Six days gone
Bloodied, dazed and confused, Alexa stared into the lens above her. Her eyes rolled, willing themselves to disappear into the back of her skull so she didn’t have to witness another moment in the white room, but the captor gripped her chin, keeping her alert.
The click came first, then the blinding flash, followed by the whir of a polaroid being printed.
Alexa didn’t know what, or whom, the polaroids were for, but the captor had been taking them ever since they first came into the room. They’d homed in on Alexa’s face as it scrunched when her skin was sliced. They’d taken a snapshot of how her blood trickled down her skin. Print after print, the worst events of Alexa’s life had been documented.
Alexa wondered if the photos were being sent to her husband to extort him for money in exchange for her return. She wondered if he would pay the ransom or not, then shook her head. That shouldn’t even be a question. Things between them had been bad, but they loved each other underneath it all.
If the images were being sent to him, then Alexa knew that she could cling to hope. There was no way anyone could see photos of a person reduced to a shell and not do everything in their power to save them. Especially if it was someone they loved.
But the darkest side of Alexa’s brain warned her that there were other uses for such images. Perhaps the captor never intended to share them. Perhaps they were for them and them alone. Kept like sick trophies to mark their cruellest days. A scrapbook that they could flick through on cold nights and relive their most horrific actions.
And if that was the case? Well, Alexa knew that there was no way she was getting out of here alive.
‘Please,’ she rasped, moving even though the chains weighed her down.
The captor reached out and grabbed Alexa’s hand. She knew what was coming before it happened. But still, Alexa Clarke roared in pain as her index finger was snapped clean in two. Punishment for her thinking she had even the slightest bit of autonomy in this situation.
Again, the camera framed up the injury.
Again, a light flashed and a polaroid was printed.
Again, Alexa Clarke found herself wishing for the welcoming embrace of death.
CHAPTER 40
I listen to the radio on the drive back to Bramblethorpe, but it’s not enough to stop my conversation with Simon from infiltrating my mind.
It’s clearer than ever how shut off from everyone Alexa was, especially Otis. A man who has lied to me, to Gabby, to the police. A man both Simon and Sonya describe in unflattering terms.
I bite my lip, thinking of how, by this time tomorrow, no one will have seen or heard from Alexa in a week. Seven days is a long time. Long enough to change a life, for better or for worse. You can fall in love in seven days. Have an affair that destroys your marriage. Find out you’re pregnant, then learn that you no longer are.
I’m so focused on untangling my thoughts that I barely notice I’m back in Bramblethorpe, driving too fast for this village and its winding roads. The first time my surroundings register with me is when Bernie races across the road ahead, chasing a rabbit.
‘Fuck!’ I screech, slamming on my brakes and waiting for the sickening thud of impact.
Thankfully, it never comes.
Releasing the tension from my face, I open my eyes to see Jim in the centre of the road, scooping Bernie into his arms. He holds him to his chest as if Bernie were a baby, then locks his furious gaze on me. My spine pins me to my seat as Jim storms towards my car.
‘Why the hell were you driving so fast?’ he bellows. ‘It’s a thirty zone around here!’
My hands are shaking so much it takes me three attempts to wind my window down. ‘I’m so sorry. Is Bernie okay?’
‘I don’t want your apology. I want to know why you were speeding.’
I glance at my hands, white-knuckling my steering wheel, but when Jim follows my eyeline, he thinks I’m looking at my phone clipped into its holder.
‘I hope whatever’s on your phone is more important than a life,’ he spits, then kicks the side of my car. A terrified yelp escapes me at the menace behind the impact.
Jim doesn’t give my fright a second thought, though. He stomps away, still cradling Bernie. Remorseful tears blind me as I watch him go, but I can’t blame Jim for being so angry.
Slumping forward, I rest my forehead on my steering wheel, breathing deeply to fight my tears. I’m losing my grip on everyday life, I can feel it – but the more I tangle myself in Alexa’s story, the harder it is for me to walk away. A tear trickles down my cheek and lands on my jeans. I watch it soak into the material, staining the denim darker.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ I whisper, but my upset is interrupted by the sound of a horn beeping. Jerking upright, I glance in my rear-view mirror. Of course it would be when I’m crying in the middle of the road that there’s traffic in Bramblethorpe.
Trembling from the aftershock of my almost-collision, I set off driving, slower this time. The sting of my tears grows as I pass Jimand Bernie further along the road, peaking when I notice Jim glaring in my direction.