Stolen Girl Page 11

  ‘Listen,’ Stevenson says. ‘Kidnapping is uncommon in this country because these cases rarely go their way. Most kidnappers rely on widespread corruption to get away with their crimes. That’s why abduction is rife in countries with shady governments.’

  ‘What does that mean for us?’ Mum asks.

  ‘Well, another reason gangs in the Middle East get away with kidnapping is because the families are often too afraid of the police. Perhaps this kidnapper assumed that because of your background with Aiden, you’d be less likely to come to us. Or perhaps they’re just stupid.’

  Mum frowns. I don’t think she believes that.

  There’s a buzz as my phone vibrates. I pick it up and check my messages.

  FAITH: Good luck, Aiden. You can do this for Gina. I know you can.

  ME: Mum is freaking out.

  FAITH: Of course she is. She’s unbalanced. Maybe even crazy.

  FAITH: Just follow the instructions. I know you’ll be fine.

  ‘Aiden, are you listening?’ Mum snaps.

  I slip my phone into my pocket.

  ‘Basically, all I mean is that we’re most likely going to catch the person or people who have taken Gina tonight.’ He pauses. ‘Unless this is a hoax. But that means we’re not losing anything. OK?’

  ‘OK, thanks,’ Mum says.

  I hope he’s right and we do catch the abductor because I want them to suffer. Last night I dreamed that I had the bat I used to kill Hugh and I pummelled the kidnapper with it until they were a bloody mess on the forest floor. The kidnapper had no face in my dream. Perhaps I’m beginning to doubt Mum’s insistence that this is Amy. Even DCI Stevenson has his doubts. He’s leaning towards the idea that organised crime has taken a role in this. Though he accepts that it’s strange for such a high-profile child to be taken. On the other hand, people may assume that Mum has money now because of the strange celebrity status we’ve been given. Trauma rewards, I think of them. What a way to end up famous.

  ‘I still don’t like this,’ Mum says. ‘I don’t like Aiden taking the money.’

  Stevenson’s voice is muffled through the speakerphone. ‘I know, Emma. We’re going to be right there with Aiden. Every step of the way.’

  ‘You mean the same police that leaked important information?’ she says.

  ‘We found out who that was,’ Stevenson says carefully. ‘It wasn’t a malicious act. Unfortunately, they had a family member who writes for the site and they happened to overhear a private conversation. They’ve since lost their job, Emma. And they’re mortified about the breach. It’s unfortunate that it happened, but the leak doesn’t seem to have affected your case.’

  She shakes her head, eyes hard and unsympathetic. ‘It still shouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘I know,’ he admits.

  I feel differently to Mum, but I understand her reaction all the same. My mother has survived more heartbreak than most, which has hardened her in the same way my experiences have shaped me. I watched a movie about a kidnapping last year. The mother wailed through the entire two hours. My mother doesn’t do that. She thinks. She works through problems and comes up with ideas. She’ll do whatever’s necessary.

  ‘I want to be in the car that waits near the forest,’ Mum says calmly.

  ‘OK, you can do that,’ Stevenson says.

  He sounds so sure of himself. How can he be confident that everything will go well when he’s never done this before? I glance down at the fifty thousand pounds in the bag. One small duffel bag. Marked notes.

  We have another hour to wait before we leave.

  The car headlights cut through the shadowy road towards the forest. We’re in a car with dark windows, and I’m certain that the kidnapper will realise this isn’t my mother’s car. A police constable sits in the driver’s seat, wearing a baseball cap to obscure his features.

  The officer pulls into a layby about a five-minute walk from the entrance to Rough Valley Forest. I smell the pine and earth of the forest. Within those trees I lived my life in a cage.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Mum asks from the back seat. Her eyes are open wide, and they dart between me and the officer in the front seat. No drug could produce the kind of adrenaline she’s running on right now.

  ‘I’m OK,’ I reassure her. ‘Please try to relax.’

  She lets out a slight whimper and then clamps her hands to her mouth. ‘Can I walk with you?’ Her voice cracks with emotion. This frightens me more than the money resting on my lap.

