Authors: Jack Jordan
‘You don’t know what they’ve done,’ the voice says. ‘You don’t know what horrible things they did. Your
mother, your sister: they deserve to die.’
He lies there silently, looking into the shadows of his room with wide, glistening eyes, trying to spot a face, a body, the person that belongs to the voice.
‘I just had to tell you. I had to tell you why. You don’t deserve this, but neither did another little boy. He shouldn’t have died without someone punishing those who took him from me.’
Dominic feels warmth spreading on his bed, as if a fire has begun to ignite – a wet, warm fire. His pyjamas are soaked in his own urine, and the sour scent fills his nostrils. He passes out, falling limp in his bed.
A figure emerges from the shadows, throws the cigarette out of the window and closes it. The figure walks over to the bed and strokes Dominic’s head. After a moment of watching him sleep, the figure leaves the room and heads back to the Cotswolds.
Chapter Forty-three
That Night
Louise and Michael stumble through the front door, laughing and swaying. With the house to themselves, they enter without whispering. Her dress shimmers as she walks towards the kitchen while Michael sways behind her with his shirt spilling out from his waistband.
She pours two glasses of water, and gives one to her husband. They stand against the kitchen worktop, remembering how they writhed around on top of strangers’ coats, her dress pushed up to her waist, his tie gripped tightly in her hand.
They look at each other, grinning, remembering every tingle of pleasure they felt and every muffled shriek she made behind his warm palm.
‘We need to go to parties more often,’ he says through a smirk.
‘That’s if we ever get invited to any. You ruined that lovely suede coat.’
‘Yeah, they’re never going to get that stain out, are they?’
They laugh and slip into a comfortable silence.
‘You look phenomenal in that dress,’ he says, looking at his wife with hungry, desiring eyes.
‘I’m glad you like it. You bought it after all.’
‘Oh, did I?’ he retorts.
‘An early Christmas present. Thank you, darling, you know just what I like.’
They laugh.
‘I love you,’ he says.
‘I love you more,’ she replies.
The couple make their way upstairs, swaying from side to side drunkenly.
When they reach their bedroom, they undress before each other, revelling in the sight of each other’s bodies, still lusting for each other after all this time. He gets hard from the sight of her slipping the dress down her body and stripping off her underwear.
‘Not again!’ she jokes, when she sees his erection rising.
‘In the morning, then. I’ll wake you up how you like.’
She grins with excitement and laughs behind closed lips.
Michael turns off the light, and they sink into bed and embrace. He falls asleep almost instantly, breathing softly into her ear and warming the skin on her neck.
Louise closes her eyes, reminiscing about the night, revelling in her love for her husband, her children and her life. She realises that she is the happiest she will ever be, right here in her husband’s arms, in the house
they started their family in.
This is perfection. Nothing else could be this perfect
.
The sound of Michael’s soft breathing is interrupted. Louise’s phone vibrates intrusively from her clutch bag on the floor beside the bed. She sighs and slips out of his arms, stretching her arm out of the bed and sliding to the edge of the mattress to retrieve her phone. When she sees Brooke flashing on the screen, she begrudgingly leaves the warm bed and heads for the hallway, slipping into her dressing gown en route.
‘Brooke, I can’t pick you up. I’ve had a drink.’
‘
MUM!
’
The one panic-stricken word makes her heart jump in one gargantuan jolt.
‘Brooke? What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
‘She’s dead! She’s dead!’
‘Who’s dead?’ she asks, horrified.
‘The woman! She’s dead! She’s bleeding everywhere!’
‘Where are you? What’s happened?’
‘I crashed! I crashed into her and she’s dead!’
‘Brooke, where are you?’
Brooke gives her whereabouts and directions as though she is spewing them from her gut, making hardly any sense at all.
‘Please come! Please come and help me!’
‘I’m coming, Brooke, I’m coming! I’m leaving right now.’
Louise hangs up the phone, quivering with terror.
