She sat where he’d put her, her mouth dry with fear. He retrieved the knife from the floor in the living area and then placed it on the work surface within his reach. Next he opened what she called her ‘bits and bobs’ drawer and took out a ball of string and duct tape. Returning to the chair he forced her hands behind her and tied her wrists to the chairback, then came round to the front and pulled out a length of duct tape which he took to her mouth.
‘No,’ she cried. ‘Don’t do that. I won’t say anything. I promise.’
‘Too late,’ he pronounced. ‘Do you want your mouth stuck open or closed? I’d recommend closed. It’s marginally more comfortable, I saw it in a film.’
Without waiting for a reply he pressed the tape over her mouth, then wound it around her head twice, before cutting it with the knife. Her eyes filled and she concentrated on trying to breathe.
‘Bound and gagged just as a woman should be,’ he laughed. ‘Now I can think what to do with you.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
It was nearly seven o’clock and Elizabeth was sitting in one of the hearthside armchairs, dreading the long evening that stretched ahead of her. Andrew was out of town at a meeting with the Bishop and other clergy and wasn’t expected back until ten o’clock at the earliest, probably later. She’d had dinner on her lap while watching the early evening news and had then taken Mitsy for a short walk before the rain had set in. Although she should have been used to being alone with Andrew often out on church or parish business, it was becoming increasingly difficult with so much on her mind. At least when he was here he offered some diversion so she couldn’t just sit for hours and torment herself. Exhausted from not sleeping, she was constantly anxious and on edge so that any space in the day or night was quickly filled with thoughts of Jacob, and Eloise’s words ringing in her ears.
Of course Eloise had been within her rights to blame her. If she hadn’t encouraged Jacob to see her that weekend – even lending him her car – it would never have happened. That she had acted in good faith, unaware that he’d harmed Eloise before, didn’t alleviate her conscience one little bit. Even though Eloise hadn’t reported it to the police, Elizabeth had to live with the knowledge that her son was a rapist.
She picked up her phone again and opened Rosie’s text. Hi Liz. We’re fine thanks. Had the police visited Jacob yet? She thought Rosie would have mentioned it if they had. She’d used the term ‘we’ so Jacob must be with her and she’d said they were both all right, which she had to accept. Perhaps it wouldn’t happen again. Perhaps Rosie was sufficiently different from Eloise that whatever it was that had turned Jacob into a sadistic rapist wouldn’t resurface. But even as she had the thought she knew that it was unlikely, and that her reasoning was one step from blaming the victim, which was completely unacceptable. Jacob had committed one of the vilest acts possible, traumatizing and scarring Eloise for life. Of course he could strike again – hence all her texts and phone calls to Rosie.
Closing Rosie’s text, she scrolled to David’s with the link to the article detailing what was probably the best reported case of cellular memory so far. She read it as she had before with a cold, sinking resignation, for although it added to the pool of research, it didn’t help her as she’d thought it might. Indeed, it compounded her feelings of hopelessness, for here was irrefutable proof that what was happening to Jacob had happened to others. Even more depressing was that there was no chance of the donor recipient ever reverting back.
With mounting feelings of despair, Elizabeth closed the article and clicked on the new message icon which had appeared while she’d been reading. She now saw it was a Facebook alert, advising her that Tracy Smith had messaged her. She logged in and read the message, trying to make sense of Tracy’s poor spelling and grammar. Hiya. How ya doin? Sory I aint been in touch. Got banned from ere for bein f*ing threatening and abusive. Lol. Hav to behave meself now. Lol. Heres the stuff u wanted about the girl Shane waz wiv. I got it off her bank statement that waz in his pocket when he died. Now I wonder what he waz doin with her bank details! Lol That’s me boy!
