by Amy Cross
Seventeen years ago
“I want to go home!” she shouted, pulling on the chain around her wrist as she looked over at the window. “Mummy! Help me!”
“You're not gonna stop, are you?” the man asked, sitting calmly on a little wooden chair next to the bed. He was grinning, while using his fingernails to scrape at his stained teeth. “Come on, Becky, don't you realize you're hurting my feelings here? I made the room all nice for you, and now you're acting like you don't want to be here.” He looked around for a moment. “Well, I admit it's not, like, perfect, but I was on a bit of a budget. You just need to use your imagination, yeah?”
With tears in her eyes, she tried to find some way to get the chain loose, but it was wrapped too tightly. Holding it up to her face, she tried to bite through the metal, but after a moment her teeth hurt and she had to stop.
“We're a long way from civilization,” the man continued. “Do you know what that means? Do you know that word, Becky? Civilization means other people. It means crowds and rules and laws and all sorts of things that just get in the way of how an honest, independent man likes to live his life.” He paused for a moment, picking something out from between his teeth, taking a quick look, and then flicking it away. “And the biggest problem with civilization is that people get these ideas about how everyone should live, and if you happen to have a different idea, you're shunned or even locked away. Sometimes beautiful, wonderful things get made out to be bad and ugly. It's heartbreaking.”
“Mummy!” she screamed, looking over at the window again. “Help!”
He began to laugh.
“Mummy!”
“She's hundreds of miles away, Becky. She can't hear you. What, do you think she's got some kind of super-hearing?” He laughed again, as if he found his own comments amusing.
“Daddy!”
“He's just as far away,” the man replied, getting to his feet and heading over to her. “No-one can hear you, but I guess you'll just have to learn that for yourself, won't you? I'll leave you up here for a while.” Leaning closer, he tried to kiss her forehead, but she pulled away. He paused for a moment, with a hint of anger in his eyes, before taking a step back. “You'll learn,” he told her. “One day, when you're old enough, we'll get married and you'll realize that this is your home now. Just you wait and see.”
***
An hour later, as he stirred some eggs and bacon around a frying pan in the kitchen, the man looked at the ceiling and realized that the screams had stopped. He waited for a moment, convinced that they'd come back at any moment, but finally he realized that she seemed to have calmed down.
“Well, that took a while,” he said with a smile, before heading through to the hallway. After a moment, however, he heard sobs coming from the spare bedroom up at the top of the stairs. He stood listening for a few seconds, as his smile slowly faded, and finally he sighed.
Shaking his head, he made his way back into the kitchen.
***
“She's just five years old,” the crying woman said on the TV screen, as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “She's my little baby and -”
Breaking down into a series of sobs, she was comforted by her husband. The camera zoomed in to get a closer look at her tears as camera flashes lit the scene, before the view pulled back and shifted to a stony-faced police officer sitting nearby.
“I want to reiterate,” the officer said firmly, looking at the camera, “that we are going to find Becky, and that we still believe that there's an excellent chance of reuniting her with her parents. It's only two days since she was last seen, and we're going to leave no stone unturned in the search, but these are crucial hours and we have to move fast. Becky Bridger is most likely terrified right now, and desperate to get home. If anyone out there knows anything, I would encourage those individuals to contact the police immediately. All that matters is getting Becky back to her parents.”
Sitting cross-legged in the armchair, Renton spooned some more beans into his mouth, while staring wide-eyed at the TV screen.
“We just want our daughter back,” Becky's father said, as the camera turned to him. “Nothing else matters, we just want her back safe and well with us, so we can put all of this in the past. Whoever took her, and whatever reason you had, you can just drop her off somewhere. There don't have to be any questions, no-one has to get arrested or anything like that. It can all be done neatly and with very little fuss, but we just have to get her home. And if anyone has seen anything, even if it seems minor, please tell the police.”
“No-one's seen anything,” Renton said with a smile. “Bloody hell, are you thick? Look at this place. No-one can see or hear a damn thing.” He began to laugh. “We're out in the middle of nowhere, mate.”
As photos of Becky filled the screen, Renton finished his bowl of beans before getting to his feet and heading through to the hallway. Stopping at the foot of the stairs, he listened for a moment and then headed up, finally looking into the spare room and seeing Becky sitting on the bed, staring back at him.
“I've missed you,” he told her. “How does that make you feel?”
He waited for a reply, before leaning against the doorframe.
“Just seen your mum and dad on the telly,” he said with a smile. “They said not to worry and that you should be really nice to me. Isn't that kind of them? They told me to make sure you get lots of ice cream, though. They said you really like it, but they didn't tell my your favorite flavor. Can you tell me that?”
Silence.
“It's fish fingers for tea tonight,” he continued. “Do you like fish fingers? I love 'em, I'd have 'em for every meal if I could, but I make myself only have 'em for supper. Fish fingers and chips. Lovely, eh?”
Sniffing back tears, she watched cautiously as he stepped toward the bed.
