Page 76

What would Mr. Knife be trying to achieve by beating Mrs. Everett, just because she thwarted his plans?
“I’m waiting for a sorry,” he said, voice low and mean.
“You’ll not get one.” Mrs. Everett spoke as if she had a mouth full of marbles. “I don’t know where the girl lives, all I know is her name.”
“Gabriella.” Mr. Knife drew her name out in a way that made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. “I know where she lives. I know where she works. I need to know her route.”
“How would I possibly know that?” Mrs. Everett asked, but her voice trembled a little now.
“You’re frightened for her,” Mr. Knife said. “You should be frightened for yourself.”
There was a sound, Gabriella couldn’t quite make out what it meant, but Mrs. Everett suddenly cried out, her voice so saturated with pain, that Gabriella moved before she was even conscious of doing so.
She leaped forward, grabbed up the vase and grunted at the weight of it and the pain in her hand as she raised it over her head.
Mr. Knife was stabbing Mrs. Everett in short, sharp motions, his back to the door, and Gabriella brought the vase down on his head with all the force she could muster.
It cracked over his head and he went down with a cry, then, like a wounded animal, he began crawling away from her.
The knife, she noticed in the brief moment she glanced at him, was still held firmly in his hand.
She tugged at the thin ropes that tied Mrs. Everett’s wrists to the arms of her chair, ignoring the pain in her left hand. She had one loosened enough that Mrs. Everett could pull her arm out and had moved on to the second when Mr. Knife finally managed to pull himself up to a half-seated position.
“Well, well. Here you are.” His words were slightly slurred and he stared at her with blue eyes, stark against the dark red of the blood that was pouring from his scalp. He had sandy-brown hair, and he looked totally normal.
Until you looked into those eyes. Then he looked deranged.
Her fingers trembled as she tugged at the ropes, and finally she had them off.
She reached for Mrs. Everett, helping her from the chair, and she saw the older woman could barely straighten. Her clothing was slashed. Mr. Knife had gone for her sides and her chest, and blood soaked the front of her blouse.
“You better run.” Mr. Knife began to pull himself up, using the window sill behind him.
Gabriella took as much of Mrs. Everett’s weight as she could bear, and pulled her out into the hallway. They needed to go out the front door. The back garden was too secluded. Too private.
They needed witnesses.
They reached the front entrance just as Mr. Knife emerged from the room, knife still tightly clutched in his fist.
Gabriella stared at the two locks on the front door in dismay. She didn’t even know where the keys were.
“There.” Mrs. Everett spoke for the first time, her arm trembling as she pointed to a narrow door on the right, set into the passage wall just before it opened out into the front hall.
Gabriella didn’t hesitate, she grabbed the handle, opened it up, and shoved Mrs. Everett inside, slammed the door behind her and turned the lock.
Mr. Knife thumped against it a moment later.
They were in the downstairs lav.
And the door was sturdy, she noted with relief. It was solid oak, and the lock was a good one.
They had water, they even had use of the facilities.
They could stay here for quite a while without too much trouble.
Mrs. Everett made a sound, and Gabriella’s optimism took a dip. Mrs. Everett might not be able to stay anywhere but a hospital right now.
She gently set her down onto the wooden floor, which had a blue and white floor rug in front of the hand basin, and leant her up against the wall.