Silent Winter Read online

  He was lying on a bare mattress, only a few inches thick, the sort used for fold-up beds. No pillow, but a duvet covered his body. Underneath it Drew was naked; his questing hands had revealed his clothes had been removed. Something else was missing as well: his fingers were bare. His platinum wedding band from Holly, and his father’s gold signet ring, both so precious, were gone.

  Drew threw back the duvet and explored his surroundings as best he could. His chains allowed him enough latitude to get on all fours, and to turn his body over, but not to stand, or move more than a few inches in any direction. His hands groped through the darkness, and met plastic. A bucket. The floor on which it stood was concrete. Close to his feet he found a pile of blankets. The material was coarse, but thick, and there were plenty of them. What the hell...?

  Whoever had chained him here had stripped him of his humanity, damn it, yet provided a mattress and blankets. None of it made any sense. A howl of anguish, raw and primitive, tore from Drew’s mouth. The fear in his belly was almost physical. With that, a warm sensation spread over his groin, accompanied by the reek of urine. Strangled whimpers issued from Drew’s mouth on the realisation that he’d wet himself. He shifted position, away from the soaked part of the mattress.

  He sucked in more air, willing himself to ignore his humiliation. Reality check: some bastard had tethered him to the floor, damn it, in this black-as-hell place, where he couldn’t see a thing or hear a sound apart from his own panic. He’d perish here, trapped in an unending nightmare, without a clue why. Fettered and helpless, left to die in the dark without oxygen.

  Maybe not. A sliver of hope pierced Drew’s despair. The atmosphere wasn’t stale; it lacked the cloying thickness that would accompany a slow depletion of air. Instead it was cold, chilling the tip of his nose on every breath. Drew lay still, wondering if he’d imagined the subtle sensation—but no, there it was again, the faintest stir of air brushing over his skin, coming from above his head. Wherever he was, his prison wasn’t sealed. He had an air supply. Terror had caused the tightness in his chest, not suffocation.

  Don’t panic, he told himself. Hard not to, in the circumstances. Who had done this to him? And why had he, of all people, been singled out?

  A case of mistaken identity, perhaps. Some guy had angered a local gangster, with Drew unlucky enough to resemble the culprit. Or else a random psychopath had snatched him. Neither possibility offered a shred of comfort.

  He ignored the voice in his head whispering a name. Someone who had ample reason to hate Drew. Who, a long time, ago, had threatened him with retribution.

  Wherever you are, I will find you, and you will suffer, said the voice.

  TODD WAS SILENT ON the other end of the phone once Holly finished speaking. ‘He’s not been having an affair, I can tell you that much,’ he said eventually. ‘Think about it, Hols. He’s always at work, home with you, or else out running with me and the rest of the lads.’

  ‘How do you know he’s at work when he claims he is?’

  ‘Because I pick him up from Jonas Software on the nights we go for a run. Always at seven o’clock, and he looks exhausted every time. If he says he’s at work, I believe him. He wouldn’t lie to me.’

  No, thought Holly. But he might to his wife. ‘Should I phone the police?’

  ‘You’re certain he’s not been admitted to hospital?’

  ‘Yes.’ Irritation edged into Holly’s voice. She’d told Todd about the abortive calls to Southmead and the BRI; hadn’t he been listening?

  He’s only trying to help, she reminded herself. Without her brother-in-law, she’d be alone with her worry, at two thirty on this icy November morning.

  ‘I’m not sure there’s much the police will do if you report him missing,’ Todd said. ‘Not at the moment, anyway. He’s probably gone on a bender and is sleeping off the booze somewhere, which explains him leaving his car at work. Probably a last-minute office celebration that got him so drunk he couldn’t call you.’

  ‘Drew didn’t mention anything about a work-related party. Surely he’d have told me?’

  She heard Todd drag in a long breath. ‘Jeez, Hols, then I’ve no idea. Look, try not to worry. He’ll most likely call you in the morning, all contrite, and tell you how sorry he is. Okay, so he’s never stayed out all night before, and yes, Nessa would rip my guts out if I pulled a stunt like that, but Drew’s under a lot of pressure at work. Not surprising he might get drunk to take the edge off.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Holly was wound too tight to say much else. If Todd was right, Drew would crawl in sometime that morning, and when he did, she’d kick his arse into the middle of next century.

