by M K Farrar
“Okay, fine. Let’s go back downstairs and just wait for Dad. He’ll only be another hour or so, I hope.”
She prayed the car didn’t break down, or he didn’t hit traffic. There was no reason why he should, since it was hardly rush hour—unless there was an accident—and his car was a brand-new one that came with his job, so it should be reliable. Even so, she felt as though anything that could go wrong, probably would.
The two of them went back down to the lounge and resumed their positions on the sofa. Reese checked her phone and went through all her social media accounts, willing time away.
Tyler got to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Reese asked.
“Up to my room.”
A knot tightened in her stomach. “No, we should stay together.”
He stared at her. “Well, I still need to go upstairs.”
“Why?”
“I want to go to the toilet.”
“So use the downstairs one,” she said in exasperation.
“I need to take a shit. I’m not doing that while you can hear everything I do.”
“Jesus Christ.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
Tyler left the room, and she heard his feet on the stairs, followed by the click of the bathroom door closing.
She waited for him. He probably had his phone in there with him and was using it as a social event rather than something he just needed to get done. She’d never understood the enjoyment of sitting in a room that stinks of your own shit for any longer than was physically necessary. Her dad was the same as her brother and disappeared in there for ages. Maybe it was a male thing, though she suspected her dad only did it to get away from the rest of them for a while.
She didn’t like sitting down here on her own. She paced to the window and watched out on the street for any sign of her dad arriving. Every time headlights illuminated the road, her heart leapt with hope, only for those hopes to be dashed a moment later when the car continued past the house and vanished around the corner.
With a sigh, she went to the bottom of the stairs and called up them, “Tyler, are you done yet?”
He didn’t reply but if he was on his phone, watching TikToks or something, he wouldn’t have heard her. She stomped back up the stairs.
“Tyler, seriously, it doesn’t take this long to have a shit.” She wasn’t going to admit to him that she didn’t like being on her own. She was the older sister and was practically an adult now.
She stopped outside the bathroom door and froze. It was open a crack. “Tyler?”
No sound came from inside. If he was watching stuff on his phone, she would have heard him by now. Had he gone to his room instead? But no, that door was wide open, and there was no sign of him, and why wouldn’t he answer her?
Despite her needing him to hear her, she found herself lowering her voice, so it was barely above a whisper. “Tyler? What are you doing?”
She reached out, the tips of her fingers skirting the wood of the door, and she pushed lightly. The door opened, but not fully, hitting on something behind it.
She suddenly understood what was going on, and her fear turned to anger. “Tyler, I know you’re going to jump out at me and try and scare me. That’s not funny, you know, with Mum missing and everything.”
Reese waited for him to emerge around the side of the door, his hands held up in a ‘you got me’ stance, but nothing happened. “Tyler?”
She pushed at the door again, harder than was really necessary, and then, when she hit him with it and he didn’t yell out, she stuck her head around the corner.
Reese screamed.
Tyler was lying facedown on the bathroom floor, his legs blocking the doorway. Blood coated his back.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
She dropped to her knees in the cramped space, putting her hand on his shoulder. Her mind was a blur of overthinking, trying to figure out what had happened. Had he hit himself somehow? Was he still alive? Where the hell was his phone—it never went far from him? Shit, she’d left hers downstairs. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She needed to call an ambulance.
“I’ll be back in one minute, okay, Tyler. You’re going to be all right.” She had no idea if that was true, but she couldn’t bring herself to think that her little brother might actually be dead. They weren’t exactly close, but she’d never even thought about living in a world where Tyler wasn’t in it. She’d always taken his constant presence for granted.
A noise came from outside, footsteps, creaking a floorboard directly outside the bathroom. Oh, thank God, her dad must have got here already.
“Dad, Tyler’s hurt,” she called out. “He needs help.”
She rose to her feet, her back still to the door.
A hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her breath, and she screamed against a cold, clammy palm.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The search warrant had come in for the Ford Transit, and SOCO were there now, working on the vehicle. One thing that hadn’t been found was anything indicating where Sweeny was now.
Ryan had requested that uniformed officers go to each of the addresses that they’d narrowed down from the original list. The houses in the same area the van had been found, and those with families, had been prioritised. Officers had been instructed to check on the families and request permission to search the house for anyone who shouldn’t be there, but so far, he hadn’t heard that they’d found anything or anyone.
He couldn’t decide if he wanted to be right about his theory that they’d find Sweeny holed up in one of his client’s houses, or wrong. If he was wrong, it meant they were back to square one as far as finding him went, but if he was right...
That part almost didn’t bear thinking about.
Linda approached his desk. “Boss, the control desk has just had a call come from a Mr Andy Bolton. His wife wasn’t home when his children got back from school, and they’ve been worried. He was working down in Exeter but is driving back up because of the missing wife, only now he says he can’t get hold of either of the children. They’re not answering their mobile phones or the house phone, and he’s understandably worried. Anyway, I ran the address through the system, and it’s one of the ones we have on our list. It’s on the market, and Philip Sweeny went there to film a virtual tour.”
