Free Stolen by Rebecca Muddiman

wearing the clothes she’d put on after being examined. A smart-looking woman had briefed them and Abby agreed to speak the words the woman had prepared for her. But as they filed into the room in front of the cameras and microphones, she couldn’t speak. Thoughts of the bastards that hurt her, that took Beth, coursed through her mind. She wanted to scream. She wanted to beg. She tried to focus on the words in front of her, determined to stick to the script. The words swam in and out of focus. Abby reached for her face to check she had her glasses on. Finding them where they should be she realised that the tears were the cause of the blur. She felt like she was reading underwater. Her daughter’s name came out of her mouth but it sounded wrong. She looked up into the bright lights of the cameras and tried to remember the words she was supposed to say. Under the desk she felt Paul’s hand on hers and then realised he was speaking. She looked down to the script and noticed it was gone.
    Then it was over.
    The people beside her were moving. A hand was around her arm, lifting her from her seat. She could hear her name being repeated until it faded out and she was in the car on the way home.
    So now she stood next to Beth’s crib. She had no idea what time it was. When was the last time she’d eaten? Slept? When was the last time she’d seen her daughter? She’d heard the door a few times. Heard the voices of neighbours they rarely spoke to, friends they hadn’t seen for years. The phone rang constantly. She heard Paul mutter thank you over and over. She heard him answer a few questions and then say ‘no comment’ again and again like some well-rehearsed politician. She could hear noise outside and guessed there were reporters out there. But she stayed where she was, beside Beth’s crib. She knew she shouldn’t leave Paul to deal with everything but she was too tired, too scared to do it herself. Listening to it all made her head hurt. If she let her mind drift from the thought of Beth sleeping peacefully in her crib she felt the pain of realising she was gone. She saw the hatred in the eyes of the man who raped her. Could smell his breath. She gripped the side of the crib and dug her fingers into the wood.
    A creaky floorboard reminded her of Paul’s presence and she turned to him. ‘In a while,’ she muttered although she couldn’t remember what he’d said. Paul stroked her fingers lightly with his and then turned and went back downstairs to watch their performance over and over on the news.
    Abby pulled her mobile phone from her pocket, staring as its silence mocked her. She knew she should call Simon but had no idea how to start. She wondered if Gardner had found him, had told him.
    She looked down at the phone again, clicked her way into the pictures folder, bringing to life the last photo she’d taken of Beth. She caressed her daughter’s pixelated hair with her thumb and tried not to think about what was happening to her at that moment. She stared into the phone for an answer when the ringing of the doorbell shook her out of her reverie. She heard Paul answer and this time he didn’t say, ‘no comment.’ She could hear his voice but not the conversation.
    Abby raced down the stairs, her heart pumping out of her chest, praying that it would be Gardner holding Beth in his arms. Paul stood with the door half-open, whispering to someone, his face twisted in anger. Abby’s foot on the creaky stair made him stop. He turned to Abby and then walked wordlessly back to the living room. Abby squeezed herself between the stairs and the open door to find Jen on the doorstep. The sight of her friend looking so deadly serious, so completely out of character, was too much for her. Jen stepped forward and took Abby in her arms. Abby ignored the shouts from outside.
    ‘God, Abby, I’m sorry.’
    Abby clung to her friend and tried to rein in her tears. After a while she stepped back and Jen closed the door. Abby led