Chapter Fifty-Seven
The kidnapper
She’s seen my face. It’s the one thing I dreaded most.
We stare at each other in stunned silence, seconds stretching out like hours. Her mouth opens as if to speak, but no words come out. There is just silence.
‘You need to go to the basement,’ I say quietly.
Her expression twists with rage. Before I can react, her fists are pounding against my chest. Then she slaps me so hard across the face that I nearly lose my balance.
‘You bastard! You fucking evil bastard! You kept me from my child, and for what?’
‘Please, Joanna. I can explain,’ I stammer, reaching for her hands.
‘Don’t you dare call me Joanna,’ she screams. ‘Don’t you fucking dare!’
I manage to pin her arms to her sides.
‘Please don’t make me hurt you,’ I whisper, desperate. Her hatred cuts deeper than any wound. I already hate myself more than she ever could.
She struggles to break free, but I stay in control, guiding her as gently as I can toward the basement stairs.
‘No!’ she screams, her voice shattering the stillness. It echoes in my skull. She nearly stumbles down the first few steps, and I steady her gently.
It’s a struggle to get her into the basement, but finally I do. I lean against the door, breathing heavily as she unleashes a torrent of abuse from the other side.
I stumble back up the steps. My hands are shaking. Sweat runs down my back like a swarm of tiny spiders. I pace the house, frantic.
‘Jesus, Jesus,’ I mutter.
How the hell did she get out? One thing I do know is that I’m in deep shit. Everything had been going so well, and now it’s all gone to hell.
***
Joanna
I don’t believe it. I don’t fucking believe it. I’m a prisoner in the basement of my own bloody house. How is this even possible?
My voice is hoarse from screaming, and my knuckles are bruised from pounding on the door. I still can’t believe it, Neville Logan, him of all people. We paid him well for the renovation. We treated him kindly. I liked him. I trusted him.
I trusted the bastard. I kick the coffee table, flipping it onto its side.
I’ll kill him. He’s stolen so much time from me. Time I should have had with my son. But why? None of it makes sense.
A cold knot tightens in my stomach. What is he planning now? He knows I’ve seen him. He knows I can identify him. If he ever intended to let me go, surely that’s off the table now.
I pick up the photo of Joel from the coffee table and clutch it to my chest, sobbing. My heart feels like it’s splintering into pieces.
If I can’t see my son again, what’s the point?
There’s no such thing as a charmed life. I know that now.
***
Neville
I heat the shepherd’s pie I bought earlier. My hands move on autopilot. I have no idea what I’m doing. But she needs food.
