Torment Page 12

  A strange noise drifted through his darkness. His heart slammed against his rib cage, and he pissed himself. He had never been more terrified. In the dark, he heard breathing. Creeping footsteps taunted him. He was flat on his back, completely restrained. The footsteps stopped. Whoever it was stood above his head. He could feel warm breath against his forehead. Smell fresh peppermint when they exhaled.

  “Shh now,” they crooned. “Don’t move.”

  Arthur’s lips quivered. His continued to strain to see but no tears could release. “Who are you? What do you want?” he cried, as his sobbing echoed around the room.

  “I am your worst nightmare,” the voice responded.

  Again Arthur had to strain to hear the whisper. “What have you done to me? I can’t see! Why can’t I see?”

  “You are an evil ape. Evil apes must be punished.”

  Arthur gulped. The voice had moved down to near his waist. He tilted his head to the side, but still he couldn’t see.

  “See no evil,” the voice muttered, as the floor creaked.

  Whoever it was continued their taunting. Arthur began sniffing. Attempting to see was useless. His eyelids were stuck. He screamed. His eyelids had been glued shut. “Why are you doing this to me? Why? Tell me why?”

  “Because you saw and you did nothing.”

  Arthur froze. What was this person talking about? Who was it? He needed to get them to talk. He needed to hear the voice clearly. If he knew who it was, then he may be able to bargain his way out. “I’m sorry… I should have done something,” he whimpered.

  Silence. He couldn’t hear them. He couldn’t smell them. Where had they gone? Why weren’t they talking? He focused on the blackness. “I can make it up to you,” he sobbed, as he listened for a clue. Any clue would help.

  “No!” One word rang out in the room. One word offered no clues.

  Arthur remained still, forcing himself to listen. Soft footsteps. A tug on his left hand. His ring finger was grabbed. Arthur struggled to free his hand.

  “Let me go!”

  His wrist was held tightly against a hard surface. Struggling was futile. His attacker had all the power. Arthur felt a tugging against his fingernail. A jolt of excruciating pain as his fingernail was ripped free. He screamed.

  His attacker laughed.

  Arthur cried out in pain as his hand was released. He clenched his hand. Warm blood filled his fist. His finger throbbed. His attacker paced. There was more to come.

  “Let’s up the ante,” the voice whispered in his ear, making him flinch.

  Arthur trembled. He was trapped. His attacker snatched his hand again and prised opened his fist. Cold hard steel clamped around the side of his blood-soaked finger. Razor sharpness sliced. Arthur screamed, begging for his attacker to stop. The pressure around his finger increased. Blood dripped.

  Snap!

  His bone broke beneath the pressure. His finger dropped to the floor.

  “You won’t be needing that anymore,” the voice whispered.

  Arthur’s screaming clashed with his attacker’s laughter. A crushing pain struck the centre of his chest. Agonising pressure. Squeezing. He gasped for air. Broke out in a cold sweat. The veins in his forehead popped. His head thrashed from side to side. His jaw ached and his upper lip became numb. A dull pain began to radiate down his left arm.

  “Help me… please help me… I think I’m having a heart attack,” he stammered, as he huffed and puffed. Sweat dripped from his forehead. It felt as though a large block had been dropped onto his chest. Why was no one answering? His pain intensified. The burning taste of bile rose in his throat. It felt as though his chest was being ripped open. He gasped for breath then began convulsing. A panicked wheezing sound echoed around the room.

  Stillness.

  He stopped.

  He made no noise.

  All was silent.

  His struggling arms relaxed.

  His panicked facial expression froze.

  His mouth remained open.

  His eyes were glued shut.

  Arthur Fuller was dead.

  He would see no more evil.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  P

  ierre Rainer raised his head, opened his eyes then closed them. He drifted in and out of consciousness. He struggled to inhale. His chin flopped to his chest. Head hammering, it was difficult to focus. His vision was blurred. He was exhausted. Indistinct screams rang in his ears. A large covering of duct tape formed a distinct x pattern across his mouth. It wrapped tightly around his head, pulled at his hair, and circled under his chin. In his weakened state he could do nothing. Five minutes passed, then five more.

