by Anni Taylor
Dropping his head, he nodded. “I didn’t mean to say that. It just came out. I think, subconsciously, I must have known you were the same girl. But I kept telling myself that you couldn’t be. Because if it was you, then it made no sense at all that you were here and pretending to be someone else.”
“But…why were you in a nightclub dancing with girls back then anyway? You were married. To Jessica,” I breathed. “Forget it. It’s not my business. I—”
He closed his eyes. “Jessica and I had been separated. The marriage wasn’t working.”
“Oh….”
I wanted to keep asking him questions, to find out the answers to everything buzzing in my head, but I felt myself sliding into a thick mire. As if I was still in the peat marsh, with the mud enveloping me.
I heard Alban calling my name, but I couldn’t answer.
42
ELODIE
Greenmire, Scottish Highlands, December 2015
Every time Elodie tried to run away from the playhouse, it loomed before her. One minute she thought she was in a dream but the next minute she wasn’t sure. The minute after that, she felt as if she were a tree—a larch—in the forest, unable to move and unable to run.
The playhouse never used to be a bad thing. It had been there as long as she could remember. Ever since she was small, her father would take her for a walk through the woods and he’d tell her about the playhouse. He’d tell her stories about back when he was a kid, like her. She loved hearing those stories.
But the playhouse had become a bad place, now.
The dark shadows inside seemed like they could jump out and eat her alive.
Someone was inside the playhouse, roaming about.
A tall man.
And then suddenly, she was inside the playhouse, too.
She saw the man’s face.
Peyton.
Her mind whirled. Like leaves in a windy forest.
Peyton was the one who chased her through the forest.
He was the one who made her go inside the playhouse.
He reached out to her.
A bunch of pills sat in the palm of his gloved hand. “Have these, kid. They’re safe, don’t worry. They’ll just make you feel sleepy.”
She didn’t want them. She didn’t want to be here with Peyton.
But he stood there with his hand out, with the pills.
She was only sure of one thing—he wasn’t going to let her go.
43
ISLA
Voices surrounded me, drifting on slow currents.
A deep warmth penetrated me, balmy on my face. Fire crackled, smoky scents in the air.
The storm raged outside but it no longer felt like it could tear me into the sky and carry me away.
I felt a tugging sensation on my stomach.
My eyes cracked open.
I was in the McGregors’ living room, somehow lying in the middle of it. Every chair and sofa seemed occupied with people, with yet more standing. But my vision was fuzzed, like looking through a glass pane covered in ice.
I guessed then that I had been put on top of the long, plush ottoman that I’d seen in here. From my memory, it was big enough to fit two people lying side by side and end to end. I touched the fabric to the side of me, running it between my fingers and then turned to look. White sheets had been placed beneath me. I tried to look and see what was happening to me, but I was too weak to sit.
I noticed Jessica kneeling beside me, then, scissors in her hand.
I cried out in alarm, my voice so hoarse I could barely hear myself.
“Isla,” she said soothingly, “we’re getting your wound clean. I had to cut away some of your clothing so that we could clean away the mud.”
Aubrey and Nora appeared—Aubrey handing Jessica a jug of water. Jessica poured the warm water at an angle over my stomach. Nora mopped up the water spill with white towels. Jessica then spread a cream on my skin. Working quickly, she began taping up my skin. I felt my flesh being pulled together. Jessica then pressed bandages over the tape, fixing them with more tape.
“This is the best I can do, I’m afraid,” Jessica told me. “The cut is as clean and as sterile as I can get it. You’ve lost a lot of blood, but your blood pressure is better now. We can’t get an ambulance here yet, but you’ll be taken to hospital as soon as one can get through the roads.”
I nodded, trying to process what she’d just told me.
“How long has it been since your last tetanus needle?” she asked me.
Tetanus? I couldn’t think. “When I was still at school. I’m not sure.”
