The Disappearance of Katie Wren

by Cross,Amy

“No, apparently that was the real deal. I guess she snagged it at some point.”

  “You lied to me!” I say firmly. “You tricked me!”

  “I emphasized the truth.”

  “You lied!”

  “To make you see what was really happening! Sometimes the truth has to be supported by a lie here and there!”

  “You won't even admit it, will you?” I continue. “You're deluded, Annabelle. You're utterly out of your mind, and you're incapable of facing facts even when they're laid out in front of you. And you've just admitted that you purposely deceived me and exploited my fears for my daughter in order to -”

  “That's not how it was!” she spits back at me. “Everything I did was designed to help find Katie and expose the obscenities that take place at Knott's Court, and we still have to bring that fucking place crashing to the ground. Don't you get it, Winnie? They gave Katie back to you! That means we ruffled their feathers, it means we made them change their plans! This is the biggest opportunity we're ever going to get to make those bastards pay for all the misery and pain they've caused! If we back down now, we're not only failing to avenge the deaths of all the people who suffered in the past, we'll also be making ourselves complicit in every death that happens at Knott's Court from this point on. We'll be like all the other people who turned their backs on this!”

  I wait for her to continue, but she seems breathless now and evidently she thinks her little speech should have changed my mind.

  “I have to take my daughter home,” I tell her, “and help her get over this awful ordeal.”

  “But you -”

  Before she can say another word, she breaks into a coughing fit and has to lean against the wall.

  “I hope you come to some form of understanding,” I continue. “I hope you find comfort, Annabelle. I would hate to think of you spending the rest of your life living in this paranoid, delusional bubble of conspiracy theories and imagined threats. I'm afraid I can't help you, though.”

  “We have a -”

  Still spluttering and coughing, she pulls a sheet of paper from her pocket, and I realize that it's the deal I signed several days ago in the diner.

  Snatching the paper from her hands, I tear it in half.

  “The deal was for you to find my daughter,” I point out, dropping the waste into a nearby bin. “You didn't do that, though, did you? You ran me around on a merry little chase, but the police are the ones who actually found her. So any deal we had is null and void. Please, have the decency to refrain from bothering my family again. I shall have no hesitation in calling the police if I find that you're stalking us.”

  With that, I take my coffee and head back along the corridor, toward the room where my poor dear Katie is still undergoing a battery of intrusive tests.

  “You know Tim didn't do this!” Annabelle calls after me, her voice sounding hoarse and ragged. “Deep down, you know this is just them covering everything up! Don't fall for it, Winnie! Katie's wrong, or she's deluded, or she's lying, but Tim isn't that kind of person! Don't take the easy explanation! Keep your eyes open!”

  Ignoring her, I slip into the next room. Katie is on a table, and two doctors are examining her in an extremely intimate manner. There are tears in my poor girl's eyes, and tears in mine too as I head over to comfort her.

  All that matters is Katie now. I have to look after my sweet darling. She's so innocent, and she needs to come back home with me at once.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Crow

  It's funny, but for months I've been nursing the lilacs in the back garden, nurturing them every day and trying to keep them alive. And now, after I've been neglecting them for the past few months, I find that they look stronger than ever. It's almost as if they benefited from being left alone for a while.

  “How are the tomatoes?” Katie asks.

  Turning, I see that she's watching me from the back door. She's holding a big mug of tea, and she's smiling for the first time since we got home from London last week.

  “A little worse for wear,” I reply, setting my trowel down, “but I think they can be nursed back to full health. They've always been delicate little things. I was thinking of transplanting them to the border by the fence, but I'm not sure they'd survive. I think they're better off right here, and I shall just have to fuss over them a little more.”

  “The garden looks really nice this year,” she continues, taking a sip of tea. “All your hard work is starting to pay off.” She pauses, and I can tell that something's troubling her. “The police called. Tim is pleading not guilty to all the charges against him. Apparently it doesn't matter how much evidence they have, he still won't make this easy.”

