I watched in horror as the girl I’d once felt so protective of came back to me and snatched my nurse’s pass from the clip on my shirt pocket.
“Even looks a bit like me, doesn’t it?” she said, showing me the photograph. “When I first laid my eyes on you I knew you were perfect. We’re around the same height, similar hair colour. I had to lose some weight and cut my hair like yours, but we’re a pretty good match. Of course, I had to take bets on you not coming into work with platinum blonde hair one day, but you don’t strike me as the adventurous type. Besides, you have, what, three work outfits in rotation? You couldn’t afford a fancy hairdo even if you wanted one.” She stroked my cheek again. “Poor, poor Leah. Skint, living in a rundown cottage on a farm outside Hutton village with her little brother. Yes, that’s right, I know a lot about you. It’s a Fiat you drive, isn’t it? Let’s have the car keys, then. I wonder if I can remember how to drive. Luckily, Daddy always let us have a go in his car when we were kids. I’m sure I can remember where the pedals are. Oh, wait. You haven’t got the keys. What’s the number of your locker?”
I shook my head.
Isabel pressed the shiv against my neck. “What’s the number?”
“Fifty-two,” I mumbled through the gag.
“Very good. Now, I’m afraid there’s one small matter to deal with and it’s going to be tricky.” She knelt down in front of me and began pulling off my shoes, then the socks. “I wonder what you look like naked, dear Leah. You don’t seem to have a bad body. The tits aren’t bad. You’re a little bloated from all that wine you’ve been glugging away.” She laughed. “Would I fuck you? I don’t know, maybe. Maybe I will. Now.” The laugh that came from her was high-pitched and disturbing, the kind of laugh a child would make, but twisted with malice. “It’s a shame we don’t have enough time.”
Her hands groped up my legs until she reached the waistband of my trousers. I was trembling all over, making a whimpering sound behind the gag. Her fingers nimbly worked the zip and clasp, before she yanked them down my legs. Then she changed out of her own bottoms and into mine. She pulled her top off, and dropped it to the floor.
“Do you promise to be a good girl?”
The shiv pressed into the fleshy part of my face beneath my right eye, and she leaned closer so I could see her small breasts swinging beneath her bent shoulders. The bra she wore was flesh-coloured without underwire, more like a training bra than a grown woman’s lingerie. I almost felt sorry for this girl who had grown up in institutions, who was broken, lacking humanity, lacking love.
“I promise,” I mumbled.
By now I knew what she intended to do, but I was too afraid to stop her. Looking back, I can see that I had a choice I decided not to take. Isabel would never have escaped if I’d screamed or shouted; even with the gag, there were enough people nearby to hear the sounds and alert security. But I knew I’d be horribly maimed and possibly killed if I made that choice. It was the safer choice for everyone else, because I knew that by being silent I was letting a dangerous criminal out into society, but I was too afraid to stop her. It was ingrained in me to freeze up. It happened on instinct. Every time my father had hit me when I was a child I was so scared that I never fought back. It was a constant source of shame to me that I’d never fought back whenever I found myself cornered by a bully. Not everyone has it in them to deal out violence in response to violence. Not everyone has that kind of strength. And over the years, as the shame worked its way down into my very core, it made me believe that I was never good enough and that I deserved it.
I deserved it.
When I looked up at Isabel’s face, I saw his face leering down at me.
She untied one of my hands, quickly slipped my shirt sleeve over my arm, tied me back up and then repeated the process on the other side. Then she slipped it over her body and began fastening the buttons.
“Oh, isn’t this lovely,” she said. “You started wearing brighter colours because I told you to. Such a sweet, sweet Leah. For a minute you actually believed you were worth something, didn’t you? There you were, my crusader, my saviour, turning up at my family’s house with accusations to make and a finger to point.” She took the picture of me tied up and folded it, then put it in her pocket. “You liked me and you couldn’t cope with the idea that I’m a killer, so you obsessed and obsessed, anything to avoid dealing with your own problems.” She slipped her feet into my shoes. “Leah, the nurse, the protector of people.” She stepped closer and lifted my head so that we looked deeply into each other’s eyes. “You can’t fix me.”
