A Time to Run Read online

  Undaunted, Wayne headed onto the dance floor towards Candy and Matt. He grabbed Candy from behind and pressed up close, sandwiching her between Matt and him. Candy laughed and threw her head back on Wayne’s shoulder, and nuzzled in when he kissed her neck.

  It was obvious to Sammi that she was superfluous. Her night was over. She went to the bar and ordered a Coke. She was ready to sober up a bit more before she went back to Candy’s house.

  She rested against the bar and watched the dance floor. Would Candy bring them back to her place? She cringed at that thought. They were bound to be noisy. The night out with Candy had been a blast but right now, she wished she was safe at home in her own bed, with Gavin snoring softly next to her. She watched Candy grinding up against two strange men and felt deeply sorry for her that she hadn’t found someone like Gav.

  Her anger at Gavin had ebbed away, and all of the reasons she loved him pulled into focus again. Yeah, yeah, maybe she had overreacted. He had just blindsided her when he suggested they merge their bank accounts. She had never given it any thought. She had always earned her own money and spent it the way she saw fit. Then he had also insisted she move across to his bank, because they had lower fees. It all made sense, but it had felt like a tactic to control her. It wasn’t about the money.

  With a start, she remembered it had been similar when Gavin had first suggested they move in together. They’d had a big blow-up then too. Did she not trust him? Or was he asking for more of herself than she was willing to give? Sammi couldn’t say. Alone and half-drunk in some dodgy pub was not the place to work it all out either.

  ‘I think you’ve been ditched,’ said a voice beside her.

  She looked around and saw the barman talking to her. It wasn’t busy at the bar and she hadn’t really moved since he served her the Coke.

  She gave him a forced smile to be polite.

  ‘It looks that way, doesn’t it?’ she answered.

  ‘Does she know what she’s doing?’ he asked, nodding to Candy.

  ‘Yeah, she’s a big girl, she can look after herself,’ Sammi said.

  ‘What about you?’ the barman said.

  Sammi shook her head. ‘I’m not here to pick up,’ she said, gesturing towards the writhing on the dance floor.

  ‘No, I mean, are you OK? It’ll be a long night if you’re waiting on her,’ he said.

  ‘I’m fine. I’ll go home when I’m ready,’ she said.

  Sammi guessed the barman was a bit older than her, maybe in his mid-thirties. Was he trying to pick her up? He had short black hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. His teeth were the yellow colour of a heavy smoker. He wasn’t fat, but looked soft around the middle. Nothing about him appealed to Sammi.

  ‘Anyway, my name’s Don,’ he said, reaching over the bar to offer her his hand.

  She tentatively shook it, looking at him quizzically.

  He laughed. ‘I’m not trying to put the moves on you,’ he said. ‘It’s just by now, everyone’s normally too drunk to have a conversation with. You look like you’re sober enough for a chat.’

  ‘Yeah, I think I peaked too early. I don’t do this often,’ she told him. ‘My friend lives like this, but I’m a bit over it. It was fun for a while but this is waaay past my bedtime.’

  ‘I’ve spent my whole night listening to drunks trying to order over loud music.’

  He leant over the bar towards her conspiratorially. ‘Sometimes if I can’t understand what they’re saying and I’m sick of saying “what?”, I just give them anything and see if they come back and complain. They never do.’

  She laughed. ‘Don’t like your job, hey?’

  ‘It’s alright. I like the music most of the time and it’s interesting watching all the guys and girls. Sometimes there’s a bit of a show.’ He gestured to Candy and the two men on the dance floor. ‘I think there’s a lot of bad decisions made here.’

  ‘Candy will be fine, or so she keeps telling me. She just loves men,’ Sammi said.

  Don smiled. ‘Looks like everyone wins then.’

  Sammi took a gulp of her drink. ‘Yeah. But my night’s over. Nice chatting to you, Don,’ she said.

  ‘See you later,’ he said softly as she walked towards the dance floor.

