Captured (7 page)

Kirsty awoke again, feeling less groggy than before. She was in the same room, still restrained. The room was bright, as before, but there was no indication whether it was night or day. She listened carefully to the sounds that wafted in from outside, but they told her nothing. Not that it made a difference. She might have been trapped there for hours or several weeks: she had no clue.

The room felt different now. Along with the lingering odour, she could feel the clammy moisture clinging to her skin. She thought hard. She still had no idea how she had come to be here. She had tried to piece her memories together, but it was like trying to make sandcastles from dry sand.

She remembered Laos; how she and Grant had travelled the country, before arriving back in Vientiane for their flight to Bangkok. Had they taken the flight? Where was Grant? She felt like the information she needed was staring her in the face, but no matter how hard she focussed, she couldn’t remember.

She had slept deeply since she’d first woken here, waking infrequently. Confused at first, she would try to kick-start her fuzzy brain into action, before unknowingly drifting off, and repeating the whole process again, a few hours, maybe even days later, she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t seen anyone since she’d been here; at least, she didn’t remember seeing anyone. Her cries had gotten louder since the first time, but no one ever answered. Once, she thought she heard the music in the next room get louder, but she was starting to distrust her own senses.

She tried to sit up. The pain in her head, while slightly duller now, still throbbed sharply. Her eyes were still swollen and her vision unfocussed. She tried in vain to lift her head, grunting from the exertion, but nothing happened. This time though, she managed to tilt her head forward a fraction, far enough to see more of the opposite wall of the room. It was lined with wardrobe doors that reached the ceiling, greyish, like the rest of the room. It told her nothing new about her location.

Frustrated and impatient for answers now, she tried to ignore the pain, and turned her head slowly to the right. She started. She wasn’t alone, as she had thought. She blinked several times, long, rolling blinks to clear the fuzziness from her vision. She opened her eyes again at the same time as she felt pressure on her right shoulder. Everything turned fuzzy again.

Traffic was gridlocked as usual, but the day was bright and sunny, and Grace felt herself relax in the back of the taxi. First up was Wat Pho temple. She had heard about it from a colleague who had adored the mythical lions and brightly-coloured floral tiles. She wasn’t disappointed when she finally walked through the gates, renting a sarong from a saffron-robed monk to cover her bare legs. It was a world away from the staid churches her mother had dragged her to as a child. Golden pagodas gleamed in the sunlight, as more brightly-attired monks walked single-file in orderly lines, seemingly oblivious to the hoard of tourists snapping their pictures.

She wandered around in the searing heat for a while, admiring the intricately painted tiles. Soon she was overwhelmed by the humidity and the cacophony, and sought solace inside a cool, dimly-lit temple.  It was crowded inside too, but a respectful hush prevailed. She slipped off her flip flops and padded quietly to the altar, on which sat a small Buddha idol, carved from jade. The altar sat in an alcove decorated with gold tiles, which caught the dim reflections of candlelight on their tarnished surface. She knelt on one of the worn cushions, feeling self conscious as she gathered the sarong around her knees to avoid touching the fabric. All around her, people were kneeling forward on cushions, holding smoking incense sticks and loose bunches of lotus flowers. For the first time in several days, she felt peace wash over her, as she closed her eyes and tried to stop moping about her friend’s betrayal.

After half an hour, she left the cool sanctuary in a daze. She felt the same calm that often enveloped her after yoga classes, on the occasion that she found time to participate.

Chatuchak Market was on the other side of the city, so Grace was prepared for a long journey. It didn’t take long for her stresses and worries to fight their way back inside her mind. The car crawled along a street lined with tiny shops peddling golden Buddha statues of every variation imaginable: from large, fat and salubrious to small and reverent. She soon found herself thinking about Kirsty again. Her rational brain was fighting a war against the niggling doubts that human nature threw its way. Insecurity wasn’t one of Grace’s weaknesses, yet she struggled to contain it now.

The market was bigger than she had expected: she had read that it was the largest market in south East Asia, but that title hadn’t prepared her for the sprawling reality. The whole thing was organised by product, with sections for practically everything one could imagine. She rounded the corner from a fabric stall and passed a tough looking woman blowing bubbles to attract customers to her frozen drinks stand. A moment later, she was standing before a cage filled with tiny bunnies, dressed up for the market with red ribbons tied around their tiny necks. There were dog stores and wig shops interspersed with the more standard market fare of sunglasses stalls and pirated DVDs. Her favourite was a cowboy and western stall, complete with a huge Native American feather headdress. The denim-clad proprietress barely saw her; she was apparently too engrossed by the guitar performance of a man in a Stetson.

