The Disappearance of Katie Wren

by Cross,Amy

  Tears are streaming down his face now. “Winifred, please...”

  “Don't make her testify. Please. I'm begging you.”

  “I can't plead guilty! I didn't do it!”

  “Of course you did,” I tell him, before turning and heading to the door. “You can't expect anyone to believe that torturous conspiracy nonsense you're peddling. You're starting to sound like Annabelle.”

  I knock, and a moment later the guard slides the door open to let me out.

  “You have to listen to me!” Tim shouts. “They've set me up! They're pinning this on me when the real monster is still out there!”

  The door slides shut again. I can still hear him ranting and shouting, but I no longer have any interest in what he has to say. This prison feels utterly suffocating, to the extent that I feel I desperately need to get some fresh air. Coming here today was a long-shot, but I still held out hope that Tim might be able to admit to his crimes. Now my only hope is that the doctors at the psychiatric hospital can find some way to help my poor girl. If she doesn't start to show signs of improvement soon, I fear she'll be lost forever.

  Taking a deep breath, I walk away.

  “You have to believe me!” Tim is yelling in the distance. “I'm innocent! Winifred, come back! I'm innocent!”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Justice

  “You mustn't blame yourself,” Milly tells me as I bring tea over to the kitchen table. “They'll know what to do with her at the hospital. They can work wonders these days, and soon they'll have Katie up and about again. Just wait and see.”

  “I only hope she can forgive me,” I reply, pouring us each a cup. “You should have heard the way she was screaming. It was almost as if some kind of wild animal had taken control of her. I don't think I shall sleep a wink tonight, not with that sound echoing in my memory.”

  “It's not really her,” she continues. “Not when she's like that.”

  “That's what I'm afraid of,” I mutter, glancing at the TV as it plays silently in the corner. “What if she never -”

  Stopping suddenly, I see that the screen shows a reporter standing outside the prison at Kentonville, and there's a Breaking News banner flashing in the bottom left corner. Concerned, I grab the remote control and quickly turn the volume up.

  “What's wrong?” Milly asks. “Winifred? You look like you've seen a ghost!”

  “Prison officials aren't saying,” the reporter explains. “We might not get confirmation of that until the morning. As you can imagine, they're being very cagey right now.”

  “Chris Mulhollis, thank you for joining us,” the news anchor says as the camera cuts back to the studio. “If you're just joining us, a reminder of the breaking news that's been coming in over the past few minutes. Timothy Ashford-Clarke, the sixty-nine-year-old London landlord awaiting trial for murder and kidnapping, has been found dead in his cell this evening, following an apparent altercation with another inmate at Kentonville Prison in Sussex. Prison chiefs are so far refusing to comment on speculation that Mr. Ashford-Clarke was targeted by a group of fellow inmates due to the nature of the allegations against him. In recent days, fresh information has been released to the media regarding claims that Timothy Ashford-Clarke was behind the disappearance and murder of fifteen-year-old Tiffany Redmond, as well as five other deaths and the kidnapping of Catherine Wren.”

  “They killed him,” I whisper, watching as the TV shows footage of an ambulance driving slowly away from the hospital. A shudder runs through my chest as I realize that he must have died just an hour or two after my visit.

  “I know I shouldn't say this,” Milly says, “but good riddance, if you ask me. I don't see why honest folk should have to pay to keep scum like that fed and watered for the rest of their lives. There are different types of justice. He got the right kind after all.”

  The TV reporter starts giving more information, but I feel rather faint as I step around the kitchen table. I can't focus on anything that's being said, or on Milly's occasional interjections, and instead I find myself thinking back to Tim's desperate cries during the visit. And then, just as I'm about to turn to Milly, I feel a rush of nausea. My legs buckle, and I slump down to the kitchen floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Recovery

  “I feel so much better! It's like all that darkness has just lifted from my mind and I can start living again! I think I'm finally ready to face the world and stop moping around!”

  I turn and watch, open-mouthed with shock, as Katie hurries across the living room. It's two weeks now since I committed her to the psychiatric ward, and just two hours since I picked her up from the hospital. To say that her progress has been remarkable would be an understatement. Even Doctor Squire and the others on the ward admitted that she's unusually perky and happy, but I can't deny that I seem to finally have my Katie back. This time, I think the nightmare really is over.

  “Do they still do those big Sunday roasts at the pub?” she asks, coming back through with a can of soda. “The food at that hospital was kinda yucky and tasteless. Do you know what I need? Roast beef, Yorkshire puddings and a whole lot of gravy! That's what kept me going, you know. I was just dreaming of a big roast!”

  She pauses, grinning at me.

  “What do you say, Mum?” she continues. “Why don't we resume an old Wren family tradition, huh? We always used to go and have Sunday lunch together in the past, and it's been a long time since we hung out.”

  “Of course,” I reply, “but are you sure you're -”

  “Don't fuss!” she laughs, before taking a sip of soda. “I get it, you're worried about me, and that's not exactly a surprise. I don't completely remember what I was like when I came home before, but I have these flashes where I...”

  Her voice trails off for a moment. Her smile almost fades, before coming back strong.

