Broken Silence. Liz Mistry
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was, she was in control then. Now she was at the mercy of some unknown assailant, in the middle of God knows where, channelling her inner bloody Parekh. If nothing else told her how bad the situation was, that one thing did.
‘Hello?’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded tremulous. She tried again a little louder, but not too loud in case someone was in the front cab of the van, ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’ Still nothing, so either she was alone or the person whose arm she’d seen through the taillight was unconscious. With determination she pushed away the addendum … ‘Or dead.’ She was not going to think that way. She was alive, she was able to move a little, she was alone. All of the above were things she could use to her advantage.
She rocked a little on her side – tentative and controlled. A groan escaped her lips as she fell back into her original position. Body, six and a half more like – not a seven though. No, she couldn’t allow the rest of her body to be a seven. It had to be well below the most painful injury on the pain scale. This was going to be hard. She took a deep breath and tried to roll onto her back, so she could see better. It wasn’t quite absolute darkness. There were shadows and shapes looming around her, some larger than others and some smaller. All she had to do was focus and she might find something to help her escape from her current predicament. All she had to do was overcome her pain and move round the vehicle, surely there would be something in here to help her.
Using her bound feet for leverage, Felicity began to push herself backwards to where she thought the front of the van was. Maybe she’d find a tool, something to cut her ties, something she could use as a weapon. Her head banged gently against a solid surface and she tilted her head, trying to work out what it was, but the light was too dim. Using her feet to propel her round so her hands could feel the surface, she ignored the warm blood that trickled from her shoulder and ended up pooling at her wrists. She got herself in position and strained her shoulder upwards, so her hands could touch the surface, and almost cried when she realized that instead of heading to the front of the vehicle, she’d slithered herself to the back instead.
She was at the door, but there was no way she could either stand up or reach the handle to open it, which, knowing her luck would be locked anyway. Her shoulders slumped, and the sensation of sticky blood on her bare hands and wrists was gross. She hated dirt, hated gore, hated anything like that. Stevie often teased her about nappies and baby sick. Not her fault if she had an aversion to all that crap. The glimmer of Nikki Parekh was in danger of fading; pain was hitting a nine. Can’t let it hit ten. If it gets to ten, I might as well give up.
She moved her wrists, tried to wipe some of the blood off onto her sleeve. It strained her shoulders, but she was prepared to bottle the pain if she could just get rid of that horrid stickiness. At the back of her mind she was aware that she was becoming a little hysterical … a little panicked, still she kept flexing and unflexing her wrists, desperate to get rid of the cloying gunge. It was invading her nostrils with its coppery abattoir smell. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she kept frantically moving. It wasn’t a sudden awareness that the cable ties were shifting with her movements, more of a gradual dawning. Her moving hands slowed as she savoured the fact that the ties moved up and down her wrists without causing quite so much pain – a four now instead of a six. She tried twisting them to the right and then to the left – definitely slacker. The blood from her shoulder was lubricating the cable ties making it easier for her to move them. If she could only persevere a bit more – channel a bit more Parekh – then maybe she could get out of them. Separating her wrists as wide as she could, she began moving again – this time more frantic. It was sore – course it was – a seven, maybe nearly an eight, the cable ties were digging into her wrists, despite the lubrication, but the gap between her wrists was getting wider. Finally, breathless, sore and tired, Felicity reckoned she had created enough slack.
First, she tried to yank both hands out together, but all she succeeded in doing was hurting her wrists even more. It was then she had the idea of manoeuvring one bloody hand out at a time. Keeping her fingers as close together as she could, and tucking her thumb in, she pulled her right hand up whilst sliding her left down trying to maximize the space between them. It took a few attempts and when she finally succeeded, her right arm jerked, causing a sharp dagger to shoot through her shoulder. Dizzy and gasping in pain, her breath rasping in her throat, she couldn’t quite believe she’d managed to get out of the cable ties. Her fingers were numb as the blood flooded them – ten fat sausages on the end of her hands. A definite eight. Not a nine though, definitely not a nine. Take that Parekh. Just take that!
Now what? Freer now, Felicity rolled onto her back and brought her hands round to rest on her stomach. Forcing herself to block out the pain, she wiggled her digits, willing her circulation to do its job, willing the numbness to go so she could use them. After what seemed like ages, she rested her elbows on either side of her body, and minimizing the pressure on her still recovering hands, she got herself into a sitting position, leaning against the door. Her feet didn’t have the same numbness she had experienced in her hands and it took her a moment to realize that the ties weren’t as tight around her feet. If she pulled the material from her jeans up that would loosen them even more and if she removed her ankle boots, she’d be able to get them off completely. She’d be untethered.
The thought spurred her into action and she forced her clumsy fingers to first pull her jeans out from under the ties and then she was able to pull the ties further up her leg as she unzipped her boots. She took frequent breaks to rest her shoulder which, though she was loathe to admit it, was now hitting nine, possibly even nine and a half. She needed to get out of there. Needed to get out of this damn metal coffin. Needed to get back to Stevie. She’d never admit to anyone that she’d channelled Nikki Parekh of all people to help her. No, that would be her secret – one she’d take with her to the grave. Unable to bend down one more time, Felicity jiggled one foot at a time until her boots were nearly off and then, with a final effort, managed to flip them off completely, before manoeuvring one foot, then the other from the cables.
The relief was like a tsunami knocking her backwards against the metal panels. But it was short-lived. She gasped as she realized time might not be on her side. Felicity shuffled over to her boots, rammed them on and clambered to her feet, her hands outstretched and feeling for the handles that would guarantee her release.
Her hand latched onto the mechanism at the same time as a grinding sound reached her. Someone was coming in. Someone was nearby. Fear flooded her body as she wondered whether they would check on her, and if they would look to make sure that she was still secured. Falling to her knees, Felicity grabbed the cables and put one foot in, lay on her left side facing the door with her hands clasped behind her and shrugged the smelly fabric half over her body, praying that they would assume that if her position was changed it was done en route to wherever they were. She closed her eyes. Better if they thought she was still unconscious.
The door opened, and torch light bounced around the van. Focusing on keeping her breathing steady and not flinching, Felicity waited. A slight dip of the vehicle told her someone had entered, and seconds later she smelled the faint but familiar tang of a citrusy aftershave that made her stomach lurch. Please don’t notice the cables, please don’t notice the cables. What is he doing?
‘What you waiting for? Get the fuck up here. Find out if he’s still with us. Then get the body disposed of. Get a move on.’
Felicity froze. That voice … did she recognize it? Was it someone she knew or was she just imagining it?
‘Yes boss.’ The second voice was raspy, like he’d smoked too many full tars over his lifetime and then the van dropped again as a second man entered. ‘Nope, still alive.’
The words chilled Felicity; they were going kill her. Kill her and dump her. The vehicle dipped once more, and shoes scraped against metal. A third person. So at least three in total. The familiar citrusy scent was replaced by sweat and stale smoke. Felicity tried to think. What the hell would Parekh do? Should she try to make it to the door? She was weak and stiff. She could barely stand upright without effort, there was no way she could use the element of surprise – not in her condition. The only option she had was to play dead. Maybe if they thought she was dead, or even just unconscious, they’d