  Sammi drew Candy’s hand away from Matt’s bum and squeezed it to try to get her attention. Matt gave her a dirty look as she pulled Candy away.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she said in Candy’s ear over the music.

  ‘Yeah sweetie, these boys are going to look after me.’ She was slurring her words a little.

  ‘I’m ready to go home. Do you want to come with me?’ Sammi knew the answer already, but wanted to hear it from Candy.

  ‘No, you go ahead and don’t wait up,’ Candy replied, kissing her on the cheek.

  Sammi gave a wave to the boys who were already pulling Candy back between them, and walked out the front door.

  She passed the bouncer on the door. He was refusing entry to a boy who hardly looked old enough to be out by himself at night. The teen was swaying on his feet, his fly undone. He started to argue as the bouncer blocked his way, but there was no doubt who would be the loser when the pushing and shoving started. Sammi slipped past them and away from the thump of music.

  As far as she could tell, it would only be a few minutes and a few dollars in a taxi to get to Candy’s place. She would have been quite happy to walk – a brisk stroll would clear her head and help her sleep. But she wasn’t sure which way Candy’s house was. She didn’t want to risk getting lost. She pulled up the number of the local taxi company saved on her phone which Candy had given her as part of their preparations for the night out.

  As she walked away from the noise of the pub she registered a slow movement to her right. An old white ute pulled up next to her. It was an odd-looking vehicle, with the rear tray enclosed by a canopy made of chequerplate panels welded together. The passenger’s window was down and the driver leant across to talk to her.

  ‘Hey, Sammi, you need a lift?’

  Sammi immediately recognised the barman from the tavern. What was his name again? Dan? Don? Yes, Don. She stopped and turned.

  ‘Hi, Don. No, I’m just about to ring a taxi, but thanks for stopping.’

  ‘You’ll be waiting a while this time of morning. I bet this wasn’t how you wanted your night to end,’ he said.

  ‘Honestly, knowing the way my friend works, I pretty much guessed I’d be going home alone,’ she said and he smiled.

  ‘I’d be happier if I could give you a lift somewhere,’ he said. ‘It will probably be an hour’s wait for the taxi and there are some dodgy characters around this time of night.’

  As if on cue, a red sedan appeared. A teenager with no shirt on hanging halfway out of the passenger’s side window yelled, ‘Show us ya tiiiiiits,’ as the car cruised past.

  Don cocked his head and lifted his eyebrows. ‘Come on, I’ll drop you home.’

  Sammi hesitated. She didn’t want to stand around waiting for a taxi. He was a stranger, but she was confident she could look after herself if he tried anything. She knew where he worked anyway.

  ‘OK, thanks,’ she said. She climbed in and put her seatbelt on. The cab of the ute smelt like stale cigarette smoke and wet dog. Sammi was pleased she didn’t have far to go. She looked at Don and forced a smile. He grabbed a bottle of Coke, one of two sitting in the cup holders.

  ‘I grabbed these before I left the bar. Wasn’t that what you were drinking? It’ll wash the smoke and sweat away,’ he said, as he twisted the lid off and handed the bottle to her.

  She smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks again.’

  ‘Where to?’ he asked.

  ‘If you could just drop me at the shopping centre, that would be great.’

  He nodded and did a U-turn.

  Candy’s house was just around the corner from the local
shops. Sammi knew she’d be able to find her way from there. It would only be a half-minute’s walk. No need to give Candy’s home address to Don.

  They drove for a few minutes, chatting about the pub and what had happened. Sammi found it increasingly hard to concentrate on the innocuous small talk. Her mouth felt dry and she was overwhelmingly thirsty. She emptied the rest of the Coke in a big gulp, her head spinning as she tipped it back to drain the last drops. A wave of nausea hit and although she sensed Don was still talking to her, she could no longer make any sense of it.

  She looked across at him, and his face looked like it was melting, drips oozing between his goatee and dropping onto his lap. Her eyelids were forcing their way shut, independent of her wishes. Beads of sweat popped out across her forehead and her limbs felt leaden, like her blood had been replaced by half-set concrete.

