The Girl on Gander Green Lane: A chilling psychological thriller with a twist.

by M J Hardy

I don’t even register that anybody else is there, as my world crumbles and my blood drips onto the woman whose life I have taken in one foolish moment of anger.

  I feel hands pulling me away and lash out. “Don’t touch me.”

  Then a firm voice says, “It’s ok, help is on its way.”

  I cry, “Please help her.”

  Two strong arms lift me away from the battered body at my feet and pull me into a hard chest. Strong arms wrap around me as a voice says, “Don’t look. You’re in shock, the ambulance is on its way.”

  I hear the sirens and struggle to break free. I start to sob, saying wildly, “I’m so sorry, it’s Richard, we didn’t mean it, it’s an accident. Oh god, I can’t bear it, I’m so sorry.”

  I feel those arms hold me in place as they shield my eyes from seeing what’s happening. A soft, strong, voice soothes me, saying, “Everything will be fine. You’ll be fine, I’ve got you.”

  I’m not sure what happens next because then there is nothing.

  I wake in a hospital bed with a police officer on either side of it. My head hurts so badly and my eyes feel heavy and sore. I hear one of them call the nurse and then I see a kind face staring at me. “It’s ok, Sarah, you’re in the hospital. You’ve been involved in a nasty accident but you’re going to be ok.”

  My mouth feels dry and I manage to croak, “Richard… where’s Richard?”

  The nurse shakes her head and looks at the police officer who leans forward. “Is Richard your husband Sarah?”

  I nod and then remembering the girl, cry out, “What happened to the girl, is she ok?”

  I watch them share a look and the nurse shakes her head slightly. I feel my heart thumping as she says, “Just rest now. All will be explained after you have some rest.”

  I can tell by the look on their faces it’s bad and my heart sinks like a stone. Turning to look at the police officer on my left, I say desperately, “Please tell me, is she…. dead?”

  His face tells me everything I need to know and the sobs wrack my body as I realise what we’ve done. A brief moment of madness has caused someone to die. I can’t see for the tears and hear the nurse say angrily, “I’ll get the doctor.”

  I’m not sure how long the doctor takes but he soon arrives and I hear a kind voice say softly, “It’s ok, Sarah. I’m going to give you something to help you sleep.”

  I barely register the needle grazing my skin before blissful oblivion claims me to a place where nothing can reach me.

  When I wake, it doesn’t take long for the memories to re-surface. Shaking my head, I open my eyes and see the weary police officers slumped in their seats beside me. One of them notices me waking and leans forward. “Shall I call the nurse, Sarah?”

  Swallowing is difficult, so I nod and he leaves the room, returning seconds later with the same nurse. She smiles warmly and says brightly, “I’m guessing you could use a nice cup of tea. Let me organise it for you and make you more comfortable.”

  She works around the officers who just watch with blank expressions on their faces. I suppose it’s then it strikes me. Why are they here?

  By the time I’m sitting up and feeling a little more in the land of the living, I look at them with many questions waiting for answers. The first one I have to ask is, “Please, tell me about the girl, is she ok?”

  They share a look and then one of them says softly, “I’m sorry, she didn’t make it.”

  The pain hits me like a lightning strike and the tears fall quickly and trickle down my face as I realise what we’ve done. The officer says gently, “Can you remember anything about that night?”

  I nod miserably and he takes out his notebook and says kindly, “Do you want to tell us?”

  I make to speak as the door opens and the doctor heads inside the room. He looks at the officers angrily and says shortly, “Please leave. I need to examine my patient.”

  They make to protest but the doctor isn’t having it. “I said, now!”

  With resigned looks, the officers leave, and the doctor says angrily, “I’m sorry, Sarah. You need to know what happened but you also need to heal. I must examine your wounds and talk to you about their implications.”

  For the first time since the accident, I think about myself. My hand reaches up and I touch my head where the pain is constant and say fearfully, “What happened to me?”

  The doctor smiles kindly. “You took a blow to the head that may have happened on impact. The windscreen shattered and several pieces of glass embedded themselves in your skull, narrowly missing your eye. Your body sustained multiple bruising, and you broke three of your ribs. We’ve taken a scan and everything appears fine but you’ll probably be sore for a few weeks while your body heals.”

  I shake my head and say sadly, “Is that it? A few cuts and bruises and a few broken bones. Not much of a punishment for ending another’s life, is it?”

  The doctor shares a look with the nurse and says softly. “You don’t have to say anything without a lawyer present. The police are here for answers but you do have rights.”

  A lone tear trickles from my eyes as I say almost as an afterthought. “What about Richard, my husband?”

  Once again, they share a look and the doctor says carefully, “We are trying to locate him but he isn’t answering any of his calls.”

  I look at him in surprise. “What, he isn’t here?”

  Their looks are starting to worry me and I say slightly hysterically, “Where is he?”

  The doctor takes my hand and squeezes it reassuringly. “We don’t know. We’ve left a message and I’m sure as soon as he finds out you’re here, he’ll be racing to your side.”

