I shake my head. “I’ve got to go,” I whisper through my hurt.
“Got to go where?” he snaps.
“Cam, don’t,” I whisper.
“Do you want to see Amelie?” he asks hopefully. “She rang yesterday. She’s desperate to see you.”
I turn back to him and frown. I would like to see Am one last time. I need to make peace with her. I nod. “Yes, please. I would like to see her,” I whisper.
He smiles as he nods. “Ok, that sounds good. I will bring her down with Adrian on Friday.”
I frown and then nod. “Ok,” I reply
Natasha
I sit scrunched up in the bottom of the wardrobe in the darkness. In my hands I have two hooks that I have unscrewed from the tops of coat hangers, my pitiful weapons. A strange car pulled up four hours ago. Somebody else is here in the house but nobody has come to my room yet. They are probably outside digging my grave. The taste of bile fills my mouth-I have never been so scared. I don’t know what they’re doing. I haven’t a frigging clue. The televisions are all showing different dates, Joshua has been arrested and now someone has turned up here. They must be going to get rid of me. I am no longer of any use. I put my hands over my face, oh god. Please let it be quick and painless. I re-clutch the hooks in my hand and practise swinging them at someone in the darkness. If I can just get their eye with the hook. Aim for the eyes. Why didn’t I take self-defence classes? I’m such an idiot.
I hear the bedroom door open and the light switches on. I hold my breath in the darkness. No, no, no, oh my god.
“Natasha,” the young boy calls.
I stay silent as my breath quivers in fear. He opens the wardrobe door and turns on the light and frowns when he sees me. “What are you doing?” he asks.
I screw up my face. “I’m scared,” I whisper.
“Nothing’s happening,” he replies softly.
My face drops.
“You need to come out in the room, so they can see you on camera. They haven’t seen you before. Nobody is going to come into the room.”
I stay seated as I frown. Nobody’s seen me before so that means that here is the only monitor. I start to hear my heartbeat in my ears and I subtly put my hooks onto the carpet and stand slowly and walk out into the room. The young boy leaves the room and shuts the door behind him. Refusing to look at the camera, I sit on the bed and wring my hands nervously in front of me. What are they looking at? Are they checking that I’m going insane? Because I fucking am, and their plan is working perfectly. Act normal, act normal, I remind myself. I get into bed, turn my back to the camera and hold my breath as I try to calm myself down and after what seems like about an hour I hear the other car leave and the light in my room turns off. I get up and put my hands and forehead on the back of the door as I think in the darkness. I need to be home before my wedding in three days. Think. How am I getting out of here?
“Listen Dad, I don’t know what the fuck you are doing up there. But I need help,” I whisper angrily.
I shake my head in anger. Is there even a heaven? Is that a load of shit too? If he could help me I know he would. He would have got me out of here by now, and he would have told me what to do. I turn around and lean my back on the door and slide down into a sitting position against the door. I’m going to get home to Joshua and I’m going to wear my wedding dress on Saturday. But how? The moonlight shines through the window and under the bottom of the curtain I see something glimmer in the light. I frown. What’s that?
I crawl over on my hands and knees and pull back the curtain to reveal a large sliver of the thick glass from the water jug I threw at the back of the door. I must have missed it when I picked it up. It is about four or five centimetres wide and about twenty centimetres long. I run my finger along the edge of it in the darkness… razor sharp.
I sit in the darkness as my mind goes into overdrive.
I have my weapon.
I stand in the bathroom with the glass in my hand as I wrap a sock around the base of it so I don’t cut myself. I’ve thrown up three times this morning already with nerves and my leg is bouncing uncontrollably. Breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes and I’m going to do it. I don’t know what I’m going to do… but I’m going to do something violent and someone is probably going to die… hopefully not me. They have pushed me to the point of no return. “I’m sorry but you have forced me to hurt you,” I whisper to my reflection in the mirror to try and justify what I am about to do. I’m going for Carl. I don’t care if I kill him but I know I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt the boy. He’s just a kid trying to get himself through med school. But the downside of my plan is that Carl is bigger and more dangerous and way more fucking scary. Oh my god, oh my god. I put the glass knife on the basin and put my hands over my face. Am I really going to stab someone with that? I walk back to the wardrobe and put on another cardigan. I am wearing sweatpants, three pairs of bed socks, a T-shirt and three cardigans. It’s going to be cold if I do get away. Shit. I start to pace. Should I stay in the bedroom? No, I need to run out from the bathroom and take him by surprise. I look at my reflection in the mirror. “You can do this,” I whisper. “You can do this.” I slowly pick up the glass knife and wrap my hand around the base and I swing it through the air as I practise. No, it needs to be harder. Shit. I bring it up over my head and with all my strength I stab it down through the air. Fuck, this is a nightmare. With my heart beating hard in my chest I open the bathroom door with the knife in my hand and I wait.
On cue the bedroom door opens and Carl walks in carrying the tray of food and I screw up my face in tears and run at him with my hand over my head. I bring the knife down hard into his neck and he screams in pain. Oh my god, I scream as blood starts to spurt from his wound and I put my hand over my mouth. He staggers back and falls and his head hits the bedpost and he is knocked unconscious. I put my hands over my mouth in shock. He lies still and silent with blood coming from the wound. I need to tie him up. I run back to the wardrobe and grab the belt from one of the cardigans and pull his hands behind his back and tie them together. Is he dead? I screw up my face as nervous energy runs through me. Run. Run. Run. With my heart racing I jump over his slumped body, out the door and lock it behind me. I race down the stairs two at a time to the front door and I grab the handle and frantically rattle it. Fuck, it’s locked. My eyes dart around and I run to the back door, which thankfully is open. I run out onto the deck and into the sunshine.
My eyes fly around my surroundings. Forest on one side and paddocks on the other. Which way, which way? The forest. I sprint as fast as I can towards the forest. Oh my god, I killed him, he’s dying. He is dying. My mind flicks to Joshua and the fact that it’s going to be him dying or Carl and I screw up my face and run faster. I need to get out of here. I get to a barbed wire fence and bend to get through it and keep running towards the trees. I am desperately out of breath. Keep going I chastise myself, keep going. The landscape is rugged and I am treading on rocks and my feet are hurting but I keep pushing. Get to the trees, get to the trees. I cry to myself as I run and finally, after what seems forever, I make it. I run into the shrubbery and under the veil of protection and I fall to the ground in exhaustion as I gasp for air. Which way? My eyes search my surroundings. On one side of me a hill inclines up and it seems to be bushland and the other way goes down a hill but seems much more rugged terrain. Up, I will go up the hill. I look down at my feet. Fuck, I wish I had some shoes. On getting my breath back I stand and start to run and the sticks break under my feet. Oww, my feet. Shit, I’m an idiot. I should have grabbed Carl’s shoes. Who am I kidding? I wouldn’t steal a person’s shoes that I had just stabbed. I put my hands on my head in disbelief. I just stabbed someone in the neck. What the fucking hell has my life turned into? If Carl hasn’t died he is either ringing for backup right now or bleeding to death but if he has died it’s going to be eleven and a half hours until the boy gets back. I need to get the hell out of here and with renewed purpose I pick up the pace. I keep running through the bush as I try to negotiate the terrain with my feet looking for the best places to stand. Why didn’t I run on that damn treadmill? I should be fit but no I have the aerobic fitness level of a ninety-year-old. This gasping for breath is not helping my escape at all.