Chapter 28
A sound wakes me, so sudden that my eyes snap open.
The basement is empty. There is no grisly horror on the ceiling, no lank hair skimming my cheek.
I listen, my heart pounding in my throat.
There. That noise, faint and slightly muffled through the floors of the house, but unmistakable.
I sit there a moment feeling cold goose bumps prickle my skin.
Beside me, Maria moans, stirring in her sleep as if she is having a bad dream.
I wish I were. I wish I were imagining things, but I am not. I am here.
Upstairs there is a baby crying.
I unravel from the covers like I am in a dream, leaving Maria limply sleeping.
Outside it is full dark, and I am afraid, but not for myself.
I am entirely focused on that high, wavering cry.
It isn’t a sob, I think, as I climb the steps out of the basement.
It isn’t a sound of panic or pain. But it’s heartbreaking all the same. A child needing comfort.
I take the stairs quietly. On the second floor I hear running water, and Andrew’s voice, talking quietly. I’m not close enough to hear the words, but his tone is muted, almost gentle. It doesn’t reassure me.
The door at the end of the corridor stands open so that a square of light falls through onto the carpet.
By now the crying has tapered off, and that is worse somehow.
I slide along the wall, my breath shallow gulps, blood roaring in my ears.
Steam blooms out of the door in a fine white mist, and I hear Andrew saying, “We’ve got to get the water good and deep, see? ”
I have a terrible premonition as I look around the door.
Inside, a small pink bathroom. Andrew has his back to me, bent over a large claw-footed bathtub.
To the right, a porcelain sink beneath a small window.
The window is propped open, and the sill is dusted with snow.
I can hear the hum of the generator rising from the shed just below.
Maria was right, it does sound like bees.
Scallop-shaped glass sconces are fitted to the walls, throwing out a soft rose-colored glow that only adds to that surreal, out-of-body sensation like I am inside a dream.
Overhead, the water-stained ceiling bulges.
Long tendrils of ivy have crept through the cracks in the plaster and boarded windows, trailing across the pink carpeted floor to where a child is sat, facing away from me.
He wears a pale yellow sleepsuit the color of butter and is picking at tufts of carpet with the forensic interest of a toddler.
Andrew glances over his shoulder. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me standing there. He smiles. “Ah, Hazel. Come on in and say hello to your nephew.”
I’ve read about people collapsing in books.
I’ve always thought how stupid it sounded for your legs to give way beneath you, but that’s exactly what happens to me.
I remain upright only by holding on to the doorframe with my teeth gritted, swallowing the cry of dismay which rises like a pebble in my throat.
“Close the door, would you?” Andrew stands up. His sleeves are rolled to the elbows, and the steam has colored his face, making him look ruddy and healthy. Almost cheerful. “You’re letting out all the heat.”
“It’s the middle of the night.” It’s all I can think of to say. I look at him dumbly. “You can’t bathe a baby in the middle of the night.”
“I’m not bathing him, silly.” Andrew scoops Scout up in his arms and turns to face me. “I’m drowning him. Now, close the fucking door.”
Huge wings of horror unfurl in my chest. I take a staggering step forward, and then another.
I look down at my empty hand, realizing I have left the stryker downstairs.
Scout makes a clucking noise, stretching out his little arms toward me.
His hair is treacle-blond and curly, just like Cathy’s.
There is a tiny dimple in his chin, and as he smiles, it deepens.
This unbuckles me somehow, this little dimple.
I lunge toward him, aiming to snatch him away, but I’m clumsy, only half-awake.
Andrew knocks me easily aside and I’m thrown back against the sink, cracking my hip sharply on the curved porcelain.
I yell, and Scout cries out in alarm. Andrew soothes him before he can start wailing again, bouncing him up and down in his arms. My voice is high and thin and wavering, the voice of someone who knows how badly they have lost.
“Are you punishing me? Is it because I got out of the cellar?”
“The cellar?” He looks at me, his forehead creased in confusion. “Ah no, at some point or other, you were bound to get out of the cellar. I’m just surprised it took you this long. One thing I’ve learned since doing this is that there is no such thing as a secure cell. There’s always a weak spot.”
“Then why? Is it Cathy? Because this will kill her, this will—” My voice breaks and I can’t finish. I’m so angry and scared I can’t even think straight.
Andrew looks at me over the top of Scout’s wispy crown. His expression is cold and pitiless. “I’m not punishing Cathy. I’m punishing you. I saw the note, Hazel. I saw what you did.”
Scout wriggles in his arms, threatening to spill right out of them. His hands are thrust forward toward the steaming bath, legs kicking behind him.
“Baff!” he cries out, smiling. “Baff!”
“That’s right, Scout. It’s time for your bath.”
“Andrew, please—”
“It was clever, what you did. Writing those words like that where I couldn’t see ’em. Under other circumstances, I’d admire you.”
He lowers Scout toward the water without taking off his yellow sleep suit. His clothes will get wet! I think absurdly. Don’t let his little sleep suit get wet! It’s then that I have the dreadful realization that Andrew must have taken Scout right out of his cot.
I think of Cathy waking up tomorrow morning to Scout’s empty bed, and I’m filled with despair. Scout is looking at me with delight as his feet splash the surface, his laughter ringing like a small silver bell.
Andrew holds my gaze. “Cathy came to Belle Vue today. She brought a friend with her too. I like your sister, Hazel. Doing this gives me no pleasure. But I warned you about trying to escape. I told you it would have consequences. Now here we are.”
I take a step toward him, holding out my hands. “I’ll do anything, Andrew. I’ll be anyone you want. Please just … please don’t hurt him!”
“I’ve heard it’s painless.” Andrew’s voice is gentle, almost apologetic. “Once he stops struggling and lets go, it’ll be like he just fell asleep.”
I’m panicking. I have to do something, but what? I’m weak with lack of food, lack of sleep. I’m not strong enough to fight Andrew off, and where could I go if I did? The house is a prison.
Scout beams as Andrew lowers him further, up to his thighs now.
The water swirls around him, his little face pink and delighted in the steam.
I think of emptying my bag in Maria’s room, the laughing fit I’d had.
What had I even been laughing about, anyway?
A stupid calendar? My hand reaches into my pocket, almost subconsciously.
I experience a vivid memory of my self-defense classes with Kashvi, her good, strong voice telling us that anything can be a weapon, it’s the surprise that’s the trick.