Table of Contents
Title Page
Wish Me Dead - A Prequel Novella (Emily Swanson Thrillers, #0)
BOOKS BY MALCOLM RICHARDS
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NEXT TO DISAPPEAR
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
THE EMILY SWANSON SERIES : BOOKS 1-3
This book is written in UK English.
BOOKS BY MALCOLM RICHARDS
The Emily Swanson Thrillers in order:
1.Next To Disappear
2. Mind For Murder
3. Trail Of Poison
4. Watch You Sleep
5. Kill For Love
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The Devil’s Cove Trilogy
The Cove
Desperation Point
The Devil’s Gate
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Standalones
The Hiding House
Walking After Midnight
1
SOMERSET
JUNE
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THE FIRST THING she sensed as she came into consciousness was a metallic taste in her mouth. It was quickly followed by a sudden, desperate thirst. Her eyes were still shut and for a minute she lay perfectly still. She had been dreaming of falling into a bottomless void, surrounded by infinite blackness. It had been a strange dream; terrifying and yet oddly soothing.
A chill teased goosepimples to her flesh. She shivered. Five more minutes, she thought. Five more minutes and I’ll get up. She felt herself drifting off once more. Felt herself falling again.
And then there was a voice, short and sharp in her ear. “It’s not a dream!”
Becky Briar opened her eyes. She blinked twice and groaned. It was still dark. The house silent. Craving more sleep, she tried to roll onto her side. And found that she couldn’t.
She shivered again and reached for her duvet. But it was gone.
She swallowed, then winced. Her throat felt like it was filled with broken glass.
Becky moaned. But then she noticed something. Her eyes had been open for at least thirty seconds now yet all she could still see was darkness. No familiar bedroom shapes. No shadows or silhouettes. Just...impenetrable blackness.
Still half asleep, she reached for her phone on the bedside table. White hot pain shot from her fingers up to her skull.
Becky sat bolt upright and let out a strangled scream. Fresh pain attacked her body, forcing her back down.
I’m not in my bed, she thought. This is not my room. What is happening to me?
Panic came, quickly eclipsed by blind terror. She tried to move her left hand again and was rewarded with more agony. She waited for the nausea to pass then tried her right hand, fingers scrambling along the ground. It was cold and damp. Hard like concrete.
Trembling now, she pushed up on her right arm, rolled onto her knees, then got to her feet. Pain shot through her left ankle and up to her hip, exploding in a million white stars. This time the scream came easily, shattering the air.
A memory flashed before her eyes. A car parked under a streetlamp. Someone hiding in the shadows. A hand gripping a crowbar.
Becky pitched forward, left arm dangling lifelessly behind. She stumbled, tripped, then lost her balance.
Her arms across her face. The crowbar swinging down. Pain, sweet and sharp. The ground, cold and wet. Light from above. A shadow cutting through it. The crowbar coming down again.
Becky fell. The ground rushed up to meet her, striking her in the head. As darkness took her once more, a single thought echoed in her mind.
Someone tried to kill me.
2
THEY WERE STARING at her. She was sure of it. Staring and whispering about the slight, blonde young woman sitting alone at the corner table. For almost thirty minutes now. Well, let them, she thought. There was nothing wrong with dining alone or enjoying a glass of wine in solitude. People did it all the time. Besides, she was twenty-two years old, a grown adult who could do as she pleased. So why did she feel so conspicuous?
Emily Swanson poured herself another half glass of Pinot Grigio as she watched the waiter circle her table and stare at the empty seats. He smiled, his expression somewhere between pity and impatience. Emily scowled until he sailed away again.
Despite the cold blast of the air conditioning, she felt her face heating up. Perhaps she should go ahead and order; her friends were sure to turn up soon. Or perhaps she should pay for her drink and leave, anything to escape the staring.
Undecided, Emily took a sip of wine and shrank further into her seat.
Someone was calling her name.
Across the restaurant, a hand flapped in her direction. Relief surged through Emily’s body, releasing the muscles. Well, it’s about time. She waved back at the young woman with shoulder-length dark hair, who was now hurrying towards her.
“I’m so sorry. I had to return the last of my library books and who should I bump into but Kerry-Anne Watkins. Christ, that girl has a mouth on her like an outboard motor! She wouldn’t let me go!” Smiling and breathless, Charlotte Walsh sat down. “Anyway, I’m here now and I’m dying for a drink. How are you?”
“Hungry.” Emily handed her a menu and poured her a glass of wine. “Becky’s not with you?”
“Of course not. Did you honestly think she would come?”
“She said she’d be here.”
Charlotte eyed the menu and shrugged a shoulder. “What Becky Briar says and does are rarely the same thing. Didn’t I tell you the very day she moved in? I said, ‘That girl isn’t interested in friendship. All she wants is a roof over her head.’ God, why did Jane have to move out? She was a damn slob but at least we didn’t have to creep around her drug-induced moods for months on end.”
