by Amy Cross
“Don't you think you're forgetting something?” she asks.
“I am?” Furrowing my brow, I try to figure out whether I've missed an important date. “It's not our anniversary, is it?”
“Come out to the parking lot at the front of the station. I'll show you what you've forgotten.”
“I don't have time to go anywhere.”
“Not even to the window?”
Sighing, I hurry along the corridor and through to my office. When I look outside, I immediately spot Louisa's car nearby, and a moment later I see the silhouette of Louisa herself as she waves at me. Just as I'm about to ask her over the phone why she's really here, however, I notice another silhouette in the parked car.
“I couldn't exactly leave her home alone while I came here,” Louisa points out. “Honey, she's been asking for you all evening. She wanted to know why you hadn't come home, and I didn't know what to tell her. She claims, and I have no reason to doubt her word, that you promised to read her a bedtime story.”
Chapter Thirteen
Alex Roberts
Today
“Alex, what got into you back there?” Brad asks as he follows me into the house. “Can you talk to me for a moment? That was kinda rude of you, the way you borderline shoved the Milfords out the door.”
“I'm tired,” I mutter, hurrying to the kitchen and setting the bowls down, before immediately turning to head back out so I can finish clearing the table. “I thought they were tired too. What did you want, an all-nighter?”
“Alex -”
“Can we please just finish cleaning up?”
He tries to take my hand as I slip past him, but I manage to get away and hurry back out onto the patio. I can already hear Brad coming after me, and I know I'm probably acting like a total bitch, but at the same time I just can't help myself. Diane Milford's comments are spinning around and around in my head and frankly I'm tempted to march straight over to her house and tell her what I really think of her goddamned stupid advice. As I reach the table and start gathering up the final plates, however, I glance back toward Brad and see that he's stopped to watch me from the doorway.
“What?” I ask.
“There's something you're not telling me.”
“Of course there isn't.”
“Did Diane say something to you? Did she upset you?”
“What makes you think that?” I snap. “What could Diane Milford possibly say that would upset me?”
“Something about this house? Something about you?”
Balancing the plates, I decide to stack some glasses on top too.
“Something about your father?”
I turn to him, and in that moment my hands slip and all the plates and all the glasses fall away. Before I even have time to react, they've clattered onto the grass, although fortunately they don't break. Sighing, I immediately crouch down to gather then up from the soft ground.
“You need to mow this lawn,” I mutter. “It's too -”
Suddenly I gasp as I feel a sharp pain against the side of my right hand. Looking down, I see blood running from the wound, and I realize that I was wrong a moment ago: one of the glasses did break, and I just didn't notice since so much else was falling at the same time.
“Let me see,” Brad says as he comes over.
“I'm fine.” I check the wound for glass shards before wiping it against my shirt.
“You're bleeding, Alex.”
“Everybody bleeds.”
“This isn't like you.”
I look up at him.
“Remember when we first talked about coming to live here?” he continues, as he crouches down and helps me gather the plates and glasses up. “Remember the one condition I imposed?”
“I'm sure you're about to remind me.”
“I told you that you have to talk to me. I told you that you have to tell me what's going on in your head, because I don't think I can guess all the time.” He pauses, and now I can see the concern in his eyes. “I'd say this is a pretty unique situation,” he continues. “Woman moves back to house where crazy stuff happened to her as a kid? Where her father went nuts? I mean, I don't think there's a guidebook about how either of us should be reacting, and that's why I asked you to promise me that you'd talk to me whenever anything upset you. Like now.”
“It was just Diane Milford being a busybody,” I reply. “Forget about it.”
“You look like you want to strangle someone.”
“Well then maybe that should be your cue to stop nagging me!” I snap, before getting to my feet. “Can you finish clearing up? I've got a headache and these incessant questions aren't exactly helping.”
“I'm just trying to -”
“I'll be inside,” I add, marching back into the house before he has a chance to say anything else. I know I'm being unfair, but right now I just need to get away from this constant barrage of questions.
***
“What are you looking up?”
As soon as he hears my voice, Tom instinctively closes the lid of his laptop. He's sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a t-shirt and boxers, and he was supposed to be getting a glass of water before bed. Instead, it seems that he's been checking something out online, and I can't help but notice the guilty look in his eyes.
“If it was porn, that's fine,” I continue, leaning against the jamb. “Call me crazy, though, but something tells me it wasn't that at all.”
“It was nothing. I was just checking my mail.”
I pause for a moment, but deep down I already know what I have to say to him.
“I'm sorry.”
He shakes his head. “It's fine. I understand.”
“No, I was a total bitch to you. You were trying to help me and I went off at you, and that was inexcusable.”
“You couldn't be a bitch if you tried.”
“Really?” I can't help furrowing my brow. “That's kinda disappointing. I mean, I don't want to be a bitch, but I'd like to at least have the potential. Not even having the potential makes me sound pretty boring.”