“Sounds like you’ll be okay,” she said reassuringly. There was a strain in her eyes that belied her calm expression. Perhaps it was because Jessica’s home was her place of sanctuary from the world, and tonight, the world had invaded it.
“God, you scared us.” Aubrey squeezed my arm. Her eyes were red, her face drained. Her fingers trembled on my arm.
“Aubrey….” I didn’t know what to say to her.
She shook her head, stopping me. “Kirk’s got my brother out in the kitchen.” A bright tear slid down her cheek. “I never want to see him again. Ever.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“I hate him. I didn’t have a clue.” Each word seemed to catch fire and burn as she spoke it. She bent her head, sobbing.
I eyed the room, searching for Stella. I found her sitting with her legs up on a sofa—wrapped in a blanket, one eye swollen and bruised. She stared back and a silent message passed between us. We made it. No one but Stella and I knew what it had been like in the stone ruins, trapped in Peyton’s hands. And no one but Stella knew what it had been like over the months that Peyton had been abusing her, when she was just twelve.
Rory and Camille sat on either side of Stella. Rory nodded at me, his expression looking half numbed, half in shock. I returned a tight smile of apology.
Around the rest of the room, I could see Hamish and Charlie Keenan. And Alban. Alban sat in an armchair, draped in a blanket, his eyes closed. He must have half-frozen to death up there on the moor without his jacket and overcoat. He’d given both of those to me.
Diarmid was standing and looking out at the forest through the glass wall, his posture rigid, hands in fists by his sides. Wind battered snow against the glass panels.
Beyond the half-wall that housed the kitchen, Kirk must be guarding Peyton. Aubrey had said they were both there.
Rhiannon wasn’t in the room anywhere that I could see. I guessed she was upstairs, asleep.
“Could you fold some towels and elevate Isla’s legs a little?” Jessica instructed Nora.
Nora set about doing what Jessica had told her, then stood and addressed the room. “Anyone want a tea or coffee?”
When no one answered, Nora said, “Okay, I’ll go make some and bring in a tray, and you can all sort yourselves out. I think poor Kirk might need a hot drink, too.” Nora bustled from the room.
Rory rose and walked across to me, sighing loudly and shaking his head. “Isla, can’t tell you how glad I am you’re okay. At least, I hope you’ll be okay. I had no idea what happened to you until I got a call through to Alban.”
“Today was so confusing,” I admitted to him. “You did good, Rory.”
“Ach, tonight was a terrible way to get your resolution,” he said.
I knew that he meant Peyton.
A deep frown drew Camille’s dark eyebrows together, her lipsticked mouth warping into a grimace as she glared at her husband. “Just what—exactly—is going on here? You went somewhere today with Isla? Just the two of you?”
Rory’s hands twitched as he held up his palms. “Camille, this isn’t the time or place.”
“Don’t try to silence me, Rory,” Camille said. “It’s a simple question. Did you go somewhere with Isla today or not?”
He sighed. “We went to see an old church, if you must know. Isla needed to get to the church, but she had no transport. I offered to take her.
It was—”
Camille made a scoffing sound. “An old church that she needed to get to? Aye, right. Not so pure yourself, are you, Rory?”
Jessica’s head jerked up, eyes widening in alarm. “Would everyone mind keeping the arguments to a bare minimum? We have two patients here.”
“I’m sorry,” Camille said. “Forgive me, Jess. Rory was getting me a wee bit riled.” Taking a breath, she turned to him. “Let’s fix this. As soon as the storm dies a bit, we’ll all walk across to my parents’ house—you, me, Hamish, my parents and Stella. We’ll stay there overnight, and tomorrow, we’ll take Stella home with us. Where she belongs.”
Rory twisted his head from side to side, keeping his voice respectfully low. “We can’t take her home. She’s a patient at the hospital. She needs medical care—for her cuts and bruises now as well.”
“She’s my daughter,” Camille fumed. “I’m not having her sent back to the unit. They didn’t do a very good job of keeping her safe, now did they? Look what happened.”