“But still. . . This is meant to be our last dinner together. An official farewell.”
“All I’m saying is don’t hold your breath. Jesus, I will not miss that girl when I’m gone.”
Emily stared at the empty seat next to her. “If your father could hear your blasphemous mouth he’d have a heart attack.”
“I’m getting it all out now before next week. Then it’s back to the ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt, daughter of a priest’s life’ for me.”
“You don’t have to go back home, you know. There’s a whole world out there.”
“Says the country bumpkin. And I do have to go home. He would never admit it but Dad’s been struggling since I’ve been away.”
Emily’s gaze drifted down to the empty space between Charlotte’s collarbones.
“Your necklace,” she said, leaning forward. “Did you lose it?”
Charlotte smiled, but only for a moment. “Controversial, isn’t it? I figured university is over and it’s the start of a new era, so why not start with a new me.”
“But it was your mother’s.”
“I know, but I’ve made a memory box. It’ll be safer in there.” She paused to touch her neck. “My memories of my mother should be treasured, not worn like a burden. Besides ... I know it sounds strange, but I feel lighter without it.” Charlotte’s eyes had become wet and glossy. “Speaking of new eras, I can’t believe you’re going to be a teacher. It’s amazing, Emily! Think of all those young lives you’ll be helping to shape.”
“Or ruin,” Em
ily said. “Anyway, what about you? You’re going to be a historian. Recording history...and stuff. That’s pretty impressive.”
“Not as impressive as the knitwear I’ll be wearing.” Charlotte smiled. “Have you decided about Principal Talbot’s offer? Or has your mother finally guilt-tripped you into returning home?”
Emily slumped in her seat. She didn’t want to think about her mother, who’d already called twice today. “Let’s order food.”
“You’re running out of time, you know.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
The waiter came over. “Are you expecting someone else?”
Emily’s eyes drifted to the empty seat and she shook her head. Charlotte ordered first. Emily stumbled and stammered, then blushed as she picked a dish at random — rice and fish in some sort of marinade. When the waiter had left them, she pulled out her phone.
“Phones at the dinner table? Really?” Charlotte said.
“I’m calling Becky. She should be here.”
As Emily waited for the line to connect, her mind wandered back to yesterday morning. Becky had been sullen as usual and half awake, but she’d promised to come for what would be their last dinner together as housemates.
A thought struck her: she hadn’t heard Becky come home last night. Which was unusual because recently, Becky had been going out every night and returning home in the early hours, waking Emily with a slam of the front door.
The phone connected to voicemail. Emily hung up without leaving a message.
“When did you last see Becky?” she asked Charlotte, who was busy devouring a bread stick.
“Saturday. Maybe.”
“What about yesterday?”
“I don’t think so. I got home around nine. You were already in your room and I assumed Becky was in hers or at the campus bar. Those are the two places you can usually find her.”
“I didn’t see her either. I was studying for most of the day, then I went to bed early.”
Emily frowned. Two tables over, a middle-aged couple clinked their wine glasses together in a toast.
“Look, Becky’s not here because she doesn’t want to be,” Charlotte said, leaning forward. “She doesn’t care about us. Besides, I bet she’s getting high somewhere. Probably giving blow jobs for lines of coke.”
“That’s not nice.”
“No, it isn’t. Doesn’t mean it’s not true, though.”
Staring at the empty seat, Emily heaved her shoulders.
“You’re probably right,” she said.
But an uneasy feeling had started to flutter in her stomach, and it grew stronger as the evening progressed.
3
QUANTOCK UNIVERSITY WAS a thirty-minute drive west of Glastonbury. Built in the late eighties, it was a small and relatively new institution that had been named after the Quantock Hills, England’s first designated Area of Natural Outstanding Beauty. But except for a few uninspired green areas, the campus was an ugly maze of flat-roofed, concrete buildings devoid of personality. Fortunately, its outstanding reputation in the areas of teaching and humanities more than made up for its dull aesthetics.
As Emily walked through the university gates at four pm on Tuesday afternoon, the campus was a swirl of chatter. Hordes of students streamed in and out of lecture halls, while others hung about in recreation areas. Above their heads, the sky was a clear blue with a smattering of clouds. The afternoon sun was warm and pleasant.
Becky hadn’t come home last night. Nor had she responded to Emily’s texts or the two voicemail messages she’d left on her morning and lunch breaks. The rest of Emily’s teaching day at High Mount Secondary School had been a struggle, with her cohort of students sensing her growing unease and responding in typical teenage fashion .