  A knock on the door interrupts things and the doctor sighs as the policeman pokes his head around the door. “I’m sorry but we need to question Sarah if she’s up to it.”

  They all look at me and I say sadly, “Of course, I’ll help as much as I can.”

  The doctor says firmly, “Ten minutes and if she gets agitated, you must leave immediately.”

  They leave us to it and I say fearfully, “Where’s my husband?”

  The police officer sits beside me and says blankly, “We had hoped you could tell us that.”

  I shake my head and sigh heavily. “The last I saw of him was at the accident. I left him in the car and went to help the girl. The next thing I knew, I woke up here.”

  There’s a brief moment of silence and then the officer says, “Are you saying your husband was with you in the car?”

  I nod miserably. “He was driving.”

  I look into his eyes and something about his expression tells me I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear. I almost can’t get the words out but have to know, “Is he… dead?”

  The officer looks down and then up again, saying darkly, “Sarah, there was nobody else in the car with you. You were the driver and we have witnesses who will swear an oath to that effect.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “What witnesses? I swear Richard was driving.”

  The officer shakes his head. “Your husband is missing, Sarah. I am afraid to tell you we are treating his disappearance seriously because when we searched your home, we found evidence that he has been seriously hurt.”

  My head is spinning and I say fearfully, “What do you mean… missing?”

  The other officer speaks up and says in a hard voice. “It appears that something happened at your home on that fateful night. A search revealed blood stains on the walls synonymous with a fight. There were broken tables and ornaments and blood was smeared all over the walls as if someone fell and scraped down them. That blood is an identical match to Richard Standon, who we believe to be your husband. We have also analysed the clothes you were brought in wearing and that blood matches the type found on your coat. Do you remember what happened because, by the looks of things, you were fleeing from the scene when you hit an innocent pedestrian?”

  I hear the words but they don’t make sense and stutter, “That’s a lie. Tha
t never happened. I promise you, Richard was driving.”

  The other officer says kindly, “Then tell us in your own words what really happened that night, Sarah.”

  I hold my face in my hands and say with a trembling voice, “We were going to my school reunion. We argued, and I told Richard I wanted a divorce. He got angry and punched me hard in the face and the next thing I knew, I saw a little dog on the road. I called out and then she appeared.”

  I break off and start to cry as the silence hangs in the air waiting for the conclusion. Then I whisper, “She ran into the road and I screamed. The next thing I knew, the car hit her and threw her up in the air. She bounced into the road and we crashed. I tried to go to her but Richard pulled me back and told me I would pay for the accident. I never listened and ran to the girl. The next thing I knew, I was here.”

  The officers share a look and then one of them says, “We will need to take a full statement at the station. As soon as you are discharged, we will arrange for a solicitor to be present and you will be interviewed.”

  He stands and heads to the door, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll organise your discharge.”

  As he leaves the room, I say fearfully, “Am I in trouble?”

  The officer nods gently, “I’m sorry, Sarah, but it looks as if you are to be charged with causing death by dangerous driving and the possible manslaughter of your husband.”

  As his words sink in, I pass out.

  Chapter 11

  I used to think that the worst thing in life was to end up alone. It's not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel alone. Robin Williams

  It’s been two days since my life unravelled. I was discharged and taken into custody. The police officers arranged for a solicitor and I was interviewed for hours but we got no further forward than what I could tell them. All the time, I kept on thinking of the girl. Her name is Ellie Matthews. Now she has a name and isn’t just the girl on Gander Green lane. A young woman whose life was cruelly extinguished in a moment of madness. She had so much to live for and everything going for her and we took that away.

  I know the police officers don’t believe me. I tried to tell them what happened, but it started to sound a lie even to my own ears the more they twisted the story.

  It was on the third day I broke.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah, but we are getting nowhere. You have told us what happened yet the facts don’t add up. Your husband is missing and if what you say is true, he fled the scene of the accident unseen when we have several witnesses who saw you at the wheel and swear you were alone. He is then supposed to have run injured back to your home and fabricated a fight before disappearing off the face of the earth.”

  I stare at him with tired eyes and nod. “I can’t explain it, officer. I’ve told you what happened.”

  The officer’s share a look and Detective Inspector Jones sighs heavily. “Why did you want a divorce, Sarah?”

  There it is. The one question that threatens to unravel the perfect life we created. Now is my chance to get everything out in the open but it’s hard. Can I really voice the words that I’ve hidden for so long?

  My solicitor smiles at me with encouragement and the tears fill my eyes as I whisper, “He hurt me.”

  The room stills and there is no sound as they wait for me to continue. The tears blind my eyes as I begin the sad and bitter tale of a marriage that went so badly wrong. I leave nothing out and once I start, I can’t stop. The memories are raw, painful and vivid and yet it’s as though I’m talking of somebody else.

  As soon as I finish, there is an awkward silence in the room and DI Jones says wearily, “So, you are telling us this has been going on for five years and you never once told anyone about it.”

  I nod, ashamed of myself.

  He leans forward and says in a hard voice. “I’m sorry, Sarah, your story doesn’t add up. There is no evidence to back up what you say and in fact, any statements we have, tell a completely different story. You were the perfect couple. Your husband idolised you and gave you everything you could wish for. He cared for you and was in fact, concerned for your mental health.”

