by M K Farrar
Then the window locks started beckoning him. Had he locked those, too? When was the last time he’d checked them? The flat was on the ground floor, so anyone who wanted to slide open a window and climb in could, if it wasn’t locked.
Now the thought had come to mind, he had to go around to each window and jiggle the handle to ensure they were all locked. Satisfied they were, he took himself back to bed. It was half past midnight now, and he needed to sleep. He shut his eyes but couldn’t seem to get them to stay shut. They pinged open, and he found himself staring at the ceiling and watching the moving shadows cast from the lighting outside.
Did I lock the door properly?
Ryan groaned and jammed the balls of his hands into his eye sockets.
No, no, no.
He needed to ignore the thoughts. It was the only way to deal with this. He couldn’t keep giving in every time. It was like having restless legs, a constant twitching and niggling that refused to go away.
If the door’s open, someone could just walk right in. Cole Fielding could start talking and send people in here to take revenge on you.
He wasn’t afraid of Cole Fielding. It was the opposite way round—Cole Fielding should be the one frightened of him coming to finish off the job.
I didn’t do anything. It was an intrusive thought.
The moment he’d heard that Cole Fielding had tried to hang himself off a bridge, but that it had failed, and he fallen into the river below and almost drowned, resulting in his being in a coma, the thought that he was the one responsible had entered Ryan’s head and had refused to leave. He’d experienced intrusive thoughts before, but none had been so real. He felt like he had actual memories of what happened, but then at the same time, they also felt distant and blurry around the edges, like he was remembering a dream.
I need to get up and check the door.
Furious with himself, he got up and repeated the process, checking the lock an exact number of times. Four. His safe number.
With everything done, he took himself back to bed. He glanced at the clock again. It was after one now. The hours were ticking by. He had to get some sleep.
He took himself through all the mindfulness exercises he’d self-taught to try to deal with his issues, breathing exercises, meditation, picturing himself at the top of a tall staircase with a beautiful garden below, and slowly counting the stairs as he walked down them. But the moment he started counting, he kept needing to do it in blocks of four, and then the counting to four made him think of the front door again.
He needed to go to sleep, but the voice in his head wouldn’t rest.
You didn’t lock it, you didn’t.
I did. I checked it already.
No, you flicked it the wrong way. You opened it instead of locking it.
He grabbed a pillow and jammed it down over his face, roaring his frustration into the cotton and feathers.
He had to check.
With gritty eyes, he looked at the clock. Almost two a.m. Dammit. He had to be up in four hours to get into work. This was never going to end. He’d be going back and forth until his alarm went off.
He threw back the bedcovers and stormed through the flat. He wrenched on the door handle, and it came as no surprise to him that it was locked.
“Fuck!” He slammed both fists against the wall. “Fuck, fuck!” He punctuated each curse with another drum on the wall.
He was forty-six years old, and he wanted to sob like a baby.
A tentative knock came at the door, and he sniffed and straightened, pulled out of his cycle and self-pity.
A small voice came through the wood. “Ryan? Is everything okay in there?”
Shit, it was his eighty-year-old neighbour, Mrs Furst. He must have woken her with all his noise.
“I’m fine, Mrs Furst. Really.”
“I don’t believe you, Ryan. Open the door.”
He didn’t have much choice. “Umm, hang on a sec.”
He grabbed a t-shirt that had been left on the back of his sofa and tugged it on. He knew he must look a state, his dark hair sticking up all over the place, his blue eyes bloodshot and puffy.
He opened the door to his neighbour standing in their shared entrance hall.
“Is everything okay?” she asked. “I heard shouting.”
“Sorry, I had some bad news today.”
“What kind of bad news?”
Where should he start? That someone had murdered four people and it was his job to find out who and he didn’t have the foggiest? Or that his ex-wife had cancer? Or that the bastard who’d killed his daughter was finally waking up?
He went with the latter.
She listened to him and then patted his hand. “Wait here.”
He didn’t know where she thought he was going to go, considering this was his flat, but he watched her bustle back out the door. She returned a moment later with a bottle of expensive whiskey in one hand and two glasses in the other.
“Seems to me like you could do with one of these.”
He normally tried to control his drinking the same way he tried to control everything else, but she was probably right, and at this point, what harm would it do.
“Why not?” He gestured to the coffee table, and she placed down the booze and the glasses and took a seat on the single armchair.
“You can be mother.” She nodded to the whiskey.
He took that as she expected him to pour, so he uncapped the bottle and poured them a good finger each. “Sorry, I don’t have any ice or anything.”
She scoffed at him. “What? To water down a good whiskey with? Sacrilege.” She picked up her glass and tilted it to him. “Cheers.”
He clinked his glass to hers. “Cheers.”
He wasn’t sure he had much to be drinking to, but the alcohol felt good as it burned down his throat and the heat punched him in the diaphragm.
“So,” Mrs Furst said, settling back in her seat, “are you going to tell me a bit more about what’s been going on with you? I hear you at night, pacing back and forth.”