  His eyelids flickered. He moaned as he tried to work out what was happening. Was he hallucinating? A warm breath danced across his cheek. Peppermint. He opened his eyes. A glimpse of a shadowed figure stood near. It disappeared into his cloudiness. His eyelids fell shut. Was he imagining this? Where the hell was he? He had no memory of moving from the campfire.

  Time passed, and he battled to put the pieces together. He’d been drinking with his mates. They’d been laughing as they plotted their attack. No... Overwhelming horror churned from within. Fear made him sweat. He strained to move; battled to open his eyes. He peered into the darkness. He was alone. Wasn’t he?

  The sound of his heavy sniffling filled the room. How could he have been so careless and stupid? He should have known she’d be back. He should have known not to trust her. Strapped to a chair, his hands and feet were bound. She must have been following them; they must have been drugged. Crazy bitch! She was capable of anything.

  He twisted his wrists and strained to free his hands. Ripping and tearing, his panicked pulling tore his skin. The rope ate into his flesh. He could not give in. He’d never give up. Painful cries echoed from the darkness – bellowing pleas for mercy, horrific screams, agonising groans and then silence. A terrible silence.

  The thought of what would happen next put a fear in Pierre like nothing else. She could return at any moment. It had to be Bridget Tilner. It had to be her. She’d threatened to kill him. Promised to return if he dared cross her. She was back. He had to break free. There was no way she’d let him live. Not this time.

  Focus, you fuckwit. He needed to buy time. If she returned he would pretend to be comatose. There would be no fun in killing him if he was out cold. She loved to taunt. A large rushing and roaring noise filled his ears. He swallowed hard and inhaled deeply – a strong odour of plastic. He squinted into the darkness. Everything was black, except for one thing. To the left of him sat a long wooden box. He shivered. It was made from what looked like old fence palings, and it was the size of a coffin. Frantically tugging at his binds, he felt the rope around his wrists loosen a little. There was hope.

  Pierre felt more then heard the thud near his feet. He had been stripped of his shoes. The floor felt cool beneath his feet. The thuds became harder. Whatever it was, it was getting closer. He closed his eyes. Dropped his head. Tried to relax his trembling body. She had to think he was out. A creak sounded nearby. He opened his eyes a fraction. His attacker stood before him. They wore heavy combat boots. A long coat hung to below their knees. It had to be her. His face had been kicked with those boots. He closed his eyes and focused on controlling his breath.

  “You are an evil ape. Evil apes must be punished,” the voice whispered.

  There was annoyance in the soft words. He wanted to ask what they meant, but it was imperative he stay silent and still. His wrists had been tied behind his back, and there was no denying the slackness in the rope. His attacker stood in front, blissfully unaware of his efforts to free himself. Without warning, a jarring, intense pain exploded in his shin as his attacker unleashed their rage. Pierre clenched his jaw and swallowed back the agony. He remained defiant. Tears stung his eyes, and he prayed they would remain concealed behind his eyelids.

  His attacker huffed.

  “Hear no e
vil, see no evil and you will speak no more evil,” the voice breathed.

  Pierre squeezed his eyes tightly shut as his attacker turned and walked away. Another creaking noise and he took a chance and raised his head. Alone. Now was the time to break free. He didn’t want to die.

  Speak no evil. I’ll give you speak no evil you fucken bitch. I’m going to tell the world what you’ve done, and you’re going to rot in gaol.

  Fury swept through him as he clenched his jaw, his arms straining against the ropes. The pain was excruciating, but the knots began to slip. Taking a calming breath, he relaxed a moment. Cool air filled his lungs. Burning pain radiated from his wrists. A deep breath and he pulled again. And again. The rope crackled. The twine snapped.

  Pierre grinned. He was free.

