by Carla Blake
Kate wasn’t convinced. “You know Rach.” She sighed, once Polly had finished putting the idea to her. “She’s so sensible it makes your teeth hurt. No way would she let her phone run low and even if it had, what’s to stop her using a pay phone? I’m sorry, Polly. I know you’re only trying to help but she’s in trouble, I know she is.”
“Then how come we haven’t heard anything? It’s been hours, Kate. Surely if she’d been in an accident someone would have notified us. Or if not us, her folks. But we’ve heard nothing. Absolutely nothing!”
“I know, but what if some rapist has dragged her into the bushes and murdered her! You hear about things like that all the time -women being plucked off the streets and being dragged away. And then it can be weeks or even months before anyone finds them, so we wouldn’t have had a phone call would we! And what if someone has done that to Rachel?! What if she’s lying there now, hurt and bleeding.”
“For God’s sake Kate!” Polly said sternly. “We can’t think like that! Rachel is fine, okay? I can’t pretend I know where she is and I can’t pretend I understand her reasons for not getting in touch, but what I do know is that’s nothing has happened to her and nothing is going to happen! Rachel will turn up.”
“How can you say that!?” Kate practically screamed at her. “You don’t know, not for sure and what if, whilst we’re sitting here with our thumbs up our fuckin’ arses waiting for the soddin’ phone to ring, Rachel is lying in a ditch somewhere bleeding to fuckin’ death!”
Polly slapped her. It wasn’t a particularly hard slap and she felt terrible the minute she’d done it, but she couldn’t think of what else to do and Kate did stop shouting.
Unfortunately, she started crying instead.
Polly wasn’t sure which was worse.
“I’m sorry” She said, taking Kate’s hand and holding it tight. “But loosing your rag isn’t going to help. We have to think rationally. Try and put ourselves in Rachel’s shoes and figure out where the hell she went.”
“How?” Kate sniffed.
“Well, for a start there’s the missing address book. Veronica said Rachel was pretty upset about it, so maybe she did go off looking for it and got side tracked along the way.”“ But where would she go, other than here?”
The colour drained from Polly’s face. “Oh, shit.” She whispered. “I’ve just thought. You arrived shortly after I got here and I’ve only been in the kitchen and the lounge. The bedrooms..”
But Kate was already on her feet, and tearing out of the lounge, she took the stairs two at a time, yelling Rachel’s name.
Faced with the figure in the doorway and with nowhere to run, Rachel stared, her mind involuntarily returning to ‘ girlfriend’ mode as she tried to judge how Simon would react to the bandage in her hands, the knives wedged in the toaster and down the heating vent and to the smell of scorched plastic and the mess. And her blood, that was everywhere. Not only in the kitchen but also on his sofa and across the laminated flooring of the hallway.
As if reading her mind, Simon agreed with her. “Look at this fuckin’ mess!” He yelled, his hands outstretched. “Look what you’ve fuckin’ done!”
“What I’ve done.” Rachel whispered. “What about you?’ She had nothing to feel guilty for, she realised. Nothing at all. It was Simon’s fault she’d had been tied up and forced to hobble and cram his previous knife into an air vent to escape, not hers. She hadn’t bloody volunteered to go through this ordeal! It wasn’t some kinky sex game they’d thought up together for a laugh. And how the hell had he got in without her hearing? Okay, she’d been preoccupied, but she hadn’t been so distracted that she’d miss the scrape of his key in the lock or his shoes clicking across the laminated flooring. Not when she’d been listening for both of those for the last flippin’ hour!
Unless he’d been here the whole time.
“Have you?” She asked, voicing her thoughts. “Have you been here the whole time?”
Simon raised his eyebrows.
“Why?” Rachel breathed. “I don’t understand. What did you hope to get out of this? What did you think was going to happen once I got away? For fuck’s sake Simon, I could have you arrested for this! You tied me up? You hit me!”
