by Elle Croft
She stared at him, not moving, until he thrust the knife towards her. She jumped backwards.
‘Amy,’ he said gently, ‘I need you to take the knife. Will you take it, please?’
She reached forward and curled her fingers around the handle carefully. It was made of wood; smooth, with the natural grain curving and whirling around it. It was beautiful. Mesmerising. She stared at it for a few seconds before turning her attention back to her brother.
‘What’s this for?’
He jerked his head towards Kat, who was tied to the wooden bench in the middle of the shed, her face covered in blood. She was badly injured, and as the teenager absorbed the state of the woman who had betrayed her, she felt a pull somewhere deep inside her, a tug of something familiar, something she thought she’d shed along with the rest of her unwanted identity.
‘You want me to cut the ropes?’ she asked, more alert now.
‘We have to get rid of her,’ Brad said, matter-of-factly.
‘Well, I doubt she can drive herself home. We’ll have to call someone to pick her up, probably—’
‘I don’t mean that we’re going to let her go,’ Brad said pointedly, and she felt a sudden jolt of clarity.
She dropped the knife with a clatter.
‘What? No. No way, Brad. What? That’s crazy!’
Kat made a hissing sound that could have been a sigh of relief. Brad whirled around, picking the knife up from the concrete floor and holding it against Kat’s throat. Her eyes widened in fear. Imogen’s chest tightened. She couldn’t move. She didn’t know if she wanted to.
‘One word – a single syllable – and I promise you, you’ll regret it,’ Brad growled. Kat whimpered in response, a pathetic, childlike sound that grated on Imogen, made her feel even more agitated. She needed to lie down. She needed sleep. Her head was thumping with a ferocity she didn’t know was possible. It was like something was trying to break out from the inside using an ice pick. Her stomach was in knots, whatever was left in there threatening to come up every few minutes, and the walls were spinning alarmingly fast.
‘Amy, listen,’ Brad said, circling both of her wrists gently with his free hand. ‘Look at me.’
She did as she was told, meeting his caramel eyes with her own. She studied his irises, hoping to understand him, to get a better read on what he meant, on what he was trying to say, on what he was going to do next. But she couldn’t focus. Her eyelids felt heavy.
‘Kat wants to break us up,’ he said, and she knew that he was right. Why else would she be there? Why else would she have attacked him, or made up all of those awful things about their mum? Kat was desperate – she wasn’t making sense, with her claims about Satan and chains and starvation. If their parents really were so terrible, Brad wouldn’t be standing up for them. He wouldn’t be trying to reconnect with them. ‘If we let her go, she’ll find a way to get me out of the picture for good. She’ll tell the police that I’m dangerous, that I’m exactly what they think our parents are. I’ll never get to see you again. Do you want that, Amy? Is that what you want?’
‘No,’ she shouted. ‘Of course I don’t want that, but, Brad … we don’t have to hurt her. No one has to get hurt.’
She hated Kat. She’d be satisfied with never having to see her again, never having to speak to her. But she didn’t want her injured, or worse. She just wanted to start her new life with Brad, find their sister, meet their parents.
‘Please,’ she whispered.
‘She’s already hurt,’ he said, looking over at the limp, blood-soaked body on the bench. ‘Who’s to say she’d be OK even if we let her go?’
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said firmly, her jaw set. ‘No, I can’t. I won’t hurt her. We don’t need to, we can just run away. We don’t need to stay here. Let’s just go, then we can be together and no one gets hurt. Why can’t we go now?’
It took a couple of seconds to register the look in his eyes, but then she realised. It was pity. He felt sorry for her.
‘Oh, little one,’ he said, condescension dripping from his voice. ‘Always thinking the best of people. If we leave her, we might get away. You’re right about that. But don’t you want to meet Mum?’
She nodded uncertainly. She was being backed into a corner, she could feel it. But she didn’t understand enough about what was happening, or what happened next, to know how to fight it. And she did, she really did, want to meet her mother; the woman with a birthmark that matched her own.
