Deliver Me

by Karen Cole

  There are nine unread emails in the inbox. Abby starts with the most recent and works backwards. There are some general emails to Rob from school; and a couple of messages from Amazon suggesting items they might like to buy, and confirming the purchase of a baby carrier. There’s a message from a friend called Heather asking if she wants to come to a school reunion at the end of October. Abby emails Heather explaining that Ellie has disappeared and asking her to contact them if she knows anything. Then she opens her own Facebook account and posts a message.

  My beloved sister, Elizabeth Campbell, has been missing for two days now, and we are worried sick about her. If you know anything at all about where she might be, please let us know and please share this message.

  She needs a photo of Ellie to attach to the message, so she goes back to the emails and clicks on the drive where Rob and Ellie keep most of their photos. She searches through the previous summer but there’s nothing she can use. There are lots of photos of Hector, a few of Abby and Rob, but none of Ellie. Ellie is usually the one behind the camera. She tries another file, simply labelled Photos.

  At first, she’s confused, then embarrassed. It must be Rob’s. But why would he keep his porn here, where Ellie can see it? Her first instinct is to close the file. It’s not her business. But there’s something odd about the pictures. She clicks on one, and it fills the screen. This is not your standard porn. Actually, it’s quite artistic. It’s a photo of a naked woman lying on a turquoise sheet. Her skin is pale and stark. She looks almost like a statue. There’s something arresting about the light that makes Abby think it’s a professionally taken shot. But there’s also something disturbing. Maybe it’s the way her face is hidden under a fan of brown hair, or the way the body seems so limp, as if she’s asleep, or . . . dead. There’s something about her. A horrible suspicion crawls in Abby’s belly.

  Heart hammering, she clicks on the next picture. This picture is undeniably pornographic. The woman’s legs are splayed. But this time the face is clear. Her eyes are closed, her brown hair curling over her cheek, the large freckle on her right shoulder.

  It’s unmistakeable.

  The picture is of Abby.

  Thirty-Six

  It must be a mistake.

  The world tilts. Blackness curls at the edges of her mind and the room sways. She feels like she’s about to faint. Hands shaking, she clicks through more photos. There are lots of them, all taken in different poses, arms and legs arranged like mannequins or like the victims of an ancient disaster – reminding her of pictures she’s seen of the petrified bodies in Pompeii. In all of them her eyes are closed, or her head is turned away from the camera, her identity nullified. In one picture the photographer has left his finger over the lens. Abby stares at it for a long time. Who owns that finger? The answer seems inescapable. Only two people could have uploaded these photos. Ellie or Rob . . . and Abby is sure it wasn’t Ellie.

  But how is that even possible? Her mind recoils. The evidence in front of her eyes is too terrible to contemplate. Before she has time to gather her thoughts, she hears the squeak of the front gate. Someone crunches up the gravel pathway and there’s the sound of the key scraping in the lock. He’s back.

  Shit. Heart thumping out of her chest, she closes the window with the photos and switches off the computer. The computer is turning itself off as Rob comes into the living room, kicks off his shoes and flings himself down on the sofa.

  ‘She hasn’t taken anything out of our joint account,’ he says, his voice weary and flat.

  Abby nods, not trusting herself to speak.

  ‘Did you find anything?’ he asks. ‘What were you looking at just now?’

  Abby shakes her head. Stay calm. Stay calm. ‘Some emails,’ she manages, her voice sounding surprisingly normal. ‘There was nothing useful.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Rob gives a heavy sigh. He puts his head in his hands. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’

  Abby feels cold and afraid. All she can see are the pictures – those disgusting pictures. She can’t believe the man sitting in front of her took them. Rob, who she’s always trusted, always thought of as a brother. The sense of betrayal is overwhelming. Inside her belly the baby kicks her hard and nausea grips her. She retches.

  ‘Abby, are you okay?’