Now, as Emily scanned the plethora of young men and women sitting around the university quad, the knot in her stomach grew even tighter. Moving on, she headed for the Sullivan building; home to the teaching and education department. As she walked the length of the main corridor, she paused here and there to ask familiar faces if they had seen Becky. No one had. Nor did they seemed concerned by her disappearance.
Stopping outside one of the lecture rooms, Emily knocked on the door. A calm, friendly voice ushered her in.
Bill Creed was sitting at his desk, marking test papers.
“Miss Swanson,” he said, his face lighting up with a brilliant smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Bill was in his early thirties, younger than most of the lecturers in the education department. He was handsome in a boyish kind of way, his green eyes and long, dark lashes a talking point among some of his more enamoured students.
Emily offered him a subdued smile. “I’m looking for Becky Briar. Have you seen her?”
Bill leaned back on his chair and linked his fingers behind his head. “Ah, the ever-elusive Miss Briar. I haven’t seen her in days. Have you tried the bar?”
Emily’s jaw swung open. “It’s a little early in the day, isn’t it?”
“For most people, yes.” Bill heaved his shoulders then shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t understand what’s going on with her. Why wait until the end of a four year degree to screw it all up? Becky had the makings of a good teacher. Now I doubt she’ll be allowed to take the exams.”
“What do you mean?” Emily said. “I know she’s missed a couple of classes, but...how bad is it?”
“Let’s just say I had to do some damage control after she stopped attending her teaching placement.”
Emily stared at him through wide eyes. “She’s not been going?”
“No, she hasn’t. Missing lectures is one thing, but without the placement her chances of qualifying as a teacher are zero. It’s such a waste.” Bill shook his head again then leaned forward to pick up his pen. “But thank goodness for the likes of you. Principal Talbot tells me he’s offered you a job at High Mount. They’ll be very lucky to have you.”
Emily thanked him, decided not to mention that she had yet to accept the post, and headed out of the Sullivan building. At the cafeteria, students sat at tables picking at sandwiches and cold pizza slices. Becky was not among them. Moving onto the Students’ Union building, she made straight for the bar. There were already a few young patrons huddled around tables and a couple of women bent over the pool table, their eyes narrowed with concentration. But still no Becky.
The knot in her stomach growing with each passing minute, Emily made a final sweep of the campus then hurried through the exit. Reaching the bus stop, she tried Becky’s number again. This time it went straight to voicemail without ringing.
The bus appeared around the corner and began its approach. Emily considered what to do next. Did she call the police and file a missing persons report? Did she call Becky’s parents? She didn’t even have a number for them.
The bus pulled in and she got on. She would go home first. That was what she would do. And when she found Becky slouched on the sofa or playing her music too loudly in her room, she would give her a piece of her mind for making her worry.
The bus pulled away. Emily tried calling Becky again.
***
“You’re overreacting. This isn’t the first time that Becky’s gone AWOL.”
Emily and Charlotte stood in the centre of Becky’s bedroom, surrounded by a sea of clothes and inhaling days old air.
Emily crossed her arms and gazed at the debris. “It feels different this time. No one’s seen her. No one knows where she is. I’ve sent her texts and left voicemails. . . I don’t think she’d leave us worrying like this.”
“Then you don’t know Becky as well as you think you do.”
“She’s obviously been going through something lately. We’ve both been on the receiving end of her mood swings. She’s missed too many lectures, failed assignments. . . Bill told me she stopped going to her teaching placement.” Emily paused, deep lines forming across her brow. She moved over to the dresser where a battered old jewellery box s
at on top. “Whatever’s been going on with Becky, perhaps it’s connected to why she’s disappeared.”
“Or perhaps you’re jumping to conclusions.” Charlotte shuddered at the sight of a festering cereal bowl on the bedside cabinet.
“I’ll phone around. If no one else has seen her then it’s time to contact her parents. Do you have a number for them?”
“No. I don’t think she’s that close to them.” Charlotte crossed the room and stopped by the door. “She’ll probably come walking in any minute, you know.”
Emily let out a heavy breath. “I hope you’re right. I really do.”
She returned to her bedroom, relieved to be surrounded by neatness and order once again. She began making phone calls. Twenty minutes later, Becky’s whereabouts were still unknown and all Emily had managed to do was spread her anxiety to others. Even Charlotte had taken to checking her phone and coming in and out of Emily’s room. Worse still, she’d been unable to find a contact number for Becky’s parents. Not even her Facebook page had helped to track them down. Perhaps Charlotte was right. After all, not all families were close. Now that Emily thought about it, she couldn’t recall Becky’s family visiting even once. Just like her own mother.
Where were Becky’s friends? Why wasn’t anyone else concerned for her whereabouts?
Emily chewed her lower lip as she thought about her next move. She could either sit and wait a while longer for Becky to come home or she could report her disappearance to the police. Because it seemed no one else was going to.
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