It looked more like a lounge than an office. Although a large 60s-style desk stood to one side with a couple of computers and a sound system on it, much of the room was taken up with some plush sofas, a coffee table, and a full-service bar. Isabel sat on one of the sofas and leapt up when the assistant ushered Erin into the room. The assistant closed the door and the two women were left alone.
Isabel gave Erin a long hug, taking care to avoid squeezing her side. When she at last let go her eyes were wet.
“I didn’t sleep a wink last night,” Isabel said. Erin was surprised. She looked perfect.
“They pumped me with painkillers, so I did,” Erin admitted.
Isabel gestured to the bar. “Would you like a drink?”
“I don’t drink.”
Isabel sighed. “I don’t feel like one either. I have a lot of thinking to do.”
They sat on the sofa, Isabel sitting close to her like they were friends or sisters.
“The things Carlotta said about my albums have really got me reevaluating my career,” the superstar went on. “She pointed out that my songs celebrate women, but only pretty, successful women. I spent all last night going through my videos, and other singers’ videos. Nothing but beautiful people. How often do you see normal-looking people on MTV or VH1? She had a point.”
“She was a madwoman who killed and stuffed human beings.”
Isabel nodded sadly, then gave a little shudder.
“Yes, she was mad, but she’s just an extreme example of a bigger problem. There must be millions of people quietly suffering like her, people who would never lash out and so we never see their pain. I know that now. The media only shows attractive people, or successful people. You hardly ever see plain people on TV, or poor people in movies unless they become millionaires by the end of it. And how often do you see disabled people? The Paralympics or Stephen Hawking, that’s about it. Athletes and geniuses, that’s it. Sometimes maybe a token bit character who gets one or two lines. My old record label had a sound technician in a wheelchair. He had been a victim of a car accident and so he had some nasty scars. He wasn’t a genius or good-looking, just a decent guy who knew how to do his job. You think he’ll ever be on television?”
“People don’t want to see regular people onscreen. They want to escape,” Erin said.
“That’s part of the problem. We’ve trained the public to expect that. But why can’t they escape while seeing regular people, people like them? Wouldn’t that help them escape more? Showing regular people improving themselves would empower them. That’s what I thought I was doing with Girls on Fire, but I messed it up by only putting pretty girls on the album cover. That’s what hurt Carlotta. All my songs excluded her, she said so. And what hurt her the worst was that I was claiming to empower her, when really all I was doing was pushing her aside.”
“You’re not responsible for all the world’s problems, and you sure aren’t responsible for what Carlotta did.”
Isabel shook her head. “Of course not. But I can help. I’m a superstar. That comes with responsibility.”
Erin couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re not going to find many other superstars who agree.”
Isabel gave a sad little smile. “I guess not. But I’m going to do a new album and take a totally new direction. I haven’t decided on the title, something like Normal is Sexy Too. No, maybe Normal is Awesome Too. The videos will show regular people, plain people, and show how cool they can be.”
Erin wondered if Isabel was ready for the first flop of her career, but decided not to say anything. The music industry had brainwashed consumers to expect only one kind of product and she didn’t think even Isabel could fight that.
Isabel edged a little closer to Erin and put a hand on her arm.
“So you were going to tell me about you and Carlotta, how you knew each other,” she said softly.
Erin let out a tired gust of breath, and then told her the whole story. She talked for a long time, about her kidnapping, her recovery, meeting Eddie, and finally learning how Carlotta had been programmed to confront her. Isabel nodded knowingly at the first part of her tale, obviously having read about it in the newspapers after getting freed, and then grew quiet and still as she heard the later part of the story, the part that was in no newspaper, and hopefully never would be.
When Erin finished, Isabel stayed silent for a long time. At last she spoke.
“I can see why you wouldn’t want that to come out,” the singer said softly. “Everyone would start asking questions about whether you were programmed too. You’ll get enough harassment from the media as it is just for being there to save me, but you should be spared anything worse. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thank you.”
“I owe you far more than silence. May I bring Sergio in now?”
“Um, sure,” Erin said, feeling slightly embarrassed at hearing the name of the man she had until yesterday thought of as a suspect, not to mention she’d broken into his apartment.
Isabel rang an intercom and asked her assistant to let Sergio in. The business manager came through the door and in a few long, eager strides made it to the sofa. Erin stood to greet him and was given a warm handshake.
“Thank God you’re safe, and that you got Isabel back safe too. This whole thing’s been a nightmare,” he said. “And I am so sorry your friend was killed. Did you know him well?”
Erin paused. What to say? “He was a crank who inserted himself into the case, but he did help. In fact, he saved my life. He’s a hero.”
Erin felt satisfied with that answer. Eddie deserved to be called a hero. She silently thanked Isabel for not saying anything.
“I still have your bank information. I’ll send you the rest of your fee,” Sergio said with a smile. “Consider yourself un-fired.”
“Thank you,” Erin said, silently adding, I’m sorry I suspected you.
Sergio’s smile grew wider. “There’s also the matter of the million-dollar reward.”
Erin’s eyes widened. In the chaos of the last two days she had forgotten about that. The thought of all those zeros dazzled her for a moment before her sense of professionalism kicked in.
“Well, um, that’s quite generous, but I’m not sure it’s appropriate considering I was on the payroll. I was only doing my job.”
Sergio grinned, raising a forefinger.
“You weren’t on the payroll when you figured out who the kidnapper was.”
“Well, um, I mean…”
Isabel touched her hand. “Don’t even think of refusing. You’ve earned it.”
