Lisa Stone - The Doctor

‘If you’re good and stay very quiet, I’ll let you out after he’s gone.’

‘Who? No, don’t, please. I can go upstairs and be quiet if you want.’

He dragged her the last few paces and pushed her in. Slamming the door shut, he locked it.

‘Amit! Let me out. Please, I promise I won’t look.’ She banged on the door.

‘Shut up now or I’ll leave you in there all night.’

Alisha bit into her bottom lip and tried not to cry.

Perspiration stood out on Amit’s forehead as he hurried to the back door, let himself out and then rushed down the sideway. He unpadlocked the gate. The lorry was just parking outside, half an hour fucking early! If it had arrived when it was supposed to, he’d have had Alisha sedated and out of the way in plenty of time. He had taken the day off work to receive the delivery and a couple of minutes ago the driver had texted to say he’d be with him shortly. There was no way he could risk Alisha seeing – the size and shape would raise her suspicions. He hoped the nosy cow next door wasn’t watching. He needed to get the cylinder down the sideway and into his lab as quickly as possible.

‘Delivery for Dr Burman,’ the lorry driver called from the pavement, reading from his e-Pod.

‘That’s me, but you’re early.’

‘Do you want me to come back later then, mate?’

For a second Amit thought he meant it and was about to say yes.

‘Where’s it going?’ the driver asked. ‘It’s big.’

‘The building at the very rear of my garden. It will fit down the sideway.’

‘I’ve heard that before; I’d better take a look.’

Amit led the way down the path.

‘It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I’ll give it a go,’ the driver said. ‘What’s plan B?’

‘Through the house,’ Amit said. ‘But it will fit down here. I know, I measured it.’

‘With the packaging?’

Amit felt his stomach sink. He should have thought of that. How stupid! He’d taken the dimensions of the cylinder from the website and had checked them against the width of the sideway. He could have kicked himself.

‘If it won’t fit down here, it will have to go through the house and out through the patio doors,’ he said. But with Alisha not sedated that ran the risk of the driver hearing her if she began screaming and shouting again.

Amit followed the driver out to the front and then watched nervously as he climbed into the back of the lorry. He reappeared a few moments later with his precious package balanced on a hand truck. It was huge and, clad in padding, overhung the edges of the truck, but at a glance it could pass as a very large hot-water cylinder, Amit thought. His heart raced as the driver slowly lowered the tailgate and then pushed the hand truck off, then paused and waved up at the neighbour’s house. Amit followed his gaze. The bloody woman next door was holding her son up at the window to look!

‘All kids like big lorries,’ the driver said amicably as he pushed the truck up the drive.

Amit hurried down the sideway, which thankfully was on the opposite side of the house to Emily, and out of her view. He watched and waited, his breath coming fast and shallow as the driver began inching the package in through the side gate. Pressing the cladding in to ease it through, it just fitted.

‘Thank god,’ Amit said, relieved once it was clear, and hurried ahead to the outbuilding. The driver followed.

‘You want it in there?’ he asked, surprised.

‘No. Leave it outside.’ Amit pointed to a spot to the left of the door.

‘You sure, mate? It’s not so heavy, but it is bulky. I can put it inside if you like.’

‘No. It’s fine there.’

The driver manoeuvred the cylinder from the trolley and stood it where Amit pointed, then passed him his e-Pod to sign for the delivery.

Glancing anxiously at his neighbours’ houses, Amit quickly saw him out and padlocked the side gate behind him. He returned down the garden path to his lab and unlocked the padlock there, then took out the two sheets of hardboard he’d previously cut to size to use as ramps. He’d had it all planned days ago. He placed them either side of the step and then, encircling the cylinder with his arms, he began walking it forward. Small measured steps, as if dancing with a partner, up one side of his makeshift ramp, over the top, down the other and into the security of his lab.

Relieved, he quickly closed the door. He’d done it. The most important item he needed to continue had been safely delivered.

Inside the house, Alisha sat on the floor in the cloakroom, cold and sick with fear, willing Amit to return and release her, but at the same time dreading having to face him. His behaviour was becoming more and more alarming with each passing week, frighteningly so now. She no longer recognized the man she’d married. But had she ever really known him, even back then? She doubted it. She’d had to trust him and, as far as she’d known, they’d had no secrets, but now most of his life excluded her. She was sorry she’d failed to give him healthy children, but did she really deserve the punishment he meted out? The abuse – verbal and physical. It was frightening. She spent most of her time terrified of him. And the grim determination on his face when he’d locked her in here said he would stop at nothing to make her do as he wanted.

She rubbed her wrist and looked at her upper arm. Bruises were already forming under the skin. She bruised easily now, just as their son, Daniel, had done as the disease progressed. His tissue breaking down, blood capillaries rupturing, his skin sloughing off. Even when she bathed him and was so gentle, he still bled.

It was a cruel disease and she could understand why Amit had become obsessed with finding a cure, just as other parents of children with rare genetic conditions had. Michaela and Augusto Odone had produced Lorenzo’s oil. She’d seen the film of the same name. Years of research and then a breakthrough. Perhaps Amit might find a cure, but there was no excuse for treating her as he did. He was so unpredictable and violent.

She knew he had a right to blame her for the compromises he’d had to make now she’d fallen ill too. Once she died he would be free to marry a healthy woman who could give him normal children, for she doubted he would find a cure in time to save her. She thought he doubted it too. Hence all that nonsense about freezing her until a cure had been found. What a macabre thought! She’d been shocked that he’d even considered it. It made her skin creep. She couldn’t imagine anything worse – replacing her blood with preserving fluid and then suspended upside down in a cylinder when she should be at peace in the earth. It was the stuff of nightmares. Yet many had signed up to it and had paid huge amounts to be stored. Thankfully Amit had finally taken no for an answer and had put away the literature and stopped talking about it.

But his behaviour was even worse now. Sometimes injecting her to sedate her or locking her in. But why? Why was she in here and for how long? It was the third time he’d shut her in the cloakroom. She wished she had someone to confide in. Estranged from her parents, she knew they wouldn’t sympathize. Not after everything that had happened between them and Amit. She could hear her mother’s admonishing voice: you’ve made your bed, so you’ll have to lie in it.

It had crossed her mind that maybe Emily next door would be a good confidante. She wondered if she might even suspect that Amit didn’t always treat her right. She seemed perceptive and, being at home with her child during the day, had perhaps seen things the other neighbours hadn’t. And the way Emily kept inviting her into her house, and when she’d finally accepted, she’d asked if Amit looked after her and treated her well. A pity she hadn’t had the courage to admit that Amit treated her badly and she was petrified of him, for she doubted Emily would invite her again, not after staying such a short time and leaving so abruptly. Her behaviour had been rude, but she couldn’t tell Emily the real reason she had only stayed fifteen minutes. Pity. It would have been reassuring, comforting, to have her knowing, even looking out for her.