A Twist in the Tale (2011) (4 page)

We
say a hurried farewell to the others and make a joke about meeting up again in
another twenty years from now. Then we leave and begin the long walk home, my
arm tucked through his, the romantic full moon guiding our way.

As
the garden gate looms closer my breathing becomes restrictive. I turn and gaze
nervously into his eyes. “I’ve had a fantastic evening, Trevor, it’s a shame it
has to end.” Emotional tears threaten to spill down my cheeks.

He
takes my chin in his hand and his eyes search deep into mine. “It needn’t end
this way, Jill.” He has a devilish glint in his eyes.

His
effrontery knows no bounds.

“Why,
Mr Stevens, what on earth do you mean?”

“Well,
Mrs Stevens, I’m suggesting we try and recapture our youth inside, in the
warm.” 

Lonely Christmas without
you
.

It
suddenly dawned on her that she would be spending the next five days by
herself, snowed in, in a log cabin, high up in the mountains. Tara Murphy had
been looking forward to this holiday with her husband, Gerry, all year. But at
the last minute, Gerry's boss had begged him to forego his holiday in order to
save the vital account that would keep their management company from going
under.

Gerry
had insisted that Tara should go on holiday without him. She had complained
countless times but it had proved pointless. Gerry had urged her to telephone
all her friends to see if anyone could accompany her on the trip, but at this
late stage all her friends had made other arrangements. It was Christmas after
all.

When
she arrived yesterday the sun had been shining and the views had been
spectacular. The cabin, which stood isolated on the highest peak around, was on
the edge of a pine tree forest. But when she woke up this morning and looked
out the window, everywhere was covered in snow and it was still falling, hard.
This was not her idea of a wonderful Christmas.

"Come
on, girl, we've got to make the best of things."

Luckily,
Tara had stopped off at the supermarket on her way up to the cabin. The rental
car's boot had been full of carrier bags laden with groceries that would see
her through the next four days. Searching through the cupboards she pulled out
a frying pan, took the eggs out of the fridge, broke them into a bowl and beat
them with a fork.

After
eating her omelette, she put on her coat and ventured outside. To the side of
the cabin, under a wooden porch, was a good supply of timber that the owner had
chopped up ready to use as firewood. She breathed a sigh of relief that the
wood hadn't been left out in the elements. Carrying an armful of logs inside,
Tara searched the area next to the wood-burning stove looking for the
firelighters. Remembering how her grandfather used to build his open fires she
placed firelighters, screwed up newspaper, and finally twiglets inside the
stove before lighting it. Shortly after there was a roaring fire in the grate
which added a source of comfort to the lounge area. Pulling up the easy chair
she positioned it in front of the fire and sat for the next few hours reading
her magazine. What else was there for her to do?

On
the one hand she welcomed the peace and quiet. Tara led a hectic life, working
long hours as an air hostess. Quite often she was away from home several days
at a time on long haul flights, which was why, this time with her husband meant
so much to her. But then as the day dragged by the peace and quiet became
unbearable.

Several
times while preparing her dinner, she thought she heard noises outside the
cabin. Scared, she ran to the window but saw nothing.

That
night she'd slept with her head buried below the ten layers of blankets, well,
slept wasn't really the right word. She'd never felt so terrified or alone in
her life before. At 6am she got up and cleaned out the fire and started a new
one before making herself a bacon sandwich. When she went to retrieve more
wood, she stood on the porch looking out at picturesque scenery that at any
other time would have been something she cherished. But now, she shuddered at
the feeling of isolation gripping her insides, it wasn
’
t
long before resentment towards her husband took over.

She
doubted if she would be feeling this way had she been isolated on a desert
island in blistering heat, relaxing on a sandy beach. Being trapped in a
snowstorm had never been high up on her list of priorities.

The
hours dragged by and her mood deepened. This had to be the worst Christmas
she'd ever spent. She gave herself a serious talking to and decided to make the
best of her time alone. Hunting in the cupboards in the spare bedroom, she
found a collection of puzzles. Sitting on the Aztec style rug in front of the
fire, Tara emptied out the pieces of the 5000 piece round puzzle. This was new
to her she'd never attempted this kind of puzzle before and relished the
challenge.

Sometime
during the evening, immediately after dinner, she heard a noise on the porch.
Jumping to her feet, she ran into the kitchen and picked up the frying pan. Her
heart pounded as she hid behind the front door. Fear tickled its way up her
spine, she turned to look out the window but all she saw was darkness. A noise
she couldn't distinguish sounded outside the front door. Her hand trembled as
she held the frying pan above her head, ready to strike. When something
scratched the door and flicked the latch Tara sucked in her breath.           Her
heart missed several beats.
Oh my God! Do they have bears up in the Alps?

Then
there was nothing.

Tara
let out the breath she was holding in and returned to sit by the fire, crazy
thoughts of escaped lunatics on the run racing through her mind.
Don
’
t be
daft, they
’
re
hardly likely to come all the way up here, are they?

This
was Christmas Eve what a way to spend it, scared witless and alone. Gerry would
certainly have a lot of making up to do when she got home,
if
she got
home!

