Chapter 51
I’m really worried about Grace.
Message from Grace’s brother to their parents
Grace
I had completely lost all sense of time.
In the darkness, I had nothing to orientate myself.
Again and again, I held my breath and listened to the silence, trying to make out even the slightest noise that would give me a clue as to where I was.
I heard nothing, and no one seemed to hear me either.
I screamed and yelled into my gag, but nobody came.
My vocal cords eventually felt so raw that I gave up.
I’d long since abandoned my efforts to free myself from the restraints.
My skin throbbed where I’d been tied up, and I felt dizzy from exertion, hunger, and lack of sleep.
I was utterly exhausted, but the adrenaline coursing through my body kept me awake, as did my racing thoughts.
One minute, I was wondering what Ethan was doing; the next, whether my parents had realised yet that I was missing.
I was also trying to figure out whom the voice belonged to, and I couldn’t shake the thought of the offer that could save my life.
I didn’t know if it was my exhaustion or simply the longing to be free and safe again, but the deal seemed more appealing with every passing second.
Which was probably exactly what my kidnapper wanted.
He was leaving me here to stew until I was desperate enough to agree to anything.
And perhaps I should take his offer, if only to spare my parents the worry.
But then my thoughts turned to Amy and how unfair it all was.
She hadn’t deserved to die so young. A whole world of possibilities had awaited her, and if she’d had the chance, she could have done so much good.
She would have saved people and made lives better.
And that was why I couldn’t accept the deal.
It would have meant putting a price on Amy’s life, and I couldn’t do that.
Even after her death, she was priceless.
I wondered what would happen to me. Would my kidnapper kill me?
Or would he get his henchman to do it for him?
How would they do it? Would it be quick and painless?
Or would they torture me first in an attempt to make me change my mind?
My stomach churned at the thought, and a small voice in my head urged me to take the offer. Amy wouldn’t have wanted me to die. She would have wanted me to say yes, cooperate, get out of this alive. I tried to suppress the voice, but I couldn’t.
I just couldn’t.
But suddenly, out of nowhere, I realised that the quiet voice in my head had been joined by a real one. Not just one voice, but many. And there were footsteps above me. Dozens of them. Was my captor throwing a party while he had me trapped down here?
If so, this was my chance to escape. Maybe I could draw someone’s attention. I had to try, at the very least.
I drew a deep breath and screamed as loudly as I could into my gag, while at the same time gathering the rest of my strength and pulling at my restraints.
It cut off the blood supply to my hands and feet, but I didn’t care.
Nor did I care about the cuts on my fingers, which split open again under the strain and began to bleed anew.
I have to get out.
I have to get out.
I have to get out.
The thought was the only thing that kept me going. It made me forget my pain and exhaustion. It even drowned out my fear.
But the restraints didn’t give, so I began rocking back and forth.
It took a while, but eventually I managed to get my chair moving.
Once I’d built up enough momentum, I threw my entire weight to one side and toppled over.
I hit the ground with a deafening crash, my forehead cracking against the cold stone.
It wasn’t hard enough to knock me out, but I could feel blood trickling down my temple.
I listened to the voices again. They still sounded as distant as before, but then a moment later, they came closer. Had it worked? Had they heard me fall?
Someone rattled at the locked door of the wine cellar.
“Hey, there might be something in here!” called a muffled voice.
Oh my God . . .
The door rattled again, and a moment later, there was a cracking and splintering sound, as though the door was being forced open.
All at once, the voice was right beside me. “I’ve got her!”
My chair was set back on its feet, and someone removed my blindfold. I blinked. Having spent the last several hours in the dark, my eyes were sensitive. My gag was removed.
The man standing before me was wearing a police uniform.
He spoke into the radio on his vest. “Sergeant Smith here,” he reported to his colleagues.
“I’ve found the missing girl. She’s alive.
We’re in the wine cellar in the eastern wing of the building.
” He turned his attention back to me. “How are you doing, Grace? Are you injured?”
I shook my head, unable to speak. Tears of relief formed a lump in my throat.
“We’re getting you out of here,” the sergeant assured me, and pulled out a pocketknife to cut through the tape binding me to the chair.
