on the premises, if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t want drugs,” he spat. “Shut up now.” He flashed the steel blade at her.
Kat shook as her imagination took hold, she could practically feel the steel blade slicing through her skin and cartilage. Through veins and arteries.
She could see the blood.
Her heart lurched and she felt as though she would faint. She bit into her lip to try and stay with it. Not too hard; she couldn't afford to break the skin. No blood.
Not in her mouth, dear God, not in her mouth.
She leaned back into the seat and tried to steady her breathing, sifting through the torrent of emotions that blitzed her. One thing was for sure. She knew now that she didn’t want to die; if she could get out of this, she would go straight back to Lane.
*
Beckett’s answering machine kicked in at the third ring. Lane swore under her breath with accustomed flair.
“Beckett, where the hell are you? Ring me,” she snapped.
She put the phone down and reached for the directory. Kat was a practising herbalist so she ought to be listed. She was. Lane wrote down her address and made for the door.
She was only minutes behind Kat and could possibly catch up with her. If not, she could be at her home very soon after Kat herself. She diverted her incoming calls to her cell phone and slammed the door behind her.
Kat had to be heading for home; she was seriously freaked about being out in the dark and the fact that Lane knew what she was afraid of did nothing to reassure her.
Her cell phone rang and she pulled over.
“Dr Dearing.”
“It’s me”, Beckett’s state of high anxiety was carried on his voice. “So, tell me. What do you think?”
She exhaled blue smoke. “Beckett, I blew it. She bailed on me. I wish to God you’d told me how sick she was; that lady is in a whole lot of trouble. Why the hell did you wait so long?”
“You let her leave? Jesus, Lane! I trusted you with her, what did you say to her? You frighten the crap out of her or something? If ...”
“Calm down, Handsome. I didn’t say anything. I tried to get her to tell me about the dreams and she was off like a rabbit. What do you want me to do? Section her? I can’t. You never said she was scared of the dark – I mean really, Handsome, the woman is petrified. I could have seen her earlier, cancelled someone else, anything.”
Beckett moaned softly, “Okay, okay, look this is getting us nowhere, where are you?”
“On my way to her place, I’m about ten minutes away normally, but at this time of night . . .”
“I’ll meet you there. Wait for me.”
Fifteen minutes later Beckett pulled up behind Lane outside Kat’s cottage and slammed his brakes on, his old Jeep came to a stop less than an inch from Lane’s bumper. She frowned at him.
“Still a careful driver, I see. Cool it, Beckett; nobody’s home. Wherever she is, it’s not here.”
“Shit!”
“Nice.”
“Goddamn it Lane, if you were thinking what I’m thinking …”
“Actually, I am.”
Beckett leaned against her pristine, vintage MG Roadster. “So what now? I don’t even begin to know where to look. She’s almost a recluse, doesn’t date and she has no friends that I know of.”
“Well, we can wait it out until she comes home and pray we’re wrong or, we can drive around in the hope of finding her.”
He turned and kicked out at her bumper.
“Hey! Kick your own damn car. Second thoughts it probably wouldn’t survive it. Why do you drive
such a heap of junk?”
“I don’t know. Oh yeah, it’s because I don’t have the stock portfolio, antique collection, and Swiss bank account that you do. You wait here. I’m going to drive around, you never know,” he muttered. “If she comes back, try not to make her run again. I’ll call you.”
“Can’t wait. Oh, and Beckett?”
“Yeah?”
“Drive carefully. I don’t suit black.”
He grinned at her despite his mood. “That’s what you think, kiddo.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Kat remained silent as the boy drove her through the back streets of Newport. She recognised the road; he was heading towards the most dilapidated area of the city’s dockland.
He stopped the car outside what looked like an old warehouse and was out of the car yanking open her door and, before she had time to think, he was manhandling her onto the pavement. She could see the reflected lights from the city and the nearer streetlights glinting on the knife. The pain in her shoulder had dulled to a deep ache, which instantly reverted to searing pain when she tried to move it.
She looked around her; the only other buildings nearby looked set for demolition.
He pushed her roughly through a side door. It was, as she thought, a disused warehouse, though from the stench it had been a refuge and toilet for every desperate, homeless person in the city. There was a camping stove and a sleeping bag bundled untidily in a corner and, all around, were used syringes and crumpled pieces of silver foil littering the filthy floor. Her heart went out to the boy.
He seemed to read her and pushed her roughly onto the floor. “They’re not mine,” he said. “I don’t use. But now I have your attention, you are going to help me.”
She didn’t know why she felt such overwhelming relief, but suddenly, there was only compassion for him.
“Are you sick?” she asked.
“Sick? Yes, I’m sick, and there’s no doctor out there that can fix it.”
“What makes you think I can?”
“You want to hope you can. You really do.”
Kat looked up at him. “If you want me to help you, you need to let me out of these damn handcuffs.”
He was silent for a minute or two. “And then what? You try and run off and I’ll have to stop you.”
“I won’t be able to help you if you don’t; the pain is so bad I may pass out on you. How much help will I be to you then?”
Her words were brave, but she was shaking inside. Keep reasoning with him, she thought. He doesn’t sound stupid. Desperate maybe, but not stupid.
He bent down to her, put the point of his knife under her chin and pressed upwards.
“No funny stuff, right?”
Every sinew strained as she nodded at him. “Right,” she agreed.
He stepped behind her, unlocked the handcuffs and tugged her hands free. She sat breathless, eyes closed, until the pain subsided. When she opened her eyes again he had lit a paraffin lamp.
“Is this where you live?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I stay here sometimes that’s all. What’s it to you?”
“Nothing, I just wondered. Don’t you have any family?”