She creeps back into the bedroom, and heads for the dressing room and gets dressed. She throws on her gym trainers, fumbling to tie the laces with shaking fingers, while thinking of how her daughter could have got herself into this dreadful scenario.
Has Brooke... has Brooke really killed someone?
She returns into the bedroom with light steps and stops before the foot of the bed. She looks at her husband sleeping, blissfully beautiful and unaware.
I can’t wake him. There is no need for both of us to be involved in whatever Brooke has got herself into
.
‘I love you,’ she whispers, taking in the sight of him before leaving the bedroom, completely unaware that her whole life is about to change.
Chapter Forty-four
Louise comes to, feeling as though she has risen from death.
Every part of her is searing with the agony. Every breath she takes feels as though she is inhaling shards of glass. Her muscles feel bruised. Every bone in her feels numb. The entire left side of her head and face feels as though it has been attacked with a hammer. She lies on the freezing snow that clings to her skin as though they have been singed together.
The sky has faded from night to day. The trees are no longer sinister silhouettes. The snow is gleaming in the morning sunshine, and the sky is so blue and bright her eyes stream.
She looks up to see dark, shadowed bark above her. She had rolled under a large fallen tree, the roots uplifted from the ground during a forceful storm in the previous winter. Insects crawl on the bark, weaving in and out of the jagged paths engraved into the surface.
She remembers slipping and tumbling after being thrown into the air. She doesn’t know how long she has been here; it might only have been an hour or two, or it could have been a whole night, or maybe more.
Maybe Brooke has been found
.
Using all of her strength, she drags herself out from
under the fallen tree, grimacing and groaning from the pain. When she crawls out of the shadows and into the sunlight, she falls onto her back and allows the warmth to shine onto her through the gaps in the trees. She closes her eyes, and feels the warmth on her coat, her frozen legs, and the numb skin on her face.
She decides to keep going. She needs to get home, to eat food, to drink water, to bathe, to sleep in a soft, warm bed until she feels well again. She needs to recover so she can find Brooke.
She struggles to her feet, her legs stiff as though they have rusted, and stands for a moment in a rigid stance. She heads up the hill she had tumbled down: her muscles burn as she climbs. When she reaches the top, she sees the woodland in all its glory: beautiful sunlight shining through the trees in sliced beams, the snow sparkling as if mixed with broken glass, the sound of birds singing from the treetops.
She begins to walk. Her pace is slow and pained, her energy levels depleted to the point of fainting, but she is determined to leave the woodland and never, ever return.
She walks through the woodland, hoping that she is going the right way and not further into the place that detained her for the night. She fears she will be lost forever until she spots the stream, dipped low in the earth like a crack from an earthquake; a large, deep wrinkle in the pristine snow.
Looking down at the frozen water, she is bombarded by memories of the day before: the suitcase, the police looking down at her with pity, trying to persuade her to return home after the search came to an end.
If only I had listened
.
She walks alongside the stream, beside its irregular winding path, keeping a safe distance so she won’t slip into it.
She cannot think of her missing daughter, the dead robins, the broken window, her deceitful husband or her neglected son, but only of the pain she is in and her immense hunger for food, water and rest.
When she reaches the edge of the woods and sees a church steeple peering above the treetops in the village, she sighs with relief. Longing to collapse, she soldiers on. She walks up the steep field, hoping never to see or feel snow again.
She finally begins her journey up the lane that snakes up into the village from the fields, passing the barn without even glancing at it. All of her energy is focused on each step forwards, each breath she takes feeling like it could be her last.
When the country house comes into view, she cries with relief.
She fumbles around in her pockets for her keys. Her phone is no longer inside with them. She pauses and her heart flinches.
Brooke won’t be able to contact me if she needs me
.
With her cold keys in hand, she continues towards the house, accepting that her phone is lodged in the snow deep within the woods, and that she will never return to retrieve it. She will never venture into that woodland again.
She opens the door with a trembling hand and is hit by the warmth of the central heating. It has been on since she began the search the morning before, after the cold had seeped in from the broken window.
