Love Lies Dying (29 page)

And he was all alone.

Twenty-three

This is crazy,
John thought as he looked around the empty church.

Zoe had been gone ten minutes, he guessed, but he had no real way to tell. She could have been gone longer, for all he knew.

The sun continued to shine on him through the church windows. It was near the top of the panes now, slowly moving upwards into the sky. The shadow that had begun on the wall opposite was now on the floor near him, slowly creeping closer.

John continued struggling with the handcuffs. He tried every possible way to pull them and shake them, desperately hoping to break through the metal of the chair. But all he succeeded in doing was digging them further into his skin, even though he thought they could bite no deeper.

The pain wasn’t so intense now, but he realised that was because of the numbness in his hands and arms.

He looked around the church again, slowly this time. Looking at everything with a keen eye, focussing on objects that now could possibly hold the means of his escape.

Starting from his left, he dropped his eyes from the stained-glass windows and ran them across the long wooden table that stretched for almost the length of the room.

Zoe had left nothing to chance. There was nothing on the table at all.

John’s eyes slowly moved across the table and to the beds, at the far end of the church.

So she’d stashed the gun there,
he thought as he remembered Zoe pulling it from under the mattress.
Where was it before that? It wasn’t under the seats in the Jeep, that’s for sure!

And then the events from last night flooded over him again.

The spare keys, the gun, the way she attacked him.

She lied.

She
lied
to him.

Why?

John shook his head, sending stabs of pain up his neck and into his brain.

Why would she lie to me about those things?

John couldn’t work it out. He thought she’d been truthful to him. She seemed to have been telling the truth about everything. So why go to all the trouble of lying about the spare keys and the gun?

What was she trying to hide? And why was she hiding it?

As John scanned the beds for any possible idea to help him escape, he tried to put himself in Zoe’s mind, tried to work out why she would lie to him about some things and yet be so truthful about others.

Truthful? What’s truth and what’s lies?
he wondered.

And then it all became clear.

Ricky Fox.

It was so simple, and it all made sense.

Fox, you bastard.

When he thought about it, he couldn’t blame her. He realised that she had every right to play her most important cards close to her chest. He would too, if he found himself in her situation.

She’s played Fox’s game for so long, she was probably used to it. It was normal for her. And John worried that she was playing right into his hands now.

Having found enough courage to finally stand up to the guy who is beating her and treating her like shit, she flees from him and drives half-way across the country to find a friend who can help her. Then, when that friend goes for help, she’s left with another guy, a complete stranger, and she has to spend the next few days with him because her good friend has been captured by the bastard she was running from.

I’d be very careful too,
John decided.

No wonder Zoe wanted to keep the gun to herself. Even the handcuffs made sense when he thought about it.

Maybe she was going to use them on Fox if she got the chance.

John turned his head to the right and glanced along that side of the church. The fire was dead; the charred wood cold and black. He was sure he could still smell some of the smoke from last night. But then he decided his mind was playing tricks on him.

He examined the fireplace more closely.

Where’s the fire poker? Or the shovel?

The poker could help him. Maybe he could lever it between the metal slats of the chair. If he could break them he would be able to get free.

But the poker was nowhere in sight.

Damn!

He slowly turned his neck as far as he dared, gritting his teeth as the pain shot across his shoulders and neck and back. Looking over his right shoulder, he glimpsed the closed front door before a cramp bit into the side of his body and jerked him rigid.

He let out a yell of pain as he tossed his head to the front and stared at the beds once more. Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and held his breath until the cramp in his side slowly unknotted and subsided.

After what seemed like an eternity, the pain finally vanished and John opened his eyes once more.

Hurry back, Zoe,
he thought.
I don’t know how long I can stay like this.

When he thought about the situation she’d escaped from, literally being a prisoner of Fox for years, he could certainly understand why she hadn’t told him about the gun and handcuffs.

But how could she just leave me like this?
he thought to himself.
I’m trying to help her and she does this to me!

After being so truthful about her life and what had happened to her, the events leading up to their meeting, why would she not trust him enough to tell him about the gun and handcuffs? Why leave him bound in the church? Why not believe him when he said he’d wait for her here?

He couldn’t help feeling he was overlooking something.

John muffled a short laugh.

Simple,
he thought.
I’m a man.

He nodded his head in agreement with himself.

I’m a man, and she knew I was lying when I said I’d stay here.

Why should she trust any man?

He realised things had changed because of last night.

By taunting her about the car keys, by throwing her handbag in the dust and poking fun at her, by chewing her out and being sarcastic towards her, he had shown her that there was a little bit of Ricky Fox in him.

Maybe a lot.

