Gone

by Leona Deakin

  He passed PC Fisher. ‘I saw something down there!’ he shouted. The train was getting closer and closer. He could see the purple and blue TransPennine livery on the front carriage, but he was pretty sure he had time.

  He saw the movement again, a flash of red in between the trees. He heard Bloom shout. He couldn’t make out her words. He glanced back at the train one more time. He was nearly at the end of his platform now. Do it, he told himself.

  Bloom shouted again. ‘Stay there! Stay there!’ Her voice was shrill.

  She can only stop one, he repeated like a mantra. The train blew its horn and without hesitation Jameson launched himself across the track towards Bloom’s platform.

  Lana Reid paced back and forth in the ankle-high grass. The last message had said they were on their way, but now she was in the middle of bloody nowhere with no signal, no idea what was going on and no clue how long she’d have to wait. All because she’d wanted Jane’s help. They told her she’d be disqualified – help wasn’t allowed – unless she did as she was told. She glanced back at the trees, at the figure huddled in the shadows. No going back now. She had to sit it out until the job was done. She’d enjoy seeing the expression on Marcus’s stupid fucking face.

  47

  They were sitting side by side in the car in silence. Bloom had never shouted at Marcus before, but he’d really bloody scared her. As soon as he’d made it up from the tracks on to her platform, she’d lost it. She’d been screaming at him – that he was an idiot, what the hell was he thinking, did he have no respect for his own life?

  He’d ignored her, of course. He’d been totally focused on his goal and oblivious to her yelling and the express train thundering behind him, its horn blaring. He’d pushed his way through the large shrubs lining the platform and found a discarded plastic bag attached to a branch; then, finally, he’d sunk to his knees. Was it relief or the realization that he’d risked his life for a TK Maxx carrier that had brought him to the ground? She hadn’t much cared at that point. She’d run towards him and shoved him hard.

  ‘Don’t ever do anything so stupid again,’ she’d hissed. Then she’d walked away and left him to receive some even sterner words from the police.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered now.

  Jameson turned towards her. He’d picked up dinner from the petrol station but his vacuum-packed sandwich sat untouched in his lap. ‘Huh?’

  ‘I know you want to go to Ilkley, but I need to stay here until the last train passes.’

  The police had said they had more pressing issues to deal with.

  ‘It’s the least I can do.’ He picked at the packaging. ‘What happened, Augusta? Was it a boyfriend?’

  ‘It was a child,’ she said, then added quickly, ‘Not mine. But I had a duty of care.’

  Bloom could remember her mother standing at the open door of their home as the woman screamed, ‘Where is she? Tell me where she is!’

  ‘Augusta?’ Jameson rested his hand on her arm.

  She forced the memory away. ‘Sorry. This is hard to talk about.’ She took a breath. ‘Hard to remember.’

  Jameson removed his hand and she knew he was telling her to take her time.

  She took a minute to compose herself. ‘My mother had a friend. Her name was Penny. They’d known each other since primary school. Her daughter …’ She needed to keep the images at bay and focus on the facts. ‘Her daughter was twelve years younger than me. Penny had struggled to have children.’ She paused. Was that relevant? Of course it was. To desperately hope for a child, then lose them, only made the tragedy worse. ‘Penny’s daughter had been in trouble at school and Penny asked if I would speak to her.’ A small, strangled laugh escaped her throat. ‘I thought I could practise my new skills, show off to my mother, who frankly thought my becoming a psychologist was one step away from hypnotizing partygoers to bark like dogs.’

  Jameson made an appreciative hum in response to her attempt at humour.

  ‘I had no idea the damage I could do.’

  They were silent. Then Jameson said, ‘The first blood on my hands was a young farm labourer in the Ukraine. We suspected a criminal organization was using the farm he worked at to hide weapons. I knew the organization was ruthless and dangerous, but I convinced this kid to spy for me. I told him it wouldn’t go unrewarded. I knew he had a sister. She was hoping for British Citizenship and I implied that I could help. They shot him in the head and hung his body on a fence in the local village so that everyone would see it. I didn’t sleep well again for … well, for ever really.’ He looked at Bloom. ‘None of us know the damage we can do when we’re young and inexperienced, Augusta.’

