by M K Farrar
Oh my God.
Suddenly panicked that she was going to run out of time, she turned her back to the case again. She perched on the edge and reached for the toiletries bag. Her broken fingers caught the sole of a shoe, and she stamped both feet on the floor as fresh pain exploded through her. But she returned her focus to the task ahead, knowing Edward could come back at any moment.
Getting hold of the zipper on the toiletries bag was harder than the case. It was smaller and kept slipping from her fingers, but finally, she had it. She had to use her wrist to hold the small bag in place while she pulled the zip across. It opened, and the contents spilled out over the folded shirts and trousers and skirts.
Amy scrabbled around, touching tubes of moisturiser and deodorant and toothpaste, but finally her fingers found smooth, cool metal.
Yes, yes, yes!
She was terrified she was going to drop them again. Holding the small pair of scissors would have been hard enough with her taped hands, but not having use of one of the hands made things even harder.
It was going to be fiddly, but she could use them to cut the tape. If her hands were free, she’d be at an advantage. But she couldn’t let Edward know her hands were no longer bound. She would hide the scissors between her wrists and pretend they were still secured.
Amy managed to get the scissors between her thumb and forefinger and twisted them around so they faced the tape. Despite their size, the scissors were sharp and stabbed her skin on the inside of her wrists.
She bumped her bad fingers again, tears pooling in her eyes, but the temptation of freedom was greater than the pain. She cut, the metal sticking to the tape, so she had to pull it off again, but still managed to slice through. Though she was unable to see what she was doing, she could feel the space between her wrists widening.
All of a sudden, the tape came apart.
Her hands were free.
Amy groaned in pleasure, circling her wrists and shoulders. She longed to rip it right off, but she needed for Edward to think she was still bound. The skin was sore and itchy, but she didn’t even care. If she could get free, she would heal.
She couldn’t waste any more time. Hurriedly, she cut apart the tape between her ankles as well. It was dark down here, and so long as she kept her feet pressed together and her hands behind her back, he’d have no way of knowing she’d managed to free herself.
The case stood wide open.
If Edward came down and saw it like that, he’d know right away that she was up to something.
In a flurry of panic, she closed the top again and zipped the case back up. With the use of both her hands and feet, it was far easier to get it shut than it was to open it. The freedom of the use of her limbs was dizzying.
A floorboard creaked overhead.
Amy froze, her heart thundering. They often walked around up there—it didn’t necessarily mean anyone was going to visit her. But then came the scrape of the sofa.
Edward was coming.
Amy threw herself down into her usual spot. She sat with her knees bent and her ankles pressed together, her hands behind her back in the hope he wouldn’t realise anything had changed. She held tightly onto the scissors, terrified he would see in her face that she had a plan. Her palms prickled with sweat, and she was sure she was going to fumble and drop them.
He went through the routine of opening up the floorboards, only this time he peered in to make sure she was behaving herself before he clambered down. She flicked her gaze to the case, checking and double-checking that it didn’t look any different than when he’d left. She doubted he’d know what was in the case to start with. A ten-year-old boy wouldn’t know what to pack for an almost forty-year-old woman, so she assumed Robert had been the one to do that side of things.
She had to pick her moment right.
Now she had the use of her hands, she could try to climb back out of the cellar again, but she needed to do it when he was least expecting it, and right now, he was ready for her.
“You broke my nose,” he said. His voice was muffled, like he had a bad head cold. “How could you do that to me?”
He sounded as though she’d genuinely hurt his feelings, even though he was the one who’d been keeping her captive all this time.
She’d left the tape across her mouth so she couldn’t have responded, even if she’d wanted to.
“I don’t want to keep hurting you. You’re going to make me do what I had to do to her.” He glanced over his shoulder at the plastic containing his mother. “I only pushed her, you know. I didn’t mean to do it. I shoved her, and she fell and hit her head on the back step of the house. I could tell it had hurt her and I liked it. It felt like something woke up inside me, like I came alive, and I stood over her, and lifted her head and hit it on the step again. I’d felt so powerless for so long, but I didn’t then. I felt the exact opposite.”
Amy whimpered, trying not to picture Susan Swain lying dazed and helpless on her back step, her son standing over her. Had there been a moment where she’d thought he’d come over to her to help? To ask if she was all right? To even say that he was sorry? Amy doubted it. Edward had already told her that his mother had seen what he was becoming and had been frightened of him.
“You’re supposed to be taking care of me.” He moved towards her, and still she bided her time. She needed for him to trust her again. “Can we start again?” he asked.
She flicked her gaze briefly towards him and nodded. She was terrified that the closer he got, the more likely it was he’d notice the tape between her ankles had been cut. But right now, he stood between her and freedom, and even if she sprang to her feet, she’d still have to get past him.
She also had to get past Robert, who was upstairs, but she couldn’t let herself think about that part, worried the enormity of what she was trying to do would overwhelm her.