Elizabeth recoiled from the foulness of the woman and her admiration that her son had been stealing from his girlfriend. But then her hand shot to her mouth as she read the name and address of Shane’s girlfriend. Rosemary Jones, 17 Hill Court, Highland Grove. It couldn’t be. Surely not. She quickly scrolled back through Rosie’s text messages to the one she’d sent giving her address. It was the same. It was the same girl. She could barely get her breath. The bile rose to her throat as the realization dawned: Jacob’s girlfriend had been Shane’s too.
Chapter Forty-Nine
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Jacob snarled. ‘I thought I told you to keep still.’
Rosie tried nodding again towards the bathroom, her brow creasing, trying to make him understand. She needed a wee. She’d come home straight from work and the police had been here so she hadn’t had a chance to use the bathroom. She nodded again and finally he understood.
‘Later. I’m busy.’ He laughed.
He was standing a little way in front of her, trying to reach someone on his phone. It had been busy for some time and he was becoming increasingly agitated and angry each time he tried, cursing someone called Taco. Rosie watched him, terrified, but aware she needed to try to be calm and rational – like she was at the bank – to think of a way to call for help or escape.
He was becoming even more delusional and deranged, talking about things in his past that had never happened and making no sense at all. She feared him more than ever. The string was cutting painfully into her wrists where he’d tied her to the chair and her mouth was sore from the duct tape. Every time she moved her head, the sticky tape stretched her skin and pulled her hair. She tried to push it from her mind and concentrate on planning her escape. He’d have to untie her hands to let her use the bathroom and once in there she could quickly lock the door, rip the duct tape from her mouth and scream for help from the bathroom window. The window was too small and the flat too high up to escape from, but it overlooked the road. If she screamed loud enough and waved a towel out of the window surely someone would hear her? She prayed they would, and that the lock on the bathroom door was strong enough to keep Jacob out as he fought to get in.
‘About fucking time!’ he cursed as he finally made contact with Taco on the phone. There was a reply that Rosie couldn’t hear. ‘Yeah, whatever,’ he said dismissively, pacing the room. ‘Look man, I need you to arrange something, like you did before at the depot.’ He paused, listening to the reply, then, ‘No, it’s a woman.’ Another pause, then, ‘Call me when you know, but don’t piss me around. I need it doing tonight.’ Finishing the call, he lowered his phone and looked at Rosie.
There was a glint in his eye as he spoke that made her blood run cold. ‘The thing is, you know too much,’ he said as though rationalizing his decision. ‘I can’t trust you. I’m sure you’ll tell the police at the first opportunity. You’re too honest for your own fucking good, and I’m not going back to prison again. I’ve spent too much of my fucking life there already. I don’t see that I have a choice.’
She shook her head, unsure of what he was talking about, but trying to indicate that she wouldn’t tell if he let her go. He ignored her. She tried again, a small muffled cry.
‘All right! I know you want a pee,’ he said, annoyed.
Jamming his phone into his jeans, he came over and untied her hands. Once released, her aching arms fell limply to her sides and she rubbed them to recover the circulation. He came round to the front and pulled her roughly to her feet, then began tying her hands again in front of her body.
‘No!’ she tried to cry from beneath the tape, and pulled away.
He shook her and snarled in her face. ‘Do you want a pee or not?’ He was perspiring heavily, beads of sweat stood on his forehead. She nodded. ‘Well keep fucking still then.’
She stood still, petrified, as he retied her hands in front of her. Then, grabbing h
er roughly by the arm, he pulled her towards the bathroom and pushed her in. ‘You’ve got two minutes!’ He drew the door to, but placed his foot against it so it couldn’t be completely closed.
Rosie looked helplessly at the window and the partially closed door, and knew her plan had failed. Her eyes filled and her legs trembled. She caught sight of herself in the mirror over the handbasin, bound and gagged, debased and humiliated. How had she allowed this to happen? It seemed macabrely unreal, as if she were playing a part in a low-budget horror movie. But the image in the mirror was real, as was the string binding her wrists and the tape over her mouth. What was he planning to do with her next? Pass her on to the person called Taco? She’d seen stories on the news and in magazines about women who’d just vanished, possibly sold into slavery abroad, or murdered and their bodies never found. She didn’t doubt that Jacob was capable of anything. If only she could persuade him to take the tape off her mouth she might stand some chance of talking him out of whatever he was planning. But gagged and tied she was helpless and at his mercy
‘Hurry up!’ He banged on the bathroom door.
