The Shuttered Room: A Disturbing Psychological Thriller of Abduction and the Dangerous Mind Game of Stockholm Syndrome

By Charles Jay Harwood

Little do they know their captive holds a deadly secret.

Jess Fraser would appear to have everything, married to a devoted husband and mother to a lively son, until she is taken hostage by three thugs and held to ransom in an upstairs room.

She cuts a hole in the bedroom floor in a desperate bid to escape, and instead finds herself drawn into the secret everyday lives of her abductors. And Jess had a secret. She is not what she appears, and it has nothing to do with her spying.

With her spyhole growing in obsession, Jess finds herself drawn into a complex psychological game with her abductors and revisiting her dark past. Jess begins to question her life with her husband, Harvey and what lies hidden behind her privileged upbringing.

Jess thinks she has the dynamics of her hosts worked out. But she is in for a shock. Will Jess ever escape, and will she escape with her sanity intact?

Note: this novel can also be found within two anthologies: Eclipse Quartet: 4 Psychological Thrillers, and Gone Too Far: 3 Psychological Thrillers about Taboo. Now on audio.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Jay Harwood
• Release date: May 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458030702

Charles Jay Harwood

Writes psychological thrillers on the human condition pushed to murky realms. Themes to be found include abduction, gambling, alcoholism, insomnia, voyeurism, psychosis, neuroses, peer pressure and narcissism. Author’s works include The Shuttered Room, Falling Awake, A Hard Lesson and Nora. Writes screenplays and a blog, Writers’ Remedies.

Book preview

Chapter 1

JESS sat upon a solitary mattress within a darkened room ten feet square. Her stomach gave a sickening flutter. Footsteps capered at the door spurring a squeak in the floorboards. Fabric whispered before footfalls retreated down the stairs.

A door slammed, a torrent of shrieks splintered the air, crockery crashed. Jess took shuddering breaths. She deduced an infidelity to fuel the ruckus and wondered if she could use it to her advantage. Silence fell like a stone. Jess’s heart thundered in the hope someone would storm out of the house. Not for the first time she’d believed tonight was going to be the night.

She would keep on believing.

Jess had made her first etch upon the woodchip next to her bed after making an estimate of the days she’d missed. Now, a row of scratches overlooked her sleeping space – eight days and counting. Several times, she had played the activist of failed plans to avoid picking at the scabs of childhood memories, of school, family gatherings, of Megan whom she hadn’t thought of in twenty years.

But what else was there to do in this darkened place where shutters permitted but a slit of light? No newspapers, radio or TV. Woodchip had proved the worst backdrop for nostalgia and Jess did not want to get wistful; she did not want the past to gnaw into the present like the creeping gloom as evening advanced upon the shuttered window.

If only her captors knew what a bad choice they’d made with one Jessica Fraser, heir to Knight Business Consultancy and Culson Building Contractors, both the biggest of their kind in Britain. Yes, a big pot was to be had, but her parents’ bovine love of wealth went to unsettling depths, including using charity events to further their prospects. Yes, Jess was a Daddy’s Girl with a tidy price tag. Only, Jess feared there wouldn’t be a price tag to be had.

Jess darted from the bed and pressed her ear against the wall. Somewhere, a door slammed. Jess’s pulse shot into overdrive. Footsteps receded outside; voices. Her clammy fists wrung at her jeans. Tonight was going to be the night. She could feel it.

Jess thought she had done a good job at acting the clueless Daddy’s Girl they had expected. In truth, she nursed a sick dread.

‘I can’t live in these clothes,’ Jess had mumbled two days ago. Her Liberty blouse and leather-trimmed boots no longer represented how she felt and in fact did not feel hers anymore. One of her captors Jake conceded jeans and T-shirts. Jess uttered a thanks, more so to her parents who had been excellent tutors in how to act cool. Two days later, Jess dared to request footwear. In the reflection of the window she saw Jake’s eyes narrow.

The slippers didn’t materialise and the hostage cuisine didn’t help. Cereal, toast, crisps and pot noodles formed the staple. The takeaways were the worst – Indian or Cantonese washed down with coke. The room became a graveyard for fast food. It began to smell like one too. Jess gathered disinfectant from her next trip to the bathroom. Cleaning had a therapeutic value, even though they sneered at her efforts.

That’s when she spotted them: a pair of Reeboks beneath the sink. She stuffed them under her T-shirt before gathering her cleaning kit and exiting the bathroom. Jess tried them on when she was alone. A tad big on the heel but she wasn’t planning on running a marathon.

Jess trembled inside as she made her final request. ‘Couldn’t you give me a proper knife and fork? Those plastic ones keep breaking.’

