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I’m aware of him wrapping something around my arms, but confusion has returned to my mind and I know little other than the fact he’s binding me.

I also know I’ll be unable to offer any resistance if I’m tied up, so I struggle harder but with the same lack of cohesion. If I can’t get free he’ll be able to kill me at his leisure.

It’s useless; the jolt from the Taser has done exactly what it’s supposed to.

His hands grab my ankles and I again hear the rasp of tape being pulled from a roll. He turns me over and puts a knee in my back as he binds my feet together.

The rough gravel scrapes my face but it’s the least of my concerns. Now I’ve been tied up, I’m at his mercy. My only hope of rescue comes from Alfonse tracing my cell via a signal that may no longer be transmitting.

Norm flips me onto my back and raises me to a sitting position.

Strong hands grab my arms and I’m hauled upright. He bends a knee and places his shoulder into my gut.

A second later he straightens and sets off walking with me slumped over his shoulder.

He’s only been carrying me for a minute before I hear a sound that chills me to the bone. It’s a pleasureable sound to most, but it scares me more than anything Norm can do.

The smell of lake water rises to my nose. Combined with the lapping of small waves, I figure we must be at Panchtraik Reservoir.

Norm carries me along a small jetty and dumps me into a small motor launch. It’s about twenty feet long at most and there must be a dozen or so of them on the reservoir. They’re used for fishing and family days out.

As I’m dumped into the stern seating area, I spot the name Melanie stencilled onto a life preserver.

It was his wife’s name. Therefore, this must be his boat.

Terror freezes me as I remember the songs he was listening to as he drove here. There’s no question about it. He plans to drown me. The watery thread running through his choice of music was him wringing every drop of pleasure from the experience.

I search the bottom of the boat for anything I can use as a weapon. My eyes find nothing but shadows. As my night vision increases, I see there is nothing there but the sterile base of the boat.

He starts the engine and casts off. The engine putters until he clears the jetty and then as he opens the throttle it deepens. I get the impression he could go faster but he’s wanting to draw this out for me. He wants me to know what’s coming and fear it.

I won’t admit it to him, no matter what he does to me. But if he’s trying to terrify me, he’s more than succeeded.

As I try and struggle free of the tape binding my wrists and ankles, I feel something scratch my arm. It’s a rough screw head or something like that, but it may just be sharp enough to cut the tape.

I wriggle until I can feel the screw head snagging on the tape. Moving with care, I rub the tape back and forth hoping it doesn’t resist the short spike. Another concern is the noise of the tape snapping could alert Norm. I have to do this in silence.

I feel it digging into the tape without any of the effect I’m desiring. Pressing harder, I keep going in the hope it will wear its way through.

My shoulder aches from the yank it received yesterday. Although the pain is a lot easier to ignore than the prospect of drowning.

Five minutes of rubbing later, I hear the engine note change. It softens to a gentle throb as it slows until it’s ticking over on idle. Putting my muscles to work, I pull against the tape and feel less resistance.

80

Norm turns away from the controls and faces me for the first time since casting off.

‘You’ve gotten off lightly, Boulder.’ His voice is filled with contemptuous malevolence. ‘I wanted a far worse fate for you than drowning. One that would have you screaming in agony. Leave you begging for death. Instead the fates have been kind.’

I want to ask him how, but the tape over my mouth prevents it.

‘When I picked the method out of the bowl, you got lucky. They say drowning is one of the most peaceful ways to die.’ His grin is wicked in the pale moonlight. ‘You’ve dodged being doused in gasoline and set alight, being buried alive or having your flesh peeled off as I towed you along the highway. But instead of getting any of those excruciating ways to die, you got lucky, you got an easy way.’

Listening to him speak, I’m struck by the lack of reality he’s experiencing. He’s not just killing people; he’s selecting the most horrific ways imaginable. Not content with taking their lives, he has to exercise his superiority by having them plead and beg.

It’s what he wants from me.

As much as the thought of drowning terrifies me, I’m not prepared to give him the satisfaction of hearing me ask for clemency. Given the choice, I’d take buried alive over drowning every time. Even the short-lived but excruciating agony of incineration seems preferable to having water force its way into my lungs.

‘I see the terror in your eyes. You know I’ve won. As clever as you may think yourself, you’ve just lost the most important game of all. You’re going to be my thirty-fourth victim. I’ll be remembered as one of the greatest serial killers ever. You’ll be just another line on the list of my victims.’ He raises a hand as if scanning a headline. ‘Jake Boulder. Drowned.’

Not if I can help it I won’t. His megalomania isn’t going to cost me my life. All the time he’s been talking, I’ve thrashed as if trying to free myself, while continuing the sawing movements against the sharpness behind me.

I can feel my bonds starting to give. Not enough to break free, but enough to suggest that moment isn’t far away.

He bends down and looks at me from a distance of two feet. Too far to strike with a head butt, yet far closer than I want him to be. The meek Norm has been replaced by a feral killer enjoying his work.

He pulls a knife from his pocket. Despite being stiletto thin it catches the moonlight and my attention.

What I wouldn’t give to be the one holding the knife. I’ve never before felt such fear. Or the level of hatred I’m experiencing. The MacDonald blood may be rushing in my ears, but my every focus is on the knife as it moves towards my face.

Norm is in no hurry. The knife takes an age to come forward. So long, I have time to consider throwing myself forward onto it. If I get the angle right, the knife should slide through my eye and pierce my brain.

A far preferable death to drowning, it will also rob him of his chosen method. It would be a hollow victory, but a hollow victory is always better than a resounding defeat.

I dismiss the idea. I’m not ready to die yet. There’s still fight in me.

‘Keep very still and you won’t get hurt.’ He gives a maniacal laugh, uncaring about anyone else who may be on the lake. ‘Yet.’

The tip of the knife pushes at the tape covering my mouth. Once, twice then a third time he makes a tiny hole.

I understand what he’s doing. Air and water will get in but shouts for help won’t get out.

The knife is returned to his pocket.

The clenched fist that hits my temple moves so fast I don’t see it coming.

I almost black out, but manage to retain some kind of awareness.

He stoops over me and removes the rope holding me in position. Stepping back, he grabs the lapels of my shirt and yanks me out of my seat. I fly past the point of balance and plunge head first over the side of the boat.

81

I slip into the dark water and the first thing I feel is cold. Not just the cold of the water, but utter, bone-chilling panic. I feel momentum pushing me down. Gravity and my struggles are helping me to sink ever deeper, so I try and force myself to be calm.