36
Jhanvi Kapoor’s eyes begin to flicker as she tries to prise them open. The crackling melody surrounds her in the darkness. A calming voice sings about a beautiful dreamer while she drifts in and out of consciousness. In her half-dreamy state, she pictures herself lying on an old-fashioned four-poster bed, surrounded by drapes. As she tries to sit up and reach beyond the netting, the drapery swirls around her wrists and pulls her back.
‘Don’t fight me.’ He turns her phone off, removes the SIM and places the phone on the floor.
That voice. It’s real, not the sounds of a dream. A buzzing sound comes from below as her legs elevate, then the record skips a beat before continuing. She tries to open her eyes again and this time she succeeds, but they need a moment to adjust to the candlelight. It’s him, the man who attacked her in the car park outside her apartment and she sees his whole face – every mark, every line.
Her breaths quicken and she feels her heart hammering until her sight prickles. Hyperventilation, her training told her as much. She needs to calm down. Breathe in, hold that breath, and breathe out, but the gag is making that difficult – like breathing through a blocked straw. She knows she is staring at him with a stark expression. She can feel the tension in the muscles around her weepy eyes.
‘I’m going to reach over and remove the scarf from around your mouth. If you scream, I am going to knock you out again. Are we clear?’
She’s not in a position to do anything else but nod in agreement. A tear drizzles down her cheek.
He holds up a bottle of water and a small blister pack of tablets. She squints but can’t quite focus well enough to read what it says on the packet that sits in his lap.
He places them down and leans forward. The smell of something oily and savoury lingers on his clothes and in the air. She sniffs a couple of times and now she knows that smell is grilled cheese. The place smells like a pizza takeaway.
‘I made your favourite. Cheese on toast. That’s what you normally ask for.’
I’ve never asked you for anything.Jhanvi thinks it but doesn’t speak. She leans back a little, wondering if she should say something or if that will anger him. Whichever drug he has beside him, she doesn’t want any more of it in her body. Things are fuzzy, it’s hard to remember. She doesn’t want to be forced into a sleep and to have to wake up again still not knowing where she is or why she’s here. A flashback to another moment enters her mind. She’s woken up in this chair before, maybe more than once. The buzzing noise comes from the leg-stand. It rises as the back reclines so that she can lie down in the mechanical chair. It’s built for comfort and is similar to the one her dad uses since his bad back worsened.
‘Right, you keep comfortable and I’ll be back in a second.’
He leaves through the wooden door and a light flashes on in the hallway. She tries to struggle but the rough binds hold her in place and she can feel them gnawing away at the top layer of her skin with every movement. He’s drilled holes through the chair to thread the ropes through that bind her wrists; it’s the same around her waist and feet and, worst of all, there is a thinner rope tightened around her neck so she can’t sit up. Her hair has been plaited and each plait falls over an arm.
The candle flickers as a slight breeze wafts through the room. There’s a draft coming from somewhere. Maybe he has opened a window to get rid of the smell.
There has to be a way out.
An old-fashioned portable television with a deep back sits in the corner on a tiny stand. The windows are boarded up with planks of wood and there is another smell; it’s musty, like the place has never been cleaned. An old looking hi-fi system in a dark wood cabinet sits next to the television.
He barges through the door and starts that song playing once again as he forces a corner of toast into her mouth. ‘Eat.’
Saliva fills her mouth. Everything is surreal but for some reason, she’s hungry. It’s as if she’s been starved for hours. She nibbles on the toast as he waits patiently for her to finish the first quarter. Questions run through her mind. Does he ever go out? Why her? She glances at him again as she chews. She definitely recognises him. She’s seen his photo in the case files but she can’t match a name to the face. Remembering might be the key to getting out of this situation intact.
A surge of panic travels from her stomach to her fingers. She can’t eat any more. If she does, she knows she’ll be sick. Hunger and nausea – the feelings are similar. ‘I’ve… I’ve had enough. I can’t… manage any more.’
The plate bounces on the wooden floor and he looks disappointed.
‘Please untie me. People will miss me. I’m a police officer and they’ll wonder where I am.’
He smirks. ‘Oh, Hailey, you haven’t even made the news yet. No one is missing you.’
Her body is stiff and there’s a sore forming at the base of her spine. He must be mistaken about her identity but she tries to hold back from saying anything until she can process the situation. She looks down. She’s not wearing her black trousers and her duffle coat, she’s wearing a Minnie Mouse nightshirt and a pair of bed socks and as she shifts, she hears the rustling of plastic beneath her and a tear rolls down her cheeks. Has he cleaned her up and changed her while she was asleep?
She goes to yell but he clamps a hand across her mouth. ‘What did I say? If you make a noise you will be punished.’
She whimpers as she remembers the case they were investigating. Amber Slater’s lips had been glued together. Tears slide down her face as she thinks of her lovely mother and father and her two brothers. They will be looking for her. The police will be looking for her.
‘I want to go home, please untie me. My parents will be worried and my mum is sick. She needs me.’ She speaks in an almost whisper. Her poor mother might be thinking that she doesn’t care and that is the hardest thing to bear.
‘I’ve already told you, time and again. You are home. Your home is here, with me.’ He strokes her head.
She wriggles in her chair, trying to get a feel for any pain or any sign of being hurt but there isn’t anything apart from her throbbing head. A thought flashes across her mind. An AppyDater message she was about to delete. She didn’t want to date him and he’d sent her one word back:slag.
‘Are you going to kill me?’ Her face flushes, she can feel the heat creeping up her neck.
He pauses and shakes his head. ‘Do I look like I’m killing you?’ His grip on her thin arm burns. He pinches her tighter causing her eyes to water.
