Chapters (87)
- Cover
- Praise
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgements
- Extract from To Keep You Safe
- About the Author
They are already swollen. Burns cover both wrists like wide cuffs. The backs of my fingers are also red, with a peppering of white blisters, but my palms are clear because I clenched my fists.
My right wrist is white fire, compared to a more manageable burning on my left, but they’re not completely useless – far from it.
I glance around to see what it is that bound me, but it’s pinged off somewhere. I don’t care, it’s time to save Jack.
I grab a knife from the knife block – noticing the empty slot again – and head to the bottom of the stairs. Gripping it, I pause – listening. I don’t want to open the door, but I can’t hear anything. Holding my breath, hearing the wham-wham of my heart, I gently grip the door and ease it ever so slowly back. Please don’t squeak, please don’t squeak. It will, though, I know, and I suddenly get an idea. I nip back to the kitchen and get a bottle of vegetable oil from the cupboard and then try to squirt as much as I can onto the hinges. I feel both brilliant and ridiculous. Then, I try to open the door again. I’m rewarded – the door eases back without a sound.
I take a few deep breaths, my head swimming with the adrenaline and lack of oxygen. I pause at the bottom of the stairs, looking up. Because it’s a U-shape, I can’t see the landing. I’m going to have to go up. I’d rather climb Everest.
I swallow and try my foot on the first stair, placing it right to one side, hoping that the boards are less worn there and therefore less squeaky. Then slowly, so slowly, I increase my weight.
The riser starts to creak and I stop, hesitate, then continue. The creak starts again, but it’s more a weak sigh than a loud complaint. And I’m up!
I repeat again, feeling so nervous now I’m fully on the stair. Pause; breathe; slow leg movements until my foot is on the next step and I gradually increase pressure. The same again – creaking, but not too much. I hope and pray and keep my grip on my knife.
I pause again. Wait – I hear something . . .
I can’t breathe – I’m not sure what it was that I heard. My heart is so loud in my ears it’s all I can hear.
I decide to try again. The next foot goes up and the difference is immediate. A heavy creak of betrayal. I freeze, feeling that I’ve wet myself a little, and curse myself for trying. I don’t move, I don’t do anything . . . but I hear . . .
. . . definitely voices.