After wandering around for two hours, she still wasn’t convinced she had seen everything, but the stalls were already beginning to pack up. She stood in the middle of a walkway trying to decide what to do: she was exhausted, but didn’t want to miss any of the intriguing places.

“You wan’ try?”

Grace hadn’t noticed the little stall until she heard the voice. When she turned around, a short, tidy man was looking at her, smiling and gesturing to the table in front of him.

She walked forward a couple of steps to take a closer look. She had been so engrossed that she had grown ravenously hungry without even realising. She did a double take when she saw what was on offer. It was a smorgasbord of bugs. The table was split into three sections: worms, cockroaches and some other multi-legged creature she couldn’t – and didn’t want to – recognise.

The stall-owner was smiling at her with a wicked, gap-toothed grin. It didn’t take much to translate his look as a challenge to the fainthearted tourist. She rankled.

“I’ll try one of those,” she said, rising to the challenge, pointing at the worms and holding up one finger.

The man looked extremely pleased, picked up one of the charred grubs, and held it out to her. When she took it, he moved to serve a young Thai couple standing behind her. Grace was amazed to see him filling a thin plastic bag with the creatures. When he had finished, he returned his attention to Grace, as did the couple. She forced a smile and tried to stifle her gag reflex. They continued to watch her expectantly. She closed her eyes and placed the odious thing in her mouth, trying to close her throat as she chewed, repulsed.

When she opened her watery eyes, her audience was still watching, with concerned looks on their faces. She was surprised to realise that she hadn’t been sick, and that it actually tasted of nothing. The young couple clapped delighted, and stayed to chat with her for a while in excellent English as the stall owner packed up his wares.

Grace felt much better as she walked through the revolving door of the hotel, buoyed by her courage. As she passed the reception desk, she saw the receptionist talking rapidly at a young man in a blue shirt, who was poring over her PC with studious concentration. She was struck by inspiration, and wondered why she hadn’t thought of calling him before.

Checking her watch and mentally calculating the time difference, she hurried back to her room, retrieving his number from her mobile on the way. She picked up the received and typed in the digits quickly, realising that she hadn’t needed to call up the number. She hung up before it started ringing.  They hadn’t spoken for months now, and from the way Kirsty had described her brief encounter with him, his anger hadn’t dissipated. She clutched the receiver to her chest and breathed deeply, before tapping in his number again, more slowly this time.

“Lennox.”

“Neil. Hi. It’s me.” She felt breathless and dizzy; her heart was pounding.
What if he just hangs up on me?

“Grace.”

“Look I need to trace an email, is that even possible?”

She heard him exhale; then, nothing.

“Neil?”

“It’s about Kirsty,” he said finally. “I saw your email. Yeah it’s possible. Who’s the email from?”

“Kirsty,” she whispered, waiting for him to reproach her for wasting his time.

He was silent for a moment. “Sure, I can look into it. Is it in your work or personal email?”

“Personal,” she confirmed. “Do you need me to send you the email, or my password, or what?”

She was sure she heard him chuckle softly. “You might want to change your passwords once in a while.”

“Thanks. I know she got in contact, but I’m worried...” she stopped, hearing dial tone.  She felt a sharp stab of regret.

Grace had a quick dinner at the hotel and headed back to the internet cafe, ready to give up and move her return flight forward. The most likely explanation was that Kirsty simply didn’t want Grace in her life any more. She looked so happy in the photos, with her tall, handsome stranger. The zen calm from earlier had withered away, and all Grace wanted to do was get back home and clear the mountain of work that had already built up in her absence. She felt like a fool for calling Neil.

Grace threw her clothes into the sleek black case and sat down, struggling to zip it closed. After a marathon phone call with UK Airways, during which she spoke with five different members of the reservations staff, she managed to move her return flight closer, but to the ungodly departure time of 7am. She’d gotten out of her routine of rising at dawn, so the alarm call came as a sharp shock.

Dragging her half-closed case to reception, she signed her bill and bade farewell to the reception staff, feeling a fleeting resentment for the inflated cost of her extended stay. She wished Kirsty luck with her new beau, but she’d wasted nearly two weeks of holiday time and tarnished her hard-earned reputation with her bosses. She didn’t relish the idea of speaking to her mother, who would have a field day.

She followed the taxi driver outside, allowing him to carry her haphazardly packed luggage, ignoring her bleeping phone until she’d sat in the back seat and closed the door of the garish pink and green car.

Checked the IP address: it’s in Bangkok. The address it’s registered to is 305, Suriani Apartments, Soi Sok Cha, Bangkok 10110. Be safe. N.

Grace’s stomach felt like it was plummeting. “I’m such an idiot,” she muttered.

She could see the cab driver watching her curiously in the rear-view mirror. She sat back as the cab thrust itself into the thick web of Bangkok’s traffic.