Two evenings back, her final wish had been granted. Jess messed up her dinner and deposited the previous night’s plastic cutlery onto the plate. She concealed their metal counterparts beneath her mattress. She hoped that Jake would not be serving his hostage this evening for Jess found him too observant. Jess turned over and feigned sleep before her next visitor showed up. She knew by the shuffle that Justin had drawn the short straw. The tinny percussion from his Ipod hissed. She held her breath as he gathered her leftovers. Once done, he made a re-trudge with a moan to the rhythm section. He lugged the door open, likely with his foot, and then let it slam behind him.

Once the bolt had clicked, Jess had stuffed the metal knife and fork through a tear in the mattress. Ready.

Silence had tumbled since the departure of the two-of-three and her soaring adrenalin had reached a plateau. The last embers of sunset now streamed between the shutters. A thin section of trees was all she could see. ‘Not overlooked,’ would be the boastful description of the property if it found its way into an estate agent’s window. ‘Great for keeping hostages.’ Still, Jess hoped someone might notice a woman going flat-out in baggy jeans and ill-fitting Reeboks.

Jess flexed her toes within the trainers. The flannelette inners felt reassuring. With a trembling hand, Jess foraged for the cutlery within the mattress. Once liberated from their den, they gleamed in the gloom – knife or fork? Jess detected movement on the landing and without thinking, cried out. ‘Hello?’

Moments stretched on. ‘Hello? Somebody? I need the bathroom!’

Living to everyone else’s whim was the worst indignity. Kia, the sole female of the trio frequently whinged about having to take Her Highness to the throne during her lunch break. ‘Can’t it wait?’ she’d hollered once. ‘I wanna see the end of South Park!’ She would then hiss some hairspray. Jess kept silent but hoped Kia’s stamina for running could never match her talent with the straighteners.

Jess hunkered behind the door, cutlery lethal only to boiled potatoes in each hand. Footfalls proceeded up the stairs. Jess knew by the clunk that Kia’s stilettos weren’t the cause. The cutlery slipped in her hands along with hope. They are going to betray me, she thought. They are going to bend and break like the take-away versions made from plastic.

The footfalls paused at the top. The bolt rattled and Jess’s face grew still. The bolt slammed back. The doorknob shifted clockwise. A creak and a silent prayer. Jess trained her eyes to the floor where she guessed a foot might emerge.

Knife or fork?

Chapter 2

FORK, she decided and the prongs made contact with ankle. Gristle separated from anklebone. She twisted the handle. Her teeth clenched; nausea slithered in her throat. And then she heard him cry out, ‘Fuck! Fuck!’

Jess shot up and shunted the door. The handle ricocheted against her stomach. A thud returned from the other side. Catlike, she bounded up, scrambled at the doorknob and found Jake prostrate, clutching his face. She stepped over him complete with pronged ankle to dart across the hallway. Jess galloped down the stairs two steps a-go. She grappled at the inward-opening door with mounting desperation before realisation struck.

She burst into the living room. Decorators had abandoned the job with walls of plaster, a boarded floor and wooden chairs. Cornflakes crunched beneath her soles as she spurted for the door. She cursed and kicked the panel. The door flew open. She sprinted for the kitchen. Her sights latched onto the back door. She lunged at the handle, happy to never see another door.

The smell of grass, smoke and damp engulfed her. With renewed force, she sprinted for the gate which bounded against her thigh. Jess veered left to a terraced road. A frantic scan yielded no one in sight. Her breaths snatched and her soles clapped. Jess craved for a turning, even to an alley of dustbins. A deadly urge to look back spouted inside. Cramp stalked her thigh muscles. The pencil-straight road continued like a diagram denoting perspective. Jess took a random left, pushed the gate and spurted to a door. She hammered with her fist. Thoughts of a Zimmer-framed lady inching her way caused Jess to make a sickening re-track onto this endless straight.

TV screens behind net curtains flickered. She glimpsed a news presenter, a soap, a recipe for lamb risotto. Nothing ever happens here, the viewers probably thought. She could make out their torpid shadows within another universe, without any intention of changing the situation. Jess was about to provide a rude awakening from their evening’s trance when she heard a sound behind her. Pat, pat, pat. Oh my God! Time would not permit another random hammer at the door; he would grab her before anyone answered. Jess was losing it; her thighs and elbows flailed, her soles skittered. Where’s the sanctuary of a police station, a pub, anything?

Jess dived for a hiatus in the hedge and pelted between the bollards. Her rhythm had finally gone. Her legs throbbed and her breaths wheezed. Woods opened out where she plunged through the foliage. She pictured herself vanishing from sight like a shadow. Jess eased to a trudge amongst the thicket and doubled over. Her legs jellied up and the ground jarred against her joints. Every sound held meaning: the drill of a woodpecker, the crack of a twig. She crouched within a fern-lined oak and made herself small. She is part of the woods, she decided; she is the fern; she is this oak. A fox or a rabbit could pass nearby without detecting a presence out of place.