Simon rolled his eyes. “Ever the drama queen.” He sighed. “And, as per usual, totally wrong. What makes you think I’m going to prison, Rachel? What makes you think I’m even going to let you get anywhere near the police?”
“What makes you think you’re not?” Rachel snorted, annoyed that Simon could take her threat so casually. “ How are you going to stop me? Tie me up again? Smack me in the mouth? You can try, but I’m warning you, lay one finger on me again and I’ll scream the fuckin’ place down.”
Simon remained unmoved. “Go ahead.” He said. “Scream all you like. No one will hear you. I’ve had the place sound proofed, Rachel, from floor to ceiling. You could fly a jet engine through here now and no one would hear a thing. Oh, and by the way, I’ve bought the apartments on either side of me as well, so there’s no one to hear you there either.”
Rachel gawped at him. “You’re sick.” She said. “And you’re lying. There’s no way you’ve had this apartment sound proofed?”
Simon smiled. “Isn’t there?” He said.
She screamed anyway, yelling at the top of her voice. The bandage she was holding screwed tight in her hand as she screamed for help and prayed that someone, anyone would hear her the noise and come to investigate.
Unmoved, and with his arms folded across his chest, Simon leant against the door and watched her. Rachel, he sneered, was reacting in exactly the way he’d imagined she would; screaming and yelling and making a bloody spectacle of herself. It was enough to make anyone want to smack her in the mouth. Still. At least she had swallowed the sound proofing story, which was nothing short of a miracle, because how much did the silly cow think he earned? Even sound proofing a single room would have cleared out his budget, yet she actually believed he’d had the whole apartment done. It was incredible! Why would he put up with dirty great builders marching through his property, spreading dust and muck and demanding cups of tea every five, bloody minutes, just so no one would hear her scream?! He had quality furniture in here too. Clean furniture, although judging by the smell he’d noticed coming from the lounge, it probably wasn’t as clean as when he’d left it. But even covered in Rachel’s sick it was still better quality than what she’d had in that squalid, little house of hers.
She’d believed him about that too, smiling in that sweet, sickening way she had, when pulling up outside her house, he’d told her how quaint and cosy it looked. Like hell. It was rank and tatty and it was hard to see how it could be anything else, squeezed as it was between two equally nasty looking hovels. But Rachel hadn’t seen his look of disdain and lapping up his every word had seemed pleased that he thought her house was lovely. She’d even waved to him as she’d skipped up the garden path like some overgrown schoolgirl. It was amazing God suffered her to live.
But he hadn’t lied about everything.
The apartments either side of him were empty. The one to his right abandoned six months ago by the Wilson family, who having decided they wanted to ‘expand their horizons’ and travel, only visited their South London address whenever they needed a change of clothes or had a funeral or wedding to attend. Their last visit had been three weeks ago, therefore it was safe to assume they wouldn’t be back for a while.
The other apartment was still awaiting redecoration. Damaged by the last occupants who living way out of their comfort zone and culture, had cooked their evening meal over a real, wood fire left burning in the middle of the lounge floor. They’d also harboured a fondness for freshly slaughtered meat and the kitchen had been transformed into an abattoir, complete with the hanging and still dripping carcasses of several rabbits, pigs and chickens, most of which had been minus their heads, later discovered cramm
ed into the back of a wardrobe.
Why they hadn’t seen fit to use the perfectly good oven sitting in their kitchen, or the brand new freezer, no one knew, and Simon didn’t particularly care. Vacant apartments either side meant no one could hear Rachel kicking up a fuss, and the residents on the opposite side of the landing were hardly likely to bother investigating strange sounds when they were out at work all day.
Rachel had finished screaming by the time he tuned back in.
“Finished?” He asked. “Or are you just drawing breath?”
Rachel glared at him. I hate you, she thought and throwing the bandage into the sink, she reached for the kettle, yanked the plug out of the wall and hurled it to the floor. Roaring with frustration when it landed with a soft ‘clunk’ rather than the loud clatter she’d been hoping for. Furious, she kicked it into the corner.
