by Luca Veste
They eventually came into view ahead of me. Two figures in the darkness, as the lights from the front of Blackpool shone ahead.
‘Stop,’ I said, but it came out as a whisper. I coughed and continued to move slowly up. ‘Chris, it’s over, stop.’
He turned towards me and I could see the man I had known for so long wasn’t there anymore. This was someone else – a stranger in familiar disguise.
‘I just can’t get rid of you,’ Chris shouted across the rooftop. He had hold of Alexandra, who was fighting against him with everything she had. He still had the knife in his hand, but was too close to her to use it. ‘Don’t come any closer. It’s over.’
I kept moving, as Alexandra managed to dodge another blow and then struck Chris in the chest. He stumbled backwards, dropping the knife to the floor. I broke into a half-run, trying to get closer to them.
Alexandra looked over at me and then aimed another forearm at Chris, who absorbed some of it with his hand in the air in front of his face. It was hard enough to make him lose his balance, falling to the floor and away from her.
I was only a few feet away now and could almost reach out to Alexandra. She turned towards me and ran the distance between us. I grabbed her and tried to pull her away but she resisted.
‘We have to get out of here,’ I said, having to take a breath after every other word. Splinters of pain shook through my body and every muscle was weakened by effort and agony. ‘Please . . .’
I glanced behind her and saw Chris moving groggily side to side. Only conscious because he hadn’t taken the full weight of her elbow into his temple. I stepped ahead of Alexandra and faced him again. ‘You’re not going to win.’
‘This isn’t a game,’ Chris said, getting to his feet slowly. One side of his face was a mask of blood, a thin laceration on his forehead the cause of it. What had once been a light shirt was now a mix of browns and reds. Still, he came forwards. Off-balance at first, then more purposeful. Behind us, the drop below was a chasm of possibility.
I pivoted around, trying to keep the distance between us, but I managed instead to leave no way off the rooftop other than through him.
‘I’m not going back,’ he spat at me. Alexandra’s hand found my shoulder, but she was no longer behind me but at my side.
‘We can still get through this.’
‘You never knew me.’ Chris wiped a sleeve across his brow and winced at the pain it caused. ‘This is my life. I’m not going to lose. You don’t know what it’s like. You could never understand this. There is no black and white. There’s only grey. I’m both people, Matt. You won’t take this away from me.’
I blinked away sweat that began to sting my eyes, sucking in a breath as another sharp bite of fire shook through my body. ‘Chris, there has to be another way.’
‘There is no other way.’
I had taken my eye away from where the knife had fallen and Chris was faster than me. Faster than Alexandra. I saw him move, but it was already too late. He pounced forward, knocking me to the ground in one movement, before tackling Alexandra to the ground. I turned groggily to see him above her. The knife in his hand. In the air and moving towards her. She struggled underneath him, bucking him one way and another, one hand gripped on the wrist holding the weapon. I tried to crawl, but my body protested against any movement.
I watched as his free hand formed a fist and he pounded it down into Alexandra’s face, her struggling becoming weaker. I tried to move again, hearing my screams coming from another world.
Reality slowed down. I saw the knife in the air. I saw the fight leave Alexandra’s body, as unconsciousness gripped her. They were on the edge of the roof – an unseen drop of at least forty metres. One hundred and fifty feet. I saw the universe shift into the abyss and roared with one last effort.
I didn’t see the drop below us.
I didn’t care.
I used the last remaining strength I had to fling my useless body at his and take us over the edge.
The last thing I remember is the sound of shock escaping his lips.
And then, it was only screaming into the abyss.
Later
I don’t know how I’m still alive.
It took a long time to accept I wasn’t dead. That I am lying in a hospital bed and not on the concrete at the bottom of that hotel. Lying next to Chris, experiencing the same darkness as he is. Every time I fell asleep, I kept expecting to never wake up.
When I wake, Alexandra won’t tell me what happened. She says I have to wait. That we can talk about it another time. All that matters, she thinks, is that I get better. I lost a lot of blood and the important thing is to make sure I’m well enough to go home.
I know I won’t go back there.
