Annie couldn’t quite believe it when the van finally came to a halt. Her mouth was bone-dry. She was so cold that she shivered constantly, and so frightened that she was barely keeping a grip on herself any more.
She heard movement at the front of the van. Apart from the clicking of the engine cooling down, she could hear little else – only the faint sighing of the wind. The roar of the engine, that noisy nightmare, was finished.
All was quiet.
Then suddenly there was dim light through the mouldy smelling sacking covering her head as the back doors of the van were thrown open.
Annie stiffened. She could just about see his outline against the square of dying daylight. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even try to reason with him, her mouth was still taped. He stood there, looking in at her. Then he… what was he doing? She strained to see through the weave of the sacking.
He was taking something out of his jacket pocket.
Oh shit, please no.
It was the taser gun.
Annie squirmed, trying to get away. Useless. Hopeless.
But it wasn’t the taser. This time, it was a cosh. He leaned in, and a jagged knife of pain exploded in her head. After that, there was nothing.
Consciousness returned slowly, dimly, as if through a dreamlike gauze. Annie was lying on something hard and smooth. No, not lying. She was leaning forward, and her back ached. Her head hurt. Her fingers felt wood. The darkness returned, and then it receded again. This time she felt she was sitting. Definitely sitting, on a chair.
More darkness.
Her eyes flickered open.
Slowly it all came back to her. Everything. Walking across the hall, Bri twitching and writhing on the floor by the door, seeing the big man coming towards her, running for the study to get the Mace spray. The taser gun. The journey, the cosh…
Her head really ached, and she was now… where? She hadn’t a clue. But she knew she was still in danger.
‘So when are you going to admit you’re awake?’ asked a voice.
Someone poked her arm, hard.
‘Annie Carter? You’re awake. Come on. No play-acting now.’
Slowly, she lifted her head. It felt impossibly heavy. A stab of pain hit her behind the eyes, then settled into a steady, nagging ache on her left temple. She raised a shaking hand, ran her fingers over the lump there. She blinked, looked around.
She was sitting at an old dirty table. There was a lantern at the far end of it, the flame flaring and smoking, throwing up quavering shadows. The room in which she found herself was nothing but a shell, with exposed beams and grimy walls, and now she could smell – her nose wrinkled – salt water and decaying seaweed in the air.