  Bridget Tilner wouldn’t know what hit her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  D

  aniel sat on the lounge wondering what to do. The sun was disappearing behind the horizon, and the night air was beginning to settle in. He hadn’t heard back from Dr Taylor. He needed to find a replacement therapist for Bridget, and it had been two days since he had sent him the request. He wondered if he should ask another psychiatrist. The clock was ticking. Daniel wanted to tell Bridget he’d found someone suitable. He missed seeing her, and wanted to move forward with his life. He wanted to make her happy. Wanted to show her how deeply he felt.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. Bridget. He pressed the button. “Bridget, I was just thinking of you.” He couldn’t help but smile. “Are you okay?”

  “Have you heard?” she asked.

  “Have I heard what?”

  “Everyone’s going to think I did it. Zack phoned accusing me,” she said, her voice panicked and raised.

  “What are you talking about? Calm down and tell me.”

  “I can’t calm down! I don’t know what to do! Everything feels like its falling apart… If I do say something, if I don’t say something, he’s going to use it against me!”

  Daniel stood and ran his hand over his face and through his hair as he walked to the window and looked outside. Why had he agreed that she go away? He wanted to hold her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. “Where are you?”

  “What do you mean? I’m in Melbourne. Where else would I be? And why are you asking me where I am? You think it too, don’t you? You’re just like Zack! Something happens and immediately you all point the finger at me!”

  “Bridget, you need to calm down,” he said as evenly as he could. “Take a few deep breathes, and tell me what’s wrong.”

  Daniel heard her breath puffed over the line.

  “He told me. Zack.”

  “Told you what?”

  “Three employees from Wolf Industries are missing, Samuel Easton, Arthur Fuller and Pierre Rainer.”

  “Yes, I heard,” he said calmly. “But you’re in Melbourne.”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m in Melbourne… I told you I’m in Melbourne,” Bridget said.

  “Then why are you upset? Why are you saying people will blame you? If you’re in Melbourne you have nothing to worry about.”

  “Why are you talking like that?” Bridget snapped. “Are you insinuating that I’m lying? Why are you talking like that, Daniel?”

  “Talking like what? I’m not insinuating anything. You said you were going to Melbourne. I dropped you off at the airport.” He stared at his reflection in the glass and ignored the worry he saw in his eyes. “You say you’re in Melbourne now so you have nothing to worry about. Please Bridget, you need to calm down.”

  “Please don’t tell me what I need to do, Daniel! I know what I have to do. I have to go.”

  The line went dead. “Dammit!” When he tried to call her back, she’d switched off her phone.

  “Fuck!” He threw his telephone on the lounge. Why would she do that? She knew the only way he could contact her was on her mobile. And why was she acting so irrationally? He just wanted to talk to her and make sure she was safe. Why did she continue to take calls from Zack? He closed his eyes and prayed she would be okay. He wondered if finding her a new psychiatrist was a wise move.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  P

  ierre took off headlong down the stairs. He smashed through the screen door, leapt over the front steps and onto the grass. He had expected to be blinded by the sun. He was not. The sky was dark and cloudy. He stumbled, fell to his knees, then scrambled to his feet. He dared not look back. There was no time for hesitation, no time to think, no time to plan. There was definitely no time to study his surrounds. His eyes were drawn forward to a pathway that led into dense bushland. He would disappear into the darkness. There would be no stopping his escape. He had no idea where his attacker was. Had no idea where he was going. The only thing he knew was he had to get to the path. The bushland would be his protection. The pathway would lead him to safety. I’ll run through the night. By the morning he would be free.

  He raced deeper and deeper into the shadows. The pathway began to narrow. The ground beneath his feet became uneven and rough. His vision became unclear. Before he knew it, he had taken one step off the path and then one more. The path vanished. He stopped. Confused and disorientated, he glanced around but everything appeared the same. Darkness devoured traces of where he had been. The bushes appeared alive. His skin prickled, like he was being watched. Everything was closing in. Pierre struggled for breath. He gasped desperately for air. He spun around and tried frantically to retrace his steps. It was impossible. I’m lost! He was lost. But he had to keep moving. He prayed he was heading the right way. He stepped forward then hesitated. What would happen if he travelled in the wrong direction? He could be heading into the hands of his attacker. The only way to escape was to create distance. Standing still would get him nowhere. Indecision would see him recaptured.