Crossing to the toilet, she struggled to lower her pants, used the toilet and then flushed it. He immediately came in, his eyes on the phone in his hand. Without looking at her he grabbed her arm and pulled her from the bathroom into the kitchen where he sat her roughly on the chair again, leaving her hands tied. He moved away, more interested in his phone. If she kept very still and didn’t draw attention to herself perhaps he wouldn’t notice he hadn’t tied her to the chair? Then with her hands in front maybe she could do something, but she’d have to be careful. She’d only have one chance. He was so agitated and volatile that anything could ignite his anger.
She sat very still and watched him as he concentrated on his phone, texting and then trying to call. Her phone was on the worktop where he’d thrown it. It had vibrated a couple of times with incoming text messages but he’d been too preoccupied to notice it. But now it was vibrating again for longer, indicating an incoming call. He snatched it up.
‘Eva again! What the fuck!’ He cut the call, letting it go through to voicemail, then studied her call list. ‘And my mother’s been messaging. Aren’t you popular tonight.’ She held her breath as he read the recent texts, praying they didn’t contain anything incriminating that would make him more angry. A few moments later he threw her phone back onto the worktop, where it landed with a clatter, and looked at his own phone again.
Whoever he wanted to get hold of, it was clearly urgent and she could see his agitation increasing as he kept trying. If he turned his back for long enough or left the room perhaps she could get to her phone, run to the bathroom, lock herself in and, if she could get her hands free, summon help. Perhaps. But what if she failed? Don’t think about it.
He was pacing the room again with his phone to his ear. She watched him carefully and tried to calm herself and concentrate on what she needed to do. The call must have connected for he was listening now to what the person was saying, and he clearly didn’t like it. She saw his face grow tense and pale. She sat very still, her plan formulating.
‘You’re fucking joking me!’ he cursed. ‘He doesn’t do women! What sort of pussy is he? So find me someone who does, and quickly. I need her gone tonight.’
Rosie turned ice cold as she realized what he was doing. There was no doubt now that he was talking about her, arranging her disappearance or even murder. How long did she have? Probably not long. He’d said tonight. She needed to act quickly if she stood any chance of saving herself. He ended the call and then checked his messages. Seizing the opportunity, she jumped up from the chair, ran to the bathroom and got in, but not with enough time to bolt the door. It flew open and his anger was obvious, even before the first blow.
Chapter Fifty
Fate, coincidence, or could Jacob have been drawn to Rosie? What were the odds of them meeting by chance? Elizabeth had no idea. The likelihood of a transplant recipient accidentally meeting and then forming a relationship with the donor’s girlfriend must be very slim, although they lived in the same county so the odds were increased. Or had it nothing to do with chance? Had Shane’s DNA, now carousing through Jacob, sent him on a trajectory to Rosie? If you accepted cellular memory then it was certainly possible. Elizabeth shuddered at what she was having to come to terms with.
Should she tell Rosie that Jacob had Shane’s heart? No, not now, perhaps never. She needed to think about it more. But first and foremost she needed to make sure Rosie was safe. With her breath coming fast and shallow she pressed Rosie’s mobile number again. As before it rang twice and then went through to voicemail. Keeping her voice light, she left another message.
‘Hi, love. Hope you’re OK. Just a reminder to give me a date when you’re both free to come to dinner again. Hope all is well with you.’ She paused, feeling she needed to say something more but unsure of what, then said goodbye.
