Burnt (23 page)

Oh my God. Beryl is
dead
?
Rebecca's blood ran cold at the thought.

‘I've been following you a long time. I was already thinking up ways I could hurt you when who do I see splashed all over the front page of the newspaper one day? Sebastian Taylor, war hero, macho man. He comes back and they write up a big piece on him in the paper like he's some movie star or something.'

‘Marty died in an accident, a terrible accident. It wasn't anyone's fault.'

‘It was Taylor's fault!' Charles yelled, turning on his heel to cross to a dirty, oil-covered drum stored alongside a few others by the wall. ‘Well, I'm making sure he knows what it's like to lose everyone he cares about, starting with you.'

She watched him prise open the drum's lid and reach inside to lift out something wrapped in black plastic. He removed a small gadget from his pocket and connected it to the object in his hand, before carefully resting it on the top of the drum next to him.

‘We'll soon see what a big hero he really is. Let's see him rescue his damsel in distress from this,' he said, then started murmuring and rambling under his breath, his voice anxious as he pulled out a roll of silver gaffer tape from his other pocket.

Rebecca had no idea what he was talking about but she heard the underlying malice in his tone and frantically scanned the inside of the dark shed for some kind of escape.

‘Charles, think about it. The police are going to find you. Untie me and I can talk to them, convince them it was all a big mistake. You need help. I can put you in touch with people who can help you.'

‘You think I'm crazy?' he asked, sounding almost amused rather than angry.

‘I think you've been through a lot, and you need to talk to someone.'

‘You're the crazy one, if you think I'm going to let you go.'

‘People will know I'm missing by now. They'll have the police out looking for me. Let's end this before it goes any further. I want to help you, Charles.'

‘This will end when I say it ends,' he snarled, glaring at her with contempt. ‘The police aren't going to suspect me. I've given them the perfect suspect – your precious Sebastian Taylor. Once they find your charred remains, and his body, they'll write it off as a murder–suicide and everyone will see the big hero Taylor for what he really is: a good-for-nothing murderer.'

Charred remains? Rebecca felt her palms begin to sweat and a surge of panic clawed its way through her stomach. He was going to set fire to the shed? With her inside? This couldn't be happening!

She forced a calmness into her voice she was far from feeling, calling on every strategy she'd ever used through the years to try to talk him down. ‘Killing me isn't going to accomplish much. He's leaving.'

For a moment the words hung between them. Seb had made it clear that it was over and had made sure he'd put her in her place. Maybe he wouldn't come and find her, anyway. But how to convince Charles that his efforts would be wasted?

‘He doesn't even love me,' she said harshly, her words sounding wounded and raw, and cursed silently. The last person she wanted to witness her broken heart was some psychotic moron hell-bent on killing her.

His nasty chuckle caused her flagging spirits to rebel. How dare he stand there and laugh at her as he planned her death!

‘For a smart woman, you're pretty stupid where Sebastian Taylor's concerned. Of course he loves you. You
really
think I'd bother luring him in with just anyone?'

Absurdly, Rebecca felt her heart leap in a moment of elation, until she remembered she'd been kidnapped and her end was looking inevitable, imminent and messy. To say it took the edge off her happiness would be somewhat of an understatement.

He picked up the black parcel, crossing back to her with a sickening smile.

Rebecca tried to pull away from him as he knelt down beside her on the dirt floor. She watched him pull a long length of the silver tape off the roll, the sound loud in the muted silence of the old shed, and rip it with his teeth. She kicked out at him as he reached for her feet, but he caught them easily, securing them with the tape.

‘Charles, please – don't do this.' She hated that she sounded so pitiful.

Begging had little effect on him, though, as he leaned down and strapped the little black device around her chest, securing it with another length of tape.

