Undercurrent

by J. A. Baker

  Anna breaks into something resembling a run as she moves from room to room looking for a window that is large enough for her to fit through. She stumbles into the dining room. Two large bay windows with openings far too small for anyone to fit through. No use at all. Upstairs is too far to fall. There’s no use even looking there. Room after room proves fruitless. Each and every window is too small. Except for one. With her breath coming out in rapid hot blasts and a shaking hand, Anna slips the key into the lock of the perfectly person sized kitchen window, the room where she managed to hack herself free. The key turns in the lock with a liquid rotation and in one short leap Anna hauls herself onto the kitchen counter and scrambles out of the open window, gulping in great deep breaths of clean air as she lands in a crumpled heap on a patch of wet grass, a shriek of exhilaration caught in her throat. She lies for a short while, taking in the sounds around her, trying to work out her surroundings. In the distance she can hear the low drone of car tyres on tarmac. One after another after another. Her pulse quickens. She wants to scream that she is free, to jump up and down and holler and cry; to clap her hands and dance around the garden in the darkness. Instead she keeps completely still and stares up at the deep blue sky, counting the myriad stars that glitter like diamonds dipped in ink, a sight so beautiful, so breath-taking, it mists her vision. And that’s when she hears it. The squeak of a door opening back inside the house, and the clump of footsteps as they make their way across the wooden flooring accompanied by a low mutter that slowly augments into a fierce screech. It doesn’t take long for the noise to register. Anna stills her breathing and with burning limbs and a pounding head, she crawls up onto her knees to listen. Phoebe. It is her neighbour. She has come back. And she is furious. Unhinged and on the hunt for Anna and absolutely bloody furious.

  Thirty Three

  “Right, so from what you’ve told me about Mrs Whitegate, I’m not sure we could count any of this information as evidence,”

  The policeman looks at Freda then at Toby, waiting for some sort of response. They are both silent, unsure what to say next.

  “I mean I can see that she has mental health issues and had,” he clears his throat before continuing, “shall we say, a troubled childhood?” the officer says quietly as he taps his pencil on his notepad, a sound that is beginning to grate on Toby, “but that doesn’t make her a suspect.”

  Toby shuffles his feet awkwardly and looks at Freda for inspiration. She lowers her gaze and shakes her head.

  “Our current priority is the river path as that was the route Anna took,” the officer states with a certain amount of authority.

  “And the river,” Callum adds flatly.

  “And the river,” the policeman repeats quietly.

  Toby takes in his features, notices his pale skin, the slight tremor in his fingers as he wrote down everything they told him about Phoebe. He is barely more than a teenager. What can he possibly know about people and the inner machinations of a disturbed mind?

  “Right, well thank you for listening and taking on board our concerns,” Toby says in his best professional tone, “we’re all getting pretty desperate here as you can probably imagine.”

  The young officer nods his head sympathetically and slips the notepad into his top pocket, “Well rest assured, we’re doing all we can to find her. I’ll pass this new information on to my superiors and see what they think.” He straightens up his jacket and heads back outside.

  “Waste of time,” Toby mutters. Freda raises her eyebrows in exasperation and turns to look at Mike who looks exhausted.

  “I just saw her leave,” Mason says idly, his voice a whisper in the heavy silence of the room.

  “Saw who leave?” Toby asks.

  “That Phoebe woman. The one you were just talking about. I was out the front and saw her car pull off the drive.”

  “Right. So what?” Toby asks, feeling his pulse quicken. He knows exactly what Mason is getting at but isn’t sure how they can do it with so many police officers hanging about.

  “Nothing,” Mason shrugs, feeling stung by his uncle’s response. He thought Toby had more about him than to let some useless police officer walk all over him.

  Toby stretches and rubs at face wearily, “Right, I’m off out for a bit of a walk. I need some fresh air.”

  Freda picks up her jacket and leans forward to hug Mike, “I’d better be off as well. You know where we are if you need anything.”

  Toby and Freda leave the house together, their intentions subliminally clear to one another.

  “Wait up!” Mason is at their side as they head over the road towards Phoebe’s house.

  Toby glances back, relieved that the police haven’t noticed their exit. “You should get back home laddo. We’re about to carry out our own investigation.”

  “I know,” he answers quickly, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “That’s why I’m here.”

  Toby stops and faces his nephew, his face made of stone, “This is between us three, yes?”

  The boy nods and they all disappear behind the high hedge that surrounds Phoebe’s house.

  ...................................................................................................................................................

  “There’s no way in,” Mason gasps as he peers through the rear window, “and the police keep coming along the path. We’re gonna be seen if we’re not careful.”

  “So what?” Toby is fast losing faith in the police and their investigation. His sister is missing and the new neighbour over the road is mentally unbalanced. If they can’t connect the dots then he will do it for them.

  “Keep looking,” he whispers “there has to be some way of getting in. Even the most secure of places have their weak points.”

