by Graham Smith
Samantha wasn’t surprised he wasn’t accepting her lie. She’d walked out of the room in one piece and had returned with torn clothing and a gash on her forehead that covered one side of her face with blood.
How could she tell him the truth? He wouldn’t understand why the men had made her dance. If she tried to explain it to him, she’d be faced with having to explain about sex, territory he wasn’t ready to explore.
Could she tell him about a police car coming into the yard? Could she really tell him how close they had been to being rescued? What would that do to his young mind? Wasn’t their imprisonment bad enough as it was without telling him how close they had come to being free?
* * *
Turning her back on Kyle, Samantha rubbed at her hair with the damp towel. Once again she’d had numerous showers. Only this time she was trying to wash the stench and the touch of the loathsome Blair from her body, rather than cleansing herself of his gaze.
When she turned round Kyle was sitting on the mattress watching her, the video game forgotten. The lacy dress held tight between his slender fingers.
‘I could see your boobies through this. Why did you wear it for the nasty men?’
‘Because they made me. They made a video which they’re gonna send to Mum and Dad.’
‘Why?’
‘So that they’ll get the money quicker.’
Samantha explained the basics of kidnapping to Kyle without telling him anything about the threats, or what would happen if their parents didn’t raise the ransom.
Those details she kept to herself along with the fear Blair had instilled when he was whispering his perversions into her ear. Now more than ever, she was convinced he intended to rape her before they were either released or mutilated.
His foot stamped down. ‘I want to go home. I want Mum and Dad to give the bad men their money so we can go home.’
‘Me too.’ Samantha pulled him close, so he couldn’t see the tears filling her eyes.
Chapter 24
The door opened as soon as he pulled into the drive. Sarah waddled out carrying her hospital bag. She threw a smile his way as she turned to lock the house up.
Calmness overtook him when he saw her. Now that he was with her, he felt he had a measure of control over matters, even though he was wise enough to know it was an illusion.
‘It’s OK, honey.’ He held the passenger door open for her and took her bag. ‘Let’s get you into the car and you can tell me all about it on the way to the hospital.’
He reversed the car out of the drive and drove carefully out of Gretna and joined the A75 heading west towards Dumfries and the Cresswell maternity wing of Dumfries and Galloway Royal Infirmary.
Once he was onto the A75, he increased speed until Sarah told him to slow down. ‘I’d rather give birth in the car than not reach the hospital.’
He eased back on the throttle a little, but the road was quiet and he made good time along the dark road.
Campbell gabbled away to his wife. The imminent birth of their son filled them with a sense of elation and excitement.
‘What’s that noise?’ Her voice sharp, laced with worry.
‘Shush a second and let me hear.’ Campbell could feel the steering pulling to the left. A puncture. After a few seconds he announced this to Sarah who took the news with a stoicism he wished he could share.
‘Should I call an ambulance?’
‘No don’t bother, there’s a side road up here, pull in and change the wheel there.’
‘OK, but are you sure you’ll be all right?’
‘I’ll be fine. The contractions are still quite far apart.’
Campbell pulled the car off the A75 into a single-track road, leading to a farm. Leaping out of the car he opened the boot. Sarah’s bag was pushed forward onto the back seat as he prayed the spare was inflated.
It was. Grabbing the jack and wheel-brace, he wheeled the spare to the side of the car and dropped to his hands and knees. Working by touch alone, he managed to change the wheel in a few short minutes. Throwing the flat tyre into the boot along with the jack, he made a mental note to buy a head torch to join them. There was no way he ever wanted to change a wheel in darkness again.
‘I’m going to let the car down again now.’
Sarah sat in the car throughout the wheel change, despite being tilted over when the jack raised the car.
Climbing back into the car, he rubbed his dirty hands on his shirt, turned the car around in a gateway and rejoined the artery connecting Gretna with Stranraer.
‘Let’s go meet Junior.’
Reaching the hospital, Campbell dropped his wife at the door and raced off to find a parking space.
He caught up with Sarah as a kindly nurse was escorting her to an examination room. After about five minutes a midwife came and joined them. She asked Sarah when her waters broke, what contractions she had felt, their timing and other such questions.
The midwife rose from her chair, asking them to follow her to one of the birthing suites.
‘Is everything in order?’ Sarah was the one who voiced their concerns.
‘I think so, but I want a doctor to listen to the baby’s heartbeat… it’s just routine.’
The way the midwife had tagged those last three words onto the sentence informed Campbell it was far from routine. Hiding his fears behind what he hoped was an impassive face, he assisted his wife through the door of the birthing suite.
Sarah had barely settled on the bed when a doctor walked in without knocking, introducing himself as Dr Prior.
He wasted no time feeling Sarah’s distended stomach, using a foetal Doppler to enable him to listen to Junior’s heartbeat. He listened for less than a minute, and then sat down on the examination stool at the foot of the bed.
‘What is it, doctor?’ Campbell squeezed his wife’s hand as he asked the question.
‘The baby’s heartbeat keeps slowing down and then returning to normal. It sounds to me as though the umbilical cord may be around baby’s neck.’