  Something was very wrong. This wasn’t what it felt like to be drunk. She turned to look out the window and the world lurched violently. The streetlights looked like exploding suns and she squeezed her eyes shut against the glare. She was going to pass out and there was nothing she could do about it. She forced her eyes open one more time, looking to Don for help. She registered an ugly smirk on his face, but it was too late to do anything.

  As she slumped into unconsciousness the last thing Sammi saw was Don’s grinning face.

  Saturday 4:18 am

  Don went around the block again. He had been driving slower for the last few minutes as he watched the Zolpidem take effect. He was now just a few kilometres from his home. The silly bitch hadn’t even noticed that he had headed off in the wrong direction as soon as she hopped into his car. He had driven in ever-decreasing circles around his house. The deeper she slipped under the effects of the drug, the tighter the circles he had driven. He wanted to be certain she was out cold before he pulled up. He had about an hour and a half when he could be certain she was down, probably a bit more. Enough time to get home and start the preparations.

  Don lit a cigarette and looked at the unconscious figure. Now that he could study her face, she looked a little older than he had first thought, maybe in her mid-twenties. He reached over, ran his hand up her knee and squeezed her thigh. She was in shape – he could feel the firmness of muscle in her leg. He guessed she would have a bit of fight in her. That would make things a bit more interesting. Just the thought of it sent a little shiver of anticipation through him.

  He reached over and grabbed the handbag resting in her lap. The roads were quiet this time of night. If he swerved a little, it didn’t matter. If the cops should happen to pull him over, he could explain how his poor girlfriend had drunk too much and had fallen asleep, and he would blow zero in the breathalyser.

  Don pulled into his driveway and opened the garage door. Once he turned off the engine, he opened her handbag and fished out her mobile phone. He looked at the screen and noted that there were no messages or missed calls. He turned it off, then opened her purse. He found her driver’s licence, with her full name and date of birth.

  Samantha Leigh Willis. He whispered it, rolling the words around his mouth like a vintage wine. Twenty-six years old. Yes, she would do nicely.

  Saturday 5:50 am

  Sammi wasn’t even sure she was awake. She felt pain down the right side of her face and focused on it, because she knew it was real. Her eyes felt like they had been clamped shut and when she finally worked the right muscles to wrench her eyelids open, it did her no good. A thick suffocating blackness enveloped her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t remember what had happened, but a primitive instinct was urging her to rouse herself.

  Her body was being jolted around and her face knocked against a hard metallic floor. Something hard pushed against her back between her shoulder blades.

  The nausea was overwhelming. Her stomach contracted and the first mouthful of vomit came up. It was only then Sammi realised her mouth was sealed shut. She started to choke as the vomit had nowhere to go but back down. She tried to cough, forcing a small amount of spew out of her nose. She swallowed hard and snorted a burst of air to clear her nasal passage. Trying to ignore the smell of sputum and bile, she took long even breaths through her nose.

  The rising fear helped clear her head, her thoughts slowly crystallising through the haze.

  Sammi’s mouth was taped shut. When she tried to reach up to her mouth, she became aware that her hands were bound behind her back. She inhaled as much air as her lungs would hold and closed her eyes. She lay there, as still as the bumping and jolting allowed, concentrating only on the next slow deep breath of air. She couldn’t tell how long she lay there, doing nothing but breathing, trying to control the nausea. Slowly, as the urge to vomit started to fade, Sammi allowed her focus to shift and started to take notice of her surroundings.

  She slowly stretched her legs and took some satisfaction in being able to push them in different directions. She pushed her right foot forward and touched a wall in front of her. When she stretched out her left leg, she bumped against another wall below her. As her eyes started to adjust to the darkness, she could make out some lines and specks of dim light. The steady and unmistakeable hum of an engine wormed itself into her consciousness.

