by Dawson, H A
'No need to worry,' he said, 'he won't do anything. Not while he wants you.'
'What do you mean?'
'He'll try bargaining. He'll keep quiet about the girl if you carry on seeing him.'
'But I don't want to.'
'I don't want you to either, but it'll give us time to come up with an alternative plan.'
Saskia lifted her legs onto the sofa and squeezed her feet under her bottom. Despite the intense nature of the relationship she had shared with Larry, she didn't want to go back to him. There was malevolence in his eyes, something she had never seen before, and there was no sign of the high-spirited man she believed she had fallen in love with.
They had to come up with another plan. Somehow, she had to convince Ron to let the girl free, although it wouldn't be easy. The girl had seen them both, several times now and she would be able to identify them. She should have been more careful, put a paper bag over her head or something. Saskia chuckled under her breath, but her thoughts soon turned dark, and she reprimanded herself for taking such a despicable act so lightly. Even now, after weeks of knowing what Ron had done, she still couldn't understand it. Neither could she understand why she felt she had to support him.
Having experienced a childhood of poverty, and having experienced first-hand what it was like to do without love, food, stimulating experiences, and luxuries, she should have been doing all she could to free the girl, yet she wasn't. Saskia could only conclude that Ron was the reason. She loved him, didn't want to be without him, and didn't want to see him taken away. Or was it that she feared to lose the house and the lifestyle? Suddenly, she was not so sure.
'I went to see her today,' she said, 'gave her some paper and pencils so she could draw.'
'Was she interested?'
'She was when she saw the images in my sketchpad. I left it with her. She wanted to try and copy it.'
'We have another star in the making.'
'Hardly. I've seen what she's done. I did better than her when I was about three.'
Ron smiled. 'Not everyone can have your talents.'
'I suppose not.'
They both gazed at the television.
'Don't worry about Larry, we'll sort it,' he said.
'I don't know how you can be so calm.'
He shrugged, placed the empty glass on the table, and left the room. His footsteps padded the staircase and then the upper floor.
She sauntered to the television to change the channel and stood for a few moments absorbing the swift-moving action.
Someone's hand covered her mouth. Her pulse quickened. She gasped. She spun around. Larry was beside her. He had a knife, and in a swift flowing action, he thrust it towards her. She raised her knee and caught him between the legs.
He yelped and his hand slipped.
The knife scored her skin, releasing blood. She screamed. She ran to the outer door, her hand pressing onto the wound.
It was dark and silent, and there was a slight breeze. She ran. Her head was swirling and her hand coated in the oozing blood. Her stomach burned.
His footsteps grew louder. He was gaining ground.
Faster, she urged herself, faster.
Her heart galloped. Her lungs tightened. She ran, breathless and frantic towards the town centre.
A monument came into view with a late-night restaurant further along. She had to keep moving, had to get to safety.
Larry's breaths were getting louder and his steps becoming more pronounced. Move, damn it, move!
Her legs weakened. She tripped. She fell to the ground, landing awkwardly, and reached to her burning ankle. His features emerged from his silhouette. He had a haunted expression, even white teeth, and a short trim haircut. She held up her hand, motioning him to rethink his actions as she shuffled backward and pleaded with her eyes.
He loomed. He clutched the shimmering knife.
A flicker of movement caught her eye. From under a streetlight, Ron came steaming towards them. He flung himself at the knife. It clattered on the ground.
'Run!'
Breathless and with her pain contorting her body, Saskia lifted herself up and hobbled away. The rasping cries distracted her. She stopped, turned her head, and watched the scuffle from the deep shadows.
Ron had dropped to the ground. His hand gripped his arm. 'Run,' he said again, pleading, urging.
She forced herself on, but the pain in her middle became debilitating.
Larry leapt onto her. His knife slid into her body. Her vision blurred. Her hearing dulled. She crashed to the concrete.
'I love you,' a voice said in the distance.
Then there was nothing.
Chapter 33
Megan and Ben sat in the living area, absorbed in the news report on television. An excavation was taking place in an area of woodland and there were numerous television crews, journalists, and police officials alongside a cordon. The latest report told them that there was indeed a body, but it was too soon to tell if it was Saskia's.
After several days of interviewing, Ron claimed his innocence as far as the murder was concerned but admitted to assisting Larry with the burial. The journalist speaking in the report questioned if his involvement in Saskia’s death was greater than what he had admitted to, reasoning he may have killed her in response to her threatening to expose the girl he had held captive.
Hearing such nonsense caused a curious sensation to tumble through Megan, guilt, anger and sorrow combined. She wanted to come to his defence and tell the world that he never harmed his wife, yet it would have been futile. Even if they believed her, his sentencing would be excessive regardless of the part he had played in the murder.
Cameras closing in on the cordon caught her attention. She felt as though Saskia was a dear friend, and for a moment, she hoped that they had all been mistaken and that the body wasn’t hers. Whilst she felt as though she knew her intimately, she would still have enjoyed talking with her, discussing life, loves and sharing experiences. They weren’t distant relatives or connected by friends. Fundamentally, they’d had no relationship. It was a bizarre sensation.