“Your mum and dad said on the TV that you're a little angel,” he continued, sitting next to her. “That's the exact word they used. An angel.” Reaching out, he put a hand on her shoulder. She pulled away, but he tried again, and this time she froze with fear. “Your dad's a bit thick, isn't he?” he continued. “He said maybe someone's seen something. I oughta call him up, I oughta tell him there's no way anyone can see anything, but I don't suppose that'd be very smart of me, would it? They might trace the call, stuff like that. They've got equipment that can do that, I saw it on an episode of The Bill. No, I'm not stupid. I've seen lots of stuff on the telly.”
“I want to go home,” Becky whispered.
“You are home, sweetheart.”
She shook her head.
“Yeah,” he continued, “you are, and one day you'll realize that, and then you'll be able to take that chain off and we can be proper friends. Doesn't that sound nice? One day, when we trust each other, we can get married. But you can't get married until you trust each other, so...” Reaching out, he grabbed the chains and gave them a quick shake. “Until then, I'm going to be cautious.”
She shook her head again.
“You'll see,” he added, getting off the bed and heading to the door. “I'm glad you've stopped screaming, though. I was bloody tempted to come up and stick a gag on you.” Making his way back to the landing, he paused for a moment, looking around, before smiling again. “Bedtime,” he said finally, and then he turned and looked back at the door. “I love you,” he called out.
Silence.
“I said I love you!”
Hearing sobs, he sighed as he headed to the bathroom.
Chapter Eighteen
Today
“You alright there?”
Turning, Ophelia saw that Joe Lewis was standing in the doorway, watching her cautiously. There was a length of rope in one of his hands, and a bottle of water in the other, and in his eyes there was the look of a man who had come to do a job that filled him with dread. Still, he had come to do it, which meant the dread had obviously been countered by some other consideration. He'd weighed up his options, considered the pros and cons, and now he'd arrived wit
h water and a rope.
“His nibs just left,” he continued. “This is where his and my paths diverge, so to speak, until after he's done with his business. He's got everything all worked out, and he didn't really want to tell me the details. I guess he's worried that I'll double-cross him, but the truth is, I only care about getting the story at the end, and he promised me that. All that's really left for me to do is tidy up here and then get ready to write the copy of a lifetime. Well, the two stories of a lifetime, actually. I think I'll do his first, 'cause yours'll kinda lead out of it. I reckon I could be on for some prizes here.”
“I'm very happy for you,” she replied bitterly.
“Yeah, whatever.” Setting the rope down, he tossed the bottle of water at her. “Thought you might be thirsty.”
“I love you,” Andrew Renton's voice whispered.
Turning, Ophelia looked over at the other side of the bed. She knew she was losing her mind, that her carefully-plotted defenses were breaking down, and every so often she thought she caught a glimpse of Renton just to the side of her field of vision.
“You're dead,” she whispered. “I'm not going to let you back in.”
“What's that?” Lewis asked.
“You're -” She paused, before turning to him. “Nothing.”
“I thought for a moment that you'd started talking to yourself,” he continued, nudging the bottle closer. “Drink.”
“You want me to be well-hydrated before you stage my suicide?”
“You don't have to take it. I just thought I'd be nice.”
Taking the bottle, she unscrewed the lid and raised it to her lips. At the last moment, however, she paused. “It smells wrong,” she told him.
“Just drink it.”
“What's in it?”
“Drink.”
She paused again, before realizing what he was doing.
“He's trying to poison you,” Renton's voice whispered, as if his mouth was just millimeters from her right ear. “I never did nothing like that, did I? That's because I love you, Becky.”
“So that's your plan?” she asked, her voice filled with tension as she tried to ignore the imagined voice. “You want to drug me while you do whatever you have to do next? How exactly do you think this'll end up looking like a suicide?”
“I've got it all worked out.”
“And?”
“And you don't need to know. Just drink. It'll be less unpleasant that way.”
“For you or for me?”
“For both of us, just -”
“What about Sarah Jenkins?” she asked. “Did you drug her before you killed her too?”
He paused. “No,” he said finally. “I wish I had, though. It was pretty horrible just stabbing her like that.”
“You still managed it.”
“I just focused on the bigger picture. I've been through enough shit in my life to know that good guys don't get ahead. That's something Daniel Gregory told me a while back. I wasn't sure about whether I could go through with it, and he told me that this kind of thing happens all the time. Sure, some guys get caught and end up on the news, but the vast majority get away with it perfectly, it's actually pretty easy. You've gotta admit, the guy is a genius when it comes to stuff like this, he knows all the tricks. He even got me to wear shoes that were two sizes too big when I went to meet Sarah, he said it'd throw the cops off. It's the little details that he focuses on. He's really got an eye for that kind of thing. The rest of us are amateurs.”
“For some reason, I'm finding it hard to feel bad for you.”
“Are you gonna drink that or not?” he asked.
“Not,” she replied, tilting the bottle and pouring the contents onto the floor.
“That'll show him,” Renton's voice whispered. “Good girl.”
“Shut up,” she replied.
“Are you sure you're not talking to yourself?” Lewis asked. “Sure you haven't snapped?”
Without replying, she threw the bottle toward him.