  “And I think I may have just found it,” Freda croons, a small smile starting to spread over her face.

  Toby looks to see Freda huddled next to a small window in what appears to be a utility room next to the kitchen. She looks over in his direction and spreads her outstretched palm over the glass, “Single pane,” she mouths and before he can say or do anything, she uses her elbow as a battering ram and knocks the glass clean out of its frame.

  “Rotten and about to fall out anyway,” she whispers as if to justify her actions.

  “What now?” Mason hisses, his face devoid of any colour. This is breaking and entering. He thought they would just come and have a nose around, find an open window or something, not smash their way in to somebody else’s house. Especially with the police so close by. He feels his heart begin to claw its way up his chest.

  “We get inside as fast as we can,” Toby says and before Mason can reply, his uncle hoists himself up onto the wooden windowsill and half clambers, half throws himself through the small space, landing with a clatter on the other side. He watches as Freda, who is surprisingly nimble, does the same. Feeling his throat constrict, Mason begins to back off.

  “I’ll stay here and keep watch,” Mason says as he feels Toby’s eyes on him. Freda and Toby look at one another conspiratorially and nod before moving off into the rest of the house. Mason listens to the sound of their footsteps as they disappear out of sight. He wants to tell them to keep quiet, that they run the risk of being caught but is unable to find his voice instead stands mute, fear rooting him to the spot.

  “Nothing here,” Freda murmurs as they tread through the huge living room.

  “You’re right there,” Toby replies as he looks around at the bare, magnolia walls.

  “What’s in here?” Freda has made her way along the long hallway to a small room that contains one large mahogany desk.

  “Well, I presume it’s some kind of study but by the looks of things, she’s forgotten to put the rest of the furniture in. Where are all the pictures and books for god’s sake?” Toby visualises his own study, crammed full of journals and hardbacks and paperbacks and general detritus he has gathered over the years. This place is positively clinical.

&n
bsp; Toby starts to think this is a pointless exercise when he hears Freda’s footsteps thundering upstairs. There is a short silence as he backs out of the study and closes the door behind him. Suddenly Freda’s voice breaks through the quiet, turning his blood cold.

  “Up here Toby!”

  He takes the stairs two at a time, genuinely horrified at what he might find when he gets there. Freda is bent over something in the main bedroom at the top of the stairs, her backside swaying as she moves forward to grab a piece of yellowed paper which she brandishes at him, her face flushed with success.

  “We’ve got her Toby! We’ve bloody well got her!”

  Thirty Four

  I had to leave. It was all too painful for me. Too much to take in. The sight of him. I had to get out, get away from it all, get back to Suzie. My Suzie. You see, I have some wrongs that I need to put right after that day down by the river. A lot to make up for. So I ran, leaving it all behind me and took off in the car, thinking that the faster I drive, the further away I will be.

  I take a bend too sharply and hear the blast of a horn from an oncoming vehicle as I swerve back into my own lane, its headlights dazzling me in the gloom of the car. My hands slip on the steering wheel, damp with misery and fear. I rub at my eyes which are sore from crying, and place my hands back on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, my knuckles taut with the strain. Tillie scampers about in her cage as it slides from side to side in the back of the car. I had to bring her with me. Leaving her there with him was unthinkable. She’s all I have left. Apart from Suzie obviously. I sniff and a warm glow rises in my chest at the thought of her back at the house waiting for me.

  By my feet I have a flask of juice and some fruit. Not much but better than nothing. Suzie will be starving and ready for a drink. Perhaps I can even untie her hands and allow her more mobility. I’m sure she will appreciate that. I don’t want her to hate me. I really don’t. The thought of losing her love and trust fills me with dread. It would unhinge me completely. I did what I did because there was no other way. She knows that. Deep down I’m sure she understands it all, and probably always has.

  I turn on the radio to while away the time as I drive. It is full of gravelly voiced whispering presenters working the graveyard shift, reading out inane emails from bored loners who make requests for a stream of morose music. Music for dead people. I turn it off and tap out a light rhythm on the steering wheel, feeling myself loosen up with each consecutive beat. When I get there, I will put some soft music on and Suzie and I can have eat together. We can reminisce about the past and then plan for the future. I think about what clothes I can put her in and how stunning she will look when she is clean and fed. It will all work out perfectly. I’ll make sure of it.

  I turn the corner to the road and slowly pull up on the drive, now energised at the thought of seeing her again. It was a good decision to keep my old house and not rent it out. I wasn’t sure at the time, wondering whether I would find it too arduous having to maintain two properties. My plan had been to keep it to use whenever I felt like doing any shopping in York and fancied staying over. Better than any dated hotel or guest house. And now it transpires that it is Suzie’s new home. Things have, at long last, worked out perfectly. I couldn’t be happier. My heart beats a steady and excited rhythm as I step out of the car and slowly unlock the front door, the memory of Martyn back at the house by the river already slipping far from my mind.