  ‘No.’ The officer leans through the seats to speak to Mum at the back. ‘I’m sorry Ms Price, but the kidnapper requested Aiden to be alone and we believe it’s best for him to walk alone. But look into the trees, Ms Price.’

  I watch Mum turn her head to peer through the glass of the car window.

  ‘You can’t see them, but there are trained men within those trees. They will be with him every step of the way.’

  She swallows down her emotions and nods her head. I knew that the trust between Mum and the police grew thin when she saw the article on the clickbait website, but she still trusts them just enough to allow them to guard me with guns. I guess they are the best she has right now.

  ‘I love you, Aiden,’ she says.

  The words run through me, wash over me. I hear them often and they tend to leave me cold. There is a part of me that can’t accept those words from anyone. I heard them a lot, spoken in a different voice. I have to remind myself that Mum is the one who means them, that she won’t hurt me, that we love each other.

  ‘Love you too, Mum. I’m going to be fine. Please try not to worry, OK?’

  She reaches out and touches my shoulder. ‘I know. I believe in you. But be careful, OK?’

  A mother’s prayer.

  ‘I will. I promise.’

  ‘It’s almost five to,’ the officer says. ‘Would you like to set off?’

  My fingers wrap around the handle of the duffel bag. ‘Yes.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  AIDEN

  Dr Anderton talks about survivor guilt. The responsibility that comes from surviving an improbable situation when others don’t. How many children are returned after being abducted? How many aren’t? I want Gina to come home more than anything. Her life is in my hands.

  After a prompt from his walkie-talkie, the officer responds back and then turns to me. ‘All right, you can leave now. Take it steady, and use your signals if anything goes wrong.’

  My free hand finds the door handle. I thought I would be calmer than this, but my heart is pounding. Dun-dun-dun-dun.

  Outside the car, the coolness of the night breeze tickles the nape of my neck. Because even the nights are warmer than usual, I’m just wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt with jeans. The shirt is bright yellow so that the police can see me.

  Pine and earth drifts to my nostrils. I breathe it in with each step. It’s the smell of the bunker. The smell of my childhood. I follow the narrow road, and soon I’ll turn right onto the track that leads to the entrance. There will be a sign in green saying Rough Valley, and a wooden stile. This is not a wood for joggers and dog walkers, it’s too thick and unruly, but there is one easy path that dips into the trees.

  Halfway there, and I begin to feel some excitement. If everything goes to plan, I’ll see my little sister again. I’ll know that she’s safe and she can come home to live with us again. We’ll show her that she can survive, like I did. We’ll remind her what love is and she’ll laugh. We’ll laugh again. We’ll be a family again.

  If this goes well.

  As the entrance to the woods comes into view, I slow my steps down. There is the stile, and the green sign. Inside, I’m shutting down, retreating into myself, slipping away . . . Until I pull it back. My hand squeezes the leather strap of the duffle bag. Palms sweat. I know what is inside that bag and what it means to my family.

  As I climb over the stile, I use the torch app on my phone. There was nothing in the note about no phones. There was very little information,
actually, which Stevenson seemed surprised about when we read him the note. Does this mean that the kidnapper is inexperienced? Someone for whom the ransom is an afterthought? A person who knows us? Or a random hoaxer who got lucky? I jump down and the soles of my trainers slip on a loose stone. My breath catches and I shine the torch around the floor by my feet. I raise the phone and hear the sound of my ragged breath.

  The trees rustle and the breeze lifts the hair on my arms as I continue along the path. Where are the police officers? My mind wildly conjures the paranoid idea that Stevenson has set me up and there’s no one guarding me. That I’m alone again.

  ‘Hello?’ I clear my throat and try again. ‘Hello? Is someone here?’

  I trip over a root and almost fall. Shouldn’t the police have given me a torch? I suppose no one thought about it. I hold the phone aloft, still, my arm aching now. The light finds trampled, hardened soil, patches of grass, roots and stones, the bark of trees and, finally, a bench.

  ‘Hello?’

  My voice echoes through the darkness.