  “The point is,” she continues, “I'm over it now. Or at least, I'm coping with it better. I have the diary that Doctor Squire told me to keep, and I have those exercises that I'm supposed to do once a day, and I also have a few pills to take. I know this might seem sudden, and I'm kinda surprised myself, but I really feel like I'm ready to take on the world again! Full speed ahead!”

  “That's wonderful, but -”

  “I'll grab my other shoes and then we can go to the pub,” she adds, heading to the stairs. “Plus, we need to talk about when I'm going back to London.”

  “I beg your pardon?” I ask, convinced that I must have misheard.

  “We need to talk about London!” she shouts, bounding up the stairs two-at-a-time. “About my triumphant return!”

  A moment later I hear her hurrying into her room, but I'm left standing alone for a moment, trying to work out exactly what she just meant. It almost sounded as if she's planning to leave home again, although I know that can't possibly be true. Finally I head to the stairs and make my way up, and when I reach the door to her room I see that she's rifling through her closet. I watch her for a moment, before she glances at me and smiles. She seems so happy.

  “What's up, Mum?” she asks. “You're hovering again.”

  “You can't seriously be thinking of going to London,” I tell her. “Katie, please, the very idea is enough to give me palpitations.”

  “It wasn't London that hurt me,” she replies. “It was one man, and he's gone now. I'm not gonna let one man ruin my life.”

  “Still, I really think -”

  “You need to relax more,” she adds, pulling a pair of silver trainers from the closet and sitting on the edge of the bed so she can slip them onto her feet. “What happened to me was all kinds of messed-up, but I was incredibly unlucky. If I chicken-out and decide to spend the rest of my life tucked away safely in Shropley, I'll be letting Timothy Ashford-Clarke win. There's no way I'm doing that. While he's rotting in his grave, I'm gonna go back to London and live my life.”

  She finishes tying her trainers and then she gets to her feet.

  “I'm ready!�
� she exclaims with a grin. “For anything the world wants to throw at me!”

  “But -”

  “And please don't turn this into a thing,” she adds, grabbing her jacket and coming over to join me. “It's so not a thing. It could be a thing, if we let it, but we're not gonna. And do you know why? Because we're Wren women, and Wren women don't let assholes like Timothy fuck-face Ashford-Clarke get them down. I refuse to be beaten by this.”

  “That's very admirable,” I reply as she hurries to the top of the stairs and then runs down to the front room, “but...”

  My voice trails off as I hear her bounding about downstairs. She honestly seems to have more energy, and more enthusiasm for life, than anyone I've ever met. I'm glad that she seems optimistic again, but at the same time I can't help worrying that she's just a little too bouncy. Making my way to the stairs, I head down and reach the hallway just in time to see Katie pulling the front door open. It's as if this little house, perhaps even this little town, can no longer contain her.

  “It's a gorgeous day,” she points out, turning to me. “We've got plans to make, Mum. Trips to London to plan, and so much more! If Dad could see me now, he'd be proud, wouldn't he?”

  “Of course, but -”

  “So that's what matters,” she adds. “I want to feel like I'm strong, and that means getting on with my life. I also wanna pop into the store on the way to the pub, so I'll go on ahead and then I'll meet you in our usual booth. Okay?”

  “Yes, but I just -”

  “Seeya!” With that, she hurries away along the pavement, and once again I'm left standing completely alone. I almost feel dizzy, since Katie seems to be such a whirl of energy, but I suppose she's simply enjoying her new-found freedom now that she's out of the hospital. I should be pleased for her, instead of clinging to all my old fears and concerns, so I fetch my jacket from the hook and head out onto the pavement.

  “She looks happy,” Milly says, smiling at me as she sweeps her step.

  I turn and watch as Katie makes her way into the store.

  “Yes,” I mutter under my breath. “She certainly does.”

  ***

  “But it's so sudden,” I point out later, as Katie sits on the lid of her suitcase and starts pulling the zip around. “This is madness! You can't just go to London as soon as you get home!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you haven't planned it at all!”

  “I told you,” she continues with a smile, “I met some friends when I was there before, and they have a spare room I can use for a while until the next course starts. It'll be good for me, it'll give me time to just hang out in London and get my bearings. And it's not like there were any conditions attached to my release from the hospital. They said I'm totally free to do whatever I want, and it's not like I'm a kid anymore. You can't stop me, Mum.”

  “But -”

  “You can't!”

  “I know, but -”

  “So don't even try!” For the first time, her tone becomes a little more serious, as if she's annoyed by my constant protests. She glances at me, and for a moment I see a hint of frustration in her eyes. “What happened last time isn't your fault,” she tells me, “so it's not like you have to prove anything. But if you put your foot down and insist that I stick around in Shropley all my life, then that would be your fault. Not that I'd actually listen to you, but seriously... Mum, I can handle this. And so can you. We're modern women in the twenty-first century. It takes more than Timothy fucking Ashford-Clarke to hold either of us back.”

  “I just think you're rushing this,” I tell her. “It's as if you're trying to prove something.”

  “I am trying to prove something!”

