Hold Your Breath (20 page)

She was at least half as barking mad as her aunt.

Tara closed her eyes. She felt so weak . . . and her head hurt so much.

She must have drifted a little because when Melodie spoke again, she experienced a swooping sensation, like she’d been falling and only just managed to hang on to a ledge.

‘Wha . . . what?’ she said croakily.

Melodie was staring right at her, her arms around her knees. She’d put on a pair of fluffy Ugg-like slippers now and the duvet was around her shoulders. Tara realised how cold she was and
tried to pull the duvet under her in the same way.

‘I said,’ Melodie repeated, ‘
you
don’t know what it’s like.’

‘What what’s like?’

‘Not being wanted.’ Melodie fiercely swiped the heel of her hand over her eyes. ‘Have you got any idea what it’s like seeing pictures of my dad with his shiny new family
on the internet? There they are skiing . . . and, and, hanging out at theme parks in designer clothes.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘He dumped my mum and then he dumped me because I remind him
of her too much. Do you know what that
feels
like, Tara Murray?’

Tara’s mind filled with images of her family. Dad peering at her over his reading glasses and then breaking into a twinkly grin. That time when she was little and convinced a monster lived
under her bed and he’d pretended to do magic to make it go away. Then she thought of their Cornish holiday a couple of years ago. They’d all tried surfing and the one person who could
do it, who was a total natural, was Mum. For weeks afterwards she’d break into a daft old surfing song and pretend to do it wherever they were, even if that was the middle of Tesco’s.
And Beck . . . She remembered him chasing her with the hosepipe in the old garden and his raucous, ruthless laughter at her shrieks. All these images had the rosy slow-motion quality of an old
movie, of moments gone for ever.

An ache of longing for her family squeezed her heart.

No, she didn’t have any idea what it must feel like for Melodie. She didn’t know what to say.

Silence fell for some time before Melodie spoke again, less aggressively now.

‘I still don’t get it,’ she said. ‘How
did
you find out? Because Leo doesn’t know anything about this. I can’t work out how you knew I was
here.’

Tara stared down at the stone floor. Should she tell her? She tried to work out what she had to lose. Everyone at school already knew. Leo knew. And she was currently being held captive by a
pint-sized psycho. Preventing Melodie from knowing her secret didn’t seem like much of a priority right now. She inhaled slowly.

‘I found your earring at school,’ she said at last in a low voice. This was an edited version of events. But Melodie didn’t need to know about Tara looking in her locker.
‘And I have this thing . . .’

‘
Thing?
’

‘Yes, thing!’ sighed Tara. ‘I see when stuff – and people – are lost or missing. And I saw you. In here.’ She forced herself to meet Melodie’s frowning
gaze. ‘I knew something was happening to you all along,’ she continued. ‘I knew you’d never gone to Brighton.’

A long silence stretched between the two girls. And then Melodie gave a huge, shuddering sigh.

‘I don’t even know what you’re on about!’ she said. ‘I think you’re a total freak!’

Incredibly, laughter bubbled up from somewhere inside Tara. It began to come in waves and then she found she couldn’t stop. Hysteria rocked her so hard she thought she might laugh herself
sick. Her stomach muscles ached and tears trailed down her dusty cheeks. ‘You think I’m a freak?’ she gasped when she regained the power of speech. ‘Well, join the
queue
, Melodie Stone
!’

Wiping her face and still giving little spurts of laughter, she only realised the door at the top of the stairs had opened when she saw Melodie staring upwards. Faith stood motionless there, her
face with that creepy blank look again.

‘What’s happening?’ said Melodie.

Faith didn’t answer. She came down the stairs quickly, bare feet slapping against the stone. Her hand was behind her back and Tara couldn’t see what she was holding. Her eyes
didn’t leave Melodie’s face.

Melodie gasped and then began to cry softly.

‘What’s going on?’ said Tara sharply but they both ignored her. Melodie slowly shook her head from side to side. Faith sat on the side of the bed next to her.

‘No, no, no!’ moaned Melodie quietly but she slumped into Faith’s now open arms.

‘Shh, shh,’ crooned Faith, stroking Melodie’s hair, rocking slowly with her. Tara’s brain couldn’t seem to make the necessary connections. What was happening?

