Free The Hollow Places by Dean Edwards

adrenaline, cold and relief, she set about typing her
reply. When it was done she re-read it and hit send. The phone
thought about it for a few seconds, during which she changed her
mind several times, and then the handset buzzed.
    Message
sent.
    That was
that.
    A reply came
back within seconds. She realised that she had been holding her
breath and sighed with relief when she opened up the message.
    She knew it.
Everything was going to be okay.

Chapter
Twelve
    The dog jumped as if it had been kicked and moments
later Firdy stomped into the room.
    “I’ve found
her,” he said. At last, he was rewarded with more than a flicker of
interest from his captive.
    He had trawled
her emails until his eyes were sore from staring at the screen and
he had scrutinised her private letters before phoning more than a
dozen of the numbers he collated. Of those that answered, half of
them had given him abuse. It was unfair to dislike Sarah because of
the friends she kept, but it was easy and he did dislike her.
    He rubbed his
temple.
    Oh, but it
couldn't be helped.
    Of those that
answered his questions, most of them thought she would be at home.
They made random suggestions as to her whereabouts, though nothing
rang true. In the end, she had broken cover all by herself.
    “Don’t move,”
he said and threw him half a loaf of bread and the remains of the
chicken they had been eating for dinner. “That’s for you. Don’t
feed the Dog; he’ll bite your hand off. Don’t run,” he said
earnestly. “He’ll kill you if you try. I’ll be back with your
sister as soon as I can.” Then he patted the dog on the head as
though it was a puppy. “Good boy,” he said. “No killing.” He didn't
check the rope. He pulled the door shut and thudded down the
stairs, careless now in his enthusiasm to get to Sarah.
    The Dog sat on
its haunches watching Simon who sat motionless in the corner.
Beneath them, the front door opened and closed, then the van door.
The engine coughed to life and rumbled for a while before Firdy
backed out onto the main road. He revved the engine hard and it
grew quieter moment by moment until Simon and the dog were alone,
or at least as alone as they could be with an uninvited presence in
their minds. Simon could almost feel it catching his thoughts like
fish in a stream, holding them up to the light, throwing them
back.
    He imagined a
deep, deep river, the very depths of which were brown, blue, then
black, unable to be penetrated by any kind of light. He imagined
the dusty river bed and the weird, plant-like creatures clinging to
it. Beneath them were caves and tunnels where even more freakish
creatures kept safe from the predators above. This was where he put
his mind. He took great handfuls of dirt and covered it up. When he
was done, he washed his hands and looked the other way.
    As his
headache began to intensify, he conjured up a mental screen and
filled it with a great many objects, so he wouldn't be tempted to
think of Sarah again, of her reaction when she saw Firdy or what
Firdy intended to do to her. He made the objects as real as
possible and counted them off one by one. He linked them together
and made ridiculous stories.
    The dog was
perplexed. Simon's mind was strange, but that was no reason to kill
him. It would wait. It was the calm one, not like the cat, which
was still locked inside the back of the van. No. Its patience had
been rewarded in the past; it had no doubt that it would be
again.

Chapter
Thirteen
    With the accelerator pressed to the floor, the
transit van did just over 70mph. The motorway stretched on and on.
The glowing studs zipped by, but not quickly enough for Firdy's
liking. He was unaware of the confines of the van and of distance;
only time. At this speed, he’d be in East London in about an hour.
In an hour and a half, he could have Sarah. So in three hours he
could be back at the house and things could really get started.
    Three hours,
he had to admit, was a painfully long time. It