Jess

Jess

“Hello?” I shout. “Can anyone hear me?”

I can feel the walls swallowing the sound, feel how useless it is. I shove at the door with all my strength, hoping the weight of my body might break the lock. Nothing: I might as well be ramming myself against a concrete wall. Panicking now, I pummel the wood.

Shit. Shit.

“Hey!” I shout, desperately now. “HEY! HELP ME!”

The last two words. A sudden flashback to another room. Shouting at the top of my lungs, shouting until my voice went hoarse, but it never felt loud enough . . . there was no one coming. Help me help me help me someone help she’s not . . .

My whole body is trembling.

And then suddenly the door is opening and a light flashes on. A man stands there. I take a step back. It’s Antoine, the guy I just watched casually smashing a bottle against a side table—

No . . . I can see now that I’m wrong. It was the height, maybe, and the breadth of the shoulders. But this guy is younger and in the weak light I can see that his hair is lighter, a dark golden color.

“Ça va?” he asks. Then, in English: “Are you OK? I came down to get my laundry and I heard—”

“You’re British!” I blurt. As British as the Queen, in fact: a proper, plummy, posh-boy accent. A little like the one Ben adopted after he went to live with his new parents.

He’s looking at me like he’s waiting for some kind of explanation. “Someone locked me in here,” I say. I feel shivery now that the adrenaline’s wearing off. “Someone did this on purpose.”

He pushes a hand through his hair, frowns. “I don’t think so. The door was jammed when I opened it. The handle definitely seems a bit sticky.”

I think of how hard I threw myself against it. Could it really just have been stuck? “Well, thanks,” I say weakly.

“No worries.” He steps back and looks at me. “What are you doing here? Not in the cave, I mean: in the apartment?”

“You know Ben, on the third floor? I’m meant to be staying with him—”

He frowns. “Ben didn’t tell me he had anyone coming to stay.”

“Well it was kind of last minute,” I say. “So . . . you know Ben?”

“Yeah. He’s an old friend. And you are?”

“I’m Jess,” I say. “Jess Hadley, his sister.”

“I’m Nick.” A shrug. “I—well, I’m the one who suggested he come and live here.”