Silent Winter, page 3
‘That they’d checked the hospitals—I’d already spoken with the main two, so that wasn’t any help—and talked to Drew’s boss. I feel so helpless, Todd.’ Her voice shook. ‘You want to know the worst part? When the police asked to look through the house, questioned me as to whether we’d argued. Like they suspected I’d done something awful to Drew.’
‘They were only doing their job, Hols.’
‘Why didn’t they go and search for him instead? Instead of poking around here?’
‘It’s been twenty-four hours. God, where the hell is he?’ Holly heard fear in Todd’s voice, before he pulled her into a hug. He smelled of citrus and musk, and she breathed in his strength. At times, before this nightmare began, she’d envied Nessa her husband, especially when Drew refused to discuss parenthood. On those occasions, Holly had wondered whether she’d married the wrong Blackmore. She’d once dated Todd. Then she’d met Drew, and fallen madly in love.
Holly shoved her memories aside, ashamed of the direction in which her thoughts had taken her. Her main—her only—concern had to be getting Drew back. Alive.
A small voice warned that might not happen. Soon the buzzer might sound from the front door. She’d open it to find police officers, asking to come in. They’d inform her, their faces grave, that her husband’s corpse had been discovered. Beaten and bloody after a mugging carried too far. Or how he’d died in an alleyway after a hit-and-run. Yesterday she’d been a wife. Today she suspected she might have become a widow. Hot tears stung her eyes, but Holly brushed them away.
‘Drew and me—we just fit together so well, you know?’ she said. ‘He’s not perfect. Grumpy in the mornings, leaves his dirty socks on the floor. None of that matters, because every Saturday he brings me breakfast in bed.’ She blushed as she remembered where that often led. ‘When he hands me the tray, he smiles, and suddenly we’re the only two people in the world.’
Todd’s arms pressed her closer, before he gently disengaged himself. ‘I should go. Nessa will be wondering where I am.’
Holly nodded, albeit with reluctance. She mustn’t be selfish, no matter how desperate she felt.
‘Let me know the minute you hear anything,’ Todd said as he kissed her goodbye.
Once he’d gone, Holly stared at her phone. The time had come to call her parents, tell them the grim news. She willed herself to pick it up, place the call.
Her mother answered straightaway, her trademark cheery greeting soon arrested by her daughter’s sobs. ‘I don’t follow, darling,’ Karen Harris said. ‘What do you mean, Drew’s gone? Gone where?’
‘He went missing last night.’ The words she’d dreaded saying, because speech made them so real.
A flurry of questions followed. ‘Your father and I will fly over as soon as possible,’ Karen said, once she’d heard the full story. ‘I’ll text you once I’ve booked our flights.’
CHAPTER 7 - Before
As a boy, Rick only ever saw the face of one of his mother’s punters; he nicknamed the man Mr Nasty. Unlike the others, he became a regular, settling into a pattern of Saturday nights. Several weeks went by, during which time Rick only heard him. That proved frightening enough.
‘Get yerself naked and on yer back, whore. I ain’t got all night.’ That was his usual greeting to Rick’s mother. Once her door had shut behind them, the terrified child listened as curses ricocheted off the walls of the flat.
You want it up yer arse, bitch? Do as you’re told, ya fuck-ugly hag.
Sometimes Rick left his bedroom door ajar to peep into the living room after the man arrived. He’d see a big, beefy guy, his features even coarser than his words. Arms like ham hocks. Fists that could split his mother’s lip in a second. And often did.
Shut the hell up, whore. Followed by a blow. Or you’ll find out what pain really is. Her pleas—I’ll do whatever you want... just don’t hit me—only inflamed Mr Nasty further.
Every Saturday Rick listened to the abuse, tears streaking his grubby face, terror gripping his body. As he huddled under his duvet, his mind transformed his puny seven-year-old self into a man. Big, strong and powerful, able to knock Mr Nasty out with one blow. A superhero, no less. He hated the fact he was unable to protect his mother. Often he’d wake on Sunday mornings to urine-soaked pyjamas. He never said anything, just rinsed them in the bathroom, and slept to one side of the wet patch until his mattress dried. His mother rarely entered his room, so there was little chance of her noticing the smell of piss.