  She looked at him through her tears. He’d left MI6 after one trauma too many, but he’d never shared any of this before. It made her feel braver. ‘I thought I was helping. I thought we were making progress. The morning it happened, I was planning to ask permission to write the whole thing up as a case study … a success story.’

  ‘You can’t blame yourself for someone else’s choices.’

  ‘Oh, but I can. In this case, I really can.’

  Bloom remembered Penny barging past her mother and barrelling up the stairs to where she herself stood. Their faces were just inches apart. Penny spoke low, almost hissing, her voice filled with hate. ‘My baby threw herself in front of a train.’ She remembered sitting heavily on the stair behind her, the strength knocked from her legs, the air knocked from her lungs. Penny kept talking – shouting – but she only heard a high-pitched whistling, no words. My baby threw herself in front of a train. She remembered looking at her hands. She couldn’t feel her fingers. She tried to move them but they stayed splayed out on her knees.

  Her mother was standing beside them. She had an arm around Penny. ‘Come on, Pen. Come with me.’

  But Penny wouldn’t leave. She kept waving a piece of paper. Bloom remembered staring as it oscillated back and forth in front of her. ‘I will never forgive you,’ Penny said.

  ‘This is not Augusta’s fault, Penny. Come on now.’ Her mother’s voice was calm, as though she were talking about the weather.

  Penny turned to Bloom’s mother. ‘Really?’ she said, handing over the piece of paper. ‘Not her fault?’

  She watched her mother take it. It was an envelope. Her mother removed the paper inside, looked at it for a moment, and then said, ‘Oh dear.’

  She looked at Augusta and her eyes expressed everything she would never actually say: I am disappointed. I am embarrassed. I am ashamed.

  Bloom remembered taking the piece of paper from her mother, who then led Penny back down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  Eventually she looked down. There were only two lines, but they would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  I can’t be normal. And I don’t want to be a monster.

  You told me to choose. I’ve chosen.

  48

  Bloom hadn’t allowed herself to think about that day for years. The details had become foggy and vague over time. But as she ran through the events in her mind, her memory cleared and something came back to her.

  She grabbed her phone, opened Google maps, zoomed in on South Milford, found the train line and tracked it first towards Selby and then towards Leeds. Where the train line crossed a road, she converted to a satellite image, looking for something specific. When she finally found it, she double-checked the location, handed her phone to Jameson and started the engine.

  ‘But the last train isn’t for another twenty minutes,’ said Jameson.

  Bloom pulled out of the now empty car park. ‘The pathologist said that if the gods were kind, the fall would have knocked her out before the train hit her. The fall.’

  Jameson looked down at the phone and zoomed in on the image. ‘She jumped from a bridge?’

  ‘That’s the only one near South Milford.’

  ‘It looks like a farm-access road.’

  Bloom nodded. ‘Can you direct me?’

  Darkness had fallen and the lac
k of street lighting made it hard to see. Bloom switched her lights to full beam as they passed open fields and dense woodland.

  ‘Slow down,’ said Jameson. ‘Train lines often have wooded embankments.’

  He was right. There it was. Bloom pulled over to park on the grass. They climbed out and walked back to the bridge.

  Bloom could just about make out the parallel train tracks below. So this was it. The place where it happened. The place she’d jumped from. There was no way a drop this short would have knocked her out. The pathologist was just being kind.

  ‘Augusta?’ Jameson’s voice was urgent.

  There was a woman standing at the edge of the bridge. She was walking slowly towards them. And when her face came into view, Bloom put a hand on Jameson’s forearm. His muscles tensed and she knew he’d clenched his fists.

  Bloom stepped forward. ‘Lana?’

  Lana stopped. ‘What took you so long?’

  ‘Who told you about this place?’ Bloom said. Who would know to bring her here? The pathologist? The police? Penny?

  Lana smiled.

  ‘Where’s Jane?’ said Jameson, his rage barely contained.

  Lana stepped towards them. ‘With a friend.’

  ‘With what friend? Where?’ Jameson took a step forward.

