When i know your name, p.1
When I Know Your Name, page 1
WHEN I KNOW YOUR NAME
G.M. LAWRENCE
Published by Inkubator Books
www.inkubatorbooks.com
Copyright © 2023 by G.M. Lawrence
G.M. Lawrence has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
ISBN (eBook): 978-1-83756-189-6
ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-83756-190-2
ISBN (Hardback): 978-1-83756-191-9
WHEN I KNOW YOUR NAME is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.
CONTENTS
Inkubator Books
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Inkubator Newsletter
Thank You For Reading
YOU’RE NOT ALONE
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by G.M. Lawrence
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1
Move, Elena. Now!
Listening to that inner voice, the primal thing that is instinct, Elena turned and bolted up the steps to her front door.
Only minutes before, life had been normal, safe, her mind planning the best route for a run that would help cleanse her body of the wine she’d polished off with Charlotte last night.
But that was before she caught sight of the man striding towards her as she stretched out her body, using the wrought-iron railings that separated the pavement from her home for support. Someone she recognised, but had never met. Someone she’d passed on her road a couple of times or glanced at as he lingered opposite her building, his phone pressed to his ear. Uneventful moments with a stranger and seemingly nothing to do with her. But deep down, she had the unfathomable feeling it was everything to do with her. She’d ignored it though, not wanting to make the same mistake as before. Stupid, given her family’s circumstances.
He was tall, lanky, and with hard eyes and a face taut with purpose, he kept his pace. She hesitated as the first pang of unease fluttered in her stomach. But when a car crept into her peripheral vision, pulling up in the road like a dark threatening cloud, its door opening, ready to swallow her whole, the feeling quickly morphed into a tight knot of dread. Then instinct kicked in and sparked her body into action.
Muscles tight, she hurled herself up the steps and reached for her keys as his footsteps sounded close behind.
‘Easy now,’ he murmured as he wrapped one arm tightly around her waist and ripped the keys from her grasp with the other, disarming her of her only possible weapon. ‘Best you don’t struggle.’
‘What are you doing?’ she cried as she struggled to be free, fear and confusion crowding her mind. ‘Stop it! Get your hands off me!’
There was no time to process what was happening. No time for anything at all except to deliver a sharp stab of her elbow to his stomach, freeing herself from his grasp. She jumped from the top step and rushed out into the street. She didn’t know where she would go, but to run was her only option.
Now she sprinted, and only two things sounded in the quiet London street: the air she forced into her lungs and footsteps pounding the pavement – a mingle of hers and his.
The surge of adrenaline was doing its job, but the footsteps behind her were getting louder, getting closer. He was gaining on her. She worked harder, feeling her legs tire, knowing they would soon cramp, having worked hard with little warm-up. Would she be lucky enough to bump into another early morning runner or someone out walking their dog? Anyone who could help her? She remembered her mother’s words in times of confrontation. ‘Keep well out of it,’ she heard her say. ‘Never get involved. Call the police if you can, but never get involved. If you don’t want to get hurt, that is.’ Sound advice, but now it was her in trouble, and that made it a whole lot of different.
But she was out of luck. They were alone, the chill of the spring morning keeping people locked within their homes, shrouded in warmth. But despite the quiet, she didn’t scream. There was no time for that. She had to conserve her energy for the sprint.
Keep moving. Sweat trickled down her back as her body worked to counteract the exertion and fear.
She felt him close now and risked a glance over her shoulder to see him sprinting right behind her. Now she screamed as his fingers grabbed her top and pulled her back against the contours of his body.
‘No screaming, or I’ll hurt you,’ he warned. Holding her tight, he hurriedly patted against her clothing, searching for her phone. In one swift action he grabbed it and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘Nowhere to run now,’ he said breathlessly, as a mix of chewing gum and stale cigarette smoke hung in the air. It turned her stomach, but so did the fear.
She fought hard to be free of his hold, but in the struggle he managed to grasp her arm and yank it hard behind her back. Pain ripped through her shoulder, and she shrieked as joints cracked and tendons pulled.
‘Now, we’re going to take a little trip, you and me,’ he said, his body pushed against hers as he continued out into the road and towards the car that had found them again. ‘And you’re going to be a good girl and make this easy.’
‘No,’ she cried. ‘Stop. Help me. Help me!’
He wrapped his other arm around her waist and lifted her feet from the ground, walking her forwards as he clamped his other hand over her mouth, stifling her cries.