  ‘Gina? If you’re there, Gina, call out. It’s Denny. I’m here to help take you home.’

  I hold my breath as I wait for an answer, but the woods give nothing but silence.

  Perhaps they want me to wait on the bench. The instructions said the entrance to Rough Valley Forest. There’s nowhere else to wait. With my heart still beating hard, I sit down on the bench and wait.

  Nothing.

  I start to wonder whether the kidnapper has left further instructions on the bench. I drown the seat in torchlight, check underneath and in the dirt around it. There’s nothing there. What if I’m being impatient? What if I’m fidgeting too much and they won’t come to meet me? I decide to stay still for as long as I can, but there’s an overwhelming feeling that someone is behind me. I stand up, shine my light into the trees behind me. The leaves rustle, but no one emerges.

  I follow the sound, going deeper into the trees, convinced that someone is watching me. Why won’t they reveal themselves?

  ‘I have your money,’ I yell. ‘Give us Gina and you can have it. We don’t care.’

  My foot slips as the ground slopes below me. I tumble for a while, almost losing my phone, landing with the money beneath me for a cushion. When I climb back to my feet the sound of movement in the woods stops. I’m not even sure there was anyone there. If there was, it was probably the police. I walk back to the bench, which is still empty, and it dawns on me that Stevenson was right. This was a hoax.

  When I get back to the car, Mum rushes towards me and pulls me into a hug, her wild eyes examining the scrape on my cheek, the dirt on my clothes. I still have the bag.

  ‘What’s going on? Where’s Gina?’

  I shake my head. My mind bursts with words. A noise. Scared. Gina. Lost. No one there.

  ‘What happened?’

  I swallow. My throat is thick. Every part of my body is tired. I’m sure I’m trembling all over, but when I look at my hands, they seem steady.

  ‘Aiden?’ She gently strokes my face, but I pull away and the hurt expression is back.

  One of the officers comes to my rescue and explains everything. ‘No one turned up. Looks like it was a hoax after all.’

  ‘Maybe I did something wrong,’ I say. ‘Maybe they wouldn’t come because I messed up.’ I turn to the woods. What would happen if I went back there to live? Would I survive if I lived off the land like a wolf-child? I read about the stories of children raised by wolves. I read about them because I thought I might be one of them.

  ‘Aiden.’ Mum physically moves my head so that I’m facing her. ‘This isn’t your fault. We’re going to get Ginny back, I promise.’

  She leads me back to the car and all I can think is that I caused this. It’s karma because of the success of my art. Why should I make money from the tragedy in my life? I feel sick. The car is claustrophobic, with that new plastic smell.

  My phone buzzes.

  FAITH: What happened? U OK?

  ME: They didn’t show.

  FAITH: WTAF? Why not?

  ME: Dunno.

  FAITH: U OK?

  ME: It’s all my fault.

  FAITH: No it isn’t. You’ve never done anything wrong.

  ME: K

  FAITH: What about her, did she support you?

  ME: Mum? Yeah.

  FAITH: How?

  ME: Just said it wasn’t my fault.

  FAITH: No, it’s hers. She’s the one people are after.

  ME: What do you mean?

  FAITH: Read the news. Everyone blames her.

  FAITH: I know she’s your mum, but maybe you need to face up to something important.

  ME: What?

  FAITH: That she isn’t a good person.

  I look up at Mum in the rear-view mirror. She’s talking to the police officer driving the car, her expression pulled tight from stress.

  ‘What happens next?’ she says.

  ‘Honestly, I’m not sure, the officer replies. You’d best check in with Stevenson.’

  Mum leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. Then she turns her head and her brown eyes rest on me. ‘I shouldn’t have let you do this. I’m so sorry.’

  I want to tell her that it was my choice, but I don’t. My gaze drifts down to the messages on my phone.

  FAITH: That she isn’t a good person.

  ME: No. You’re wrong.

  I’m about to put my phone away, but I notice Faith typing again.

  FAITH: I overstepped. Sorry.

  FAITH: It wasn’t supposed to come out so harshly.

