Chapter Thirty-Four
Joanna
Islide the Dickens novel back into its place and linger over the drawer searching for another book to escape into. Although I’m not sure why I even try, as I can’t focus on reading.
The walls close in on me, and I feel like an animal caught in a snare.
Tears cloud my vision, not for the first time, as I grapple with the possibility of never being reunited with my family.
Once etched in my memory, Joel’s face is beginning to fade like a dream.
I put it down to the relentless stress. I keep thinking of the tranquillisers that lie dormant in my handbag; they were a rare solace for sleepless nights or when Lila’s face invaded my dreams. If only I had them now.
The symptoms of PTSD still linger. Was there more I could have done to save her? Danny’s assurances that she was beyond saving before my intervention have done little to obscure the visions of her broken body that still haunt me.
And now, it’s the image of my son that torments me. Does he think his mummy has abandoned him?
Footsteps on the stairs jolt me back to the present. ‘Are you standing back?’ he calls.
‘Yes,’ I reply.
He enters with the tray. Steam rises from the plate. Beside it sits a dessert; some kind of chocolate pot this time. He avoids my eyes as usual.
‘Hot chicken salad,’ he mutters, gathering the remains of breakfast.
Just as he begins to back out, a sharp, unexpected ring cuts through the room. At first, I think it’s his phone. But then I realise it’s a doorbell.
‘Damn,’ he says under his breath. For a few seconds, he freezes. The bell rings again, then again. They’re persistent. Hope rises in me. Is it the police?
Panic flickers across his face.
‘Shit.’
He drops the breakfast plate onto the table and bolts.
I lunge for the door before it can close behind him: in his panic, he fails to notice and sprints away to find out who is ringing the bell.
Once I feel it is safe, I venture out and find myself in a dark passage.
My heart pounds. I can hear voices above. Someone is here.
I’m about to scream for help when, suddenly, music begins to blast through the house. Loud. Jarring. He’s trying to drown me out.
I move fast. The stairwell is tight and dark, but I feel the steps with my hand. At the top is a hatch. This must be what I’ve heard him lock.
A man’s voice reaches my ears. ‘Sorry to bother you, mate, but I didn’t want to have to come back. I know what a pain it is reading your own meter. It’s never the same. Cheers for that.’
My captor responds casually. ‘Not a problem.’
This is it.
‘Help!’ I yell.
I shove at the hatch, but it doesn’t budge. He’s locked it. I should have known. I step down and kick at it again and again, until finally it flies open with a crash. I scramble through, arms and legs flailing, before collapsing on the floor above.
I push myself to my feet. My legs tremble beneath me, but at least I’m standing.
‘Wait,’ I start to yell, but the front door has closed.
The chance for help has gone.
I stand there, gasping. And then I freeze.
He’s unmasked and staring at me. His expression tells me that he’s just as stunned as I am.
Time seems to stand still. Nothing feels real. The house, the man, even my own body. Is this a joke? A trick?
But deep down, I know the truth. I’ve seen too much and now the only thing I know for sure is this.
I won’t ever see my son again.