Then she bent down to the floor, lifted a loose piece of tiling beneath the bed, and retrieved a small bag.
“I have a parting gift.” She smiled at the bag as she rose to her feet. “I’ve been collecting them for a long time. I hope you like them.” The bag rattled and I understood what were inside.
I shook my head.
“I think you need them, if I’m honest. You’re a little… you know.” She rotated her finger next to her temple to indicate my insanity. Then, she unfastened the bag and poured the pills into the palm of her hand. “Open up for Mummy.”
Isabel ripped the gag from my face, forced my teeth to part and rammed the pills down my throat before pressing her hands over my nose and mouth. I spluttered and choked, but could do little more than swallow the sour tablets.
“You bit me a little,” she said, pouting like a little girl. “That was ouchy. Naughty Leah. I hope these kill you now. Maybe they will, I’m not sure. It would certainly make things easier for me. But on the other hand, if you live—which, personally, I’m rooting for—we get to meet again. And that, Leah, is something I’m looking forward to very much.”
With her hands cutting off my oxygen, I began to feel woozy. My arms were tired, aching all the way down to my fingers. My body was heavy and tensed all over. I’m not sure how long she held me like that, but I was barely aware of her removing the bindings from my wrists and tucking them beneath her—or rather, my—shirt. Then, as the room began to melt away, she kissed me on the lips and left.
Chapter Thirty-Three
James Gorden’s decomposing, headless body is sitting opposite me, propped up on a chair with his hands placed neatly in his lap, as though posing for a school photograph. The corpse is bloated and sagging, like the balloon remnants from a child’s party. I only recognise him from the t-shirt, a large baggy thing with a Harry Potter lightning bolt across the chest, and, of course, the fact that there’s no head.
My mind flits back to the day I saw my first dead body on the job. For a short period of time I worked as a geriatric nurse in a nursing home, and the sweet old man I’d been caring for slipped away as I was changing his bedsore dressings. There was an awful rattle in his chest, followed by a peaceful sigh, and then every part of what made him who he was left his body in an instant. It was simple and quick. Relatively painless. It was the way most people would wish to leave this world.
I look at James’s corpse and wouldn’t wish his fate on even the worst of us. It’s violent and disgusting. Degrading. Isabel wants to show me her power, and she’s succeeded.
Now she stands between me and James, with a small table to the right of her hip. She turns to the table and flips open a cloth. Underneath, I see a set of sharp knives, which she caresses lovingly.
I need to keep her talking. Distract her from the torture implements I see on the table.
“Did Owen help you? How else could you get James here? Was there some sort of pact? You’ve suffered the last seven years in incarceration. Maybe it’s his turn to take the blame. But if you did arrange that, why are you jeopardising your chance at freedom by taking me? You know I’m in touch with the police, and you know that Seb Braithwaite is looking out for me.”
“Shush, Leah. Don’t tire yourself out. It’s going to be a long night.” Her eyes never move from the set of knives on the table. She brushes a lock of hair away from her face and sighs as though staring at a lover.
“It’s nice and secluded,” she says. “And it reminds you of a low point in your life. It felt poetic.”
“It was clever. Everything you’ve done has been clever. You lost weight, changed your hair, and you pretended to be me. You waited for the perfect moment and took your chance.” If there’s one thing I’ve learned from working with sociopaths, it’s that they love to be reminded how cunning they are. Now is the right time to begin feeding her ego.
“I did. Perfect opportunities never fall into one’s lap. We don’t wait for fate, we force fate’s hand. That meant waiting and waiting until the right moment came where I could steal my own fate. It meant waiting for you, Leah. You’re the one who made all of this possible. My perfect nurse.” She takes a step closer and I cringe away from her. She shushes me again as she strokes the length of my face with her warm hand. “Just the right amount of damage. Just the right amount of neediness.”