As the car lurched along the highway, Grace’s misgivings returned. What if everyone was just
wrong
? They’d been the best of friends for over fifteen years. Hurt as she felt, she knew she might just have to swallow her feelings and go confront Kirsty.

The cab wasn’t going anywhere as she dithered over what to do. She hadn’t told the office that she was coming back early, so she could try and navigate the airline’s bureaucratic depths again and change the flight. But was it worth it? If their friendship was over, maybe she should just let it lie and move on with her life...

Grace ground her teeth in the back of the cab; they hadn’t moved for almost ten minutes now. At this rate she was going to miss her flight anyway. At least then the decision would be made for her. She scrolled through her messages, reopening Lennox’s. She leaned forward and showed the message to the driver.

“Do you know where this is?”

He shrugged.

“Soi Sok Cha,” she tried, hoping she was pronouncing it correctly.

He turned around and looked back at her, seemingly deep in thought, before replying in a volley of Thai. Grace gave up, and opened her mobile browser to search for the address. Thai street names were indecipherable to her; she had almost given up trying to find a familiar series of squiggles when she spotted it. Sukhumvit MRT station. She frowned; that was only a couple of blocks from her hotel.
What on earth was going on
, she wondered, as she instructed the driver to turn around.

On the verge of losing her patience at the impenetrable gridlock, she opened her email, intent on getting through some client emails while she was stuck in the car. After five minutes, unable to concentrate, she opened her personal email.

From: Simon Williams

To: Grace Harris

Hi Grace,

Sorry it’s taken me so long to reply, I’ve been out of the office on mandatory leave. I haven’t heard from Kirsty really, she sent a group email some time back but that’s about it. Look, do you really think there’s something up?

Simon

Well, obviously I think there’s something up
, she thought, typing a terse reply. Did everyone just think she was mad?

She clicked back through to her work emails but it was no use; she could neither focus nor rid herself of that deeply unsettled feeling. Throwing her phone across the seat into her bag in frustration, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, willing sleep to wash over her.

Grace’s head jerked forward painfully, bringing her back to consciousness immediately. She rubbed her neck, feeling the faint emotional dregs of disturbed dreams. Looking out of the car window, she wondered how long she’d been asleep. Still in a daze, she tried to force herself to concentrate, to find the basis for the uneasy feeling that remained. The bright morning sun made her eyes water. She rubbed them and leaned back against the seat, yawning.  It looked as if they’d barely gained any ground in the gridlock.

“Excuse me.” She leaned forward towards the driver. “Can you take me back to the hotel?”

He looked at her blankly in the rear-view mirror.

Grace pointed towards the back of the car.

Having finally reached the hotel, Grace checked in again, and walked to the police station.

Entering the busy building, she nodded a greeting to the young desk officer, before she began making her way through the crowded lobby; she’d become a familiar face here during her time in Bangkok, although she could tell that the police had become increasingly frustrated at her doggedness.

“Friend maybe no in Bangkok. Friend maybe no in Thailand.” They’d shrugged repeatedly.

She hadn’t blamed them: it was a busy station close to the red-light district, and she knew her story sounded vague. This time, though, she had more concrete information.

She waited for what felt like hours, constantly looking over at the desk. She was met each time with the same inscrutable smile.

“You’ friend
in
Bangkok?” the officer smiled shaking his head, when she approached again after fidgeting in one of the blue plastic chairs for fifteen minutes.

They don’t believe me
, she thought, returning to her plastic chair. She was sweating profusely in the clammy heat.
If only I could speak Thai,
she thought, frustrated. She remembered Richard’s email as soon as the thought entered her mind.

She scrolled furiously through to his email, hoping to find his mobile number, before realising it was the middle of the night back in London. Writing a short message asking him to call her as soon as possible with the details of his Thai-speaking friend, she remembered Simon’s email, and the story Kirsty had told her about his past. She scrolled back through her inbox and noted the date and time of his email.

Another favour Neil - IP address for the email from Simon earlier this morning??

Knowing that she was unlikely to hear back from either of them for several hours, she left the station and turned in the direction of the hotel. Her mind spun with confusion.

Grace tried to sleep, but it was pointless. She had never been patient. Her return flight to London had departed several hours ago, and she knew now that she’d never feel comfortable leaving without confronting Kirsty.

Abandoning hope of getting any work done, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes; her head was spinning.

Twelve o’clock.

Half past.

By one, she was stalking the room with a manic energy, knowing there was nothing else she could do: she had to visit Kirsty and find out what was going on. She checked her email for what felt like the hundredth time since she arrived back at the hotel. There was another email from Kirsty.

This time, it was a group email.

Hi everyone.