Faith put her hands on either side of Melodie’s face and looked into her eyes, still gently shushing her. Melodie cried unselfconsciously, a film of saliva stretching across her mouth that
made Tara want to look away, but she couldn’t move her eyes.

‘I think he’s really close to coming through for us, babes, okay?’ said Faith in a low tone. ‘And that’s great! But we have to make him hurry up. Leo keeps ringing
me. Ross is going on and
on
about us getting caught. We have to bring this to a close, yeah? D’you understand Mell-bells?’

‘But it hurts . . .’ wailed Melodie, her voice thin and high.

That was when Tara saw the glint of the sharp kitchen knife in Faith’s hand.

And with a sickening rush she understood.

Y
ou have until Friday
. . .

‘No!’ Tara shouted, startling Faith and Melodie, who turned to her as one. ‘You can’t!’ Tara tried to shuffle across the floor uselessly.

‘Do it to
her
instead!’ Melodie yelled.

Tara stopped dead, frozen to the spot with icy shock.

‘But I was trying to help you . . .’ she whispered. ‘How could you?’

‘Fay? Where are you, babes?’ The deep voice barked into the space from the top of the stairs. Ross appeared. He peered into the gloom, frowning.

‘Fay?’ He sounded shaken, not at all cocky now. ‘I’m going nuts up here! We have to talk! What are you doing?’

‘I’m
busy
,’ said Faith, her voice a hiss of pure disgust. ‘Can’t it wait?’

‘No!’ Ross clattered down the staircase. He seemed to fill the small space with his male bulk. His eyes flicked to Tara and his features spasmed with something like pain. He lifted
his hands to his face, making a rubbing motion outwards, like they were a pair of windscreen wipers.

‘What do you want?’ snapped Faith and she slowly lowered the hand holding the knife.

‘It was on the radio,’ he said in a shaking voice. ‘That boy, Will, he . . .’ Ross started to cry in ugly, gulping sobs. ‘He’s dead, Fay . . . He’s
bloody
dead
!’

Melodie made a sound like she’d been punctured. A thin high wail came from her mouth, which was stretched wide open. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked, head on her knees.
Tara barely dared to breathe.

Faith got up, her face grimly set.

A torrent of words spewed from Ross. ‘Don’t you understand? This has got ten times worse. That’s
murder
! You murdered that boy! I told you this had to stop, but you
wouldn’t listen, would you?’ He gave a half-hysterical laugh. ‘Oh no, Faith knows best. Faith says everything will “work out, baby, you’ll see”.’ The false
approximation of Faith’s voice was uncannily accurate.

‘Shut up!’ snapped Faith, moving quickly towards him.

Ross came to the bottom of the steps. He took hold of her arms and looked into her eyes. She was crying now too.

‘You know I love you,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t you? I really love you, Fay. But I never signed up for any of this.’

‘Oh yeah?’ said Faith viciously through her tears. ‘You were just as into this idea as me. Don’t pretend you weren’t now, just because things have got a bit
tricky.’

‘A bit
tricky
?’ yelled Ross, his voice booming. ‘Is that what you call this mess? What about her?’ He pointed wildly at Tara. ‘You’ve got to let her
go! It’s all gone too far, sweetheart, can’t you see?’

‘That’s why we have to follow through!’ shouted Faith. ‘It’ll all be for nothing otherwise! We need to send another picture to Adam! And we don’t even have to
hurt Mel this time, don’t you see?’ She cocked her head at Tara.

Tara shuddered.

Ross stared down at Faith, his expression a mixture of love and disgust.

‘No, baby. This ends now. I can’t be part of this any more.’ He turned to go back up the stairs, his broad shoulders slumped. Faith leapt after him.

‘No, you can’t! You’ll ruin it all!’ she screamed. Her arms went around Ross at a strange angle as though she was giving him an awkward hug.

Ross gasped and looked down at the blood flowering across the bottom of his white T-shirt.

‘Fay?’ he whispered, then toppled, crumpling forwards down the stairs. He landed heavily in a foetal position at the bottom.

Tara was hyperventilating. Panic squeezed her airways. Her eyes kept filling with the awful scene in front of her.

Faith stared down at Ross. Her mouth hung slackly open. She made no sound at first, then a high-pitched keening split the air. Faith sank to her knees in front of Ross’s prone body.

