The Choice. Alex Lake
running? Why are you running?’
‘I’ll explain when I’m back.’ He paused. His voice was tense and serious. ‘I’ll be there any minute. I need to know you’re OK.’
‘I’m fine. But it doesn’t sound like you are. What’s going—’
‘I’ll be right there,’ he interrupted.
The phone went dead. Annabelle leaned on the table. Matt was running? Why wasn’t he in the car? And why did he think she might not be OK?
What the hell was going on?
She held one hand to her stomach. Sweat prickled on her brow. The sick feeling was back.
Although this time it was not only the cold. It was worry.
2
She heard footsteps outside the front door a few minutes later and went to open it. He was standing on the step, a shopping bag in each hand, a packet of pasta poking out of a hole in one of them. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily.
Her chest tightened in alarm. He had sounded terrible on the phone, but he looked worse.
And not only was he not in the car. He was alone.
‘Matt,’ she said. ‘Where are the kids?’
He stepped into the house. His expression was rigid, but there was a wild look in his eyes. She realized with a start that it was fear.
‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘You need to sit down.’
‘I don’t need to sit down,’ she said. ‘Where are the kids? Tell me where the kids are!’
He took her elbow and guided her into the living room and onto the sofa. Her tea was still on the carpet beside it.
Matt sat next to her. He was no longer breathing heavily; now he was taking short, shallow breaths. It could have been the running, but it looked more like he was trying not to panic.
‘Matt,’ she said. ‘What’s going on?’
He blinked, his expression almost puzzled. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
‘Matt! Where are the children? Tell me!’
‘They’re gone,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘The children are gone.’
Matt
She didn’t react for a few seconds, then, as the words registered, her mouth fell slightly open.
‘Gone?’ she said. ‘What do you mean gone?’
He swallowed. His heart was racing and his mouth was dry and it was hard to speak. Annabelle was staring at him, her eyebrows knitted together in a deep frown.
‘I …’ he started, ‘I went into the shop to get the stuff. I left the kids in the car—’
‘Oh my God.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Matt. What happened?’
‘I wasn’t gone long, maybe only a few minutes. I checked out of the window and they were OK, but—’
‘Matt, what are you saying? Tell me what happened?’
‘—after I paid and went outside the car was gone.’
‘Gone?’ He could see his words were not fully sinking in. ‘How could the car be gone?’
‘Somebody took it. But – Annabelle. The kids were in it. They took the kids too.’
His wife didn’t answer. She folded her arms, then lifted one hand to her mouth, then put her hands in her lap.
‘What?’ she said, a barely controlled panic in her voice belying her attempts to compose herself. ‘What did you say?’
‘The car was gone. With the kids.’
‘Maybe they took off the handbrake and it rolled away.’
‘No. I checked.’
‘Maybe you didn’t check in the right place.’ She stood up. ‘We need to look for them. We can take my car. Maybe they drove it off somehow. Or the police moved it. If it was parked illegally the police may have moved it. Did you call them?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I didn’t.’
‘You didn’t? Why not? We have to call them, now!’
‘We can’t.’
She was staring at him, her eyes wide, her nostrils flared. ‘Why not? Of course we can call the police. Our children are missing!’
‘We can’t,’ he said. ‘There’s more. And it’s worse.’
Annabelle
She was reeling from his breathless arrival. She could hardly grasp what he was saying. His words were close to meaningless sounds, but she forced herself to focus.
He had told her he’d left the kids in the car, and the car had been taken.
The kids were gone.
He had not called the police.
She could make no sense of this. The kids were in their car and someone had taken it and he had not called the police.
But it was the last thing he had said that scared her the most. He had said there was more, and it was worse.
How could anything be worse?
For a moment she was not sure she wanted to find out. She had an overwhelming urge to close her eyes and pretend this was not happening. All she wanted was for this to stop, right now, and be over before it got going. Because whatever it was, it was not good.
But she had no choice.
‘Matt,’ she said. ‘Just tell me.’
He looked at her, his face a mask of shock and fear. ‘They’ve been kidnapped,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Someone is holding our kids for ransom.’
The word hung in the air between them.
‘Kidnapped,’ she said, the word odd in her mouth, almost as if she did not recognize – or could not believe – what it meant. ‘Did you say kidnapped?’
‘Yes.’ His face was pale, the blood drained from it.
‘OK,’ she said. It sounded totally inadequate, but what was she supposed to say? This was a total catastrophe: normal language didn’t work. But there was good news in this. Ransom meant you paid the kidnapper’s price and they would release the hostages, which meant there was hope.
So this was good, in a way.
‘What do they want?’ she said.
‘I don’t know. They didn’t say yet.’ He held up his phone and showed her the screen. ‘These messages came just after I left the shop.’
She took his phone and read the texts.
Do not call the police.
I repeat: tell no one and do not inform the authorities. I will know if you do and you will never see your children again.
My instructions will follow. Await them.
He reached over and tapped the screen. ‘Then these came from a different number.’
This is a kidnapping.
The ransom demand will follow.
Remember. Do not contact the police under any circumstances. I will know immediately if you do and you will never see your children again.
So that was why he had not called the police. It made sense now, but she wanted them to know. They needed help with this.
‘Shouldn’t