by Carys Jones
The driver was at the far end of the vehicle, hauling Amanda’s overnight bag out of the boot. Little did he know that instead of containing some cosmetic essentials and a change of clothes it was packed with a flashlight, sleeping bag, running shoes and energy bars – everything Amanda would need to survive a night in the woods if it came to that, if she somehow struggled to find Shane in the dark. She scanned the high stone wall which surrounded the home. Even from a distance she could see the digital blinking of security cameras. Once McAllister was passed out and the USB within her garter full of vital information she’d need to knock out the power for the entire complex. She could easily log into the local grid and ensure that casa de McAllister was without any electricity for an hour or so. That way she could slip out into the shadows, unnoticed. At least that was the plan.
‘Ah, welcome.’ The black doors opened and McAllister stepped out, looking more informal than usual in a loose fitting shirt and dark jeans. His hair was still moussed, his eyes filled with an excited glint. ‘I was starting to wonder when you’d get here.’
‘It’s quite a drive. I’m surprised you live so far out of the city.’
‘This place,’ McAllister looked up at the vast windows, the gargoyles, ‘it has a power over me. I just can’t leave it. Too many memories I guess.’
He guided Amanda through the black doors and into his home. The building was just as impressive on the inside. A long hallway led towards a sweeping staircase which split itself in two as it ascended up towards the first landing. There was wood panelling everywhere. It covered every wall. Even the floorboards were mahogany, though they were largely covered by ornate rugs.
‘It’s like a castle,’ Amanda uttered, struggling to take it all in. It reminded her of the stately homes she’d visited on school trips as a child. Homes owned by earls and lords.
‘It’s a little ostentatious,’ McAllister agreed, leading her into what Amanda assumed was the main living room. A stoked fire roared in the large stone hearth, bordered by a cluster of sofas and armchairs made of thick red velvet. ‘But then I designed it to be.’
That’s when Amanda saw them. She peered round at the panelled walls and noticed the framed pictures of two girls adorning almost every spare inch. They were sat together on a swing, smiling. In another picture they were on a beach, arms wrapped around each other’s waist, hugging with a tightness only sisters could have. They were blonde with their father’s grey eyes. And they were always smiling. There wasn’t a picture where they were sombre.
‘Come,’ McAllister was standing beside his giant fireplace, beckoning her over. But Amanda was bewitched by the images on the wall. The girls looked so full of life, so beautiful. If she strained to listen she thought she might hear their distant laughter as they ran down a hallway together. ‘Amanda?’
‘These are your daughters?’
And this is where they died.
Even though the fire burned brightly on the other side of the room, Amanda felt a dip in the air around her as a chill crept up her spine. Why would McAllister stay in the place where his daughters died? In their tomb? Did he just linger there to cling to the memories of happier times, praying that he’d one day hear the soft tinkle of their unburdened childish laughter echo off the panelled walls?
‘Aye, that’s them.’ His voice was soft, almost drowned out by the crackle of the fire.
‘They’re… they’re beautiful.’
‘This was their home,’ Gregg turned away from her to face the flames, leaning both hands upon the high mantle of the fireplace. ‘It’s why I can’t leave.’
Amanda kept looking at the pair of smiling faces. She couldn’t imagine their beauty twisted by fire.
‘This was never a home for children.’ Gregg’s voice was rough with regret as he bowed his head against his chest. ‘She saw that. I didn’t. I endangered them and…’
Her legs were automatically carrying her over to him. Was Shane right? Was she powerless to resist a broken man? Amanda gently placed a hand against Gregg’s back.
‘I think it’s nice that you want to stay here. To be close to their memory.’
‘You do?’ He turned to face her. The fire behind him hissed as a large log snapped.
‘Yes. I do.’
Her own perfect home was still waiting on her return. Though Will hadn’t died there he lingered in every room, upon every pristine surface. His footsteps would forever haunt the small landing. Amanda’s hand fluttered up to her throat as she blinked away tears. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to ever go back to the home she’d shared with her late husband.
