Simon Beckett - The Chemistry of Death

Since then she'd found two other patches where water had soaked through, and done the same with both of them. But it had done little to slake her thirst. She'd dreamed of water, waking to a throat that was more parched than ever, and a feeling of lethargy she couldn't shake off. She knew that both were early signs of insulin deficiency, but that was something else she didn't want to think about. To give herself something to do she set about exploring the floor of her cell once more, hoping the wet patches might have replenished themselves.

That was when she heard the noise again. It came from the cellar beyond the wooden planks.

Someone else was down here.

She waited, barely daring to breathe. Whoever it was, they weren't here to rescue her. The sound of their moving about continued, but nothing else happened. Now she noticed that more light was spilling through the cracks in the wooden planks. The pulse of blood in her head almost drowned out everything else as she edged slowly towards them. Feeling her way with her hands, as quietly as she could she put her eye to the same gap as before.

After the pitch black of her cell, the brightness stabbed into her retina. She blinked away the tears until her sight adjusted. A bare light bulb was burning over the workbench, hanging on a long length of flex so that it was just above it. It was so low that it cast its light in a pool, illuminating only a small area and throwing everything else into unformed shadows. The dead animals suspended from the ceiling were lost in them.

The noise came again, and then Jenny saw a man emerge from the darkness. From her angle, close to the floor, her view was limited. There was a glimpse of jeans and what looked like an army jacket before he moved in front of the light. His silhouette gave an impression of size and bulk as he busied himself at the workbench. Then he was coming towards her.

She scurried away from the planks as his footsteps approached. They stopped. She stared into the blackness, paralysed. There was a loud scraping, then a vertical streak of light appeared. A moment later it flooded her cell as the planks were pulled back on a hinge. Jenny covered her eyes, blinded, as a dark shape towered over her.

'Get up.'

The voice was a low murmur. She was too scared to tell if it was familiar or not. She felt incapable of moving.

There was a sudden motion, then a quick, sharp pain. She cried out, clutching her arm. It was wet. She looked in disbelief at the blood on her hand.

'Get up!'

Clutching the cut on her arm, she scrambled to her feet. She stood shakily, pressing herself back against the wall. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the light, but she kept her head averted. Don't look at hint. If he knows you can recognize him he can't let you go. But her gaze was drawn of its own accord. Not to his face, but to the hunting knife he held, the tip of its curved blade angled towards her. Oh, God, no, please…

'Get undressed.'

It was like the taxi driver all over again. Except this time was far worse, because she couldn't hope for rescue again.

'Why?' She heard the edge of hysteria in her voice, hated it.

She didn't have time to react as the knife slashed out again. There was a burn of cold on her cheek. Stunned, she put her hand to it, felt the wetness start to run out between her fingers. She looked at her hand, glossy with her blood, and then it started to hurt, a clean burning that took her breath away.

'Take your clothes off.'

Now she realized the voice was one she'd heard before. It seemed to echo down a well to her as she tried to identify it. Don't pass out. Don't pass out. The pain from her cheek helped her focus. She swayed but didn't fall. She could hear the man's hoarse breathing as he unhurriedly extended the knife. Its tip touched the skin of her bare arm, then turned so that the flat of the blade rested lightly against her. She shut her eyes as it slid like a feather to her shoulder, tracing the outline of her breastbone before coming to rest against her throat. Its point slowly drifted up until it reached the soft underside of her chin. The pressure relentlessly continued, forcing her to lift her head. When she couldn't move away any more it stopped, holding her poised on the needle-sharp tip, the full length of her throat exposed. Jenny struggled to keep still, her breath coming in ragged gulps. Then the knife was gone.

'Take them off.'

She opened her eyes, still avoiding looking at the man in front of her. Her arms felt leaden as she took hold of her top, damp and filthy from where she'd used it to soak up the puddles, and drew it over her head. For a moment blessed darkness engulfed her. Then the T-shirt was over her face, and she was back in the stinking room.

For the first time she began to take in her surroundings. Her cell was little more than a partitioned part of the cellar, walled off by the screen of rough planks. Beyond the glow from the light bulb, the cellar was a shadowed mess of old furniture, tools and junk, almost too much to take in. At the back were the steps she'd seen earlier, dimly illuminated by some out-of-sight light source as they twisted upwards.

And hanging above it all were the mutilated bodies of the animals.

Now she could see that the entire cellar was full of them, shrivelled bundles of fur, bone and feathers, swaying in some unseen current. Then the man was blocking out the light as he came towards her. She couldn't keep her eyes from the knife poised in his hand. Hurriedly, she began to undress, desperate to forestall another cut. When she came to her shorts she froze, then pushed them down, letting them puddle around her tethered foot. She was covered only by her pants now. She kept her head down, as scared to meet his eyes as she would have been a rabid dog's.

'Everything.' The man's voice had thickened.

'What are you going to do?' Jenny whispered, despising herself for sounding weak.

'Just do it!'

Clumsy with fear, Jenny did as she was told. He bent down and swiftly slashed her shorts and pants, pulling them from her bound foot and impatiently casting them aside. She stifled a cry as he slowly stretched out his hand and, almost hesitantly, touched her breast. She bit her lip, turning her head away as she fought back tears. As she did she saw the bodies of the animals suspended from the ceiling.

Without thinking, she struck his hand away.

Her skin retained a tactile memory of the contact; a roughness of hair, the solidity of underlying bone. For a frozen moment nothing happened. Then his arm swung in a backhand blow to her face. Jenny crashed into the wall and slid to the floor.

She could hear him breathing as he stood over her. She cringed, waiting, but he didn't do anything else. With relief she heard him moving away. Her face ached where he'd hit her, but at least it was the other side to the cut. Lucky, she thought, numbly. Lucky and stupid.

There was a click and she was blinded once again as she was fixed by a piercing light. Shielding her eyes, she saw that he'd turned on a desk lamp that stood on the workbench. Caught in its spotlight, Jenny heard the scrape of a chair, the creak of it taking his weight as he sat down in the shadows.

'Stand up.'

Painfully, she obeyed him. Somehow, though, her brief revolt had wrought a subtle change. The fear was still there, but so now was anger. She drew strength from it, enough to straighten with something like defiance. Whatever happened, she told herself, she was going to hold on to at least a semblance of dignity. Suddenly, that seemed hugely important.

All right, then. Do what you're going to do. Get it over with.

Naked and shivering, she waited for what would happen next. Nothing did. There were more sounds from the shadows. What's he doing? She dared a quick glance, enough to make out his indistinct figure just sitting there, big legs widely spread. And as the rhythmic, muted sounds continued, she finally understood.