The Taken Read Online Free PDF Page A

move now!”
    Alex woke up with a start, her breath caught in her throat, her eyes immediately glancing around in the gloom for whatever had disturbed her. What was that? What had woken her so suddenly? Her hair sticking to her scalp with sweat, she pushed it out of her face as she sought out the glowing hands of the clock beside her bed. Three o’clock in the morning. Fuck. Her breathing slowing, she lay back down on the pillow, waiting for her internal disquiet to ease.
    It must have been another dream. As if she weren’t getting enough of those these days. Another side effect of the drugs were the nightmares. They normally involved people trying to bury her when she was dead, pushing her back into a coffin and whispering, “Relax,
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    your time is up,” and her screaming back at them that she was fine, she was still there, right up until they nailed the lid down and she would wake up, stifling a scream. Yeah, morphine couldn’t kill all your pain; that was for sure.
    The air still felt heavy and her mouth felt furry. Pushing herself up on her elbow, she took a sip from the water that had warmed in the glass by the bed. It was odd that she didn’t remember the dream, though. Shaking some of her sleepiness away, she waited for her body to calm down. It wasn’t real. Whatever had woken her wasn’t real, just her ridiculous drug-fueled imagination. Still, she thought, lying back down, maybe not remembering was a blessing sometimes.
    There was only so much terror a girl could take. She could hear the rain still beating hard at the window, aggressively tossed at the glass by the wind. Maybe that was what had woken her. Or maybe Paul or Simon had got up to use the bathroom. The thought of the house full of other people was a comforting one, and she shut her eyes to try and get at least another two or three hours sleep.
    The giggle came from the other side of the room, a little girl’s laugh, and this time Alex sat bolt upright. What the fuck was that? Her heart began to pick up the pace again and her head darted to the noise as the lilting laugh came again, this time from her wardrobe. And then a few moments later from outside the window. Her spine rigidly straight, it felt as if she couldn’t breathe, let alone move, but Alex could feel sweat forming on the palms of her hands as she gripped her duvet, ears straining. It was the drugs; that’s what it was. It had to be. The morphine playing tricks on her.
    For a few long seconds there was only the steady 29
    beat of the water on the window and her heart pounding; then lightning flashed angrily outside, illuminating the emptiness of the room. It’s just the morphine, see. No more chuckles coming from the wardrobe. Get a grip on yourself. She fought back the urge to giggle herself, but then came the second flash of lightning, lighting up the room again, forming a halo around the little boy that stood at the end of her bed, one finger over his lips.
    The small yelp her terrified body allowed to escape was drowned out by the roar of thunder, and with the next bright sheet of light that broke the sky, the boy was beside her, his finger covering her own lips. Squeezing her eyes shut, Alex screamed inside. It’s just the morphine, it’s just the morphine, but Jesus, his finger is so small and cold and damp, just like he’d been playing out in the rain. It feels so real. It all feels so real.
    The sensation on her lips didn’t change, and she forced her eyes open. It can’t hurt you. It’s not real. If you scream you’ll wake the others up. You’ll wake Mary up. She doesn’t need this. Not now. Not after today. And if the others come, you may have to explain. Explain the pills and the reason behind the pills. And this isn’t real. It can’t be.
    Still, when she saw the boy beside her, his face wet with rainwater, glancing fearfully over to the window, she had to bite the inside of her mouth to stop the sound from escaping. How could her imagination make something