‘Why don’t we go somewhere,’ Gregg looked over at the shrine to his lost daughters, ‘a little less crowded?’
Amanda followed him down more hallways. Up wooden staircases that creaked and past countless closed doors. Gregg gave her a brief tour as they moved through his grand residence: ‘That leads to the wine cellar. That goes to my games room. That’s the music room.’ But he didn’t open any doors. It was a whistle-stop tour. Amanda did her best to commit everything he said to memory. Since the second she’d entered his home, she’d been plotting her way back out, which hallways she’d need to fumble her way along in the blackout she was planning.
‘And this,’ Gregg paused before yet another closed wooden door. It was on the second floor. Looking down over the banister, Amanda could see the main hallway and the sparkle of a chandelier winking out from what looked like a dining room, its doors thrown open. ‘This is my room.’
Amanda followed him inside. It was more of a luxury apartment than a bedroom. Two floor-to-ceiling leaded windows looked out onto the countryside which had been lost to impenetrable darkness. A few lights twinkled distantly on the horizon but it was obvious that the mansion was extremely isolated.
A grand raised sleigh bed provided the centrepiece for the room. It was flanked by two doors, both open, which led into a state-of-the-art bathroom and a walk-in wardrobe lined with designer suits.
Opposite the bed was a large chest of drawers which looked antique, above them a flat-screen television was suspended against the wall. And tucked into the far corner was an ornate desk atop of which sat a closed MacBook. Amanda’s heart thudded so strongly against her ribcage that it almost caused her to topple forwards. That was it. The mainframe. It made sense that McAllister would keep it close by, in his private quarters.
Amanda looked up, trying not to appear overly interested in the laptop and saw the outline of a safe etched into the ceiling.
‘I think I’m supposed to say that this is where the magic happens,’ Gregg gave her a playful grin. ‘But, call me old-fashioned but I believe that a lady should be wined and dined before being more thoroughly entertained.’
He left the bedroom and Amanda remained in the centre of the room, briefly dumbfounded. Why had he even shown her the bedroom if they were just going to leave? A preview of what was to come perhaps?
*
Gregg’s chef put on a sumptuous meal for the couple. Amanda sat at the polished wooden dining table feeling woefully out of place as she ate braised lamb and enjoyed a perfectly baked soufflé. Every room felt like it was fit for a queen. Long velvet drapes had been drawn across the windows, allowing the chandelier to sparkle like a glittering sun. Even the cutlery was the finest silverware.
Eventually, when dinner concluded, Gregg encouraged Amanda to join him in the drawing room. In there the walls were lined with bookcases stacked full of leather-bound tomes. To spend several hours browsing the titles would be blissful but Amanda knew that she had to stay focused. Shane would soon be leaving the city to come and rendezvous with her. The clock was ticking.
‘I like to enjoy a decent Scotch after dinner.’ Gregg was reclining in a leather armchair, a crystal tumbler in his hand. He’d previously poured himself a drink from a nearby decanter.
Amanda sat down in the chair across from him. She knew she needed to up her game, to lure him back to the bedroom, to the laptop. ‘It’
s so warm in here.’ She gingerly unbuttoned the top of her shirt dress and then hoisted up the hem to reveal the top of her stockings. Gregg almost choked on his drink.
‘Well, it’s certainly just got a lot hotter.’ He made a swift recovery, his eyes hungrily taking her in.
‘Why don’t I get you another drink?’ As she made the suggestion, she pursed her lips and let her fingertips graze the top of her bosom. Thanks to the lingerie she’d squeezed into she looked like she had more than an ample amount of cleavage. She watched Gregg turn from a gentleman to a wolf. His gaze became intense as he licked his lips. Amanda got up and went to retrieve his glass. Her fingers closed around it as he seized her waist and pulled her onto his lap. His booze-laden breath was warm against her neck.
‘You know, we don’t even have to go back up to my bedroom. We could have some fun together right here.’ He purred the words into her ear as his hands fondled and caressed her curves.
