The Keeper

by Diane Saxon

  She dropped the needle on the floor and leaned in closer, desperate to focus on the fine fracture line she could see in the metal. She cast her gaze the length of the cot, inspected the connection she could see there. It was feasible. It had to be. Her only hope was to break her way free of the bed frame.

  Heart pumping, she staggered to her feet, twisted her hand so her fingers could grasp the cuff, then she slid the manacle as far along the rail as she could get it. Hope gave a vague flutter while she halted to listen for a hint of noise. She sniffed the air to detect any fumes. Nothing. He wasn’t home yet.

  She fought the terror that gripped her stomach, tightened her grip on the cuffs and gave a one-handed yank as hard as she could. Her feet swept from under her and she slapped down on the silt-covered floor, thankful for the thick pants which gave a soggy slap but protected her backside from too much damage. If ever her sister got to rescue her before she escaped, she’d never live down the humiliation of the incontinence pad.

  She took inventory of her condition. She had no idea of the state of her hand, possibly strained or broken wrist, definitely broken fingers, gashes along her legs, cuts and bruises, swollen ankle, swimming head. God, her head swam. And she was stiff. Stiff from the cold and the battering she’d taken, but she was alive. Normally fit, healthy and pretty strong, she had the strength to do it. She had to.

  Whatever happened once she got out of that hellhole, at least she could run. She glanced around. She had no shoes. He must have taken them. She could only hope to hell she didn’t have to go far before she was spotted, picked up, or she found her way to civilisation. She knew how damned cold it would be out there, but determination would see her through.

  She wanted to go home. It was time.

  A wild, desperate sob broke free.

  Domino wouldn’t be there. He was dead. Without him, she had no idea how she would cope. Tears tracked down her cheeks and she swiped them away, anger driving her onwards. She couldn’t dwell on the negative, she needed the strength to rescue herself.

  Breathless, she worked her way to her feet again. She stared at the thin line on the rail, unsure whether the hairline crack had widened. She braced herself to try again. Froze.

  Was that a noise? A creak of a door? Was someone coming?

  Fliss tilted her head to listen. No further sound came from the old house.

  She focused on the rail, the small fissure that could possibly have widened.

  She wasn’t going to let fear stand in her way.

  She was going to escape.

  She raised her foot against the bed frame and then jerked back with her whole weight. The top end of the frame burst apart and the connection ruptured, the cuffs snapped free, flinging her backwards. She let out a howl of agony as her plastered arm smashed elbow first into the floor, chasing away the white, sticky clouds in her brain and replacing them with bright sparks of firelight.

  With soft whimpers, Fliss rolled to her knees. She struggled to her feet and made a stumbling dash for the door. She grabbed the handle with her right hand and yanked. It never moved. Pulse thundering in the base of her throat, she tried again, but the door was locked.

  Tears dashed into her eyes, but she blinked them away. She needed a clear mind and clearer vision. She smelled the air. Nothing. No evidence yet of his return.

  She scanned the room as the water eddied around her feet, determined to bring her panic back under control. If she could think straight, she could get herself out of the situation. She’d done it before with Ed. She’d left him without her big sister’s help. She could do this without Jenna too.

  God, but she wished her big sister was there. If only she’d burst through the door and rescue her just like she had a hundred times before.

  Fliss sniffled and dashed the tears away as they streamed down her cheeks. Last time Jenna had tried to help, Fliss had told her to butt out of her life. That was before she’d realised what a grip Ed had got on her.

  Fliss swiped at her cheeks again, pulled her shoulders up straight. She could do it. She was halfway there. She’d got herself free of the bed, now she needed to get out of the room.

  She glanced down at her bare feet, curled her blue toes up against the cold, the thick sludge of dirty water whirling around her toes while her vision wavered. Whatever drug the man had given her, it hadn’t worked its way out of her system. Her feet grew larger as she stared, expanded to fill her vision and the hot acid of nausea rose in her throat and clenched her stomach in spasms. She gulped away the excess water in her mouth, tightening her lips against the threat of sick rising up her gullet.

  She needed to focus on something else.

  She forced her gaze higher, tracked it up her bruised and battered legs and then stared in revulsion at the pants she wore. Damned if she was about to be found in a soaked, shitty incontinence pad with the stench of piss and menstrual blood. She ripped them down her legs with her one good hand, her cuffs rattled in protest, but a smile of satisfaction curved her lips when the pants gave a loud soggy slap as they hit the floor.

  Naked from the waist down, Fliss sploshed through the water to the trolley, snatched a fresh pair of pants and made her way back to the cot. Her breath wheezed out as she slumped onto the bed, lifted her feet and scrubbed them against the mattress until they were almost dry.

  One-handed, she wrestled the pants up her legs and hefted them over her hips. With her heart pounding, she flopped backwards and waited for her breath to even out before she rolled off the bed onto her feet.

  Fliss snatched the thin blanket from the mattress and wrapped it around herself, wedging up against the cot so she could hold it in place while she struggled one-handed to tuck the end in at her waist.

  Exhausted and dizzy, she panted out desperate breaths before she shoved herself away from the cot.

