The Mute and the Liar Read online

  “So you're apparently giving me the silent treatment.”

  My hand curled around my neck, the way it always does when someone tries to talk to me. I barely even noticed I was doing it.

  “Don’t strangle yourself; it isn’t polite,” he commanded, pushing his face close to mine. “Right then. Time to go.”

  And that’s when everything happened in the space it takes to blink. All I knew was that suddenly his arms were around me, the cactus fell and the pot smashed on the tiles beneath me, and the next thing I knew, I was hanging over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  He hauled me along, and within a few seconds we were nearly at the front door. I kept writhing, slamming my fists into his back, but they had no effect, bouncing off his t-shirt like they were nothing more than fleas. He just carried on marching. I tried kicking my legs, but he was holding them so that I couldn’t move them at all. I was completely trapped.

  And the fact that I wasn’t shouting had just proven something to him, which had apparently been on his mind.

  “I knew it. You don’t talk, do you? You won’t even scream for help!” he laughed again; a chilling shriek that cut through my flesh like a pickaxe.

  I was terrified. I was being kidnapped. That thought echoed through my mind, but I didn’t understand it. I was being kidnapped. I was being kidnapped? But I’m a detective! I solve crimes! I don’t get tangled right in the middle of them!

  My father would find me. He would know straight away. He would come and find me, and this psychopath would be put behind bars. But it would be hours before he came home. Sometimes he doesn’t come home at all.

  What if he couldn’t understand that I’d been taken? What if he just assumed I was out? What if he never found me?

  He probably wouldn’t even realise I was gone.

  My heart was pounding so fast my whole chest threatened to explode. I found myself struggling to breathe. I hit him again, this time out of desperation.

  I had to get away!

  I tried to touch the floor, but he was tall and hanging me in a way that meant that was impossible. As we passed a banister, I reached out and managed to hook my fingers around it, but he just charged forwards and my sweaty hands let it slip away.

  From being hung upside down, all the blood in my body was rushing to my head, and soon it started throbbing in time with my furious heartbeat. All the energy seemed to be draining away from me, but no matter how much I struggled, his grip only got tighter. I was shivering. My stomach felt weightless. I was going to throw up.

  This was surreal. It was like for a moment I was apart from my body, watching myself. I wasn’t the one experiencing this; it was some sort of nightmare happening to a stranger.

  It couldn’t be me.

  This couldn’t be happening to me.

  “So, at this point in all the spy films, the villain explains his evil plan, right? Okay, let me put it simply. Your father is an ass. Because of him, my best friend is in drug rehab. We want revenge. I was supposed to just steal your TV, but you ruined that plan, so now I’m stealing the next best thing. You are my hostage. Don’t even think about escaping. Remember...” He stuffed his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out my house keys. He rattled them in the air next to me, making sure I could see them but couldn’t reach them. “I know where you live.”

  Chapter Five

  5:30pm

  Please help me. My name is Alicia Lewis. I have been kidnapped. My kidnapper has hair a mixture of blonde and light brown, brown eyes, pale skin and freckles, a slightly long nose, and is thin but strong and around 5’10. I would guess he is probably around 17 years old. He broke into my house and kidnapped me earlier today (28th February).

  My address is: 12 Romulus Terrace, FQP JLM, Elmview.

  I do not know where I am being taken. Please, if you find this, send help immediately.

  *****

  6:14 PM

  Okay. This is going to be fine. I’m going to be fine.

  That message is a copy of one I left on the seat of the bus we have just been on. I don’t think it will help though. I don’t even know this boy’s name. But leaving a message seemed like my only option.

  We have just got off the bus. I read every road sign to make sure I knew exactly where we were going. Now I am being walked somewhere in Canterbury.

  I was trapped next to the window, with him squashed next to me, to make sure I couldn’t get out. I contemplated writing a message in my notebook and holding it up so people in neighbouring cars could see, but they would never believe me. He grabbed me the moment the bus stopped and marched me to the door – I couldn’t have run away even if I tried.