She tried as she had before to picture Rosie’s flat with Jacob there. The two of them relaxing or having fun together. But she couldn’t, not at all. It had been easy with Jacob and Eloise, they’d been a couple for years and she’d seen them together many times. And of course back then Jacob had been her son, the young man she’d brought up and knew, not the changeling she now saw. She couldn’t imagine this Jacob with any decent woman, and not for the first time she prayed he was treating her well and being kind to her. Surely he must be or Rosie would never have agreed to him continuing to live with her? Unless of course the poor girl didn’t have any choice, like at the end of his relationship with Eloise, when he’d kept her hostage and raped her. But that was ridiculous, Rosie had been to work today. She’d checked.
Mitsy stirred beside her and Elizabeth absently ruffled her fur. The clock on the mantelpiece now showed a quarter to eight. It was possible Rosie and Jacob were watching television or listening to music so hadn’t heard the phone. Or perhaps Rosie was reading or taking a bath and her phone was in another room? Or maybe it was on silent and she hadn’t checked it. There were any number of possible reasons why Rosie hadn’t replied but none eased Elizabeth’s concern.
At 8.15 when there’d still been no word, Elizabeth couldn’t bear it any longer and telephoned Rosie again. If she answered this time she’d apologize for disturbing her and say she was just a bit worried she hadn’t heard from her and was she OK? That was reasonable, wasn’t it? Not overbearing or paranoid?
But Rosie didn’t answer. It went through to voicemail again and Elizabeth left yet another message. It was difficult to keep the tremble from her voice. ‘Hi, love. It’s Liz again. Sorry to bother you. Just wanted to check you received my messages, and everything is all right. Could you phone or text me please? Sorry to be a pain.’ She waited for a moment to see if Rosie would pick up but she didn’t.
At 8.45 when there’d been no reply she tried once more, with the same result. She didn’t leave a message this time, as there was nothing more she could say without sounding obsessively anxious. Perhaps they were out at the cinema and Rosie hadn’t checked her phone? There were other plausible reasons for her not answering, but there were more worrying alternatives too and these now dominated and took control.
Ten minutes later Elizabeth collected her bag and jacket and went out to her car. The sun was just starting to set so it was still light. Perhaps she was being neurotic. She barely knew Rosie, but if there was a slim chance she wasn’t all right she needed to check. She’d never forgive herself if something had happened and she’d ignored her instincts after what had happened to Eloise. She entered Rosie’s postcode into the sat nav and then fastened her seat belt, and with mounting apprehension started the engine. If she arrived to find they were both contentedly watching television or similarly occupied and oblivious to her messages she’d admit she’d been worried and apologize profusely for overreacting.
Placing her phone on the passenger seat within view and the volume set on high she drove through the village. If Rosie phoned whi
le she was driving she’d pull over, take the call, and assuming she was all right, go home. There’d be no need to admit she was on her way over, worried sick that something bad might have happened to her. She’d never mention it, not even to Andrew, for sometimes decisions that seem rational when deeply concerned about a loved one can appear ridiculous in the cool light of day when the danger has passed. She would keep this to herself as she did many things connected with Jacob now.
She gripped the steering wheel and concentrated on the road ahead. The sun continued its descent. The sat nav fell silent as she drove along the main road that would eventually take her into the town. Her thoughts scattered and re-formed, going from absurd speculation to what she actually knew. But then what she knew was disturbing enough.
Twenty minutes later she passed the transplant centre where they’d spent so much time when Jacob had been ill, and then entered the outskirts of the town. The sat nav sprang into action again, issuing a series of instructions to turn left and right. Five minutes later she turned into Highland Grove and heard ‘you have reached your destination’.
Elizabeth parked as close as she could to the Hill Court flats. Now she’d arrived, her intention seemed even more ludicrous and also inappropriate. Parents of adult children didn’t just arrive on their doorsteps in the late evening, especially when they were living with a partner. It wasn’t the done thing. But then she hadn’t come all this way for nothing, and fear for Rosie’s safety once more overrode any concern about etiquette or making a fool of herself. Taking a deep breath, she quickly pressed Rosie’s number, expecting it to go through to voicemail again.