  Sammi slowly tried to lever herself into a sitting position by using her elbows to push back against the wall. It wasn’t a flat wall; it was metal like the floor and grooved with ledges. A bump sent her back to the floor with a thud and a little groan came from the back of her throat. With her hands bound behind her back, there was no way to catch herself.

  Slowly the jumbled pieces came together. The bar. Candy dancing with the two guys. Climbing into the barman’s ute. A bottle of Coke. The barman’s evil grin, ending in black.

  Sammi was now sure she was in the tray of the white ute with the canopy.

  There was only one explanation as to why she had passed out – she had been drugged. She had willingly climbed into the front seat of the ute and she was now trussed up in the back of it. She had no doubt the barman was behind the wheel.

  The bile rose in her throat as the seriousness of her situation hit her. Sammi tried to breathe evenly. If she threw up, she would most probably choke to death. Only famous people died that way, inhaling their own vomit in trashed luxury hotel rooms, with booze and pills by their sides. She closed her eyes, feeling the cool metal vibrating under her cheek. More than anything, she needed to keep calm.

  How could she have been so stupid? It hadn’t seemed dumb at the time. A lift up the road from an employee of the pub she’d been at. She had been just about sober, she’d felt in control of herself, hadn’t even considered how quickly she could be reduced to helpless and vulnerable.

  Sammi pressed her hip against the floor, on the off-chance that she had slipped her phone in the pocket of her pants instead of her handbag. Nothing. As far as she could remember, she had nothing at all in her pockets. She wiggled around a bit, but doubted he had left her handbag with her. He had thought this through, maybe even done it before.

  Dim light came through the cracks where the canopy joined the tray of the ute, drawing thin lines through the darkness. Dawn was breaking outside. If Sammi left the pub about 4 am and sunrise was about 6 am, she had probably been unconscious for at least two hours. Or possibly a whole day and night.

  She paid attention to the pressure of her wrists taped against each other. Her arms were positioned one on top of the other, her left hand rested on her right forearm, and the back of her right hand pressed against the inside of her left forearm. She could still feel her watch band around her left wrist but it did her no good behind her back.

  Sammi rolled onto her back, squashing her arms under her. She wiggled around, pushing her shoulders down to see if she could slide her bound wrists past her bottom to get them to the front of her body. It was no use. She craned her neck left and right to try to make out some shapes inside the ute. She still had her shoes on, strappy heels,
which she kicked off. Leaning against the rear tailgate of the ute, she tentatively stretched her feet forward, sliding them along the floor. Her toes ran across the hard thing that had pushed against her back when she woke up. She recognised the patterned rubber of a tyre and slid her foot along spokes to a front fork. It was too big and heavy for a bicycle. There was a motorbike in the back of the ute. It did not move with the jolts that bumped her against the sides of the tray, suggesting it must be strapped down. Judging by the size of the tread on the tyres, it was a dirt bike.

  To the side, wedged in place under the motorbike straps, were plastic storage boxes with lids on. There could be anything in there. It would be next to impossible for her to get the lids off.

  What did she know about the man in the ute?

  His name was Don, he was a barman at the Lion’s Head Tavern so he was sane enough to hold down a job. He was about thirty-five to forty years old, and he drove a white Toyota Landcruiser with a closed-in tray.

  And what did he know about her? He didn’t know her name or where she lived. Sammi didn’t even think she had mentioned Candy’s name.

  Then she realised he would have her handbag. She closed her eyes to make a mental inventory of what was inside. He’d have her driver’s licence, credit card and mobile phone, along with a handful of bills and coins. She had not taken her purse with her so she didn’t lose everything if it got lost or stolen. Her address was on her licence.

  But she knew she wasn’t in the back of his ute because he wanted to rob her. This wasn’t about what he could steal out of her bag. So she was sure she had one thing in her favour, something he wouldn’t know. Sammi was quite certain there was nothing in her handbag to tell him she was a cop.

  Saturday 6:40 am

  Gavin hardly slept. It was probably unresolved anger that had kept him tossing and turning all night. That and the empty space in the bed. Usually, the only time he slept alone was when Sammi was on night shift.