The Attic Room: A psychological thriller

by Linda Huber

  Right. It had happened and she had to do something; she couldn’t sit here till Paul came back with Naomi. She had to get out, get help, get away. If she didn’t she could lose everything, including Naomi, for God knows what Paul was capable of. Think, Nina.

  The police would believe Paul when he went to them with his story. To them, he was a victim, not a violent psychopath. Unless – of course! The sudden hope was almost painful in its intensity, and Nina gasped aloud. John Moore’s landline was bugged. Paul’s call to lure Sabine to the phone would be traceable, so the police would know that he was mixed up in this even if Sabine was unable to tell them.

  The moment of relief was short-lived as she realised that someone who was capable of successfully finding and blackmailing paedophiles would have thought of this and used an anonymous, prepaid phone. Nina gave way to the storm of sobs that shook her bruised body against the binds and the hard kitchen chair. Please God Cassie wouldn’t leave Naomi alone with Paul. Please God he wouldn’t hurt her girl.

  The storm abated, and Nina gathered her strength for a new bid for freedom. She could not stay here on this chair in near darkness. Grubby windows only made the dimness more apparent, and Paul had switched the light off when he left. The yellow glow from a streetlight in the lane behind the house was only illuminating the area of kitchen nearest to the window.

  If she could find the knife that Paul stabbed himself with and somehow jam it in somewhere, she could maybe rub the bonds on her arms against the blade. It was worth a try, anyway.

  By jerking one side of her body she was able to move the chair a few millimetres. The friction of the rope on her wrists was agonizing after a mere handful of jerks, but there was no other way.

  Frustration filled Nina’s mind as the chair turned oh, so slowly until she was facing the sink and the drawer where Paul had found the knife. She would have to cross three metres of disgusting floor to reach it. Time after time she jerked her body forward, and gradually the chair moved. The tiles were old, old lino, and some were loose, which didn’t make her journey any easier. After every five jerks she awarded herself two quiet, steady breaths. The little routine helped her carry on. It was five lashes of the whip, followed by two recovery strokes, again, and again, and again.

  Tears of desperation and pain were trickling down Nina’s face long before she got to her destination. Blood from her wrists ran down her hands, warm and sticky, and the mixture of tears and saliva soaking into the foul-tasting gag made it more obnoxious by the second.

  One last jerk brought her to the drawer. She could see the glint of metal; there would be a knife in there.

  There was. Several painful moments of pushing and shoving with her right arm opened the drawer enough to reveal an unsavoury collection of cutlery, including a couple of sharp knives. The problem was she couldn’t get at them. There was no way she could lift anything out with her elbow, and she wasn’t able to bend her head far enough to get into the drawer with her nose and chin. For long, demoralising minutes she tried, thinking, shit, this has to work, I’ve come all the way from the table and it was so bloody painful, I deserve it to work. But it was hopeless. In a fit of rage, she pushed against the sink unit with all the strength in her right arm.

  The chair creaked and moved, then the backrest parted company with the seat and Nina fell. Her head hit something cold and hard, and briefly she saw stars.

  Winded, she lay still, then hope surged through her… if she wriggled a bit she could free her right wrist… yes… one good pull – yes! Her right hand was free.

  Barely taking time to catch her breath, Nina pushed up into a half-sitting position, yanked her left hand free and tugged the gag from her mouth before sliding over to the drawer for a knife to cut the rope from her feet.

  She was free. Thank Christ. Nina leaned on the sticky sink unit taking deep breaths of revolting air. Both wrists were bleeding, but the wounds were superficial. Her ankles were okay, her jeans and socks had saved them from the worst of the chaffing. She couldn’t move, though – her feet had gone to sleep and were tingling back to life. It hurt almost as much as the bonds had.

  Come on, Nina, she thought savagely. You can be a wimp later. You have to call the police.

  A quick check through the downstairs rooms revealed no phone and Nina moaned aloud. The only other option was to go to a neighbour for help, but would they help her if she did? What kind of people lived round here?