‘Now, the fun bit.' He pulled a mobile from his pocket and Rebecca saw that it was hers. Waving it before her eyes, he gave a small snigger. ‘Time to say goodbye. I'm off to make a very important phone call and then I'm gonna pay a visit to Sebastian's dad,' he told her gleefully. ‘It's just a pity there's no reception out here.' His smile slipped and he looked genuinely disappointed.

Rebecca felt her hopes falling further. Knowing there was no reception here somehow made her feel even more isolated and alone.

‘I would have liked to have been here to see it through to the end. Oh well.' He shrugged and sent her a lopsided grin. ‘I'll be sure to give your love to Sebastian while I'm giving him instructions on how to find the pieces. Don't go anywhere will you?' he smirked, turning away to head out the door, slamming it with a foundation-shaking bang on his way out.

She heard an engine start up a little while later somewhere in the distance, and listened to it until it faded away, leaving her alone in the shed with only an ominous ticking to keep her company in the dark.

An annoying bleep from Seb's new phone reminded him that he needed to change the ring tone when he got a chance – he'd smash the phone sooner rather than later if he had to listen to that sound too often. He pulled to the side of the road and felt his heart rate spike at the thought of bad news.

He wasted precious seconds staring at the small LED screen on the mobile in surprise as Bec's number flashed at him impatiently, and the phone continued its ridiculous bleeping noise.

‘
Bec?
' The relief he felt came to a grinding halt as a male voice cut through his greeting.

‘Not quite.'

‘Who the hell is this?'

‘The person who holds the life of someone you care about in his hands.' The voice was coldly detached and it sent a shiver of foreboding along Seb's spine. Breathing slowly, he forced himself to stay calm.

‘Where is she?'

‘She's safe enough … for now.'

‘What the hell do you want?' Seb snarled.

‘I want … justice.'

The property was remote – bordered by national park on all sides and as far off the beaten track as you could possibly go. The bitumen had run out twenty kilometres ago and the dirt track was rough, almost impassable in a few areas due to the recent flooding. Cursing as he missed yet another marker, Seb threw his vehicle into reverse and backed up to take the sharp corner and turnoff to yet another road as instructed by the last text he'd received shortly after the phone call.

As he drove, Seb tried to place the voice, something about it seemed familiar but he couldn't quite place it, although his suspicions grew stronger with each passing minute. The location of the blood, the demands made in the phone call, the fact that this nutcase had abducted Bec, all pointed towards Marty – or more specifically, to Marty's death.

Marty had been the only normal one in his family. His old man was a drunk and a bully, often finding entertainment in humiliating Marty in front of his friends – which largely meant Seb, who was Marty's
only
friend. The two boys had been thick as thieves ever since kindergarten. As a kid, Seb had always harboured secret intentions of coming back to teach Marty's dad a thing or two once he was old enough. Jock Green had been a mean old bastard, and more than once Seb had walked in on a family dispute that had ended in Mrs Green scurrying from the room, holding her face, and Marty ushering his younger brother out of the path of danger. As the eldest, Marty often tried to take the brunt of the punishment to save his younger, frailer, brother Charles. He'd always been a weird kind of kid –
lurking in the background, pale and withdrawn.

They didn't talk about what went on inside the Greens' house, but even at a young age Seb understood that Marty's father didn't treat his wife and kids the way a real father should. The bruises Marty carried on his arms and torso were never discussed either. Seb understood the boundaries, but he also nurtured a burning hatred towards Jock Green, and vowed that one day, the man would no longer be a towering menace. One day, Seb would be taller, bigger and stronger, and then he'd give him a taste of his own medicine. But that day never came. Soon after he and Marty had turned eighteen, Marty would be dead and Seb would be too busy running from the burden of guilt he still carried to even remember his silent vow.

Until now.

Finally, he pulled up in front of a gate, the hinges rusted and barely hanging on; the remains of a foreclosure sign still flapping in the breeze was the only movement that greeted him. He hadn't been out here in a long time. This had been the Greens' property but he figured it must have been repossessed by the bank at some point. He took in the rundown, abandoned state with a frown. A sadness hung over this place that hadn't evaporated once the family who'd lived here had gone. It lingered in the air as heavy and real as the brewing storm that had begun to roll in during the morning.