As he was working to free me, two more officers entered the room.
They looked me over, and while one started undoing my handcuffs, the other scanned the room, taking in the traces of my escape attempt.
I was so overwhelmed that I still couldn’t speak. Was it really over? Was I free? Was I dreaming? How had the police known to search for me here?
The sergeant who had found me helped me to my feet, but he had to hold me up. My legs had gone numb, and my knees were weak with relief and exhaustion.
“Let me through!”
Ethan.
I whipped my head around.
Not a good idea. Black spots danced before my eyes, but Ethan’s face still swam into view.
He came into the cellar and rushed towards me, practically tearing me out of the sergeant’s grip—and then I was in his arms. He held me tightly, and when I began to sob, he pulled me even closer, as though he wanted to fuse our bodies together.
“Oh my God, Grace.”
I wasn’t the only one in tears. Ethan cried with me, his face buried against my neck. His warm breath brushed against my cold skin.
“I was so scared,” I mumbled into his chest.
“I know. But everything’s going to be OK now.”
He didn’t let me go. I couldn’t tell if he held me for seconds or minutes.
Slowly but surely, the pressure in my chest eased.
The realisation that I was safe seeped in, and my body—which had been on high alert all this time—finally relaxed.
My stiff muscles slackened, and I was suddenly crushingly tired.
Ethan moved away a little without letting me go. His gaze swept my face carefully before finally settling on the cut at my temple. He raised his hand and touched my cheek tenderly. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, that was me.”
Ethan’s smile was a mix of sorrow and relief as he kissed my face, though I knew it must be smeared with blood, dirt, and tears. His lips finally found mine, which were probably dry and chapped, but it didn’t seem to bother him. “I was so worried about you,” he murmured as he kissed me.
We were interrupted by the clearing of a throat. I’d forgotten we weren’t alone. “We should get Miss Claymore out of here,” the sergeant said with a faint smile. “The paramedics are already waiting.”
I wanted to say that I didn’t need medical attention, just a shower and some rest, but before I could speak, Ethan had already slipped his arm around my waist and was leading me out of the wine cellar and through the house, which was swarming with police officers.
Javier—whom I’d spoken to at St. Thomas’ Hospital—and his colleague were standing by the ambulance. They examined me before treating the small gash on my head and the cuts on my hands.
Just as they were finishing up, my dad’s Toyota came speeding up the driveway.
My mum practically jumped out before the car had stopped moving and rushed towards me.
I didn’t know how to react as she hugged me for the first time in months.
It was enough to make me start crying again.
A moment later, I felt another pair of arms wrap around my mum and me.
Dad. He held both of us tightly as we cried together.
“Where’s Jason?” I asked through my sobs.
“At his girlfriend’s,” my mum replied, sniffling as she stroked my face. She held my gaze, and all I saw in her eyes were joy and relief. No pain, no disappointment. “We’ve already messaged him. He’s going home, and he’ll wait for us there.” She turned to Javier. “Can Grace go home?”
“Your daughter doesn’t appear to be seriously injured, but I’d like to take her to the hospital just to be sure. Concussions are no joke.”
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”
“You should,” Javier cautioned.
I shook my head. It was probably reckless of me, but all I wanted was to go home to my own room, my own bed. I didn’t want to go from one strange, cold place to another. Besides, I genuinely felt fine. Just exhausted and bone-tired. Nothing a good sleep couldn’t fix.
Javier sighed. “Fine. If you insist. We can’t force you. But be aware that you’re going against our advice. If you start feeling dizzy or nauseous in the next few hours, come straight to the hospital. Understood?”
“Understood,” I agreed.
My dad shook hands with the two men and then helped me out of the ambulance. Ethan had stepped back a little to give me and my parents space, but now he came closer, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, as if he were unsure how to behave around me with my parents there. It was sweet.
“Thank you for finding our Grace,” my mum said.
Ethan smiled almost shyly. “The police found her.”
“Thanks to you,” my dad added.
“How did you know where I was?” What I really wanted to know was, Where was I?
We were standing in front of an imposing villa, but it wasn’t the Asterdams’. I scanned the surroundings for a clue, but there was nothing.