Desperate, she screamed into his hand as she battled against being bundled into the car. If that happened, she was as good as dead. She scratched and kicked, her legs flaying, wild and uncoordinated, until her foot hit the door with a sickening crack. White-hot pain seared through her leg, knocking the air from her lungs as it stalled her fight. Now he had a better opportunity to tighten his hold, and he squeezed hard. It was clear that as well as to restrain her, he wanted to hurt her.
Oh God, this is happening. This is actually happening.
‘Drive,’ he ordered as he rammed her into the car and pushed her across the leather back seat with a force that made her head hit the window.
‘No, no!’ she screamed as she lunged for the door release, tugging at it frantically. But it was useless; the door was locked tight.
The car picked up speed, and she clocked two more men in the front. One driving, one passenger.
‘Oh God, oh God, what’s happening?’
‘Listen to me,’ the man beside her ordered as he grabbed her arms again and turned her round to face him as a shrill cry burst from her mouth. ‘You ain’t going anywhere, so do as you’re told and shut the fuck up.’
Unable to stop herself, she sobbed loudly as he forced her wrists together and pulled them onto the seat between them.
‘Are you going to do it? Are you going to shut up?’ he barked, his face inches from hers. ‘Or will I have to shut you up myself, because you really wouldn’t like that.’
His words hung in the air. She didn’t doubt his threat, so she suppressed the hysteria, swallowed it down, desperate to reduce the sounds that escaped from her mouth, terrified of what would happen if she continued to make too much noise. He chuckled, the sound thin and ugly as it reverberated through the car, happy he’d made himself clear.
Holding tight with one hand, he pulled a cable tie from his pocket and bound her wrists, his fingers thin but strong as he secured it tightly. Then he pulled out a ragged piece of material and covered her eyes, the knot catching in her hair. He shoved her along the seat as her instinct screamed. She should do more, fight her captors, but how? There would be no fighting this man and surviving it, of that she was sure. So she sat in darkness as the sound of rustling, the click of a lighter and the acrid aroma of cigarette smoke filled the car. The sound of his drag on the cigarette and the long exhale filled her mind. Swirling smoke mingled with her incoherent thoughts as she fought the rising panic and tried to ignore the pain in her shoulder and ankle.
The car slowed as smooth road changed to gravel that crunched under wheels. They pulled to a stop after what felt like at least thirty minutes, and the engine died. Doors clicked open, and the car shifted as all three men got out, slamming the doors behind them.
She sat in silence, sensing nothing but the thumping of her heart. She waited for the activation of the central locking system, but it didn’t come. With trembling fingers, she wriggled the band of cloth up and squinted. Blinking, she willed her blurry vision to clear and peered through the windscreen. They were in a clearing, surrounded by woodland, with nothing but a dilapidated wooden shack ahead of her, and that was where the men had grouped together – talking, planning – and taking no care that their captive was alone, sitting in an unlocked car. Unsure if this was a trap, she used the time too, needing a plan of her own.
She watched for a moment longer, and when they didn’t bother to look her way, she moved into action. This was her chance. Placing her hand over the door handle, she carefully pulled it back, listening for the click of release. Holding it there for a second, she waited to see if any of the men had noticed. Still nothing, no reaction from any of them as they continued on with their discussion. With great care, she pushed open the door and slipped out, crouching down low, keeping herself small.
One of the men shouted as she stumbled into a run, the hurried strides of escape on an ankle that throbbed in protest. She heard the sound of boots on gravel. They’d noticed her now; they were all watching her now.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’ the man who had taken her off the street roared, the fury in his voice igniting panic deep within her. But she kept going, her desire to survive so much stronger.
She saw the edge of a long gravel lane between the trees and stumbled through low scrub and brambles to join it. Thorns as sharp as barbed wire caught her legs and ankles, ripping and tearing skin, but she didn’t care, didn’t even feel it, as she hurried on. Whatever the cost, she must get away, and the gravel lane was her quickest route. But her thoughts clouded as the ominous sound of footsteps pounded behind her again, crashing through the undergrowth, snapping branches as they went. She screamed as terror clawed at her throat.
She had made it to the lane when a hand brushed against her back once more. It was him; she was sure of that. He wouldn’t let her escape. He’d taken her, and he’d be the one to get her back, so with every ounce of energy, she tried to quicken her pace. But it was no good; fear had exhausted her body. Another swipe, and this time, his hand grabbed hold of her clothing. Unbalanced and without sure footing, she began to fall and threw out her hands to lessen the impact as they slid against small stones that grazed her skin. With no time to react, she was hoisted up and, with little care, thrown over the man’s shoulder.
