Page 21 of Married to the Mafia

I walk around the place, looking for any way of escaping. I could stand at the top of the stairs again, try to burst out when the door opens. It might work this time, but I doubt it.

I thought I could get by him and get out of wherever the hell I am, but he was too fast for me. Too fast and too strong.

He scared me with how he reacted. No matter what I did to him, his face didn’t change. He’s covered in scratches from me fighting him, but he didn’t even seem to notice. Or care.

He’s scaring me right now, and he’s not even down here. I know he’s up there somewhere. Is he thinking about me? What’s he planning for me?

He must be insane. There can’t be any other explanation. He has kidnapped me. Brought me down here like it’s The Silence of the Lambs. I suppose I should be lucky I’m not down the bottom of a well.

I manage a half smile, but it soon fades. This is serious. I need to get out of here.

I know he could kill me. No one knows I’m here. I’m in big trouble.

I haven’t got my handbag. That’s out there, left on the ground, when I was attacked by Ricardo. He scared me a lot more than Dino. He was terrifying. That was true insanity.

The way his mood changed as he talked to me, the things he said, the way his eyes looked so utterly vacant, like I was just a pet mouse for him to play with then destroy. I got the feeling he might kill me for fun, the way he was talking. Like I wasn’t even human in his eyes.

Dino saw me as human, at least. That’s something. Talked to me instead of at me. The hunger in his eyes was very different.

There’s a part of my brain that’s grateful for Dino grabbing me and getting me out of there. If he hadn’t come along, I don’t know what might have happened.

I refuse to think about it. I walk around the basement again. A bathroom, solid stone walls painted white. A bedroom, solid walls again. Kitchen. Lounge. Locked door that goes into God alone knows what. A central corridor linking the rooms together. The stairs up from the lounge to the locked door, the only way out.

Or is it?

I go back to the bathroom. A drain but too small to climb into. The lounge has a sofa and rug. I lift the rug, hoping to see a trapdoor. Instead, I see stains that look worryingly like dried blood.

I run my hands over the walls. I walk up to the top of the stairs and try to get the door open with my shoulder. It’s solid. Reinforced. All I get are bruises for my efforts.

There’s nowhere to go. Suddenly, it feels like there’s no air down here. I gasp for breath. I need to keep a hold of myself. I’m not getting out if I panic.

I walk back down the stairs and look at the bookcase. Fiction. Romance. Stuff I’ve read before. Some stuff I haven’t. Philosophy. Science. Geography. Animal training techniques.

Is that what I am to him? An animal to be trained?

Fuck him. That’s what I say in response to that. I can’t believe he has the balls to suggest we’re going to get married after what he’s done to me. As if I would marry my kidnapper.

He’s insane. It’s the only explanation.

I go into the bathroom again. I’m dirty and I want a bath, but to have one feels like accepting my fate. I’m not willing to do that. I don’t live down here. This isn’t my home. My home is out there in Gordon’s Cove.

My father won’t be home for a few days. He does not know where I am. Will he try to call me? He’s not done it before when he’s been away. He rarely takes his cellphone with him. What about Caroline and Eddie? Will they notice I’ve gone? They might or they might be too busy being in love.

The shelter won’t notice either. We’ve a couple of employees, Sue and Rachel, but they’re not there at the minute. No animals, so no work.

The bath has a panel along the side of it. Maybe there’s a drain under there. The shower is separate and I can’t get out that way.

I get my fingers into the edge of the panel, but it refusesto move. I walk back out. There’s a little kitchen down here. There must be a knife in there. Why didn’t I get one when I tried to run? I make a note to keep one on me at all times.

There isn’t one. No cutlery at all. The best I can do is a metal spatula for eggs. I carry that back into the bathroom and wedge it in the side of the bath panel.

I get it loose and almost whoop with delight. Underneath is a drain I should be able to fit into. It looks like it was there before the bath. It looks old.

I kick the pipe that runs down from the bath. It snaps in half. That gives me enough room to pull the grate open. It’s a foot and a bit wide. Can I fit in that?

I lower my feet in and try to shift my way through the gap. I get to my shoulders before I get stuck. I push as hard as I can and then I’m down. I’m in the sewer below the building, a real old city sewer.

I cry. About four feet along, the sewer is blocked with bricks. They won’t move, no matter how hard I punch them. The drain runs away under them. I’ve nowhere to go but back up.

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