  With one last glance around, Fliss bent to retrieve the scissors. They might be her only defence if the man returned while she was trying to escape. At this point, there was no way she could leap back on the bed and pretend nothing had happened, the place was too much of a shambles.

  With a wild grimace, she pulled her lips back from her teeth and let out a frustrated howl.

  She’d rather kill him than remain his prisoner for however long he wanted. He’d obviously kept the other woman. She weighed the scissors in her hand. Mentally she was prepared, emotionally she hardened her heart. If he died, so be it. Whether she was physically capable was a whole different matter. Her only way would be to take him by surprise. Shove the scissors in his neck and run like hell.

  With studied determination, she made her way to the door on the opposite side of the room, paused to listen. She couldn’t remember which way he’d left, she’d already been under the influence of the drug he’d administered. Her hand wavered in front of her face as she reached for the handle, grasped it.

  Shock rippled through her over-sensitised system as the door swung open to reveal a short passageway to a set of stairs.

  Without another moment’s pause, Fliss raced along a hall and up a flight of stairs, ignoring the small stumbles from her tortured legs. Her swollen ankle shot fire into her frozen foot, but she charged on regardless. She wrenched open the door at the top of the short flight and hesitated.

  Instinct told her he hadn’t returned, but she paused to listen, to smell.

  He wasn’t there. Nor was anyone else, she was certain.

  She peered around his empty, silent hallway, every ancient wooden door leading from it closed to give it a cold, heartless feel, but the front door had a tiny half-circle of bright painted glass. She closed the stair door behind her and slipped along the hall, her toes sinking into the thick patterned runner on the floor. She curled her toes into it to steal even the smallest amount of warmth.

  She cast her gaze around, sorely tempted to peep inside one of the rooms to see if she could grab a pair of shoes or trainers, anything to slip onto her feet, but she didn’t dare take the risk.

  As she rea
ched for the door handle, the dull rumble of an approaching car stopped the breath in her throat. The vehicle was coming her way.

  He was back.

  Oh god, oh god, oh god!

  29

  Tuesday 30 October, 06:40 hrs

  Exhaustion ramped up the irritation until the prospect of getting home left him trembling with anticipation. Work had his temper frayed and his patience with others teetering on the brink of breaking. He needed a holiday. Some time away.

  He licked his dry lips, every moment away from her a torture. He’d take some time off and spend it teaching Fliss the way of things in his house. Discipline is what she needed.

  He pushed his heavy glasses up his nose and cruised the old black Astra into his drive in front of the cast iron up-and-over garage door.

  Once he’d settled in, poured himself a small glass of whisky and eaten the pre-packed roast beef dinner, he’d pay her a visit.

  Unbidden, the rage rose in him. If she’d disobeyed him again, he’d teach her a lesson. He’d yank her hair out, twist her broken hand until she begged for mercy. Mercy he’d given his wife once she’d learnt her place.

  He switched off the car engine and sat in complete silence while he looked up at the dark, imposing Victorian house he’d come to loathe.

  A reluctant smile curved his lips. Still, he had something to come home for now.

  30

  Tuesday 30 October, 06:45 hrs

  Fliss clutched the scissors to her chest. Her only weapon. Her heart quailed at the thought of using them, but she may have no choice. The bastard deserved it.

  The floor trembled beneath her feet as the car passed by, its headlights flashing through the coloured glass panels in the front door to briefly illuminate the dim hallway.

  Panic sent adrenaline spiralling through her, but she held firm at the front door while she listened above the pounding of blood rushing through her head.

  The engine quietened but the vibrations continued, low and threatening.

  He was there. He’d come in. She’d be stood in his hallway.

  She stepped to one side of the door, placing her back against the side wall. With the scissors clutched tight in her fist, she raised her arm, reassessed and changed her grip. Better to go in low and surprise him than give him the opportunity of grabbing her wrist and wrenching the weapon from her grasp.

  As the silence stretched out, she darted her gaze around, determining her best route. What if he didn’t come in through the front door?

  Breath hissing through her teeth, Fliss forced herself to listen. The distant reverberation of the garage door reached her ears while the memory of fumes reminded her he would go through the garage into the cellar where she’d been.

  Frantic, she threw a quick glance over her shoulder at the aged bolt on the door to the stairwell.

  She limped back to the door, slid the bolt home and backed away before she shuffled through the hallway to the front door with its little glass panel of hope.

  The deadlock grated as she turned it and she froze before she swung the door open.

  An icy blast hit her as a wild gust of wind greeted her at the door. No idea until she made the move whether it was day or night, relief washed over her as the blanket of grey dawn light gave her hope she might escape without him being able to see her.

  Petrified, she stepped out, paused, and then pulled the door closed behind her, cringing at the shotgun crack of it in the silence.

  She crouched and took a tentative step away from the house, swivelling her head from side to side to check for movement as she focused through the thin drizzle into the semi-light.

  The hard flint of small stones bit into the soles of her feet and cut into the gaps between her toes. Numbing herself to the searing pain, Fliss ground her teeth and slid her feet one step after the other over the loose stones while a kaleidoscope of vicious colour daubed her vision as the drugs reacted to the kick of adrenaline.