“You can’t keep me here you know!” She cried, irritated that Simon appeared to be finding the whole thing amusing. “People will be looking for me…”
Simon snorted. “And what people would they be exactly?” He asked. “No one knows you’re here, remember? And while you’re at it, you can stop throwing my stuff around. No one can hear you. Like I said, it’s sound proofed. When are you going to start believing me.”
“When you start behaving like a civilized human being instead of a complete tosser?” Rachel shot back. “And what’s this all about anyway? Revenge for being dumped? Or didn’t you like the shoes I was wearing?”
“Those silver, strappy things? I have no feelings for them either way.”
“Then what?” Rachel demanded. “Come on, Simon, tell me. What’s going through that twisted, little head of yours?”
“Salvation.” Simon replied. “Yours.”
In tears, Kate slumped on the floor beside Rachel’s bed and buried her head in her duvet. Rachel hadn’t been upstairs, and if she was honest, she hadn’t really expected her to be. It was just about plausible that Rachel might have been sleeping when she and Polly had first arrived, but it was doubtful she would have slept through the phone calls and the smell of dinner cooking and the shouting that had followed.
Yet, she’d still clung onto that hope, still reached for that thin, slender thread of sunshine that maybe, just maybe she would climb the stairs and there Rachel would be, curled up under the duvet and completely oblivious to the panic she was causing.
Sitting down beside her, Polly curled an arm around her shoulders.
“She’ll turn up.” She said, trying her best to sound reassuring. “Just you wait and see. She’ll swan in here, all sweetness and light, with a perfectly good explanation for where she’s been and absolutely no idea of the amount of worry she’s been causing.”
“And what if she doesn’t?” Kate sniffed. “What then? Oh, God, Polly. I really wish I could believe what you’re saying, but I just can’t help thinking something’s happened to her. Something bad.”
Polly smiled. “Now you sound like Homer Simpson. But, okay, if you think she’s is trouble, then what do you suggest we do? We’ve tried the hospitals, and like you said, it’s too early to go to the police, so what to do you want to do? I can’t think of anywhere else she’s likely to be.”
“What about her other friends?” Kate suggested. “There must be more than just us two. Who did she hang out with before I came along?”
“I don’t know. People from work? Simon? We usually did everything else together – until you came along.”
Kate managed a small smile. “Jealous?” She asked.
“Maybe just a little.” Polly said holding her thumb and index finger a miniscule space apart. “But it doesn’t matter now. What we need is some new ideas of where to look, not a full blown war on who Rachel likes best.”
Simon moved around the counter. Savouring the moment.
He knew Rachel was waiting for him to carry on speaking, her expectant expression a complete giveaway that she was waiting him to launch into a more detailed description of what he had meant by her ‘salvation’, but for the moment he didn’t feel like enlightening her. Instead he wanted to savour and relish her disquiet. To look into her eyes and see the flicker of doubt ripple across her forehead, moments before she flinched.
Smiling, he licked his lips and then pressed them tightly together, keeping the explanation locked firmly inside. His eyes flickered towards the mess that was now his toaster and to the knife mangled beyond redemption and his nostrils flared in irritation.
Rachel would pay for that.
The heating came on and frowning at the strange rattle that accompanied it, his attention was drawn to the vent and to the knife sticking out of it.
Clever, he thought and registered his appreciation with a barely discernable nod of his head. He wouldn’t have thought of that, he conceded. There again he wouldn’t have got himself tied up and left for dead in someone’s else’s apartment. It took a woman to stoop to that level of stupidity.
“What do you want Simon?”
