M. Arlidge - The Doll's House

The blow sent her reeling sideways. It was so sudden and savage that she slammed into the side wall, spilling Ruby from her grasp. A second blow to her side landed immediately after, robbing her of breath and cracking her ribs. Now Helen saw him coming at her, a hammer raised, fierce intent in his expression. She raised her baton – but too late – the hammer came crashing down on to her head, sending her reeling backwards and shattering her visor. Another blow and she was on the floor, her helmet split.

He raised his hammer again, intent on crushing her skull, but this time Helen lashed out, her baton connecting forcefully with his Adam’s apple. For a moment, he appeared stunned, so Helen swung her free arm with all her might, battering the hammer from his grasp. It fell to the ground with a dull thud.

She pulled herself up quickly, but moved straight into his fist, descending upon her with crushing speed. Her head hit the ground hard, the shattered helmet falling apart like a cracked walnut, rendering her defenceless.

Now his hot hands sought out her throat, encircling it and squeezing hard. The smoke was so thick now they could no longer see each other, but at such close quarters it made no odds. They had a hold of one another and were locked in a fight to the death.

Helen rammed the baton against his elbow, trying desperately to break his grip, but he squeezed harder still. At any moment he would crush her larynx and that would be it. Helen thrashed at the side of his head with her baton, but it seemed to have no effect. Her killer would not be denied.

In desperation, Helen rolled sideways as hard as she could, crashing Ben into the wall. His grip loosened slightly, and pressing her foot against the wall, she swung back forcefully in the opposite direction. This had the desired effect and Ben toppled off on to the floor. Helen scrabbled on top of him, before he could rise, holding her baton at both ends, pushing the thin steel bar down on to his throat with as much strength as she could muster.

She pushed hard, but his fist lashed out, catching her above the left eye. She held firm, increasing the pressure. He was choking now, but Helen didn’t let up. His fingers sought out her face, scratching at her eyes, trying to dig into her eye sockets. Helen twisted her head to escape his reach, but he caught her hair, yanking her head down sharply towards his face.

She felt his teeth sink into her left ear and she howled in agony, drinking in plumes of smoke. He was biting so hard – any second now he would bite it clean off. Helen could feel the blood pouring down the side of her face and neck.

Then suddenly his grip weakened. Only slightly, but it was enough to tell Helen she was winning. Pushing down harder on his neck, Helen now felt his mouth open and a small gasp escape, as he released his grip on her ear. The fight was over.

Jerking her head up, Helen stumbled away from his corpse, but immediately the tunnel spun around her. She felt faint, nauseous, the smoke filling her mouth and her lungs, rendering her victory meaningless.

She crashed to the floor. Ruby was only a foot from her, but suddenly Helen had no energy to move. The darkness spun around her and for a moment she didn’t know where she was. Her face hit the cold earth on the ground and didn’t move again.

Helen’s eyelids began to droop. Ruby’s innocent face would be the last thing she saw. The last thing she would ever see.

DC Sanderson stood by the safety barrier, starring daggers at the fire sergeant, who avoided her gaze as he marshalled the activities of the fire teams who had now entered the burning house. Sanderson cursed herself for her stupidity and cowardice. Why had she let Helen go in alone? She knew her boss – she knew that she would plunge inside the house without any fear for her own safety. Why hadn’t she spoken up earlier – insisting her boss ride with them – instead of swallowing her concerns? Was it out of respect for her superior, as she’d told herself at the time, or just that she was weak?

She shot a look at McAndrew to see if she looked as guilt-ridden as she did, but suddenly she caught sight of movement by the front door. Vaulting the barrier, she sprinted over to see a fire crew emerging with Ruby in their arms, and moments later, Helen too. Ignoring their repeated warnings to stay back, Sanderson kept pace, desperately searching for signs of life. Ruby had sustained some nasty burns and was clearly unconscious. But what about Helen?

Her boss was covered in soot and dirt. A thick coating of blood clung to the left-hand side of her face, oozing from a deep wound to her ear. Her eyes rolled back in her head – she was unconscious and didn’t appear to be breathing.

‘What’s going on? What’s happening?’

The paramedics ignored her questions as they took charge. Sanderson watched on helplessly as they administered oxygen, chest-pumped and searched for a pulse. Why the hell weren’t they doing more? Why were they being so measured? Then a brief look from one paramedic to the other – sober and serious. What the hell did that mean?

Oxygen masks were now attached to both women and they were levered up on to the ambulance stretchers and hurried into the respective vehicles. Both ambulances took off at speed and as Sanderson watched them disappear into the distance, she felt tears prick her eyes. This was it then. Helen’s life now hung in the balance. Why hadn’t she done more?

The light was utterly blinding. She held her hand up to shield her eyes from the savage glare, but still multi-coloured shapes seemed to dance about in front of her. Swiftly she turned away from the water, which burned with the reflection of an unseasonably strong sun, turning her gaze instead to the beach beyond.

Autumn had crept up on them and Steephill Cove was nigh on deserted. Ruby cut a lonely figure standing by the swell of the sea. In her old life she would have baulked at the strange isolation of the scene – where were the holidaymakers? The fun? The laughter? – but now it suited her perfectly.

They had driven here almost as soon as Ruby had been discharged from hospital, so strong was her desire to escape the press frenzy in Southampton, to retreat somewhere she felt safe. Her burns were healing well, but she still felt self-conscious about her blistered arms and her short patchy hair. Here she could dress as she pleased, go where she pleased, without the risk of encountering well-wishers who would smile and stare. Everywhere else she was still a newspaper headline – here she could just be Ruby.

Staring at the beautiful beach, framed perfectly by the rugged cliffs, Ruby couldn’t help remembering those lonely nights of her incarceration when she’d imagined herself here, daydreams from which she’d been brutally ripped time and again. The fact that her abductor had died twice – first at Helen Grace’s hand and then in the fierce conflagration that followed – didn’t make Ruby feel any better, or any safer. The memories of her isolation and despair were still too strong to stop herself shaking when she thought of him and her terrible ordeal. He still came to her at night – in vivid, appalling nightmares – and Ruby had hardly slept a wink as a result. Weeks after her liberation, she still felt weak, damaged and unsettled.

But her abductor had not won and in time she hoped to expunge him from her life completely. It would be a long road – removing the tattoo in hospital had been the easy bit – and the worst was yet to come. But she had won – she must keep telling herself that – and the most eloquent testament to that fact was the view that now stretched out in front of her: this place, this cove, no longer an illusory retreat for her fractured mind, but something real and reassuring. Ruby crouched down, running the wet sand through her fingers over and over again, fighting back tears of relief.