32. Iris
Iris
‘Y ou’re a stupid woman,’ Eva says to me after hanging up on Sam.
I rub at my cheek, still stinging from the slap she gave me.
It’s hard to reconcile this woman with the meek, supposed victim I’d met only weeks ago.
I hate that my judge of character had been so far off.
I wonder if my obsession with the child trafficking case had blurred my vision of everything else around me.
Maybe I am a stupid woman. It landed me here.
‘You’d want to hope your husband comes through for us or you’ll never see your precious babies again.’
Billy, Sadie and Lara are constantly on my mind, and I wonder what Sam has said to them about me being gone.
I picture them heading off to kinder and childcare, probably with my mother-in-law, and hopefully none the wiser about what’s going on.
I have to tell myself that. Because I can’t let myself think about what could happen if I don’t get out of here.
‘What do you want?’ I ask. My throat is killing me, every word hurts to get out.
‘He’s going to help us escape in exchange for you.’
I snort out a laugh. ‘No, he isn’t.’ Surely they know he’s not that stupid.
After everything we’ve been through—seeing friends of ours have their child abducted, my mental health issues, our marriage being strained by the investigation—there’s no way he’ll agree to that.
Or would he? He’s an incredible cop. But he’s also a devoted husband and father.
He can’t do it. I’ll find another way out of here without letting these assholes get away with it.
Eva’s mouth twists into a snarl. ‘We’ll see,’ she hisses before leaving, locking the door behind her.
My stomach rumbles at the sound of the door closing. I desperately need food and water, especially if I’m going to have any hope of fighting my way out of here.
I drag myself up off the dirty mattress. I’ve already searched the room but maybe there’s something I’ve missed.
My legs are weak beneath me, and I curse myself for lying down for too long. Part of me wants to reserve any energy I have but I can’t afford to stiffen up or lose circulation. I need to move before my body forgets how to, otherwise I have no hope.
Using the wall, I move over to the small window. I already know it’s locked, but I press at it anyway with no success.
From my brief time outside, being moved from the car to the house, I’ve worked out it is a farm—the paddocks, the dam, the rundown stable. But that’s all I have to go on.
Paddocks are all I can see in front of me. I press my cheek to the window, trying to see as much around the sides as I can. Not too far away, lit by the afternoon sun, are mountain ranges.
My brain begins to turn, like puzzle pieces slowly finding their place in a larger picture. I’ve read countless reports and transcripts after the initial arrest two years ago.
The man who’d been caught had mentioned a farmhouse in the Victorian High Country. It’d been one of their stops when they took children from rural towns before bringing them to Melbourne. I shudder at the thought a child probably stayed in this very room.
This couldn’t be a coincidence. I wrack my brain trying to remember the name of the nearest town but I’m running on very little fuel, and paired with the emotion of knowing what possibly happened here, I’m coming up short.
I lower myself back onto the mattress and rub at my temples, willing my mind to focus, but it’s no use. I’m exhausted and starving.
I let sleep take me, with the hope that the name will come to me when I wake.