“I’m sorry.” He frowned. “Am I keeping you up?”
“I’m not much of a sleeper either, to be honest. Haven’t been for a long time. A few hours at night, and an hour or so nap in the day seems to be enough for me.”
“I see.”
“What is it that bothers you so much about this man waking up? Had you hoped he wouldn’t?”
“Perhaps. It doesn’t feel right for him to go on having a life when he stole Hayley’s away from her before she ever got the chance to live it.”
“That’s understandable. He stole a lot from you as well. The opportunity of watching your daughter grow up, maybe even to have grandchildren one day. It’s normal to be angry.”
Ryan rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I’m a police officer. I’m supposed to trust in the system, to believe that a person will serve the correct amount of time for the crime they’ve committed. But he didn’t. He might as well have walked for the small amount of time he spent behind bars. That’s what makes me so angry, and what makes me think I might have been—” He cut himself off, realising what he’d been about to say—I might have been capable of trying to kill him.
“Capable of taking things into your own hands,” she finished for him.
He glanced up at her and nodded.
“You don’t seem like the type of man who is capable of hurting another person,” she said.
Ryan chewed on his lower lip. “I thought the same, but now I’m not so sure. After my daughter died, it did something to me. The rage I felt was like nothing I’d ever experienced, and I started to question what kind of person I was.”
She took a sip of her whiskey. “The kind who’d lost his only daughter. Something like that is bound to change a person. I’d have been surprised if it hadn’t.”
The urge to confess everything built up inside him. It would feel good to purge himself to another person, to empty his head and heart of all the thoughts and feelings tha
t had mounted up over the years and months since his life had fallen apart. He’d considered talking to Donna about it, but before now, she’d been with another man and he hadn’t felt it was his place, and now she had cancer to worry about without him piling on all his problems as well. Besides, he wouldn’t put either of them in such a difficult position. If Cole Fielding did start talking one day and pointed the finger at Ryan, his own colleagues would be around asking questions, and he didn’t want either his ex-wife or neighbour to feel they had to lie to protect him.
He lifted his glass to his lips and downed the rest of his whiskey. “I should really try to get some sleep now. I’ve got to get up for work in the morning.”
“Yes, of course. I won’t keep you any longer. Hope you manage to get some sleep.” She got to her feet and picked up the bottle of whiskey. “I’d tell you to keep this, but I’m not that generous.”
Ryan chuckled and saw her out, bidding her goodnight.
He shut the door behind her and sighed as he turned the key to lock it once more, knowing he’d have to repeat the action another three times before he could go back to bed.
Chapter Twenty
Fifteen-year-old Reese Bolton jerked awake, her heart racing. She half-sat, and her gaze flicked to her phone. She reached out a shaking hand to swipe the screen to display the time. It was just gone two-thirty. What had woken her? Had it been a nightmare?
Her heart was still racing, but she couldn’t pin down the reason. The room was in darkness—the only light coming from a gap beneath the door. The landing light was left on, something her parents had always done when they’d been little, so they’d be able to get to the toilet and back again without being scared and feeling the need to wake their parents. Of course, they’d been old enough to find their own way to the toilet at night for many years now and were no longer scared of the dark, but the habit of leaving on a night light had stayed.
A shadow passed under her door.
She stiffened. It must be one of her parents or her brother. But she could hear her dad snoring in the other room, and she hadn’t heard the click of one of their bedroom doors opening either.
Had she imagined it? A leftover from her dream or nightmare, or whatever had woken her?
What if whoever is out there is what woke me?
She closed her fingers around the smooth glass and metal of her phone for reassurance. All it would take was a swipe of the screen and she could call nine-nine-nine. Hell, she could open her mouth and scream, and her parents and her brother would come quickly enough.
Her imagination was running away with her. All she’d seen was a brief shadow. It could have been anything.
The self-reassurance helped to calm her, and she took a couple of breaths. Now she was awake, her bladder was making itself known to her. She shouldn’t have drunk that extra glass of water before going to bed. Could she ignore it? She knew it was going to be harder to fall asleep when she was thinking about needing to go to the toilet. At least if she went, she could put her mind to rest about there not being anyone else in the house.
That didn’t help at all.
There’s no one out there. You’re acting like a kid.
She slid her legs out from beneath the covers and planted them on the floor, her toes curling into the soft carpet. The thought of there being someone—or something—beneath her bed flashed through her imagination. Jesus, what the hell was wrong with her tonight? She was completely spooked and for no good reason. No one was out there. She’d heard her dad lock up the house before he’d come up to bed, just the same as he did every night.
She’d worn her knickers and an oversized t-shirt to bed, so at least she didn’t need to worry about encountering a burglar when she was naked. She shook her head at herself. If she actually encountered some stranger, would she really give a shit about what she was wearing?
Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the door handle. She was being ridiculous, but she’d spooked herself now and couldn’t seem to shake it.
Just get to the bathroom, pee, and then get back to bed.
Sucking in a breath, she edged open the door and peered out.
