Captured (10 page)

He had barely believed it when the drug had started to take effect; he had begun to doubt that it would work at all. Kirsty was the first to start slurring, then lurching around, before finally flopping forwards off the couch and onto the floor. Grant suspected a thing; he had shrugged when she conked out, asking Simon how much booze he’d used, before he too had slowly lost consciousness. Simon had expected some sort of opposition, having assumed that they wouldn’t succumb to the drug’s effects simultaneously, but it was easier than he had imagined. He wouldn’t need the gun, which he had hidden under his shirt just in case.

With no idea of how much time he had until the drug’s effects wore off, he knew that he should hurry up, but he couldn’t resist basking in self-satisfaction.

“Time to go,
mate
,” he leaned down and grabbed Grant by both ankles, awkwardly dragging him backwards towards the door. He still wasn’t fully sure of what he’d do with the big Australian, but he had all the time in the world now.

Daniel muted the TV and walked across the room to the kitchen, pouring the rest of his now lukewarm coffee down the sink. He’d been busy with work for several hours, and had been unable to get off the phone. He longed to tell Jones to shove his job, but knew he couldn’t afford to do that. He would still be rich if he never worked another day in his life, but he needed as many people as possible to believe he was in his apartment in London.

He filled a glass with bottled water and drank it slowly. It had only been a few days, but the monotony was driving him crazy. He thought he had struck lucky with this place, but now it felt like a prison. 

Kirsty was still acting like a teenager, a spiteful brat. How long was it going to take to break her? He cursed his luck. She’d seemed so apathetic in London.
Now she’s spirited?
He had this place for over two months still, but he couldn’t fathom the thought of spending all that time cooped up there. He needed to go out and blow off some steam. That would keep him going for a while.

He smiled, feeling better already, and picked up a bottle from the counter. He ripped the coloured wrapping from a fresh syringe, plunged it through the rubber top of the bottle and drew until it was almost full.

Is this what it was like to have a child? It was the closest he’d come. Not counting
Becky
. Not that she’d wanted him to have anything to do with it.

“Fuck!” The viscose liquid streamed across his hand from the syringe he has crushed in his fist. He turned to the sink and held his hand under the tap for several seconds, willing the memory away. He dried his hands and opened the drawer for a fresh syringe.

He walked over to the room and placed one hand on the handle. He paused. He could smell the stench from out here, it was foul. What if it started to spread outside of the apartment? He’d have to do something about it. He couldn’t exactly get someone in to sort it out, could he? He thought about it for a moment.

“Should I just cut my losses?” he asked softly, looking around the blank room.

Kirsty awoke with a start. The insipid room came as no shock to her now. She had lost track of how long she’d been here; she knew the drugs had a lot to do with her disorientation.

She heard the door open and turned her head to face it. The pain was gone now, gradually eased away. She wasn’t convinced that was a good thing: it had at least given her something to focus on. Now the days were interminable. He had either reduced the dose of whatever he was giving her, or she was developing a resistance to it. Whichever; she didn’t care. It just meant she spent endless days lying in the festering heat staring at the walls.

Daniel popped his head around, checking on her. She stared at him. She had lain there confused for a long time, drifting in and out of consciousness, and unable to get past the wall her memory appeared to have erected. It came back to her slowly in dribs and drabs, but nothing concrete: feelings and bursts of colours. When she saw him that day, crouching beside the door, watching her, it had started to trickle back before the drugs kicked in.

That was the last time he had drugged her. She had woken up some hours later. She was groggy, but everything came flooding back then. She remembered the flight to Bangkok. The noisy little guesthouse with its paper-thin walls and buzzing ceiling fans. Sightseeing with Grant. Grant. It hit her like a bolt; dread closely followed by guilt: how could she have forgotten about him? The last time she remembered seeing him was the last time she remembered
anything
. They had gone to an apartment with Daniel. This apartment? She wasn’t sure; she’d never left the walls of that stale bedroom. She didn’t remember much about that afternoon.

“Where’s Grant?” she asked him hoarsely. She didn’t know how long it had been since she last spoke aloud.

It was the first time she had mentioned his name to Daniel. He stopped halfway between the door and the bed, appraising her. He had expected a ‘why’ or a ‘who’, but not this. Not now.