One night he disobeyed her orders and crept into the living room, desperate for food. The stink of Mr Nasty’s sweat lingered in the air. Rick padded through into the kitchen and found a single slice of white in the bread bin. He stuffed pieces into his mouth, mindful of the need to get back to bed as fast as possible. As Rick slunk through the living room, he spotted the man’s shoes and tie on the floor, discarded along with his trousers. In the back pocket was a wallet, the edge of the leather barely visible. Rick hesitated, but the sounds from his mother’s room indicated its occupants were busy. The frightened seven-year-old pulled out the wallet, noting the thick wad of notes, the multiple credit cards. He tugged one from its slot, his eyes scanning the embossed letters on it. The real name of his mother’s abuser became etched on his memory. As did where he lived, evident from Mr Nasty’s driving licence.
After that, Rick often sneaked out of his room on Saturdays, his fingers searching Mr Nasty’s clothes, his curiosity about the man rampant. One of those nights imprinted itself on his mind forever.
The night he witnessed his mother’s abduction.
CHAPTER 8
Saturday morning, and Vanessa Blackmore was in Holly’s kitchen, nursing a mug of coffee. Her caramel-hued hair flowed past gold hoop earrings—almost large enough for a gymnast to swing from, Holly thought—and over the shoulders of her multi-coloured kaftan. Typical of Nessa; she sported a bohemian dress sense coupled with a relaxed attitude. At odds with Holly’s business suits and her tendency to over-think. She was Holly’s antithesis in other ways too: a stay-at-home mum, eight inches taller and with a body built to last, as Todd had once described his wife’s solid frame. Her brother-in-law was catching up with his caseload—the demands of his job as a probation officer were onerous—so Nessa had come instead. She’d arrived on Holly’s doorstep along with two-year-old Shane and Jack.
‘Drew’ll come back, you’ll see,’ she pronounced, her tone assured, after she parked the twins’ buggy by the kitchen table. Both boys were fast asleep. Holly glanced at her nephews, a pang in her heart at her own lack of children. She’d broached the subject several times with Drew, only to run headlong into resistance. His reasons echoed in her head. No rush, we’ve plenty of time. Maybe in a couple of years. After we both get promoted. Every word a slap in the face. Each time she raised the issue, his reluctance grew stronger, his barriers more impenetrable, and Holly’s dreams of motherhood faded further.
‘Please don’t think I’m being flippant,’ Nessa continued. ‘I love Drew. He’s the brother I never had. But I suspect he needs some time for himself. A few days away, and he’ll realise he’s missing you and walk through the door.’
Holly wished she shared her sister-in-law’s confidence. ‘What makes you so certain?’
Nessa set down her mug. ‘He was talking to Todd last week about how stressed he’s been at work. How his boss is a pig, the constant pressure, etc. Well, you hear it often enough, don’t you? How people flip and do a runner from their lives.’
Annoyance stabbed at Holly. ‘Is that what you think Drew’s done?’
‘Yes. Seems the most likely explanation, anyway.’
Nessa meant well, but Holly found her sister-in-law’s platitudes irritating; yes, of course people sometimes snapped under pressure and walked away from their problems. She had often noticed posters around Bristol, headed Have you seen this person? and afforded the photo only a cursory glance. Shame filled her at her casual dismissal of them, because now she understood the pain behind those pleas. Her sister-in-law was being presumptuous, though.
She realised Nessa was expecting a response. ‘Okay, so Drew disliked his work. Plenty of jobs involve bad bosses, long hours and tight deadlines. Mine does, yet you don’t see me quitting at the drop of a hat, do you?’ Bitterness tinged Holly’s voice. ‘Why not tell me he couldn’t cope? We’d have talked it through. Found a solution. Why would he just up and leave?’
‘Perhaps he had issues you don’t know about.’
‘Like what?’ The spectre of another woman flashed across Holly’s mind. Followed by Todd’s reassurance: he’s not been having an affair, I can tell you that much.
Nessa released a long breath. ‘I’ve no idea. Could be he had health concerns, or financial problems.’
Holly stayed silent. She knew all about Drew’s debts.