  “That's hardly a surprise,” I point out. “I imagine he finds it hard to admit the truth, even to himself.”

  “They also told me a little more about their investigation. They've linked him to three other girls who vanished over the past few years. It looks like he kept them in his basement, and then... Well, they didn't want to go into the details. I guess they didn't want to upset me, but it's pretty obvious. He must've killed them.”

  I feel a shudder pass through my chest.

  “They found three hidden cameras hidden in the bathroom of my apartment,” she continues. “He was using them to watch me through gaps in the grouting between the tiles. I kinda can't quite believe I didn't notice, but I guess that's not something you really look for. They must've been pretty small.”

  “I didn't notice them either,” I reply, thinking back to the day when I cleaned the bathroom from top to bottom. I even scrubbed the grouting, and I didn't spot any gaps where a camera could be hidden. In fact, for a moment, I feel certain that there couldn't have been any cameras at all. Still, I suppose I wasn't in a fit state to notice very much at all. “I'm sure it'll all come out at the trial,” I tell her. “For now, we should just be glad that such a dangerous man is off the streets and locked away in jail.”

  “It makes me sick every time I think of him,” she says with a shudder.

  I pause for a moment. “And it was definitely him?” I ask.

  She flinches slightly.

  “I'm sorry,” I continue, “I didn't mean to pry.”

  “Sometimes I feel like you don't believe me,” she says defensively. “I see doubt in your eyes.”

  “That couldn't be further from the truth!”

  Hurrying over to her, I place my hands on her shoulders. “I believe you,” I tell her firmly, feeling a rush of remorse as I realize that my poorly-chosen words have upset her again. “You mustn't listen to me,” I continue. “I just find it hard to reconcile that monster's actions with the man I spent time with. Tim seemed so kind and caring.”

  “The perfect man, huh?”

  “In some respects, yes. I suppose I'm just shocked that I was so easily taken in. I always thought I was a rather good judge of character. I suppose I was just dazzled by his manners and his good breeding. There's no fool like an old fool.”

  “Yeah, well...” She shrugs. “It was him, Mum. Two or three times a day, for the whole time I was being held, I saw his face whenever he came down to the basement. I felt his hands on my bare flesh, and I heard him whispering all the things he was going to do to me. And no matter how bad it got, and no matter how much everything hurt down in that basement, I know that I was the lucky one. Because the other girls never made it out at all, and their experiences lasted days or weeks longer than mine.”

  “I know,” I reply, feeling a shudder pass through my chest.

  “One of them was fifteen,” she adds.

  I take a deep breath.

  “Just a kid,” she points out. “A runaway. She'd left home after an argument on her birthday, and clearly somehow she ended up meeting Tim. They haven't quite figured out what happened after that, but they know for certain that he held her in the basement and that eventually he killed her. I guess he did things to her first. The same kind of things he did to me.”

  I nod, a
lthough I feel sick to my stomach.

  “So think about that next time you're wondering whether it can all be true,” she continues. “I guess sometimes monsters hide in plain sight. I think I need to sit down for a moment. I'm still not feeling totally right, and my legs are kinda all trembly.”

  “Of course. Let me help you. I can -”

  “I'll be fine.”

  She limps past me and out into the garden, and I know better by now than to offer more help. Since we returned from London last week, Katie has seemed more resilient than before, and a little more introspective. She doesn't talk so much, and she spends a lot of time up in her room. Still, as she makes her way over to the garden table, I try to remind myself that she's been through a dreadful ordeal. If I were in her shoes, I dare say I'd have to be locked away in a psychiatric institution. My daughter's strength is quite remarkable.

  Suddenly there's a flash of something dark, and a large crow swoops down, brushing against Katie's shoulder before it soars back up into the clear blue sky.

  “What the fuck?” she hisses, turning and batting the bird away, even though she's already too late.

