Chapter Fifty-Seven
The kidnapper
She’s seen my face. It’s the one thing I dreaded most.
We stare at each other in stunned silence, seconds stretching out like hours. Her mouth opens as if to speak, but no words come out. There is just silence.
‘You need to go to the basement,’ I say quietly.
Her expression twists with rage. Before I can react, her fists are pounding against my chest. Then she slaps me so hard across the face that I nearly lose my balance.
‘You bastard! You fucking evil bastard! You kept me from my child, and for what?’
‘Please, Joanna. I can explain,’ I stammer, reaching for her hands.
‘Don’t you dare call me Joanna,’ she screams. ‘Don’t you fucking dare!’
I manage to pin her arms to her sides.
‘Please don’t make me hurt you,’ I whisper, desperate. Her hatred cuts deeper than any wound. I already hate myself more than she ever could.
She struggles to break free, but I stay in control, guiding her as gently as I can toward the basement stairs.
‘No!’ she screams, her voice shattering the stillness. It echoes in my skull. She nearly stumbles down the first few steps, and I steady her gently.
It’s a struggle to get her into the basement, but finally I do. I lean against the door, breathing heavily as she unleashes a torrent of abuse from the other side.
I stumble back up the steps. My hands are shaking. Sweat runs down my back like a swarm of tiny spiders. I pace the house, frantic.
‘Jesus, Jesus,’ I mutter.
How the hell did she get out? One thing I do know is that I’m in deep shit. Everything had been going so well, and now it’s all gone to hell.
***
Joanna
I don’t believe it. I don’t fucking believe it. I’m a prisoner in the basement of my own bloody house. How is this even possible?
My voice is hoarse from screaming, and my knuckles are bruised from pounding on the door. I still can’t believe it, Neville Logan, him of all people. We paid him well for the renovation. We treated him kindly. I liked him. I trusted him.
I trusted the bastard. I kick the coffee table, flipping it onto its side.
I’ll kill him. He’s stolen so much time from me. Time I should have had with my son. But why? None of it makes sense.
A cold knot tightens in my stomach. What is he planning now? He knows I’ve seen him. He knows I can identify him. If he ever intended to let me go, surely that’s off the table now.
I pick up the photo of Joel from the coffee table and clutch it to my chest, sobbing. My heart feels like it’s splintering into pieces.
If I can’t see my son again, what’s the point?
There’s no such thing as a charmed life. I know that now.
***
Neville
I heat the shepherd’s pie I bought earlier. My hands move on autopilot. I have no idea what I’m doing. But she needs food.
I prepare the tray and stand outside the basement door. She could be waiting, ready to attack. I lower the tray to the floor and crouch beside it.
‘Joanna? Are you standing back? I’ve got your dinner.’
Nothing.
I strain to hear through the door. Silence.
‘Joanna? Can I come in?’ My mouth is dry with anxiety. I swallow hard and brace myself.
I open the door cautiously, leaving the food behind just in case. The last thing I need is boiling shepherd’s pie hurled at my face.
‘I’m coming in, Joanna. Please don’t do anything foolish.’
She’s not by the door. She’s sitting on the couch. Her hair is a mess, her eyes red and swollen. She looks pale, drained. Guilt wraps itself tightly around me.
‘I’ve got shepherd’s pie… if you want it,’ I say awkwardly. I instantly regret how stupid it sounds.
I notice the water jug is empty.
‘I’ll get you more water. Do you need painkillers?’
She stares at me, her expression filled with hatred.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she asks quietly. ‘We trusted you. I trusted you. I felt for you because you couldn’t see your children. And now you’re torturing me in the same way.’
She’s clutching the photo of Joel.
‘Joanna… It’s hard to explain. But I will. Soon.’
‘Tell me now,’ she demands.
I walk to the door.
‘I’ll bring your dinner,’ I mumble.
‘Just fuck off out of my sight,’ she screams.
At that moment, my phone rings. I step out of the room, hearing the door click shut behind me.
***
Joanna
Why is he doing this? Is it for money? If so, Daniel would have paid him by now. If Daniel couldn’t, then Dad would have. Why is no one looking for me?
I don’t understand any of this. What did he mean by it’s difficult to explain?
How can I be in my own house? Surely Danny has been here. Hasn’t he wondered why Logan is here?
Danny probably hasn’t been to the house.
I know Danny. He won’t be able to face seeing the house without me.
He must be frantic. I start to sob. I try to keep it quiet so that bastard doesn’t hear.
I don’t want him to know that he’s winning.
I keep thinking of Joel. He must be asking for me every day.
What is Danny telling him? I know Nicola will care for him, but I want my baby.
I want to feel his warm body and smell that unique essence that belongs only to him.
I’ve got to get out of here. But how?
***
Neville
It’s been over an hour, and I stupidly keep thinking about the shepherd’s pie. I should warm it in the microwave. I hate the thought of her going hungry.
When I enter the basement, Joanna is still in the same place.
‘You should eat,’ I say, placing the plate on the floor.
‘Are you going to kill me?’ she asks.
I reel back in shock. ‘What?’
‘Are you going to kill me? I’ve seen your face. You know I’ll go to the police. You can’t let me go, can you?’
I swallow.
‘N…no… It’s all going to get sorted out,’ I stammer.
‘Sorted out?’ she repeats, glaring at me with hatred in her eyes.
‘I mean… Of course I’m not going to kill you,’ I say, knowing I sound like an idiot.
She laughs; a sharp, hysterical sound. ‘So you’re just going to let me go, so I can tell the whole world you kidnapped me?’
My head spins. ‘No,’ I snap, more sharply than I mean to. ‘It’s going to get sorted.’ I take a step back. ‘I have to go out. I suggest you eat.’
She keeps staring at me until I start to feel uncomfortable.
I open the door and step out.
‘Bastard!’ she screams, and the plate slams into the door, shattering with a violent crack that jolts through me.