  She dashes past him up the stairs to the bathroom and throws up repeatedly into the toilet. Then, with trembling hands, she locks the door and crouches with her back against the bath. For what feels like a long time she just sits there, rocking backwards and forwards, trying to control her breathing. What should she do? Then, just as she decides to move, she hears Rob’s heavy footsteps on the stairs. She freezes, Panic gripping her. There’s nothing to be afraid of, she tells herself. It’s only Rob. But Rob is no longer the person she thought she knew. If he took those pictures, what else is he capable of?

  Her heart is hammering through her chest as he knocks on the door.

  ‘Abby, are you alright in there?’

  She sits there, frozen.

  ‘Come on, open the door. Talk to me. We’ve got to hold it together. Elie’s going to turn up. You’ll see.’

  He can’t know anything’s different. She mustn’t let him suspect she knows. What would he do if he knew she knew? ‘I’m just a bit queasy, that’s all,’ she says, trying to keep her voice from shaking. ‘The baby’s in an uncomfortable position.’

  There’s silence for a minute. Then, ‘Oh, okay. Do you need anything?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  He stands outside for a while, not moving. Abby waits, holding her breath. Then at last she hears him walk away downstairs, and then the sound of him clattering around in the kitchen. She scrabbles to her feet, unsure what to do. All she knows is she needs to get out of this house. Away from Rob.

  Slowly, quietly, she opens the door and creeps across the landing and down the stairs.

  He’s in the kitchen on his laptop.

  ‘You feeling better?’ he asks, looking up and rubbing his eyes. Abby forces herself to stop at the door, even though all her instincts are telling her to run. She must pretend everything is normal, or at least as normal as it can be with Ellie missing.

  ‘I’m okay,’ she says. ‘It’s just really hard being at home, with Ellie out there. I feel like I need to do something. I thought I’d go to the surgery. Maybe someone there will know something . . .’ She heads for the door.

  Rob stands up. ‘Wait, I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No!’ Abby says. Her voice comes out harsh and loud, and Rob blinks in surprise.

  ‘I mean,’ she says, trying to sound calm, ‘someone should really wait here, in case she turns up or phones the landline.’

  ‘You’re right,’ says Rob, sitting back down. ‘Okay, I’ll stay.’

  Abby’s breathing slows. ‘I won’t be long,’ she says, slipping out of the door before he has the chance to change his mind.

  Outside, the weather is still foul, and Abby welcomes the rain and wind battering her face. But no amount of rain can drive away the dirtiness and disgust she feels. She walks quickly, bending her head against the wind and rain. Every step taking her further away from the house – a place where she no longer feels safe.

  ‘Wait!’

  She’s halfway down the road when she hears him shouting behind her. She pretends she hasn’t heard and speeds up. But, too late, he comes running up and grabs her by the shoulder.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ he says.

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘Here, I just wanted to give you this.’ She looks down and sees he’s holding out an umbrella.

  ‘You’ll get soaked,’ he says.

  ‘Thank you,’ she manages, and using all her self-control, she turns and walks away slowly down the road until she turns and sees he’s back inside the house. Then, despite the fact she’s eight months pregnant, she runs t
hrough the rain, not stopping to look back, all the way to Danny’s house.

  *

  Twenty minutes later she’s knocking on Danny’s door.

  ‘Abigail,’ says Mark, standing awkwardly in the doorway, his arms hanging limply by his side. ‘What are you doing here? Are you okay?’

  Abby unfurls her umbrella, trying to catch her breath and clutching her belly. ‘Is Danny around?’ she gasps. ‘I need to talk to him.’

  ‘He’s not here. He’s been staying with Will.’

  ‘Will?’

  ‘Yes, Will, his new boyfriend.’

  ‘Oh . . . yes.’ Abby’s been so wrapped up in her own concerns, she’d forgotten that Danny had a new man in his life.

  ‘He should be back soon. He said he’d be back this evening. Do you want to come in and wait?’ says Mark, standing back to let her in.

  Abby takes off her cardigan, which is sopping wet, and follows him into the kitchen. ‘I’ll get you some dry clothes. Hang on.’ Mark disappears and then reappears with a T-shirt, a pair of shorts and a towel for her to dry her hair.

