Missing

the lock and backed away. Three seconds later the handle was pressed down.
    They stood facing each other, separated by the burning candle.
    There was no mistaking the fury in his eyes. He stretched out his damaged hand and, when he looked down at it, her eyes followed his. A deep score ran across all his fingers and half the little finger seemed torn off. In the stillness, only the flame was moving.
    Then he finally spoke.
    ‘Why are you doing this? What do you hope to gain?’
    ‘I want you to phone the police.’
    He shook his head, not so much in refusal but to show his irritation.
    ‘Don’t you see we were meant to do what we’ve done? You and I are the elect. There’s nothing we can do about it. The police don’t matter. Put that candle down now.’
    She didn’t move, just sighed. Her breath made the flame flicker from side to side. The sight was an unwelcome reminder of how fragile her defence was. Instantly, a wave of paralysing terror rolled over her.
    Perhaps he saw it in her face, perhaps he could smell her fear. He smiled slowly.
    ‘We’re of a kind, you and I. I’ve read about you in the papers.’
    How could she get out?
    ‘They’ve been getting one of your old mates from school to talk about you. Did you read that?’
    The flame would die the moment she got outside. It could only protect her inside the house.
    ‘I used to be a loner too …’
    ‘Where’s your telephone?’
    ‘I was different from the start, even in primary school. We are special, both of us, it’s obvious to everyone …’
    ‘Turn around. Walk downstairs, now. Or else, I’ll blow.’
    His smile disappeared, but he didn’t move.
    ‘I see. And tell me, Sibylla – then what will you do?
    She said nothing. An eternity seemed to pass. Just when she thought her pounding heart would burst through her ribcage, he turned and walked downstairs. Slowly, she followed a few feet behind him, unsuccessfully attempting to control her breathing. She was holding her hand up to protect the flame and he was still extending his broken hand. Both moved one step at a time, the woman with the candle following the man, as if in a strange ceremonial procession.
    She tried to think ahead. Would she tell him to phone? Should she do it herself? Four steps left. He had stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
    ‘Walk on.’
    He did as he was told and disappeared into the kitchen.
    The silver candlestick was becoming heavy in her hand and she had to lower it. Now she too was standing on the floor of the hall.
    He was out of sight.
    ‘Come to the door!’
    No movement in the kitchen. She changed hands.
    ‘I’ll blow it out!’
    But by now it was clear to both of them that this was an empty threat. Once the flame was extinguished, she could do nothing. Then she would be completely in his power.
    She walked through a door opposite the kitchen door. It led into a sitting room, carpeted with the same material as the upstairs bedroom. There was a sofa with an occasional table in front of it. No telephone anywhere.
    On the wall to her left was the door leading into the workshop. It was slightly open. Her arm had become tired and she had to hold the candlestick with both hands now. Not a sound from the kitchen.
    ‘Come out so I can see you!’
    Still no reply.
    She walked into the workshop, closing the door behind her. There it was, a grey Cobra set spattered with paint in every colour of the rainbow. The dial was underneath the receiver, which meant she had to use both hands. Watching the door to the kitchen, she carefully put the candlestick down, got hold of the receiver and began dialling with shivering fingers. Fear invaded her body, causing an almost physical pain. So near, yet so far from help.
    Then he came at her.
    Roaring, he tore open the door to the sitting room and before she could react, beat her to the floor with a kitchen chair. The pain made the world go dark. A moment later he was sitting astride her and she knew that one of her ribs was broken.
    He was hissing with rage.
    ‘Don’t ever do that again!’
    Trying to keep the pain away from her mind, she just shook her head.
    ‘The Lord is with me. You cannot get away.’
    She shook her head again. Anything to make him get up. Anything to stop him sitting on her ribcage.
    He looked around.
    ‘Stay on the floor!’
    She nodded. At last, he left her alone. His first move was to take a cloth from the table and wind it tightly round his injured hand. She wondered if he was