Look Behind You (2 page)

Right, Chloe, move!

‘Yes,’ I say aloud. The sound bounces back, mocking me in the darkness. I breathe on my hands, hoping to bring some warmth back. If I can stop the shaking, I can think calmly, rationally. I can’t die down here. No. No, no, no. ‘So…’ I say to myself. ‘Move.’ I manoeuvre into a standing position again and stumble straight ahead to the nearest wall, hands outstretched.

There. Rough brick.

I reach up and can touch the ceiling if I stand on tiptoes. Could it be a basement? A tunnel? Cellar?

I strain to listen again. No sounds apart from the dripping somewhere. Is it in here or behind the walls? Water, dripping.

No, don’t think about water. I wiggle my tongue again. Swallow.

A thought strikes me through the terror. If there’s a way in, there must be a way out. Unless I’m bricked up in here. But the walls feel old, covered in grime and slime. The render between the bricks crumbles slightly as I dig in my fingernails.

I start at the top of the wall, fingers splayed over it, trying to find something.
What am I looking for?
My brain is fuzzy for a moment.
Oh, yes, an opening
. The only way I can get out of here is to stay alert. Think. Be methodical. I’m used to being methodical. At home, anyway. That’s how Liam likes things. A place for everything and everything in its place.

A picture of my kitchen cupboards flashes into my head. Tins, jars, bottles, everything in a perfect line, as if placed there by a magic, ruler-toting fairy. Labels facing outwards. A regulation centimetre gap between them. No clutter in sight. Just the way he likes everything.

Fingers moving over the wall for I don’t know how long.

Nothing.

I come to the corner and rest the lump on my head against the cold wall. Relief from the pain for a minute. Numbness. Ah, that’s nice.

Come on. Come on. Move.

I work my away along the wall. About half way across, right at the bottom, my fingers hit a rough edge. Part of the brick is broken and protruding out.

My heartbeat flutters, stops, and kick-starts again.

I sit awkwardly on the floor and press the rope around my wrists against the jagged brick, working my arms back and forth. Saw, saw, saw. It’s tiring. I’m tired right down to the marrow of my bones. Want to sleep.

