Page 96 of D for Dead

Can’t breathe, can’t breathe.

Nausea took over and a feeling of light-headedness and she started to drift. Blackness washed over her as she collapsed into her attacker’s arms.

* * *

She awoke to find herself sitting at the kitchen table.

Her throat was sore and for a moment she had trouble lifting her head. As the room swam into focus she remembered being attacked and immediately glanced around.

Her head was throbbing and she tried to move; found she couldn’t.

She was stuck to the chair.

Panic set in as she struggled to get up. Her wrists were taped to the arms of the chair, her feet to the front legs. She screamed, but the noise coming was muffled. Something was covering her mouth.

The man strolled into the kitchen, smiled at her.

‘I see you’re awake at last,’ he said conversationally.

I know you.

She shook her head from side to side, trying to talk to him, ask him why he had done this to her.

‘I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re saying.’

He smiled again, looking amused, before stepping behind her and busying himself looking through her cupboards, pulling open drawers.

Nadine cranked her neck, trying to see behind her.

What was he up to? What did he plan to do to her? Whatever it was it couldn’t be good or he wouldn’t have tied her to the chair.

God, Troy. Please come home. Please come home now before he hurts me. I promise if you come home now I’ll never fight with you again.

Returning to the table, he set down a metal funnel, pulled a glass bottle from his pocket. It was filled with liquid and he placed it beside the funnel. He pulled out a chair and sat down facing her.

Nadine glanced at the two items, her heart pounding. Her mind went to Amy Gallaty’s book: Murder Games, the story of a husband and wife trying to kill each other, the husband eventually succeeding by forcing his wife to drink acid.

She looked at the man again, noticing for the first time he wore gloves. Surgical gloves, she guessed, so he didn’t leave fingerprints. Why wear gloves when he had left his face uncovered and she would be able to identify him to the police.

She looked again at the bottle, her blood running cold as realisation kicked in. It didn’t matter if she saw his face because he didn’t plan on leaving her alive to tell anyone who he was.

Frantically she started to struggle against the tape holding her to the chair, finally understanding the man’s intentions.

God, Troy, come home, please. Come home now.

Calmly the man uncapped the bottle.

He lent over her, pulled the tape from her mouth.

She sucked in a breath.

‘God, no, please don’t do this this. Please, no.’

In an almost tender gesture he smoothed her hair back from her forehead before grabbing hold of the funnel.

Nadine thrashed in the chair. ‘No, please!’

‘I’m sorry, Nadine. I didn’t want it to come to this. You left me no choice.’