The Mute and the Liar Page 4

  And now he’s skipping.

  Skipping.

  Someone help me.

  “I used to walk to school. Just like you! I hated it though, because everyone else was like ‘I take the 333 bus to school!’ and ‘I take the 334 bus to school!’ Saying ‘I take the pavement’ didn’t really have the same ring to it.”

  Does he hate silence? So he just says whatever is on his mind to kill it?

  Now he’s mumbling something about how he used to do biology in school, and learnt about how scientists had taken a gene in a jellyfish and placed it into a pig embryo, which in turn made the pig glow in the dark. (Although this apparently didn’t lead to glow in the dark bacon.)

  Actually, I’ve noticed something. He always seems to mention how he “used to do this random-pointless-cat-litter at school.” It’s never “I do this at school.” So he may have already left school, and, from the looks of it, doesn’t have any ambitions or desires to do anything else. I know it’s not much, but at least it’s something, and. the more I know about him, the closer I can get to escaping.

  We’ve stopped walking, and we’re now standing in front of a bright red phone box. Jayce pushes me inside and then squeezes in behind me to make sure I can’t get out.

  “But do you know what the best part of this plan is, Love? You’re going to be the one to tell your father about all of this. I’m going to make you speak again if it’s the last thing I do.”

  He lifts the phone, pays the money and begins dialing numbers. I crumble inside as I realise he is dialing the numbers of my home phone.

  I’m starting to wonder whether he is a mind reader. I urge myself to think nice thoughts about him just in case: his hair is looking particularly standing-up today. I like it.

  I would wonder how he seems to know everything about me, but honestly, I’m too scared to find out.

  He holds out the phone so I can hear it ringing, and almost feel relief as I hear father’s voice on the other side, and almost smile as the first thing he says is “Alicia?”

  “Hello there, Detective Inspector Lewis!” Jayce greets cheerfully, and for a moment it sounds like he’s trying to advertise something. “Ah, I see you’re having some problems with your daughter...” he says this much slower, in an almost patronising tone. “How is she?”

  “Who... who is this?” Father asks uncertainly.

  “Why don’t you ask your sweetest Alicia? She knows all about me.” Jayce is drawling the words now, elongating every letter, making sure they cut right through father’s skull.

  “What do you… How do you know Alicia?” he questions carefully and softly, as though he thinks talking too loudly will make the phone break.

  “Who is this?”

  “But of course, you can’t really ask her right now, can you? It’s a sad day for every parent when their child doesn’t come home.”

  There is a long pause, before father suddenly growls, his voice raspy and broken.: “This is the boy from the park, right? … What have you done with my daughter?” he raises his voice a little, like it's caught somewhere between talking and trying to shout.

  “Now, now, Mr Lewis.” Jayce patronises, like a mother telling off her child. “You should know better than to raise your voice when your daughter is in such a... critical condition.”

  “Alicia? Are you there? Alicia? My God, if you harm her, I swear I'll-

  “You'll what?” Jayce cuts through. “Go running to the police? Not really the smartest of moves considering I've got Alicia. I’ll do you a deal, though, a really good deal actually. You know, because you’re a good, honest and respectable man, and because your daughter’s hot, and because I’m a reasonable kind of guy.”

  “What do you want?”

  Jayce doesn’t even wait a second to answer this. He obviously had his answer planned out before he even kidnapped me. He says in a cold, steady voice: “I want you to kill a woman named Lauren Janice Cobalt.”

  A… Murder?

  The remaining ground beneath my feet hurtles away.

  I thought he might want father to do something in exchange for my freedom... but commit a murder?

  What the Hell? What kind of a crazy, messed-up, inhumane person is he?

  How can he expect father to agree to that?

  What is going on? Who I am squashed beside? A murderer, maybe. A monster, possibly. But not a human being. This is getting too much. I feel if I don’t hold onto something I will collapse into a suffocating black hole.