“Bloody idiot,” he said with a sigh, as it dropped to the floor. “You know that's not gonna actually help you, right? It just means it's gonna hurt you more. You're gonna have to be awake when it happens.”
“I want it to hurt.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You deserve the pain,” Renton whispered. “You've made so many mistakes in your life, you've hurt so many people. Why should you get away without suffering at the end?”
“I know,” she replied. “You're right.”
“So you're hallucinating now, are you?” Lewis asked. “That's not a good sign, is it? Maybe your mind's knackered.”
“So you lured Sarah Jenkins to her death with promises of helping with her career?” she continued, hoping to buy some time while she tried to work out what to do next. “You were the guy who arranged to meet her, and you told her you'd introduce her to all the right people. That seems overly elaborate. Risky, too.”
“It was bloody Gregory's fault,” he replied. “He said the girl had to look like Natasha Simonsen. He went on and on about it, we couldn't just grab anyone, we had to find someone who looked just right. Took bloody ages, too. I came up with half a dozen before he found one he thought would do, he was the pickiest bastard ever. When we found out she was trying to get started as a model, well, the opportunity just seemed to present itself.”
“And then he made you kill her while he was in Brussels.”
“He trained me.”
“He taught you to kill.”
“He taught me to kill well,” he replied. “There's a difference. Anyone can stick a knife in someone, but there's a real art to doing it and getting what you want in return. I don't just mean avoiding trouble with the police, I mean committing a murder that's aesthetically pleasing. He told me all the mistakes that rookies make, and that's when I realized that this is a guy who really studied the art of murder and learned how to master it. I mean, Christ, he could teach a university degree in murder, he really could. He's like the Michelangelo or Da Vinci of his craft. He's always going on about some Mehlman guy, like he's his hero or something.”
“Was it worth it?”
“Was what worth it?”
“Killing someone. Killing an innocent woman, just so you can get a great story.”
“We'll see,” he replied. “I think I can live with it. And sure, if it means I get the recognition and rewards I deserve, then yeah, I reckon it will be worth it. It'll be payback for all the times I've been screwed over, all the times I played by the book and ended up getting left behind. You have no idea what it's like to get your face ground into the dust, day in and day out, by parasites who don't even deserve to breathe.”
“And how are you going to kill me?”
He paused. “Do you really wanna know?”
“I was never going to kill you,” Renton whispered. “I just wanted us to be happy.”
She nodded, with tears in her eyes.
“I've got a can of petrol outside,” he continued. “I was gonna drug you and then set the place on fire. Not exactly subtle, but pretty simple, and I didn't fancy another stabbing. One of those was enough for a lifetime. There'll still be bones left over for the cops to make an identification, and I'll claim I rushed here to try to save you, only to arrive too late. It'll be a tragic tale, really, but that's what people like. Let's face it, you're not the angelic little kid you used to be, Becky, so it's not like you'd be very photogenic. In fact, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think the general public would like you very much.”
“They wouldn't?”
“You're too cocky. Too arsey. People'd be happy you're alive, but they wouldn't be able to sympathize with you, not when you started opening that gob of yours. It's better if they just think of you as the girl you were when you went missing. I'll sell more books that way, and it'll be more of a rounded story. If you die, the end writes itself.”
“Sounds like you've got a good plan, then.”
“I was gonna d
rug you so it wouldn't hurt,” he continued, “but now... Well, now I guess you'll just have to be awake for it. Sorry, but you're the one who poured the water away.”
“Like you said,” she replied, “I can be a little arsey sometimes.”
He smiled. “There's a part of me that actually thinks you're alright. Crazy, huh? You and your pal Foster have pretty successfully humiliated me over the past couple of years, but you seem like an okay kinda girl. I almost think that, in some ways, we're kinda -”
“Don't say it,” she said firmly.
“You don't like the idea?”
“It's boring,” she continued. “Renton said it, Gregory said it, now you're saying it, and before that Victoria Middleton said it. I'm sick of people having this amazing revelation that they're like me.”
“Think you're one of a kind, do you?”
“At least I'm not like you,” she replied.
“What, successful? About to hit the jackpot?”
“Greasy. Scummy. A lowlife asshole.”
“Don't say words like that,” Renton whispered. “I don't like hearing curse words coming from your pretty mouth.”
“Fuck off!” she shouted, turning to him, only to find that there was no-one next to her.
“Cracking up, are you?” Lewis asked. “Well, maybe we should get this over with. I'm not a bad person, I'm just making my way in the world, and if that means doing a few dodgy things along the way, I reckon I'll be able to live with myself while I'm polishing my Pulitzers and driving around in a Bentley.” With that, he turned and headed to the door.
“If I was still here,” Renton whispered, “I could save you from him.”
“I don't need you to save me,” she said firmly.
“I'd have kept you safe. I'd have looked after you.”
“I don't -”
Suddenly she felt a hand brushing against the side of her face. Pulling away, she looked around, but there was still no sign of anyone on the bed with her.
“I'm cracking up,” she stammered, as fear began to rise through her chest. “I'm really losing my mind.”
