What You Left Behind (38 page)

Freddie had then been tightly gagged and hauled by his legs into a dark corner. The barn doors had slammed shut and he’d been alone ever since, dozing fitfully. It was still daylight, but he’d been grabbed early in the morning, so he could have been lying there for five hours or seven hours, or longer.

He woke to a noise—doors opening and shutting. Someone was coming.

Him
.

Freddie watched in horror as the man walked in and began dragging bales of straw from their storage place into the middle of the barn. He made a choked sound but his throat was so dry, the gag so tight, he could hardly be heard. He heard grunts and curses as the precarious stack of bales grew. As each one was shifted, clouds of dust filled the dank air. Freddie’s lungs burned as he watched the tower get taller.

Just minutes later the man was cutting his gag away and he was gasping for breath. He opened and shut his stiff jaw, rubbing at his cracked lips.

“What are you doing?” he begged, feeling terrified.

“Stand up.”

Freddie’s heart hammered in his chest as he stared up at the tall structure. He pushed himself farther back toward the wall, his feet scuffing frantically on the floor, trying to get away even though it was futile. He was shaking, had no idea what to do.

“I said fucking get up.”

He was yanked up by his bad arm, and even though the pain was excruciating, it didn’t compare to the fear he now felt inside, for he had seen the rope—thick, coiled, trailing along the floor, one end knotted and looped. He couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“What are you doing with that?” Freddie said, praying his text had got through to Lana and she’d understood his garbled words and would somehow find him. “Please, just tell me what’s going on.”

His heart thumped in his chest and his limbs felt icy cold from adrenaline. He scanned around, searching for a way to escape, but was dragged toward the stack of straw, the grip on his arm vise-like.

“Everyone knows you’re a miserable little fucker. And lovesick,
too, I would bet.” The rope was right in front of him now. “I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Freddie tried to shake his head, pull back, but he was frozen.

“So no one will be very surprised to find”—he picked up the rope by the noose, looked up at the thick crossbeam above—“that you decided to end it all.”

“What? What are you going on about?” Freddie’s eyes were saucers as the loop, wide and gaping, was slipped over his head. “Stop it! I don’t want to die!” he shrieked, but the knife came up to his face, threatening, and the rope pulled tight around his neck.

“Get up on the bales.
Now!
”

Freddie wanted to run for it, make a dash for the door, but he’d have to get the rope off somehow first and his hands were still tied.

“You’re crazy. You can’t do this.” He wriggled, but it was no good. “
Help!
” he yelled, fighting as much as he could. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die …” His voice was buckling now, cracking like a fourteen-year-old’s. “Please, God, someone, help me …”

A vicious kick to his knee dropped him to the floor. His face was suddenly in the dirt, and almost in the same instant he was hauled back up by the neck like a puppet, his screams of pain mercilessly ignored. He watched in horror as the long end of the rope was slung over the beam above the stack of bales and pulled tight. Then he was being shoved toward the tower and made to get onto the first tier with a sharp kick up his backside.

The scent of straw filled his nostrils as his face hit the bales—perhaps the last thing he’d ever smell, Freddie thought. It was almost impossible to climb with the taut rope throttling him, but he was forced to scramble up using his legs alone. If he didn’t, he’d be strangled instantly. One of the lower bales gave way when he was ten feet up and he felt himself drop. He’d never felt so terrified or alone in his entire life. He tried to scream, but couldn’t.

“Keep climbing!”

Freddie’s only option was to do as he was told.

Finally, he reached the top. The rope was still tight and the beam directly above him now. Another bale fell out of the now leaning tower, making him hardly dare breathe, let alone move. If the whole lot fell, he’d be hanging, dead within minutes.

Briefly, the photographs he’d found of Simon flashed through his mind. He could see quite clearly now what had happened. Simon hadn’t killed himself, just as he knew Lenny hadn’t killed himself either. Freddie didn’t want to go the same way as them.

His ears pounded with the blood being forced into his head—a
woosh-woosh
in time with his panicked heartbeat—and his lips bulged and his eyeballs throbbed as the rope bit deeper. The tower swayed beneath him as he teetered on tiptoes, trying to release some of the pressure in his head. He stared down in disbelief and saw that the rope was lashed to a metal hook in the wall.

Oh God, please don’t let me die
.

Then he was left alone, and the warmth came, spreading through his trousers as he pissed himself, knowing that if one more bale slipped, it would all be over.

36

I slap my head until it hurts. Freddie is gone and if he dies like Simon and Dean and Lenny it will be my fault. It hurts when I breathe, a stabbing pain in my lungs. Sometimes Sonia takes me to the hospital because of my chest but I don’t care about that now. I just want Freddie to come back.

Slowly, I open the door of my house and look out. It was hours ago when he ran away from me and charged straight into Frank’s arms. I’ve been hiding ever since, scared of what would happen. I know they went off toward the big barn. I know every sound around here. I haven’t dared go outside since.

Eventually, I step out of my house, knowing I should have stopped them. But I wasn’t sure how. That’s why I hid. Tony would tell me that I was a coward, that I should be ashamed of myself. He’s right
and that is why I am going to get Freddie. I have got some courage now.

Smudge pads across the gravel with me. I wish Sonia was here to help me.

