Chapter Eleven
Twelve hours later
It is cold and dark. Claustrophobic with the other bodies pressed up against me.
Too close. I notice the pungent smell of damp and sweat, the echoes of the cell that chill me to the bone.
I have to rely on these senses, scent and sound, the others have been taken from me.
I cannot see, my hands are bound, and my mouth is taped shut.
I’m getting pulled in all directions, my wrists aching from the chains restraining me.
The blindfold tied around my face cuts into my skin.
I don’t know if it’s that making me cry or sheer panic coursing through me.
Pushing myself against James’s shoulder blindly, I try to work the material of the blindfold down, but it’s on too tight.
My only comfort is knowing my husband is bound on my right, Skyla on my left.
We’re together, at least, and while we are together, I know one thing.
The only thing that matters. We are okay.
I want to speak, to let the cry in my mouth slip, but I can’t. My nostrils flare angrily as I try to breathe, but it’s so hard.
James tries to herd us forward, and when I crouch with them my fingers touch what feels like a mattress, springy and soft. Skyla is whimpering beside me and all I want to do is protect her, to shield her from this nightmare, but I’m powerless.
James makes a series of grunts through the tape that must be over his own mouth. I’m trying to understand him, but nothing makes sense. My fingernails dig under the mattress, searching for something to help us out of our chains, but every time I think I start to feel something I’m tugged away.
I don’t know how long we’re like that, flailing helplessly around the cell, bumping into pieces of scattered furniture. Somehow James must work the tape off from his mouth though, because he starts barking orders over another deep wail that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
‘There’s a chair here. Everyone bend down. I need to feel for a key. It’s the only way out of these cuffs,’ he shouts.
We bang into each other, falling to the ground, and let James do the searching.
My skull connects with Raven’s, or is it Skyla’s?
It’s too dark to tell. More minutes pass, an unabating ticking of a clock in our ears.
The key isn’t by the rickety furniture I’ve bumped into or inside what I think feels like a prickly, artificial potted plant, but it’s hard to tell while my hands are bound.
‘Let’s shuffle back to the mattress. It must be there,’ he says.
Something cool starts to drip onto my head. I shiver, trying to shake the droplets off my face. It’s cold. So cold in here my teeth chatter together.
‘Dad?’ Skyla’s voice, small, nothing more than a croak.
‘It’s okay, baby, I’ve got it,’ he breathes, writhing beside me. ‘I’ve got the key!’ He detaches himself from me, and without his closeness I start to shake.
A metallic clang sounds against my hand, and it takes me a moment to realise my handcuffs have opened. I twist and massage my wrists tenderly; my bones are definitely bruised.
Ripping off the blindfold, I squint. I have just enough time to see that we’ve all managed to free ourselves before the only source of light, a small bulb above our heads, flickers and fades, thrusting us into the darkness of the cell.
A scream reverberates around the room, something blood-curdling, distorted, as though from a speaker crackling in a corner.
‘I’ve found a torch!’ Skyla pants. A faint stream of light whirls around the room.
I look around, catching sight of Raven in the far corner.
She’s just standing there in the shadows, glaring at me.
She’s cadaverous, her wasted frame hunched, stringy hair clinging to her bony shoulders.
She reminds me of someone, but it isn’t Robin right now.
It is something menacing, dangerous, demonic.
I quiver at a vision of her lurching towards me while we’re trapped in this God-awful cell.
‘Look, there’s a bag hanging on the doorknob,’ Skyla says, pushing the intrusive thought from my mind. I find I can’t move though, my knees too weak. I watch as James digs inside the bag, pulling out a small slip of paper.
‘Look around you, what do you see? Rows upon rows, where is the key? Find it and break free,’ he reads, then passes the paper to me.
‘Rows upon rows,’ Skyla repeats slowly, considering the meaning. ‘The bookshelf!’
They scurry over, tearing into the old books while I try not to meet Raven’s eyes again. They’re too dark, sinister, gleaming under the glow of the torchlight.
‘Here!’ James exclaims, holding up a simple brass key he’s pulled from a book that isn’t actually a book. It’s some sort of vintage box that clatters to the floor, discarded, forgotten. He inserts the key into a lock and twists.
The door slides away, revealing a new room and, with it, a new set of tasks to complete. My heart sinks. We aren’t free yet.
* * *
We manage to get out of the escape room in just under sixty minutes, getting a shiny certificate and a group photo.
The company prints it out and sticks it into an envelope for us, which they hand to me, and all I can do is smile meekly.
Perhaps in another life I’d have loved an escape room.
I enjoy problem solving, tactical thinking — but the theme of that room, Hostage, it was too much for me. Too real.
‘That was genuinely terrifying,’ Skyla says as we make our way back to the car.
‘Looked like you were about to cry at one stage,’ Raven mocks her, and while I think it’s said in jest, I don’t like the way she’s laughing at my daughter.
I don’t think Skyla likes it either from her reaction.
She turns mute, buckling up her seatbelt and slumping back in her seat.
I want to unfold her arms and tell her it’s okay, I thought it was scary too.
But babying her right now is the last thing she’ll want in front of her friend, and so I watch in the rearview mirror as the arms across her chest tighten.
I look out of the window watching the stone village, winding country lanes and golden crops in the fields drift by, my lip twitching.
Traditionally on my birthday, on any of our birthdays, we have a family games night.
We order Chinese and spend quality time together.
We’re doing that tonight, but with the inclusion of Raven, it feels like someone is intruding.
She’s only been here twenty-four hours, but her presence is unnerving.
Yet still, we get home, we order food and I steal half an hour to myself to scrub away the grime from the escape room before a delivery scooter turns up at the gate. As always, Alfie goes wild.
Stupid dog, I’m sure I hear Raven mutter while I’m trying to hold him back as James takes in our food. I throw my head back to look at her, but she’s already walking off. I shake my head, my ears ringing from Alfie’s barks. I must’ve misheard.
‘When is your mum back from her trip?’ I pry over duck pancakes, desperate to eke out some information from her, but all she does is shrug.
Looking at James, I’m hoping he’ll say something to help the situation.
Realistically we need to know how long we should be planning to keep this girl fed and safe.
Until her mother gets back from wherever the hell she’s gone, this girl is our responsibility, isn’t she?
If something happened to her while staying under our roof, that would be our fault — and I can’t have that.
Not again. My eyes bore into James, but he seems indifferent, digging into one of the food boxes in front of him and ignoring me completely.
I sigh, rubbing my stomach to pretend it’s because I’m full up. But I’m not; I’ve just lost my appetite, because something tells me Raven isn’t going anywhere any time soon.