Rory swallowed, lowering his head. “What happened was that Stella decided it was time to speak up.” He turned to Stella, giving her a warm smile. “And we’re glad that you did.”
A small, exhausted smile flittered on Stella’s lips.
Camille put her arm around Stella, pulling her close and kissing her temple. “Yes, good for you, honey. You’ve told the police and it’s all over now. That disgusting man will be going to jail, and you’ve got nothing more to worry about.”
Stella recoiled, her expression going stone cold. “You didn’t think he was disgusting when he was touching you.”
Camille moved back, blinking. “That’s enough—”
Hamish eyed Camille, his mouth agape.
Rory’s expression swiftly changed, his eyes widening. “Peyton Chandlish is the guy you’ve been seeing, Camille? That’s who you’ve been cheating on me with?”
Camille’s entire body stiffened. “Of course not. For God’s sake, Rory, this isn’t something for public discussion. Jess asked for quiet—”
Jessica nodded. “Yes, please. We’re all trapped here together. This isn’t the time to air your dirty laundry.”
Camille’s mouth flapped open and shut and open again, as if it had become a useless contraption attached to her face. Her nostrils flared as she gaped at Jessica. “Dirty laundry? Dirty laundry? How dare you? All this pretense you go on with. Jessica McGregor, the perfect wife and mother. Well, you don’t get to be innocent in all this. Why don’t you tell Alban what his good little wife has been up to?”
Alban was awake now, staring at his wife. “Tell me what, Jess?”
“Leave it alone, Camille. Please,” Jessica begged helplessly, pulling herself to her feet. “Rhi is asleep upstairs and—”
“Oh, shut up about your precious child,” Camille snapped. “Rhiannon this. Rhiannon that. You treat her like a China doll. Like everyone has to tiptoe around you just because you’ve got a baby. Well, guess what, Jess, people spit out babies every damned day. You’re not special.”
“Okay, you’ve had your say.” A warning tone entered Jessica’s voice. “Leave it there. I’m going to go check if you’ve woken her.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Camille crossed her arms. “I just got outed publicly. Now it’s your turn. We were both seduced by Peyton Chandlish. We had crushes on him when we were teenagers. And when he came after each of us during the last few years…we were like putty in his hands. He played us.”
Letting the blanket fall away, Alban stood. “Jess? You…and Peyton? Is that true?”
Jessica’s lower lip trembled. “Nothing ever happened. He just used to come around sometimes. As friends. We were all friends, once.”
Alban was locked in a direct gaze with his wife. “I don’t believe this. Peyton Chandlish.”
Jessica’s skin was chalky. “It was mostly just when we were separated, Alban. I needed a friend. I didn’t know that he was—” Jessica glanced across at Stella, stricken, before facing Alban again. “I didn’t know. And you can’t say you weren’t going to clubs with your friends during that time. How do I know what you got up to? I was at home with Elodie. I couldn’t exactly go out partying.”
“I didn’t sleep with anyone,” Alban retorted.
Jessica’s eyes were huge, innocent. “Neither did I. I promise you, I didn’t sleep with Peyton. He wanted to…but I didn’t.”
Camille made a short, spluttering laugh. “Is that a twist of the knife in my back, Jessica? He wanted you, but you didn’t want him? You were always the pretty one, weren’t you, Jess? The pretty, pretty tease. The one who got Alban. Now you’re the one who turned down Peyton.”
The muscles in Jessica’s jaw twitched and grew tight. “Well, I was right to turn him down, as it’s turned out.”
“How was I supposed to know?” Camille exploded. “I didn’t have a clue what he was doing to my daughter.”
No one spoke.
It was easy to tell that everything that was being said now had been simmering for a long time. The mood in the air was feverish, boiling. Rory, Camille, Alban and Jessica stood locked into position—their sudden silence heavy as the blanket of snow outside.