‘Perhaps no single cause triggered him, but a cocktail of petty stuff that, all together, proved too much,’ Nessa said. ‘The mind is a funny thing. Mental breakdowns can be a protective measure against stress, as well as a response to it.’
Holly stared at her sister-in-law, considering what she’d said. ‘Do you really think Drew’s suffered a nervous breakdown?’
‘It seems possible. Likely, even.’
‘So what do I do? How do I get him back, when I’ve no idea where he is?’
‘You wait. That’s all you can do. Until he’s ready to deal with whatever’s stressing him.’
‘But—’ Holly could barely bring herself to say the words. ‘What if he never returns?’
‘That’s Drew’s call. Not yours.’
Holly’s hand itched to slap Nessa. Her plain speaking, however well meaning, grated on her. Every nerve in Holly’s body was raw, exposed, unwilling to acknowledge the truth behind the other woman’s logic.
‘I wish—’ She swallowed her anger. ‘That he’d trusted me more. That’s all.’
WHAT LITTLE SALIVA remained in Drew’s mouth was thick and sticky, and his lips had grown cracked and sore. He no longer thought about the hollow in his belly, although his hunger persisted unabated. Instead he’d become obsessed with water. Pure, sweet and fresh. Drew pictured himself back home, extracting a bottle of Evian from the fridge, its plastic misted with condensation. He imagined the chilled fluid flowing down his throat, soaking into the parched membranes, and heaved a dry sob.
At times he was certain he’d die in this shit-hole. Fury would follow despair, though, with Drew screaming his rage into the blackness. ‘Don’t leave me here! Let me out, you prick!’
Never had he felt so alone. So helpless. His legs, trapped in their restraints, ached to walk, jog, sprint. For a man used to running several miles most days, such imprisonment was torture. At least he wasn’t cold, thanks to the pile of blankets. His duvet was thick, and the mattress prevented the chill from the concrete floor striking up into his body. The makeshift sound-proofing didn’t muffle all noises, but did provide a degree of insulation. Thank God for that. Drew was under no illusion that his captor cared about his comfort. Whoever had brought him to this place wanted to prevent him dying from hypothermia during the current cold weather. Hence he’d provided basic amenities, although no food and drink, at least not yet. Drew needed to hang on to that sliver of hope. That before long—please, God, make it soon—his abductor would bring him water.
An inkling of the bastard’s identity edged its way into his brain once more. He thrust it away, refusing to entertain the memory. Too ugly, too raw.
Wait. What was that noise? Drew yanked himself upwards, as far as his bonds permitted. He held himself still. His ears strained into the silence.
The sound came again. A soft rustle, as though from clothing. Every cell in Drew’s body warned him someone was nearby. He sensed, rather than heard, regular breathing. Like the other person was listening out for Drew. Just as much as Drew was for them.
‘Hello?’ he shouted. Hard to do with his mouth so dry. ‘I know you’re out there... who are you?’ He swallowed, desperate to moisten his throat. ‘Why have you done this? Talk to me, for God’s sake.’
No response. But his ears detected the whisper of cloth moving. Whoever was outside had shifted their position.
He tried again. ‘Fuck it, will you say something? Tell me who you are. Please.’
Silence met his words. Then he heard the rustling again. Followed by footsteps fading into the distance.
AFTER NESSA’S DEPARTURE, Holly brooded over her conversation with her sister-in-law. In particular: You wait. That’s all you can do. She hated feeling helpless. The police, damn them, weren’t taking her husband’s disappearance seriously enough.
Two cups of coffee later, she’d concocted a plan. Holly reached for her phone.
‘I’ll come round straightaway,’ Todd told her. Guilt bubbled inside her for disturbing his Saturday overtime, but Drew’s well-being mattered more.
Fifteen minutes after her call, Todd was sitting in her kitchen, mug in hand. ‘So what’s this idea of yours? I take it the police haven’t found any leads?’
Holly shook her head. ‘All that talk about how most missing people turn up within a few days, blah, blah, blah.’ Her fist pounded the table. ‘You could tell the minute Sharon Chapman lost interest. As soon as I mentioned Drew’s under pressure at work, her face got that “I’ve heard this all before” expression. Well, screw her. What the hell does she know about my husband?’