Everything is tainted now. All my life has a dark stain on it.
I won’t be able to live in a place where he was so present.
She seems okay. She knows I did it to save us both, even if I will never be the same person I was before.
I killed a man. I somehow survived. I didn’t go over the edge of the roof with him. It was only luck that saved me.
I was prepared to go over that abyss with him.
There have been questions from those in authority. Men and women in uniforms, with doubting faces and suspicious expressions. Most we can’t answer. We have told the truth as much as we can, but there are some we haven’t given the full story to.
We want William Moore and his son to have justice, but when it came to it, we couldn’t accept the blame.
There’s no one left but us now.
Stuart is gone. Michelle. Nicola. Chris. The group that had once existed is now only the two of us.
I don’t know what the future will be.
Mark Welsh was found an hour ago. On the television in the corner of the room, Sky News has a yellow ticker running along the bottom of the screen. A woman is standing in front of crime-scene tape as a uniformed police officer stands guard. The woodland behind them looks normal from my hospital bed, but I know what secrets it holds.
They would find more.
A picture of Chris appears on screen and I close my eyes to it.
Too painful right now.
They found Michelle’s body buried in the farmhouse grounds. They were still digging around the property, I imagined. Soon they would find Nicola and that would be it. I told police that Chris told me a few locations when I found him there. They intimated they had more evidence after combing the farmhouse and his own home.
I’m waiting to see if any of it comes back to us.
He was my friend.
He was a serial killer.
I wonder how I can make those two disparate ideas work in my mind. How I can live with the knowledge of them both.
We both needed to know he was gone. That he wasn’t going to come back. They assured us there was no doubt.
He was dead. His body was in the morgue. There was no coming back.
No one can survive a fall of that height.
I should have gone down too.
I was a killer. Just like him, I felt. We should both have been found on the pavement.
I wasn’t sure what would happen next, but for the moment, I just want to sleep.
Alexandra was sitting next to me, watching the television and holding my hand. I don’t know how long we’ll be allowed to do that. I don’t know if we’ll be allowed to be free.
I don’t know what will happen to us next.
I do know there will be no more candles.
I know there will be no more death.
No more lies.
No more silence.
Now
In the beginning, there was a girl.
She met a boy in school and fell in love. Teenage love, of course, but that only grew into something more over those first few years. Until she couldn’t imagine a life without him in it.
The mobile phone she had bought earlier that day vibrated in her pocket. She had set it up with a pay as you go SIM
card, downloaded a few apps while she waited, and charged it up in the lobby.
She was waiting for him.
That’s how we live our lives now. A series of moments, interspersed with mobile phones vibrating or dinging away to let us know what is happening around the world. We’re instantly contactable. When the world ends, we’ll find out from a breaking news notification, she imagines.
And that’s all it was. A news notification. She didn’t look at it straight away.
She was alone and running away. From the life she had once had. That she worked hard to build and never wanted to change.
If everything had gone to plan, like she knew it would, then they would think she was already dead. They had planned well for this moment. Had an escape route worked out. A way out if it all fell apart.
She had dyed her hair and put in fake contacts. At a cursory glance, a change of hair and eye colour would be enough. Every day would be a struggle, but she was well prepared for that.
If he didn’t come, she knew what would happen. They would want her secrets. They would ask her questions and demand answers. She would be on the front page of every newspaper, talked about online, accused of being the Rose to his Fred. The Carr to his Huntley.
The Hindley to his Brady.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t know who he was. Not until recently.
Okay. Maybe a little longer than that.
Maybe she’d always known on some level.
The boy in the scrapyard, twenty-three years ago. The one who had insulted her mum. She’d known about him. Had been there when Chris hurt him.
Killed him.
It was an accident, he’d told her later that night, when they’d run away and left the boy to die alone. He’d just gone too far. It would never happen again. And anyway, he was only doing it to protect her honour.
They were kids.
She had believed him. She loved him.
She hadn’t known about the others. Not until that night in the woods. Then it all made sense. Why he kept the candles burning all year round. Why he could never rest.
They had moved Mark Welsh’s body together. So it wouldn’t be found. That’s when she was brought into his world for real. That’s when she’d had to make a choice.