My head grows heavy. My eyes roll back.

~~~~

I jerk awake. Where am I?

Blackness.

Omigod.
It all comes back to me. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

Something furry touches my hand. I shriek, scrambling away on my backside across the floor. What was that? A rat? A mouse?

‘It won’t kill you,’ I say aloud. No, the rat won’t kill me.

Don’t want to die.

Think!

I wiggle my tongue. Swallow.

The brick!
I shuffle back and attack the rope against it again, moving my hands back and forth. Rub. Rest. Rub. Rest. Wiggle. Swallow. Rub. Rest.

I don’t know how long I’ve been at this. It doesn’t matter. I can’t give up.

It’s too slow. I’ll be here forever. He might come back before I manage to free myself. I rub in a frenzy then, counting each movement back and forth against the brick. I need to focus my mind on something that won’t make me completely fall apart.

One. Two. Three. Twenty. Counting, counting. Sixty. Two hundred.

My arms seize up with cramp. I’m going too fast. Lying on my side to rest, I listen to the terror screaming within me. I start counting again. When I get to a hundred and fifty, I’ll start rubbing once more. One. Five. Eighty-one. Three. No, I’m going backwards.

Wake up!

I blink rapidly to stop my eyes closing.

Come on. Try again.

Rub. Rest. Rub. Rest. Wiggle. Swallow.

After what feels like an eternity, part of the rope gives way a little. Yes, I’m getting somewhere!

Drip. Drip. Drip.
Fucking dripping noise pressing into my ears! Shut up!

Rub. Rub. Rub.

Finally, my hands come apart from each other as I break through the rope. I take a deep breath and remove the rest of the binding still around my wrists. My hands shake, and I wonder what will get me first. Hypothermia. Dehydration. Starvation. Fear.

No. Nothing will get me. I’ll find a way out.

I circle my wrists, attempting to get some circulation back. Pump my fists, and the blood rushes to my fingers. That’s a little better.

My ankles. Untie them. Yes, that’s it. I find a knot on the rope, my fingernails digging in, trying to lift up an edge.

Come on!

There. A knot.

Wiggle. Swallow.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

After I manage to claw the knot loose, I unwind the rope from my ankles and try to stand up, which sends stars exploding behind my eyes again. My legs tremble, and I immediately fall onto all fours.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. That’s it.

I get up slowly and hold the wall for support.
You can do this. Don’t give up now. If you give up, you die.

I wait. One minute passes. Two.

I resume my searching of the wall. It’s easier now that I can walk properly, even though I have to concentrate on telling my legs to stop shaking. I run my hands along it and get to the next corner. Nothing.

‘There must be an opening somewhere!’ My voice sounds like the screech from a murder of crows taking flight.

Murder. Why would someone want to murder me? Leave me down here to die? Or are they coming back? Is anyone looking for me yet?

What will Liam say if I don’t come home?

I picture my funeral in my head. Not many people there. Liam, of course, with a look of…what’s that on his face? Pity? Regret? Anger? A few colleagues who work at the college. My boss, Theresa. Jordan. I smile when I think about Jordan. His kind smile, the warm hazel eyes that seem to see things I don’t tell him. Sara will still be in India somewhere. Is that it? The sum of my life boiling down to just a few people? I know why, of course. Liam never liked my friends, so gradually it was easier just to let them drop off one by one. Easier, yes. Anything for a quiet life.

Would anyone really care if I didn’t make it out of here? Would they miss me?

Yes. I would care. Chloe Benson would care. That’s all I have to cling to.

In the middle of the next wall, I find what I’ve been looking for. I don’t know how I missed it the first time around. Too much fear pumping through me, perhaps And I didn’t examine it all closely. Maybe being methodical works. I must tell Liam how right he is about that. It will make him happy.

It’s a patch of texture different from the brick. Wood, rough and solid.

A doorway.

I examine every part of it. No keyhole. No handle. The door is maybe a couple of metres high and less than a metre wide. On the outside edges of the door is more crumbly, gritty render before the brick starts again. Where the bottom right hand corner of the door meets the ground, I can just about fit my hand through a small hole. Maybe animals have burrowed it out over the years, or it’s collapsed. I wiggle my hand on the other side of the gap but can’t touch anything except air and the concrete floor. I wonder if another tomb is behind this one, or something else. A corridor. A path to safety.

I push my hands against the door, crying out with the effort.

It doesn’t budge. I press my shoulder against it. No, not working. Frustrated, I kick it.

‘Let me out! Let me out of here!’ Tears stream down my cheeks.

Drip. Drip. Drip. That’s the only answer I get, and maybe it’s a good thing. At least no one has come back to kill me yet. Panting, I slump to the floor. My hand connects with something cold and hard. I recoil instantly, remembering the rat. But this isn’t an animal. This isn’t something alive.

I pick it up and feel along its length. It’s about half a metre long. One end is rounded, and the other is sharp, jagged. No, this is definitely not something alive.

It’s something very, very dead.

3

I’m rigid with fear. A sob rises in my throat, lungs struggling for oxygen. It’s a bone. It
must
be animal. Can’t be human. Can’t, can’t, can’t.
Don’t think about that.

I try to remember my biology lessons at school. Dissecting a rat. Studying a cow’s knee joint. Yes, this must be a cow bone. A femur, probably. I don’t know why a cow bone would be here, or how it could wander underground. Maybe not a cow then. A dog. A big dog.

I pick it up, pushing the thoughts away. No time to think where it came from or what it really is. To me it’s a weapon. No, not a weapon. A tool. That’s all. I scrape at the render between the doorframe and the brick with the sharp end of bone, starting where the hole is. Dig, scrape. Dig, scrape, gouge. Cold, silent tears stream down my face. In the blackness, I hear the sound of falling grit. It’s working.

Wiggle. Swallow. Bitter saliva in my mouth. Gouge. Scrape. Drip, drip, drip. The sound could drive you mad. Or was I already mad?

A hint of memory struggles to work its way to the surface. A hospital again. Me and… something. I don’t know. It’s gone. What’s wrong with my brain? Why can’t I remember how I got here? Is it the lump on my head? Do I have some kind of brain damage?

Who am I? What do I really know?

I’m Chloe Benson. I’m twenty-seven. That’s what I know. That has to be enough for now.

My arms shake. Everything shakes. I’m one big shaking vessel.

Am I really here? Am I dreaming, fast asleep in my bed?
I want to wake up. I want to wake up!

‘Stop it!’ I say. ‘Mind, stop wandering. Concentrate.’ So I do, because I don’t want to die down here. Don’t want to be poor Chloe Benson who died in a hole underground.

I work down one side of the door. Scraping, gouging, digging at it with my nails and the bone as I go. Something sticky on me now. Blood on my fingertips and knuckles, mixing with the render. Pain. Sweat cooling on my already freezing body.

Ignore it!

I try to visualize something that calms me. A hummingbird hovering in the air as it sucks in nectar from a bright purple flower. Sunset over mountains, the sky streaked with gold, red, and orange. What is it they say, red sky at night, shepherd’s delight? There, see, I’m relaxed. Not a care in the world. Dolphins gliding through the ocean in perfect time with each other. A beach in the Caribbean, white sand, turquoise water. I’m back to water again!

How long have I been here? No clue.

How long will it take?

There’s now a gap along one side of the doorway where the render has crumbled away.
OK, good. You can rest now.
I slump to the floor. Cold. So cold. I wrap my arms round me.

I must fall asleep again, because the next thing I know someone wakes me up, screaming. It’s me.

How long have I slept? How can I sleep when I’m trying to survive?

Slapping myself on my cheeks, I stand up again. I must try. Must do this.

I work my way down the other side of the door. Render falls out between the frame and the brick wall. Slowly. Painfully slowly. I think about icy cold bottles of water. I picture opening the top and swallowing. Swallowing and swallowing. I can’t stop. Can’t get enough. Diving into a swimming pool and drinking the whole thing. I wiggle my tongue again and wonder how much saliva a human can produce. Is it infinite?

I’m halfway down the door now. The muscles in my arms burn. Fingers numb, hope sliding away.

Maybe I’m in hell. I’ve done something really bad, and I’m in hell. No, surely hell would be warmer than this. What have I done? How did I get here?

Don’t know. Don’t know. Can’t think.

I imagine being in front of a roaring log fire. The wood crackles and spits. I know it’s not real, though. I can tell by my teeth chattering.

A waft of my stale sweat and rancid breath hits me.

Jump into a bath. A scorching hot bath. Those winter days when you’re so cold to the bone that only a bath will do. Not a shower. A bath. With jasmine essential oil. Fluffy towels heated on the radiator. Mmm, lovely, and...

I stop mid-thought as I reach the bottom of the doorway. Most of the render along the sides and top is gone now, apart from some small bits. I breathe deeply in and out, trying to regain some energy.

OK, this is it. Push.

I brace my feet firmly on the floor, one in front of the other. I bend my front knee for stability and push as hard as I can. The door creaks and groans.

Push. Come on, Chloe Benson who wants to stay alive.

It shifts slightly. Then it’s falling through inky black and landing somewhere on the other side with a thud. The momentum propels me forward with it, and I’m flying until my outstretched hands hit another wall.