‘No!’ she shrieked, banging her bound hands against his back. ‘Let me go!’
He gripped harder. ‘Shut up, bitch,’ he snarled as he strode back to the others. ‘I’m not letting you out of my sight.’
Her vision of brambles gave way to the wheels of the car she had just fled. But rather than make his way to it, he kept walking. She began to sob, unable to fight anymore, and slumped against him, rocking in time with the motion of his stride.
‘Who the fuck didn’t lock the car?’ he bellowed to the waiting men. ‘Do I have to think of everything?’ He strode into the shack, tipping her onto an old, ripped sofa. Rusty metal springs poked through blackened fabric, likely torched at some point in its history. It was the only item within the shack’s rotting walls, and it plumed out thick dust that filled her lungs and burned her throat as she landed hard onto it. She was five feet four and of slim build, but still it groaned under her weight. Her eyes darted around the shack with only muddy earth for a floor. One of the men – a large, stout man and the driver of the car – stood by the entrance, blocking any further attempt at escape, and the other – the passenger next to the driver – stood in the middle of the room, a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
Oh God, please don’t let me die in here.
The man in charge, who had just unceremoniously dumped her down, talked on the phone and paced, a cigarette clasped between his fingers, anger clipping his words as he relayed her little escapade to an unknown recipient. He terminated the call, and with a nod to the man with the leather bag, he walked behind where she sat and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her down into the sofa.
‘Do it.’
The man who’d been instructed to do whatever horror was about to happen hesitated, seemed unsure.
‘I said do it!’ the man in charge bellowed from behind her as he dug his fingers harder into her skin.
So this was it. She laboured for air as she sobbed, watching the man with the bag walk towards her, pulling up the flap to reach inside. Horror surged new energy through her as he produced a vial of liquid and a syringe in sterile packaging, making her wrestle to stand.
‘Please… don’t…’ she gasped as she fixed her stare at him in desperation, hoping to touch his conscience. But he ignored her as he pulled out a tourniquet, tore open the packet, and drained the vial of liquid into the syringe.
She bucked and fought against the hold on her as the man grasped her left arm. He twisted it within its restraints and wrapped the tourniquet tightly above her elbow until the pump of her blood pulsed and made her veins rise to the surface in long blue-green lines. Removing the cap from the syringe, exposing a small but effective needle, he pierced the largest vein.
A sound erupted from her throat. A guttural scream. ‘No, no, no! Don’t do it! Don’t do it!’ she cried as she stared in horror, watching the man squeeze on the plunger of the syringe, forcing its sinister liquid into her body.
The drug took hold with dangerous efficiency, claiming her, as her head lolled. Only the sound of her scream fading into a long, woozy groan rattled through her mind, and as she drifted away, she stared into the eyes of the man who had administered the drug, noticing how they had become wide with concern.
2
TWO DAYS EARLIER…
‘He’s there again,’ Elena murmured as she stared out her living room window, the phone pressed against her ear.
‘Who?’
‘Oh, just some guy,’ she said, realising her thinking out loud had become part of the conversation. ‘I’ve seen him around a couple of times, that’s all.’
‘Well, this is London,’ Charlotte said. ‘Nine million people means we are not alone in this great metropolis.’
‘Funny.’
‘So, what does he look like?’ Charlotte continued. ‘I mean, how does one recognise a mad axe maniac?’
Charlotte stifled a laugh, and Elena immediately felt stupid, as if she were overreacting. But she was sure she wasn’t, and as hard as she tried, she was unable to shift the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
‘Sorry, Lena, I’m not laughing at you,’ Charlotte said. ‘But I think you need to relax. He might have recently moved into the area or could just be meeting someone here?’
‘Maybe.’
‘And not to open old wounds, but you don’t want to make the same mistake as before.’
Elena sighed but knew Charlotte’s concern was sincere. They’d been friends long enough for Elena to know that she had her best interests at heart. Since school, it had always been the four of them – Elena, Charlotte, Abigail and Louise. The four musketeers. Unbreakable and prepared to do anything for one another. But now, life had moved on. Abigail was busy travelling the world, and Louise had settled down in the country with Tom – ‘the one’. So it was Elena and Charlotte who were the last two standing, still in London and still firmly ingrained in each other’s lives. And it had been that way since Charlotte had moved into the house next door to Elena’s childhood home when they were both nine years old.
‘I know, I’m sure it’s nothing to do with me,’ Elena said, reassuring her friend. ‘And you know who says I am overthinking it?’