An image of the thirty-eight-year-old woman who had lived in Ron's cellar appeared on the screen. She had ragged long hair, a washed out complexion, and a gaunt body. Then they displayed the beautiful, ginger-haired little girl that went missing in 1978. It was difficult to believe that they were the same person.
'How did Luke make the connection?' Ben asked.
'He remembered seeing Ron buying sanitary towels once. He didn't know who he was, but later on, he remembered seeing the birthmark on his neck - it's quite distinctive, like a star – and he made the connection. They also found some long strands of hair in the bin.'
‘He must have had an idea that there was someone down there.’
‘I guess. He did a thorough job, I’ll give him that.’
‘So he’s gone up in your estimation.’
She grinned. ‘He has. It took a while, but I do like him now . . . a lot.’
He turned his attention back to the woman on the screen. 'I know it goes on, but I still can't believe she’s been in his cellar for all this time.’
‘Me neither.’ She rotated her crossover ring. ‘He seemed quite normal to me, although having said he had obsessive tendencies. Remember me telling you about the ordered newspapers and plants?’
He nodded.
‘I bet that’s the tip of his peculiarities.’
‘You’re likely to be right. Only a particular kind of person would be able to take a child away from her mother and keep her locked up for thirty years. It explains how he was able to keep himself restrained, sexually too. It must have been his way of staying faithful.’
'Oh no!' she said. 'You don't think he abused her as a girl do you?'
'It’s likely.'
She shuddered. 'I can't believe no one heard anything.'
'It was soundproofed. The cellar was designed for band practice.'
'True. Some of the locals are now
saying they saw glimpses of her over the years, in the main house. It's weird that she didn't escape.'
'She didn't want to, apparently.'
'No, she was attached to Ron.' She twisted her ring. 'He seemed such a nice guy too. He was good with kids and teenagers . . . liked by many. It's difficult to comprehend.'
'Were the paintings down there?' he asked.
'Yes. Verity has them.'
'They'll be worth a huge amount.'
'I'm sure some sick person will relish the connection.'
'And to think, if you hadn't have come to Rodley, she would still be down there.'
Megan shook her head in bewilderment. 'It's quite bizarre. I can understand why Verity kept warning me away but-’
‘Did she admit to sending you the warnings,’ he interjected.
‘She did. She was afraid of telling me outright in case Larry and Ron learned about it. She didn’t want anyone threatening her with the incident of her father’s poisoning. It was also why she was desperate to get me away from here - in case I remembered it.’
‘Did she meddle with the car to cause the accident?’
‘No. That must have been Larry. He was one sick individual. I don’t know why I never saw through his act.’
‘You liked him. There’s nothing wrong with that.’
She passed him a twisted smile.
‘I wonder why he involved Luke,’ Ben said.
She shrugged. ‘Maybe he wanted confirmation that I was Saskia’s incarnated self.’
‘Or maybe he wanted to throw you off track so you’d trust him.’
‘That’s possible too. He was clearly mental. One minute he believed I was Saskia and wanted to run away with me, the next he was back in the late nineteen seventies and he wanted to kill me for leaving him for Ron.’
He kissed her cheek. ‘I’m just glad you’re safe.’
A chill swept over her. She wouldn’t have been safe if she had been in the front of his car. She was incredibly lucky to have survived. Maybe Saskia had been watching over her.
‘Did Luke track down your birth mother?’ he asked.
She grinned. ‘Julie Johnson was from Rodley and even went to the same school as Saskia.'
'Really?'
'Yes. So Saskia's memories could have come from her, after all.'
He grinned. 'I can't believe you're still saying that.'
'You would if you were in my position. I feel sick every time I think about having Saskia’s soul within me.’ She shuddered and rubbed her arms. ‘At times it’s hard for me to drawn a line between which are my memories and which are hers. They’re very similar . . . hard to differentiate.’
‘They might start to fade now that it’s over.’
‘I hope so. It’s weird, because even though I know I’m not Saskia, I still feel some responsibility towards that poor woman. I feel as though I should apologise.'
'You've given them their freedom back, that's enough.'
'I suppose I have.'
She sank back into the sofa feeling more content than she had been for months. But one issue remained between them. Following his gaze to the television, she pondered the decision she had to make regarding their relationship.
David had crossed the boundary in their relationship, and Ben had been far from innocent, severing a trust and refusing to accept her word as the truth regarding their troubles. Would the scars remain? Would she forever see David's inappropriate behaviour reflected in Ben's eyes?
Over the last few days, Ben had been kind and considerate, not pressing her for any decision and keeping his physical advances to a minimum. It seemed he was willing to do everything to smooth their relationship, and for the moment, he even refused contact with his son. He had apologised repeatedly, forever telling her that he was sorry for not acting, and willingly took the blame for the entire situation. Reluctantly and cautiously, she told him she forgave him. Why had he not believed her when she voiced her concerns weeks previous? Would he do it again?
Apprehensively, she turned to face him. 'Are you sure you're doing the right thing by sending David away.'
'Absolutely. He needs to realise what he did was wrong.'