Amanda bit down on her tongue, using the pain to draw together her senses so that she could mentally distance herself from his touch. His warm hands were gripping her buttocks, sliding over her breasts. The intimacy of it burned Amanda. She couldn’t handle the heat, the pressure. She thought she could play the femme fatale but she couldn’t. Not in person, not like this. She needed to be behind a computer screen to be strong. Here she was exposed and vulnerable and so alone. There had been so much darkness beyond McAllister’s windows. So much emptiness.
He kissed her. Square on the lips, with force. And Amanda had no choice but to kiss him back. As his tongue pressed against hers, she imagined she was curled up with someone else. She allowed him to keep exploring her body with his hands, for the kiss to deepen. When they eventually pulled apart, Amanda was looking into Shane’s kind green eyes. But when she blinked, McAllister was back there, smiling at her with satisfaction.
‘Let me fix you that drink.’ Amanda seized the glass he’d placed on a nearby table and hurried over to the crystal decanter. She had to remind herself how to walk. Her legs had turned to jelly and her heart was racing from a dangerous cocktail of fear and confusion. Why hadn’t it been Will’s face she’d imagined when she’d kissed McAllister?
Because it would have been too painful.
That had to be it. Imagining Shane somehow felt like less of a betrayal. Didn’t it? Amanda turned her back on McAllister who was sprawled across his chair, openly staring at her. She shook out her hands, wishing they’d stop shaking. As she reached for the decanter with one hand she discreetly slid the other into the top of her garter and found the dissolvable pair of tablets she’d hidden there earlier. She quickly dropped them into the glass as she poured in the scotch. As the drugs hissed she coughed to cover the sound.
If her calculations were right, then once McAllister had taken a sip it would be less than ten minutes before he was unconscious. It was a risk to leave him in the drawing room, where one of his staff could easily find him. But Amanda didn’t have time to be picky. She needed to get back into the bedroom, crack the password on his MacBook and then load all his dirty secrets onto her USB. She had to hope that her instincts were right – that the laptop in the bedroom acted as McAllister’s mainframe.
‘Here,’ she handed the glass to McAllister. The tablets had completely dissolved. There was no hissing. The Scotch was flat, the colour of old varnish.
‘Thank you, darling.’ He went to raise the glass to his lips and then stopped, nodding at the bookcase behind her. ‘Did I ever tell you that I have a first edition of Bram Stoker’s Dracula? Seems fitting for a place like this don’t you think? I reckon it’s just there.’
Amanda turned towards the bookcase. There were so many ancient texts on display, titles etched in fading gold leaf. She breathed in their musty odour as she scanned their spines – a collection of deep reds, browns and blues. Nothing bright. Nothing vibrant. Nothing new. What must a collection of this calibre be worth? She was dizzy at the thought of it.
‘I’m not sure it’s here.’ She glanced back at McAllister as he took a sip from his glass.
‘Is it not? That’s a shame. I was going to give it to you.’
‘To me?’
‘It’s essentially the story of a lonely man who is searching for true love.’ He held her in a penetrating gaze.
‘A man who is also a monster,’ Amanda countered, staring straight back at him. ‘A man who ruthlessly kills innocent victims just to feed on their blood.’
‘But love makes monster of us all, doesn’t it?’ He blinked. Once. Twice. Amanda saw his eyelids getting heavy, starting to droop. McAllister leaned his head against the back of his leather chair and his breathing slowed. Amanda tentatively went over to him.
‘Gregg?’ she breathily called out to him. McAllister didn’t stir. ‘Gregg?’ she barked his name loudly. McAllister’s eyes remained closed, his chest steadily rising and falling with each breath. Amanda clicked her fingers in front of his face. Nothing. She clapped her hands together inches from his nose. Still nothing.
It had worked. Giddy with triumph, she stepped back from him. Her dress was half unbuttoned and hanging off her shoulders, her hair wild around her head, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was getting access to that laptop.