  There is a long pause. Father seems to be considering this option, or considering whether I’m worth it. It suddenly hits me that Father may decide not to help me at all. I haven’t spoken to him for over seven years. I've always had the feeling he didn't like me.

  Then again, he is my father. He's supposed to help me. And this is a crime, and he loves nothing more than solving them, proving to everyone he’s the best detective in the world.

  He’s finally free of me now. Would he even think about helping me? I’m surprised he even realised I was missing.

  If I were him, I would just put the phone down. “No,” he says finally.

  No what? Does that mean he won't help me?

  “I don’t believe you,” Father states firmly. “You haven’t taken Alicia.

  You’re lying.”

  “Oh. I see. You need some encouragement. Right. Alicia, hand over the notebook.” Jayce turns to me, holding out his hand, daggers in his eyes. I clutch this notebook against my chest, shaking my head. “Now.” He commands, and when I refuse again, he just swipes it from my hands in one swift, fluid movement.

  “What’s going on? What are you doing?”

  “Did you know, sir, that your daughter has never liked you? In fact, I think she would rather be stuck here with me than in that house with you. Have you ever seen what she writes in that notebook? You ought to, you know. Some very juicy stuff.”

  He flicks through the pages of the notebook, and I suddenly feel exposed, weak. I panic, heart racing, and try to snatch the book back, but he just holds it out of my reach. I jump for it, looking stupid, but all I can think about is how I need to get it back.

  No one is supposed to see this. It is everything I wish I could say out loud. This notebook is my voice. And now he's taken it. It feels like he has stolen a part of me. I jump again, reaching for it, my heart beating a million times a second, but it's no use.

  Jayce reaches a page that interests him and clears his throat and puts on a high, squeaky voice, probably to imitate what he thinks I sound like.

  “15th February 2011. ‘Those bloody kids are here again.’ That’s Father. I refuse to call him ‘Dad’ because that sounds like I actually care about him...”

  I grimace in shame, slamming my head against the glass behind me, feeling my cheeks go bright red. I give up on trying to get the notebook and admit defeat and just lean back against the wall and hang my head low, wishing I could turn invisible. I feel so embarrassed and exposed, like I'm standing here completely naked. These words were never supposed to be said out loud. I wish I could stop him.

  “There's this gangly boy in particular who really gets on Father's nerves. They glare every time they see each other. That may or not be because the guy smashed the windows of our car with a rock. Twice.”

  Jayce stops reading and chuckles to himself and looks up at me, that playful spark invading his eyes once more.

  “So you did notice me. Do you want to hear a secret? I noticed you, too. And do you know what, Mr Lewis?” he raises his voice, turning back to the phone.

  “There’s a whole description of me after this. A whole paragraph just describing my eyes. And all you get is a sentence saying how much he hates you.”

  “You are lying!” he roars once more, but there’s something off-key and distant about his voice.

  “Is that still not enough proof for you? Fine.” Jayce turns to stare at me, his eyes wide and bulbous. “But you brought this on yourself.” Jayce drops the phone, so it is left hang
ing by the wire in front of us. Before I can blink, Jayce’s hands are around my neck. “If you don’t scream I’ll strangle you.”

  In a heartbeat, everything cuts off. I cannot breathe. This thought makes my very existence seem unnatural and impossible, as though in my mind I am already dead. His nails scrape into my skin, his hands push in around my throat. I start writhing, my hands clawing around his, trying to pull them away, but there is no effect.

  Father is screaming my name down the phone.

  I tread on my tiptoes, writhing around, twisting like a snake, and crash into the glass wall behind me. He holds me there effortlessly, his grip only getting tighter.

  “Let’s do this in seven seconds shall we? That’s your favourite number isn’t it? In seven seconds I will let go, so you can scream. If you don’t, I’ll wrap my hands around your neck again, and this time I’ll hold on.”

  Breathing is something we always do. We don’t even think about it. We’re only conscious of breathing when we can’t.

  “Seven…. Six.”