  ‘You can change in my room.’

  In Mark’s room she pulls on the T-shirt and shorts which, with their elasticated waist, fit surprisingly well around her swollen belly. Then she rubs her hair dry. She catches a glance of herself in the mirror and gasps. She looks like a mad woman. Her hair is sticking out at strange angles and her mascara has run down her face. She wipes away the black smudges with a trembling hand and smooths down her hair.

  It’s okay, she says to herself, as if she were soothing a baby. It’s okay.

  But of course, she can’t fool herself. Everything is far from okay.

  Downstairs Mark is making a cup of tea. He slops a mug down on the table in front of her. Abby picks it up, but her hand is trembling so much she puts it down again without drinking it.

  ‘Is everything alright, Abigail? You seem . . . um . . . a bit distracted.’

  Where can she start? She’s getting a headache. Pain gnawing at her temples.

  ‘It’s my sister, Ellie. She’s gone missing.’

  ‘Jesus.’ He stares at her open mouthed. ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since the day before yesterday.’

  Mark nods. He takes off his glasses and cleans them. Then he puts them back on and blinks at her.

  ‘And you’ve got no idea where she is?’

  ‘No, but I think it might be my fault.’ She explains about the argument she had with Ellie over the baby. She doesn’t mention the photos. She’s not ready to talk about that yet, especially not with Mark. Even the thought of it makes her nauseous and dizzy.

  Mark listens without comment. He doesn’t say the usual things you might expect, like ‘She’ll turn up’ or ‘You can’t blame yourself’. He just listens and sips his tea. ‘You must be very worried,’ he says at last, and he reaches out across the table and pats her hand awkwardly.

  ‘Worried’ isn’t the word for what she’s feeling right now. ‘Broken’, ‘desperate’ or ‘overwhelmed’ might be better words. And there’s something about his clumsy sympathy that breaks her self-control. All the pent-up anxiety of the day – her fear for Ellie and the shock and horror of the photographs – bubbles to the surface and she bursts into tears.

  Mark looks alarmed and fetches a box of tissues.

  ‘Here,’ he says, offering them to Abby.

  Abby wipes her eyes and blows her nose. ‘I should be out there right now looking for her, not sitting here being useless,’ she says, trying to contain her tears. She stands up with a sudden determination, but as she does, a wave of pain washes over her and she clutches her belly.

  ‘Are you okay? You’re not going into labour, are you?’ Mark hovers anxiously.

  ‘No, it’s just Braxton Hicks. They’re like practice contractions,’ she explains, because Mark looks confused. ‘Do you have a raincoat I can borrow?’ She heads towards the door.

  ‘You’re not well enough to go out!’ Mark says firmly, taking her arm and steering her back to her seat. ‘Why don’t you have a rest for a bit? At least wait until your clothes are dry. You can use Danny’s room.’ Abby hesitates. She does feel unwell. Her head is pounding, and she feels sick – the stress of the past few hours catching up with her. She needs to calm down and clear her thoughts, before she’ll be any use to anyone. ‘Perhaps just for a few minutes.’

  Mark shows her to Danny’s room, and she crawls onto the bed and lies on top of the duvet.

  ‘I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,’ he says.

  Once he’s gone, she lies on the bed, clutching her head, trying to empty her mind, but thoughts keep slithering in like snakes, and the photos she saw flash up in her mind like a horror movie. When did Rob take them? He had plenty of opportunity, she thinks. It would be easy enough for him to sneak into her bedroom at night, while she was asleep. That turquoise sheet she was lying on in the photo could easily be hers. She has a set exactly that shade. But she would have woken up, surely – unless he’d drugged her.

  She sits up, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, and she turns the idea over in her mind, looking for flaws. But, yes, it makes sense. It is possible and the idea that she was drugged has refused to go away. That evening when Andrew Wilson dropped her home from the party on New Year’s Eve, Ellie was already in bed – but Rob was still up. He said himself he’d poured her a glass of water. How easy would it have been for him to slip something inside? There are all sorts of drugs in Ellie’s doctor’s bag. Any after-effect she would put down to a hangover. Are the photos evidence of his rape – a sort of sick souvenir?