“I wanted to believe you were innocent,” I admit. “More than anything.”
“I know, sweet girl.” Isabel’s touch is almost comforting as she wipes away the tears on my cheek.
“I was your nurse. I only ever wanted to help you. That’s my job.”
“That’s what nurses do, isn’t it? They help people. They help the sick and make them better. No matter what they might have done.” She crouches down so that we’re face to face. “Did you think you could make me better?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you did.” She smiles.
When she moves away, I almost miss her hand on my cheek, and then realise how fucked up that is. After the months of fearing for my life—checking the locks with obsessive compulsion, dreaming of the birds pecking my flesh, jumping at every slight noise, seeing her face whenever I’m in a crowd—it’s almost a relief to finally be her prisoner. I’ve been caught up the Fieldings’ dark web for so long that I always knew this was inevitable. This has been my fate for since I set foot in Crowmont Hospital, and now it’s all going to end. The guilt, the pain, the grief, and the worry that has plagued me, made me itchy inside, is finally going to be cut out of me until there’s nothing left.
But if she does succeed in cutting me into tiny pieces, who will be left for Tom? He’ll live his life never knowing the truth. Or worse, one day he’ll need his birth certificate, and he’ll see my name and realise I lied to him all those years. But the blank spot where the father’s name should be will confuse him for the rest of his life. He’ll never understand. He’ll never know.
Don’t I owe it to him to fight?
“Do you want to know why I went to London, Leah? I’m surprised you haven’t asked.” She picks up the smallest knife and plays with it between her fingers.
“To hide from the police? I think if I was on the run I’d choose the most populated city in the country, too.”
She points the knife at me. “Yes, that was certainly a perk, but that wasn’t the only reason. I looked you up. You’re quite the celebrity in your home area, did you know that? I found newspaper articles about you on the internet. Public libraries are a great way to waste time when you’re on the run from the police with no money. I learnt a lot there. I learnt that your father didn’t die. Remember that touching story you told me about sensing his presence at his funeral? That’s because your broken mind didn’t recognise that he was real, you silly bint!” She starts to laugh.
“I already know this,” I reply, anger beginning to replace my fear.
“I visited your mother’s grave.”
Warmth spreads through my arms as the anger continues to flow through my veins. But confusion comes along with it. “What? Why?”
“To put flowers on her grave, of course. What, did you think I would dig her up?”
“Shut up!”
Isabel’s eyes narrow. “You have a bit of a weakness for Mummy, don’t you? Is that what all this is about? You couldn’t save Mummy from bad Daddy, so you want to save everyone else instead? My poor little Leah wanted to save me too because I was so innocent.”
“You lived a lie,” I retort. “You’re the one who’s messed up. You don’t even know who you are. You can insult me all you like, but I’m not the one without an identity. Yes, I want to help people, and yes, I had a psychotic break, and no, I couldn’t save my own mother, but you’re desperate to prove yourself. Who are you trying to impress, Isabel? Daddy?”
She slashes the knife towards me, brushing the fabric of the dressing gown with the sharp edge. “You don’t know me!”
“You have a bit of a weakness for Daddy, don’t you?” The satisfaction of hitting her squarely with her own attack brings strength back into my limbs. I’m not dead yet. There’s still a chance.
Isabel stares at me with eyes wide and wild, her nostrils flaring in anger. She’s gripping the knife so tightly that her knuckles shine bright white.
“Is that why you’re so obsessed with me?” I ask. “Is it because we’re so similar? Did your father hurt you when you were a little girl? I remember what you said to get me into your room at Crowmont. You told me you found pictures belonging to your father when you were a little girl. Was that part true? Did your father enjoy hurting little girls, Isabel?”