After
knocking up a chicken stir-fry with the trusty frying pan, Tara spent the
evening reading by the fire, one ear cocked listening for her visitor to
return. She was just about to go to bed at 9pm when she heard heavy footsteps
on the porch outside.

Her
first instinct was to scream but she soon realised she
’
d go
unheard. Instead she flew into the kitchen to fetch the frying pan sitting on
the draining board.             

As if
in slow motion she watched the latch go down on the door.
Damn I forgot to
lock the door when I fetched the wood for the fire.

The
door eased open. The cold night air crept in along with the intruder. She was
ready as usual with the frying pan held high above her head, unable to breath
for fear of alerting the stranger of her whereabouts. She could tell her
visitor was a male, but snow covered his coat and hair.

Suddenly,
she yelled and charged, whacking the intruder over the head and shoulders
nonstop until he fell to the floor.

She
was just about to swipe him round the face when he called out her name.
“
Tara
…
what
the hell
…
?
”

Dropping
to her knees and throwing her weapon aside, she took his face in her hands. A
face she
’
d
known and loved for the past ten years.

“
My
God, Gerry, what are you doing here?
”

He
looked dazed and in shock.
“
I came to spend Christmas with my
gorgeous wife. I wasn
’
t
expecting to get beaten up by her though.
”

Tears
of guilt and relief poured down her cheeks.
“
Oh, darling, I
’
m so
sorry, I had no idea you were coming.
”

“
Merry
Christmas, darling. I dread to think what you would
’
ve
done if Santa had been your secret visitor.
”

They laughed and
shared a loving kiss. Maybe this wasn’t going to be a lonely Christmas after
all.
 

Mel
Comley writes gritty no nonsense thrillers. She also writes Mills and Boon type
romances. You can find out more about Mel on blogs.

If you’ve
enjoyed these stories why not take a look at my thrillers.

Here’s the first
chapter of
Cruel Justice
, the first in the Lorne Simpkins trilogy.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B005QOY4FM

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005QOY4FM

Prologue.

Friday
August 30
^th,
2007

The
pain from the welts on the woman's naked back intensified. She had no concept
of time, no idea how long she
'
d been tied up. Her hands had lost all
feeling from being tightly bound to an old wooden chair.

Is
this how her life would end?

It
had taken a while, but her nostrils had finally grown used to the vile stench
permeating her temporary cell.

Time,
all she had was time. Time to think, time to ask the same question over and
over. Who was he? And why was he holding her captive? What unspeakable thing
had she done in her life to make a complete stranger treat her this way?
I
'
m a kind and
caring person, aren't I?

What
type of person kept a woman locked up in a hellhole like this?

He
tortured her with silence when he brought her food, if you can call week-old
bread
food
. She had tried different ways to get a reaction out of him,
shouting, reasoning, even her pitiful attempt at begging had fallen on deaf
ears. His sneer, and the way his dark eyes roamed her naked body in response,
made her skin crawl.

Now
her own thoughts had started torturing her. Her aching limbs cried out for warm
lavender-oil filled baths, if only to wash away the urine stinging her legs and
the faeces clinging to her behind. She felt utterly degraded. It was a far cry
from her usual opulent lifestyle.

Every
waking minute dragged into agonisingly long hours.
Please, when will this
nightmare end?
How will this nightmare end?
She asked her maker,
repeatedly.

Water
dripped constantly in the corner adding to her torment. She blocked the noise
out by reminiscing happier moments, hoping it would help prevent the craziness
threatening to seep into her mind. Fearing her life would soon come to an end,
she prayed endlessly that her dead husband would be there to greet her when she
finally passed over.
How wonderful it would be to feel his comforting arms
around me now.

Her
heart leapt into her throat when the hatch door swung open. The sudden rush of
daylight hurt her eyes, causing them to water. She winced and was swiftly
reminded that her right eye was swollen from the beating she had received a few
days earlier.

The
man gingerly made his way down the precarious ladder, followed by another
person.

The
imprisoned woman's pulse accelerated, furiously gathering momentum. He crossed
the stone floor and stopped in front of her.

"
Please
…
please let me
go,
"
she pleaded, in
a childlike voice.

The man stared at her for a moment before the vilest
of
laughs escaped his lips.
"
Why? Tell me why I should let you
go?
"

"
I beg of you, please, tell me what I
have done?
"

He
smirked, and circled her chair in a menacing manner.
"
Ah, ignorance is
a blissful thing."

Bile
rose in her throat and she swallowed it back down
.
"
Please, I
'
m begging you.
Please tell me what I've done wrong?
"

Through
clenched teeth he said,
"
If only you
had
done
something. Helped in some way, but you didn't, did you? It was far easier to
just leave us there. To let us rot in that shithole for years. Well, now you
know how it feels.
"

The
man's words and aggression made her flinch
.
"
I
'
m sorry, but I
have no idea what you mean. Do I know you?
"

"
You
'
re all the same.
You avoid helping those who cry for help. Your kind makes me sick.
"
As though
filled with a terrible venom, his lips turned down, then he jerked his head and
spat on her face.