  Loneliness swept through her as she realised that she couldn’t risk it. But Paul had driven past a row of shops on the way here. She would find them, get someone there to call the police for her, and then come back in case he returned with Naomi.

  Nina ran to the front door and jerked it open, stopping dead on the threshold as the sound of rough voices yelling obscenities came from her left. Shit, kids were fighting round the corner. She could hear thuds and screams and the sound of glass breaking. She would go right, then, as fast as she could. No sooner had she made this decision than a crowd of youths appeared from the right too, and Nina slid back into the house and closed the door. It sounded like hell out there. Maybe, if she was lucky, the police would come to break up the fight.

  More youths were careering down the street now, and Nina went to look out the back, but yobs were racing along the lane there too. She stood at the front room window – the fight itself was out of sight, but there was a lot of running about and shouting, and the occasional tinkle of glass breaking. Surely someone must have phoned the police, even here. The arrival of a police car would be the answer to her prayers.

  The fight continued, more and more kids joining in. And still no police – wait – there was a car coming… Nina’s hopes rose, then plummeted.

  Hot frustration filled her as she watched Paul park in front of the house and stride up the path, a plastic bag in one hand. He was accosted by a tall youth, who ran up screaming something, and to Nina’s horror her cousin pulled out a gun. The youth backed away, hands raised in the best Wild West fashion, and ran off down the road.

  Nina leaned against the living room doorway as Paul entered the house. She would show him she wasn’t afraid. But she was afraid, she was terrified she wouldn’t get out of here alive. But at least Paul was alone; he hadn’t got Naomi yet.

  ‘Aren’t you the clever one, all untied and making yourself at home.’ He waved the gun at her. ‘Good job I have this, that’s a nice little war going on out there.’

  He had a large bandage on his left arm, clearly a professional job. Nina felt sick with dread. Had he managed to get hold of Naomi after all – was her daughter locked up somewhere else? Horror chilled its way into her very soul. There was no point in asking; he could tell her anything and she wouldn’t know if it was the truth or not. But she had to show she wasn’t beaten.

  ‘Paul – we need to get out of this situation. Let’s work out what I can do to help you.’

  His eyes were bright. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. You and Naomi – especially Naomi – will be the perfect bait for my poor innocent victims.’

  Nina’s mouth went dry. He gestured with the gun in the direction of the kitchen.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He gave her a little push towards the kitchen and she walked in front of him, only just managing to breathe normally. But panic would help no one. He grabbed her shoulder from behind and forced her down on the one remaining chair.

  ‘We could get them easily, Nina. Nice pic of Naomi on the right websites and they’ll be queuing up to get her.’

  ‘I hope you’re joking,’ said Nina, determinedly calm. He laughed, and she slumped in the chair. It was no use; he was playing with her. All that effort had been for nothing – she had failed. Dear God, would she ever see her little girl again? She offered no resistance as he lifted the rope from the floor and bound her hands in front of her. When he was satisfied she wouldn’t be able to use them he grunted, and Nina smelled both beer and curry on his breath. She let her own breath out slowly. No way coul
d she be sick here.

  ‘Well, the police are busy searching for you a long, long way away,’ he said, taking a can of beer from his bag. ‘And your boyfriend’s with them. Seems a pity really, all that effort for nothing. But they’re all very concerned about you. I’ve told them everything I know and I’ve been sent home to rest; they won’t be looking for me till nine tomorrow when I have to go and make a statement. But I’ll pop round and get Naomi first. That old couple won’t be able to stop me. Nice little dog they have, but it isn’t what you’d call a Rottweiler, is it?’

  Nina’s mouth went dry. He’d found out where the Harrisons lived and gone to have a look at the place. She spat the words at him before she could think. ‘Leave Naomi alone. You don’t need to involve her in this.’

  He ignored this. ‘As soon as she’s safely here I’ll get her pic on the web, along with one of me when I was a nice little kid too, and go on with my search. Shit, Nina, I wish you’d stayed away from Bedford and left me in peace to do this.’

