Page 94 of D for Dead

He yanked Amy to her feet and she yelped, tightening her grip on the screwdriver as he dragged her across to where Danielle stood. As he held her in an arm lock, her eyes connected with the door on the far side of the room, shrouded in dark shadows, and she swore it creaked open slightly, that someone was watching.

The man roughly caught hold of her wrist and in an automatic reaction she brought the screwdriver forward, stabbing him hard in the belly.

He yelped in surprise, took a step back, and Amy took the split-second chance, running at the door, praying for it to be open. Her hand slipped on the door knob and she tried again, this time succeeding.

She heard him behind her as she ran up the stairs, through the kitchen, knocking over the chair, into the hall, again begging for the front door to be unlocked. His fingers skimmed her hair as she yanked the door open, ran down the steps, across the front yard and into the woods.

He was behind her, so close behind her, but as she ran she put a little distance between them. Then she stumbled down the bank. A moment of respite before he returned and then she was on her feet, limping to get away. She heard the sound of the car and ran towards it.

Down the bank, into the path of bright headlights.

Then nothing.

* * *

Amy jerked awake. This time she hadn’t woken herself screaming and had lived through the entirety of the nightmare. She shuddered, panting heavily, sweat rolling down her forehead, down the back of her neck and back.

Do not throw up. Do not throw up.

How could she have forgotten?

Every detail was now etched in her memory as clear as if it had been yesterday.

The basement, finding Danielle, the body on the table and the man threatening to cut out her tongue. She had stabbed him with a screwdriver, had managed to escape, and she remembered it all now with such clarity.

Except the eyes; they remained in her subconscious. She didn’t remember the watching eyes.

28

Troy was working late again, much to Nadine’s annoyance. Things had not been good between them since Saturday, after he had found her at the Velvet Lounge. Usually when they fought she could win Troy over. He might sulk or disagree, but he always came round. This time was different and he was still so angry with her for defying him and going to the bar.

Nadine Williams liked to be in control. This time she wasn’t and it unsettled her. It occurred to her perhaps Troy was no longer in love with her. Maybe it wasn’t to do with the fight. Had he met someone else? Did he want to end things? She couldn’t bear that. She might be confrontational, but it was her nature. She loved the man and couldn’t stand to lose him.

As the previous two evenings, she cooked him dinner, set it out on the table along with a bottle of wine opened to breathe, waiting for him to return. Again he didn’t come home, she picked at the steak she had grilled, mostly pushing it round her plate, refilling her glass until the bottle of wine was empty.

A little drunk, she glanced at her phone, tapped her red talons against the glass table and toyed with calling him. A call would be an apology; she would have to grovel. Nadine didn’t do grovelling. Why couldn’t he understand? Why couldn’t he see how upset she had been?

Irritated she cleared away her half-eaten steak and Troy’s untouched plate, dropped the contents into the trash and dumped both plates onto the counter. Taking her glass of wine, she walked through to the living room and the open patio doors; spent a few minutes staring out across the beach, watching the rise and fall of the surf. Despite the warmth of the evening, the sea was unsettled, the almost full moon casting a shimmering glow across the water and the frothy waves rolling over the sand.

Leaving the door open, she went back into the house, down the long hallway into her bedroom, stripping off as she went. A shower would relax her, ease the knots of tension out of her shoulders. She would let the spray soothe her mind and body and hopefully Troy would be home by the time she was finished. If he wasn’t, well, maybe she would call him.

As she pinned up her hair, stepped into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, she was oblivious to the figure who stood watching her from the shadows in the hallway.

* * *

Stepping out into the warm steamy bathroom, the first thing Nadine was aware of was the sound of Marvin Gaye playing low in the background.

She smiled to herself.

Troy was home.

Wrapping herself in a large white fluffy bath sheet, she padded into the bedroom, spent a couple of minutes drying and dressing in a skimpy negligee. She checked her reflection in the free-standing mirror: her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the shower, tanned body silhouetted beneath the sheer red silk. She squirted perfume around her head and shoulders, pulled the pins from her hair, gave herself a final appraising look in the mirror and left the bedroom.

She walked towards the sound of Marvin singing ‘Let’s get it on’ and smiled. Troy was in a romantic mood. A good sign. Practising her pout, rehearsing how this was going to play out, she stepped into the living room – and frowned.

It was empty.

She glanced around for a sign of Troy. No discarded jacket or briefcase. No sign of his cell phone or car keys on the coffee table where he frequently, much to her irritation, left them.