  As the life is being sucked out of me, when my breaths are rapidly becoming shorter and shorter, when it feels like every breath I take could be my last, all I can think about is air. How I crave it. How I crave to inhale the cool air around me. It’s there. It's all around me. I can feel it prickling against my skin,. But I am forbidden to inhale it.

  “Don’t you want your father to save you? … Five… This is your last chance for freedom! Four.”

  “Alicia!” Father yells, although I wonder how I can possibly hear anything at all over the sound of my chest screaming.

  It feels like every bone in my ribcage is screaming for air. My chest pulls in. I silently try to plead with him, trying desperately to make him stop, but it is clear he doesn’t care. His eyes are wild and deranged, his nostrils are flaring, and his mouth is twisted into a crooked smile.

  “Three.”

  I feel a single tear slither down my cheek.

  It makes me hate Jayce even more - since that day seven years ago, I promised myself I would not cry again. But here I am. I feel disgusted with myself. Nothing has changed. I am still that weak, pathetic little girl. I got myself into this mess and now I can't even find a way to run away. Useless.

  “Two.”

  I am nothing. I am a shadow drowned in a world filled with colours. Invisible.

  “One.”

  I can feel my whole body giving up. He has won. That tear alone was enough to tell me I had lost; that there was no hope for me anymore. For a second he eases his hand around my throat, and I finally break my silence.

  I let out a grazing scream.

  It’s a tortured sound, too high-pitched, with a crack running right through the middle. It sounds more like the cry of an eagle than a human being, or the sound of someone slashing through a broken violin string. It slices through the frozen air, sawing right through the empty street.

  He lets his hands slide down a little from my throat, and presses his palms softly against my collarbone.

  Before I can finally take a breath, his lips crash against mine.

  Chapter Seven

  8:15 PM

  What would it be like if you could freeze time? If you could just stop everything? You’d never have to worry about anything.

  You would never have to rush. You would never have to grow old. You could just live for centuries, locked outside of time, free from aging and death.

  Up until now, I thought that stopping time was completely impossible. But time really has frozen.

  It’s decided to trap us in this moment, ensnaring us in this mousetrap where my eyes are wide open, and his lips are on mine.

  And I’m scared. I'm caught here and although I'm desperate to just push him away, I'm too scared too. Instead, I just stand here, frozen, my heart pounding and my whole body shaking.

  He nearly strangled me. All of this didn't feel real until now, as though it had nothing to do with me at all: a stranger's nightmare. But I've been pushed back in reality now, and it feels like every emotion I should have felt and every thought I should have had before are suddenly crashing through me all at once.

  It’s funny how pain makes everything real.

  I’m motionless, too scared to even breathe. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, where he’s taking me, nothing. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t take this not knowing. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here!

  At last, time shatters back, and he draws away.

  I seem to have become soldered to the glass wall, shuddering as he leers over me. His agitated eyes dart over my face, and his mouth is a little open, lost in a gasp. Before I can scream or try to run or do anything, he places one finger on my lips, and picks up the phone with his other hand.

  “You have three days.”

  He slams the phone back on the stand, pulls away his finger from my mouth and turns to me with a mournful, apologetic look.

  “I’m sorry. That was… Inappropriate,” he murmurs pathetically, and wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his t-shirt. “It’s just…” he looks up, strained, as if hoping the right words will be written on the ceiling.

  “You were screaming. I didn’t know how else to make you stop.” Hesitantly, he lifts the hem of his baggy t-shirt and tries to wipe my mouth with it too. Considering it reeks of sweat, I doubt it will make my mouth any cleaner. I decide I don’t like his fingers constantly invading my personal space and attempt to bite them off.

  “Ouch!” he puts his hand down and I feel a glimmer of triumph. “But otherwise, this is great! You screamed! We’re making progress! Just don’t do that again, okay? We don’t want people to think I’m abducting you or anything.”

  Oh no. We wouldn’t want that, would we?

  I have to get home. I can’t spend a second longer here. Several more tears spill from my eyes. He gives me a pitying look, which just makes me hate him even more.