‘You think Kat will let us go visit her, huh? The authorities will have all kinds of alerts on us. The moment we even attempt to see Mum, the cops will be all over us and we’ll be split up again, and I’ll spend the rest of my life behind bars for what? For letting her go? No way.’
Imogen tried to think through what Brad was saying, to separate facts from fear. She desperately wanted to meet her mum, but she was also certain that there had to be a way for that to happen without Kat being harmed any more.
‘But if we … if she’s hurt … they’ll be looking for us, anyway.’
He shook his head violently.
‘They didn’t find you,’ he said triumphantly. ‘Why would they find her?’
Something sparked at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t grasp what it meant. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to find clarity. She didn’t want to listen to what he was saying, but she couldn’t deny the truth of it, either. If they ran, Kat wouldn’t stop looking. And now she’d heard them talking about visiting their mum in prison, of course she would try to find them that way. Of course she’d put a stop to it.
She felt like she was being torn in two. The pain was unbearable. She didn’t want to have to choose between her family and murder. She couldn’t make that kind of decision.
‘I can’t,’ she said.
‘You have to,’ Brad said.
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why do I have to decide? That’s not fair.’
‘I’m disappointed in you, Amy,’ he said, and the crack in her heart split even wider. ‘I moved across the country for you. I found you, I told you the truth when no one else would. I nursed you back to life. I’ve done everything for you, and now you’re saying that this isn’t fair? What would you know about unfair? You got chosen, you got a family. I was left with nothing.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, shame building inside her. He was right. She’d had safety, and stability. And even though it had been a lie, at least she hadn’t had to live with knowing, for all of these years, what had been taken from her. She owed him her life. She owed him her loyalty. But was this the price? Was this the only way? Her mouth was dry. She was sweaty and sick, bile bubbling bitterly at the back of her throat.
The siblings stared at each other.
‘So what’s it to be, Amy?’ Brad asked, holding the knife out towards her. ‘Or should I just call you Imogen?’
Overwhelmed with guilt and confusion and fear, she took the knife from him and held it in her shaking hand, grief radiating from her in waves.
She wasn’t Imogen. She wanted to be Amy, to belong in the Sanders family, to prove that she belonged, that she was worthy of all that her brother had sacrificed for her. She wanted him to see, wanted him to understand, that she was loyal to her family. That she did care what happened to him, even if no one else ever had.
Brad smiled, that dazzling smile that made her feel special, that made her feel like she belonged. And then he nodded. Just once. A glint in his eye. A promise that they were in it together.
She gripped the knife tightly in her fist and took a shaky step towards the bench.
Chapter 55
KAT
‘I trust you,’ I blurt out as my daughter steps towards me, the knife held in her right hand.
Brad steps between us, his fist raised, his face a picture of unbridled rage. I wince, preparing for another blow, but Imogen touches him on the shoulder and he turns, surprised by the contact, to look at her. She shakes her head, just slightly, and his
whole demeanour changes. His arm drops, and his body relaxes. He steps aside again, allowing his sister to take charge, handing the control over to her completely.
She stops, pauses, then takes another uncertain step in my direction.
‘I trust you,’ I say again, this time with more conviction. ‘I always have trusted you. I was just scared. I was so scared that you’d hate me, that you’d never forgive me. And I was so wrong not to tell you, my love. I shouldn’t have kept something this big a secret from you. I just wanted to protect you, from the truth, from being hurt. I wanted to keep you out of harm’s way. And I wanted you to be happy.’
‘You didn’t want me to be happy,’ she sobs. ‘You just wanted to own me. You just wanted me all to yourself. You knew if you told me the truth I’d want to know my family. My real family. You were scared, weren’t you? You were scared that I’d choose them over you. Well, I guess you know for sure, don’t you?’
‘Imogen—’
‘My name,’ she whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks, ‘is Amy.’
The conviction in her voice – the certainty that she belongs to the man beside her – turns my stomach. She’s right, though. The girl in front of me isn’t my Imogen. This girl is confused, she’s hurting, and she’s lashing out.
