Carol Wyer - The Missing Girls: A serial killer thriller with a twist

A t first, Amber Dalton thought the drumming sound was coming from outside, but when she drew herself up from the hard mattress, she realised it was in her own head. Darkness wrapped itself around her like a thick blanket. She couldnt make out any walls or see the outlines of bedroom furniture. Her forehead throbbed so much it made her wince. Hed doped her .

Amber wondered if he had raped her while shed been unconscious. She dropped her hands to her thighs, then hesitated as she felt unfamiliar rough material beneath her fingertips. Shed been wearing her short, pleated, black skirt. Her best friend, Sam, called it her foxy skirt. It makes mens tongues fall out of their mouths, Sam had said. Youve got great legs. Team it with a silk shirt, and youve got a winning combination. The lousy son of a bitch had removed her clothes and she was wearing a garment that smelt of antiseptic. She tugged at it and felt it give behind her. She wriggled about, running her hand down her backside and feeling the flesh of her buttocks. It was open at the back, tied with strings in a few places. It was a hospital gown .

A flash of pain in her forehead made her cry out. She seemed to be in hospital, but why? She hadnt been involved in an accident. She turned her head left and right to see if she was injured. This couldnt be a hospital ward. It didnt smell like a hospital. The bed was pushed into a corner of the room and she felt the wall on her right. Under the tips of her fingers she could feel the raised flock of the wallpaper. Her bedroom had wallpaper flowers and swirls that she and her mother had chosen together. Amber would often trace the patterns while lying in bed wishing she didnt have to go to school .

Amber had a desperate urge to call for her mother and cry on her scrawny shoulder. Her mother wasnt exactly the maternal type, but right now Amber wanted nothing more than to be sat on the comfy sofa, listening to her mother tell her off for being such a stupid cow .

She sat on the edge of the bed, her head spinning as she felt for a bedside table and a light. Her splayed fingers discovered nothing but air. She pushed up onto her feet, bare soles touching cold floorboards, and began crabbing along the wall, seeking a light switch, each step cautious in case she trod on a sharp object. She found a wooden surround a doorframe and traced her fingers to the handle and turned it. The door remained resolutely shut. She tugged with both hands, tiny uh-uh-uh noises escaping her as her panic grew, and she questioned why she was in a locked room. She fumbled in vain for a switch. She needed to see where she was and work out how to escape. She would have to venture further and hope she didnt stumble over any furniture .

Fingers outstretched, she searched the space, arms waving up and down and sweeping the area in front of her. The room appeared at first to be empty apart from the bed. She met another wall and, resting her back against it, caught her ragged breath, which was coming in tortured, frightened gasps. Now disorientated, nauseous and confused, she dropped to her knees and shuffled on all fours, hoping to find the bed once more. Instead, she banged her knee on the sharp edge of a piece of furniture and cried out. She could not understand what was happening. Blood trickled down her head. She touched it and wondered if she had actually been involved in some sort of accident. That would explain the situation. She was in a hospital and needed to rest. She began to mumble, Its okay. Its okay. There was no other explanation, she reasoned .

Nurse, she croaked, her voice no more than a faint whisper. Nurse, she called, louder. Her voice sounded strange and hollow. The pain had started afresh in her forehead, stripping her mind of all other thoughts. She needed painkillers. Nurse! The sound of her own desperation frightened her. She had to be in hospital. She couldnt be anywhere else. Her temples drummed and the sound of her own heartbeat filled the room. She lifted her arms again and found the wall. Pushing against it, she located the door again and tugged without hope on the handle. Exhausted now with the effort, she stumbled against the bed and slumped onto it .

She touched her head with her fingertips. The slight pressure was too much to bear. A sound, a cross between a moan and a scream, escaped her dry lips. It was a nightmare. That was it. She was asleep. When she was smaller, she had suffered a recurring dream about a stranger, in which she would enter her bedroom and spot a dark outline through the window. The banging would make her jump, and in that instant she would know that the man standing the other side of the glass was coming to kill her. She would be rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on the door handle, which would gradually move down. The door, which was nearly always locked, would open inch by inch. The man was coming to get her. A large carving knife would be pushed through the opening and a screaming Amber would wake up under her bed. Her mother would rush in and cajole her from her hiding place, and then sit with her, stroking her hair and making soothing noises. This must be one of those realistic nightmares, and she would soon awaken to the sounds of the television blaring downstairs and her mum yelling it was time to get up and go to school .

She wanted to wake up more than anything. This blackness and the intense silence was scaring her rigid. Mum! she shouted. Help me !

She held her breath but the thrumming in her temples obliterated any other sound, then she heard it a soft squeak .

Hello? She regretted calling out. An icy chill filled her veins. There was a slight shuffling of feet then silence once again. Somebody was already inside the room but they werent answering her, and that was even scarier. She had nothing to defend herself with. Sliding to the floor, Amber wriggled under the bed and curled up, fist in her mouth as she had often done as a child .

Briefly, a shaft of light illuminated the floor, making her blink rapidly. Amber saw a pair of trainers. They belonged to him. He had been wearing them when he answered the door. It all seemed a lifetime ago. She had stood on the doorstep, brimming with confidence, shaking her mane of dark hair in a flirty fashion and pouting her full lips, knowing he wanted her. She couldnt remember much more. The inviting sitting room with a huge leather sofa the lights so low she could barely see his face the sensual smell of him the glass of champagne waiting for her on the table. His whispered words, Make yourself comfortable, drink the champagne and Ill be back in a minute to refill your glass. The bubbles ascended in tiny circles and exploded into her mouth as she sipped it, pretending she often drank champagne. The memory of tumbling from the sofa, sliding helplessly onto the carpet a dark shadow laughing then oblivion. Her shoulders began to shake with fear as she tried to suppress sobs. They threatened to erupt and give away her hiding hole. Go away. Please go away. Please leave me alone. The light went out and the room was once again plunged into darkness .

Come out, come out, wherever you are .

She tried to swallow the fear rising in her throat .

I know where you are, Amber. Come out now .