Page 52

It was something much worse.

The man locked the door – this time keeping his eyes on her – then put the thing down. It looked like some kind of helmet.

‘Please,’ she said, her voice a croak. ‘I need a drink.’

‘You need to be punished,’ the man replied, his voice flat. ‘That’s what you need.’

‘What’s that?’ she said, pointing at the helmet.

‘It’s a cage.’

She didn’t understand. Now her eyes had adjusted she could make out that it was a motorbike helmet.

‘It’s not a cage,’ she said.

‘Oh, it is.’

She was puzzled. There was nothing here to put in it. ‘What for?’

He looked at her, his head tilted sideways.

‘For my pet.’ He grinned at her. ‘My other pet.’

She blinked. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘You will,’ he said. ‘You will.’ He picked up the motorbike helmet and walked towards her. When he got to the mattress he lifted it up and, before she could do anything, he put it over her head. He tightened a strap under her chin, and secured it with a small chain, through which he threaded a padlock.

‘There,’ he said. ‘Fits perfectly.’

It didn’t fit perfectly at all. It was way too big. Maggie shook her head; there was plenty of space around her face and between the helmet and her neck.

But not enough to get her head out, not with the strap secured. She tugged at it, but the padlock – clearly his own addition – held fast.

It was uncomfortable, but not that bad. She started to relax a little.

Then he turned and walked to the door. He unlocked it and reached on to the stairs. When he came back into the room he was holding a shoebox. He took off the lid and held it up to show Maggie what was inside.

There was a large, white rat. Its pink nose sniffed the air.

‘No,’ Maggie croaked. ‘Please, no. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s a bit late for that,’ he said.

He picked up the rat and pulled the chin of the helmet towards him, then put the head of the rat in the gap between her neck and the helmet. She tried to twist away but he grabbed her neck with his free hand, and, seconds later, she felt tiny feet scrabbling on her cheek.

And then a pink nose came into view and she screamed.

‘Don’t do that,’ the man said. ‘You’ll upset him.’ He tilted her chin up so she was looking at him. ‘This is James,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d like the name. And he’s very hungry.’

7

Sometimes the rat – James, he had called it, and even though she knew he was using her brother’s name to punish her she couldn’t get the name out of her head – slept, or was still. Sometimes it moved slowly, walking around her head and mouth and lips and nose in steady circles.

Sometimes – and these were the worst – it scuttered around, making sinister, high-pitched noises.

She waited for it to bite her, waited in the darkness for its needle-sharp teeth to pierce her cheek, waited to feel her blood flow as the rat lapped it up.

And when she thought she could bear it no longer, when she thought she was going to lose her mind, the light came on and the door opened and the man came and took the rat and the helmet away.