  He stepped out first, and held out his hand to help me down. I did not take it and tried to run past, but he grabbed hold of me before I could move and started dragging me along the street.

  We were the only passengers on the bus. There was no one else when we got on. As we were boarding, I considered asking the bus driver for help, until The Ringleader bounded cheerfully over to him, calling “Hey, Bobby!”

  At least I have this notebook. The Ringleader doesn’t seem to mind me writing in here. He hasn’t taken it away. In fact, he’s barely said anything to me.

  Actually, he has been singing more than talking. Yup.

  Singing.

  He just sits there, belting out Thriller.

  And when he’s not singing, he’s not really talking to me. He just talks at me.

  “Because I love Burger King, but I can’t decide whether I like it more than McDonald’s. It’s really overrated; you know what I’m saying? And then they have a salad bar. Why would you go to McDonalds to have a salad? It’s like going to a sweet shop and asking for an apple. Hungry?” and then he’s hitting my shoulder with the bag of lettuce.

  Correction: my bag of lettuce. I barely looked at him.

  “Suit yourself,” he muttered indifferently, shoving his fist in the bag.

  You would think that if he was eating, it would mean I wouldn’t have to listen to his dire monologue anymore. Well, apparently no one ever told him not to talk with his mouth full.

  “I’m starving,” he spat through mouthfuls of lettuce. “Do you want to hear a secret? I don’t actually like salad.” (Chomp, chomp, chomp.) “Green things just make me want to vomit.” He stuffed his hand inside the bag once more and forced another fistful into his mouth. “It’s not just vegetables. I can’t stand grass, either. Or Shrek. Oh, oh, oh! Do you know what I really hate? Lizards. They’re so shrivelled and dry and Lizardy.”

  And then he rocketed off about how his parents had bought him a pet lizard once, but he kept torturing it by filling its bowl with his vegetables when his parents weren’t looking, so the lizard ran away and a few weeks later ended up in some old woman’s hair.

  “That scarred me for life. I called the lizard Tree. You know, short for Demetrius. So from that day on, I decided I would never eat cheese again. Or touch anything that was green. Which sucked because it was the colour of my toothbrush. But, sadly, this bag was the only thing in your fridge, and what else are you supposed to do when you’re hungry? You should be ashamed of yourself. You’re making me suffer.”

  Can you imagine? He had the nerve to say that I was making him suffer? “But do you know what your main problem is?” he stopped chewing, swallowed and looked at me expectantly, as if he thought I was actually going to answer him. “You’re too, shy, shy, hush, hush, eye to eye!”

  And that’s as far as any conversation gets before he’s singing again.

  My next plan is to write absolutely everything that happens to me, and give this to the police the second I have a chance to get away, or even just give this to the first person I can. I’ve got loads of details written in here. I’m sure the police can find out who I am and start trying to find me.

  *****

  6:31 PM

  I can’t stand this. I hate him. He grabs my hand every time we go to cross a road. What game is he playing? For
goodness’ sake. Can’t we just be in the normal Goldfinger and James Bond hostage-and-criminal situation? Why does he have to throw us into a mother-toddler one?

  I have decided that ignoring him is my best move, but I have to watch my step. He could be armed. Right now, my only weapon is this notebook. Isn’t it stupid? The girl that hates words is being forced to use them to save herself. The Ringleader is now looking over my shoulder.

  The Ringleader appears to be reading what I have written. Now The Ringleader is laughing.

  “You can cut all that ‘The Ringleader’ crap. Just call me Jayce. I’ve stolen you. I think we can safely say we’re on first name terms now.”

  Now he’s pulling my arm and dragging me across a pedestrian crossing.