Seb climbed from his car and slowly approached the gate. A large padlock and a chain so thick that the links were the size of both his thumbs put together secured the gate. Even the boltcutters in his toolbox wouldn't cut that chain; he'd have to leave the car here and hike the rest of the way. A quick glance at his mobile confirmed that he was now also out of phone reception. He'd be on foot and vulnerable – it was not a pleasant feeling.

Taking his small backpack from the vehicle, he shrugged it on while scanning the area for any sign of danger. He always carried a pack in his car for emergencies. He often went on spur-of-the-moment bushwalks while he was out driving if a certain spot snagged his interest. Now he was grateful he had it with him.

A rumble of thunder in the distance made him cast a quick look up at the sky. The wind had picked up in the last few hours. A storm was brewing out to sea and it looked as though it was making its way towards land.

Climbing through the barbed-wire fence, Seb cautiously made his way into the overgrown grass and shrubs, instinctively steering clear of the dirt driveway. Everything about this situation had him on high alert and he wasn't about to casually stroll down the middle of a track and walk blindly into whatever weird trap this freak clearly wanted him to fall into. He picked his way through the bush, mindful of snakes and other dangers that lurked in the relative undisturbed tranquillity of this bushland. The last thing he needed was to end up with a pissed-off brown snake latched onto his leg. His progress was slow and steady. Years of practice had honed his tracking and stalking skills. He trod almost silently through the terrain and took his time surveying the area for any sign of something out of place.

A few kilometres in from the gate, he came to the main homestead and dropped into a crouch. The bush ended, but the overgrown paddocks still provided him with enough cover to make his way closer. The homestead still stood – barely. What remained was a fibro building with more gaps than weatherboards. The windows were broken and it looked as though the cobwebs were about the only thing still holding together much of the bull-nosed verandah. There were no vehicles in sight and Seb wondered how the bastard had gotten out here. He remained in his crouched position a while longer as he got his bearings, listening for any hint of human presence other than his own.

The odd creak and groan from the abandoned homestead carried on the breeze as the last of the afternoon sun heated the rusted iron on the roof and the old timber protested the ravages of time. To his right was a cluster of other buildings – the largest was a machine shed he remembered playing in a few times. There was also the feed shed and a silo for grain, a chook pen and the remains of a fenced-off rectangle that had once been a fruit garden.

A slight noise drew his attention towards the machinery shed – barely more than a whisper, perhaps a whimper or sob, but it was different enough from the other noises around him to warrant his curiosity and he made his way towards it.

As he drew closer, he detected other sounds: a sniff and laboured breathing that had nothing to do with physical exertion and everything to do with some kind of panic attack. Through the gaps in the tin, Seb peered inside, allowing his eyes time to adjust the gloomy darkness. When they did, he could just make out a hunched form in the centre of the room.

Bec.

His heart thudded hard against his chest and he took a deep breath to calm himself. Now was not the time for distractions. He had to focus – this guy was dangerous, an unknown quantity, and for the moment he held all the cards until Seb could figure out what he was dealing with.

He scanned the room carefully. He didn't want to use the front entrance, fearing some kind of trap. Detecting no further movement, he crept along the boundary of the shed until he found a place he could ease through. He made his way silently across the dirt floor to Bec, who was slumped against a pole that had once been part of a hoist used to work on machinery. He kept scanning the dark shadows, alert to the slightest hint of danger.

When he reached her, he whispered her name in a low voice, quickly placing his hand over her mouth when she let out a gasp of surprise. He held her frightened gaze steadily and moved a finger to his lips, warning her to stay quiet before slowly lifting his hand from her mouth. He could tell she was bursting to say something and after taking a brief look around the room, nodded his head, indicating it was okay for her to speak.