“Is the house in Lawrence Hill?”
She shook her head. “No, Whitehall.”
“Shit. Right next door. He must have parked the van and walked the rest. How old are the children?”
“Twelve and fifteen.”
“Similar ages to the Wyndham family,” he said. “We need to get a patrol car over there, whoever is closest. Let them know the family’s lives could be in danger, but that Philip Sweeny is considered dangerous.” Ryan got to his feet. “I need to go and see Superintendent Symth and request an Armed Response Unit immediately.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Something wet and warm soaked into her clothes.
Something was very wrong.
Helen’s first thought was that she’d wet the bed and it was urine, but as she gradually came around, she realised she wasn’t in her bed. Hard boards supported her body.
Pain bloomed hot and bright, snatching her breath. She was hurt! Panic followed quickly after. That wasn’t urine she felt but blood.
It all suddenly came back to her: how she’d come up to the loft looking for boxes, only to find someone else up here. He’d hurt her—badly—stabbed her in the stomach, she thought, but what had happened next, she had no idea.
Oh God, where were the kids? She had no idea what time it was, but she could no longer see daylight peeping through the tiny slats between the roof tiles. The kids had been due home not long after she’d climbed into the loft.
Was he still in here with her?
It was difficult to hear anything above her own wheezing breath and the slow thud of blood through her ears. What damage had he caused with the knife? She’d lost a lot of blood, that was why she felt so wo
ozy and why she couldn’t get herself to wake up properly. Had he punctured her intestine? Was an injury like that fatal? Did he think she was dead? She managed to open her eyes, but it was only darkness around her.
If the man was still in the loft with her, he must know she wasn’t dead. Was he waiting for her to die? If she moved, would he stab her again? The thought terrified her, but what scared her even more was the thought that he wasn’t in here with her and had gone down to kill her children.
Reese. Tyler.
They were all alone. Their dad was in Exeter, and she was up here. Did they have any idea what had happened to her? Had they come looking for her and he’d stabbed them, too? The possibility of her children being dead made her want to give in to her injuries. What would be the point in fighting if they were gone? Her life would be over.
As her eyes grew used to the darkness—helped along by the few slats of moonlight peeping between the tiles, which made her think that they could do with some work being done on the roof, a crazed thought considering her current situation—she dared to look around. It was too dark to see anything in detail, but she was able to make out the dark block of the chimney breast. The swathes of spiders’ webs were invisible in the gloom, but she knew they were there, as were the wooden struts holding up the roof. How far away was the loft hatch? Did she have enough strength to crawl over and then be able to lower it and release the ladder? Such a simple thing seemed like a monumental task—like she was being asked to climb Mount Everest or skydive—but she had no choice. Her children were in danger, and she wasn’t just going to lie here and give up when they needed her.
Helen tried to push herself to all fours, but her limbs didn’t want to comply. Her whole body trembled, but she managed to get herself onto her elbows and she commando crawled towards the hatch. She let out a gasp of pain with every movement. The wound in her stomach dragged against the floor, and though she couldn’t see it, she knew she was leaving behind a trail of blood like a slug would leave slime. That was how she felt now—sluglike, barely human. She was running on the purely instinctual drive of a mother who needed to save her children. Her life didn’t matter. All she wanted was for them to be safe, but a dread deep in her gut that had nothing to do with the stab wound had her believing that they weren’t. Would she know if they were dead? She’d carried them both inside her for nine months each, physically joined as though they were one person. Was that sickening dread her body’s way of telling her that the biggest parts of her no longer existed?
A wave of pain blackened the edges of her vision, and she curled her fingers into the wood and froze, her breath trapped in her lungs, willing herself to stay conscious. To her relief, the moment passed, and she was able to move again.
The folding ladder sat in front of the hatch. Beyond the metal bars of the ladder, there was a catch on the wooden panel of the loft hatch that she could twist and would open it. That was how he’d been letting himself in and out, opening the loft and lowering himself down onto their landing. He must have been pulling the ladder down to get back up. Why hadn’t she heard it? Then she remembered the stacks of boxes and how they’d moved and then toppled. No, he hadn’t needed to use the ladder each time. He’d climbed onto the boxes and got up that way.
Somewhere in the house, a phone was ringing. On and on, but no one answered it. Did it go unanswered because no one was home, or because someone was stopping them?
She knew there was no way she had enough strength to lower the ladder, and even if she did, her body’s coordination wouldn’t comply enough to navigate her way down it.
She gritted her teeth and twisted the catch. What should be such a simple thing had become like a mountain to climb. To her relief, it turned, and gravity did the rest of the work, the hatch dropping open.