  “I get so annoyed when girls never stop talking, and when they complain all the time and just keep blabbing on and on and on... I’m never going to have that problem with you! Yay! Has anyone ever thanked for you for not being a whiney, moan-y, gossipy cow? If not, then I am going to do it personally on behalf of every male on this planet. Thank you,” he grins and pats me on the head like you do to a puppy. I have to resist the urge to bite his fingers off. “This has been fun. But do you know what else is fun?” he leaves a dramatically long pause, before screeching at the top of his voice and doing all the dance moves: “It’s fun to stay at the YMCA!”

  He doesn't know the words and so he just makes them up. His version of the song is about a cat that doesn't know where or how to find a mouse, so it goes to the YMCA to find out.

  He gets through a couple of his made up verses before he suddenly stops, spins around and looks directly into my eyes. He is not laughing anymore; there is no playful spark in his face, no colour in his cheeks. His smile has dissipated and his eyes are dead.

  “Oh, and by the way. You left something on the bus. You should thank me for getting it for you.”

  And now he’s handing me back my message for help.

  *****

  6:42 PM

  Kidnapping:

  Verb (Kidnaps, kidnapping, kidnapped) [With object]

  1) Abduct (someone) and hold them captive, typically to obtain a ransom:

  militants kidnapped the daughter of a minister.

  (Oxford dictionary)

  Named forms:

  Bride Kidnapping: A common practice where a man abducts the woman he wishes to marry, against her will or the will of her family.

  Express Kidnapping: Taking a hostage with the promise to return them safely if a ransom is paid.

  *****

  6:51 PM

  I have solved many cases to do with abduction. I read that around 800,000 children are reported missing each year. In a recent study, 57% of 155 cases of stereotypical kidnapping ended with the return of the child. This obviously isn’t the same as my current situation, but it’s the only fact I can remember right now, and it’s the only thing that’s giving me hope.

  He marched me along several streets, blabbing on about the weather. He’s still talking about it.

  “I don’t really like rainy days because it just makes me feel depressed and kind of sad. But I’ll tell you what really makes me sad: Wednesdays. On Monday I can look forward to Tuesday, on Thursday I can look forward to Friday and on Friday I can look forward to the weekend! But who looks forward to a Wednesday? ‘Yay, I can’t wait till it’s Wednesday!’ How weird does that sound? You’re a creep if you look forward to a Wednesday.”

  He pauses for a moment, before suddenly shouting: “Solipsism!”

  What? I can’t stand this. He just keeps talking crap. We’re standing against a brick wall, whilst he checks his text messages. I have barely looked at him, and have made no contact with him. For now all I have been doing is following him.

  “That’s the word. I was trying to remember it. I used to do philosophy in school. And this thing we learnt about is solipsism. It’s basically the idea that the world I see could be completely different to the world anyone else sees. So, take the colour blue. I have grown up calling that colour blue. You have grown up calling that colour blue. But really, the colour you see as blue could be what I have grown up calling green. Do you get it?”

  So he’s gone from analysing the weather to analysing A-Level philosophy. I am going to run the second I get the chance. I have taken note of all the signs nearby. My best bet is heading to the High Street, which should still be busy. It will be easier to slip into the background. I remember I read about this thing called Lima syndrome, where captors show empathy towards their hostages. It was named after an abduction at the Japanese Embassy, in Lima, Peru, in 1996. Members of a militant movement took hundreds of people attending a party in the official residence of Japan’s ambassador, but the abductors felt sympathy for the hostages and started setting them free.

  Would Jayce show empathy towards me? What would he do if I got hurt? He doesn’t seem dangerous.

  Insane, sure.

  But not dangerous.

  I decide to test out this theory by smacking my head repeatedly against the brick wall behind me.

  And now he’s looking at me as if I’m the insane one.

  He reaches out his hand and places his palm against the back of my head, so I can’t smack it against the wall anymore. And now he’s looking at his mobile phone and has started texting again.

  So what on Earth was that supposed to mean?

  Anyway, I think now might be a good time to try and escape. He’s still engrossed in his mobile phone, and there is a car approaching in the distance. If I just time it correctly, I might be able to dash off in front of the car, so Jayce will have to wait for the car to pass before he can start following me, which would give me a few seconds head start.

