Autobiography

She tumbled into the gooseberry bushes beneath the shed window and yelped as one long, sharp twig lanced her viciously in the arm. As she stood, the gravel of the rear yard pricked and jabbed at her bare feet, but her elation as she looked up at the barn in the moonlight numbed any discomfort. This was the home stretch -- less than fifty feet away was the emergency telephone, the flatbed... and freedom. 

She darted limping across the grey expanse of chipped stone to the side door, then stopped, listening.

Nothing but the distant murmur of traffic on the horizon.

Margaux lifted the heavy iron latch and pulled open the door, hoping that the soft creak of its hinges wasn't audible from the house. Satisfied that no one seemed to have heard her, she stumbled her way into the musty blackness of the barn.

Finally, her fingers found the rust-damaged front wing of the truck, and she felt her way around to the side, but as her fingers rested on the door handle, she heard a click in the darkness, and something cold was pressed against her temple.

"Get back in the house, Margaux."

Bill Helling's voice struck her like a knife to the heart.

She stepped backwards, out through the door, back into the pale moonlight, and Bill followed, calmly levelling the gun at her. His expression was blank, but his eyes -- hidden with shadows like a mask -- filled her with desperate horror. She felt certain in that moment that she would never escape the custody of this man alive, even if the ransom was paid.

As he marched her back across the yard, her tears blurred out the stars.

*

"How far did she get?"

Bill slammed the kitchen door behind him, and Margaux flinched.

"She went straight for the car."

He grasped her shoulder tightly, one finger of his leather glove brushing her neck, and he brought his mouth to her ear.

"Very clever, under normal circumstances... but very stupid under these."

He guided her into the drawing room and pushed her firmly into the armchair, then sat down on the sofa and fixed her with an earnest look, leaning towards her with his hands clasped in front of him.

"I thought we had a deal, Margaux."

"I didn't promise I wouldn't escape."

"Oh, now now, that just isn't true. You said you would behave yourself -- I don't believe running away could be classed as behaving, now, could it?"

She was silent.

"Could it, Margaux?"

"...No." She sobbed quietly.

"No, it couldn't. I trust you enough to give you five minutes' privacy, and this is how you repay me. Do you know how that makes me look?"

"I..."

"It makes me look like a cunt, Margaux."

He stared at her, and she looked down at the carpet, tears glistening on her cheeks. The silence hung between them like a tangible presence.

Finally, he stood.

"If you ever try that again, I'll break your leg." He strode from the room, and she heard him talking to the other man: "Take her upstairs. She'll need her beauty sleep."

*

Robert pulled a chair from the spare room that also served as Margaux's study and sat down in the corner. Margaux stood next to the bed and stared at him.

"Are you going to sit there all night?"

"Apparently."

He took one of her author's advance copies from the shelf and opened it.

"Can I have two minutes to change?"

He looked at her incredulously.

"Don't think so, somehow."

"Fine."

She lay down on top of the duvet and rolled onto her side, laying her head on her arms.

Downstairs, she could hear Bill moving around. How had he known she was escaping? Or at least, how had he had enough time to hear her climb out of the window, and get out to the barn ahead of her? There was something ruthlessly efficient about that man, something terrifying.

Oh, what was the point -- she was never going to get to sleep with these two criminals in her house. Margaux turned onto her back and sat up.

"What are you two going to do after you get the money? How do you know you won't get caught?"

The man didn't look up from the book.

"I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"That's not very fair."

"Tough luck."

She lay back down with a soft huff and frowned, looking up at the ridge in the ceiling where the plaster under the textured paper had cracked.

"I've seen both your faces."

She said this softly as the realisation dawned.

"What?"

"I've seen your faces. I could identify you to the police."

Robert was silent.

"You're not going to let me go, are you? You can't."

"Sure we are. Just do what you're told, and as soon as we've got the money you can go. Exactly like Bill said."

Margaux bit back a sob and turned away, not wanting the man to see her if she started crying again.

After a while, Robert put the book back on the shelf and turned off the lamp, and Margaux drifted into a fitful slumber.  

*

Bill reclined on the sofa, one foot on the coffee table, watching the grainy greyscale image on the laptop screen.

She was asleep, shifting from position to position. She rolled onto her back, and as she moved her leg her skirt slipped back to reveal the pale length of her thigh.

A creak on the stairs announced Robert's presence before he spoke in a low whisper:

"She's out."

"I know."

He minimised the box, and the window reverted to small thumbnails of each room in the house, tiled across the screen.

"I didn't think she'd make a break for it yet."

Bill smirked.

"She was bound to."

"Do you think she'll be any more trouble?"

"Probably."

"Maybe if we tied her up--"

"I don't think there's any need for that. Margaux knows the risks of breaking the rules."

"And if she runs again?"

"Then I'll do exactly what I told her I'd do. She won't be running anywhere after that."

*

Author's Notes:

I hope you're enjoying it so far. Things will start to get a bit more interesting once they actually kidnap Margaux in the proper sense of the word.

Please take a moment to rate or review, it really means a lot :)