Chapters (66)
‘Eve, are you all right in there?’ Ian was the other side of the door.
‘I’m okay, I just feel a bit sick. I’ll be out in a minute. I think it was the blood,’ I added, listening for sounds as the room spun. I grabbed the towel rail to steady myself.
‘Do you want to get some air?’
Yes, air was exactly what I needed. The outside. Where I could run.
The balaclava had made it real. This was not a game. I was in serious danger.
‘Good idea. Just a second.’ The panic attack passed as air forced its way into my lungs and blood returned to my head. I needed to get rid of what was in my bag. I turned on the tap, hoping the noise would cover me. Pins and needles in my fingers hindered me as I put the contents of Ian’s box in the black carrier bag I’d brought with me. I moved as fast as I could. It was a complete rape kit. As well as the balaclava, there were cable ties, duct tape, a rag, and a small vial of liquid. The label read gamma hydroxybutrate. It meant nothing to me, but I had an idea of what it was. Perhaps I could use it. Tucking it into my back pocket, I tied the bag, trying to be as quiet as possible. Ian’s bathroom window squeaked as the metal bar lifted out of its resting place. I winced and froze, listening for sounds from the other side of the door. Nothing. I couldn’t hear Ian at all.
Beneath the window, at the base of the building grew dense bushes. I leant out and dropped the bag into the darkness. The wind carried it left, where it disappeared from view. I crushed the camera under my boot, the plastic casing splintering into pieces. The tap had already been running for too long, so I turned it off. Wrapping the shards in tissue, I flushed them down the toilet along with the tiny memory card.
I had to get rid of anything that tied me to Ian. Or rather, anything that gave me a motive to harm him. If they realised he was behind my rape in September, I’d no longer be a credible victim. Not one without a motive anyway. If it went badly, I’d have evidence to give to the police. I’d concoct a story that I’d found it and got out of there, fearing for my life.
I wiped where I’d touched the window, ledge and sink with toilet wipes and spent a few seconds checking my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, like porcelain, emphasised by the black eyeliner which didn’t look as crisp as it did earlier. Steeling myself, I relaxed my shoulders, stretching my neck from side to side. I had a job to do.