  “It was a crow,” I tell her, looking up and watching as the dark shape arcs through the sky. “Maybe you have some food in your dressing gown pocket.”

  “Of course I don't,” she mutters, sounding distinctly unimpressed. “Fucking bird. I don't know what the hell it's up to, but I'll break its goddamn neck if it tries that again.”

  The crow is still circling above, as if it's intent on watching the house. I don't think I've seen such a large creature in Shropley before. It looks more like the kind of monstrosity one would expect to come across in London.

  “Would you like some lemonade?” I ask Katie, hoping to change the subject. “I made some this morning, with fresh lemons.”

  “Whatever.”

  “It's the same old recipe as usual, I'm afraid,” I continue, hurrying back into the kitchen, “but I think you should -”

  “Fuck!”

  I turn just in time to see that the crow is attacking Katie. She turns in her chair, trying to push the bird away, but it lets out a series of loud and angry caws as it tries to scratch the back of her neck with its claws. At the same time, it pecks at her hands, and to my shock I see blood starting to drip from her wrists.

  “Get out of here!” I shout, grabbing the hoe from the corner and running to the table, waving the rounded wooden end. The crow ignores me at first, still trying to peck at Katie, but finally it flies up and lands on the garden's back wall, where it proceeds to settle and watch us.

  “What the hell?” Katie stammers, getting to her feet and staring with a shocked expression at the three trickles of blood that run from her wounded wrist all the way down to her elbow. “Why does that bird hate me so much?”

  “Shoo!” I shout, hurrying to the bottom of the wall and then waving my hoe up at the monstrous creature. Even now, it resolutely refuses to depart, until finally I hit its flank and force it to take to the sky. I turn and watch as it soars up past the roof, and then it stops next to the chimney and turns to watch us again. Evidently it's still not entirely ready to leave us alone.

  “It must be insane!” Katie hisses, wiping the blood on the side of her dressing gown. “Maybe it's got, like, rabies or something!”

  “I'm sure it's not that bad,” I reply, hurrying over to her. “Let me see.”

  “No!” She pulls her arm away and turns her back to me. “I'll be fine.”

  “You should see a doctor. It might be -”

  “I'll see a doctor if it looks infected,” she replies. “Seriously, Mum, stop fussing. Don't you think I've been through enough examinations lately? I just have some cuts, that's all.”

  “But the bird -”

  “It's gone now, right?”

  “I just want to look after you and -”

  “It's a bit late for that!” she hisses.

  I open my mouth to ask what she means, but I quickly realize she must be referring to the fact that I let her go to London. I desperately want to apologize, to tell her that I'll always keep her safe from now on, but somehow the words won't quite leave my lips. Instead, I look up at the roof and see that the crow is still watching us, although at least it seems to be keeping its distance.

  “I think maybe we should go inside,” I mutter finally. “Katie, we've had enough excitement for one day, haven't we?”

  “What the fuck is up with that thing?” she asks, clutching her wrist as I lead her inside. “I swear to God, I will brain that little bastard if I get the chance!”

  “One mustn't get too carried away,” I tell her.

  “I'm not getting carried away. I'm just telling you what I'll do if that bird tries it again. I'll be ready for it, and I'll grab its neck and twist its head until it falls off. And then I'll crush its skull and squeeze out its pathetic excuse for a brain.”

  I can't help feeling that Katie seems much angrier than ever before, but again I simply have to assume that this is a result of her ordeal. Her language has become much harsher, too, although I doubt very much that she'd listen to me if I asked her to moderate her tone. Perhaps she simply has to get this anger out of her system, and perhaps she'll go back to normal at some point. Either that, or she might have been irrevocably changed, in which case I shall simply have to adapt to this new side of her.

  Once we're inside, I turn and slide the door shut. As I do so, however, the crow swoops back down and attacks the glass. I step back, shocked, and watch as the frantic bird tries desperately to find a way inside. Finally it swoops across the garden and stops on top of the shed, where it perches and turns to watch the house.