It was Stella who broke the quiet, her voice small but with a power in it I hadn’t heard before. “You knew, Mum. Because I told you—”
Camille drew her shoulders in protectively, her expression crumbling. “I thought you were just saying things because you didn’t want Peyton coming around. I never thought that Peyton could be capable of—”
“You didn’t want to know!” Stella accused her. “Whenever I tried to tell you, you shut me down. You told me I was making things up.”
Camille cried freely now. “Please. This is like a knife in my back, Stella. I understand that you’re upset. You’ve been through a nightmare tonight, but I’m hurting, too. Look at me. I’m in so much pain, sweetie."
Jessica inhaled a deep breath, seeming relieved that the accusations had bounced away from herself. “Look, we’re all in a terrible situation here. Stuck together in this blasted storm. I’m going to have to request that everyone calm down. Yes, we’ve all got things we wish didn’t happen. But I’ll remind you we have a very ill person in the room. And, Stella, you need rest. This isn’t good for you right now. Maybe we should all just stay quiet now. We’re not helping things.”
The last thing Jessica had spoken repeated itself in my mind: Maybe we should all just stay quiet now. We’re not helping things.
Then another voice rang out inside me, saying: Stay quiet. You’re not helping yourself.
Why did I just think of that?
My mind spun with memories.
Cold, dark room.
Candles.
Rosary beads.
Cross and rose.
Piano.
44
ISLA
And then I saw her—the person standing over me in that dirty room in the old church.
I saw her face in the flickering candlelight.
I heard her voice.
Jessica.
I stared as she knelt next to me, packing away the things from her medical kit.
It was Jessica who’d been with me in that room.
I could see an image of Jessica pacing up and down in the room at the church. Bending down over me while pain wracked my body. Speaking the words: Stay quiet. You’re not helping yourself. And then saying: I don’t think she’s breathing.
My gaze switched to her medical kit. It was the same bag she had with her at the church. I remembered it.
What did you do to me, Jessica?
She noticed my eyes on her, a crease forming on her pale forehead. “Isla, are you all right?”
My words came out in a whisper. “It was you….”
“Hmmm?” she murmured.
“It was you, in the church.”
“What church?” She didn’t look at me now, carefully fitting everything back into the kit.
“The old church
that Rory was speaking about. Peyton was there…and you. Two years ago.”
Her fingers froze as she picked up a roll of bandages. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. You weren’t here years ago.”
“Yes, I was.” I watched her carefully.
Alban seemed to catch onto the quiet conversation between Jessica and myself. He stepped across to us. “Isla? You’re not saying that Jess was at that church, too? Surely not?”
Before I could answer, Jessica tilted her head up to her husband, a smile brightening her face. “Don’t get upset with her. It’s common to be a bit delirious after something this awful. All the trauma and blood loss.”
Jessica probed her medical kit and pulled out a bottle of pills.
“Silly me. I forgot to give you a couple of these, Isla.”
“What are they?” Alban asked.
“Oh, just something to help her relax.” Jessica nodded. “They’ll help with the pain.”
I glanced from Alban to Jessica. “I don’t want the pills.”
“Perhaps we should take Isla upstairs and let her get some decent rest, then,” said Jessica, no longer talking to me directly.
“I’ll take her,” Alban offered.
“No, you’ve done enough already,” said Jessica quickly. “You already carried her all the way here across the moor, and you need rest, yourself. Hamish can do it. He’s caused enough trouble tonight and needs to redeem himself.”
Stella slowly crept across to the ottoman on which I was lying. She picked up the bottle of pills that Jessica had put down.
“These are like the pills that Peyton used to give me.” Stella gazed at the label, a look of disgust forming on her bruised face.
Snatching them away, Jessica dropped the bottle into her kit “All bottles of pills look similar.” A smile stretched thinly on her face.
“They’re exactly the same,” said Stella.
Jessica sucked her mouth in. “They’re a very common medication.”