She closed her eyes within a sour bouquet. Her heart thrummed to a steady beat. Silence. The boughs creaked.

Jake dropped his jacket over her head. Good move. He could gag her before she could scream. Without moving, her body took a tremendous jolt. On opening her eyes, a brawny arm cleaved her view. No. Not an arm, a branch, an oak branch loaded with leaves. The sight both infuriated and relieved her. She nudged the thing aside, her heart shot with adrenaline. Had she given her position away? The resuming silence suggested not.

Jess had the dangerous notion that no one was in fact following her. She had lost him, perhaps even back at the house. The sound she had heard earlier could have been someone else going about his business – a paperboy rushing the end of his round, a middle-aged jogger’s attempt to chase his youth.

And then she heard it: a purposeful crunch, not of these woods. Dismay trickled into her brain in a cold soup.

She could see him. He was standing fifty yards to her left. In the moonlight, his angular-jawed profile implied tenacity. Jess knit her lip until her vision blurred. How did he know? When he turned her way, his bloody nose brought a harsh reminder of what she had done. She tried not to dwell upon it – she would apologise to him in the police station if it made him feel better. A cloud’s quashing of moonlight took timing with a reality check. She had made the foolish decision of hiding in these woods, and help might as well be on another planet. She jettisoned ideas of what he might do if he caught her. Her breaths trembled in her throat.

As he presented his profile again, Jess lowered her elbows to the dirt. She proceeded to crawl. Her posterior rocked in time with her knees. Stark tableaus of a lap dancer flashed into her head. Great effort, Jess, but don’t you think your pussycat-moves are inappropriate at this time?

A snort escaped her. She proceeded and the gusset of her knickers snuggled into her buttocks. Not a pretty sight, her inner voice came again, especially in those maxi pants you’re wearing!

Jess lowered her forehead to the ground and sniggered in hicks. And don’t you think that sort of thing will be the last thing on his mind with a bloody nose like that! Jess showered spittle. What was wrong with her? Had her adrenalin warped her emotional state? Her shoulders hitched and whimpers blurted out that brought her lungs aquiver. Perhaps he was watching her right now. He had snuck up and was standing over her, pleasuring in her ridiculous performance before grabbing her by the collar. She gritted her teeth against the tears of panic pouring down her cheeks. She willed her mind still before wiping her eyes.

With a lowered head, she allowed the grime and debris to work into her hands, her face, her hair. She muffled a cough.

A blurred hedge materialised. Beyond, a dirt track tempted her. Dusk had bled away, leaving a monochrome of moonlight. Please let it lead to something, she prayed, please let there be light. Jess glanced behind and could see no sign of him. Not knowing agonised her. Was he converging upon her position? In the fading light, she could discern the length of the field where a dirt track cut to a copse fronting a farmhouse. She shifted viewpoint and a beam of light pierced the gloom. Jess pictured herself running across that field. Could she do it? Could she pelt towards those trees and slip away unnoticed? For an instant, she saw Jake in pursuit. Jess blinked the image away.

She edged along the hawthorn. A wrought iron gate permitted a gap to scramble beneath. The bars snagged her T-shirt like Velcro. She backed up, lowered herself into the dirt and pushed. The back of her T-shirt tore. Without heed, she pushed on until she reached the other side. Triumph greeted her when she had done so.

Her heart notched up. She would reach the cover of trees before he saw her. She would make it, and by God, if he interfered, she would make a racket! She was going to make the dogs bark, the foxes retreat into their holes and she was going to make the woodpeckers freeze in mid-drill.

She bunched her hands with a forwards lurch. Her legs spurted. With each stroke, she lifted her thighs parallel to the ground. Her feet pounded corn, the wind roared at her ears and woodsmoke filled her lungs. In an instant, the beam of light faltered behind the foliage. But moonlight took its place and flooded her fully-dilated pupils.

At that moment, Jess realised how visible she really was. The corners of her mouth turned down into a deathly grimace. She glanced behind, knowing what she was about to see before the dreaded image pressed upon her eyeballs.

He was fifty yards behind. His shuffling gallop did not stop him gaining upon her and in fact brought sickening determination. A whimper scoured her throat. She had been right. He had been waiting for her; in his profession, patience was mandatory.

Why couldn’t it have been Justin, she lamented, he, the addict of takeaway food with the plastic knives and forks! He would have collapsed in a sweaty heap by now, begging her to stop.

Jess’s legs floundered at the limits of exertion. Only the light existed now. Corn splintered from her trainers. The light drew closer. Jess opened her lungs and screamed a non-word, an expression unrecognised by the dictionary, but the oldest sound in human language, a screaming lament from deep within.