  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven….

  Suddenly I am running. Racing.

  The wind is roaring in my ears, my heart is pounding, my head is spinning. Jayce is calling my name.

  I am just footsteps away from the road. Freedom lies ahead. If I can just reach the other side…

  The lights around me are dancing. Sounds dissolve into one. It feels like my blood is rushing the wrong way.

  The headlights burn through me.

  A piercing sound rips through the frozen air around me.

  Is that the sound of the car screeching? Or the sound of someone screaming?

  Suddenly the ground swirls around my feet. The concrete floor is suddenly much closer than I imagined. And then I get the strange feeling I’m falling.

  Looks like that plan failed too, I think, as I slowly realise I am sprawled out on the floor of the pavement.

  A figure looms over me, then crouches down and starts pulling me up.

  “Don’t try to run away, Love. I had hoped you were a little smarter than this. Looks like you’re even more predictable than I thought,” he hisses into my ear.

  I look behind me and see I have tripped over a gap in the pavement, which I hadn’t noticed in the darkness and in my haste. I turn my attention back to Jayce, but he has gone incredibly still, his face empty of any emotion, but his green eyes simmering with rage.

  “You still haven’t realised it yet, have you? You have no idea just who you are up against.” I give him a blank look, not understanding. “I knew you were going to try that,” he stresses, drilling every letter into my mind. “I know your every move.”

  His voice sounds raspy and cracked. Deadly. His chilling whispers echo around the empty street, shivering through the air and crawling across my neck.

  “You haven’t even worked out why I’ve stolen you yet.” His shaking, unstable voice is slowly getting louder. “And you call yourself a detective? Ha!” he shrieks the last word, a sound so shrill and piercing, you would think he was being strangled.

  And you call yourself a detective? Did he just... Did he just say that? How does... How does he know...

  It’s impossible. It’s just impossible. No one knows anything about me. No one knows about the cases. This can’t be happening. In fact,
probably none of this is real. I must be imagining all of this. He doesn’t know anything.

  I must have heard him wrong. It’s from all this fear.

  “So go on!” he screams, suddenly reaching out, grasping my shoulders and shaking me, reeling me back into reality. Electricity seems to sizzle across my skin the moment he touches me. His words shudder right through me, sending ice rattling over my bones. “Work it out! Use your pathetic notebook and work it out! Why have I stolen you?”

  The colours around me slide into focus. The sounds around me erupt loudly and clearly, like up until now I have been underwater, and now I have finally jumped up for air. It all makes sense now. I finally understand.

  Tiger Kidnapping: Taking a hostage to make a loved one or associate of the victim perform another crime.

  It’s perfect.

  Father is in charge of solving crimes.

  So no one would ever accuse him of committing one. Jayce... Jayce is a genius.

  And for the first time, I am terrified. Absolutely shivering, nauseous, screaming-inside terrified.

  I silently mouth out the words, and he watches my lips kiss the air.

  Tiger Kidnapping.

  This time he is completely silent. He doesn’t say anything. He just smiles.

  Chapter Six

  7:50 PM

  He takes my hand and leads me down the street. He didn’t need to take my hand. I would have followed him anyway. I’m already terrified of him. What more does he want? After a long, eerie silence, broken only by the sounds of traffic and music in the distance, he eventually clears his throat and once again begins talking calmly and cheerfully.

  “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

  That’s it. That’s all he says, then he grasps my arm and he’s marching me along the street again, as though that never happened at all. Once again he’s dragging me along. I swear I’m going to get bruises from all of this. Bruises and probably insanity.

  “Walkies!” he calls as if he’s calling a dog. But no, he doesn’t just leave it at that, he decides to take it one step further and squash my dignity into a pancake. He tightens his grip around my arm and chimes at the top of his voice: “Walkies walkies walkies!”