Then she whispered, “I believe you.”
And without another word she turned to her door so Colin did the same.
They walked, both lost in their own thoughts, into the Hall together where they saw volunteers were cleaning up, Sibyl’s mother and father helping to stack chairs against the walls.
“Where’s Sibyl?” Colin asked Tina who was tidying the small kitchen to the side.
“She went to her office to get her handbag,” Tina responded. “I’m doing cuppas for everyone. Would you two like one?” Her kind gaze drifted from Colin to Scarlett.
“I’d love one and I’ll help,” Scarlett replied but Colin moved toward Sibyl’s office just as a young boy came flying into the Hall and slid to a halt beside Jemma.
“Mum, there’s an old lady lying out back in the grass. She isn’t moving.” His words were rushed with panic and his brown eyes were filled with fear.
Colin froze and caught Bertie’s frightened eye.
Bertie made a dash out the front door.
Colin went in the opposite direction, to Sibyl’s office.
He threw back the sliding doors and immediately heard the muffled noises coming from behind the office’s closed door. He ran to the room, threw open the door and was momentarily stunned motionless by what he saw.
A black-clad figure wearing a ski mask was holding a struggling Sibyl in the corner of the room, one arm gripping her about the waist, one hand held over her mouth.
Another figure wearing the same outfit was being pounded violently by the end of Mrs. Griffith’s cane, each blow causing an angry, pained grunt to come out of him.
“Let her go, I tell you!” Mrs. Griffith shouted.
Colin jerked out of his shock and exploded into the room, wresting the cane out of Mrs. Griffith’s hand and swinging it with far more force on the cowering figure. With furious pleasure, he heard it connect with a hideous noise of cracking bone at the same time the cane split in half and a stifled howl came from his victim. Wasting no time, the figure shoved Mrs. Griffith aside and, holding his injured arm in his healthy one, he ran from the small office.
Colin whirled on the other figure, raising the remains of the cane threateningly.
The figure let go of Sibyl’s waist, his arm went around his back and Sibyl took her opportunity to break free. She took one step forward but was yanked back as the man grabbed her hair. She gave a startled, pained cry and Colin took two quick, menacing steps forward when the figure’s arm whipped back around and Colin saw the glint on the blade of a knife.
“Call 999! Call 999!” Mrs. Griffith shouted repeatedly as she rushed (slowly) out of the office.
“Drop the cane,” the figure demanded, his voice rough and threatening.
He raised the knife to Sibyl’s throat and Colin froze. The dream seared through his brain, visions of her blood pouring freely from her throat and Colin felt fear spread through him like a virus.
“Drop the f**king cane!” the figure shouted.
Colin dropped the cane and held his hands up in front of him, his eyes never leaving the blade.
“Let her go,” Colin ordered, his words crackling with authority.
The figure yanked Sibyl’s hair again and she made another noise filled with pain and Colin’s body tensed in fury. He welcomed it as it fought away the fear.
Colin didn’t take his eyes off the pair and didn’t move. He thought, in an instant, if that blade slit her throat, he’d charge the man regardless, he didn’t care if it next penetrated his gut.
He was weaponless, powerless and if they came out of this unscathed, he was going to track this man down and take great satisfaction in wringing the air out of his body with his own two hands.
“Let her go,” Colin repeated and with a swiftness that surprised him, Sibyl was thrown forward. Colin caught her in his arms and wasted no time in whirling her behind the protection of his body.
As he did this, the figure ran by Colin and Sibyl and Colin immediately gave chase.
“Get to the Hall,” he ordered Sibyl, not breaking stride, “now!”
The man was out the Day Centre door, into the night and Colin followed him, running through the grass toward the church that was next to the Centre.