THIRTY-ONE
In her dark tomb, Sheila Llewellyn had lost track of time. She had no idea how long she had been incarcerated in the boot of this maniac’s vehicle. Initially, she had curled up foetal-like – like a frightened child, but gradually her fear had subsided and a kind of numbness of mind came to her, almost an anaesthetic, removing the pain of reality. At one point, when the vehicle had parked, she had actually fallen asleep.
The car was on the move once more, and it swayed and shook violently as though it was being driven at great speed. And recklessly. Suddenly a thought struck Sheila, Perhaps he never intended to let her out ever again. She was meant to die here, to lose consciousness through lack of food and water and then rot. She would be found months later – a rotting corpse.