The thud of claws scrabbled wood; growls assaulted her ears. Oh, my God. Was she about to be ripped to shreds before being dragged back to her prison? Barbed fencing offered assurance but her heart turned to stone anyway. She had no choice but to keep on running. Keep running past the copse, past the farmhouse and to God knows where.

Lactic acid clawed at her thigh muscles. Agony contorted her face. And to mock her, trees capered at the far end of the field. She staggered towards them and made the grave decision to look behind.

Jake wasn’t giving in, pronged ankle or not. His hair had flattened against his skull and his face had contorted to a terrible sneer. Despair crushed her. Within, she found the grim satisfaction that he was suffering too. From the set of his jaw, she could tell he was gritting his teeth and making grunting sounds. Blood gushed from his nose and probably from the gash in his ankle. In the present situation, Jess knew he would catch up with her before she reached the trees. And that’s when Sam flashed into her mind.

Since her capture, Sam had become an invisible force like gravity or air. Sam came to her in her sleep, for she would awaken hugging her pillow. Black hair, a downy forehead and syllable-muddles of complex words like hippopotamus left a residue in her head.

Jess knit her mouth. She fixed her gaze upon the trees and a strange detachment billowed from within. Her hands no longer clutched into fists, but curled like shells; her lungs no longer snatched in desperation, but sipped at the air like a stork at a water’s edge, and her legs…she hadn’t a clue, they seemed to melt into a cloud. Only the wind whipping at her hair suggested she was moving at all. Jess did not have to look back to know that she was pulling away. The trees advanced and their canopies enclosed her.

Jess exploded through a maze of trunks. The dogs had hushed up and silence fell. So much for neighbourhood watch. Jess could only hope that the farmer or his wife had noticed a disturbance. Her thoughts broke off when the scent of spoiled apples prickled the air. A bad feeling tumbled over her. If this was an orchard, then…Jess didn’t want to think it. But no sooner had she done so, could see them – fences, tall fences, and brambles – huge, thorny brambles, complete in their barricade.

She swallowed resentment. She would have got away. She would have made it to the main road on the other side of this orchard and possibly to a pub. Frantically, she grabbed hold of a branch and pressed her Reebok onto the trunk. She hauled herself up. The foliage rocked. Desiccated bark showered down. She lifted her other foot onto higher purchase and the back of her throat pounded with the effort. The tear in the back of her T-shirt snagged a nodule. She twisted her torso and grappled around the back of her neck. Cramp set in. Damn it, she was going up this tree as surely as this T-shirt’s going in the bin when this is over!

A hand grabbed her foot. Jess looked down and saw Jake’s sweaty face glaring up at her. Jess grit her teeth and pressed her foot onto the side of his head. He pulled her foot towards him. Jess wriggled her foot about. The tree pitched and apples pounded to the ground like bombs. Jess clenched her teeth and wrenched her foot from the trainer. She forced herself upwards and a tear peeled the air. She forged on, mindless of exposing her bra strap.

Jake lodged his heel against the trunk. Jess grabbed a cluster of apples and pounded him with them. One glanced his forehead. Jess continued to climb, the back of her T-shirt flapping in the breeze.

Jake wiped his bloody nose on the back of his sleeve and watched her. Jess shook the branch just above to release a shower. The pelting sound afforded her satisfaction. And then she reached across for more.

‘Come down,’ she heard him utter.

The nodule of earlier snagged the stitching on her sock and cut into her big toe. Jess yanked her foot away and quickly learned that pulling was not the thing to do. The tree pitched but Jess didn’t care. The only thing that existed was the tourniquet strangulating her big toe. She grappled at the ribbing and vertigo washed over her. Twelve feet seemed more like a hundred. The moon caught her eye and the landscape lurched. Her free hand grappled for something and found only twigs. The stitching pulled tight; the tree whispered. Jess slipped. Foliage gave way to her. She fell backwards, downwards and into thin air. Her hair and the newly-formed flaps of her T-shirt, useless as wings, eddied in the wind. She gazed at the stars. When the ground came up to meet her, air exploded from her lungs. For an agonising second, she could not breathe. The foliage above settled after an eternity.

Jess blinked. The grass teased her fingers; the breeze chilled her face. For the first time in her life, she could see the Milky Way. Hippopotamus, she thought and her breaths promptly resumed.

Jake’s head appeared over her. He observed her. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

She stared up at him. His ordinarily grey eyes appeared black. He had a handsome face, she hated to admit, but he often had a sneery expression, desperate, as though nothing good ever happened to him. He would never get the girl or win the day, but he might meet a sticky end. She spat at him. ‘I hate you!’

Jake wiped the spit onto the back of his arm. Unrattled, as always, he uttered, ‘Get up.’