by T. J. Lebbon
‘One thing.’ Emma paused. ‘I have to ask.’
‘There was no helping him.’
‘You’re sure about that?’ It had kept Emma awake at night, and it probably always would. ‘You’re certain? Because you chose to help Holt over Dom, and I don’t know … I can never ask Daisy …’ Her voice broke. There were no tears, but the darkness felt wider and deeper than ever.
‘Certain as I can ever be,’ Rose said.
Emma nodded. She felt a sudden, powerful urge to be away from this woman. ‘I should be getting back. Daisy’s at Mandy’s, I’m due to pick her up.’
‘Tell her I say hi.’
‘I really don’t think I will.’
Rose nodded. She understood. Emma thought she was probably used to being the woman who wasn’t there.
‘Listen, if you ever need me for anything, just go on Twitter and—’
‘I’ll never need help from the likes of you again,’ Emma said. She cringed a little at how that had sounded. But she’d meant it.
‘Good,’ Rose said at last. She meant it too. She touched the back of Emma’s hand on the table, a surprisingly intimate gesture. Then she stood and left, weaving through the busy cafe. Before she reached the door Emma looked down at her empty coffee cup. She never saw Jane Smith leave.
Five weeks later, Emma’s life was starting to settle into its new shape. It was a shape she hated, because it was missing a vital part, and she and her daughter didn’t fit. Daisy knew that too. But the little girl was strong, concerned for her mother, a whirlwind of activity.
Emma guessed she was holding much of her grief inside, and although the compulsive washing had ceased, at night the tears still came. But she’d been advised to be easy on Daisy. They spoke of Dom every day, and Daisy was very open about what had happened. The time she stopped wanting to talk about her dead dad would be the time for real concern.
The police still came around now and then. She’d given her account of events at least a dozen times to several different officers, and now there were national press agencies offering her stupid money for her story. The kidnapped family, the crime gang’s internal feud, the killing spree across South Wales. She was still declining, finding the whole idea repulsive. But she also knew that the money on offer would make the future easier for her and Daisy. Dom’s electrical firm was in limbo. His apprentice Davey was keen to buy it, but her solicitors indicated that a sale would be a complex and time-consuming matter. Dom’s life insurance firm was resisting paying out on his policy pending investigation into his criminal role in the carnage. Emma was on extended leave from the college, fully paid but with an undertone of disapproval from the management. She supposed that was fair enough. How could someone who had been through so much offer support to young, vulnerable minds? So the time might come when she would start serious talks with one of the newspapers, and everything would be on her terms.
She had briefly considered moving house. Everything at home reminded her of Dom, not only their belongings and the building itself, but the smell of cut grass, brewing coffee, and the strains of certain songs drifting from the radio. She’d realised that she could not run away from these memories. A couple of times she’d caught Daisy frozen in a moment, and watched without her knowing. She knew that her sweet daughter was remembering her father. So much had changed that Emma couldn’t find it in her heart to change where they lived, as well.
Daisy had returned to school for the new year. Having her friends around her seemed to help, and she was doing well. As well as could be expected.
Emma wasn’t.
The summer heat had broken a couple of weeks before, leaving scorched parkland and cracked reservoir beds a nightly image on the news. It had been the hottest British summer on record. Roads had melted, scrubland burned. Emma would forever associate the smell of summer heat with death.
She was in the back garden, mug of tea cooling on the table beside her, book propped open and unread in her lap, when someone tapped gently at the gate.
‘What?’ she shouted, startled.
‘Oh, sorry,’ a man’s voice said. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. Is it okay if I enter?’
‘The gate’s unlocked,’ Emma said after only a brief pause. She remained nervous. She carried a small paring knife in her jeans’ pocket. It was sharper than it needed to be, and it went everywhere with her. She touched it, the metal handle cool and comforting.
The terrible thing was, she knew she could use it.
The man was tall and athletic. He wore chinos and a white linen shirt, tucked in and perfectly tailored to his physique. His shoes were good, hair neat, face cleanly shaved. He carried a hard laptop case. Emma supposed he was good-looking, but there was something about his manner that immediately put her on edge.
Not a cop, she thought. She’d met enough over the past few weeks to know them.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘I’m not here to trouble you,’ the man said. He pulled out a seat across the patio from her and sat without asking. He seemed very assured, calm and in control. He placed the laptop case on the table and ignored it, crossing his legs, hands clasped around his knee.
‘That’s not an answer.’
‘My name’s Peter. I know you’ve been through a real ordeal, and I—’
‘Where are you from? You’re not a policeman.’
‘No, I’m not.’ He was smiling, but offering no answers.
‘Press?’
‘Far from it. I’m a friend of Rose’s.’
Emma blinked, surprised. Rose doesn’t exist, she thought. It was the most delicate part of the story they had created. Emma had never mentioned Rose’s presence or existence, and she had impressed upon Daisy the need to do the same. So far as everyone was concerned, Daisy had no recollection of what had happened at the church. Events there remained a mystery. And even though several people on the beach had confused, conflicting memories of Dom chasing a woman, the story seemed to have held.
No one knew about Rose.
‘Who?’
Peter stared at her. The smile remained. But there was something behind it she didn’t like one little bit. Something about his eyes.
Emma had seen such a look before.
‘I’d like to know where she is,’ Peter said. ‘I haven’t seen her in years, and I’d love to catch up.’
‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’
Peter leaned forward. He touched the laptop case. ‘I have enough on here to convince the police otherwise. I was convinced the moment I saw the first news reports. Such events, chaos like that … Rose’s forte.’ He tapped the laptop case with one finger, punctuating each sentence. ‘Some deleted phone records. A couple of recorded conversations. Three blurred CCTV images. You know we’re the most watched country in the world? Even a ghost gets seen sometimes.’