Light from the landing blinded her, and she squinted and twisted her face away, allowing her eyes to get used to the light. She turned back. Could she hear anyone? See anyone? She listened hard. If the children were already dead, she wouldn’t be able to hear them. The thought tightened her throat and made it hard to breathe. She resisted calling their names, knowing it would tell the man who’d been hiding in their loft that she was still alive. He might already know—could be waiting just out of sight, ready to finish the job.
She needed to get down there.
Helen couldn’t allow herself to think too hard about what needed to happen next. It was going to hurt—hurt worse than anything she was feeling now, and her current level of pain was easily a ten out of ten. The only pain she’d known that had come anything close to this was when she’d given birth to Reese, and though she’d been begging for an epidural, the nurses had told her the anaesthetist was busy with an emergency and wouldn’t be able to help her. She remembered becoming almost animalistic then, lowing like a cow in a field, sucking on the gas and air and insisting it wasn’t doing anything.
That had been bad, but what she was about to do would be worse.
Just do it!
Her only other choice was to stay here and die, and that didn’t seem like much of a choice at all.
Helen wasn’t going to go headfirst, though. She didn’t want to break her neck. It hurt, but she managed to bring herself around, so her feet stuck over the hole. From that position, she wriggled backwards, her feet hanging down, followed by her shins and knees, then her thighs. She pictured the man who’d stabbed her standing below, ready to grab her ankles and drag her the rest of the way.
She reached the point where she was folded at a right angle, the edge of the hatch pressing the wound in her stomach. The agony was intense. She couldn’t stay in this position, or she would pass out. She used her arms to push herself up, straightening her body. She teetered on the edge and then pushed again and dropped the distance between the ceiling and the floor.
Sickening pain and a hot flash of nausea followed by a wave of cold. Nothing quite felt stable around her, the landing tipping and tilting. Her last thoughts before she lost consciousness were her children’s names.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ryan put his foot down, following the Armed Response Unit to the address they had for the Bolton family. Aware Sweeny was most likely armed with a knife and unafraid to use it, he and Mallory had donned body armour before setting out.
He drove as fast as he dared, his heart thudding, his vision sharp and clear. There wasn’t much traffic on the road this evening, so they made progress quickly.
They reached the correct street. It was a wide road with new build, detached houses on either side. Already, the pulsing light of the initial response car filled the gloaming sky. The uniformed officers were creating an outer and inner cordon to keep the public away from the house. An ambulance had been called in on standby, too, but Ryan prayed they weren’t going to need to use it.
People emerged from their homes, pale-faced and worried, but also enjoying a bit of excitement on the street. Uniformed police shouted at them to stay inside their homes, sweeping them back with their arms, but they were reluctant to miss the entertainment. Cars attempting to drive down the road from either end were stopped, and the drivers and passengers climbed out, craning their necks to get a view at what was happening.
The armed officers moved quickly, surrounding the house. They would go at the signal, gaining entry any way they could, be that through doors or windows.
“Any sign of life from inside?” Ryan asked the responding officer.
The other man shook his head. “No. We haven’t seen any movement. The house has been in darkness since we got here a few minutes ago.”
Ryan was handed a loudspeaker. He switched it on and turned to face the front of the property. He would try to strike up communication first, but he didn’t plan on giving it long.
“Philip Sweeny, we have you surrounded.” His amplified voice cut through the rest of the hubbub of the street. “If you can hear me, come to a window and make yourself known. We don’t want anyone else hurt.”
People might alr
eady be injured or worse inside the house, and he wasn’t going to give Sweeny any opportunity to harm anyone else.
No response came. The house remained dark.
They couldn’t wait any longer.
He gave the signal for the armed response officers to move in.
They did so with speed and noise, giving warning shouts to Sweeny. Wood splintered and glass smashed, and the whole of the street held its collective breath.
Ryan waited with the air trapped in his chest, poised for the sound of gunfire. The armed police had guns, but they were trained to use their Tasers rather than shoot if they were able to.
A call came through on the radio.
“Three people down. One adult and two children. We need paramedics in here. No immediate sign of Sweeny.”
Ryan wanted to roar with fury. He was too late. Sweeny had attacked another innocent family and got away with it. “He likes to hide,” he said over the radio. “Make sure he’s not in the loft or hidden somewhere else in the house.”
As soon as they got the wounded out of the house and to safety, the officers would do a slow methodical search of the entire home, including the loft space.
From farther down the road came a flurry of activity. A male voice shouted. “That’s my house! Those are my family.” The father had arrived.
“Keep him back,” Ryan instructed.
If the man’s entire family was dead, he would be unpredictable. They didn’t need him getting involved right now. There would be plenty of time for interviews later, if he was in any state to give one.
Paramedics entered the building, and Ryan found his hand cupped over his mouth. Maybe he should get in there, but he just couldn’t face it. One of the victims was a girl, and that he’d failed her cut deep.
A voice came over the radio again. “We’ve got two alive, one dead on scene.”
Ryan shook his head and turned away. Maybe he should be happy that two of the family had survived, but even one loss of life was one too many.
