Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
KAT
The second day comes with burning thirst.
Sam doesn’t come back. And fearing him appearing with his knife is one thing, but fearing he’s leaving us to starve is another. It’s so cold I can’t think clearly, and my throat aches from thirst.
It’s easy to slip into my mind and look for somewhere better to be, but the cruel reality of where I am pulls me back before I can slip off for long. The chill makes it tricky to sleep for any length of time, the warehouse pulling me back.
We’ve screamed and pulled at our chains.
Hunted the floor for anything that might be useful.
And now we sit collapsed in defeat against one another.
‘Talk to me,’ I plead. Nothing but dripping water to fill my head, the repetitive noise grating against my skull.
‘What do you want to talk about?’
‘Anything. Tell me something I don’t know about you.’
‘I met my grandmother once.’ Liam’s voice is sticky. ‘I loved her and begged her to keep me. She smelled of fabric softener and toffees, and hugging her was something I so badly needed. I still think of her.’
‘Have you looked her up?’
He shakes his head. ‘And tell her what, that I helped kill her son?’ He threads his fingers through mine. ‘I don’t need anyone else to hate me.’
‘She might surprise you. You’re very lovable, you know?’
‘Would you forgive someone who killed your kid?’
‘I might not blame them if he deserved it. I might hold onto the family I still have.’
Liam gives a sad laugh. ‘At this rate, it won’t matter anyway.’
In all the hours that have passed, including when Sam made us perform for him, Liam has been my rock. To feel him wavering upends me.
As the hours tick by, the thirst grows to a burning pain every time we talk.
We’ve found that water drips down the pillars we are attached to, and in our desperation, we lap at it, one drop at a time, trying not to think about where it originates.
It tastes metallic, like rust, but we welcome the moisture anyway.
‘My mouth tastes like metal,’ I say.
‘Mine too.’
‘Is that bad?’
‘It’s better than dehydrating, darling, drink up,’ he says.
I lap at it until my tongue aches from the rough metal, then lean my head back against the post and close my eyes.
‘When we get out,’ I say. ‘I’m never going to take tap water for granted again.’
‘When we get out, I’m going to make you carbonara, and you’re going to eat every bite.’
I open my eyes.
‘That’s a good motivation to survive,’ I say. ‘As long as you share it with me. I was beginning to think you never ate all those times we hung out with you masked.’
Trailing my fingers over his wrists, I wince at the torn flesh. They are raw from the chain, the skin weeping.
‘Stop trying the chains,’ I say.
‘I’m not—’
‘I hear you at night.’ I hold his hand, away from the damage. ‘You need to stop before it gets infected.’
He looks at our hands.
‘I can’t just sit here,’ he sighs.
‘Liam, you’re not just sitting here. You’re keeping me from going completely mad.’
He wraps an arm around me, our chains clinking as we adjust.
‘Say it again,’ he whispers against my hair.
‘Which bit?’
‘My name, darling. I’ll never tire of it on your lips.’
‘Liam,’ I say.
He closes his eyes.
I hold his damaged hands as carefully as I can and sit in the cold as his breathing evens out. Where our bodies meet, warmth gathers, and I snuggle into it to try to stave off the chill.
By what I assume is the next morning, I’ve come to the conclusion we’re going to die here.
Together.
I don’t say it aloud, but the thought lingers like a ghoul in the dark.
I think about Ellie coming home to an empty flat and my wrecked bedroom and what that would do to her.
I think about my mother and father, and how disappointed yet vindicated they’ll be, having warned me about this dodgy area of town.
‘I love you,’ I whisper into the dark.
When he swallows, I can imagine the dry ache in his throat.
‘We’re getting out,’ he says, like he knows the thoughts that creep around me.
‘I want to tell you again anyway.’
Another silence. His hand moves to cover mine against his chest. I try not to wince as the cold chain sits against my thigh.
‘I’ve loved you since I was eight years old,’ he says. ‘I didn’t know what to call it then. But I do now. And I’m not going to let him take this from us. We’re getting out, Kat. And I’m going to tell you every day for your very long life that you are loved.’
I close my eyes and press my face against his shoulder.
‘Deal,’ I say.
Mild delirium sets in later.
Despite the pain in my throat, I whisper about everything in my twenty-two years.
The piano lessons I hated and the gym teacher I’d had a crush on at fourteen.
The time Ellie and I got lost driving to Edinburgh and ended up in a field at two in the morning, eating crisps and laughing until we couldn’t breathe.
How hard I’d wished for a sibling so my house wasn’t so fucking lonely.
The name I’d picked out for a dog I’d never been allowed to have.
He listens to all of it quietly, his fingers trailing my thigh.
‘What are you calling the dog?’
‘Hamish,’ I say.
‘Is he Scottish?’
‘I don’t know, but he’d be a schnauzer with a tremendous moustache.’
‘Of course.’
‘Do we need to get a dog now that we have Reggie?’ he whispers.
Oh god, Reggie.
‘Are you sure he’s okay?’
‘The auto feeder lasts at least a week, and Sandra will likely be in topping my freezer with casseroles already. She’ll notice we’re gone and look after him.’
‘I would name an excellent dog Hamish,’ I say. ‘And he would be an excellent dog, and he would be very well-mannered because I would talk to him constantly, and dogs respond well to conversation, I’ve read that.’
‘When we get our own place, we’ll find your Hamish.’
I look at him in the dim light, promising things just to give me hope.
And when I put my head against his chest and sink into the knowledge that we’re never getting out, I’m thankful that I’m too dehydrated to cry.