to happen.

He ignored me and formed a half smile, walking back towards me once again, stopping in front of me.

“I move over here – half to get away from the fenians and here I am with a Catholic right hand man named Danny. Oh Danny Boy,” he half sang over to him, “Maybe Carlos, we’ll start calling you Mick – what’ya reckon?”

He gave a throaty chuckle and looked through me as if I wasn’t there. He walked away, stopping half across the room.

“Yes boss,” Carlos said, hard faced, humouring him. He was a big fella and cold with it. But he seemed to do what he was told. A bad combination, I considered – certainly for me.

“Bring her to me,” Sammy said suddenly and stopped a few feet away, stubbing out his smoke on the sofa, then flicking it away.

Carlos heaved me up and marched me across to him. Then he held me in front of Sammy as he leaned in. His voice softened,

“Just tell us what we want to know and give us our shit back.”

My brow furrowed, not understanding at all. I thought maybe he registered my genuine confusion.

“What are you talking about?” I whispered simply.

“C’mon Vicky, you stole information and we want it back. Maybe you’ll come out of this thing okay, but now’s the time to start talkin’.”

I was furious. Furious now that I was convinced that something bad was about to happen, but I couldn’t make them believe me.

“I have no fucking idea what you’re on about,” I shouted, straining against Carlos, my wrists stinging all the more against the tight grip of the handcuffs.

“Sammy’s left hand whipped up and the first I knew of it, was the sting of his back handed slap across my face. Before I could in any way react, he grabbed me with his right hand, by the chin, gripping me hard.

“You’re doing yourself no fucking favours,” he hissed, squeezing tighter, “You stole our fucking shit – memory sticks, hard copies – all of it! All that was in that bag over there. Last fucking chance, before we start to fuckin’ drown ya.”

I just shook my head, his hand moving with it, still gripping my face. I was unable to speak – fear also gripping me tightly. All I could do was sob.

“Right well,” he said, letting go and looking to Danny. I didn’t think he seemed as sold on the idea as Carlos was, but he didn’t complain either.

Sammy nodded, then Carlos whipped me off my feet and began to drag me towards where Danny was hunkered down. I kicked out as he flung me like a rag doll.

“Help! Help!” I screamed.

I’m sure I realised there was no one was going to help me, it was sheer horror and desperation.

Fuck! Surely my life is worth something? Auntie Grace needed me. My Dad had loved me.

The dragging along the floor, friction burned my side, as my top rode up. My heart raced with panic. Suddenly they were all on me and my legs flipped up into the air. I was wedged sideways, face up, over a wooden chair. A knee held one of my arms down. I tried to yell, but the jerking took the air from my lungs. Someone yanked my head roughly back by the hair. I shouted and screamed, then one of them punched me hard in the stomach, doubling me over. I struggled and writhed, trying furiously to break free, or at least make it difficult for them. I was now held down tight, fully at their mercy. Then I realised that my head was hanging inches above a basin, and to my left was Sammy. He was poised with a jug of water and a grubby strip of rag. I fought even harder. I spat and kicked. It made no odds.

Suddenly I wanted my mother. I cried for my mum. It wasn’t often I thought of her and never fondly. But I wanted her in that moment. I needed her. I had never been so alone. I had ever been so helpless. Then the rag was stuffed in my mouth and water flooded down towards me.

Panic, pain, then nothingness.

I don’t know how long it had been going on for before I first passed out. My lungs felt like they had swallowed a bottle of bleach apiece.

Burning, searing pain.

I can remember the first part. They had held me, head bent back, legs in the air, my back almost vertical. The water seemed to rush at me from everywhere, my senses were so overcome. I gagged as my mouth and then my throat filled with an endless supply of water. It was as if the rag over my mouth had a thousand tiny holes in it. I was conscious of the rest of my body feeling oddly dry and then I had the vivid sensation that I was actually drowning. I repeatedly gagged, unable to tell if I was vomiting in my own mouth or not – the waves of water now flooding my chest cavity. Then I was being tipped up, barely conscious, and my body began emptying itself of water, like an upturned tin bath. I greedily gasped in life saving breaths, panting wheezily. Seconds later and I was being tipped the other way, the jug skirting furiously around my lips like an angry lover.

“We wanna know what you’ve done with it. Just tell us and it will all be over.”

Before I could speak, it started again.

29

I came to the last time, spread out on the floor, soaked through. I was hacking, struggling for breath, laying in a puddle of water and blood. It sounds weird, but despite everything, I also experienced some kind of thrill. I was elated to be alive. I was thankful that it had stopped for now and I was thankful not yet to be dead. Then my eyes focused together. They focused on Sammy, now stooped over me.

“What do you mean you killed Ivan?” he asked quietly, his

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