‘It was,’ I say. ‘But you’re Imogen now. Don’t you remember what it’s like to be Imogen? You’re an amazing volleyball player. You’re going to be on the national team. Nationals! Coach Cresswell has been talking about the Olympics! That’s who you are. You’re a friend, Imogen. Paige and Maddie and Esther, they miss you so much, and they’re so worried about you. They love you. They love Imogen. And Jemima? Oh my goodness, my love, she misses her big sister so much.’
Something flickers behind my daughter’s eyes at the mention of her little sister. I cling to it.
‘She’s been absolutely lost without you,’ I tell her. ‘She cries herself to sleep at night. She just wants to see you again, to tell you about school, to share an iced chocolate with you before bed.’
Imogen blinks, shakes her head, looks up to Brad and back down to me.
‘You’re a liar,’ she spits, her tongue darting out to the corner of her mouth and back in again. She’s scared, but she’s trying to act tough. For Brad. ‘Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.’
‘I’m not lying,’ I insist, but she raises the knife up, her arm no longer shaking, and my insides liquefy. I didn’t think she’d do it, even while Brad was manipulating her, telling her what she wanted to hear, convincing her. But now … now, I’m not so certain.
‘You’ve lied to me my entire life,’ she cries, her eyes flashing with anger. ‘My whole life has been fake. And now you want me to believe you? Now? When you’re just trying to save your own skin? Why should I? Why should I believe a word that’s coming out of your hypocritical, lying mouth?’
I close my eyes for just a moment in an attempt to find clarity, to come up with a way to get through to her, but I don’t know how. She’s furious, and I can’t blame her. She’s confused. She’s being pulled in two different directions and being made to choose between her two worlds. One that she knows, that’s familiar, but that she resents. The other that she doesn’t know, doesn’t understand the dangers of, but is desperate to be a part of.
‘I went to see your mum,’ I say, realising that she’ll want to hear this.
The change in her eyes is instant. She’s hungry for information, greedy to know what her biological mother is like, a woman who shares a birthmark and eye colour with her daughter, and little else.
‘She’s lying,’ Brad growls from over her shoulder.
She flaps her hand, dismissing him.
‘Are you lying?’ she asks me.
‘No,’ I breathe. ‘I drove to Victoria. She’s in a maximum-security women’s prison there. I wanted to know if she knew where you were.’
Imogen doesn’t react. She’s swaying slightly, one arm hovering above me, the knife clutched in her fist, the other by her side.
‘She has the same eyes as you,’ I continue, spotting a chance to talk, at least. To stall. Although what I’m stalling for, I don’t know. Dylan might still be with the police, talking about tomorrow’s press conference. And even if he’s not, even if he’s home, he doesn’t know where I am. He might try to look for me, but if we couldn’t find our daughter, how would he find me?
Imogen’s eyebrows flicker into the smallest of frowns. She doesn’t trust me. She doesn’t know if I’m telling the truth or not, not when she believes her whole life has been a fabrication.
‘And the same laugh,’ I add. ‘You look alike, but you also share some features with your father, like your chin.’
I don’t know much about Tim – he never made as many headlines as Sally, and there are fewer photos of him online – but as far as I know, their chins are where the similarities end. Thank goodness.
‘What did she say?’ Imogen asks, the need in her voice palpable. ‘About me?’
‘Oh honey,’ I whisper, my fragile heart shattering on my daughter’s behalf, ‘I’m sorry, but she didn’t really talk about you.’
‘She’s making this all up,’ Brad says, a warning in his voice. ‘Mum loves you, Amy. Don’t believe her lies, she’s just trying to turn you against us.’
‘I’m not,’ I gasp. ‘I promise I’m not lying. Look, honey, I was wrong to keep the truth from you. You’re right – I was scared about what that would do to you, what it would do to us – our family. I should have trusted you with the truth, let you make your own mind up. But we love you, and we saved you from what would have been a horrific life … and not a very long one, given what happened in that house.’