  “Fucking thing,” Katie mutters darkly, her eyes filled with pure hatred. “If it tries that again, I'll make it pay!”

  ***

  Later, as I sit alone after dinner watching Midsomer Murders, I can't help worrying about Katie spending so much time up in her room. Every night since we came back to Shropley, she's retired early and locked herself away, and it's almost as if she doesn't want to spend time with me. I keep hoping that she'll agree to see a therapist, but so far she resolutely refuses to leave the house.

  Muting the TV, I suddenly realize I can hear Katie talking in her room.

  I wait a moment, before setting my wine glass down and getting to my feet. By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, I can tell that she's definitely talking to somebody up there, although I can't quite make out any of the words. I know I shouldn't snoop, but I decide to sneak up until I'm almost on the landing. I even remember to avoid the creaking step, three from the top, that might give away my presence.

  “I don't know,” I hear Katie saying, and then she pauses for a few seconds. “I don't know. I could... No.”

  Silence.

  “I don't know. I don't know. I really think it was coming closer. I could feel him out there, but I couldn't make the connection. He was starting to notice me, though, I'm sure of it. I just need more time.”

  She stops again.

  “I think I have to go,” she adds suddenly. “I think someone can hear me. But I don't know. I just don't know. Later. Soon. Tell him that.”

  A moment later, I hear the tell-tale beeping sound of the call being disconnected, followed by the rumble of her chair's wheels. Turning, I quickly make my way back down and over to the sofa, and I sit down just as Katie's door creaks open.

  I wait.

  Silence.

  And then, slowly, her door bumps shut again.

  I sit in silence for a few more minutes, just in case she starts talking again, but I think I heard her bed creaking a moment ago, which means she's probably retired for the night.

  I un-mute the TV and try to focus on the episode, but I can't help wondering what Katie is doing up there. Still, I suppose I should try not to over-analyze her every move. The most important thing is that I have my daughter back, and now we can start to put this nightmare behind us.

  Chapter Twenty-F
our

  The Cemetery

  “Look at it!” Father Curtis says as we stand in the cemetery. “Who would do such a thing? It's obscene!”

  I can't help but agree. During the night, somebody evidently saw fit to come into the churchyard and dig up one of the graves. They made it all the way down to the rotten, collapsed coffin below, and then the lid was partially torn away. A section of tarpaulin has now been placed over the hole, while Father Curtis waits for someone to come and refill the hole, but the whole scene is rather ghastly and I can't even begin to imagine who might be responsible.

  “Was anything...”

  I pause for a moment, not really sure how I should phrase the question. After all, one doesn't like to be too direct, not when dealing with something so delicate.

  “Was anything taken?” I ask finally. “I mean...”

  My voice trails off.

  “It's impossible to say,” he replies with a sigh. “This particular grave is over two hundred years old, so there really wasn't much left down there. The whole thing is quite horrifying, and I just can't understand what could motivate someone to go to all this effort.” He looks toward the old, moss-covered gravestone. “Here lies Jeremiah Cobham,” he reads out loud. “I mean, who was Jeremiah Cobham? I looked him up this morning, it seems he owned some land in the area, but that's no reason for somebody to desecrate his grave like this. I can only assume that the target was picked at random, and that this is some kind of sick prank.”

  “And nothing like this has happened before?”

  “Absolutely not. In all the time I've been here in Shropley, I honestly haven't encountered one problem. The village has always seemed so utterly peaceful. It's hard to believe that anyone from the town would even think of doing something so monstrous.”

  “I suppose you must simply chalk it up to hi-jinks,” I suggest, “and hope that the miscreant doesn't strike again.”

  “Maybe,” he mutters, “although...”

  He hesitates for a moment.

  “There is something else,” he adds finally. “I haven't mentioned it to anyone, since it's easier to keep hidden until it can be fixed, but I feel I must show it to at least one person. Would you care to come and see?”