I have to get it together. Think.
It’s too late to try and figure out our route and I have no idea where we’re going, but I can at least try and work out where we are now. Car engines, the rev of a motorbike. Nothing significant there. Muffled laughter outside, gone just as quickly as it came.
Twenty minutes later and I’m just as clueless. I can hardly see, can barely move, and I still have no idea where we are or where we’re going. My heart is beating so fast. Too fast.
Take a deep breath, Troy. Calm down. You can’t think straight if you’re panicking.
That’s when it hits me, really hits me.
Libby and I are in a crap ton of trouble and it’s all my fault.
Not for one single second did I take Callie’s warnings seriously.
Big mistake.
HUGE mistake.
All I’d wanted was some chips and an escape from school. I’d thought Callie was being overcautious at best and had to be exaggerating at worst. If anyone thought they could get to Callie through me, they were seriously deluding themselves. At least, that’s what I told myself. But apparently that’s exactly what someone has decided. We won’t even be missed until we’re due home. No … hang on … The results of the school election are going to be announced at the end of the school day and Libby and I will be expected in the hall for that, along with the rest of the upper school. If we’re both missing, surely the alarm will be raised then? Too late to help us, but at least the police will be notified and they’ll start looking for us. The thought brings some comfort. Not much but some.
By the time the police start searching, we could be hundreds of kilometres away. Or worse.
Libby and I need to find a way out of this, but how?
How?
thirty-three. Libby
* * *
My heart is thrashing about like a landed fish. I groan, the sound smothered by the filthy rag in my mouth, which tastes of old sweat and petrol. Something slimy sits against my tongue, as if someone blew their nose on the rag first before stuffing it in my mouth. I try to force the disgusting thing out, but my tongue keeps rebelling. Steeling myself, I poke at it again. When enough of it has been pushed past my lips, I catch it under my cheek and then pull my head away until the disgusting thing is completely out of my mouth. I spit repeatedly into the hankie or whatever it is, trying to get its last remnants off my tongue. My hands are still tied behind my back. I’m not sure which is making my stomach churn more: abject terror or the lingering taste of the gag.
For Shaka’s sake, don’t puke.
It smells bad enough down here without me adding to it.
The hard floor scrapes against my back and legs. I take a deep breath and try to force myself to get it together and think rationally. My eyes are slowly growing accustomed to the dim, sickly yellow light, which barely reaches the far wall of this place. Nearby lies Troy. When they flung him down the stairs, he fell badly. He took quite a crack to his head, which I think knocked him out. God, I hope it’s nothing more serious, though being knocked unconscious is bad enough.
‘Troy? Troy, wake up. Are you OK? Wake up.’
He doesn’t stir. He’s just out for the count – I refuse to contemplate anything worse than that. What is this place? Where are we? It looks and smells like some kind of storage unit or maybe a basement? There are no windows, at least none that I can see.
Why am I here?
Barbed-wire thoughts slash their way through my mind. From a distance, a rumbling sound gets nearer and vibrates beneath me with a regular, thumping undertone to it. Are we near an underground station? Do Tube trains run beneath this building or close by? Heathcroft High is about seven kilometres away from the nearest Tube station so we must’ve been driven at least that distance and probably a whole lot further. I only came to when one of them carried me into this building over his shoulder. And even then I was as groggy as hell.
‘Troy? Troy, wake up. Please wake up.’
But Troy is still unconscious. I twist, coiling my body round like a snake to lie on my back. My bound hands dig into my lower spine. Taking a deep breath, I jerk upwards. It takes a couple of tries, but at last I’m sitting, my hands still tied behind me. I rock back and forth, forcing my bound hands beneath my bum and hips, then under my knees and feet, curling to make it easier to bring my hands to the front of my body. At last it’s done.
‘Troy! Wake up, damn it. Troy—’
Troy’s eyes flutter open. He looks bewildered. I don’t doubt for a second that I’m his mirror image. The mere fact that I’m not alone is strangely comforting – even if it’s Troy who’s my companion.
Grunting, he struggles to sit up. He looks around, then at me, even more perplexed.
‘Libby, what – and I sincerely mean this – the actual bollocks is going on?’ he groans.
‘We’ve been snatched off the street and brought here. Now you know as much as me,’ I reply. ‘Hang on. Let me try to get you free, then you can do the same for me.’
NOW
* * *
thirty-four. Troy
* * *
So here Libby and I sit, waiting to wake up from our shared nightmare. I’m hurting, especially my head, and the longer I’m down here, the worse it gets. I need to get out of here before I … Libby said our predicament might be because of her dad. Last I heard she didn’t even know who that was. If she now knows, what could he possibly have done to have led to our current situation? No. My sister’s job is the reason I’m down here. I’m sure of it. But it’s messed up that I’m hoping one or other of us is right. The alternatives don’t bear thinking about.
Or maybe this is Sonny’s doing? A ploy on his part to get me out of the way? But what would that achieve? He’s already got rid of the cars in his quarry. I have no proof of my suspicions so I’m no real threat to him. Going to all this trouble doesn’t make any sense, unless he’s afraid that Mum might start listening to and believing me.
‘Why d’you think that man in the mask took our photo?’ Libby’s question is a welcome intrusion.
I sigh. ‘To send to someone as proof that they have us? I hope.’
Libby nods. In agreement with my assessment or sharing my hope? It’s hard to tell.
‘Look, I don’t mean to make this sound like some kind of competition Libby, but this situation … I think it’s on me.’
‘What d’you mean?’ She frowns.
‘My sister Callie is a lawyer – remember? Well, she’s currently involved in a high-profile case and I suspect our being abducted has something to do with that.’
I force myself to look at Libby, expecting to see censure in her eyes. Instead, she holds my gaze, though even in the dim light I can see her cheeks reddening.
‘What?’ I ask. Am I missing something?
‘What’s the high-profile case your sister is involved in?’ asks Libby.
‘I can’t say. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.’
‘You can tell me,’ she says. ‘Who am I going to tell?’
I tilt my head. ‘Libby, you of all people should know that, unlike most, I can keep a secret.’