and the text didn’t give me any time to prepare. The texter must have arranged it like that on purpose.
I have to stop psyching myself out. Instead, I need to go back to channelling that anger. I can’t go in there acting like a frightened little mouse. But as I draw closer to the boathouse, my legs turn soft and my fingers tingle – nerves are getting the better of me. Up ahead, the wooden building is still adorned with bunting from yesterday’s regatta. It flaps forlornly in the weak breeze. The whole place looks abandoned. I glance around to check if anyone’s near, but I can’t see a soul. As I approach the wooden door, I slow down and try to make as little sound as possible. My heart thuds in my ears.
I wonder whether to try the front entrance that leads to the bar and function room, or to go round to the back gate where the spare boats and sailing gear are stored. I’m closer to the front, so I try that first. The door to the function room is usually padlocked when it’s not in use, but tonight the latch is open. I push at the wood and the door swings wide. It’s even darker inside the building. If it wasn’t for the fact that the door was unlocked, I’d assume there was no one here. But I already know there’s someone inside, waiting for me.
‘Hello?’ I cry out tentatively, cringing at the weakness of my voice, the dryness of my mouth. There’s a muffled sound like someone in pain. I swing the torch beam up from the floor and gasp at what I see straight ahead.
In the middle of the vast black space, a dark-haired woman sits on a chair. She’s been tied up and gagged. She screws up her face, her eyes closing, as the light from my torch blinds her. I lower the beam a little and she opens her eyes. I suddenly realise I know who it is. It’s…
‘Fiona?’
I walk towards her. ‘Fi? Shit, shit. Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here.’
Her eyes widen, and too late I realise she was trying to warn me.
A figure looms out of the darkness, cutting off my path. I cry out in shock and take a step back, still disoriented and confused by seeing Fiona tied up in here.
‘Hello, Tia… Mrs Perry.’
It’s a dark-haired man and he’s carrying a lantern, illuminating the space around us. I recognise him, but it still takes me a second or two to place him.
‘Mr Jeffries?’
He smiles and I realise that my senses were correct earlier – he is creepy.
‘What on earth’s going on?’ I lower my torch, wondering if I could use it as a weapon. ‘Why is Fiona here?’ Could I bash him over the head with it? ‘Was it you who sent me those pictures?’ My voice tails off when I notice what he’s carrying in his other hand – a large hunting knife with serrated edges. I swallow down fear and bile, my grip loosening on the torch as my palms begin to sweat. The torch clatters to the wooden floor.
Mr Jeffries raises the lantern in the direction of Fiona. ‘Sit down, Tia.’
‘What? I…’ Hesitantly taking my eyes off him, I turn my head to look, and see an empty chair next to Fiona. Presumably it’s been placed there for me. At the edge of the pool of light, I see another empty chair. My mind is racing now. I’m thinking that if Mr Jeffries sent me a set of fake pictures, did he also send some to Fiona? And that third chair…? Is there another woman out there who’s going to walk through the door, hoping to bargain her way out of her own personal nightmare?
‘Did you hear what I said?’ Mr Jeffries has injected some steel into his voice. ‘Sit. Down.’
But I realise that if I sit down and allow him to tie me up, then I’m relinquishing everything. At least right now, while I’m free, I could try to make a break for it. I could run out of here and scream for help. Hope that someone hears.
‘No you don’t.’ Mr Jeffries senses my hesitation, because in one swift movement he drops the lantern on the ground, grabs my arm and holds the knife up to my throat.
I gasp and try to lean away from the blade, but he’s too strong. It’s no good; I waited a second too long. Behind me,