The Attic Room: A psychological thriller - Huber Linda (книги бесплатно без регистрации txt) 📗
Right. It had happened and she had to do something; she couldn’t sit here till Paul came back with Naomi. She had to get out, get help, get away. If she didn’t she could lose everything, including Naomi, for God knows what Paul was capable of. Think, Nina.
The police would believe Paul when he went to them with his story. To them, he was a victim, not a violent psychopath. Unless – of course! The sudden hope was almost painful in its intensity, and Nina gasped aloud. John Moore’s landline was bugged. Paul’s call to lure Sabine to the phone would be traceable, so the police would know that he was mixed up in this even if Sabine was unable to tell them.
The moment of relief was short-lived as she realised that someone who was capable of successfully finding and blackmailing paedophiles would have thought of this and used an anonymous, prepaid phone. Nina gave way to the storm of sobs that shook her bruised body against the binds and the hard kitchen chair. Please God Cassie wouldn’t leave Naomi alone with Paul. Please God he wouldn’t hurt her girl.
The storm abated, and Nina gathered her strength for a new bid for freedom. She could not stay here on this chair in near darkness. Grubby windows only made the dimness more apparent, and Paul had switched the light off when he left. The yellow glow from a streetlight in the lane behind the house was only illuminating the area of kitchen nearest to the window.
If she could find the knife that Paul stabbed himself with and somehow jam it in somewhere, she could maybe rub the bonds on her arms against the blade. It was worth a try, anyway.
By jerking one side of her body she was able to move the chair a few millimetres. The friction of the rope on her wrists was agonizing after a mere handful of jerks, but there was no other way.
Frustration filled Nina’s mind as the chair turned oh, so slowly until she was facing the sink and the drawer where Paul had found the knife. She would have to cross three metres of disgusting floor to reach it. Time after time she jerked her body forward, and gradually the chair moved. The tiles were old, old lino, and some were loose, which didn’t make her journey any easier. After every five jerks she awarded herself two quiet, steady breaths. The little routine helped her carry on. It was five lashes of the whip, followed by two recovery strokes, again, and again, and again.
Tears of desperation and pain were trickling down Nina’s face long before she got to her destination. Blood from her wrists ran down her hands, warm and sticky, and the mixture of tears and saliva soaking into the foul-tasting gag made it more obnoxious by the second.
One last jerk brought her to the drawer. She could see the glint of metal; there would be a knife in there.
There was. Several painful moments of pushing and shoving with her right arm opened the drawer enough to reveal an unsavoury collection of cutlery, including a couple of sharp knives. The problem was she couldn’t get at them. There was no way she could lift anything out with her elbow, and she wasn’t able to bend her head far enough to get into the drawer with her nose and chin. For long, demoralising minutes she tried, thinking, shit, this has to work, I’ve come all the way from the table and it was so bloody painful, I deserve it to work. But it was hopeless. In a fit of rage, she pushed against the sink unit with all the strength in her right arm.
The chair creaked and moved, then the backrest parted company with the seat and Nina fell. Her head hit something cold and hard, and briefly she saw stars.
Winded, she lay still, then hope surged through her… if she wriggled a bit she could free her right wrist… yes… one good pull – yes! Her right hand was free.
Barely taking time to catch her breath, Nina pushed up into a half-sitting position, yanked her left hand free and tugged the gag from her mouth before sliding over to the drawer for a knife to cut the rope from her feet.
She was free. Thank Christ. Nina leaned on the sticky sink unit taking deep breaths of revolting air. Both wrists were bleeding, but the wounds were superficial. Her ankles were okay, her jeans and socks had saved them from the worst of the chaffing. She couldn’t move, though – her feet had gone to sleep and were tingling back to life. It hurt almost as much as the bonds had.
Come on, Nina, she thought savagely. You can be a wimp later. You have to call the police.
A quick check through the downstairs rooms revealed no phone and Nina moaned aloud. The only other option was to go to a neighbour for help, but would they help her if she did? What kind of people lived round here?
Loneliness swept through her as she realised that she couldn’t risk it. But Paul had driven past a row of shops on the way here. She would find them, get someone there to call the police for her, and then come back in case he returned with Naomi.
Nina ran to the front door and jerked it open, stopping dead on the threshold as the sound of rough voices yelling obscenities came from her left. Shit, kids were fighting round the corner. She could hear thuds and screams and the sound of glass breaking. She would go right, then, as fast as she could. No sooner had she made this decision than a crowd of youths appeared from the right too, and Nina slid back into the house and closed the door. It sounded like hell out there. Maybe, if she was lucky, the police would come to break up the fight.
More youths were careering down the street now, and Nina went to look out the back, but yobs were racing along the lane there too. She stood at the front room window – the fight itself was out of sight, but there was a lot of running about and shouting, and the occasional tinkle of glass breaking. Surely someone must have phoned the police, even here. The arrival of a police car would be the answer to her prayers.
The fight continued, more and more kids joining in. And still no police – wait – there was a car coming… Nina’s hopes rose, then plummeted.
Hot frustration filled her as she watched Paul park in front of the house and stride up the path, a plastic bag in one hand. He was accosted by a tall youth, who ran up screaming something, and to Nina’s horror her cousin pulled out a gun. The youth backed away, hands raised in the best Wild West fashion, and ran off down the road.
Nina leaned against the living room doorway as Paul entered the house. She would show him she wasn’t afraid. But she was afraid, she was terrified she wouldn’t get out of here alive. But at least Paul was alone; he hadn’t got Naomi yet.
‘Aren’t you the clever one, all untied and making yourself at home.’ He waved the gun at her. ‘Good job I have this, that’s a nice little war going on out there.’
He had a large bandage on his left arm, clearly a professional job. Nina felt sick with dread. Had he managed to get hold of Naomi after all – was her daughter locked up somewhere else? Horror chilled its way into her very soul. There was no point in asking; he could tell her anything and she wouldn’t know if it was the truth or not. But she had to show she wasn’t beaten.
‘Paul – we need to get out of this situation. Let’s work out what I can do to help you.’
His eyes were bright. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. You and Naomi – especially Naomi – will be the perfect bait for my poor innocent victims.’
Nina’s mouth went dry. He gestured with the gun in the direction of the kitchen.
‘What do you mean?’
He gave her a little push towards the kitchen and she walked in front of him, only just managing to breathe normally. But panic would help no one. He grabbed her shoulder from behind and forced her down on the one remaining chair.
‘We could get them easily, Nina. Nice pic of Naomi on the right websites and they’ll be queuing up to get her.’
‘I hope you’re joking,’ said Nina, determinedly calm. He laughed, and she slumped in the chair. It was no use; he was playing with her. All that effort had been for nothing – she had failed. Dear God, would she ever see her little girl again? She offered no resistance as he lifted the rope from the floor and bound her hands in front of her. When he was satisfied she wouldn’t be able to use them he grunted, and Nina smelled both beer and curry on his breath. She let her own breath out slowly. No way could she be sick here.