Isabel shakes her head. “Not little girls, no.”
“But he likes to hurt people.”
Isabel’s head turns to the left, where the abandoned old house remains shrouded in darkness. When I came for my walk up to this place all those months ago, I walked through the downstairs of the house. I know that if you walk through that darkness you reach another room, some sort of sitting room or lounge. Why is Isabel looking in that direction?
I struggle against the ropes, sensing a change, but they’re tight and my mind is racing so quickly that I can’t seem to think straight. Every part of me goes cold, chasing away that brief feeling of strength. I’m listening intently, waiting for what will happen next, because I know things are about to change.
The low chuckle ripples through the room, too low to be Isabel. It belongs to a man. It’s followed by footsteps moving slowly, dragging along the dusty concrete of the old house. The ropes chafe my skin as I struggle against them, panicking. James Gorden’s headless body sits in front of me as a reminder of what I may become.
“Isabel,” I whisper. “It’s not too late to let me go. It’s not too late to stop this.”
Isabel’s eyes flick across to mine, but there is no pity in them. She exhales through her nose once. A sad, bitter laugh.
“I told you to stay away from my family. I did warn you.” The sound of his voice alone causes my stomach to flip over in fear. He was always the most dangerous.
My premature feeling of hope dissipates. How can I possibly expect to escape with Isabel and her father as my captors? Ever since David Fielding pinned me up against his kitchen counter and met my gaze with his own I’ve been terrified of him. The cold edge of his voice has haunted me in the long, lonely nights at the cottage. I’d recognise his voice out of a thousand others.
The slow, dragging footsteps continue to echo around the small space. Isabel licks her lips and strokes the knife handle with her thumb, already anticipating the family fun that’s about to begin.
I brace myself as David Fielding steps out from the shadow. There’s a scrape of footwear across concrete which alerts me to the fact that David isn’t alone. He’s pushing a smaller, dumpier figure ahead of him.
“Tom!”
I’m frantic, jerking my body in the chair, pulling at the ropes, chafing my skin and drawing blood. How did they find him? I told Tom to go away with Mary and Gavin, even insisting that they not tell me where they were going. But now my worst fear has been realised. My poor, sweet son is
held hostage in front of David, a gag over his mouth and tears running down his cheeks. His jeans are damp at the crotch and his hands are pulled behind his back. David holds a knife to his neck.
“I’d calm down if I were you, Leah.” David’s voice is dark and dangerous. “Otherwise, I’ll gut your little brother.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
David kicks Tom’s feet out from under him and ties his ankles together. I’m silently screaming as my son sits there squirming and shivering. I’m trying desperately to keep my mind clear. There’s no point in panicking anymore. The stakes are too high. I have my son to think about, and I cannot stand the sight of David bending over him with a rabid grin on his face, while all the time Tom’s eyes are on me, pleading and terrified.
I turn to Isabel. “This is between you and me. Let him go.” The power in my voice surprises me.
But Isabel lifts her arms above her head, twirling the knife in her fingers like it’s a baton. She’s dancing to the sound of Tom’s tears. “I don’t want to.”
“Why are you doing this?” I plead. “Why? You could be free. You could go anywhere you like, and your father could carry on living his own life, business as usual. Rich. White. Entitled to anything he wants. But you’re jeopardising all of this for me. What’s so special about me?”
Isabel’s head moves sharply towards me. “Because you cared, Leah. Now I care about you, too.”
“This isn’t caring.” My voice is a screech so high-pitched it disturbs me. “This is sick.”
Isabel and David exchange smiles. I feel deflated. There’s no reasoning with them. I’m in the presence of murderers who enjoy this, who are enjoying my fear and my desperation. I’m feeding them.
David moves away from Tom and places his arm around his daughter. “Stop fighting it, Leah. Fighting never works. I’ve been fighting who I am for years, but not anymore.”
One For Sorrow Page 22