I hope you’re all well. This is just a quick note: I’ll send a proper update soon. I just wanted to let you all know that I’m ok – some of you might have received an email recently suggesting otherwise. I’ve gained a few pounds from all of the food I’m sampling, but apart from that, everything’s fine and dandy!

I’m going on a hike in a few hours, so won’t have access to email or Skype for a while. I’ll email when I get back!

Kirsty

What on earth was going on, Grace wondered. As of a few hours ago, Kirsty was in Bangkok. In an apartment. Of course, she could be going hiking, but it still didn’t explain why she’d cancelled her plans with Grace.

She wasn’t sure how Richard would react to her message, now. If it was her, she knew, she’d be deeply sceptical about being asked to drag a friend into someone else’s suppositions, especially if she had just received an email from the purportedly missing person announcing to the world that she was fine.

She reached for her phone and copied the address from Lennox’s email into the map program, searching for directions from her hotel. As she’d discovered earlier, it was less than a mile away. Drawing a rough map on the hotel notepad, she tore the sheet off and stuffed it in her bag. She had to go now before it was too late.

The afternoon heat and humidity were even more intense than usual, and she found it almost unbearable, like walking through a swimming pool. The occasional breeze felt like the air from a hairdryer droning in her face.

The area bustled with early afternoon activity. Street vendors hustled and called hoarsely from cramped stalls set up along both sides of the streets. Although she’d walked these streets numerous times in the past two weeks, Grace was always struck by the lush green trees that seemed so out of place within the urban sprawl.

She tried to quell the feeling of unease that had haunted her since earlier that morning, but could do nothing to stop the rising feeling of dread, even as she told herself that nothing bad could happen with so many people around.

She snorted loudly. “I’ve worked in London for how long and I’m reassuring myself that I’m safe because I’m surrounded by people?” she frowned when a paunchy western man in front of her turned back to stare. 

She looked away embarrassed
. Get a grip, Grace.

She turned onto Sok Cha Street. Her palms were sweating. She double-checked the apartment number in the message as she entered the building, even though she could recite the entire address from memory by then.

Sok Cha Street was quieter than the surrounding streets: even though it seemed to have the same mix of commercial and residential buildings, it had a more dilapidated air.

She arrived at Suriani Apartments and saw it was a dusty white tower block. It was situated around three hundred feet from the start of the street, and another two hundred from the other end – a dead end apparently, judging from the multiple sheets of rusting corrugated iron that boarded it up. The faded wooden entry door housed a large window, its cracked glass held in place by a checkerboard of security wire.

Grace pushed the door open and peered inside tentatively. The foyer was dark, and it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust. There was no security; it didn’t look like there ever had been, judging from the lack of a desk or table. In fact, the room was completely empty, highlighting the dishevelled state of the grubby linoleum floor, whose edges were starting to peel away in the corners.

She crossed the room and pressed the call button and waited. As the doors to the closest lift clattered open, she took out her phone, trying to remember the English language emergency services number. Why couldn’t she remember it? She’d spent enough time in the police station recently, and there had even been signs in the hotel. She held her foot in the doorway, preventing the doors from closing again.
One.... One...Shit!
  She tapped in the regular emergency number, knowing it was more of a paranoid precaution, and assuming that if anything
awful
did happen, they’d probably be able to track the address using her phone signal.

Who would?

Pushing the thought from her mind, she dropped the phone in the pocket of her dress and pressed
3
, removing her foot from the doorway.

Apartment 305. Grace swallowed in a vain attempt to quell her nerves.
What’s the worst that can happen? Kirsty refuses to see me?
She thought, her quivering hand hovering inches from the door.

“Kirsty, it’s me, Grace,” she said loudly, after rapping three times on the door.

Silence. She moved closer to the door and turned her head to the side, listening for any sign of activity. She thought she heard a faint dull thud. She couldn’t tell whether it was real or a product of the adrenaline coursing through her body.

“Kirsty?”

There was no answer. She twisted the handle, surprised when it turned in her hand.

Inching the door open, she stepped cautiously inside, scanning the visible interior for her friend. “Kirsty? Where are you?”

She was inside now. The door had opened straight into a living area, which was even duller than the foyer, several floors below. The windows were obscured by heavy floor-to-ceiling curtains, their dull corporate colour matching the hue of the carpet and the two couches. These were arranged at ninety degrees to each other on Grace’s left, facing an old-fashioned CRT television set. It was silent, but Grace could make out the CNN logo through the wall of static on the screen.

Turning to her right, Grace called out again. “Kirsty?”

She started towards the three doors on the other side of the room, past the kitchen area. She changed course and was tip-toeing her way to the knife rack when the door slammed shut, breaking the silence with a loud bang that sent her heart plummeting.