  ‘On a bridge,’ said Lana, her eyes fixed on Jameson.

  Fear sliced through Bloom’s chest. ‘Which bridge?’

  ‘Above a train track,’ said Lana, her voice almost robotic.

  Jameson lunged at Lana. He was too quick – Bloom couldn’t stop him. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her face right up to his own.

  ‘Tell me exactly where she is, you crazy bitch, or I’ll throw you in front of the next train myself.’

  ‘Oh, Marcus,’ she trilled. ‘How manly you are!’

  ‘Marcus?’ Bloom placed a hand on his back.

  ‘Don’t think I won’t do it,’ Jameson said. ‘Jane and the world would be better off without you. Now where the hell is she?’ When Lana failed to respond, he dragged her into the middle of the bridge, his knuckles white on her shoulders. He pushed her to the edge and checked his watch. ‘You’ve got two minutes.’

  Bloom watched her partner. She was ninety-nine per cent sure he wouldn’t do it. He was a good man, a law-abiding man. But he’d just told her about the first death he was responsible for. There were more.

  ‘Marcus?’ she said again. If he was bluffing, he wouldn’t thank her for ruining it. But if she showed just enough fear … ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Marcus.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Jameson’s voice was low and menacing. She’d never heard him like this before.

  ‘How do you expect to find her if you throw me over?’ Lana’s voice was still completely calm.

  ‘She’s right, Marcus,’ said Bloom. ‘Don’t let your hatred cloud your judgement. I know you’ve struggled with those who’ve died at your hand before.’ Lana responded with a hint of panic and Bloom felt a small surge of satisfaction. The woman strained against Jameson’s arm for the first time. She didn’t want to die. ‘If Lana is killed by this train, what will we have gained? She won’t be here any more, breathing, thinking, talking. She’ll be nothing.’

  Jameson tightened his grip against Lana’s attempts to wriggle free. ‘Tell me where she is and I’ll let you go. It’s that simple.’

  He was playing along. He was still thinking clearly.

  Lana stopped squirming. In the distance Bloom heard the low murmur of the next train approaching.

  ‘Decision time, Lana,’ said Jameson, pushing her further over the edge.

  ‘You know, I never did like you.’ Lana craned her neck to see his face. ‘And neither does Jane.’

  Bloom could see the train’s headlights. ‘Why would you wind him up right now, Lana?’

  Lana looked at her and smiled.

  And then Bloom saw it. The reason they’d been lured to this spot. The reason Lana had waited all afternoon and into the night for them. This was a demonstration of power. They had somehow discovered Bloom’s biggest weakness and this elaborate theatre was designed to exploit it. They had manipulated technology to lure her here. They had sent Lana alone. They had made it seem like Bloom and Jameson might actually have the upper hand. But it was all an illusion.

  The train bore down on them, fast and loud, pushing gusts of air on to the bridge where they stood.

  ‘She’ll never tell us where Jane is, Marcus,’ said Bloom. ‘Do it.’

  Lana’s eyes widened as Jameson’s head snapped right and his eyes met Bloom’s. The train was here. Bloom could see the driver in the brightly lit cab. She held Jameson’s gaze and said again, ‘Do it.’

  Lana’s hands grasped the barrier as Jameson lifted her feet from the ground. She wasn’t screaming, but Bloom hadn’t expected her to. She was a psychopath – she wouldn’t feel fear the way they would.

  The train’s loud rumbling vibrated in her ears, but Bloom heard another sound, another engine.

  The dirt bike skidded off the field from behind their parked Seat and headed straight for Bloom. She jumped backwards – as the rider no doubt expected – as its front wheel stopped a millimetre from the bridge wall. Its back wheel skidded in an arc as the express train thundered underneath them.

  Either Jameson had let go of Lana or Lana had broken free, because when Bloom’s vision cleared, Lana was sitting on the back of the bike. She patted the rider’s shoulder and the bike roared into action, sending dirt into the air, then reversing past Bloom, spinning 180 degrees and speeding down the road.

  ‘I’ll drive!’ shouted Jameson, already running back to their car.