So, why trust me at all?

It was the only scenario that currently made any sense at all.

And I’m a liar.

He had told her he’d wait here for her to return. He’d promised he wouldn’t follow her when she left to meet Fox. But he knew inside that he would have done anything to have kept her from going alone. He would’ve fought her, restrained her,
forced
her to take him with her. And if she’d managed to get away, he would’ve stalked through the forest to catch up with her.

Redlingford was only ten miles from the church.

John remembered Zoe saying that to him.

Ten miles.

He could cover that distance in no time.

She’d taken the car, so he guessed he only had to head down the driveway and follow the road that brought them here until he reached Redlingford.

I’d do it if I wasn’t tied to this chair.

And that was the reason why Zoe had tied him up. She couldn’t trust him to keep his word.

And she was right.

John shook his knees and tried to wriggle his feet. His main aim was to keep the circulation flowing down his legs, but he also wanted to check how tightly bound the rope was around his ankles.

He could hardly move his feet at all. Zoe had tied his ankles tight to the chair, making movement of his feet almost impossible. The rope bit into his ankles and he was sure he could feel blood trickling down his socks.

Useless,
he thought.
It’s all useless.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus his hearing once again. He needed to sharpen his ears, as they were his only contact with the outside world. The birds had stopped their singing, as if wanting to help him.

John smiled at that thought.

Come on, pal,
he told himself.
Don’t go crazy on me yet!

He listened intently for any sound.

Nothing.

He knew the road wasn’t far from the church, he knew the driveway wasn’t that long, but there were no sounds of cars on the road.

Nothing.

Don’t people use this road at all?
he screamed in his mind.

Probably not,
he replied to himself.
That’s why Fox picked this place. A long, long way from anywhere.

Sighing deeply at the futility of listening to nothing, and opening his eyes once more, he stared down at his body. As he did so, he noticed the shadow was cutting him in two. His head and shoulders were now out of the sunlight, while the rest of his body was still being warmed by the rays.

John felt like time was dragging, but the shadows cast by the sun proved that time was moving at its regular pace. Soon the sun would slip from his body completely and leave him in shadow.

Even the sun is leaving me,
he thought.

He leaned his head backwards, fighting the pinpricks of pain in his neck and the back of his head. He looked upwards into the cathedral ceiling.

He tried hard to relax, tried to force the rigidity out of his muscles,  forcing his body to be calm.

It was an almost impossible task. The metal chair was hard and uncomfortable, and the numbness in his legs and arms and lower back made relaxing an unobtainable goal.

John licked his lips. They were dry and flaky. Even the wound on his lip from where Zoe had bitten him felt as coarse as sandpaper.

I need a drink,
he thought to himself.

But there was nothing to drink.

They better get back soon. I don’t know how long I can stay like this.

He wished he could have another chance at the events of last night. He realised that if he had treated Zoe differently, he would’ve been with her now, on the way to Redlingford.

On the way? She’d be there by now, wouldn’t she? Is it happening right now, as I sit here?

If only he hadn’t lost his cool and yelled at her. If only they’d gone back inside the church and discussed things properly, maybe John could’ve been with Zoe to help her, to play an active part in the rest of her life, and his…and Helen’s.

I needed to be there to help her and to get Helen free!

But he realised he only had himself to blame for the situation he was now in. He’d lost his cool, scared her, and now he was paying for it.

Damn!

He sat forward and pulled with all his might at the handcuffs. He closed his eyes hard, held his breath and pulled forward, willing the metal in the chair to buckle and break.

The pain shot along his arms and across his back, through his neck and up into his head, reigniting the headache that was just beginning to subside.

After pulling for as long as he could, he slumped back in the chair, his chest heaving.

It’s no use,
he told himself as sweat trickled down his face.
You’re just going to have to wait it out.

As the sweat ran down his right cheek, John stuck out his tongue, hoping to lick at it. Any moisture at all would help him right now. But the streak of sweat was out of his reach and continued down to the side of his jaw, where it hung for a few precious seconds, as if to taunt him, before it dropped onto his shirt.

Getting his breathing under control and letting the pain ebb away, John came to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do.

He just had to sit and wait. And that made him furious.

Anger got you into this problem in the first place,
he told himself.
So there’s no use getting angry now. You don’t want Zoe and Helen walking in to find you ready to explode and tear strips off them.

John nodded to his silent thought.

“You’re right,” his voice croaked.

He closed his eyes, tried to relax and continued to rein in his breathing.

Slowly, his headache began to subside again. The pain was now a dull constant feeling, not the sharp pulsing pain it had been.

He believed the pain was still there, he was just sure he couldn’t feel it anymore.