  He began to move. Being silent was impossible. Leaves crunched beneath his bare feet. Ouch! Fuck, why didn’t I find my shoes. Twigs and branches cracked. He prayed he would not be heard. Prayed he was heading in the right direction. His pace increased but running full tilt was no longer possible. A dense undergrowth, thick canopy and cloudy sky meant poor visibility. Sharp bushes began to grab and scratch his thighs. A strange whistle echoed, stopped then echoed again. He peered into the blackness as he moved. He swallowed hard. His attacker was taunting him. Pierre stopped, dropped to his knees and froze. He could see nothing. His heart pounding so loud he thought his attacker could hear it. Dampness and rotting wood assaulted his senses. The whistling returned. Footsteps seemed to come from all around him. His ears had to be playing tricks on him. Sometimes the footsteps dashed around in front, and then they would creep from behind. His attacker was tormenting him.

  Panic bombarded his thoughts, and he began to question the wisdom of his actions. Why had he run into the darkness? In movies, only stupid women ran into the dark and they were always doomed. People were attacked and murdered in the dark. Why hadn’t he searched for a road? Why hadn’t he clung to the light? Now he was trapped in the blackness, trapped by his own stupidity.

  Crickets fell silent. Twigs snapped and leaves crunched nearby. Pierre stretched out flat on his stomach within the thick undergrowth and he remained perfectly still. But he couldn’t help but pop his head up slightly. He watched. He listened. His heart pounded. Time appeared to stand still.

  Something brushed against his face.

  His reflexes kicked in. He flinched. Whimpered. The approaching footsteps changed direction. They got closer. The pace increased. The hunt was on. The footfalls were loud and threatening, and Pierre feared he’d been seen. He needed to escape. He leapt to his feet and bolted through the bush. Branches snagged and tore at his clothes, ate into his already punished skin. The scent of his blood churned his stomach.

  Sheer determination propelled him forward. He stumbled and wove his way through the bushes. He tripped and climbed over rocks, and he prayed he would see a light in the distan
ce. But no light appeared. Fear that he was no closer to help and safety than when he had started brought a whimper to him. How much time had passed? The muscles in his legs began to burn. Scratches covered his face, arms and legs. Every part of him ached. He slowed but he would not stop. Had he lost his attacker?

  No one was coming to his rescue. The only one he could rely on for his freedom was himself. Please don’t let me be running in circles. Tree stumps, bushes, holes and rotting logs made keeping a straight line impossible. And everything looked the fucken same. The moon had disappeared behind the thick canopy. He stopped for a minute and listened. His lips were dry. His throat burned.

  There was no sound of footsteps, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He had lost his attacker. Pierre continued forward in search of a light. Fine silk threads suddenly latched onto his face, and stickiness ran through his hair and over his body. He screamed; thrashed about as he collapsed to his knees. Where was the spider? His hands slapped furiously at his face. He had to get it off. The spider could be poisonous. Jumping up he continued to wipe his face. He ran his fingers through his hair. He slapped at his clothes but could find no hairy attacker. He began to calm, and stood still to catch his breath. He needed to find water. He was in desperate need of a drink—.

  The footsteps returned.

  Pierre took off in the opposite direction. He tripped and stumbled over a branch on the ground. His outstretched hands hit wet leaves, rocks and dirt. Damp earthiness entered his nose. He scampered to his feet, terrified he had alerted his attacker to his location. He took off again. A surge of panic welled up from deep within his gut. He stumbled blindly, heart pounding against his rib cage. The forest was full of obstacles and strange noises. His face smashed into branches, tearing his skin. Strange sounds filled his ears. He couldn’t be sure where they came from. The ground beneath was lost in the muddy darkness. Branches snapped beneath his feet. Sharp unknown things stabbed and sliced his soles. His feet were wet and sore. Looking up, branches appeared as outstretched arms. The undergrowth thickened. Fear filled him.