Christine Jones had hardly had time to start her first chocolate bar of the evening. She’d taken off jacket and shoes, nothing more. She opened the door wide, then looked disappointed.
“Have I missed her?” said Witch, panting, trying to catch her breath.
“Who?”
“Tessa, only there was something I wanted to give her.” She winked. “For the weekend, if you know what I mean.”
“You just missed her,” said Christine. “Funny, I thought maybe that was her coming back to say she’d forgotten something.”
“Oh shit!” Witch threw back her head and exhaled noisily. “Shit, shit, shit.” Then she caught herself, grinned. “Sorry, you must be Chris. She’s told me about you. I’m Anna.”
“Hello, Anna. Do you work beside —? God, listen to me.” Christine rolled her eyes. “Do you want to come in? You look like you could use a drink.”
“Too right I could.”
“Me too. After all, it is the weekend.”
Christine Jones stepped back so Witch could walk into her home. Then Christine closed the door. Witch was standing, waiting. “Along here,” said Christine, signaling with the chocolate bar, leading her towards the living room. “You didn’t say, do you work beside Tessa?”
“Well, sort of, yes.”
As Christine pushed open the door to the living room, Witch hit her at the base of the skull. Christine froze for a moment, then fell forwards, turning sideways as she did so, so that her left shoulder hit the rug first, her head following it with an almighty thump.
She was aware that she couldn’t move, aware, too, of a heat source near her face. She opened her eyes to agony, the blood beating in her head. Immediately she opened her eyes, a hand descended onto her mouth, the thumb hooking itself under her chin. The side of the hand left just enough room below her nose to allow her to breathe. She looked up into the eyes of the woman who had tricked her way indoors. And she knew why she couldn’t move.
Witch had tied Christine Jones to her own bed, using pairs of gray tights. There was an electrical socket just beside the bed, hidden behind the bedside cabinet. A clock alarm and a reading lamp had been plugged into the double socket. She’d unplugged the lamp and plugged in the iron, turning the heat all the way up. Now, while one hand gagged Christine Jones, the other gripped the handle of the iron and held it close to her face. Witch turned away from Christine and spat on to the dull metal face of the iron. Her saliva sizzled and bubbled.
“A nice hot iron,” she said quietly. “You’ve got to be careful with a hot iron. Place it on the wrong kind of material and you can do terrible damage. Place it on delicate material, and you can ruin the material forever.” Christine’s nostrils flared as she fought for breath, hyperventilating.
“Now,” said Witch, “I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth. You could scream if you wanted to, but I’m not sure anyone would hear. There’s no one else in the house, your windows are double-glazed and shut tight, and your room’s on the end of the house. A good solid end wall rather than a connecting wall. No neighbors to hear. You understand what I’m saying? If you scream, nobody will hear, and you might startle me. I might drop the iron. I don’t think you’ll scream. I don’t want to hurt you. It’s not necessary to hurt you. I just need you to answer a few questions about your work.” She paused. “Now, do you want me to repeat anything I’ve said?”
Beneath the pressure of her hand, Witch felt Christine Jones try to shake her head. She brought the iron down until it was inches above Christine’s face, causing the young woman to screw shut her eyes. The iron went “click” occasionally, its light coming on to show that it was heating up again, then another “click” as maximum heat was achieved and the light went off, the iron starting to cool...
Witch lifted away her hand. Christine gulped in air, licked her lips. There was sweat on her face. She suddenly started thrashing, but Witch had expected this and sat still on the edge of the bed, waiting for the thrashing to stop. The bonds were holding. Christine calmed down.
“Oh God,” she said, trembling. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
Witch smiled. “It’s all right, Christine. It’s only natural. Chain up any animal and it’ll do the same thing... for a moment or two, until it realizes it really is chained.”
“How do you know who I am?”
“I’ve been watching you. I’m interested in where you work.”
She seemed confused. “DTI?”
“Yes, all those buildings along Victoria Street.”
“What about them?”
“I want you to tell me about them, anything you know, no matter how trivial.”
“What? Is this some kind of —” But of course it wasn’t a joke. She could feel the heat of the iron. No, whatever else this was, it wasn’t a joke.
“Take it floor by floor,” said Witch, “starting with the ground.”
“Why? I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to understand. All you have to do is tell me.”
“About the buildings?”
“Yes, about the buildings.” Another click from the iron. “Take it floor by floor,” Witch repeated.
Christine Jones took it floor by floor.
After a while, Witch saw that she didn’t need the iron. She rested it on its end on the bedside cabinet. She even left the room long enough to fetch water and aspirin from the bathroom. It didn’t look as though Christine had struggled at all during her absence, but of course she had. Witch merely smiled.
“I know how to make a knot,” she said.
“Why do you want to know all this?” asked Christine.
“Open wide,” said Witch. She held a tablet above Christine’s mouth, and, when the mouth with its good solid teeth opened, she dropped the tablet in, placing the cup of water against her bottom lip and pouring some in. Christine swallowed the tablet, and Witch repeated the process.
“You’re bound to have a sore head,” she said. “It’ll wear off in time. No lasting effects, I promise. I know how to hit people, too.”
“You know a lot,” said Christine, refreshed by the water. She’d been talking for over an hour.
“Knowledge is power,” said Witch quietly. Then she smiled. “And I’m power-crazy, Christine. You’re an intelligent woman. By now you’re beginning to guess why I might want to know so much about Victoria Street. You won’t say anything, because if you did, you think I might think I’d have to silence you. Permanently. Am I right?” Christine said nothing: answer in itself. “Well, don’t worry. I don’t kill people for pleasure, only for profit.” She paused, seeming to think of something. Then she came to herself. “And there’s no profit in killing you, Christine. But I can’t have you telling anyone either.”
“I wouldn’t tell, I’d keep my mouth —”
Witch shook her head. “So I’m going to have to hide you somewhere until this is all over. Probably Wednesday. It’s not a long time, Friday night until Wednesday. It’ll be uncomfortable, but no more than that. Now, because of this, because you’re going to be my... guest over the next few days, I need some more information, different information this time.”
“Yes?”
“Who’s your doctor, Christine?”
“My doctor?” Witch nodded. “Doctor Woodcourt.”
“Male or female?”
“Female.”
“With a practice where?”
“Ebury Road... just at the end of the street.”
“And does Doctor Woodcourt know you?”
“Know me?”
“Do you visit regularly? Would she know you to look at?”