“What do you care? You’ve only known him a couple of weeks!” His tone was one of forced levity.

She rolled her head back to stare up at the ceiling. “What are you doing, Daniel? What is all this?” She couldn’t see his expression, but she didn’t care. She was exhausted from thinking about why she was there. She was afraid to hear his answer, she knew; maybe that was why her concern for Grant had bubbled over and eclipsed her other problems.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he dabbed at her forehead with a wet flannel.

She had resolved not to react to him, to give anything away; but it was too disturbing to her. “What are you, a nurse? What the fuck are you doing Daniel?” she couldn’t control it; the rage flooded over. “Why are you doing this you fucking psycho? How can you come in here pretending this is normal?” She was gulping air between sobs of frustration.

He paused, the cloth hovering inches from her face. He withdrew it slowly. Despite herself, she turned her head to see his reaction. She felt a searing sting as she did so: he had pulled away the flannel and replaced it with the full force of this open palm.

She opened her eyes slowly, in shock. She wasn’t prepared for what met her eyes: his expression had transformed to one she hadn’t seen on his face before, even in the throes of passion. It was a horrible mix of delight and relief that repulsed her to her core. The urge to rub her stinging cheek was overwhelming; she tried to release one of her arms but they were still tightly fastened to her legs. Now that she was lucid, her limbs ached dully from inactivity.

“Why am I here?” she tried again.

He said nothing. She flinched as he reached out a hand, but he didn’t strike her again. Instead, he stroked her hair gently. She felt sick.

“Get your hands off me,” she hissed.

His hand stopped moving, but he stayed calm this time. He shook his head slowly and walked to the door.

“You’ll change your mind,” he didn’t look back at her as he opened the door quietly and closed it behind him.

She looked at the ceiling, thinking. There was an intra-venous line protruding between the ropes. She couldn’t feel it, but assumed it was going into her arm somewhere. What was it? She couldn’t remember feeling hungry or thirsty, but reasoned that that could be a side effect of the drugs. Where had he gotten an IV?

She had a lot of questions for Daniel. Like why was she tied down in a bedroom? He wasn’t giving anything away. She sighed, helpless. Up to now, her fury had been a boost, but the stalemate was breaking her spirit. How long could this go on?

What’s he going to do to me?
she wondered.

She heard the television come on. The volume was low but she recognised it as one of the market bulletin shows on Bloomberg TV. It was a familiar sound: the same show was played constantly at a low volume on a small screen on the wall of her old workplace. It seemed incongruous now.

“I’m lying in a foreign country tied to a bed and Daniel is watching Bloomberg TV,” she whispered softly to herself, and closed her eyes. Her own voice sounded strange. She opened her eyes several seconds later. The TV still buzzed softly from somewhere in the building.

She tried to wriggle her legs and succeeded, though there wasn’t much room for manoeuvre. At least she could move her head fully now. She turned to the left. The long, grey curtains obscured any light from outside. There was nothing else to focus on except for grey walls. She sighed, sobbing again. She couldn’t see a way out. Grace would raise the alarm – she must be in Bangkok by now.

The door opened. Carla waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He remained at the door, watching her.

“What’s the date?”

He didn’t respond. She forced herself to look at him.

“Oh come on, I just want to know what the date is.”

He shook his head slowly.

“What day is it?” she tried.

No answer.

He didn’t speak again, or leave the room. He stood still, watching her. She couldn’t bear it for long and turned to face the curtains. His eerie gaze was even worse than being stuck in there alone.

She screamed. It was more of a low-pitched wail. It took her a few moments to register that the desperate sound was coming from her mouth. The noise somehow unlocked her emotions: it had seemed unreal before in the sweltering quiet. Tears gathered at the sides of her eyes and gushed downwards. She paused momentarily, to swallow, unable to stop the sound resuming. Somewhere along the way, it had turned into crying.

He stood watching, though he was visibly agitated at her wailing. “No one can hear you, so that’s pointless,” he snapped.

This reinforcement of her helplessness only heightened her anguish. He didn’t speak again, but stayed in the room.

Kirsty stirred, opening her eyes to the now familiar swollen sensation. This time she knew it wasn’t related to whatever concoction he’d drugged her with before. Her head felt reasonably clear. She turned her head and was relieved to see that the room was empty. She strained her ears. She couldn’t hear a sound, not even from outside the door.

