Their captor had left a few minutes ago, slamming the door and pulling a bolt across to secure them both inside.
Claire wanted so badly to remove her gag and speak to the woman next to her so she could get the story straight and understand what Meagan and Oliver had done. It was clearly a plan that had gone horribly wrong.
Meagan hadn’t stopped squealing since she’d been placed next to Claire; a cacophony of noise, panic, hysteria, penetrating her gag.
They both waited, listening for a sign that the guy was outside, observing their surroundings. Claire sensed the room they were in was surrounded by fields, a large open space. There had been little traffic on the drive here; the roads were rough, and she recalled bouncing around like a rag doll in the back of the truck. When she’d been taken out of the boot, the air seemed different, wholesome if you like. There’s a sense you get in the countryside that the atmosphere is lighter, the breeze fresher.
Claire quickly focused, listening to heavy boots coming down the steps, moving towards the door. She could hear Meagan gasp, like she’d woken from a nightmare.
The door opened. The figure walked slowly across the basement floor to stand behind the girls, casting a menacing shadow as he stood still, silent.
Both women tried to talk, groaning noises coming from deep in their throats. The room had filled with uncontrolled panic. Claire was pushing her mind to cope, to muster the strength. She struggled to tear away from the bonds that held her. You can do this. Stay calm and breathe. You will get through this. She was coughing, forcing sharp breaths from her nose. Her head was dizzy, her mouth aching from the hood.
The guy leant in. Claire could feel his breath on her earlobe. ‘You better hope this goes smoothly. I promise, if it doesn’t, I’ll destroy you both here. No one will hear your screams.’
Again, he left the basement, leaving the words going over in their minds.
No one will hear your screams.
Oliver pressed the transfer button, watching the money dissolve from his account. His savings, disappearing down the plughole. He may as well have taken a match to the notes, sat by a campfire and watched it all go up in smoke.
He stared at the laptop screen: his mind flooded with a barrage of hatred towards this guy. His account had been almost emptied; the procedure so easy. A couple of buttons and boom, everything was gone; his life savings, the dream of a better life, disappearing out of the window.
Anger was seeping through his veins, working its way towards his neck. A pulse was developing, his heart pumping rage through his body. He wanted to find this guy, rip his head off, humiliate him, and beat him to within an inch of his smug fucking life.
He thought about Claire, mixed up in this shit, at the wrong place at the shittiest of times.
He thought about Meagan making threats, asking Oliver to finish the task, pinning the fucking picture to the door and bringing all this shit to their lives, messaging him again and again asking for him to finish what he started.
He blamed Meagan. She was gutless, spineless; everything Oliver could think to describe a total walkover, nothing but a punchbag for her vicious partner. If she’d left when Oliver had asked her to, none of this would have happened.
He wanted to rescue Claire now that the money had been paid and leave Meagan to rot in the room, tied to a chair, the rats eating her sad, pathetic little body. Maybe he’d persuade the captor to finish her off and take her out of the equation. Slip him a bundle of cash and ask politely. I could offer to dump her body.
Oliver called Claire, again getting her answering machine, then he tried Meagan’s number: the same thing. Fuck this.
He debated whether to go for a run to try and stem the anger. Maybe he could take a walk, hit a bar and down as many shots of Jack Daniels as his body could hold until he passed out in a slumber, temporarily paralysed from the thoughts which were festering inside.
He needed to temporarily disengage, concentrate on something else, occupy his mind.
Again, he picked up the phone, dialling both numbers: the same outcome. He reached above his head, about to slam the phone on the kitchen floor when a single beep sounded, alerting Oliver to a message and pulling him back from his thoughts.
He slowly opened his phone, his left hand trembling.
Be here at 9pm sharp. I don’t need to explain what will happen if you’re late.
Underneath was an address in Read Hill, around an hour from where Oliver lived.
He quickly opened the laptop and googled the place where he’d been ordered to go – a farm which seemed like the back end of nowhere with fields and open space for miles.
He didn’t like it, but Oliver had little choice.
He glanced at his watch, 6.58pm, then he reread the message: I don’t need to explain what will happen if you’re late.
Oliver watched the clock ticking, the second hand dragging, the minutes elapsing like hours. He’d need to leave shortly. Another hour and then Oliver would make the drive over to the address that the guy had given. He couldn’t call anyone. The one person he could trust was tied up in the basement room. Oliver would have loved nothing more than to turn up, break the door in, lift Claire out from her seat, biting through the rope with his teeth. He would meet the captor at the door on the way out and pummel him, break his body in half and see him beg for mercy.
Oliver killed time by taking a shower, then he dressed in a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a thick jumper. He was nervous, his body weak from the stress, his mind poisoned against the person who had taken Claire and Meagan, and all his money.
He checked over the apartment, then headed to his car, opening the text on his phone with the address the guy had sent.
The digital display on his dashboard showed the time: 8.32pm. He had just under half an hour. He was unable to recall the journey as his head was too full, like a blanket had been placed over his mind, smothering his thoughts.
He was on an A-road, surrounded by fields. There were lights in the distance glaring towards him, temporarily blinding him. It was dark and the roads were empty. Every so often he’d take a sharp bend too fast and slow up, jabbing the brake with his foot.
The address was less than two miles away. The nearer he got to the place where the girls were held, the harder his heart thumped through his jumper.
His satnav instructed him to turn up a side road leading to woodland. Shit, Oliver, what are you doing? Maybe it’s a trap; the guy has my money now, perhaps he has no intention of letting Claire and Meagan live. He could be waiting, hiding, wanting to make an example of me.
It was half a mile to where Oliver had been instructed to go. The road was stony with deep potholes filled with water, and miles of trees either side of the path. His view was obstructed by a mist that was thick in the air. The area was in total darkness and uninhabited, but this was the place, he was sure.
Oliver heard a voice. ‘You have reached your destination.’ He rolled the car towards the side of a ditch, killing the lights and getting out, stepping onto the rough ground.
Oliver took the heavy-duty torch that he’d brought from home out of the glove compartment. He shut the driver’s door and waited, slowly scanning the area and listening hard.
He walked forward, more of a creeping action, keeping as quiet as possible, trying to duck to stay obscure. Ahead, he saw a glow from a small window, a barn or stables, he thought. Oliver couldn’t see any movement.
He walked across the ground, heading towards the barn, checking behind every few seconds. He heard a twig snapping beside him and had the feeling that someone was watching him, waiting for his arrival.