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I mention the phone brand used by male B, and the sum of money I was sold for: three million US dollars.
DI Jamison raises his eyebrows. “Are you certain about the sum of money?”
“Yes.”
He looks to Paula, who shares, “That’s a lot more money than abducted women generally sell for.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Previous investigations into sex trafficking tell us that a few hundred thousand is the ceiling height,” DI Jones says cautiously. “That would be the exception, and mostly for very young girls, or ones deemed unique or particularly beautiful. Special.”
Jesus, young girls? I wish I hadn’t asked.“That’s what I remember,” I say quietly.
They nod, asking me about the exterior of the building. Was it a house? Two storeys? What was the car make? Colour?
“Two-storey house. There was a garden, a short drive. The driver had light brown skin and a cap like a chauffeur. It was a black car, like an SUV. It smelled new.”
“And Lionheart? Is that an impression of him? Was he blond? Did he have shaggy hair, like a mane?”
I can’t remember any detail about Lionheart. “I can only say that my fear washed away when I saw him.”
Jones, Paula and Jamison exchange puzzled glances which I think is very un-cop-like of them to be so transparently invested in my answer.
“Are you saying that you knew him?” Paula asks quietly.
I fall into my head, trying to remember. Oh, my God, yes, I knew him. I’m sure of it.But how?
Anxiety intertwines with excitement. False memories are not uncommon for diagnoses like mine, and while everything I’ve shared feels one hundred percent real, I want to interrogate this further before I confirm anything. So I say, “I’m not sure, but he was golden.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
AVA
Christmas shoppingfor the man who has everything is an absolute nightmare. Apart from my bad knitting, and the attempt I’m making at the scarf I promised Max, I have zero ideas. And my sister is of no help whatsoever.
“Ask him! Maybe he can steer you towards a tie he’s had his eye on, or some fancy socks.”
“God, buying for rich people is the worst,” I grumble, picking up and then putting down a wet shaving set. Max has an electric shaver, his smooth, clean-shaven face one I adore.
Whipping out my phone, I text him.What can I get you for Christmas? Please give me ideas!!
“What did you buy Nate when you first met him?”
Nate and Tilly’s meet cute is, in my view at least, the sweetest. She’d been stood up, waiting outside the cinema for her date to show. Meanwhile, on the other side of the main doors, Nate was waiting for his date to make an appearance. In between, they caught each other’s eye, exchanging smiles, checking that they weren’t Calvin (from the POV of my sis) or Jessica (from the POV of Nate). Two minutes before the film was due to start, Nate said to Tilly:How about we do this together?And the rest, as they say, is history.
That was Lady Fortune, the Fates, the Gods, and anyone else with suitably mythic or prophetic abilities shining down on them. So yeah, I know that sometimes there are entities out there guiding us. It’s how I feel about the voice that’s reaching out to me every day now.
I feel so close. Every day, my head gives up more revelations and secrets.
“Oh, I bought him utter crap. Maybe you should do that.”
I nod, thinking that might be my only option. Max dresses in tailor-made suits with designer shirts and tie combinations. I can’t run to that kind of money on my now non-existent salary.
My phone pings.You, naked, tied to my bed. Seriously.
My heart plummets. Instinctively, my eyes fall to my wrists where red ligature marks had practically rubbed my skin raw. There’s nothing to see now except a very faint line, a scar that might stay with me for a long time, maybe forever, like the memories.
Max knows I was left helpless like this, brutalised while men used me, so I have to wonder why he would suggest that. But then I also know I told him to be indifferent to The Incident. I don’t want him to second-guess everything.