  ‘Text me when he gets home,’ Todd said.

  ‘Will do.’ Holly sat nursing her thoughts for a while after the call ended. She eyed the red digits of the oven clock. Three a.m. With a sigh, she headed into the hallway and plodded up the stairs. The curtains in the bedroom she shared with Drew hung open; a slice of moonlight fell on the empty bed. An icy chill embraced her, the central heating having clicked off hours before. She stripped off her clothes, tugging on a pair of fleecy pyjamas and sliding into bed. The vacant space where Drew should be mocked her, and Holly curled in on herself, hugging her knees to her chest to get warm.

  ‘Drew,’ she said into the darkness. ‘Where the hell are you?’

  CHAPTER 5 - Before

  Twenty-three years ago, in a shabby rented flat in Bristol’s Barton Hill area, a woman shouted at her seven-year-old son.

  ‘Get yourself off to bed. And don’t come out, not for any reason, or you’ll get a slap. I’ve got a friend coming round.’

  Rick didn’t dare mention his empty belly. He’d not eaten since the stale cornflakes he’d scoffed at breakfast time. So tonight was going to be one of those nights, he thought. At first his child’s brain had taken his mother’s words literally; the men were simply her friends. Ones for whom she wore fancy clothes, all black and red, and more make-up than usual. After a while he realised that the sounds coming from his mother’s bedroom didn’t seem friendly, nor did the men. More than once she appeared the following day with a split lip or black eye, and the boy learned not to ask how she got her injuries. Every time he endured the noises echoing throughout the cramped flat, a little more of him died.

  As a seven-year-old, all he wanted was a proper family. Other kids had a daddy, and mums who didn’t entertain a different man most nights. Rick hadn’t a clue who his father was and his mother always told him to shut the fuck up if he asked. Starved of love, he made do with one of her T-shirts that he’d stolen. By day he hid his prize under his bed. At night he slept with his head pillowed against the fabric, the scent of sweat and cheap perfume filling his nostrils.

  Years later, things made more sense. He understood how his mother had supported a two packs per day smoking habit on her shop assistant’s salary. Although his brain realised the truth, his heart rejected the idea. Denial won. She wasn’t a whore. No way.

  Once he’d heard her talking about him during a casual conversation with a neighbour.

  ‘Why didn’t you get rid of the brat once you found you was preggers?’ the woman asked.

  His mother dragged on her cigarette before she replied. ‘Didn’t have a choice, did I? Too far along.’

  The neighbour snorted in derision. ‘Stupid bitch. Didn’t ya notice you wasn’t getting yer monthlies?’

  ‘Nah. They always was hit and miss as to when they’d come.’

  ‘You could have got him adopted once he was born.’

  His mother exhaled smoke in a noisy plume. She didn’t reply at first, and the silence stretched out in Rick’s mind, the implications of didn’t have a choice, did I reverberating through his brain.

  ‘He’s all I have,’ his mother said at last. The closest she ever came to saying that she cared.

  CHAPTER 6

  Drew awoke from a restless doze. The second he opened his eyes and faced the impenetrable blackness, shock and horror crowded his senses once more. Wisps of air continued to caress his cheek; the atmosphere remained breathable. But what if the mechanism delivering his oxygen broke? No, he couldn’t—mustn’t—think that way. He forced himself to breathe the way Holly did when she practised yoga, and the steel band around his ribcage relaxed.

  Think, Drew, he chided himself. Whatever was supplying his air, it probably wasn’t a pump, given the lack of sounds. A simple vent, then. His breathing close to normal again, Drew lifted his head, and yelled with all his strength: ‘Help! Is anyone there?’

  His voice bounced off where he thought the ceiling might be. No echo; instead, his words appeared muffled. Drew turned his head to his left, and shouted again. This time the noise stopped much closer, and was, like before, deadened. When he repeated the experiment to his right, the sound travelled further, but not by much. That meant whatever this place was, he was near to one of its walls on his left-hand side, and that sound-proofing existed on them and the ceiling, but not underneath him.

