Never Run (May Moore Suspense Thriller 1)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

They spoke in whispers, because it was safer, and because you never knew when he was listening.

Claire had never seen the other captives. There were two others. One was new. Her voice was hysterical, breathless, and scared.

The other had been there a long, long time. She was the survivor. When she thought it was safe to do so, she breathed words of advice. Words that could help. But even she didn't always know what it took for him to let you live.

Claire had been there for more than a week - she thought. It was difficult to tell night and day apart down here, in the dark, damp basement, with the only light the electric lamp that was switched on and off, seemingly at randoml. There was the hole in the wall that he looked through. And the spy hole in the door. Those, she knew. From time to time, she thought she could feel his gaze.

He'd grabbed her in the dark. She hadn't seen him until he’d leaped out, crushing a hand over her mouth and nose. He had been strong, powerful, and had surprised her completely.

Whispered advice: “When he looks through the gap, smile. Look happy. That's what he wants. He wants to watch you. Don't cry. Don't threaten. And don’t try to escape. If you do, he'll kill you.”

But Claire was so scared.

And she was going to die. She knew it. They all knew it. There was no escape. No hope. How could she keep from crying when she was locked away, with no hope of ever being found?

It wasn't going to be possible to conceal her fear and despair forever.

Now, Claire was sitting on the bare floor, huddled into a corner, bowing her head and trying to stay silent, to remain out of sight. To pretend that she didn't exist.

Her basement room was tiny and cold. It had a basic toilet, a sink with a cold tap, and a few threadbare blankets.

From time to time, in the gap in the wall where two bricks were missing, she would find food. It could be anything from a piece of fruit to a McDonald’s burger. The first time she'd been suspicious. Was it drugged? She remembered the stinking cloth that had been forced over her face when he grabbed her, the fuzzy blankness and blinding headache that had followed.

But after that, she'd been too hungry to care and had simply devoured whatever was left for her.

The door out of the room was locked.

“Don't try to open it.”

That's what the whispers advised. But if she never tried, how would she get out?

Suddenly, Claire decided enough was enough. She was sure he wasn't here now. She thought she'd heard footsteps and a car leaving earlier, from somewhere outside – all she knew of outside was that it was strangely silent, and she didn’t think it could be in a town. That surely made it impossible they would ever be found. She had to try and break out of this place while she still could, before she was too weak from stress and hunger and the chill of the sleepless nights.

The girl who had been here the longest got more of the food. She wished she could share, but there was no way of passing things between these totally separate rooms. So she had said, in broken whispers.

Claire was not going to starve. Gathering all her courage, she rushed the door.

The wooden door was hard and smooth. From inside, there was no handle, no visible lock.

She punched the door repeatedly, screaming and swearing, hoping that her own anger, her force of will, would give her the strength she needed to break out and escape.

But the door didn't budge.

She threw herself against it, over and over again, and screamed in frustration when it didn't give way.

Her plan had failed. Her hands were bruised, aching. Her knees were throbbing. Claire slumped to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, rocking back and forth, sobbing quietly and trying not to let the fear take hold of her.

Her stomach was cramping with hunger, and she felt sick with fear.

Then she heard steps on the stairs, and she sensed him behind the door. His presence was unmistakable.

She gasped in horror. He'd heard her. As the other girl had promised in her terrified whispers, he would always hear.

The light flicked on, and she cringed in its glare.

"I'm sorry," Claire sobbed, as she scrambled back, away from the door.

“You broke the rules," he told her in a low, threatening growl. She could see him outside, silhouetted against the light, and his outline was menacing and threatening.

Helplessly, she crawled away.

"I've got something for you," he repeated, softly. “I’m afraid you’ve earned it. It’s your punishment. I’m so sorry. I thought you were going to be a better one. One of my best. I had hopes for you. But look what you’ve done now!”

He had that cloth in his hand again. And that meant she was going to be taken out.

When you were taken out, you never came back. This was it. She'd broken his rules, and it was the end.

Gasping in horror, Claire cringed away.

"No," she moaned. "Please. Please don't."

"It's over. You shouldn't have done that," he hissed.

She still couldn't see him. He had a dark hood over his face and some kind of mask on. She had no idea who he was. All she knew was the sound of his voice and the strength of his hands.

He was strong enough to overpower her. She had no chance.

She braced herself for the rough contact of the chloroform rag against her face, knowing it would be the last thing she ever felt.

But as she did so, Claire suddenly thought - perhaps there was a way to trick him?

If she held her breath, and collapsed as soon as she could, he might take the rag away in time for her to stay awake. Or at least, for her to wake soon enough that she might have a chance.

She tried it.

Allowing her eyes to roll back in her head, she folded down on the floor as he crushed his hand to her face, hoping that the choking, stinking rag would not strip her consciousness away for long.

The gray fog loomed.