He laughs.
“But I shouldn't be one to you,” I continue. “Not ever. And I won't again, I promise. I just let Diane get under my skin, that's all.” I pause again, and this time I can't help looking at his closed laptop. “So did Tom Milford fill your head with ideas?”
“Tom Milford?”
“I saw you talking to him for a while, and somehow I doubt he could have held back. Did he start going on about the history of this house?”
He hesitates, before shaking his head.
“He didn't need to,” he tells me. “Do you seriously think I moved here blind? Alex, after our second date I started researching this stuff, just so I could get a better idea of what you went through. And yeah, sure, I dug a little deeper and I found out stuff about what was going on in Railham at the time, and about what your mother and father claimed was happening, and about what happened to -”
He catches himself just in time.
“What happened to who?” I ask. “To me?”
“Alex...”
“I get it,” I continue. “It makes total sense. In fact, I'd think it was pretty weird if you hadn't been curious.”
“And you're not?”
“I know what happened to my parents.”
“You've read reports about what happened, but you still don't remember, do you?” He pauses, waiting for an answer. “Or have you started to remember parts of it?”
I shake my head.
“And you've haven't felt anything since we moved back?” he asks. “Anything unusual?”
For a moment I think back to the other night, when I felt those hands on my shoulders. I've already convinced myself that the whole thing was a figment of my imagination, although deep down there's still a niggling fear in the pit of my stomach. Still, that's precisely the kind of reaction I pledged to avoid, and I'm damn well not going to disappear down the rabbit-hole right now. I'm not the kind of person who believes in ghosts.
>
“I've not felt anything at all,” I tell him. “Why? Have you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why are we even having this conversation?” I ask.
I pause for a moment, feeling as if I'm stuck in some kind of loop. Finally I make my way over to him and lean down, kissing him gently on the lips. I know he's been walking on eggshells around me for a few days now, and I guess that can't be easy for him. I just hope he'll be able to understand that I need to pick my way slowly and carefully through this mess. As I pull back from the kiss, I can see the concern in his eyes, and I know that his questions are coming from a good place. I just want him to realize that the most valuable asset right now is time. I need time before I make the next step.
“I guess this is pretty extreme, huh?” I ask with a smile. “Maybe I should have just gone to hypnosis sessions and tried to recover my memories that way.”
“What about your father?”
I flinch. “What about him?”
“It'd be pretty odd if you hadn't thought about him since we came to live in the house,” he points out. “I know it must be painful, but -”
“The whole town can't be wrong,” I reply, interrupting him. “I know what my father did. I know Mom and I were lucky to get away from him. I know he's buried in an unmarked grave, and that nobody around here even bothered to give him a headstone.” I pause for a moment. “I know enough.”
“Alex -”
“I know he murdered Mo Garvey.”
“Do you seriously believe that?”
“Of course,” I reply, struggling to hide the fact that I want to scream. “The evidence holds up. He framed some drifter, and the truth only came to light after he died. That's really all I need to know about him. He was a monster.”
He sighs. “If you change your mind -”
“I won't.”
“But if you do, just tell me. If you want to leave this house -”
“No chance.” Pulling away, I make my way over to the door. “I just want to sleep right now. Turn the light off when you come up and -”
Stopping for a moment, I consider asking him about him why he was talking about Mo Garvey earlier, but then again I figure it's not too difficult to guess what happened. The Milfords were probably asking questions about me, and I'm sure he did his best to defend me and to make them understand that I'm nothing like my father. It's not my fault if Diane Milford's got her head up her own ass.
Without saying another word, I head out into the hallway and then I start making my way up the pitch-black stairs. By the time I get to the top, however, I'm trembling and I have to sit down. Just the mention of my father's name, and of what he did, was enough to set my mind racing. Putting my head in my hands, I wait for the sense of panic to pass.
Chapter Fourteen
Sheriff Michael Blaine
20 years ago
“But I don't understand,” Alex says, furrowing her brow in that very serious way that only little kids can manage. “I thought Mo Garvey was a good person.”
“She was,” I reply. “Absolutely. Nobody's suggesting she did anything wrong.”
“Then why did a bad thing happen to her?” she continues, staring straight ahead for a moment before turning to me. “I thought that when people are good, then bad things don't happen to them?”
“That's not quite how it works.”
“So even if someone's really good, they can still...” She pauses for a moment, as if she's wrestling with one of the great, immutable questions of the universe. “I heard some people talking in the street. They said that Mo Garvey got really badly hurt before she died.”
“You shouldn't pay attention to people in the street.”
“They said someone cut her eyes out.”
“Alex -”
“And cut off her nose.”
“No, that didn't happen,” I reply, trying not to sound too impatient.
“What didn't happen? That her eyes got cut out, or that her nose got cut off?”
“Her nose wasn't cut off.”
Her eyes open wide as dinner-plates.