Rachel’s question broke into his reverie, and he cocked his head to study her, wondering how he’d ever found her attractive in the first place. His other girlfriends had not been like this. They’d had class. A nice car, a nice home, a decent wage to fund their extravagant lifestyle. Whereas Rachel was just plain common. Her car was a clapped out banger, her home a box without character, her clothes bought from a chain store catering for the clambering masses with little money and even less idea how to spend it. The very epitome of everything he hated and yet, she still had the audacity to stand up to him! As if she was somebody. As if her opinion mattered!
His voice, when he spoke, was low. “What I want.” He began. “Is exactly what I said. Your salvation.”
“And what exactly does that mean?” Rachel dared to challenge. “What do I need salvation from? Aside from you of course.”
“Yourself.” Simon replied. “You see I know all about you Rachel. I know all about you, and Kate, and about your secret, little meetings when you’re supposed to be at work.”
Phil! Rachel’s head screamed. Bastard!
“ And I know what you do together. I know Polly’s been covering for you and I know it has to stop. And I can do that, Rachel. I can help you.”
Rachel stared at him. “Are you serious?” She snorted. “What bloody help? You may not have noticed, but there’s nothing actually wrong with me, unless bashing me over the head and leaving me tied up on your sofa is some kind of alternative therapy I know nothing about! But I certainly don’t need you bloody ‘help’, no matter what you think. So why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone. I’m leaving!”
“No, you’re not.” Simon replied. “You need help. My help.” And grabbing her by the hair, he savagely yanked back her head, pulled the burnt knife from the toaster and pressed it against her throat. “Now will you do as you’re told?” He demanded. “Or do I have to press my point home more firmly?”
Yanking her away from the counter, he marched her into the lounge. pushing her in front of him. She went compliantly enough, given that she had little chose, whilst her mind, clearly in some alternative universe of its own, inexplicably choose that moment to ignore the situation she was in, and point out how much easier it was to walk now that her ankles were no longer tied together.
Not that it comforted her much. Not with a knife against her back and Simon’s fingers digging into her spine.
Her eyes flickered towards the front door and in a moment of futile imagination, she wondered what it would be like if the heavy boots of the SAS suddenly smashed through the wood and peppered Simon with gunshot? It would, she decided, be bloody marvelous. And if he died, then so much the better. She’d be at the nearest bar by then anyway, throwing a triple vodka down her throat before collapsing into Kate’s arms.
It would also make having a blackened and still slightly warm blade digging into her skin worth going
through, because, right now, she had precious little else to cheer herself up with. Right now she was down there at ground zero. Stuck in the middle of a horrible nightmare with no idea why it was happening to her or what she had done to deserve it. Aside from the fact that she’d gone out with a fuckin’ psychopath!
Polly would have had the answer though, if she could have asked her, because she had always said something like this might happen. How many times had she told her Simon was weird? Or dangerous. How many times had she tried to persuade her to leave the relationship, right now, whilst she still had the chance and before Simon did something that really hurt her.
If only she’d listened! But she hadn’t. Instead, and like a fool, she’d defended him and shrugged off his weird behaviour as merely being the way guys were. After all, she’d reasoned with herself, how would she know? She’d only ever been out with girls, so how was she supposed to tell if Simon’s treatment of her was the norm or not?
She’d soon learnt, though, and by then it had been too late. Simon had had her well and truly under his control and she’d been too frightened and bewildered to realise what was going on and leave. Only Kate and the unconditional love she’d brought with her, had given her the strength to finally pluck up the courage and dump him, yet still she was trapped. Still Simon was in her life. Controlling her and manipulating her and reminding her that she only had herself to blame.
Because it was her fault she’d ended up back at his apartment. She could have said no. She should have said no. She should have stuck to her guns and demand he mail the address book back to her. But no, she’d followed like a lamb to the slaughter and now here she was. Trapped. And why hadn’t she thought to grab a knife from the kitchen and hold it to his throat! What had she thought was going to happen? That Simon was going to take one look at the state of his precious toaster, laugh at the mess she’d made and then send her on her way with a cardboard box of canned peaches? She must have been mad to even think he was going to be reasonable. The bastard never was.
