and Three
When Jessie opened her eyes again, she knew immediately that there was someone else in the room with her. She tried to steady her breathing which was so loud in the darkness. Then she realised that her hands were free, she wasn’t tied up any more. She tried to sit up, but she couldn’t manage that immediately. Her legs were still shackled and she was tied to the bed. As she became more aware of her circumstances she felt relief that she had been given at least a modicum of freedom. It took her a few minutes to finally drag herself into a sitting position; she was in a lot of pain – her arms and back felt like they had been broken.
‘Who’s there? I know you’re there.’ She could hear the tremor in her voice and she hated herself for her weakness. ‘You fucking coward! Talk to me! I can’t go anywhere, can I? I can’t hurt you, can I?’
She listened intently, trying to penetrate the darkness. ‘My dad will kill you for this. You know that, don’t you?’
She could hear the person breathing near to her, they were only a few feet away. It was a man, she knew that much, and he clearly wasn’t bothered by her words. She could feel that he was totally in control of the situation and of her. She was scared, but she couldn’t bow down, she couldn’t admit to her fears.
‘I know you’re there. I know you’re near me. I can hear you, for fuck’s sake.’ Her voice was strong, and that pleased her, even as she braced herself for an attack. But it didn’t come. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, what she was supposed to say. She lowered her voice, and said huskily, ‘I’m starving and I’m thirsty. I had one bottle of water and that’s gone.’
She was straining to hear something, but there wasn’t anything except the quiet breathing. She lay back down; she was weak, and she was wasting her time trying to get a reaction. She hoped she wasn’t going to be starved to death, just left alone to die in the darkness, that was such a terrifying thought. This couldn’t be it for her, surely? She huddled into the mattress and, as she curled up, she heard the clinking of the chains around her ankles, felt the weight of them and, for the first time in the whole of her life, she felt completely alone.
‘You really are your father’s fucking daughter.’
The voice was low, it had a cockney twang to it. It was the voice of an older man. But this person, whoever he was, was a complete stranger to her.
‘Why am I here? What did I ever do to you?’
She could hear his footsteps as he walked away from her slowly, heard the heaviness of the door as he pulled it open and, as it shut behind him, she started to cry.
Chapter One Hundred
and Four
‘I can’t believe that no one knows where she is, Michael. It’s just not possible. You’re wrong. You need to start sorting this out properly.’
Michael looked at his wife, at her perfectly made-up face, and her expensive designer clothes that she wore indoors like other people wore pyjamas. It was the middle of the night and she was fully dressed, acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be dressed like a fucking supermodel at three a.m., when it was anything but. And, to top it all, she had the nerve to question him. To challenge him about his missing daughter, as if he wasn’t even bothering to try and locate her. This from the mother who didn’t care enough to leave her home and help him with his search. He was tired, worried, and now he was also fucking annoyed. How dare she question him, when she hadn’t done anything at all to help?
‘Do you know what, Josephine? You’ve got a brass neck on you. I have been searching high and low for Jessie, I’ve mobilised the whole of the London police force, every fucker on my payroll, and I have made sure that every person our Jessie ever knew has been routed. What have you done? Other than repair your make-up, and reset your fucking hair? Oh, and let little Jake have a few minutes of your precious time with you? Playing the devoted nana, and keeping everything he touches as if it means anything to anyone else in the real world! Come on then – tell me, Josephine. I’m so fucking interested. You haven’t left this house for years. You hide in here like a fucking Nazi war criminal. We pretend it’s normal, you living in two rooms in a home that’s big enough to house a fucking army, but it’s not, Josephine, it’s not normal at all. Then you have the nerve to tell me that I’m not doing enough to find Jessie. Where the fuck do you get off?’