Table Of Content

Caged Copyright © 2016 D H Sidebottom This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual places, incidents and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2016 D H Sidebottom. Please do not copy, alter or redistribute this book. Please secure author’s permission before sharing any extracts of this book. Formatting: Champagne Formats Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Twenty-Three Twenty-Four Twenty-Five Twenty-Six Twenty-Seven Twenty-Eight Twenty-Nine Thirty Thirty-One Thirty-Two Thirty-Three Dove Lost TEN The Bunk Up Tiny Bloody Lies ‘Twenty-one years ago Judd Asher, aged four, was snatched after playing in his front garden. The largest search in the history of Derbyshire police was finally called off after three years, the mysterious disappearance of the young boy one of the police force’s most heart- breaking unsolved crimes. In a shocking discovery by South Yorkshire police in the early hours of yesterday morning after being called out to a routine inspection about animal cruelty, Judd was found alive, living in the basement of an isolated farmhouse belonging to Mary and Hank Dawson. According to locals, the Dawsons were a very private couple, and segregated themselves from the neighbouring community. Many residents in the quiet rural town of Deenslow said that they were a ‘strange couple’, but had no clue as to what was actually going on in the privacy of that small and rundown farmhouse. The police have yet to issue a statement, but it is believed that Judd has suffered serious abuse, both mentally and physically. An inside source told us that two bodies were removed from the Dawsons’ property, along with numerous neglected animal cadavers. But even more heart-breaking is that Judd’s parents, Janice and Terry Asher were both killed in a hotel fire in 1992, a year after Judd’s disappearance. At this time, it is unknown whether Judd has anymore living relatives.’ Samantha Williamson reporting for The Star. “KLOE!” Sighing, I swilled down the rest of my cold coffee and snatched up the last piece of toast. “Mmm?” I knew he couldn’t hear the low murmur of my voice, but it was either that or my frustrated shout. “Klo!” “What?” I finally shouted, giving in to the slight spark of anger as I plucked my keys from the hook beside the front door and pushed one arm into my coat as I clamped the scrap of toast between my teeth. Ben’s face appeared over the top of the upper tier gallery, his deep chocolate eyes assessing me – or rather my mood. “Don’t forget…” “Eight at Frankie’s!” I nodded slowly but derisively, speaking each word around my breakfast as I pushed in the remaining portion. “I won’t forget, Ben.” “We both know you will.” “Jesus Christ!” I growled, shoving my other arm into my coat and forcing each button into the small loops of cord. “I have to get to work. I’m going to be late. I promise I’ll be there.” He narrowed his eyes on me, tipping his head slightly to the side. Finally, after staring at me for a moment too long, his glaring eyes softened and he sighed heavily. “You came on.” Tears bit my eyes and I blinked them back. I didn’t have time to face the disappointment that had greeted me when I’d gotten out of bed that morning. The sadness reflected back at me through my husband’s eyes hurt me more than the smear of blood on the toilet tissue had. Unable to answer him verbally, I just nodded. “Shit,” he muttered quietly as he rushed down the stairs. His arms came around me and he tugged me towards him, pressing my head into the comfort of his strong chest. “I’m sorry,” I whispered over the restriction in my throat and in my heart. “Hey.” He leaned back, looking down at me. “No. It isn’t your fault, babe. We’ll get there.” “When, Ben? It’s been three years. We have to face that it’s not going to happen.” Shaking his head firmly his glare was back. “It will. We just have to believe it.” “Believing doesn’t make babies.” A pain speared my chest. “Nor do I, apparently.” He ran his thumb over my cheek, wiping away the escapee tear. “I think it’s time we saw the doc.” I knew what he was insinuating, and unable to bury the self-loathing I bit out, “Make sure my broken body is capable?” “Damn it, Kloe. I didn’t mean that.” He looked hurt but I couldn’t help it. I knew it played on his mind as much as it did mine. Shrugging, I pulled away from him. “I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.” Squeezing his eyes closed he blew out an irritated breath but nodded. “Sure.” The word was barely out of his mouth before I was pulling the front door closed behind me and blowing out a shuddering breath, the chill in the early December air making my heartache physical. As much as he tried to hide it, I could see the lie on his face every month when he told me it wasn’t my fault I couldn’t get pregnant. We both knew it was. After all, he never failed to tell me, almost every month, how he’d got a girl pregnant in uni – even if she’d gone on to lose it. It was like a jeer at me every time he told me the story, a virtual slap to my confidence. Ben didn’t come out as I sat in my car waiting for the icy windscreen to defrost. Then again, I hadn’t really expected him to. He always struggled to cope with my menstrual mood, the added disappointment making my buried sadness too much for his compassion to stretch to. I knew he would be sitting at the bottom of the stairs, waiting until he heard my car pull away before he left the house for work. And as if wanting to prove myself correct, I pulled out of our driveway and drove a few meters before parking up out of sight. When I saw the rear lights of Ben’s car turn on, lighting the edge of our driveway in the dark morning, I drowned more sorrow and continued to work. “You think you can handle this one, Kloe?” I looked from the papers in my hand to my boss, James, who was perched on the edge of my desk. “Of course,” I answered, my voice holding more confidence than I did. “It’s a high profile one, which I’m sure you’re aware of.” I nodded. “Yeah, I’ve followed the outline of it on the news.” James nodded, his brows pinching together. “I won’t lie to you, it’s a tough one. Judd is very repressed. He doesn’t speak, and to be honest, we’re not even sure he knows how to talk.” I grimaced, the angry twist in my stomach adding to the belly ache I already had. “He’s also violent. He has absolutely no social skills. It seems he’s been locked away in that basement for many, many years, possibly since the day he was taken as a boy. He’s malnourished, scarred both physically and mentally, and understandably, scared to frigging death.” I nodded again, flicking through the paperwork. From the initial observations done by the hospital staff it appeared that Judd Asher had the characteristics of a violent teenage boy. The photographs showed many scars old and new. His ribs were prominent, his hip bones jutted out and his face was hidden beneath a beard Father Christmas would be damn proud of. In fact, underneath the dirt all that was visible of his face were his eyes, a deep green wildness swirling with fear and threat. “He’s sedated at the moment, and after treatment he’s being moved to the centre.” I leaned back in my chair, placing the paperwork on top of my desk. “The Dawsons committed suicide?” “It appears so. Plus, Judd’s real parents are now deceased. He has no other living relatives, so at the moment his rehabilitation is solely our concern.” I knew with my job as rehab support worker I couldn’t afford to get attached to any of my patients, but I couldn’t stop looking at those striking green eyes. They stared right at me, inside me, begging me for help and promising me violence.