“So her eyes -”
“Let's not focus on that right now,” I continue, glancing out the window and seeing that Louisa is still watching us from the window of my office. For a moment, I genuinely can't work out how I'm going to help all of this make sense to Alex, especially since I don't even know how I can make it make sense to me. “You didn't know Mo Garvey, did you?”
“No.”
“You didn't play with her at all?”
“No. She used to twist the heads off her dolls. She was weird.” She pauses. “But I can still be sad that she's dead, can't I?”
“Of course you can. I just -”
“Am I a good person?”
“Absolutely,” I continue, putting an arm around her and forcing a smile. “You're a wonderful person, Alex. You're the best little girl in the whole world.”
“That's not enough, though, is it?” she replies, sounding very serious and very much as if she's concentrating on what she overheard in the street. After a moment she looks up at me with those wide, innocent eyes. “Even if I'm a good person, bad things can happen to me, can't they?”
“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “Not to you, sweetheart. Because I won't let anything bad ever happen to you. I'll always, always look after you.”
***
“She doesn't understand,” I mutter as I stand with Louisa in the doorway outside my office. Alex is still in the car, sleeping with her head against the window after trying for several minutes to stay awake.
“I don't understand,” Louisa replies. “Was Mo Garvey really tortured before she was killed?”
“I can't say at this time.”
“But it's possible.”
“A lot of things are possible.”
“Jesus!” She turns and puts her hands over her face, as if the whole idea is too much for her to handle. “So there's some maniac out there, and he's got a taste for little girls?”
I open my mouth to tell her that everything's going to be okay, but the words dry on my tongue. I've heard myself offering false hope to so many people lately, I think I'll vomit if I do it again. Finally, not knowing what else to do, I reach out and place a hand on Louisa's shoulder. I feel so goddamn useless right now.
“It'll be fine,” I say suddenly, surprising myself. “No-one else is going to get hurt.”
“Come home,” Louisa says, turning to me. “You're no use to anyone like this.”
“I have too much work to do.”
“And you can't do it while you're in this state.”
“There's a killer out there and he could strike again at any moment.”
“But you just said -”
“I know what I said!” I snap. “I was trying to make you feel better, that's all! I didn't mean a goddamn word of it! Of course there's a murderer around and of course he's going to do it again, and of course Alex and the other kids in town aren't safe! Any one of them could end up like Mo Garvey! There could be more and more bodies piling up in that morgue until we run out of places to stack them!”
Seeing the shock in her eyes, I sigh and step closer, wrapping my arms around her for a hug.
“You need to go home,” I whisper, holding her tight. “You need to get Alex to bed. I'm so sorry that I can't come with you right now, but I know you understand why that is. The first forty-eight hours of a case like this are always the most important. The trail's still hot, and I refuse to believe that this monster didn't leave something behind, some trace that we can pick up. I'm going to get him, and I'm going to put him behind bars, and I'm going to make sure that everyone's safe.”
“How?”
“I don't know,” I add. “I have no idea, but I'll do it, I swear.”
As I say those words, I see that Alex is still sleeping in the car. At first I think it's a massive relief that she's sleeping, but then I start to wonder what kind of dreams she might be having. But for the
grace of God, it could have been my little girl who was taken, instead of Mo Garvey, and at some point another little girl in this town is going to be targeted. I have to do something before that happens, but the clock is running and in a few hours' time the sun is going to come back up. Every second that passes is going to embolden Mo Garvey's murderer and make him wonder whether he's getting away with it, and make him start wondering whether he can do it again.
“I'm sorry I lied to you,” I whisper finally, turning back to Louisa.
“When did you lie to me?”
“When I told you I'd find Mo Garvey alive.”
“That wasn't a lie,” she replies, “that was just hope.”
“I believed it at the time,” I continue, feeling a shudder in my chest, “but I swear to you...”
My voice trails off as I realize that these would just be more words. Empty, meaningless words.
“I have to get back to work,” I add, taking a step away from her. “I'm sorry, but I don't know when I'll get home. It might be a day or two. I can't stop until I've caught this bastard.”
“Mike -”
“Take Alex home,” I reply, turning and heading back through to my office. “She's just a kid. She shouldn't be up this late. Tell her I'll see her as soon as I can, but tell her that might not be as soon as I'd like.” I pause for a moment, before glancing over my shoulder. “And keep an eye on her. Don't let her play outside alone tomorrow. Don't let her out of your sight, not even for one second.”
Chapter Fifteen
Alex Roberts
Today
“So that's what it's like to have sex on a blow-up bed!” Brad gasps as he rolls over onto the other side, which in turn causes the entire bed to wobble and shake. “I've gotta admit, it was... different. Bouncier than usual.”
He pauses, before turning to me.
“Are you sure you don't want to try finishing?” he asks. “I feel kinda bad here.”
“Don't. You know that's hard for me.”
“Sure, but -”