  Bloom didn’t argue. She climbed into the passenger seat and fastened her seatbelt as the car swerved off the grass and over the bridge. She could just see the rear lights of the bike in the distance. Jameson accelerated and Bloom hoped his memory of the road was better than hers.

  ‘We’ll never catch a bike,’ he said, ‘but let’s try to keep it in view.’

  The road was straight for a few hundred yards. Then the small red bike light began to blink in and out of view as the road curved away and then straightened again.

  ‘You had me going for a second there.’ Jameson didn’t take his eyes off the road or his foot off the accelerator.

  ‘As did you.’ Bloom braced herself against the dashboard with her outstretched hand.

  ‘How did you know to call their bluff?’ They reached a T-junction and Jameson threw the car round to the right.

  Bloom lurched towards Jameson and then back again. Fumes filled the air as Jameson burned through their fuel. ‘Instinct.’

  Jameson raised his eyebrows. ‘Did you follow your gut, Dr Bloom?’

  Only a person whose life had always been full of risk would try humour at a time like this. ‘Would you have done it if I’d been wrong?’

  For the first time, Jameson’s eyes left the road and he glanced at her. It was enough.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I shouldn’t have asked that.’

  They passed a level-crossing. Bloom looked down the tracks, checking for trains.

  ‘Shit,’ said Jameson, under his breath.

  ‘They’re in the field.’ Bloom picked up her phone, but there was no service. She scanned the horizon, looking for a possible route. Jameson turned left and accelerated along the road that ran parallel to the field, but it quickly began to veer away. They were losing them. Bloom craned her neck, looking back to try and find the bike. There was nothing but empty fields.

  The car slowed. ‘It’s a dead end,’ Jameson said, as they reached the entrance to a factory. ‘They knew what they were doing.’

  49

  It was after midnight when Jameson and Bloom arrived back at the house.

  Jameson headed to his room and took a shower. He turned the heat up high to wash away the frustration. What the hell had that been about? What had Lana gained? Bloom said the game’s creators had been manipulating her emotions, that they’
d have got a kick out of it, but Jameson didn’t buy it. There had to be something else, some practical reason, some fundamental gain. When he could take no more, he wrapped the large bath towel from the radiator around his waist. It was soft and warm. He reached for his phone and replied to Sarah. She’d texted earlier to check that he’d arrived safely and to ask how things were. He said he was fine and that he’d call tomorrow.

  He found Bloom in front of an empty fireplace in a wing-backed leather Chesterfield chair. He sat in the matching one opposite and she handed him a heavy tumbler. From the colour and smell, he guessed it was a rather nice Scottish malt. He wondered if Bloom had bought it herself. He couldn’t imagine her buying spirits; a good red wine or a crisp white, maybe, but whisky? He took a sip. It tasted peaty and warm and was very much needed.

  ‘Whose is this glass of old tat then, yours or your father’s?’

  ‘My mother’s, actually.’ Bloom looked up. ‘She liked a stiff whisky after a difficult operation.’

  ‘A cardiac surgeon, right?’

  Bloom nodded and watched the whisky spin as she rotated her glass. ‘We’ll head over to Ilkley first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘I expect they’ll be long gone by now, don’t you?’ That was it. Of course. That was the tangible gain. Lana had bought herself time to move Jane.

  Bloom didn’t reply.

  Jameson’s phone buzzed in his pocket. ‘Just a second,’ he said, walking through to the kitchen to answer.

  Sarah’s voice came down the line, a splash of normality in an otherwise crazy night.

  ‘Hey you,’ she said.

  ‘I thought you’d be asleep or I’d have called,’ he said.

  ‘Any luck finding your young friend?’

  Jameson took a large swig of the malt. It stung the back of his throat.

  ‘Marcus?’

  ‘Sorry. No. No luck.’

  ‘Are you OK? You sound …’

  Jameson closed his eyes. He’d really thought they’d find Jane today. Even when they were with Lana, he’d believed that she’d tell them where Jane was. And when it became clear that she had no intention of doing anything of the sort, he had been truly tempted to throw her over that bridge. He hadn’t come face to face with his dark side for quite a while and it didn’t feel good.