  On hands and knees, he explored his prison once more, inch by inch, as far as his restraints permitted. He found only the bucket and the blankets. No clue as to what this place was, or where the door might be.

  A whiff of urine lingered in the darkness; together with the pail and vent it sparked hope inside Drew. His captor had provided air and a rudimentary toilet, as well as protection against the cold. Had someone brought him here to die, the vent, bucket and blankets would have been unnecessary. And if his captor had furnished Drew with a toilet, he’d also be getting food and water, surely? That meant his abductor would make an appearance at some point, and the idea caused Drew’s stomach to clench in terror.

  ‘Help!’ he screamed into the blackness, but silence answered his plea.

  ALONE IN BED, HOLLY awoke from a restless doze. Drew’s absence crushed a stone into her heart the second she opened her eyes. She checked the time on her mobile: seven a.m., which meant she’d slept through her six o’clock alarm. Anguish hit her; the notification light wasn’t flashing on her phone. Drew hadn’t tried to call or text her while she’d been asleep.

  Maybe he was snoring off his hangover on the sofa. Holly tugged on her dressing gown, her phone in its pocket, and ran downstairs.

  The living room was empty. So, too, was the kitchen. She was alone in the house.

  Holly burst into noisy sobs. Wracked by misery, she couldn’t ignore the situation any longer. Her finger shaking, she grabbed her mobile and called Todd.

  ‘He’s still not home.’ Holly’s voice shook with fear. ‘Something bad’s happened. I’m sure of it.’

  A pause. Then: ‘I’m coming over. Don’t do anything until I arrive.’

  Holly breathed a sigh of relief. She’d known she could count on Todd. Safe, steady and reliable, he’d know what to do; he always did. Unable to settle, she paced the living room, chewing her fingernails all the while. One thought echoed through her head, over and over: please let Drew be okay. Please let Drew be okay.

  Her eyes roamed over the eclectic mix of old and new in the room: their ancient bookcase, the handwoven rug, a lamp rescued from a skip. Their home had been furnished with love, not money. But would Drew ever see any of it again?

  For that, Holly had no answer.

  Within ten minutes Todd’s car arrived outside. Before her brother-in-law’s finger hit the bell, she wrenched open the door and sank into his arms. He didn’t speak, just held her, the way she’d known he would. For a moment his warm body halted the emotional roller-coaster barrelling through her brain.

  At last Holly pulled away, wiping a tear from her cheek. ‘Where is he, Todd?’

  ‘We’ll find him, Hols.’ The certainty in his words didn’t match the fear in his eyes. He was as worried as she was.

  Todd stepped inside, closed the door, then steered Holly into the living room. He’d not bothered to shave, and his hair stuck up at weird angles. She knew he must be concerned about Drew. The brothers had always been close; Todd, at sixteen, had assumed a fatherly role towards five-year-old Drew after their mother’s death, and their subsequent adoption by their aunt and uncle. Six feet tall and stocky, Todd stood bigger and heavier than Drew, but with the same blue eyes, dark hair and hooked nose. Few people could doubt they were brothers. How familiar Todd was, how much she’d come to care for him.

  Holly slumped on the sofa, unsure whether her legs would support her much longer. Todd sat beside her and took her hand. ‘Should I call the police?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s only seven thirty, Hols. We both know Drew’s been at his desk early these past few weeks, given how busy he is, but it’s still too soon. We’ll leave it until eight, then phone his office. If he’s not turned up by then, we’ll contact the police. In the meantime—’ Todd stood up, pulling her with him. ‘Take a shower and put on some clothes. While you’re doing that, I’ll make you breakfast.’

  Holly shook her head. ‘I’m too tense to eat.’

  ‘At least have a coffee. I could sure use one.’ He walked towards the kitchen.

  Holly sat immobile, lost in her thoughts, then administered a mental head slap. Her husband was missing, and she couldn’t afford to fall apart. Work could screw itself. She’d call in sick later.

  A short while afterwards she’d showered and dressed, and stood in the kitchen, a mug of coffee in her hand. The oven clock showed the time: ten past eight. Time to contact Jonas Software. Holly found her mobile and placed the call.

  ‘Mark Lucas, please,’ she said to the woman who answered. ‘My name is Holly Blackmore. I’m Drew’s wife.’