  How she wished that too, but Nina said nothing more. He didn’t have Naomi yet. There was still time to escape.

  ‘Right. Upstairs,’ he said roughly, pulling her to her feet.

  Nina’s gut went into a painful spasm. Was this when he raped her?

  He manhandled her up the stairs and into the largest room. A stained and smelly double mattress was the only piece of furniture, and Nina was hard put not to moan. Paul kicked his shoes off. He made no attempt to touch her inappropriately, though he stood outside the disgusting toilet while she used it, then made her lie beside him on the mattress and bound her left foot to his right. Nina couldn’t stop the shudders as she lay there, Paul’s leg warm against her own.

  ‘Sweet dreams!’ he said mockingly, and placed the gun inside his trousers.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Claire’s story – Glasgow

  Claire stood in the doorway, her eyes roving the six-bedded bay. The smell and the atmosphere here were almost identical to those in another hospital almost twenty years ago, and for a second the past shimmered in front of her. It was noisier here, with visitors round nearly every bed and children running up and down the corridor. The event she’d been anticipating for months had happened.

  Nina was lying on top of a bed by the window, eyes closed. Beside the bed was one of those see-through hospital baby cribs, and in it lay Claire’s brand-new granddaughter.

  For a moment Claire stood motionless, emotion making it difficult to breath. This was the next generation of her family. In spite of her fears time was passing and life was going on, and in a sudden flash of understanding she realised she had no control, she had never had control, that things happened and would continue to happen in their own momentum. Worrying made no difference.

  Her eyes fixed on the baby, she crept over to the crib. Nina didn’t waken, but the baby’s eyes were open. She looked exactly as Nina had the day after she was born. Claire pulled up a blue hospital chair, and for a long moment she and the baby held each other’s gaze. Claire could feel the smile on her face spread to become joy in her heart.

  But how angry she’d been when Nina told her she was pregnant. Still a teenager, not even finished her course yet, unmarried, though that didn’t count for anything these days. Claire couldn’t understand how the girl had been so foolhardy. It wasn’t as if they’d never discussed birth-control.

  Nina brought up her pregnancy quite casually over coffee one Friday when she was back on Arran to celebrate Bethany’s birthday. Claire was completely gobsmacked – this kind of thing happened to other people’s kids, not her sensible, hard-working daughter.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she demanded, and Nina raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I’m going to have a baby, what do you think I’m going to do?’ she replied defiantly. ‘Okay, it wasn’t planned but we’ll manage, Mum. When my course is finished I’ll get a job and find day care. Alan’ll help, too. We’re looking for a flat.’

  Claire liked Alan, but he wasn’t much older than Nina and was in the middle of a degree in business studies. It was a chaotic situation if ever she’d seen one. She watched helplessly as her daughter moved into student digs with Alan, only to move out again four months later and heavily pregnant. So there wasn’t going to be a happy end with wedding cake and confetti.

  Nina stirred on the bed and opened her eyes. Another lump came into Claire’s throat. All the joy in the world was right there on Nina’s face, and Claire knew she should show her own delight. For shame, she chided herself. Misery-guts. Try to be happy for once in your life.

  ‘Hello love,’ she said, leaning forward to grasp Nina’s hand. ‘And congratulations, she’s just gorgeous.’ Her voice trembled, and she could see happy tears in Nina’s eyes too.

  ‘Thanks, Mum. Do you want to hold her?’

  A few moments later Claire was sitting with her granddaughter in her arms. How well she remembered the time when Nina was tiny; Lily had come to London and they’d had a positive orgy of baby-worship. Those were the days of effortless happiness, and how very much she wanted to feel like that again, for this new little girl.

  Claire came to a decision. She would let the past go, because she had to. The past was unchangeable, and the future was uncontrollable. She would live today and be happy. Misery-guts adieu, Claire.