She thought back to London and the time when she had first met Daniel. Even now she couldn’t remember anything about him that hinted at his true nature. Even Grace had liked him, unlike Simon.

Simon. He hadn’t crossed her mind for some time. What was wrong with her? Most people got through life without inviting violent partners into their lives. She had clocked up two and she wasn’t even thirty. Granted, Daniel had been more of a fling than a relationship, but she wasn’t in a position to be a pedant right now. It struck her then. Daniel had implied that he hadn’t seen Simon since they were school friends, but what if they were in this together? It made sense.

She was searching her memory for evidence to back up this theory when Daniel entered. His earlier blank expression was replaced with a kindly smile. He looked so much like the old Daniel – the Daniel she
knew
– that she had to stop herself from smiling back.
Who is this person
?

This time, he walked straight over to the bed. She saw a syringe in his hand, full of a beige-coloured liquid.

“I’m going to have to knock you out so I can clean you up.” Up close, his benevolent expression was chilling. He held up the syringe and pushed the plunger slightly to ensure the needle was unblocked.

Her resolve to stay calm evaporated. “What the fuck am I doing here? What the hell are you doing? You can’t just keep me here like this; tell me what you’re doing. Tell me!” Her face turned pink in frustration. “You’re a fucking psycho! Is Simon in on it too? Two nutcases. Let me go. You can’t keep me here!”

His mask cracked for an instant, before he regained his composure. He leaned forward and held a hand out slowly, as if approaching a dangerous animal. He stroked her hair gently. “You need to calm down. It’s not good for you to be hysterical like this, you–”

He looked backwards to the door, and glanced back at Kirsty.  She had followed his gaze and had evidently heard the same thing.

Knocking.

“Kirsty, it’s me. Grace.”

He turned to face her again, wide-eyed, and clamped his hand over her open mouth savagely, muting her scream. It escaped her throat as a muffled moan.

“Pointless,” he smiled, unravelling a corner of the sheet from where it was tucked between the mattress and the bed base. He stuffed it into her mouth, making her gag. Tiptoeing to the door, he closed it gently, leaving her alone.

Kirsty struggled to calm down and breathe through her nose. Her brain was insisting she gag, but she resisted hard. She had to; she’d choke otherwise. She strained to hear: Daniel had closed the door on the way out. She heard nothing for a few seconds, and then a loud slam. Then voices; hushed. She couldn’t hear what they were saying. She thought she heard a phone beep.

Grace was here! Her hope surged, but ebbed away as the seconds passed and doubt crept in. It didn’t sound as if there were many people out there. And they were still murmuring to each other, or was she imagining the soft hum of lowered voices? What if Grace believed whatever lies he was spinning?

She tried to spit the sheet from her mouth again, but it was useless; every time she opened her mouth she had to fight against the overpowering urge to gag. Her tongue was wedged to her bottom teeth. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get it behind the wad of smooth cotton.

Panic welled up inside Daniel like bile. Don’t panic. It’s locked.
What if she went to the police?

Quickly, he stuffed as much of the sheet into Kirsty’s mouth as would fit and left the room, thinking furiously.

He tiptoed to the door. How had she found them? He released the deadlock as slowly as he could, hoping it wouldn’t make any noise.

Seconds later, the handle turned. He patted his back pocket before flattening himself against the wall behind the door. The knife was still there.  He still held the syringe in his hand. He had no time didn’t care if she saw him. As long as she was alone.

How had she found him though? And who had she told? He tried to put his questions to the back of his mind as the door swung slowly open.

He heard her step inside.

Why hadn’t she just accepted the email from Kirsty? He should have known she’d been a problem. They had only met a handful of times, but she was so opinionated. And she’d been the one to put the idea in Kirsty’s mind. She’d never have left if it wasn’t for Grace. Suddenly he wished she was a stranger so he could have a little fun with her. As things stood, they were connected, and he couldn’t risk being uncovered.

Damn
, he thought. If he’d been clever, he could have drawn Simon over too and implicated him in the whole thing. There was still time; though it would be a bit of a logistical nightmare with Kirsty. No, with two of them now...

“Kirsty?”

No. She isn’t worth it. He didn’t have anything here to pin things on Williams.