She steps into the sweltering house and locks the door behind her. Her chest wheezes from an infection resting in her lungs. The heat burns her freezing, red cheeks as she staggers into the kitchen on exhausted legs, and gulps down two glasses of water. She manages to sit at the island unit, and tears at slices of bread with her teeth like a starved animal, swallowing mouthfuls without taking much time to chew.
Finally, she slips off her shoes and slides off the seat. She drags off her coat and heads towards the stairs, clawing herself upwards by gripping the bannister.
Once upstairs in the master suite, Louise runs the shower hot until steam fills the room. She strips down to her skin, which is bruised and cut, and almost as pale as the snow she slept on. She sits on the shower tray, under the waterfall gushing from the showerhead, allowing it to wash away her traumatic night.
Eventually, she summons up enough energy to
crawl out of the shower, dry herself and tumble into bed, sinking under the duvet. The moment her head hits the pillow, she falls into a sleep so deep an earthquake couldn’t wake her.
Chapter Forty-five
That Night
Brooke sits in the wrecked car, clutching her bare knees to her chest, shivering as if the cold night itself is shaking her by her shoulders. She has never been this cold. A search of the car found nothing that could keep her warm. All she can do is try to bear the agony of the cold, winter night. An hour has passed since she called her mother: she still hasn’t arrived. Brooke waits, listening to the sound of her chattering teeth, terrified that a police car might drive by and discover the scene.
It is four a.m. The sky is still dark, and will be for hours to come.
I just have to make it to sunrise. I’ll be home by then. Mum won’t be much longer – she can’t be
.
Her mind cannot digest what has happened; that she is a killer. Suddenly, she remembers that she didn’t just kill the woman, but a young boy, too. She gasps, cupping her mouth in horror as tears form in her eyes.
How could I forget that I killed a child?
Having been so overwhelmed by her discovery of the dead woman, everything else seemed to vanish. Now she has to deal with the truth: she has killed
two
people.
Or maybe he is alive
.
At the top of the hill, a car’s headlights shine through the gap in the road barrier.
Is it a policeman? Another driver? Is it Mum?
A dark figure steps out of the car and approaches the edge of the hill. It stands in front the headlights, which shine around it like a glowing aura.
Brooke remains still, too terrified to move, as if the person will be able to see even the slightest flinch in the dark.
‘
Brooooooooooooooke!
’
The sound echoes into the night.
‘Mum,’ she mutters, clambering out of the car and to her feet.
‘
Broooooooooooooke!
’
‘
MUM! I’M DOWN HERE!’
Only the echo of her words calls back to her.
‘MUUUUUUUUM!’
She screams the word with every drop of energy she has left, her voice breaking towards the end of the word.
The figure vanishes from sight. The headlights turn off and, slowly but surely, a shadowy figure begins to make its way down the hill.
She runs. She runs on the cold snow, on feet she cannot feel, against air that scorches her skin, until she is in her mother’s arms, sobbing with relief that
she is no longer alone.
***
Louise drives up the barren road at a slow crawl, terrified that the car might swerve on the ice. Her heart is racing. She feels sick with nerves. All she can hear is Brooke screaming for her down the phone. Louise has no idea when she will get there, or what she will find. Her eyes scan the barrier on the left-hand side of the road, looking for dents, or pieces of car abandoned on the roadside.
She has no idea whose car Brooke was driving: another crime to add to the list; another part of the story she cannot explain.
Is the dead person a friend of hers? Will I have to tell the parents that their child is dead?
Her nerves keep her wide awake, but she is conscious of still being drunk, and focuses intensely on the road, as though it might vanish from sight if she looks away.
Suddenly, she spots unusual tyre marks in the snow, which veer to the left. She creeps along in first gear, watching the tracks move and change. The tyre marks turn violently to the right, then the left; then they spin, overlapping in crazed, unsymmetrical circles, before straightening out and disappearing off the edge of the road. She looks up. The road barrier has been ripped apart; it juts out over a drop that is smothered in
darkness.