She’d chosen him.
He’d asked her to tell Matt about finding the candle. Hoped it would be enough to tip him over the edge and run to the police. Put him out of the picture. No such luck.
A dye job and a foreign country. A bit of cash stored up.
A simple notification on a phone.
She lifted it from her pocket and read the headline. Read the two that followed. Watched two ferries depart without her aboard them.
They had found bodies. She recognised the place that was pictured on the news app. The family home that had become a burial ground.
She read there were two survivors being treated in hospital.
Finally, she understood that Chris was never going to meet her.
Her world ended in a breaking news notification.
It was over.
She was on her own.
She remembered the last thing he’d said to her, as she boarded the train and left him behind to finish cleaning up the mess they had made.
‘No matter what I’ve done, I really do love you. I just . . . I’m just a bit broken. I never did anything to hurt you. I’m sorry. If I don’t make it, please don’t look back. Go far away. Never come home. They’ll think you’re a part of it.’
Inside her mind, the words made sense.
In her heart, she wanted to go back. To hurt the people who had taken him from her.
Nicola sat there for a long time, trying to decide what to do. Whether her heart would overrule her head.
Let the anger build and build inside her, until it became all she could feel.
There is no black and white. No good and evil.
There is only grey.
Hate and love.
In all shapes and forms.
Acknowledgments
As always, this book wouldn’t be in your hands right now without the support of a bunch of ace people. Here’s as many as I can fit into these end pages without making the book Stephen King length.
Thank you to:
Craig Robertson, for always having an ear to lend, a beer to share, and an insult to bestow. I’m blessed to have the friends I do and you’re one of the best.
My agent Phil Patterson, who is always there. Always. Has never let me down, has looked after me in the best way. Listens to me rant, calms me down and makes me laugh endlessly. A better agent it would be hard to find.
Jo Dickinson, editor extraordinaire, who never blinked when we ran into issues with what turned into the ‘difficult sixth novel’. You continue to make me a better writer every day. Bethan Jones, who appeared as if by magic and came up with some outstanding suggestions to make this book multitudes better than it once was. Thank you and hope to hear more of your brilliant ideas. Jess Barratt, who is just the best. Ever. Alice Rodgers, for her keen eye, and Clare Wallis for excellent copyediting. And to the Simon & Schuster team, who make these words real and tangible, by getting them into readers’ hands.
Kate Moloney, for reading an early version and easing my worries. I love your husband.
All the readers who have followed me into the world of standalone novels and enjoyed them just as much – if not more – as the series books. You’re the best. Special mention to Dona Pattison, who is the best reader a Scouser could find. I will never forget that. Also the bloggers and reviewers who are fantastic champions of books.
No thanks to Mike Hale, who went to the Champions League final without me.
My bandmates, Mark Billingham, Chris Brookmyre, Doug Johnstone, Stuart Neville and my road-mum Val McDermid. This thing of ours is awesome. The best thing ever. May the Fun Lovin’ Crime Writers last for eternity . . . or at least until you old gets can’t make it onto a stage.
My dad, who gave me many things, but most importantly a love of music. Even if he can’t agree that the nineties were the best decade.
Thanks to my family, who support me endlessly.
Finally, to the three most important people – Emma, Abigail, and Megan. My life. Alton Towers season passes and walking up hills. Life could never be better.
Luca Veste is a writer of Italian and Scouse heritage, married with two young daughters. He studied psychology and criminology at university in Liverpool, and he is the author of six novels: Dead Gone, The Dying Place, Bloodstream and Then She Was Gone, which are all part of the Murphy and Rossi series. His other novels, The Bone Keeper and The Six, are standalones. He is also the co-creator of the acclaimed podcast Two Crime Writers and a Microphone, which he records with fellow crime author Steve Cavanagh.
Find out more at www.LucaVeste.com or follow @LucaVeste on Twitter and Facebook.
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First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2019
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © Luca Veste 2019
The right of Luca Veste to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-4711-6814-7
eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-6813-0
Audio ISBN: 978-1-4711-8077-4
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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