Aside from her mother’s stacked pile of packing boxes, the landing was empty.
She strained her ears, trying to pinpoint any sound that didn’t belong. Every house had its own noises, even when its inhabitants were sleeping. A click of pipes. The whistle of a draughty window. The creak of a floorboard shifting.
The rhythmical snoring from her parents’ bedroom continued. Reese was glad her dad was still home. Tomorrow night, he’d be staying down in Exeter, and it would just be her, her brother, and her mum here.
It was only a short walk to the bathroom—just a matter of a few steps—but she would have to cross the top of the stairs. What if someone was there, hidden just out of sight?
She was tempted to turn around and climb back into bed again and try to ignore her bladder, but then she gave herself a shake. She was being an idiot. She stepped up to the top of the stairs, and, with her heart in her throat, peered down into the stairwell.
She exhaled a breath. It was empty. She’d just been letting her imagination get away with her. Reese crossed the rest of the landing, navigating the boxes, and entered the bathroom. She reached out to pull on the cord light and tried to block out any mental images of someone grabbing at her hand. She still hadn’t quite shaken the feeling of there being someone after her, and she was thankful they had a clear glass shower screen rather than an old-fashioned shower curtain that might have harboured someone lurking behind it.
Once she’d relieved herself, she finished up, quickly washed her hands, and stepped out again, clicking off the light. The paranoia she’d been experiencing had subsided somewhere mid-flow, and she crossed the top of the stairs on the way back to her bedroom.
A flash of movement darted to her left, a dark shape blocking the light at the bottom of the stairs.
Reese let out a shriek, and she lurched forward, falling over her own feet.
Her father’s snores stopped abruptly, and a second later her mother appeared in the doorway.
“Reese? What’s going on? What’s happened?”
Was that the click of the back door shutting that she heard, or something else?
“I-I think someone was in the house?”
Her mother’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I heard something. It woke me up, and I thought I saw movement under my door. When I came out to check, I decided to use the toilet, and then on the way back I was sure I saw someone run past the bottom of the stairs.”
Her dad had appeared behind her mother now, his eyes red from sleep, his face puffy.
“Can you go and check downstairs, Andy,” her mother said, her face creased with concern. “Reese thinks she might have seen someone.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? The house is all locked up.”
Her mother placed a hand on his arm. “Please, just check. It’ll at least put our minds at rest.”
“Are you sure you haven’t just been watching inappropriate things online,” he chided Reese. “You spooked yourself out watching some horror film on Netflix?”
“No, Dad, I haven’t, I swear it!”
He huffed out a breath of irritation, clearly unhappy at having his sleep disturbed for what he took to be something she’d imagined. But she hadn’t imagined it, had she?
He still didn’t budge. “Do you know what time it is? I have to get up early in the morning.”
She cringed. “Yes, Dad. It’s not my fault.”
“Can you just go and check, Andy,” her mother said, starting to get impatient.
“Fine.”
In just his boxer shorts, he stomped down the stairs, clearly not expecting to find anyone at all. Reese didn’t think any intruder would be overly worried at coming across her dad in his underwear with his slight potbelly straining over the top of the waistband. Even so, she did feel better knowing he was going to check.
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“Be careful,” she called after him.
He moved around downstairs, turning on each light, opening and shutting doors. When he’d finished going through the house, he walked back up the stairs towards them.
“Did you check the back door was locked?” Reese asked.
“Yes, of course. It was locked, just as I’d left it.”
“What about the front one?”
“That, too. Everything is normal, Reese. You need to go back to bed now. Hopefully, we can all get a few more hours’ sleep. It’s a good thing you didn’t wake your brother up as well.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
He didn’t say anything else but took himself back into the bedroom.
Her mother was a little more sympathetic. “You think you’ll be able to sleep?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She vanished back into her bedroom, and Reese slunk into her own room and shut the door firmly behind her. She got into bed and pulled the covers up but didn’t switch off the light. She doubted she’d be able to go back to sleep tonight, and if she did, she definitely didn’t want to wake up in the dark, imagining someone standing over her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Helen hadn’t appreciated the alarm going off that morning. More than anything, she’d wanted to turn it off and roll back over and forget she’d ever heard it, but, as usual, she had things she needed to do.
She wasn’t the only one who was up early. Andy needed to leave before seven in order to be in the Exeter office by eight-thirty, and she realised his side of the bed was already empty. For a moment, she thought he’d left even earlier than normal, eager to get away from their household, but then she heard the distant thunder of the shower running. She hoped he’d been able to sleep after Reese had woken them up for her wild goose chase.
She let out a sigh and threw back the covers. Her dressing gown hung on the back of her bedroom door, so she grabbed it and wrapped herself within its soft folds, and then stuffed her feet into her slippers. She needed to wake the kids for school. Reese was going to be even harder than normal to wake this morning after their nocturnal shenanigans, and, with her being a teenager, she was a nightmare at the best of times. At least Tyler hadn’t been disturbed, so hopefully she’d only have one grumpy child to deal with.