‘I didn’t mean it, babes!’ she wailed, gulping between each word. ‘I just wanted everyone to stop going on at me! Wake up! Wake up!’ She pounded him with her small
fists. His eyes were half open and gurgling sounds came from somewhere deep in his throat. Faith suddenly jumped back and ran back up the stairs, her thin legs like pistons. The door slammed and
Tara heard the key turn in the lock again.

She shuffled with painstaking slowness to Ross, whose eyes were open now, staring and shocked. His left hand cupped his lower belly, where the blood was quickly spreading in a dark stain.

‘What should I do?’ she said. ‘I don’t know how to help you!’

She desperately tried to drag details from her brain about what to do when someone was bleeding. The only thing she could think of was to apply pressure. Blood was pooling at a frightening rate,
forming a dark, sticky puddle on the floor. Tara managed to drag the duvet over to Ross and tried to shove it under his back. He groaned in agony.

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry!’ she squeaked. He was so heavy. She couldn’t get her hands underneath. He did a barely perceptible rolling motion then and it was enough for her to push
the corner of the duvet underneath him. Pulling it around the other side, she roughly wrapped the corners together, not tightly, but just so the stain on Ross’s abdomen was covered by the
bunched up duvet. It was the best she could do.

Ross was trying to say something.

‘What?’ She put her ear to his open lips. A bubble of blood appeared and then popped.

‘Ocket . . .’

‘What do you mean?’ she begged. ‘What are you trying to say?’

‘
Ocket
. . .’ Then his eyes closed and his face loosened. Tara put her cheek near his mouth. But there was no warmth there at all.

Oh my God
.

Was he dead?

Terror kept surging over her in waves, making it hard to think straight, and then she realised what he had been saying.

Pocket
. . .

Twisting awkwardly, she managed to slide one of her bound hands into the narrow pocket of his jeans. There was nothing there but some change. She tried the other one. Nothing. Then she reached
into his back pocket and found some keys. There was a small penknife attachment there. Her heart leapt with hope.

Oh, thank you, thank you
. . .

Her bound hands were shaking so violently that she dropped the keyring twice before she managed to pull out the small knife. Then she accidentally stabbed her wrist, drawing blood. But the pain
meant nothing. She’d heard about soldiers running on broken legs in the heat of battle. When your life was in danger, cuts, bruises and broken bones didn’t matter any more. She knew
that now and wished passionately that it was still just a dry fact in a book.

It felt like she was awkwardly sawing at the plastic for hours. Finally, eventually, it snapped. She whimpered with relief. Cutting the ties on her ankles was easy after that and, once done, she
got up and bounced on the spot for a minute to get her circulation going again. She shook her fingers as the feeling began to flood back in painful pins and needles.

Melodie hadn’t spoken or moved throughout all this. She lay face down on her folded arms, her elbows jutting out to the sides. She was utterly still and quiet, almost as though she
wasn’t breathing. Tara looked away. From now on, it was every girl for herself. Melodie had showed her that.

Tara hurried up the stairs as fast as she could, almost dropping the keys on the way. There were only three on there and she fumbled with each one, putting it into the keyhole and trying to make
the tiny mechanisms inside shift and comply by will alone. But none of the keys fitted the lock. Slapping the wood in fury, she began to moan. The damp, cold walls of the shelter seemed to pulse
and close in around her.

Come on
, she thought.
Calm down. You have to think
. . .

Tara had never tried to pick a door lock and didn’t even know if it was possible in real life. She knelt down on the top step and peered at the keyhole. She could see light, so Faith had
obviously taken the key with her. Tara pushed the knife attachment into the gap and tried to find a space to lever it aside. But it was too stiff. The small knife just jabbed at the wood around the
lock, uselessly.

She kept trying for several minutes until tears of frustration were running down her face. It was hopeless. They were trapped in here.

Melodie still lay on her front, apparently in some kind of shock. Tara remembered she had only just heard Will was dead. In normal life she would have felt compassion for the other girl, but
normal life seemed like something that was too far in the past to remember.

‘Is there any other way out of here at all?’ she said harshly.

Melodie shook her head, barely perceptibly. She muttered something too quiet for Tara to hear.