‘Holly.’ Todd’s voice was calm, although his eyes betrayed his concern. ‘The police are just doing their job, hampered by insufficient manpower and resources. I’m not sure what else they can do, to be honest. Drew’s only been missing for two days.’
Holly stabbed him with a glare. ‘If he’s lying somewhere critically injured, every second counts. We’ve wasted enough time. I’m going to look for my husband, and you’re coming with me. We’ll start with the woods around Blaise Castle. Perhaps he went for a run there and got hurt somehow. But I’m not sitting here doing nothing. Not while Drew needs me.’
‘Wait.’ Todd laid a hand on her arm. ‘It’s too big a job for the two of us.’
His comment echoed her own concerns. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Let’s mobilise the local community. Phone radio stations, put up flyers. Post on Facebook. Get Drew’s colleagues involved, the guys from the running club, anyone else who wants to pitch in. We’ll organise a full search of everywhere Drew frequented. Tomorrow, if possible.’
Part of Holly chafed at the delay, but Todd’s strategy made sense. More eyes on the ground. A better chance of finding... what, exactly? Drew lying dead? She repressed a sob.
‘Hey.’ Concern in Todd’s voice. ‘Stay strong, Hols.’
She nodded, unable to speak.
‘I’ll make a start,’ Todd continued. ‘First step is to inform the police, then slap a post on Facebook. Why don’t you knock up some flyers?’
Things moved fast after that. Todd called Radio Bristol, his running club mates, Drew’s boss at Jonas Software. He hugged her before he left, three hours later.
‘We’ll find Drew,’ he said, but a hint of fear lingered in his voice, despite his apparent confidence. ‘Anything else is not an option.’
Holly trudged through the rest of Saturday in a blur, her heartache doubling once she spotted the first few flakes of snow that fell that afternoon. The house became chilly with the bite of incipient winter, forcing Holly to turn up the heating. By the time she crawled into bed, a sheet of white covered the ground beneath her window. Nessa’s theory that Drew had walked out on his life was gaining credibility in Holly’s head. Had she pushed him too far with her insistence about babies?
Where are you, Drew? Are you somewhere safe, and above all, warm?
She didn’t sleep that night, picturing her husband on the streets. Homeless, scared, and freezing to death.
DREW RECKONED SEVERAL hours had passed since he’d heard the rustle of clothing outside his prison. How long had he been there? Thirty hours? Fifty? Or even sixty? The temperature in his cell, always cold, seemed frigid right then, which indicated night-time, and necessitated an extra blanket. He’d left work on Thursday evening, so it was probably Saturday, maybe early Sunday morning. Drew’s thirst had multiplied a hundred-fold, his throat a sandpit, his tongue stuck to his teeth. His breath smelled like rotting cabbage whenever it wafted into his nostrils.
A cramp seized Drew’s right calf, pulling his ankle tight against his bonds. His leg, unused to so little movement for so long, descended into sheer agony. Drew screamed himself hoarse until the torture subsided. Less than a minute later, his left calf also spasmed; Drew flexed his foot while he hollered into the pain. As the torment eased, his yells tapered into a deluge of gasps: uuuhhh, uuuhhh, uuuhhh.
Drew closed his eyes, dragged in a long breath. Try as he might, he couldn’t escape self-pity’s clutches. Why was this happening to him?
Inside his head, he thought he knew the answer. A voice spoke to him from years before. Wherever you are, I will find you, and you will suffer.
CHAPTER 9 - Before
Saturday night. That meant a visit from Mr Nasty. Sure enough, the man arrived at eight p.m., his mood even fouler than normal. Rick waited until the door to his mother’s room closed, then crept out from under his duvet. At least he wasn’t hungry; his mum had shoved a bowl of soggy pasta under his nose earlier. With his belly full, he could concentrate on Mr Nasty, and what was taking place in the other bedroom. This time no discarded clothing lay strewn across the living room. With nothing to rummage through, and aware of the risk he ran, Rick almost retreated to the comfort of his bed. But he didn’t. Okay, so he wasn’t the powerful hero of his fantasies, but he could do something, right?