“Good.” Edward sat beside her.
She pressed her ankles tighter together and shifted her grip on the tiny pair of scissors.
He snuggled in closer. “Make me believe you’re her.”
Overhead, the doorbell rang.
Edward froze and glanced up.
Heavy footfalls signalled Robert going to answer the door and get rid of whoever was there.
Amy sucked in a breath, unsure how to react to this latest development.
Above them came a distant voice, low and male. Her heart fluttered. She was sure she recognised it. Did she dare hope?
Now was her chance.
She tightened her grip on the scissors and braced herself.
Amy let out a shriek of rage and fury, yanked her hands apart, and brought the scissors down in an arc. Edward jerked to one side, and the sharp points missed, stabbing into his arm instead of his face, which was where she’d been aiming, but it was enough for him to recoil.
She jumped up and tore the tape from her mouth. “Help!” she screamed as loud as she could. “I’m down here. Help me! Please!”
A shout of exclamation came from above, followed by a thud. Then the yell of someone male and heavy footfalls a person running.
She took off towards the gap in the floorboards, desperate to make her escape.
But Edward was already behind her, coming for her. And now he would kill her. She’d made it to the hole, but he launched himself at her. He collided with her from behind, sending them both crashing to the floor.
Desperate, she bucked and fought and managed to wriggle out from under him. She kicked out with both feet. Somehow, her heels connected with Edward’s already broken nose, breaking it for a second time, and he let out a howl of pain. He released her, and she dragged herself away, still fixated on freedom.
“Amy?” The shout came from above.
She sobbed. “Down here!”
A face appeared in the gap in the floorboards. It was Detective Inspector David Norton.
“Jesus Christ. Amy.”
She glanced over her shoulder. Edward lay motionless, perhaps blacked out from the pa
in of his broken nose.
David lay flat on his stomach and reached down for her. She scrambled to her feet and took his hand in her good one, and he pulled her up through the hole. She fell into his arms, sobbing, gasping for breath, but then she remembered what she’d left behind and caught her breath enough to speak.
“He’s down there. Edward. I stabbed him with a pair of scissors and kicked him in the head.” She remembered something else. “His mother’s body is down there, too. Edward killed her two years ago. His father helped him cover it up.”
A second police officer—David’s colleague, she assumed—had Robert pinned up against the wall and was handcuffing him.
Robert broke down, all the fight gone from him. “I didn’t know what to do. I was so sure he hadn’t done it on purpose. What kind of father had I been to him? What kind of role model? He’d learnt that behaviour from me.”
Her mouth dropped. “He killed his own mother. How can you say he learnt that behaviour?”
“I was never respectful enough towards her. Edward saw that, and he copied it.”
“So, you helped cover up your own wife’s murder?” She was aghast.
“I’d just lost her. I couldn’t lose him as well. Edward has his faults, but he’s still my son...”
“He killed his own mother. He abducted me. I think we’re beyond a few faults.”
David had his arm around her waist, holding her up. She wanted to crumble, but she didn’t want to give Robert the satisfaction.
“We’ve already called for backup and an ambulance,” David said. “They won’t be long.”
She glanced back to the hole in the floor. “What about him? What will they do with Edward?”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” the other police officer said. “We’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt you or anyone else again.”
“He’s only twelve years old,” she said helplessly. “He’s just a child.”
She didn’t know why she felt the need to say it, maybe just to warn them. Maybe to hear the words come from her mouth. That a child was capable of such violence. She knew it wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last, but that didn’t make her feel any better.
David frowned at her. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine. Just make sure he doesn’t get away.”
David pressed his lips together, his nostrils flaring. “He won’t, Amy. Don’t worry.”
“How did you even know where to find me?” she asked.
“Your mother called me.”
Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “My mother?”
“Yes, it seems you missed a phone call that you normally make every week without fail. She was worried when you didn’t call and phoned me instead. I was concerned right away, because I’d also been trying to get hold of you after our coffee the other day. I thought maybe you’d simply decided you weren’t interested.” He shook his head, embarrassed. “But after your mother said she’d not been able to contact you either, I did some asking around. Obviously, I’d already known you were looking into Robert Swain, and so this seemed like the first place I should check.”
Her mother. She could hardly believe it.
In the distance came the wail of approaching police cars.
Amy sagged with relief.
It was over.
Six Years Later
Doctor Amy Penrose straightened in her chair and sucked in a nervous breath.
The comforting weight of David’s hand pressed to her shoulder. “You’ll be fine. These are your fans, remember?”
She threw him a grateful smile. “I guess there’s still a part of me that feels like I shouldn’t have written the book. I know there are people who will judge me for it.”
She hadn’t written directly about those horrific events of six years ago, but it was impossible for people not to know who she was and what she’d gone through at the hands of one of her patients. Her book, When Children Kill, was a best-seller, storming up the non-fiction charts on the day of release. The truth was that her experience with Edward Swain had made her career, and even though she suffered panic attacks and nightmares, even now, six years on, there was a part of her that refused to regret what had happened.