The journey back to the bedroom felt far too long. As Amanda crept up the staircase and along the landing she held her breath, expecting someone to find her any minute. She had a list of excuses stored in her mind, held on the tip of her tongue in case of such an event.
‘Gregg told me to meet him in his bedroom.’
‘I was just going to use the bathroom.’
‘He fell asleep and I went for a wander. I got lost.’
But she didn’t need to use any of them. Amanda arrived back at McAllister’s bedroom undetected. She opened the door and ran inside, making a beeline for the MacBook. Sitting down at the desk, she pulled the USB from her garter and placed it in the side of the laptop. The hacking program she’d designed lit up the screen as she opened up the device. With a flourish of commands she told her program to figure out McAllister’s password. It took less than a minute to crack it and then she was in.
Amanda worked quickly. She opened files, ran searches for hidden information and continually backed everything up to her USB, which blinked red as it remained wedged in a portal, working just as furiously as she was. Turtle82’s guidance ran through her mind. She needed bank details. Proof of money changing hands. Something to implicate McAllister in his dark deeds without question. And it took Amanda just over ten minutes to find it. She stared at the detailed list of transactions upon the screen, at the litany of sins McAllister had committed.
There was money attributed to drugs. To the clubs which served as a front for dealing the said drugs. And there were names. So many women’s names. And they weren’t being paid. They were being paid for—
Amanda felt sick as she loaded the data onto her USB. McAllister didn’t just deal in drugs, he also dealt in lives. He was part of a sex trafficking ring. Amanda felt more resolute than ever to put the monster behind bars.
13
The MacBook whirred as Amanda’s USB blinked furiously, uploading all the vital data. She hoped she’d gathered enough information, that Turtle82 would have all they needed to send the authorities an anonymous tip-off.
Only how anonymous would it be? Amanda’s hands froze above the keyboard, her fingers flexed, ready to type. McAllister knew her. Or at least he knew Amanda Preston. But she didn’t really exist, she was just a product of what might have been.
Looking beyond the laptop screen, towards the windows of McAllister’s bedroom, Amanda saw an endless stretch of darkness. The distant lights which had previously punctured it were gone. Was Shane sat in his car somewhere out there?
Pulling in a slow breath, Amanda mentally went back over how she’d leave the mansion. First she had to allow the darkness outside to penetrate the complex, to let every inch of it be swallowed by shadows. And that meant a blackout.
The MacBook pinged. The upload was complete. Amanda plucked the USB stick out of its dock and returned it to her garter. Her fingers danced across the keyboard. She was hacking into the local electrical grid system. In just a few minutes she’d have complete access and she’d be able to execute a blackout.
She could barely breathe. Around her the vast house moaned and creaked but Amanda barely noticed. Her fingers hammered against the keyboard, filling the bedroom with a symphony of tapping sounds.
‘Nearly,’ the word whistled through her lips. In her stomach she felt like she was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil, flying through the air on a trapeze and somersaulting. She felt giddy and infinite. It was almost done. When the house was plunged in to darkness she’d make her escape. With the USB in her possession she’d have everything she needed to avenge Will, to bring McAllister down. She felt drunk and delirious just thinking about it.
Over.
It was all almost over.
She was going to be able to go back to her old life. Back to Ewan. Back to her mother. Back to Shane.
Her stomach shifted with uncertainty. Her finger was poised above a single button. Once she pressed it, the blackout would be triggered along with a chain of events which were about to change her life forever. She sucked in a breath, closed her eyes and—
Amanda froze. Her entire body turned to stone as she felt the barrel of a gun press against the back of her head.
‘Well, well, what have we here?’
It was McAllister and he sounded so calm. Too calm. Amanda didn’t dare turn around and face him.
‘Let’s just close this.’ Keeping the gun against her head, he leaned over her and with his free hand closed the laptop. Amanda felt like she’d been plugged into the nearest socket – every nerve within her felt electrified, sparking anxiously in preparation for fight or flight.
