Oli takes a final look around. So little in this house is hers. Isabelle has always been here, a silent housemate, the rightful owner. Once Oli walks out the door it will be like she was never here. She flicks off the light and pulls open the door. Freezing air swirls inside. The buzz of the rain. She’s forgotten to set the security alarm again. Behind her the grandfather clock starts to chime. Fuck the alarm, she thinks, stepping onto the porch. She just wants to get out of here. Away from the house.

A hand clamps across her mouth, snapping her head back. An arm slams across her stomach, winding her. She writhes against her assailant, trying to scream, eyes bulging as she is dragged back into the house.

Oli comes to before she opens her eyes. Everything is red and black. She’s woozy, like when she used to drink spirits. Legs heavy, she tries to get up but she’s too tired. The clock chimes signal a new hour, but the sound is coming from behind her. Is she in the lounge? How many times did the clock chime? One? Four? Twelve? The sound reverberates in her head, and she can’t tell the notes apart. It might as well have been a hundred. Why can’t she open her eyes? And what is wrong with her hands? She realises they’re tied together at the same moment she realises she’s been drugged. Her wrists barely strain against the soft ribbon. Is it the belt from her dressing-gown?

Someone is here. She can feel footsteps. She must be lying on the rug next to the sofa.

Her eyes flutter open. Through the dark she sees the entrance hall lit by soft moonlight, the tulips in the vase. The muted green glow of the panic button next to the light switch.

A boot steps into her vision. Her core seizes as she kicks her legs out, tries to get up, but she is so tired. Everything fades again.

Oli blinks awake again. She’s still on the floor, but she’s less woozy. Everything hurts. She rolls onto her back, sharp pains shooting down her arms and legs. Her eyes move in an arc: the front door, the tulips, the ceiling. Rain streaks down the side window. No one will hear her scream if it’s raining. No one ever did. All those nights as a kid, trapped in her room. The nights he didn’t come were almost as bad as the ones he did; her eyes would burn as she lay waiting in the dark, her stomach twisting in knots as she made deals with god. If he doesn’t come tonight she will never fight with Lily again. If he doesn’t come to her room for the rest of the week she will stop biting her fingernails until her skin bleeds.