No Turning Back: The can’t-put-it-down thriller of the year. Tracy Buchanan

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       Prologue

       The First One

       I shift my legs so I can peer up at the light. It sends shivers of pain along the tendons in my neck, down my calves and along my shoulder. But it’s worth it, a brief respite from the darkness.

       The light is like nectar: soft yellow, swirling with dust particles. I open my mouth, imagine drinking it, almost feel it slipping down my parched throat and filling me with a luminosity that might heal my bruises.

       There’s a faint glow of light and a shadow moves above. I think about the moment I crossed paths with him.

       Oh God, is this really happening? I shake my head to somehow control my thoughts and my cheek scrapes against the brick, skin tearing, pain burning.

       The sound of my voice echoes up the narrow space, bouncing off the walls then back again, seeming to wrap tight around me, stifling me.

       Then there. The shadow again. A slight pause.

       He’s standing above, his dark form blocking some of the glow.

       My heart pounds, a bird trying to flutter its way out of a cage. I’m breathing fast and heavy, my bare shoulders scraping the brick with each movement.

       But I keep looking up, not caring about the pain. He hunches down, his pale fingers curling around the wooden slats above me. I hear his breath, deep and low.

       My own breath quickens in response, rasping, heart flapping flapping flapping.

       Then he lies on his belly to look through the slats. I crunch against the wall, curl myself inwards, my fringe falling over my forehead.

       One eye, blue and heavily lashed, blinks down at me.

       ‘I can see you!’ he says, voice echoing towards me. Panic flutters inside. ‘Can you hear me?’ he asks.

       I clamp my hand over my mouth.

       ‘Please,’ he says again, voice weaker with each word he utters. ‘I’m hurt, it’s really bad. Please help me.’

       I quickly shove my hand down the slim gap at my side, fumbling for the door handle. The door clicks, air rushing in and I stride out, his cries echoing after me as I lock the door then double check it.

       I have to be careful, the boy might find a way to get down here, even escape.

       And that just won’t do, it won’t do at all.