“How do you know they were in the bedroom?”
“I knocked. They answered.”
“Who answered?”
“I don’t remember,” she says, annoyed with herself.
I can almost see her mind working, the nerves fizzing and popping under her skin.
“What did you hear?” I ask.
“They were playing music.”
“Did Natasha have a radio alarm?”
“Yes.”
“What time did she set the alarm for?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“You knocked on the door at seven-forty, but you didn’t open it. What if you heard the radio and not the girls?”
Alice squints at me, unsure if I’m trying to trap her. She wants to argue. She tries to think. She comes back empty.
Drury is next to her. “What’s this about?”
“It changes everything,” I say. “What if the girls weren’t at the house on Sunday morning? Alice didn’t see them. She heard the radio alarm.”
“You’re saying they didn’t go home.”
“They went missing the night before.”
He pulls me close to him,
his unshaven cheek brushing against my forehead.
“You’re like an ice block. Let’s warm you up.”
One hand takes hold of my hair like it’s a piece of rope and his other hand slides down to the bottom of my spine.
“Mmmm,” he says. “You’re a lovely one for hugging.”
He wraps a blanket around me and points me towards the open door. My bare feet make little slapping sounds on the floor as I walk. I know he’s a step behind me. I still haven’t looked at his face, his eyes.
A bath has been drawn. Water steaming. Clothes set out.
I taste copper in my mouth and wonder if I’ve bitten my tongue.
“I’m hungry.”
“This time you eat afterwards.”
He’s humming to himself, fussing over the towels. I undress and slip beneath the water, leaning my head against the bath. I can feel his gaze drifting over me, dismantling my body as though dissecting it with a knife. Cutting me into little pieces.
I am going to be nice to him. I am going to moan and tell him how good he makes me feel. If I’m nice to him, he’ll let me see Tash. We’ll be together again and I’ll look after her. If I’m nice to him, he’ll let his guard slip and I’ll find a way of getting out of here.
He calls me his “poor defective monkey” as he washes me. I don’t feel his hands.
After the bath I let him rape me. Is it even rape if I let him do it?
He breaks my hymen. I bleed. I look at his face when he ejaculates and he doesn’t look human. It twists and grimaces and looks like a rubber mask.
Afterwards, he lets me eat. Satay sticks of chicken and beef. This time I eat more slowly, sore between my legs. My cup of tea is on the table with a swollen brown bag submerged in it, growing cold.
How calm he seems. How little difference it makes. He sits there, staring at me, sipping his tea as though nothing has happened.
“Can I see Tash now?”
“No.”
“You told me I could see her.”
“Not yet.”
I feel like crying. “You lied to me.”
“She needs a few more days.”
“I did what you asked.”
He laughs sarcastically and I stare at him with narrowed eyes. This is a mistake. I am aware of his temper, how easily he could injure me. The sensation creeps along my spine like a spider crawling on bare skin.
Afterwards, he falls asleep next to me, chained to my ankle. I look at his white cheesy body asleep on its back and listen to the wet gurgling in his throat. His right arm hangs down over the side of the mattress and his left hand is touching my thigh.
I do not sleep. I want to be awake. I want to put my hand over his mouth and nose until he stops breathing. I want to drive a knife into his heart. For the moment, I lie still next to him, listening to him gurgle, thinking how fear is different when it’s real. I used to love those fairground rides that take you higher and drop you faster, but that was a fear that came wrapped in pleasure. This sort of fear has no upside or happy ending.
He’s awake now. Stretching. I force myself to snuggle up against him. His breath smells like sour milk.
He strokes my cheek. “You missed me?”
“You were away so long… I got frightened.”
This pleases him.
“Can’t I come with you? I won’t try to run away.”
“That’s not possible, my little monkey.”
I ask about Tash. Is she close? When can I see her?
His mood suddenly changes. It’s like flicking a switch. He slaps my face, knocking my head against the wall. He raises his hand again, showing me his palm, challenging me, daring me.