It was no surprise given what she had done to it. It was her chance, though, and she would have to put up with it. One way or another it would be over soon.

‘Remember,’ she said. ‘Stay quiet, whatever happens, OK?’

She put him in the bathtub and laid the base over him, then walked over to the mattress. She got under the covers.

She picked up the tinfoil ball – although it was much more than that now – and kept her hands hidden.

The man could not see them. Not until the right moment came.

The door opened and the man came in. His eyes narrowed. ‘Where is he?’

‘Who?’ Maggie said.

‘You know who. The boy.’

‘I don’t know where he is. I don’t feel well.’ She tried to make her voice sound weak and strained, as though she was suffering.

It didn’t take much effort. The pain in her hand was so intense it was hard not to whimper.

The man shut the door. He put the key in the pocket of his chinos.

‘Stop this,’ he said. ‘Give me the boy.’

Maggie groaned and turned on her side. He walked towards her.

‘Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,’ he said. ‘You know what happens when you disobey me.’

She did. She knew all about what happened.

The rapes. The captivity. The darkness. The motorbike helmet. The rat.

The sons, taken and killed.

And in her hands, her throbbing, aching hands, she held the means to end it.

‘I’m not disobeying you,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel well. I really don’t.’

‘God,’ he said, disgust lacing his voice. ‘Don’t you ever learn?’

Maggie shifted so she was facing him.

‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘That’s the problem, right there.’

‘What do you mean?’ he said, confusion creeping into his expression.

‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘I don’t ever fucking learn.’

The look of confusion turned to one of alarm as she threw the covers back and sprang to her feet, her left hand – the painful one, the one she had mutilated – outstretched, thrusting towards the man’s face.

His eyes followed it, widening as he saw what she had done to it and understood the situation he was in.

Understood that things had changed.

The movement sent pain shooting up her arm, but she was able to ignore it. In fact, she welcomed it. It was the price she had to pay for freedom, and she paid it willingly.

Her hand reached the man’s face and she clawed at it, listening to him squeal in pain.

She screamed in triumph. There was blood everywhere.

Lots of blood.

His blood.

For she was transformed.

She had talons.

2

The man screamed and jumped back. He clutched his face, his right hand covering the wounds. Blood oozed out from under his palm. He backed towards the door, his other hand scrabbling for the key.