Two roller banners stood behind her, her face beaming out from them, a hardback copy of her book clutched in both hands and held out in front of her. On the table, stacks of the books were piled up, ready for her to sign for the stream of people already queuing on the street outside the bookshop. Her favourite pen was already in her hand, and she turned it over and over, fully aware that the repetitive motion was helping to tamp down her anxiety. She glanced at the hand holding the pen. Her two previously broken fingers had long since healed but still ached when the weather grew cold—a permanent reminder of what she’d gone through.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said reassuringly. “You didn’t ask for what happened to you. No one would. You’re allowed to write about your experiences. It gives people a unique insight into how these children function. It might even prevent something like that happening again.”
She sucked in another breath and nodded, grateful for his presence. He’d been the most important person in her life since that day she’d finally escaped. They weren’t married, and neither of them pressured each other into anything that they didn’t want. With a failed marriage already behind him, David hadn’t wished to repeat the experience, and they were both more than happy to continue as they were.
Edward Swain would be eighteen years old now. A man, not a boy. Even though she knew he hadn’t been released yet, she couldn’t help but search the face of every young man she saw in the street, wondering if that was what he looked like as an adult. The advance from her book deal meant she no longer had to work with new patients, and even though a part of her missed the work, and missed helping people, she was also grateful she didn’t have to wonder if each new patient might be another Edward Swain.
Robert was also serving time—both for the part he’d played in her imprisonment and the way he’d helped to cover up the murder of his wife. He wouldn’t be out for a good few years yet, but she wasn’t worried about what would happen when he was freed. Strangely, she wasn’t frightened of Robert. The man was nothing more than a coward.
Her relationship with her mother had improved since that day, too. She could hardly believe her mum had been the one instrumental to alerting people to the fact she was missing. The weekly phone calls Amy had never missed, even when she’d been sick, had made her mother realise right away that something was very wrong. She’d remembered the name of the detective Amy had been to see, and had called the police, asking to speak with him. David had taken over from there, and it hadn’t taken long to track Amy down to the Swain house.
Amy didn’t think she’d ever fully forgive her mother for the childhood she’d had while growing up, but she’d accepted it now. Just like with what had happened with Edward, she realised it had gone a long way into putting her in the position she was in now—a best-selling author, and someone who was considered an expert in her field.
She’d seen Gary a couple of times since everything had happened—mainly to organise their possessions and end the rent on their shared flat. He’d felt guilty for not being around when she’d needed him, but she’d done her best to make him understand that none of it had been his fault. The two of them should have gone their separate ways years before they had. Within six months of them breaking up, he’d met someone else and now he was happily married with two children, just as he always should have been. She had no regrets about their relationship ending, and as she’d grown closer to David, she’d become more and more certain that they’d done the right thing.
The door of the bookstore opened, and people started piling in. David gave her another reassuring squeeze to her shoulder and then stepped back, remaining close enough to step in should anything happen that made her uneasy. She was eternally grateful for his presence. Without him, she most likely woul
d have died.
The first customer—a middle-aged woman with greying curly hair and glasses—hurried up. “Oh my God. Hi! I’m such a fan.”
“Thank you so much.” Amy forced a smile in return.
The woman pushed her copy of Amy’s book onto the table in front of her. “Can you make it out to Jillian.”
“Of course.”
To Jillian, she wrote. Best wishes.
“How are you feeling about Edward Swain getting out?” The woman lowered her voice to a hissed whisper, as though she hadn’t considered that almost every single person in the line behind her wasn’t going to ask Amy the exact same question.
“Absolutely fine,” she lied. “I hope he’s been able to get the help he so desperately needed.”
Amy scribbled her signature and firmly closed the hardback and handed it to the reader. Jillian gave a nod, though her face said she was disappointed with Amy’s answer. A coil of unease tightened around her stomach. People wanted her to be frightened of him.
He was going to be given a new identity after serving his sentence in a secure children’s home. Amy felt sick at the thought of him being out again, though she’d been assured he would be moved far from the city, and that going anywhere near her would breach his parole conditions. That didn’t do anything to calm her fears of him coming to find her again and finishing what he started, however. She wanted to believe that he had been rehabilitated—thinking that it simply wasn’t possible was something that went against both her profession and what she’d written in her book—but when she was lying in bed at night in the dark, especially during those times where David was working and she was alone in the house, Edward coming to find her again became a very real fear.
It didn’t matter how many people reassured her that it wouldn’t happen, in her heart, she couldn’t help but feel their story wasn’t done.
THE END
IF YOU ENJOYED THE book, you can pre-order M K Farrar and M A Comley’s second addition to the series, Down to Sleep, from Amazon today. Book two will be out on the 3rd of January!