I stop, trying to decide whether to reveal the appalling details of what took place inside Satan‘s Ranch, or whether, even now, she should be spared the horror of knowing. I take a deep breath, looking into those beautiful amber eyes that are as familiar as they are mysterious, that hide a universe of feelings and thoughts, that view me as the enemy. And I’m certain that, in spite of what she now knows, even as she‘s contemplating killing me, she believes in the goodness of others. That she believes the world is fundamentally right, a place where parents love their children and where justice always prevails. And I know that finding out what her first few months on this earth looked like would crush her.
‘Your parents didn’t love you,’ I say eventually. ‘They don’t understand love, they’re not capable of it. I can show you the articles, but I don’t think you want to know. The things they did … I swear that all we ever wanted was the best for you, and for your safety. The decisions we made, right or wrong, they were to protect you. You’re our daughter, you always will be. You’re Sally and Tim’s daughter, too, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re our baby and we love you no matter what. Nothing can change that. Do you hear me? Nothing.’
Tears are running down the sides of my face, mingling with blood, pooling under my neck. Imogen’s eyes are welling up, too, but she tries to brush her tears away, tries to hide the fact that I’m getting through to her.
‘If you love me so much, why didn’t you look for me? Why did you tell me not to come home?’
My body is battered and raw, and yet this blow hurts more than any of the others. Not look for her? How can she think that? My eyes flit from Imogen to Brad, whose curled lip and disdainful sneer answer my questions. So that’s how he turned her against me so quickly, I realise, and my heart breaks for what that must have felt like to Imogen.
‘Oh, my baby,’ I whisper. ‘We have been looking, I promise. We haven’t stopped looking. We’d travel to the ends of the earth to find you.’
‘Amy,’ Brad growls from the corner. ‘Amy, I’ve told you this. You can’t trust her. Trust me.’
‘Darling,’ I say now, as calmly as I can. ‘You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to make any decisions right now, OK? Just put the knife down, and we can talk, and work out what to do next. You don�
��t have to choose between me and him. I’m not going to make you. I can take you to visit your mum. I can help you find out the truth about your family. I know that’s what you want. But if you hurt me, my love, then we can’t help you. Then you’ll be in trouble, and there will be no taking it back. Do you understand?’
‘Are you going to shut this bitch up?’ Brad yells, his patience gone, his anger in full force. ‘Or are you going to choose her? Because, Amy, I’m telling you, you pick her over me and that’s it – we’re over. If I can’t trust you, then we’re not really family.’
Imogen’s face turns pale, and her hand moves, ever so slightly, back towards her body. Then she freezes again, immobilised by indecision, by the total unravelling of her world as she knows it. She closes her eyes, just for a second, but I know her well enough to understand what’s happening. She’s thinking, she’s weighing up everything I’ve said, everything Brad’s said, everything she knows and everything she doesn’t.
I am desperate – it’s a longing that seeps into my bones – to take this burden from her, to have it crush me instead. But I can’t. It’s hers. I have to let her make her own decision. I have no choice. I have to trust her.
‘I love you, Imogen,’ I whisper.
And then I close my eyes.
Chapter 56
IMOGEN
‘I love you, Imogen.’
The woman on the bench closed her eyes in surrender, and the teenager’s heart felt like it was being squeezed, drained of everything good and true. The pain was physical, and it took everything in her not to cry out, to fold over, clutching her chest and screaming with the agony of it.
She wanted someone to tell her what to do, to tell her the right choice and to help her untangle the strands of truth from the mess of lies she found herself staring at. Had Kat been looking for her? She sounded so sincere, but then again, she was an expert at deception. And even if she had been looking, did that really change anything? Did it make up for the awful things she’d done?
Imogen wanted to know why, when she knew that she belonged with Brad, and that he deserved her unquestioning loyalty, she couldn’t bear the idea of hurting Kat. She wanted to be Amy, to embody who she was born as. She just didn’t want anyone to get hurt. She didn’t want Kat to die. She didn’t want to be a murderer.