‘Oh my God.’ Sarah was fighting back tears, in the hope that by keeping her emotions together she could somehow help her unborn child.
‘What can you do, doctor?’ Campbell’s face was grave as the nightmare enveloped him.
‘We can either perform an emergency caesarean section or induce labour. If we induce labour, then we’ll monitor baby’s heartbeat; if there’s any complications, you may have to have an emergency section anyway.’
‘When would the section take place?’
‘In the next twenty minutes. There is no time to waste. I’ll give you a quick minute to decide and then we’ll have to start treatment.’
When he left the room, Campbell and Sarah sat together, holding hands as they contemplated their options.
Campbell hoped Sarah would choose the caesarean section, as he did not want any risk to his unborn child or his wife, yet instinct told him it was her choice and he was ready to support her, whichever path she chose. He looked up from the floor, which had become the focus of his unseeing gaze, and held her eye. He knew without speaking which course of treatment she wanted to take.
‘Caesarean?’
She nodded. He kissed her hand as he rose to go and look for the doctor. Before he could exit the room, the door was opened by Dr Prior trailed by a couple of midwives and a third person dressed in scrubs.
‘I want to have a caesarean.’ Sarah answered the question before it was asked.
Dr Prior took their decision in his stride. ‘A wise choice.’ Pointing at the man in scrubs, he made an introduction. ‘This is Dr Wilson, our anaesthesiologist. He will give you an epidural which will numb you from the chest down.’
‘If you’d like to come with me, Dad.’ A midwife laid a gentle hand on Campbell’s arm. ‘We’ll get you a set of scrubs and you can meet up with your wife in the operating theatre before we start the section.’
Campbell kissed Sarah’s sweat-coated forehead. ‘I’ll be there, baby, I prom
ise.’
‘You always said you’d take me to the theatre.’
Relief coursed through Campbell’s body. She was now in the doctor’s hands. The way the nurses and midwife moved around her with practiced movements and a calm manner was subduing his fears, although nothing except Junior’s first cry would lay them to rest.
Chapter 25
Victoria’s mobile beeped once. The clear, insistent sound told her she had a text. Snatching up the mobile, she tapped the screen until the message was displayed.
Her heart fell as she read it. Just like the first one from the kidnappers, it told her to visit watchmykids.com for an update. Running through to the kitchen, she grabbed her laptop from its case and began the task of plugging it in and booting it up.
Conflicted between dread and a natural desire to see if her children were OK, she prayed to a god she’d never believed in. Bile threatened to erupt from her throat, but she swallowed it back down. The taste in her mouth would have repulsed her in less trying circumstances; now she used it to focus her mind on what she was about to see.
Victoria told herself that there was little need to worry too much. The deadline was still three days away. Despite this knowledge, she knew that what she was about to see would not give her any pleasure, other than potentially seeing her children were unhurt.
She had tormented and reassured herself at least five times a day by watching the first video of her children. While they looked fit and healthy, watching Samantha parade around in the sexy costume sickened her every time she watched it.
As the laptop prepared itself for use she yelled to Nicholas to come and join her. Bringing up the home page she went straight to the site using a shortcut she had saved to her desktop.
This time when she got to the site there was a different video link, clicking on it she could Samantha was standing in front of a wall wearing a red dress. The video had been shot from a distance and she couldn’t make out many details.
Thank God. She’s got a dress on. They haven’t made her strip.
As she peered at the screen trying to see if her daughter was injured in any way, music sounded out and Samantha started to dance. It was the most half-hearted, lacklustre dance she’d ever seen her daughter do.
The focus of the video was adjusted, until it was zoomed in on Samantha’s face. Victoria examined her daughter’s face looking for any sign of mistreatment. Finding none she sank back in her chair, exhaling the breath she hadn’t known she was holding.
With an inexorable slowness the camera panned down until Samantha’s breasts filled the screen. Her nipples visible through the thin material of the dress.
Unable to watch any more, Nicholas turned his eyes away, but Victoria grabbed his head and pointed his face back at the screen.
‘I can’t watch this, Victoria. It’s not right. No father should ever watch his daughter in a video like that.’
‘It’s your fault she’s in that bloody video. Not watching it isn’t an option for you.’
Victoria’s eyes never left the screen as she spat the words at her husband.
The music changed and Samantha began a new dance routine as the camera kept creeping down her body.
With her eyes locked onto Samantha’s lace-clad body, Victoria searched for any sign of a pair of knickers. It was bad enough that Samantha’s breasts were exposed through the sheer material without her groin being displayed in the same way.
Thicker lace came into view causing Samantha’s skin to be less defined. Blurrier. Still the camera descended, the hem of the dress coming into view. Halting, the camera went out of focus for a second. When it adjusted itself, Victoria could see tufts of hair through the thin material.
Lingering on the scene for an age the cameraman zoomed out just enough to show Samantha’s body from the knees up.
Looking on aghast, Victoria and Nicholas could see Samantha’s dress climbing her legs as she danced. Each bounce of her breasts tugged the thin fabric ever higher. Soon the hem would no longer cover Samantha’s most intimate areas.