  The hard surface turned soft and slippery, a relief to her feet as she shuffled along a dirt track, every moment vital, every breath soughing through her throat in hitches of panicked air.

  Fliss scanned the area, her hope of recognising some landmark scuppered by the curtain of murky dawn. She narrowed her eyes and peered into the distance. Tiny specks of light and optimism wavered through the darker outline of swaying trees to her left.

  The soft whoosh of water confirmed that she was near the river.

  She glanced behind, held onto her breath while she listened.

  ‘Get off the track, Fliss,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘He’ll see you.’

  With one step forward, her feet shot from under her, her backside hit the ground, and she slithered down a short, steep incline. Her breath rushed out of her in a fierce grunt as she slammed into a tree trunk. She curled into a tight ball, holding onto the tree while she sucked in feeble gasps of air until the burn in her lungs subsided.

  She forced her head up and peered above her, scouring the shadows for sound or movement, puffing out a silent breath as the silence lay heavy.

  She braced herself against the tree and pushed to her feet, determination lending her strength. She wasn’t about to let him capture her this time. She was no longer a victim. She straightened her spine, empowered by fear and determination. ‘I’m not a victim!’ But she kept her voice at a husky whisper.

  She swiped her hands over the thin blanket to wipe the mud away, then scraped her matted hair out of her eyes, tangling her fingers through it, only to have it flop forward again in a straggle of wet locks. She raised her face to the sky, closed her eyes and welcomed the soft wash of rain to cleanse her skin.

  She swayed on her feet. Her eyes popped open and the adrenaline rush she needed to push back the after-effects of the drugs charged in.

  Three steps forward and the terrain changed again. Her naked feet skidded over a wooden fishermen’s landing. The dash of water rushed underneath, and she died a thousand deaths as she teetered on the edge. She wind milled her arms and staggered back away from the edge, her breath heaving in her chest.

  She bent over at the waist and leaned her good hand on her knee, tucking her plastered arm against her stomach to hug in the warmth.

  Dear God, she didn’t need a maniac to kill her, she was about to achieve it all on her own.

  She raised her head while her world spun with triumph.

  The soft glitter of fading moonlight sprinkled over the tar-black river a footstep in front of her. The current rushed the water onwards as the strength edged back into her trembling legs.

  She knew where she was. Not the exact location, but upstream, where the light glimmered, was Ironbridge.

  Filled with hope, she scrambled a few steps away from the small dock and turned right to follow the narrow pathway along the edge of the river, ankle-deep in the floodwaters. No sound but the rush of water and her own desperate breaths filled her head, but as the sky lightened, her heart burst with courage and she picked up speed as each footstep drew her closer to the distant lights.

  The burn in her chest spread so each breath scraped at her raw throat with the effort of staying upright.

  ‘I’m coming, Jenna. I’m coming home.’

  Tears streaked her cheeks to mix with the rain and the mud and her own hair straggling across her face. She gasped in another breath and forced her wobbling legs onwards.

  Fliss stumbled, slammed her plastered arm against a tree and sent a fresh spike of pain in a fiery heat all the way to her shoulder. Wheezing, she leaned against the tree. Icicles filled her lungs as she laboured to pull in oxygen.

  With legs of jelly, she sank to her knees, swiping away the icy slime of snot from her upper lip with the back of her hand and then rubbed it off onto the dirty blanket.

  She pushed up from the ground and staggered onwards, the river on her right. One foot in front of the other.

  ‘Almost there, Jenna, almost there.’ She puffed in rhythm with the fast, erratic slap of her feet against
the muddy track. ‘Almost there.’

  She jerked to attention as she left behind the icy squelch of mud and her feet hit the concrete at the edge of Ironbridge car park.

  Fliss spared the few houses shrouded in darkness to her left further up the Gorge a quick perusal and made for the bright lights of the Ironbridge instead. Dizzy and weak, she had no idea where she’d come from, but the safety of the dense population of houses drew her to the opposite side.

  ‘Jenna.’

  Fliss clenched her teeth and blew out short, sharp puffs of air past dried, flaking lips. She turned right out of the car park and stumbled past the Tollhouse on her left. Her bare feet scraped onto the pebbled surface of the Ironbridge. Oblivious to the pain, she gripped the blanket around her waist, scissors still in her grasp, and forced her feet to move.

  One step at a time.

  One foot in front of the other.

  Closer.

  Her head bobbed in a drunken wobble and she reached out with her right hand to lean against the thick iron girders of the Ironbridge as the angry waters swirled below.

  She clamoured for breath, drawing it in through her mouth as her nose burned in agony. The weight of her head too much, she dropped it down below her shoulders, tucking her left arm safely around her waist while she almost shook herself apart as the tremors hit her.

  With a slow roll of her head, Fliss glanced to her left, barely able to keep her eyes open.

  Fear bolted through her at the vision of a dark shadow in the lee of The Tollhouse and she turned and fled in a staggering hobble.

  31

  Tuesday 30 October, 07:00 hrs

  The man stared into the distant lightening dawn coming from the east.

  His teeth ground together. ‘Fucking bitch!’

  She’d be seen by anyone out and about on early-morning business.