  FAITH: U there, Aiden?

  FAITH: Seriously, reply, I feel bad.

  FAITH: Aiden, please. Just let me know I didn’t fuck up.

  Finally, I reply: It’s OK, I’m not mad. And put my phone away.

  Chapter Twenty

  EMMA

  He doesn’t speak. He sits in the back of the car, trembling. I have to guide him when we get to the house because he doesn’t seem to know where he is. All the time I have the vague sense that I should be talking to him, teasing out responses from him, but exhaustion means I can’t move my lips to speak.

  There’s a ripe smell of old food when we walk in. I remember now that I threw away a few slices of pizza and the bin hasn’t been taken out. Normally, I’d do that right away to get rid of the smell, but I don’t. I lock the door and I lead Aiden upstairs. I want to make sure he goes to bed.

  Outside his room, I turn him to face me. ‘None of this is your fault. I know I’ve already said it, but I don’t think you believe me.’

  He shrugs.

  ‘Talk to me, Aiden.’

  He backs into his room, and, for once, closes the door. The sight of that sealed door sends a shiver down my spine. I’m lost to him, or he’s lost to me. Is there a difference? I lean against the wall and close my eyes. Was it Gina who kept him anchored to me? That helped him speak? His first words to me were to warn me that Gina was coming. He pointed to the grey water on the floor and told me I was leaking. That was Gina forcing herself into our world and turning the shadows into light.

  I stagger away from his room into my own. Ginny is still out there somewhere and we’re no closer to figuring out where.

  Now that I know the ransom note was a hoax, I can admit to myself that it gave me more hope than I thought it had. It never seemed real, but at the same time, it provided a motive to Ginny’s kidnapping, and suggested I could get her home safe and sound. That’s always the way in the movies. There’s a reason. Then there’s a transaction. Money for a life. But then the hero swoops in and takes down the bad guy so that the villain ends up with nothing.

  Money is not the reason Gina was taken. I know that now. But who sent the letter? Could it be Amy, messing with my head, or am I fixating on her when I should be considering other options? Maybe Rob’s right and she’s gone.

  DCI Stevenson’s name pops up on my phone screen, but I reject the call. Nothing is going right. The ransom note ende
d up on the internet, and Aiden walked alone into a dark wood for no reason. Perhaps it’s time to try things my own way.

  I wake to the sound of the birds and the orange light seeping in through the slats in the blinds. I wake rigid. My arms and legs straight by my sides. The dream I was having is already ebbing away, but I sense that I was falling from a tall drop with the ground coming up close.

  For the first time since Gina went missing, I feel a solid sense of purpose. Despite the aching muscles and the sweat beads around my hairline, I throw back the covers and swing my legs out of the bed. Today is the day I begin to take matters into my own hands.

  After a shower, I dry my hair, put on jeans and a shirt, and head downstairs. Aiden’s door is open again when I walk along the landing, but he isn’t there. I hear the sound of the shower running and continue into the kitchen.

  It’s time to clear up some of the mess that has been accumulating since we moved in. I take out the bin, wipe down the counters, fill the dishwasher and dust the dining room. By the time Aiden comes down, I’m on to making coffee for us both. But he shakes his head when I offer him a cup.

  When he rejects the coffee, he notices the widening of my eyes, the tension in my posture. He knows I’m afraid he’ll never speak again, because he follows up with, ‘Can I have tea instead?’

  When I reach out to hug him, however, he reels away from me, and I retract my arms to hug my chest instead.

  ‘You sit down in the lounge and I’ll bring it over if you like,’ I manage to say without croaking. He leaves as I flip the switch on the kettle.

  As soon as he’s out of sight, I grab hold of the counter, watching the blood fade from my fingers and the skin turn bright white. I need a release. I need to be on my knees with my head in my hands, crying so hard that snot comes out of my nose and the sobs can be heard down the street. I need to be a mess. But I can’t. Instead I press my arm against my mouth and moan into the fabric of my shirt. The moan becomes a muffled scream of frustration, obscured by the loud bubbling water of the kettle.