‘They’re sick. How can they do that? Why are they degrading her like that?’
‘Don’t be such a dickhead. They are doing that to give us extra incentive to get the money. To keep us off-balance and compliant to their demands.’
Victoria was still admonishing her husband when the video stopped with a suddenness that surprised them both. A still of Kyle sitting cross-legged, a games controller in his hands, lasted a few seconds before fading out.
A jolting memory caused Victoria to leap from her seat. Her footsteps thudded up stairs as she charged toward the master bedroom, propelled by a sense of dread.
Entering her bedroom, she fell to her knees and grabbed the rough wooden handles which adorned her naughty-knicker drawer, then pulled the drawer right out from its socket. Lifting it above the bed, she turned it upside down, emptying the contents onto the crisp, white duvet.
Tossing the empty drawer aside, she grabbed at anything red she saw.
A bra was discarded first, two pairs of knickers followed. A flimsy red basque was grabbed in hope, before it joined the other rejected items.
Dispersing the pile across the full expanse of the bed, she looked in vain for the lacy red dress she’d worn for Nicholas.
She went down on her knees snaking her arm into the gaping maw left by the missing drawer. Groping around she felt carpet and then her fingers touched lace. Pulling her hand out, she identified the lace as a pair of briefs.
Trying again, she found nothing more than balls of lint and a biro that had rolled underneath the chest of drawers.
Everything she feared regarding the red dress Samantha had worn was true. It was hers. She’d bought it last year as a birthday treat for Nicholas. The man whose reckless actions had precipitated the whole sequence of events, transforming their respectable middle-class lives into a waking nightmare.
Revulsion at the kidnapper’s twisted imagination, spurred Victoria towards the bathroom where she vomited until nothing else would come out.
A thought pierced her brain and heart like a dagger. Hollering downstairs, she demanded Nicholas come up to join her.
‘What’s up?’ Concern at the way she had summoned him showed on his ashen face.
‘We need to go through these.’
‘Just bung them back in the drawer. We have more important things to do.’
Victoria had to fight back another bout of nausea before she could speak again.
‘You don’t understand. That dress Samantha was wearing. It’s the one I wore for your birthday.’
‘Shit. I thought it looked familiar.’
Victoria shook her head, trying to clear it before explaining, ‘My dress is missing. The dress Samantha’s wearing in the video is identical to the one I wore for you.’
Waving away his protestations that she must be mistaken, Victoria began sorting her lingerie into matching sets.
‘We’ve got to check all of this and work out if anything else is missing.’ As she spoke Victoria was trying to recall if she owned any underwear that was more revealing than the missing dress. Every outfit she remembered morphed into the red lacy number she’d seen her daughter wearing.
She needed Nicholas’s help to recall the details. He’d always liked her in sexy underwear and since the early days of the Internet he’d even bought her some bits and pieces. Unlike a lot of other men buying their wives underwear, he’d shown good taste and had purchased quality garments that made her feel sexy rather than slutty. It was she who’d bought the sluttier items.
Nicholas started to help. Together they paired bras and knickers, laying the various chemises and babydolls out flat so they were easier to identify.
Set by set, they ticked each item off their mental lists, sometimes questioning each other about the occasion something was worn.
Victoria made neat rows for birthdays, wedding anniversaries and other occasions. One gap glared at them. Nicholas’s last birthday.
&n
bsp; When Victoria was sure that she could recall nothing more, she set about questioning Nicholas, probing him for details about other outfits he’d liked to see her wearing, in case they missed a set that the kidnappers had stolen. Any he could remember were ones she was positive she’d thrown out.
Dumping the outfits back into the drawer, she grabbed the pairs of stockings and started tossing them into the drawer when her fingers noticed something amiss. The familiar waxen feel of her fishnets was absent. Victoria thought hard and a memory of putting them back into the drawer after she’d last worn them surfaced, but a frantic search through the pile did not uncover them. They were gone.
They’ve taken them too. Oh my poor girl, what will they make you do next?
Chapter 26
Evans needed food but he didn’t know what he wanted to eat. Bored with takeaways he fancied something more nutritious than chips, pizza or Chinese food. A curry was an option, but he’d eaten two vindaloos and a phaal in the last week.
Instead he decided to try the Mexican restaurant on the Crescent. He’d always wanted to dine there, but Janet had preferred to eat at Italian restaurants or find a country pub with low beams and a traditional menu.
Evans followed the waiter who seated him at a small table in a back corner of the restaurant. He didn’t care about being given the worst table in the room. As a single diner he knew he couldn’t expect anything better and the seat allowed him to watch the whole room.
As the waiter had deposited a beer on the table and taken away his order, he’d noticed three familiar faces walk through the door.
The woman in the velour tracksuit was the first to spot him but as she strode forward, her brothers’ faces darkened with barely supressed anger when they recognised him.
Standing up, he greeted Maureen Leighton and exchanged scowls with Tony and Dennis.
‘You here on your own, Harry?’ Maureen’s accent was pure Carlisle. ‘Because if you are, I’d like you to join us.’
‘I’m not eating with him.’