Emma did not reply.
‘If the police received this information, I think they’d become very interested in your story again. Especially the details you left out. You and Daisy.’
‘I’ve nothing to hide,’ Emma said.
‘Maybe not.’ He drummed his fingers on the case, then sat back again. ‘I want Rose. I know she was here. Tell me what you know about where she is, and I’ll leave, and you’ll never see or hear from me again.’
Emma thought it through. This was not a man she wanted in her life. It seemed hopeless trying to maintain the lie, but at the same time she had nothing to tell him.
‘Why do you want her?’ she asked. ‘You’re no friend of hers. People like you don’t have friends.’
‘You’re quick to judge.’
‘I’ve seen your like before. So, why?’
‘Because we have a history,’ Peter said. ‘She’s the one that got away.’
Emma had no idea what he meant. But she decided to tell the truth.
‘I don’t know anything about her. When she left, she offered me a way to contact her. I didn’t want it. I never want to see her again, and I
have no idea where she went.’
Peter gazed at her, still smiling. His stare became uncomfortable.
‘I believe you,’ he said at last. ‘It would be stupid to lie to me. I think you know that.’
Emma didn’t trust herself to attempt a reply. She thought she might cry.
Peter stood, picked up the laptop, and left. He said no more, and as he closed the gate behind him he did not look back.
Emma took a few deep breaths, touching the knife in her pocket to ensure it was still there. Then she went inside to make some more coffee.
In the kitchen, she started shaking. The knife was a solid weight in her pocket. The grief flowed in, wave upon wave, and she experienced one of the familiar washes of memories involving Dom. They came frequently, unbidden but usually welcome. She was starting to wonder if it would always be like this.
Emma sobbed, grabbing hold of the kitchen worktop as she saw Dom at the sink, sitting at the table eating, laughing his way through the door with Daisy on his back. She gathered herself quickly, running her fingers through her hair. She felt the ridged line on her scalp. It was one of many scars, this one physical.
Taking the knife from her pocket and dropping it in the sink, wiping her eyes, she reached for the kettle.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Surprise
The farm was old and messy, the farmhouse a big stone affair, surrounded by several dilapidated barns and a couple of smaller buildings long since subsumed beneath undergrowth. There was a new tractor in the yard, and other pieces of machinery parked in one of the open-fronted barns. Chickens wandered the yard.
A dog watched her suspiciously as she approached. A farmer emerged from a building attached to one of the barns, nodded once, and pointed at a lean-to at the side of the farmhouse.
Rose headed that way. The dog watched her go. It was a working animal, not a pet. She whistled softly and its ears pricked up.
Even though it was nearing the end of one of the warmest, driest summers on record, still a chill breeze breathed in across the fields. She had been enjoying the wildness and remoteness of the Scottish Highlands. She’d always wanted to visit. Coming here alone, without her family, felt like something of a betrayal. But in a way she always carried them with her, and they were here too.
The lean-to housed a storage area, filled with bulging hessian bags and blue plastic containers. Through a doorway lined with a rotten frame, a smaller area contained an old mattress on the floor and a couple of kitchen units piled with mechanical parts.
Holt was sitting in a chair beside the mattress.
‘Jesus,’ Rose said. ‘You stink.’
‘We’re on a farm.’
‘Don’t try to divert the blame. Have you showered? Do they have, you know, water?’
‘Of course they do. Electricity, too. And they don’t eat people up here any more.’
‘Hmm.’ She sized him up. He seemed thinner than the last time she’d seen him, if that was possible. A little greyer, too. But the Holt she knew was still very much there. Rose was glad. She’d really missed him.
She could never tell him that, of course.
‘Gunshot wound?’
‘It’s good. Had to have the bullet dug out, but it hadn’t splintered. No infection. I’m strong as an ox, apparently.’
‘And the …’ She touched her neck.
‘Itchy. But the vet says it’s healed well.’
Rose laughed.
‘What?’
‘A vet.’ She smiled.
‘I’m glad my discomfort and near-death experience amuses you.’ That acknowledgement of what had almost happened hung between them.
She went to him and kissed his cheek, and Holt stood and embraced her. It was comfortable, a friendly contact. He felt warm to her, and Rose hoped she gave him warmth, too.
‘Rose,’ he said, pulling away, face serious. ‘It’s Benjamin.’
‘What is?’
‘My first name.’
‘Really?’ She stepped back, checking him out. He didn’t seem to be joking. ‘Fuck. Let’s just leave it at Holt.’
He chuckled. ‘Anyway, you know. Thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘Cutting my throat.’
‘Don’t mention it. So you’re ready?’
‘Where are we going?’
Rose pursed her lips and looked away. She’d been hoping he would not insist.
‘Hell, don’t worry,’ Holt said. ‘Surprise me.’
THE END
The cruellest game. The highest stakes. Only she can bring his family back alive…
The hunt is on…
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About the Author
Tim J. Lebbon is a New York Times-bestselling writer with over thirty novels published to date, as well as dozens of novellas and hundreds of short stories. He has won four British Fantasy Awards, a Bram Stoker Award and a Scribe Award, and been shortlisted for the World Fantasy and Shirley Jackson awards. A movie of his story Pay the Ghost, starring Nicolas Cage, will be released soon, and several other projects are in development. He lives in the Monmouthshire countryside with his wife Tracey, children Ellie and Dan, and his dog Blu. He enjoys running and biking in the hills, and sometimes he imagines he’s being chased.
Follow Tim on Twitter @timlebbon
By the same author
THE HUNT
To find out more visit www.timlebbon.net
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