  My head snaps up and I look at him in disbelief as he continues. “I have sworn statements from your boss and several neighbours that say he was concerned about your state of mind when you struggled to conceive. You became withdrawn and depressed and he was afraid you would do something to harm yourself. He spoke to them about the arguments you had as he begged you to seek help. Apparently, he was scared to leave you alone because he wasn’t sure what he would find when he returned. You see, Sarah. Your husband, on several times, sought help for your problems but it appears you did not.”

  I shake my head and whisper, “He’s lying.”

  The officers share a look and I can tell they don’t believe me, so I say desperately, “I can prove it.”

  Leaning forward, officer Coleman says kindly, “How can you prove it?”

  Stealing a look at my solicitor, I say quickly, “There’s a room.”

  They look confused and I say with a tremor to my voice, “The punishment room.”

  I feel the memory searing my soul as the tears fall. “He used to lock me in there when I upset him. Sometimes for days. I was tied to the bed, blindfolded and naked while he punished me.”

  The solicitor reaches out and squeezes my hand and looks compassionate but the officers do not.

  DI Jones says, “Where is this room?”

  I sob. “In the house on the top floor.”

  He leans forward. “Then maybe you should show us.”

  I look at him in fear and yet know I have to go back. They have to know and have to believe me, otherwise, Richard will have won.

  The other officer, PC Coleman, stands and says curtly, “I’ll arrange it.”

  Coming home feels wrong. Richmond Avenue is different somehow. It stands as if it’s waiting for something to happen. It is empty and still and as the police car turns into it, I feel the hidden stares and the eerie silence of a street waiting and watching. There is no life left in this street as we come to a stop outside number 15.

  I swallow hard as I look up at the house I once lived. It was never my home because I hated every minute I was in there. I’m not sure what I feel about it now. It looks cold and dispassionate and I wonder if it’s rational to hate a house for what went on inside.

  Even the birds stop singing as we take the short walk up the driveway. I see the police tape preventing entrance, warning of a situation inside. The officer takes my door key from his pocket and it feels strange entering a place I lived with two strangers beside me and another behind.

  As we step inside the hall, I smell the scent of home. A strange mix of sandalwood and citrus courtesy of the polish we used to use. Everything is always neatly arranged for fear of Richard’s temper because he liked to live in an orderly fashion with nothing out of place.

  The house looks the same but then I see the plastic covering on the floor. As we walk into the large, open plan, living space, I feel the scrutiny of the police officers who are watching my every move.

  I gasp as I look around at the devastation of a once perfect space.

  What appears to be blood decorates the white painted wall and the furniture is lying on its side, broken and ruined. Photo frames are shattered with the photos inside looking up from the floor like ghosts of a former life. Plants spill on the floor, their earth burying shards of glass. It looks as if a huge fight happened here and my mind spins out of control as I wonder what happened.

  I think I already know because Richard is a man who plans everything down to the last detail. He is responsible for this because he told me I would pay. This is his revenge for me daring to speak out against him. This is my punishment because I’m not stupid. Richard has set me up and is probably hiding out somewhere waiting for me to be convicted. Knowing him, he has already started again. A new identity, a new life and no trail to follow. I always knew he was dangerous, but this
is something else entirely.

  Officer Coleman says gently, “What happened here, Sarah?”

  I whisper, “I don’t know. I told you what happened. This must have been Richard’s work. He must have returned here and made it look as if we had an argument. I swear it wasn’t like this when we left.”

  The solicitor rubs my shoulders and I’m grateful for the small amount of kindness she shows me. Maybe somebody believes me because I’m fast realising nobody else does.

  Officer Coleman says loudly, “Show us this room you spoke about.”

  I shiver inside. The punishment room.

  I lead them up the stairs towards the place I fear the most. A room I never had access to unless I was dragged there in fear. Richard kept the key and was the only one who could open the door. I avoided it as much as I could but now it will be my salvation.

  I see it at the end of the hallway and the shivers start. In a whisper, I say, “There it is.”

  DI Jones starts towards it and officer Coleman walks behind me, propelling me towards the place I fear the most.

  I swallow hard as he opens the door and I briefly register it’s unlocked before the door opens and we head inside.

  I blink in disbelief as I look around the pretty room that looks welcoming and cosy. Pictures look down from the walls showing Richard and me at our happiest. They were taken at a time we were in love. In one I am laughing at something he says as he gazes at me with affection and in another, we share a kiss on a beach at sunset. The room itself is pretty and clean and is furnished beautifully with no sense of the horror it used to contain.

  Officer Coleman says wearily, “Is this the room you spoke of?”

  I shake my head wildly, “No… yes… but not this, it’s different.”

  Officer Coleman says roughly, “So, you are saying you were tied to this bed and subjected to punishment against your will.”

  I look at the pretty bed that is made up of sumptuous bedding and an array of scatter cushions and even I can see there is no way a person could be tied to it. I say miserably, “It’s different. This isn’t the same room.”