  At that moment, I hear the sound of a car approaching. Jayce leads me out of the phone box. Turning around, I see a yellow Fiat 500 pull up behind us. Scratches race down the side of every door, and the front of the car has a big dent in. It’s so bashed up you would think it had just paraded through no man’s land.

  “No, no, no, no, no!” Jayce protests, running up to the car. “What are you doing?”

  A large figure steps out of the driver’s seat and the streetlights around us slowly drag him into focus. The first thing I notice is his shadow – it’s so large it almost drenches the rest of the street. As the large man approaches us, I notice he has a closely cropped, almost military hairstyle, and facial features that are so sharp, you could probably cut yourself on his cheekbones. His broad shoulders, long arms and strange way of dragging his feet along give him an almost gorilla-like appearance. What catch my attention the most though are his alarmingly familiar green eyes.

  “You told me to come, so I came.”

  “I didn’t tell you to come in this gay-mobile. Where did you get it? The

  Barbie Shelf in Toys R Us?”

  “Kaylie’s dad gave it to me for £500. I am not turning down an offer like that. And my other car got clamped early this morning, which you would know if you weren’t running around stealing little girls. So do you need a lift or not?”

  The two glare at each other with the same green eyes for a few seconds.

  Or rather, Jayce glares up at the other - he is completely dwarfed by the other man, who towers over him and could probably knock him out with his pinkie finger.

  That thought makes me smile.

  “Alright,” Jayce agrees eventually, and walks over to me. “This is Nick. He’s… He’s my… He’s The Woman-That-Gave-Birth-To-Me’s sister’s son.”

  That means he’s your cousin, Einstein.

  And why not just call The-Woman-That-Gave-Birth-To-Him ‘Mum?’

  “Has Jayce already told you about his mummy issues?” asks Nick, nodding at me. Jayce huffs at this and takes my hand. I consider making a
run for it, but this Nick person looks like the sort that eats Jalapeno peppers for breakfast.

  “Just ignore him. He’s an idiot. He’s only here because he’s got a driving license. Nick, just take us up to Kit’s and then go back to our house.”

  “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll stay with you. I haven’t seen my Kitty-Cat in ages!”

  I don’t particularly want to see Nick’s ‘Kitty-Cat.’ It sounds dodgy on so many levels.

  Jayce walks me to the car, opens the door for me and pushes the driver’s seat forward. It’s one of those small cars where there are only two doors. I decide I agree with Jayce – this isn’t really a car I would attribute to gangsters. Aren’t they supposed to swagger around in black Lamborghinis? He forces me inside and slips in beside me. Nick returns to his seat behind the steering wheel.

  We’re all crammed in together, and I'm starting to feel really claustrophobic. There is a seat between Jayce and I, but it is so small, we are practically sitting right beside each other.

  “Did you bring the stuff?” Jayce asks, and instantly I feel worried. What’s he talking about? Drugs? Guns? Baseball bats?

  I don’t really fancy being beaten to death with a baseball bat.

  Nick jabs a thumb at his feet, and I see that on the floor is an eco-friendly bag they sell in Tesco’s, with the ladybird pattern running across. Again, not really something I'd imagine these gangster-wannabes carrying around. They should have bags with... skulls? Motorbikes? Satan?

  Jayce stuffs his hand inside, and I hold my breath, waiting to see which weapon of mass destruction he is going to pull out first.

  He pulls out a newspaper.

  Well, that’s a bit of a disappointment. He flicks through, whilst Nick checks something quickly on his mobile phone. After a few minutes, Jayce puts the newspaper back and takes a notepad and pen out of the bag, and begins scribbling something down.

  Nick puts his phone away, and the car jolts to a start. We pass through the bustling, sleepless city, and are blinded by all the vibrant lights dazzling for our attention. We pass so many cars, all of them flocking together like ants around rotting food. Eventually, we leave the city behind us, and slowly the traffic dissolves, and we shudder over rocky roads tangled in long stretches of green.