Erin thought of her father’s mounting medical bills, an appallingly large figure that would only get bigger. She could wipe those out with a single check. Even better, she wouldn’t have to do tabloid interviews for the money anymore. Plus she could think of a few other things she’d like to do with that money.
“Well, if you think I should take it…”
“I do,” Sergio said.
“So do I,” Isabel agreed, then laughed. “It’s not every day that I see Sergio eager to give away money.”
Erin looked from one to the other and nodded. Her mind filled with possibilities of how to spend the rest of the reward money, but only one really stood out. Only one seemed worth it.
Sergio chuckled. “You look like a young starlet imagining what she’ll do with her first big advance. So what will you do with it?”
“I have some debts to pay off, plus I’d like to go on a vacation—well, more of a research trip really.”
“To where?” Isabel asked.
Erin’s eyes took on a distant quality.
“England.”
Epilogue
Erin recognized the house as soon as she came to it. Like Carlotta’s house of horrors, this one stood at the end of a long, isolated country lane, but in rural Hertfordshire, England, rather than Westchester County, New York.
And instead of crashing through a gate and roaring up the driveway under the cover of d
arkness, Erin had walked here on a glorious summer day while the warm sun made the English countryside lush and verdant. The smell of wildflowers filled her nostrils while birdsong and the buzzing of bees filled her ears.
With all the information Eddie had given her in the days she had known him, it had been easy enough to piece together her past and find this house. She had discovered the name of her abductor and found that, as Eddie had said, he had died of cancer some years before. By searching through the missing children’s database, Erin had gone through an appallingly long list of abducted children and narrowed it down to twenty boys and girls who had almost certainly been taken by this man. All had safely reappeared after a few months to a little over a year.
She would see them one by one. She had an appointment to see her first the following day, a man who sadly hadn’t been able to patch his life up as much as she had and was now incarcerated for killing someone in a drunken brawl. She hoped the information she could give him would help him reassemble his life once he got out.
A few others were dead, mostly by their own hand or through drug addiction. Others had scattered all over the United Kingdom and the world. A few she couldn’t track down, and Eddie’s dying words about other sinister fates gave her a dark foreboding about them. Still she would persist. It would take time to track down all the other children, all her long-lost brothers and sisters in order to speak with them, but speak with them she would. She suspected that they had all been made to forget their memories like she had, and they deserved to know the truth about their past. It would be a long and expensive process, but she had a million dollars to travel on, and if she found any of them in financial difficulties, well, she could help with that too. As for those who had been programmed for evil, perhaps she could save them from themselves.
She had also found out where her abductor was buried. For a time she had toyed with the idea of visiting the grave before deciding against it. She would not pay her respects and she could never desecrate a grave, even his, so she saw no reason to make the journey.
Erin had also toyed with the idea of helping her mother somehow. She had continued in her downward spiral of drink and self-pity, and now lived on benefits in some awful public housing project. Erin’s contact with her mother had dwindled to a couple of phone calls a year, and those had always been forced and short. Her mother hadn’t even called during all the media frenzy, although surely she recognized her daughter’s face and name when they got plastered all over the news.
Erin had decided not to call her mother and tell her she was in England. That part of her past wasn’t going to get any better. It was best to let that go.
The house where she had been kept for those missing months, though, she had to see.
While she had no clear memories of it, the sight of this large Victorian structure instantly brought back a flood of reminiscences. The broad front lawn was something she had looked at longingly on those rare occasions when her abductor had allowed her to peep out the front windows. The back garden, with its high stone wall that no small child could climb, was just visible from her vantage point on the driveway. That had been her refuge. And she remembered that broad spreading yew tree that brushed its leaves against the top of the wall. She had loved to play under its cool shade on warm days.
A bright laugh rang out from the back garden and a little door she hadn’t noticed before opened. She blinked. That must be a new addition. There had never been any escape route from that garden before. A little blonde girl came skipping out, followed by a smiling middle-aged man.
They both noticed her at the same time and stared at her with curiosity and surprise but not concern. The man put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Not to restrain her, not to hold her, but only to give love and reassurance.
Erin flushed with warmth and smiled at them. Her smile was returned.
“Can I help you?” the man called out.
“I was on a country walk,” Erin replied.
“Ah! The footpath to Hertingfordbury is over there if that’s what you’re looking for,” the man said, pointing to Erin’s left. “Just go down the lane about a hundred meters and you’ll see the sign.”
The girl stared at Erin with big blue eyes. “Are you lost, ma’am?”
Erin grinned at her. “Not anymore, thanks to you.”
Erin waved and walked off toward the country footpath the man had indicated. She had no idea how far Hertingfordbury was and even if there were buses that could get her back to her bed-and-breakfast in St. Albans, but she didn’t care. The sun was shining, the day was warm, and she felt like stretching her legs. She had found what she wanted to find, and now it was time to move on.
She felt so at peace and so entranced with the matchless summer day that she didn’t even notice the shabby figure of Benjamin Bridges, reporter for the Daily Review, following far behind her, taking photos with a zoom lens.
Dear Reader,
First of all, thank you for reading! This is the first adult thriller I have published— I hope you enjoyed it.
If you did, I would be very grateful if you could write a review on Amazon — even if it’s just a sentence or two. Every review makes a difference and helps other readers discover the book.
WRITE, EDIT, KILL is my next crime thriller. Join Erin Bond in a chilling new case— the most unique of her career.
WRITE, EDIT, KILL releases December 1st 2016.
You can pre-order it now for your convenience, and it will be delivered automatically to your reading device on release day:
If you’re in the US, tap here to preorder.
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Here is a preview of the cover (you may need to turn the page for it to be visible):
Until we meet again between the pages,
Bella
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