I go around the edge of the courtyard toward the barn, keeping my back close to the wall, weaving between the shrubs, creeping along the rotting wood of the garage doors until I have to go out into the open to get across the grass to the barn. I am shaking, praying no one will see me, because then they would ask questions and my voice wouldn’t work.

I peer through the barn window and my fingers sink into the spongy wood of the rotten windowsill. Thick cobwebs across the glass block most of my view. It’s dark inside but I can still see there’s a mess in there. I go round to the big doors at the end and pull them open.

“Hello?” I say nervously, going inside.

Something touches my ankles and I jump. When I look down, it’s only Smudge. He makes a croaky meow.

“Is anyone in here?” I call out, going farther in.

The heavy doors swing shut behind me and everything goes darker again.

It’s as though someone’s been fighting. Sonia will be cross when she sees all the straw stacked up in the wrong place. All her tools for taking care of the horses’ hooves have been tipped out of their box too. I gather up the picks and the files and put them away neatly and then I see the knife sitting on the crate. It’s the one Sonia uses for cutting the twine on the bales. It used to live in the kitchen drawer but now it lives out here. I pick it up slowly, turning it over and over, staring at the razor-sharp blade. This could kill someone, I think, putting it back down again.

“Freddie?” I call out, a bit louder now, venturing round the other side of the big stack. “Are you in here will you come back with me because I want to keep you safe and we can have another omelette?”

“Help …”

The voice is small and weak and coming from up high. I stare up, going right round the tower of bales, accidentally kicking one.

“Get back …”

Around the other side of the bales I see Freddie balanced on top of them. He has a rope tied around his neck and his face is purple. He can hardly speak.

“What are you doing up there, Freddie?” I ask, frowning. “Don’t you know that’s dangerous?” Sonia always tells me to learn from my mistakes. I learned that I shouldn’t do my exercises up high anymore. “You are silly and need to get down right now.”

“Please … get me … down … help me …”

“It serves you right if you are stuck,” I say. “Though I will help you because you are my friend and I would like you to come back to my house and we can cook more food together.”

I go back and get the knife from the crate and stare up, frowning at the stack of bales. They don’t look very safe, but I will have to climb up there if I’m to save Freddie. I give the bottom one a kick, to see how sturdy it is, but then some straw breaks away and it half caves in. Freddie drops down a few inches, his legs writhing and kicking, searching for something to stand on. Finally, he gets his feet back on a bale again. He’s making a funny noise in his throat.

“Wait Freddie, I am coming up,” I say, hoisting myself up onto the first bale.

He’s trying to speak but I can’t understand him. It’s hard to climb with the big knife in my hand, and I’m worried that someone will hear me, or Frank will come back and then when I think of that my chest hurts again and I get frightened.

A bale gives way.

“
Watch … out
 …” Freddie gasps.

His bulging eyes stare down at me as I get closer. It feels as if we could topple over at any moment.

“Don’t worry Freddie,” I say, nearing the top. There’s not much
room for us both up there but I need to get all the way up to cut the rope. “You mustn’t do your exercises like this anymore.”

I am panting and my arms are tired. I stretch my leg up to the final bale, but a chunk of the one I’m standing on falls away, making me grab the twine of another. That slips too, and I drop down a few feet.

Freddie is sobbing as I haul myself up again. I’m finally at the top, and it’s just as I’m standing up, wobbling, trying to get my balance, the knife only inches away from Freddie’s neck, that I notice the face staring in at the window.

37

Lana had rattled the door handle hard, close to tears. Everything was her fault, and she didn’t know how to make it better.

“It’s locked,” she’d said to her mum, wishing they’d come to look for Gil sooner.

They pushed through the weeds to get round to the window. Lana rubbed at the glass with her sweatshirt sleeve. “I can’t see him,” she said. A sinking feeling gripped her from the inside out. “Freddie’s text message this morning … you don’t think he meant that Gil had got him, do you?”

Lana was relieved when her mother laughed, despite the red welt blooming on her cheek. “Of course not. Gil wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“That’s what I thought,” Lana said quietly, staring at the ground a few feet away from the tack room. “What’s that?”

Sonia tracked her gaze and bent down to pick up the bright red rubber band.

“Looks like one of those charity wristbands,” she said. “Someone must have dropped it.”

Lana took it from her. “It’s Freddie’s, I’m certain of it.” She read the words around the edge. “I was there when he bought it. I have one too, look, in a different color.” She flashed her wrist. “Do you think he dropped it on purpose?”

Sonia shrugged. “If he’s run away, he’s not going to hang around here. He must know everyone’s out looking for him.”

“But he didn’t
want
to run away,” Lana said. “I’m certain of that. Freddie loves his mum and … and …” And I love him too, she thought, not knowing how to begin telling her mum everything. She’d been through enough this last year.

“Look,” Sonia said, staring twenty feet farther on. “There’s another one.” The sun had come out from behind a cloud and caught the bright yellow color.

“That belongs to Freddie too,” Lana exclaimed, running over to it. “He
has
been here, hasn’t he?”

“It is strange, I admit.” Sonia paused. “I wouldn’t bank on him being here now, though. And that fits with what Gil was saying, that it was his fault he’d been taken away.”