  “To me? Or to the world, or -”

  “To myself! I'm trying to prove that I'm strong enough!”

  She hauls her suitcase off the bed. It's clearly too heavy for her, but she manages to set it down and then she starts wheeling it to the doorway.

  “So are you gonna literally stand in my way?” she asks with a faint smile as she reaches me. “Is that your cunning strategy to keep me here? 'Cause I've gotta tell you, there's a bus that leaves in forty minutes and then there's an overnight train to London that leaves just before midnight, and I plan to be on both of them. You just have to trust that lightning isn't going to strike twice, okay? Nothing bad is going to happen to me.”

  I open my mouth to argue with her, to tell her that I can't in good conscience let her go, but suddenly I realize that I'll sound like the most awful fuss-pot. She's more than old enough to make these decisions for herself, and it's not as if I can keep her prisoner here at Shropley for the rest of her life.

  “You have to promise me that you'll be careful,” I tell her, with tears in my eyes.

  “I promise.”

  “And that you'll be careful if you meet anyone new.”

  “I promise.”

  “And that you won't blindly trust any -”

  “I promise.”

  She steps closer and kisses me on the forehead.

  “I have a bus to catch, Mum,” she reminds me, and now there are tears in her eyes, too. “Do you wanna know a secret?” she continues. “I'm scared. I'm really scared. I'm almost shaking with fear, and there's a very big part of me that wants to just shrink back and stay here forever. But I can't let myself do that, because I can't let myself be a coward. I couldn't live with myself, and I feel like tonight's the night when I decide what kind of person I am. If I stay even one more night, I'll end up never going back to London. This is the night when I have the courage, so this is the night I have to go.”

  “But the people you're staying with -”

  “I told you about them earlier, remember?”

  “Yes, but -”

  “They're good people. Good friends. They know what happened to me, and they'll help me get used to things slowly.”

  She pauses, before checking her watch.

  “I have to catch this bus. If I don't, I think I'll chicken-out and never go. For real.”

  “Well, then,” I reply, wiping tears from my cheeks, “I suppose we'd better get you out there, hadn't we?”

  Less than five minutes later, we're out at the bus-stop. Katie has made it very clear that she doesn't want me to go to the train station with her, and I suppose I must respect her wishes. She seems genuinely nervous, and I can't believe the bravery she's displaying. If I were her, I'd be back in the house right now and I don't know that I'd ever leave. Then again, Katie is a modern young woman and she seems to have this strong inner core that comes from somewhere deep, deep down. I keep telling myself that she'll be fine, but when I spot the lights of the bus in the distance I feel a sudden rush of renewed fear.

  “You must be wary of people,” I tell her as the bus pulls up.

  “Yes, Mum.”

  She hauls her suitcase to the door and steps on-board.

  “And you mustn't be afraid to come home.”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  “And you must visit. Every weekend! Or every other weekend, at least!”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  She turns to me, just as the doors slide shut.

  “And call me!” I shout. “Katie! You must call me!”

  She nods, and the bus starts pulling away.

  Suddenly there are a thousand more things I have to tell her, but I resist the urge to take my phone from my pocket. I watch as the bus drives away and rounds the corner, and then I'm left all alone at the bus stop, with nothing left to do other than go back into the empty house and find some way to distract myself from all the terrible fears that are rattling around in my head. I'm worried I shall go utterly crazy, so once I'm inside I turn the television on and increase the volume, and then I pour myself a nice big glass of wine.

  “She'll be fine,” I whisper to myself, figuring that I just need a little internal pep talk. “She'll be better than fine. She'll be amazing. She's better than you, Winifred. She's braver. She's a fighter.”

  W
ith that, I take a good, long sip from my glass.

  Chapter Thirty

  The Blood of Sheep

  “No, it wasn't that,” Father Collins continues, as we carry boxes of napkins into the church. “Not specifically, anyway. From what I heard, it was something a little more arcane and other-worldly. They'd been draining the poor things.”

  As we walk along the aisle, I can't help but think of my poor Katie. It's 9am, barely twelve hours since she got on the bus, and I'm already frantic with worry. She texted me last night at every step of her journey, and her most recent message came just an hour ago when she finally got to her friends' house. I know the last thing she wants is to have me constantly bothering her and demanding updates, but I keep thinking of all the terrible things that could happen to her while she's in the city.

  I'm starting to think that maybe I should have handcuffed her to the front door and refused to let her go.

  “Winifred? Are you okay?”

  Startled, I turn to Father Collins and see that he's over by the door that leads into his office. I look down at the napkins in the box I'm carrying, and then I realize I've inadvertently brought them all the way to the altar.

  “You seem like you're a million miles away,” he continues with a faint smile. “This is about dear Catherine, isn't it? You're worried about her.”

  “No,” I lie, before realizing that there's no point hiding the truth. “Do you blame me?”

  “Of course not. Then again, thinking of some of the goings-on around here lately with Joe O'Brien and those two girls, I'm not sure whether it's safer to be in London or Shropley.”

  “I think I might have made a terrible mistake,” I tell him. “I should never have let her go back to London.”