Dead Wrong. Noelle Holten

If only she knew what really happened.

       CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

       Yvonne

      She trembled on the cold, thin mattress as she listened for footsteps above. She had to strain to hear anything with the cloth bag over her head and her ears covered. Yvonne had no idea now how long she had been in the cellar, but the drugs were wearing off and she was desperate for another hit. It was like she was coming up for air after swimming deep underwater, but the air was poisoned, and all she wanted to do was to take another dive. To forget how weak and starving she was. How her skin covered her bones like cling film, how every bone jutted out as she slowly wasted away.

      She didn’t remember much about the night this all began, but she’d spent a lot of time reliving it in technicolour detail. She had been invited to a party – a friend of a friend type of invite.

       What kind of party is this? Taxi paid for. Booze free. Gear free.

      Alarm bells should have rung there and then, but she was too set on getting off her face, so she ignored any niggles of doubt.

      The rest of the night was a blur of booze, drugs, dancing and sex – in that order. Yvonne made the mistake of letting her guard down and when she woke up, she was here, head covered, ears taped over, hands and legs tied to the uncomfortable bed. What felt like days passed before anyone came down to see her. The visits were few and far between. She had learned to hold in her piss or risk wetting herself until the person came to change the bedpan or the rare moment she was taken to the toilet, and given the vile tasting water to drink along with a piece of bread. Sometimes she was lucky and got a slice of meat – rancid meat, but it still tasted better than nothing.

      She shivered. How much time had passed since she was taken? She thought about her mum and her daughter, about whether they would remember her. Did they still live in the same house? Did they still wonder if she was alive?

      Has her daughter lost her first tooth? She could remember her big smile and that curly hair. A tear trickled down her face. Maybe her own mother was relieved. She’d always told Yvonne how her child would be better off without a druggie as a mum.

      Enough. She didn’t want to think anymore.

      She needed a hug. Even though she couldn’t see, she still looked around, listening for the other women. They weren’t allowed to speak, but sometimes when they were alone, they would mumble comforting noises to each other in the dark.

      The women must be locked away in the bathroom. If they disobeyed their captor, one would be confined in there, chained to the radiator and gagged, forced to crouch on the tiled floor for days.

      There was a loud bang from upstairs and her heart skipped a beat. They’re back. Her body shook, not out of fear, but because she knew the person would have some gear and she could once again wrap herself up in a blanket of peace.

      She heard the heavy dragging sound, the one that let her know someone would be coming down the stairs. Then the creak of the door and sweat started to run like a river on her neck in anticipation. Her eyes were covered, but she could still see shadows. She didn’t speak. The last time she did, a sock or something similar had been rammed into her mouth and stuck in her throat.

      With each step there was a bump on the stair, as if they were dragging something behind them. Out of the corner of her eye, Yvonne could see the figure bending over, placing things on the floor beside her cot. A shiver of fear crept along her spine.

      The person never spoke, but sometimes there was that horrible smell, a strong cologne of some kind. She didn’t know whether it was one person or many different people and that made her even more scared. Their captor would not connect with her on any level. Maybe that meant they would let her go. Her head told her not to get her hopes up, but her heart wanted to believe she still had a chance.

      Their captor approached her, and she felt the cold, sharp edge of a knife against her throat. She knew that was the warning: Do as you’re told or you’ll get hurt. She had stopped fighting long ago.

      Her hands were untied and then the figure moved to her legs. Once the restraints had been removed, the figure pulled her over to whatever had been spread across the floor. Her bones cracked. She was pushed down onto her knees and a nudge in the back told her she needed to lie forward. Her muscles spasmed as she was roughly flipped onto her back, too weak to care what would be happening next. A band was tied around her arm and, with a rush of relief, she felt the familiar prick of the needle as it pierced her skin.

       No matter what happens now, at least she would feel at peace.

      She didn’t even feel the knife being driven into her chest or care when she heard the snipping sound as her arm was removed from her body.