“They’re dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry, I’m sorry, everyone’s sorry. Doesn’t make it right though, does it. Drunk driver saw them both off when I was five.”
“And that makes it all right for you to go around abducting people at knife-point does it?”
He laughed, “You’ve got balls, lady, I’ll give you that. Lose the social worker act; I’ve heard it all before. So, are you going to help me or not? I can’t pay, not like the others.”
“Just for the record, several of my patients can’t pay. One man keeps my garden tidy in exchange for his medicine; another lady brings me home-made jam and eggs from her chickens, so before you start judging me by other people standards check out the facts. If you had just come and asked me for help I would have given it. There was no need for all this.”
She’d gone too far, she knew it, but he’d touched a raw nerve. He slapped her hard across the mouth, leaving a red weal and a blood trail at the corner of her mouth.
She spat hard onto the floor, again and again, spitting and retching, unable to rid herself of the taste of blood. She wiped her mouth on the bottom of her sleeve as her amethyst eyes shifted to the darkest violet; the colour of midnight.
Her vision shifted and she saw everything through a crimson veil. Rage welled up inside as she tasted the blood in her mouth again.
“You bastard!” she screamed as she threw herself at him, pounding his face, all her pain lost in the scarlet haze. He fell to the ground, his dark glasses skidding across the filthy floor. Surprise had been on her side and he lay beneath her as she brought her knee crashing into his groin.
He was suddenly, and inexplicably, powerless as she kicked into him repeatedly with a savage intensity. She couldn’t remember picking it up, but all of a sudden his knife was in her hand and she pressed the glinting blade to his throat.
“So, how do you like it? I can kill you with one cut. Do you hear me?”
The images conjured up by her own words made her feel sick.
He lay on the floor at her feet in obvious agony, fire in his groin and unspeakable pain in his chest. He was nursing more than one broken rib and a suspect lump was rising on the bridge of his nose, amazement spread across his face at the savagery with which she’d attacked him; the thin, pale, weakling woman who’d gone with him so quietly, transformed in an instant into a raving madwoman with the strength of three men.
She bent down and took his keys from his pocket then took a step back and dropped the knife onto the soiled floor.
“I’d say that makes us even. Get up, before I change my mind.”
“Can’t,” he gasped.
“Stay there, then. Oh, and by the way, I’m taking your car, though I doubt very much that it is your car. You can come and get the keys tomorrow if it is, if not, then I’ll leave it where it can be found and returned to its owner. Don’t worry, there’ll be no police.”
“Why?”
I don’t know, she thought. I really don’t.
“Don’t push it. And before I go, let’s have a good look at you – just in case I change my mind.”
She reached down and pulled him into the dim light.
Her breath caught in her throat and she stumbled backwards as stared into his rare amethyst eyes that were identical to her own.
Shock made her fall to her knees and she crawled to his side, just as he momentarily lost consciousness. Jagged thoughts sliced her mind as she knelt there shaking her head. It couldn’t be. Not possible. But she knew the truth; he was her son.
“No,” she whispered. “Oh, God. No.”
The amethyst eyes were a family trait, and he had the same lean face as her father. More than that, she knew with the instincts of a mother that she knelt over her son.
Tears fell onto the back of her hand as she reached forwards and gently stroked the unconscious face. Her own son, and he’d kidnapped her at knife-point.
And she’d attacked him like a wild animal.
“Nikolos?” She barely whispered the name she had given him before they had taken him away, unable to resist it as a parting gift.
The boy lay motionless and his breathing was laboured, courtesy of the broken ribs. She didn’t dare call an ambulance; his condition would be too hard to explain, and a taxi driver would probably call the police. Beckett? Yes, Beckett would come and she could probably persuade him to ask no questions.
While she was contemplating the alternatives he stirred.
“Nikolos?”
He put his hand to his chest. “You’ve broken my ribs, you bitch.”
“Can you stand?”
He fended her reaching arms away. “Get away from me.”
“Try and stand, I’ll help you.”
She pushed her good arm under his back and tried
to gently lift him.
He stood with less of a problem than she’d anticipated.
“Can you walk?” she ventured.
He nodded and looked down at the knife.
“Don’t even think about it, Nikolos. I don’t know what the hell happened here tonight, but we can’t stay here like this.”
“It’s Nik now,” he snarled. “Just ‘Nik’.”
Fresh tears spilled over her lashes and she swallowed hard. “All right Nik. I don’t know how you found me, but thank God you did. Let’s get out of here and make some sense out of this, okay?”
“Don’t you dare try and act the concerned parent. And don’t flatter yourself that I came looking for you because of who you were once. For how long? A day? Two? Before you dumped me like a sack of rubbish. I found out about you by accident and it so happens that you may be able to help fix me. That’s all I want from you. I figure you owe me that much.”
She couldn’t speak as pain and sadness washed over her in dreadful waves.
He snatched the keys from her hands. “I’ll drive. You’re a bloody nut case. Get in.” He spat on the ground as though to underline his contempt.
They drove in silence to her cottage where she led him into her warm kitchen, busying herself with bottles of dark liquid. Neither spoke until she offered him a glass of strong smelling brown fluid.
“Here drink this. It’ll ease the pain.”
He looked down at the dark brown liquid suspiciously. “What is it, it smells like shit.”
She smiled. “It doesn’t taste too good either, but it will ease the pain. Promise. Here, look, I’ve got a cup myself. It’s not poison, it’s tincture of willow bark. Nature’s aspirin mixed with some other painkilling herbs.”
He took a sip and pulled a face. “You got no proper pills?”
“Just drink it. I’ll see to your bruises in a minute. Just think yourself lucky it’s not the police that are looking after you.”