  A cool breeze greets me as I tentatively open the door and shuffle inside. A door is open somewhere inside. Or a window. I feel a pressure begin to build inside my head as I flick the light on and walk through the hallway and into the living room. I survey it carefully. No Suzie. The rug has moved and there is a dent on the sofa where she was laid but apart from that, nothing has altered. The kitchen however, is a different matter. The cool breeze becomes a cold gust as I enter and look around at the state of the place. The window is wide open and on the floor, scattered far and wide are the remains of the tiebacks I used to keep her still. Drawers are open and a large bread knife sits on the floor next to the broken threads and fibres. Pieces of cotton. That’s all that remains of her. My Suzie. I can’t believe she is gone. I had her here with me, all to myself and now she is gone. Fear claws at me and I hear a small moan becoming louder and louder, shrill and demonic, before I realise it is coming from me. I tear at my arms until I feel blood start to ooze out and I sigh at the immense relief that accompanies it. But it’s a temporary release and I have to claw some more to stop the build up or I fear I will go mad. I simply cannot believe she has left me. Another one gone, disappeared out of my life. Vanished without a thought as to how I feel or how I will cope without them. Blackness descends, shrouding me, pinning me down. I am finding it hard to breathe properly. I wrestle with the key in the back door and run outside.

  I feel the air leaving my lungs as I am slammed into the wall and hear the crunch of my right arm as it connects with brick. Pain explodes in my shoulder as she passes me, a slim grey shadow running off into the obscurity of the night. It takes a couple of seconds for my instincts to kick in but when they do I am as swift as a hawk catching its prey. I bolt after her, watching her shadow as she stumbles and falls ahead of me, scrambling to get up. But I am faster, more able bodied than she is. Still drugged and lacking nourishment, she is weak and easy to catch. My fingers grasp at a chunk of her hair as I drag her back and cover her mouth with my free hand and press down hard. She claws at me but her fingers are still too sore and bloody to be of any real use.

  Her feet slip about in the mud as I pull her over the back step and throw her to the floor. I have to think quickly. I have no tape or rope here to restrain her. But I’m stronger and uninjured. That must count for something. Without thinking, I squat over her and press my knees into her stomach. She retches and turns her head to one side to be sick but nothing comes.

  “I really wish you would stop fighting me Suzie and see things as they really are.”

  A strong breeze blows over my head. The window. It’s still open. And so is the door. I have to think quickly - to act quickly to make this place secure once more. With one swift movement, I bring my hand up to form a fist and bring it down hard onto the side of her face, not enough to cause any real damage but enough to inflict so much pain she is rendered immobile.

  While she is curled up in a tight little ball, moaning and crying, I jump up and lock the door, shoving the key deep in my pocket. It’s as I step around her to lock the open window that I feel it. A sharp, pulsating pain in the side of my leg that stops me. I let out a squawk of shock and pain and look down to see something sticking out of my calf. It takes a couple of seconds for it to register. And then it hits me. The knife. Ignoring the searing pain, I chase after Suzie as she drags herself upright and clambers up onto the kitchen top, her legs buckling under her. She is weak, wobbling about and losing her balance. I can do this. I can bring her back to where she belongs. I grab at her shirt and she starts to fall back on me. My ankle twists under the pressure and I let out a scream as an unbearable line of pain courses its way up my leg. She grasps the opportunity and worms her way free. But not for long. With a surge of strength, I didn’t know I possessed, I am upon her again, my arm locked around her neck as we both clamber up onto the kitchen top and fall out of the open window onto the grass below. The pain in my leg is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before but as I turn I can see that Suzie looks in far worse shape than I am. She is completely still, her face down in the wet grass, hair splayed out around her. My breath catches in my chest, tight and unyielding and for one awful minute, I fear she may be dead.

  My voice cracks as I lean in close, feeling the heat of her body next to mine, “Suzie, wake up. Please wake up. I couldn’t bear to lose you again!” I shake her gently and am horrified as she turns her head and without missing a beat, sinks her teeth into my arm. I start to scream but a sudden hard pain to the side of my face stops me, knocking all the strength out of me as her fist conn
ects with my cheekbone. Then she is on top of me, her bloodied, blackened face inches from mine, her eyes bulging in anger,

  “Who the fuck are you? And who is Suzie?”

  Saliva drips from her mouth and I’m horrified to see the hatred evident in her expression. The wound on her head is bleeding and her hair is once again matted and filthy. I try to speak but she blocks me, her words thick with such obvious loathing it takes my breath away.

  “You killed him, didn’t you? Your husband. You’re nothing but a fucking murderer. He’s dead and it’s your fault!”

  The sentence cuts me in two. All my fault. How could she say such a thing? Martyn is the love of my life. Always will be. She inclines her lithe body even closer in, so close I can smell the blood on her hair, pungent and earthy.

  “I’m getting up now, and I am leaving. Don’t try to stop me because if you do Phoebe, if you do, I swear to god I will kill you.”