The Taken Girls: An absolutely gripping crime thriller full of mystery and suspense. G Sanders D

       5

      The weekend lay ahead of them. He hoped it would go as it had with Teresa and Kimberley. At first the girls had been disorientated and fearful. Then, when they became aware of what was happening, those feelings were replaced by terror. They screamed and cried, pleading to be released. With Teresa he was calm and unmoved, hoping she would follow his example – but he was wrong. Only exhaustion stopped her outbursts. Only then could he establish his authority, show he was in total control. Finally, when she’d accepted the situation, Teresa appeared to believe his assurances that he would set her free.

      Kimberley was less grounded than Teresa. It had taken longer but, eventually, she accepted her fate. And why not? What else could they do? Was it really so bad? Boring maybe, waiting until their time came, but the girls were well looked after.

      He practically knew the speech by heart. ‘Nobody saw me snatch you from the street. Nobody knows where you are. There’s no way you can escape.’ Here he’d pause, let the message sink in. Then he would explain what the girls had to look forward to. ‘Don’t be alarmed. Do what I ask and I shall look after you. When the time comes I shall release you to your friends and family.’ Faced by his implacable but benign control, Teresa and Kimberley had reacted in the same way. Eventually their alarm and distrust had subsided to resentful resignation. It would be the same with Lucy. Then, as soon as she’d grown quiet, he would demonstrate his good will by drawing up a shopping list for the clothes and other items she might need.

      He had intended to watch Lucy through the chain-link partition, waiting for her to recover. After all, her welfare should be his priority but ever since the previous night he’d been worried about a recent addition to his collection. Fresh blood was seeping into the preservative making the jar and its contents unsightly. The fluid must be changed. He unlocked his private room and left the door ajar so that he would hear Lucy regain consciousness.

      After stepping over the uneven flagstone, he went to his bench. All he needed was here. At eye level, the jars housing his new collection were already filling half their allotted space. Above and below were bottles of formalin and ether. The drugs, instruments and more glassware, which he would need when Lucy’s time came, were in cupboards and drawers beneath the bench.

      More blood had leached into the preservative. He pulled on latex gloves, poured the discoloured fluid into a bucket and carefully slid the contents of the jar into a shallow dish. He worked efficiently and soon rehoused the specimen in a clean jar, which he topped up with fresh formalin. At that moment there was a sound from Lucy’s room. The new label would have to wait. He discarded his gloves and returned to the central room. When Lucy regained consciousness he’d need Mr Punch. The reed was in his pocket and there were five spares at the back of a drawer. He didn’t want to be forced to buy new ones. ‘That’s the way to do it!’ Over time he’d mastered a voice less strident than the seaside original.

      As he slipped the reed into his mouth there was movement beyond the partition. The effects of the ether were wearing off and Lucy was coming round. At first she was disorientated and woozy, but soon she was aware of the chain and began screaming for help. He did nothing to stop her. They were deep in woodland, far from the nearest farms and houses. At this time of night there would be nobody remotely within earshot. Still shouting for help, Lucy began to pull at the chain. He had to act. With the reed in his mouth he spoke with authority, firmly but calmly.

      ‘Don’t do that, don’t hurt yourself. You can’t escape. You’re in an isolated building miles from anywhere. No one saw me take you from the street and nobody knows where you are. I’m in complete control. You’re totally dependent on me.’

      The shouting stopped and she turned her head to his voice. It must sound strange and totally unexpected. She looked at him in horror, struggling to speak.

      ‘What … who are you? Let me go!’ The attempt at defiance failed to mask her fear.

      ‘Be quiet and listen.’

      She began to scream, shouting for help and pulling frantically at the chain. He knew the handcuff was padded and secure so he ignored her. At her first pause for breath, he switched on his pre-recorded message. Lucy listened for a moment but soon returned to screaming and shouting for help. The message finished. He observed her in silence. Her screams continued. Now she was shaking with fear as she grasped the full horror of what was happening.

      He’d often tried to imagine it from the girls’ perspective. Chained and helpless, held captive by an unknown man, his voice distorted and his face covered by a black hood. They must be petrified. The hood and voice were necessary precautions but he realized they turned him into a nightmare figure. Then there was the unknown. Lucy would have no idea what he planned to do with her. In such a situation, instinct would take over. She would struggle and scream because she could do nothing else. It was too early for acceptance and submission.

      He waited, silent and unmoved. Eventually she would exhaust herself but it was some time before she stopped screaming for help and began begging to be released. Later her pleading was replaced by sobbing and cries of despair. When she lapsed into moments of exhausted silence he used Mr Punch to take control.

      ‘Listen to me.’

      Lucy continued to sob. Without raising his voice he repeated the command, firmly but calmly.

      ‘I said … listen … to me.’ Her sobbing was reduced to sniffles. ‘That’s better. Now, I know it’s hard but you must listen to what I’m saying. You must be desperate to know what’s going to happen to you. I’ll tell you. Nothing’s going to happen. If you do as I say you’ll be well looked after.’ He paused. ‘Earlier, you didn’t listen to my message. I’ll repeat what it said.’

      She looked directly at him. He imagined his image as it appeared in the mirror. Through the slits in the black hood she would see the light glinting from his eyes. He tried to look kindly at her but even without the hood he knew she would be seeing him as an unknown horror. He had to convince her of his good intentions and that would take time.

      ‘I intend to treat you well. I’ll make your stay here as comfortable as possible and, when the time comes, I shall release you. You’ll be free to go about your normal life.’

      She appeared to be listening but she had closed her eyes. He wanted her full attention.

      ‘Look at me!’

      He waited for Lucy to obey but, instead, she turned her back to him and faced the wall, sobbing quietly. For the first time he raised his voice, struggling to keep the tone reassuring despite the distortion of the reed.

      ‘I said … look … at … me!’

      In the silence that followed he heard the echo of his voice, not as his voice but as Mr Punch. It struck him that the interior of the building was a stark contrast to the normal world of sunlit sand where children sat enthralled at the sound of Punch and Judy. ‘That’s the way to do it!’ He waited. Slowly Lucy turned her head to look directly at him.

      ‘Good, that’s much better. Now, listen carefully. In 15 minutes, I’m going to put out the lights and leave. If you don’t have something to eat and drink now, you’ll be searching for it in the dark.’

      He left her and went to sit in the van. Ten minutes later he returned to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, eating and drinking. Stressed and disorientated as she was, it appeared not to have occurred to her that the food and drink might be drugged or, even worse, poisoned. It wasn’t. Well, it wasn’t except for the crushed sleeping pill. As he’d done with Teresa and Kimberley, he intended to look after