  Seconds later a gruff male voice spoke in her ear. ‘Hello, Mrs Blackmore. Is Drew sick today?’

  His words scuppered Holly’s remaining hopes. ‘No. At least... I don’t know.’ She moistened her dry lips. ‘He’s gone missing. I’ve no idea where he is.’ How pathetic that sounded. A proper wife should know where her husband was.

  Todd walked behind her, his arms squeezing her tight. Their warmth burst a dam inside Holly, the last fourteen hours spilling forth in anguished wails. Todd prised the phone from her fingers and spoke into it while she sobbed. His words reached Holly through a haze of pain: didn’t come home last night... not answering his mobile... she’s checked the hospitals. She sank onto a chair, swiping tears from her cheeks. So much for staying strong. Something terrible had happened to Drew, and she’d prefer it if he’d been with another woman, because then she could hate him, but at least he’d be alive. The not knowing, the dread that he’d suffered some awful accident, or worse—that her husband might be dead—was unbearable.

  Holly became conscious of the silence that stretched across the kitchen. She glanced up, noting the ashen hue to Todd’s face. ‘We need to call the police,’ he said.

  She nodded. His fingers stabbed at her phone, and she listened while her brother-in-law repeated the words he’d used with Drew’s boss: missing, not been in contact, hospitals. Followed by Drew’s description, his mobile number. Todd’s confirmation that his brother had no known physical or mental health issues.

  When he finished, his hand rasped over his stubble. Holly glimpsed fear in his eyes.

  Todd laid her mobile on the table. ‘They’re sending a couple of officers round. Should be within the hour.’

  Holly nodded, too drained to protest that the police should come now, damn it. Todd grabbed her hand, the warmth of his touch welcome. Neither of them spoke. Time ticked by. Nine o’clock came, then went. So much for the police arriving within the hour.

  ‘Where the hell are they, Todd? Don’t they understand this is an emergency?’ Holly glanced at the kitchen clock: nine thirty, and she’d already received four unanswered calls from her boss. If she didn’t phone in sick soon, he’d assume she was missing too.

  Todd ran a frustrated hand through his hair. ‘They’ll be here before long. I hope so, anyway.’ Right at that moment, the buzzer sounded.

  Two uniformed officers, one male and one female, stood on the step when Holly opened the door. ‘Mrs Blackmore?’ the woman asked. ‘I’m Police Constable Sharon Chapman, and this is my colleague Josh Reid, also a PC. I understand you’ve reported your husband as missing. Can we come in, please?’

  Holly stood aside to let them enter, then led the way into the living room and sat on the sofa. Sharon Chapman took the seat beside her, with Todd and Josh Reid occupying the armchairs. Holly noted the rings on Sharon’s wedding finger. This woman was married. She’d understand.

  ‘Please find him,’ she said. Her voice rose into the air, high and cracked. ‘He’s never gone missing before. Something terrible must have happened.’

  DREW’S MOUTH HAD TURNED to cotton wool, and hunger gnawed at his belly. The coffee he’d downed before leaving Jonas Software seemed aeons ago, and he’d slaughter an entire army for a glass of water. Hadn’t he read that a human could only survive three days without liquid? If he didn’t drink soon, he’d die, leaving behind only a desiccated husk. He’d already had to piss into the bucket; his bowels needed emptying, but Drew ignored their fullness. That was a step too far, at least for the time being.

  He’d be rescued soon, surely? By now Holly would have reported him missing. The police would find who’d done this, force the bastard to reveal Drew’s location. He just needed to stay calm and wait. Everything would be fine.

  Maybe not. His prison could be anywhere, with nothing to indicate his whereabouts. His life depended on his captor, and unless he drank soon, he wouldn’t survive. Whichever way Drew looked at it, his situation was dire.

  Panic loosened his bowels, and he only just made it to the bucket in time. Seconds later the stench of fear filled the air.

  ‘SO WHAT DID THE POLICE say?’ Six p.m., and Todd held Holly’s hand as they sat on her sofa; he’d called round after work. Holly had texted him once PC Chapman updated her with the progress so far. Which, it turned out, wasn’t much.