And for the first time, he was glad that most of his body was numb.

Twenty-four

John opened his eyes and looked around the church.

He had no real idea how long he’d been sitting there.

He didn’t think he’d fallen asleep, but he couldn’t really tell.

He may have drifted off for a while. Or maybe the dull pain and numbness of his body had lulled him into some sort of meditation-like state.

But his eyes were open now and he was alert. His heart was racing and his body was tense.

Had he heard something?

Did a noise startle him awake?

He listened for anything unusual, any sound that was out of place.

Nothing.

He turned to look out the windows.

The painted glass made it hard to distinguish objects, but he could see the outside world through them and could make out different shapes. He was sure he’d be able to recognise the size and shape of a person if someone was outside. His eyes jumped from one window to the next as his ears pierced the silence, hoping for a sound.

But there was no movement. And no sound.

The sun was gone from the stained-glass now. No light shone directly through the windows and the shadow had completed its journey across the church.

John turned back to stare at the windows on the right wall of the church. No sign of sunlight there yet.

Noon.

It had to be.

Around midday?
John thought.
Was I out that long? I must’ve fallen asleep.

He sat upright in the chair and tried to move his limbs. He could hardly feel his hands any more as his arms moved lazily. His legs were cold and numb and he couldn’t feel the muscles any longer. But at least his eyes told him that his legs were moving back and forth.

He turned his head from side to side, trying to break the stiffness that felt like two metal rods on either side in his neck.

His lips were still flaky with dried skin and his tongue felt dry and swollen.

I need a drink,
he thought again.

He tried to swallow in the hope of bringing up some saliva. After a few attempts he managed to coat the inside of his mouth. That would hold off the thirst for a little while longer.

Noon!
he thought again.
Where are they?

Suddenly, panic took hold.

John’s mind raced as he tried to picture the events that must’ve already played out, or were still playing out at the farmhouse in Redlingford.

Redlingford was only ten miles away. Zoe would’ve driven there in no time. She would’ve arrived within a few minutes of leaving the church.

He closed his eyes and pictured in his mind Zoe arriving at the farmhouse and stopping the Jeep in the driveway. Dust would be billowing around the Jeep, and she would wait for it to settle before stepping from the vehicle. She would make sure that she could see everything around her, and everyone, before making any move.

He could picture her climbing from the Jeep and standing in the drive, her hair in that tight bun, the sunlight shining on it. She would have a hand on each hip, and she would be standing there waiting for Fox to make the first move.

Her face would carry a look of determination, but he knew that emotions would flow over her as they always did. Fox would know exactly what she was thinking and feeling. She didn’t have a good poker face and she wouldn’t be able to hide her real feelings through it all.

John could see the gun sticking out the back of her jeans too, and that worried him. What chance did Zoe stand with one gun against Fox and any number of his thugs? She wouldn’t have time to grab it and use it, and she wouldn’t have the skill.

She would be outgunned, outsmarted and out-bluffed.

John knew then that it was all futile.

Everything.

He’d ruined any chance they all had of escape by yelling at Zoe last night.

By forcing her to knock him out.

By making her tie him up.

It was
all
his fault.

And, handcuffed to a metal chair in the church, there was nothing he could do about it.

He could picture Zoe’s face as she stood there in the driveway of the farmhouse in Redlingford. He could see the strength in her eyes as she fought to stare Fox down. He watched in his mind’s eye as the emotions flowed over her as Fox yelled something to her. And he stood by as her resolve broke and her face melted from strength to anger to helplessness. Her eyes closed and her head fell forward.

The wind played with her hair, sent strands of it floating above her and to the side. The tight bun holding her sun-golden hair together unravelled and sent her hair cascading down her back.

He watched as she fell forward on her knees in the dirt of the driveway, the gun falling from her hand.

She must’ve grabbed for it.

When?

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. She tried to smile, but couldn’t, a look of pain darted across her face.

“Sorry, Johnny,” she whispered as a tear spilt from her left eye; the eye with the small scar across the eyebrow.

She fell forward, face down in the dirt.

And John could see the quickly spreading blood, spilling from the bullet wounds spread across her back.

He knelt down by her.

He turned her over as he took her in his arms.

“No!” he whispered. “No…”

He wiped the tear from her dusty face and looked into the cold lifeless eyes staring up and through him. He closed her eyelids with one hand, gently touching the scar that ran across her left eyebrow.

He leaned forward and kissed her on her cold, lifeless lips.

“I’m sorry, Zoe,” he said to her. “So sorry.”

The blood flowed through his hands and trickled down his arms onto the dry dusty ground.

So much blood. So much blood…