Tim walked into the bedroom and threw his backpack on the floor. She could just about see his legs through the slatted louvre doors as he walked. She had seen what he was capable of, what he had done to all those women and maybe what he planned to do to her. As he was leaving the bedroom she let out the breath she had been holding in. He stopped and turned around, looking around the room. Suddenly, he stormed forwards, straight for the wardrobe. But it was the one next to Jasmine. Her relief was profound. Had she put the bag back exactly as she had found it? She couldn’t be sure. Her heart was in her mouth as he pulled out the messenger bag, heaved it onto the bed, then opened it.

‘Come out.’

The fear crystallised inside Jasmine, acute, intense and inescapable. She was going to die.

A second later the door to the wardrobe opened and Tim grabbed Jasmine by the arm and pulled her out into the room.

‘Please, don’t hurt me,’ she sobbed, her legs buckling underneath her as the fear took hold. It would be hours before anyone was home, hours before anyone found her body. She imagined her hair tangled and slick with blood. She imagined her parents finding her, or maybe he would kill them too, throw them all in the hole he had dug for her father’s resistance pool and then disappear.

‘I told you not to come in here!’ Tim roared, his eyes wild with fury.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,’ Jasmine said, shrinking and cowering beneath his towering form.

‘Did you find what you were looking for? Are you happy now?’ He gestured at the bed. Did he want her to lie down? Maybe this was what he had wanted all along, for her to be afraid.

‘Please. Just let me go. I didn’t see anything.’

He grabbed her chin and directed her face towards the bed. The bag was open, and the pictures were spread across it. Red.

‘Have a good look.’

‘I won’t tell anyone. I’ll just forget I ever saw that, and you can go.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m not done here.’

Jasmine started to sob; she couldn’t control the tears as they came. She had never wanted her parents more than she did right now. She felt so small, so young and so helpless. She knew his strength, she had felt his muscles pressed against her. Jasmine tried to pull her wrist free, but he just locked his hand even tighter around it; it was barely an effort for him.

‘Please …’ she begged, scarcely hearing her own muffled voice through the sobs.

‘Just sit down and let me explain. I didn’t want it to be like this.’