  She clutches her head and groans in pain. The thought is abhorrent, disgusting, but it won’t go away, and more thoughts follow. Maybe that wasn’t the first time, either. Just before Christmas, Ellie was away at a conference. It was the day she’d had her biopsy. She’d sat up late in the evening with Rob drinking and woke up in the morning feeling like shit. At the time she’d put it down to the after-effects of mixing anaesthetic and alcohol, but what if it hadn’t been that at all?

  Anger and disgust curdle in her stomach. How dare he? she thinks. How could he do this to her? Sure, she’s not always got on with him, but she would never have imagined he could do something like this. It leaves a sour taste in her mouth. And it’s not just her that he’s betrayed. He’s betrayed Ellie, too. Because what would it do to Ellie if she knew? It would destroy her.

  Then another thought comes, even more horrible. What if Ellie does know? What if she found out somehow? Maybe she saw the photos. After all, they were on their shared

  account. It would explain why she’d run off and why she hadn’t contacted Rob. Maybe she thinks that the photos were taken with Abby’s consent. What if Ellie thinks that they were having an affair? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

  Abby closes her eyes. Where would Ellie go? She pictures Ellie the day she told her about her pregnancy, standing in the dappled sunlight under a chestnut tree by the KEEP OUT sign. ‘I used to come here a lot, after I lost the baby,’ she had said.

  Of course! That’s it. It must be.

  Abby’s just getting out of bed when she hears the front door open and the sound of Danny talking. She puts on her shoes and goes downstairs. Danny’s in the kitchen talking to Mark. When Abby comes in, he turns, gives her a hug and kisses her on top of her head.

  ‘Mark told me about Ellie,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry, Abs. We’ll find her, don’t you worry.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Abby says impatiently, picking up her umbrella. ‘I think I know where she might have gone.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There’s a place in Ashridge Wood. I’m going to see if I can find her.’

  ‘Wait, are you sure you’re well enough?’ Danny says, blocking her exit. ‘At least let me come with you. I can drive you there.’

  Abby
nods. ‘Fine, let’s go.’ She’s anxious to get going. Every second could count if Ellie were injured or hurt.

  The rain eases up and by the time they reach the park it’s barely even spitting. Danny squeezes into a parking space and they get out of the car and head up the main ride in silence. Abby is so lost in her own thoughts she almost forgets Danny’s there. How long has this whole thing with Rob been going on? She examines incidents in the past from this new perspective, turning them over in her mind. There was the time he accidentally walked in on her in the shower, and there was the way he was so keen for her to move in with them, how he helped secure her job at Elmgrove Comprehensive. Was it all part of a plan? Had he meant to make her part of his sick fantasies right from the start?

  ‘Which way?’ says Danny as they reach the spot where the main path separates into two. One branches off through the woods, leading to the house and the lake, and the other leads to the top of the pathway and the polo fields beyond.

  ‘This way,’ says Abby, heading through the trees. She shakes off thoughts of Rob. She needs to focus on the here and now, on Ellie. What she’s going to do about Rob can wait till later.

  ‘Ellie!’ she calls out every two minutes. Listening for an answering call. But there is no answer, just the coo of a wood pigeon, the steady drip of rainwater falling from the sodden trees.

  ‘Here,’ she says, as they reach the fields with the horses and the fenced-off part of the park.

  Danny hangs back. ‘But it says private property.’

  ‘I know, but Ellie used to come here just after the baby died. She told me.’

  There’s a small gap in the fence and Abby squeezes through, holding up the barbed wire for Danny to follow. He hesitates, then ducks under. For a couple of minutes they walk through a wooded area, which opens into a small clearing with a view of the big house. There’s a lake with a wooden jetty. Next to the lake, half hidden in the trees, there’s an old ruined cottage. The door is hanging off its hinges and the windows are smashed.