CHAPTER 1
Three men watched the girl.
They sat on wooden boxes around a makeshift table in a dusty farmhouse outbuilding. Slivers of sunlight penetrated the long disused stable through slatted windows, dusty beams illuminating the rusting machinery, the sour and rotten straw and the warped door opposite.
On the table was a gun. A Ruger LCR.
The men sat tight up close to the girl, touching her: two either side and one behind.
The one behind yanked the dank canvas hood from the girl’s head and she gulped in air as though it was her final breath. She blinked away tears and tried to control herself.
"Look straight ahead," said the first man. "If you look at us we’ll hurt you."
"We’ll tell you once more in case it wasn’t crystal clear the last time," said the second man. "My friend behind you has a knife. A very sharp knife. Can you feel it?"
She nodded.
The third man stroked the nape of her neck with the cold, flat eight inch blade then ran the tip down along her spine until it reached the rope that bound her wrists together. Taking his time he cut the bonds and the girl rubbed the red weals on her skin with relief.
The man behind her spoke. "When we give the word you’ll pick up the gun and shoot the man who comes in through that door."
"Do you understand?" asked the first man running his blackened fingernail along her cheek, stroking the fine, downy hair on her face.
She nodded again. She would agree to anything to get away from these men.
"Don’t hesitate," said the second man. "If you do, we’ll shoot him and then shoot you. By doing exactly as we say you’ll be set free."
"I don’t think I can kill anyone," the girl said with a quiet whimper.
"You’d be surprised," said the third man. "Sudden death concentrates the mind."
"I’ve never..."
"Fired a gun?" said the first man with a laboured groan. "We’ve shown you, haven’t we? You pick it up, point and pull the trigger. It has a polymer frame. Weighs around fourteen ounces. There’ll be a little recoil but not too much. A monkey couldn’t miss from this range."
“Why me?”
The first man leant in so that his chapped lips touched her ear lobe. “That’s the first sensible question you’ve asked, darlin’.”
“It’s called irony, my love,” said the second man. “Our boss has an unusual sense of humour. He likes to be, what he calls, ironical. Beats me why. There’s a reason why it has to be you, all right.”
“If,” said the third man from behind, “you fuck up, we will do it for you. And then we’ll do for you. If you hesitate pulling that trigger for one second once he’s in the room, you won’t see tomorrow. Understand?”
The girl nodded.
They lapsed into silence, all staring at the door, listening out for the sound of footsteps.
The girl could smell the men. Sweat and stale body odour mixed with the distinctive stench of adrenalin-fuelled fear seemed to ooze from them creating a kind of pungent inversion layer. The stink blended with the faint aroma of long dead cattle, dung and rodents.
For a long time they remained silent.
The girl could hear the faint ticking of three wristwatches as they merged into a syncopated rhythm.
She had never been so frightened in her life. A warm, damp feeling was spreading between her thighs. She tried to control her bladder but failed.
"Fucking hell," whined the second man. "She’s pissed herself." He spat on the floor and the girl watched the gobbet land near a trickle of urine.
"She’s scared," the first man said. "Aren’t you, darlin’? Not long to wait now and it’ll all be over."
The girl fought hard against the impulse to weep. Could she really believe these men who had kept her prisoner for so long? What was so special about the man who would walk through the far door? When it came to it, could she really shoot someone in cold blood? A complete stranger. Was it some kind of test? Would they actually set her free? If they thought she could recognise them was this likely?
A noise outside the building alerted the men. The girl found it hard to swallow. Her larynx felt as though it was filling her throat. She sensed tension rising amongst her captors.
She looked at the gun only a foot away from her. She could pick it up by leaning forward a little. They had made her practice holding the gun and pointing it at the door when they first brought her to this place. It was light and she was strong. All those years of rowing had given her good arm strength. She could point it without wavering too much.
They heard something.
Someone was walking as lightly as they could towards the door. The three men tensed themselves. The third man placed the tip of his knife against the girl’s ribs, just below her heart.
Whoever was approaching was quiet. He knew how to move without making much noise: like a cat burglar.
"Pick up the gun," the first man whispered into her ear.
She reached out but fear had almost frozen her limbs. She began to disassociate in an attempt to bury the thought of what she was about to do.
"Point the gun at the door," the second man mouthed hoarsely.
The girl could feel the presence of someone standing directly outside. She made herself a promise. If she had to pull the trigger she would close her eyes. She couldn’t watch as she killed someone.
She pointed the Ruger as the door started to open. Whoever was outside was aware of how much noise an old, misshapen timber door with ancient hinges could make. The girl could sense rather than see an eye peering in through a gap in the vertical timbers by the hinge.
The second man leaned harder in towards her. She knew that he was holding a gun in his right hand. He pushed his moist lips into her ear.
"Wait till he’s inside," he whispered softly.
The second man gripped her other arm tightly pinning it to her thigh.
The door opened an inch, then another.
The girl closed her eyes tightly shut suppressing the welling of tears that threatened to overcome her.
Then someone kicked the door open. It swung screaming on its rusty hinges and slammed into the barn wall.
A tall man ducked under the door frame and stepped inside filling the room with his physical presence.
"Now," the first man ordered.
"Shoot, bitch," the second man snapped.
The girl felt the knife prick her skin.
She sucked in her breath, squeezed her eyes till it hurt and pulled the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot rattled the rafters of the stable. The girl dropped the gun and opened her eyes. It took her a moment to realise. Then she began to wail and shake.
The scream when it came was wrenched like acid from her insides. She fell to her knees yelling one word.
"Dad!"