  Decision made, Claire smiled across at Nina. The family had grown, there were three generations again. Claire kissed the baby’s head. Whichever way you looked at it, she was rich as a king today.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Wednesday 26th July

  Nina jerked awake. What the hell – she was – oh God, she was still stuck in this awful house and Paul was snoring beside her. How unbelievable, she had actually slept here. Her gut cramped and she lay still, panting in shallow breaths until the spasm passed. Thank Christ she hadn’t woken him. Moving as slowly as she could, she turned her head to look round the room. A heavy blue curtain was pulled across the window, but she could see it was pretty light outside.

  Fear was sharpening her brain; she was wide awake now. She had to get out of here, and without disturbing Paul. Ignore the rumblings and twitches in her gut, she inched gingerly away from the malodorous body beside her, taking great care not to move her left foot. Paul’s breathing didn’t change, and Nina lay motionless, planning furiously. She had to free her foot. Slowly, slowly, she pulled herself into a sitting position, listening all the time to Paul’s breathing. It didn’t change.

  The rope was greasy and difficult to loosen with tied hands but at last she felt it slacken. Squinting at Paul and holding her breath, she pulled her foot from the noose. Hah! She was free.

  The snoring continued, and Nina rolled over until she was crouching beside the mattress. If the floor creaked now she’d be done for. Slow-motion, nice and easy, Nina, whatever you do, don’t wake him.

  Testing the floor at every step, she crept to the door and inched it open. Out on the landing she paused. Should she make a run for it – or creep downstairs one step at a time? Fear was screaming at her to run, quick, as fast as she could, but her head insisted on caution. She inched down the stairs, stepping on the edge of every second tread only, gripping the greasy bannister and going as fast as she dared.

  The bottom tread creaked and Nina froze, but no howl of rage came from the bedroom. She scurried through to the kitchen and seized a knife from the drawer, still half-open after her efforts last night. Jamming it between her knees, she rubbed her bound wrists along the blade. A few good sawing movements and she was free. Right. Quick, quick. Hush to the door, and run, Nina, run, as far away from here as you can get.

  Fingers trembling, she eased the front door open and squeezed out, the rope burns on her wrists stinging in the coolness of the summer morning. The contrast between the stench in the house and the early-morning air hit her like something solid, but there was no time to stand around taking deep breaths. Away, away; she had to get back to Naomi. Please God her baby was safe in bed
at Cassie’s and not tied up in some other hell-hole of Paul’s.

  Stumbling down the path, she came to the next hurdle. The creaky gate had fallen shut. With the bedroom window tilted and facing this way, she couldn’t possibly risk opening it. Jagged branches tore at her clothes and scratched her hands as she forced her way through the hedge – which way now, which way? Nina trembled in silent frustration. She had no idea, but Paul’s car was facing right so she turned left and started to jog along the uneven pavement.

  The street was deserted; why was no one up yet? Didn’t they have jobs to go to? The combatants of the previous evening were gone, but shards of glass on the pavement marked where the fight had been. And dear God, look at the blood in the gutter. Where the hell was she, anyway? Dilapidated houses and litter-strewn side streets loomed up as she continued down the road. In a different area she could have knocked at someone’s door and asked for help, but not here.

  Her heart gave a great leap at the next corner. Yes! Oh, thank God. They had driven down here yesterday. About two hundred metres up this road was a roundabout, and if she turned right there she’d soon be in a more civilised area; she was so nearly safe. Run, Nina, run…

  A loose paving stone wobbled under her foot and she stumbled, her stomach cramping yet again. The thought of Naomi spurred her on, her breath ragged in her ears. The next street she crossed was wider. Hallelujah, there were the shops she’d remembered seeing yesterday. Maybe –

  Hope plummeted. None were open yet – but she was nearly at the roundabout now. She would flag down a car. That would be safer than knocking at one of these shabby, anonymous doors. Please God she would find someone respectable, some woman driver who would call the police for her. She had so nearly made it, help was within grasping distance.