were several large pieces buried, but he could not dislodge them. He felt the next one give a little, and prised with his fingers until it came free suddenly. He nearly fell. He steadied himself, carrying the baseball-sized rock, and continued on his way along to the far edge of the back of the boatshed.
Jamaal's mother had tried to teach him religion, but he'd never really taken to it. Tonight, however, had taught him to believe. A tiny glance around the corner of the shed at who waited there showed him that God had brought her here as a gift. He took a very deep breath and raised his eyes towards heaven.
With one stride and a silent lunge, Jamaal crossed the sand between himself and Jill and smashed the rock down on her head.
44
A pair of blinding headlights bore down upon Jill, filling her with a sense of urgency. Got to get out of here! The lights came closer, but she stood paralysed, pinned to the spot, frozen in the knowledge that she was about to be annihilated. The twin lights filled her vision; her brain burned with the heat of them. Any moment now they would smash her down, crush her completely. She moaned in pain, and the white-eyed girl woke her up.
The lights. Just her eyes – the white-eyed girl. Another nightmare was all. Jill tried to reassure herself, slow her breathing, open her own eyes.
What the fuck? thought Jill. It was pitch black. Eyes open or closed. Inside her head, the white-eyed girl nodded solemnly. You're blind too, she told Jill without speaking.
Jill sat up fast, shuffled backwards, trying to get away from the little girl in her head, from wherever she was, from the knowledge, deep down, that she was once again captive somewhere and that she couldn't see. She whimpered when her head struck an object, pain sending a rolling wave of nausea through her stomach. Head between her knees, a hard surface beneath her, Jill tried to take stock. What had she last been doing? It all came back, still-shots in her mind of the last hours that she could remember. The phone call from Mercy; the drive to Hunters Hill; creeping down to the water's edge; Mercy, on the floor, her chest blown out. Then blackness. It was completely and utterly black.
She raised a hand to the back of her head, the movement bringing back the seasick feeling. Her hand came away wet. Did she slip and fall, hit her head? Maybe she was in hospital? Scotty found her injured and brought her here. That's it, she lied to herself, knowing that she was sitting on a hard, cold floor, probably concrete, not a bed; aware that nothing in here smelled or sounded like a hospital. Mentally, she pushed hard at the doors in her mind, holding back with all her might the horror of knowledge that bulged behind them.
She felt she was in a large room; it sounded echoey, kind of empty. It smelled earthy, like underground. Like a basement.
The white-eyed girl was back, nodding wisely. We've got to face it now.
Jill scrambled for something to think about, anything. Not in the basement. Not for real. Wake up! She reached up to her eyes, put her fingers on her eyeballs, pressed. A flare of orange inside her head, then nothing. Her eyes were wide open, and there was no light. It was not just the darkness of a room, she was sure of it. She could see nothing at all.
The little girl was right. She was alone, blind, and in the basement.
Jill ignored the silent admonishment of the white-eyed girl and, curled into a foetal ball, gave in to terrified sobs. The last two decades were an illusion. This was real. She'd never been safe. She had no control. Nothing could be worse than this.
And then she heard footsteps just outside the room. Jerome had only seen houses like this on TV. When they got out of the cupboard, he stuck close to Tadpole, feeling minus-cule under the cavernous space of the three-metre-high ceilings. Through huge windows, Jerome could see it was very dark outside. His footsteps echoed on the shiny floors.
Where was the party? Was this another trick? When his parents had people over, every chair was taken and there were people in each room, talking and laughing, ruffling his hair when he passed by. Kids running through hallways, slowing to a giggling walk when they passed a group of adults, whooping and running again when they turned a corner. He couldn't even hear anyone talking. He looked up at Tadpole, and the man smiled down at him, his eyes glittery and weird. Jerome looked back down at his shoes, wishing his dad would come get him.
They walked past several open archways, and he glimpsed gleaming surfaces and empty furniture. And then Jerome heard music. Quiet, tinkly music. By this time of night at a party in his neighbourhood, they'd be playing Cold Chisel or Midnight Oil, or something like that. He and his friends would be pissing themselves, watching the oldies jerk around like they thought they were dancing. It was the best bit, but you had to force yourself to stay awake long enough for them to have had enough to drink. Even though it was really embarrassing, he also kind of liked it when his mum and dad would start kissing in the middle of the dancing.
They walked through a hallway, approaching a corner on the left. He could hear people speaking in soft voices. He couldn't hear any other kids. Thank God, he thought, looking down at his shiny shoes, pulling at the belt. At least they wouldn't see him dressed like this. A belt, for godsakes.
When they rounded the corner, no-one really paid any attention at first. No-one dressed like this at any party he'd ever been to either. Jerome was pretty sure his dad didn't even own a suit. He looked around, and couldn't help but feel a little awed by the beautiful room, the fireplace, the long white table covered in platters of food that looked great, and the important-looking men, standing and sitting around. All men. He took another look around. Not one dress or skirt in here. These people were just freakin' weird.
Jerome stepped onto a thick, round rug he thought his mum would probably like. She was always trying to stop his dad to look at stuff like this as he marched through department stores ahead of her. Thinking of his mum and dad so much made his throat hurt again.
A man sitting in a chair to Jerome's left looked straight at him and gasped. The man stood up and several others near him looked up. Everyone started talking and then suddenly the whole room stared at him and Tadpole. He turned around to see if maybe someone else had come in behind them, but there was no-one else there. They all just gawped at him. This was absolutely the worst. The men had all stopped whatever they were doing and stood full-on staring. Jerome wished there was one of those trapdoors underneath him right now, and he could just bolt back down to the underground room. He knew he looked like a dork, but what the fuck were they all staring at, really?
And then they started to clap. Jamaal knew that he was indispensable to Sebastian now. He had brought him the boy, and when he'd told him he had the cop bitch in the basement, he'd seen his boss was pleased. He told Sebastian that he'd dropped some of Carter's optometrist solution into her eyes, to keep her from seeing anything if she woke up before they got back down there.
'That was very quick thinking, Jamaal. And you're certain there was no-one else on the grounds?'
'She must have come alone. It's all quiet everywhere else. I looked carefully.'
'Oh, I'm quite certain that you did. Was the boy in there when you brought her in?'
'No. Tadpole had just taken him out. They'll be out there by now.' He indicated with his chin to the rooms outside the study.
'I see.' A wrinkle of annoyance creased Sebastian's forehead. 'Well, I really should be out there too, you know, Jamaal. We can't have people helping themselves before I've established the pecking order.' He stood to leave.
'Would you mind very much going back down there,' he continued, 'and checking to see that our new guest has everything she needs and that she is not getting herself into any trouble?'
Jamaal stared as the big man smoothed his suit and left the study. Our new guest. Why did he speak like that? In the dining room down the hall from this very room, Jamaal had once seen Sebastian pull out a chair for a whore, offer her a glass of wine, and drink with her, before reaching forwards and strangling her with his hands.
One sick motherfucker, he thought to himself as he left the room to go back downstairs. I am not ready for whoever that is, thought Jill when she heard the movement outside the room. Then she remembered, and reached quickly into her pocket. Nothing. Her gun was gone.
Pretend you're still unconscious, then. The white-eyed girl could put the thoughts in Jill's mind without