'How does your brother feel about it?'
'It's not a problem. He's used to dealing with teenagers.'
'I don't want to come between you and David.'
He shuffled closer and peered into her eyes. 'I deserve a life too. I've put my feelings aside for him for years. Anyway, he's decided to join the RAF so he won't be around for long. A bit of discipline will do him good.'
'Did you read the letter he sent to me?'
'Yes. You did say I could.'
'What did you think?'
'I must say, he surprised me. It was a mature account of his feelings. I didn't know he had it in him.'
'He did seem sorry.'
He stroked her hand. 'When I confronted him, after I had worked out what had happened, he wouldn't look at me. He had tears in his eyes. I haven't seen him cry in years.'
'I think he was jealous. It's always just been the two of you.'
'You don't have to be so forgiving,' Ben said. 'What he did was wrong. There are no excuses.'
'I know, but he had his reasons, even though they were misguided. If our relationship is going to work, one way or another, he's going to end up being a part of our lives, even if, for me, it's just at family celebrations. It will make it a whole lot easier if we can all put all this behind us.'
His face glowed with pride and joy.
'It's going to take a while,' she continued. 'What he did to me was horrid, but seeing what happened to that poor woman in Ron's cellar has put it into perspective.'
'It’ll be fantastic if you can forgive him. But it's your decision. I will love you no matter what.'
'No matter what?'
He nodded and his eyes narrowed with curiosity.
'I lied to you about something. Or rather I didn’t reveal the whole truth.' She paused, her hands trembling. 'David knew about something. That’s why he did what he did. He was blackmailing me.' Her mouth dried and blood rushed to her skin. 'Joshua was with me when he took the aspirin, not his father. I was drunk, too drunk to be looking after a child. I saw him reach for the aspirin . . . Oh Lord . . . It was hazy, like a dream. I couldn't move. I told myself they were sweets.'
He pulled her towards him, his firm body providing stability for her heaving chest and wavering form. After a few moments, she had settled her tremors.
'I couldn't face what I'd done,' she continued, 'so I lied. Andrew was upstairs asleep. I screamed at him and he accepted the blame. I think he was too drunk to know otherwise.'
'Oh Megan, it was a mistake.'
'No, it wasn't. It was careless and then I lied. I was unfit to be a mother. I deserved the pain of losing him. But Joshua didn't deserve to die.'
His warm hand lingered on her back.
'I didn't want you to know. I . . . I still struggle to face what I've done.'
'You should have told me.'
'But I killed my son, my baby boy. How could I admit to that?'
'You didn't mean it. It was an accident.'
'It should never have happened.'
'No, it shouldn't, but it did. You have to learn from these things, and I believe you have. I'd trust you with a child of mine.'
'Would you?' Would you really?'
'You've changed. I can promise you, you will never make that same mistake again.'
'I might if I had another child. How would I ever be able to trust myself again?'
'Because Joshua will always be there to remind you.'
She looked at him, thoughtful.
'You're a different person now . . . and you don't drink like that for a start.'
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
He squeezed her hand, leaned back into the sofa, and turned back to the report on the television. He seemed relaxed and self-assured, glowed a healthy pink colour and his eyes glistened. He was optimistic about t
he future, and not put off by what she did to Joshua. Perhaps she should be too.
'I think I could try and give it ago with you,' she said, 'but it may take time to build up trust.'
His smile extended across his face. 'You sure?'
She nodded.
'I can't promise anything.'
Beaming, he pulled her towards him. Was she making the right decision? Was their love strong enough? Only time would tell.
Chapter 34
Luke's butterflies danced in his stomach as he headed into the bar and scanned the room for Sarah, his mind dominated by a vision of her soft features, slim figure, and lush brown hair. The room was light and airy with a few people occupying the round tables and chrome stools, giving it an ambience of tranquillity and providing high-quality contemplation time.
It was not what he needed. He had hoped that she would have already arrived so he could rush in, disguise his nerves in the crowd, make his well-rehearsed speech, and leave. He did not want pleasantries, did not want her seductive eyes and magnetic aura to draw him back.
With his heart pounding in his throat, he wrapped his arms around his body and tried to calm his quivers. Waiting for the bartender, he looked over his shoulder to the door and scanned the street, scrutinising the passers-by. Since there was no sign of Sarah arriving, he ordered a drink.
He stepped to a table a short distance away, and with his glass in hand told himself to breathe deep and slow. All he could manage were small sips of air. His legs were trembling, his body growing ever colder. Needing the assistance from the alcohol, he swigged a large mouthful of cool beer and wiped the froth from his mouth.
The door swung open and Sarah, as calm and composed as ever, strode towards him wearing a black skirt, matching jacket and a cream blouse.
'Great work you've done,' she said, 'I saw you on the news. It was a much better performance than last time. You looked confident, as though you were a pro.'
'Thanks, but I have something to tell you.'
'Hang on, I'll get a drink.'
He wanted to stop her, but it was too late, his brain was working in slow motion, seemingly disconnected from his mind. She returned moments later with a glass of fruit juice in her hand and sat on the opposite stool.
