CHAPTER 3
UNKNOWN: We have your daughter.
Simone gapes at it. This cannot be … She is half aware she is clutching at her chest. ‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ she is saying, over and over. The hair. The hair.
This must be a nightmare. She’s still asleep, jet-lagged.
She stands up, looks down at her body. Another technique she learned years ago, when the restaurant was ailing and the stress dreams began.
Stare hard at your surroundings, observe them and their logical place in the world.
A clock on the wall that says ten past eight.
Her bare feet on the wooden floor with its uneven joins.
The door to the bedroom, its angular edge. Everything is so clear.
This is no dream.
This is real.
Read it again. Just read it again.
Her hands shake, the text dancing and blurring into surreality. Her mouth goes wet and she keeps swallowing; she might be sick.
No, think, she tells herself in the stern voice. Think. If anyone is equipped to deal with this, it’s you.
Fingers sweaty, she tries to call the unknown number, but the option is greyed out.
‘I can’t work this fucking phone!’ she shouts, even though there is no one around to hear her.
This must be a prank. She’s on a reality TV show. Lucy’s lost her head, has faked a kidnap. No! Maybe it’s part of some method acting. Simone’s shoulders sag. That’ll be it. But the reassurance is false, gossamer-thin. Simone is no idiot, so it doesn’t last even a few seconds.
Maybe it’s deep-faked. Designed to elicit money, after which Lucy will be revealed to be just outside, where she’s been waiting all along.
Another message comes in, destroying the gossamer entirely.
It’s a video. The message accompanying it reads: Proof of life.
Simone presses Play.