by N. M. Brown
The Girl On The Bus
NM Brown
Contents
The Girl on the Bus
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Epilogue
A Note from Bloodhound Books:
Acknowledgments
The Girl on the Bus
N.M. Brown
Copyright © 2017 N.M Brown
The right of N.M. Brown to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2017 by Bloodhound Books
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Print: 978-1-912175-15-4
'To my family, for your faith and patience'
Prologue
Claire Woods sighed as she carefully placed Rita back into her cushioned baby seat. Thankfully, after two hours in a hot car, she was almost asleep. It had been her seven-year-old son’s helpful suggestion they take a break at the roadside services. The baking car had been like a glass prison for him, and when he spotted the red and white diner sign, it offered an escape to fresh air, and the promise of an iced soda.
As she struggled to manipulate the baby’s arms through the webbing straps, Claire felt her son tug at her elbow. He stood restlessly next to her, wearing a yellow Sponge Bob t-shirt and blue denim shorts, as he moved helplessly from side to side.
‘Hang on a minute, Daniel,’ she said, trying to remain patient.
‘I really need to use the bathroom,’ he said, while squirming, and twisting his small fingers together.
‘Don’t be silly, you've just been.’ Claire let out an aggravated breath, as she continued to fight against the unforgiving child harness.
Her statement was not entirely correct. After sitting in a red leather booth for the half hour it had taken Rita to reluctantly accept her bottle, Daniel had consumed two large cups of gassy Sprite. Claire had, therefore, assumed both her children would be full, and took the baby to the changing room, telling Daniel to come, too. Daniel, however, had recently reached that age where he was uncomfortable peeing in front of his mother. This was a humorous and poignant development for her, who had watched her liberated little boy dance around the house blissfully naked for most of his life. To accommodate his new-found modesty, Claire sent her son to use the gents’ restroom, which was located beside the baby changing room. For added security, she left the door unlocked. Yet, rather than going to the bathroom, as agreed, Daniel – who was hopelessly attracted by all things glitzy – had stopped to gaze at the small cluster of arcade games. He had peered wide-eyed at the claw grab machine, which – as if sensing his presence- had spontaneously come to life. Daniel pressed his nose against the glass, and watched the silver claw judder to the centre of the cabinet, then descend, like the hand of a god, to pluck at the grinning stuffed toys below.
As Daniel stood hypnotized by the metallic claw, Claire eventually approached him with a look of triumph on her face. Rita was finally sleeping. Claire held a finger up to her lips and nodded her head towards the exit.
It wasn't until they were already at the car the boy realised he had forgotten to go the bathroom, and his full bladder felt swollen and painful.
At first, Daniel thought he could possibly hold on with his legs crossed until the next comfort break, but his body was already struggling to contain the fluid. This was what convinced him to tug his mother’s elbow, as she arranged Rita in her seat.
Claire looked down at Rita, who was, for the moment, still asleep. To risk taking her back inside, and reawakening the beast, was not a viable option, but neither was leaving her in the busy car park. Over the years, Claire had heard enough horror stories about babies being snatched from public places, or about social services getting involved when an infant had been left in a car for mere minutes. Her only option was to get Daniel to hurry into the toilets, while Claire watched from the driver’s seat. He was a sensible boy, and even aged four, he had received the Gingerbread Kindergarten prize for road sense.
‘Okay.’ Claire stood up, and peered across the three rows of parked cars and buses to the building, ‘I can’t leave Rita, and if I lift her she will probably wake up. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ her son replied, and nodded vigorously.
‘So,’ she continued, ‘I'm going to let you go yourself, okay?’
‘Sure,’ Daniel said quickly.
‘Now, the toilets are just inside the entrance, over there,’ Claire said slowly, as she pointed to the double doors.
Her restless son nodded enthusiastically.
‘It’s the first door inside.’
‘I know.’ Daniel squirmed some more. ‘We've just been there.’
‘Well, you go back in yourself, watch out for cars, and use the crossing point. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Daniel whined, and hurried off.
Keeping her eyes locked on her son, Claire climbed into the warm seat of the Toyota Camry. She followed her son’s journey, as he snaked through the labyrinth of cars. He moved quickly between a Lexus and a Ford Focus, then disappeared between two coaches, only to reappear a moment later at the crossing point. Claire watched the doorway of the building for a few minutes. Behind her, Rita began to snore lightly. In the fleeting moments that Daniel was lost from sight, dark fears appeared like storm clouds around the fringes of Clare’s mind. They were quickly dispelled by the reappearance of her son, a moment later, in the doorway of the service station. Holding up one hand, he waved proudly to his mother, and then, purposely checked the road before crossing. Claire exhaled, then smiled, and turned around to check on her sleeping baby.
It was in that fleeting instant, Daniel Woods vanished.
It had been the Ben 10 alien figure which had caught his attention, like a glittering hook in some murky depths. Having crossed the road safely, the boy walked purposely through the space between two buses. Hidden from the afternoon sun, the corridor formed by the long, silver vehicles was cool, like a shadowy ravine. Although, it was not lifeless - the two coaches were gently shuddering, as if they were great sleeping beasts.
Halfway along the strange alleyway, Daniel noticed
one bus had its long luggage compartment open. The flap covering the cavity had been lifted up, and pushed back to rest against the side of the bus. This had exposed a deep, dark cavity in the belly of the vehicle. Daniel thought it looked like an open doorway, lying on its side.
As he drew level with the long cavity, Daniel’s curiosity overwhelmed him. Crouching down - as if to waddle duck-like - he peered into the chamber beneath the bus. What he saw there in the shadows made him gasp. The cavity was almost entirely empty, with the exception of a red plastic crate shoved against the back corner of the space. The crate overflowed with brightly coloured toys and candy. Action figures and Barbie dolls were stretching out of a tangle of Slinky Springs, jewellery sets and Hot Wheels cars. Around the outside of the plastic box a selection of Ben 10 - Daniel’s current favourite - figures were scattered around. The sight reminded him of pictures of Santa’s sleigh. Only this wasn’t December; it was July.
The temptation placed before the boy was simply too much. He knew his mom would be waiting, so he had to be quick. Daniel glanced furtively back over his shoulder, then happy enough with the lack of witnesses, he climbed into the cool rectangular compartment. Within the shadowy crawl space, there was a faint smell reminding Daniel of the large white medical room at his kindergarten. Crawling over towards the box of toys, the small boy made a quick grab for a Rip-jaws figure, but as his fingers closed around the figure, someone slammed the door of the compartment shut, trapping him inside.
Claire was out of the locked car now, and running crazily back and forward calling her son’s name. Her efforts were undermined by the dull blasting horn of some large vehicle, which was regularly obliterating her cries. Cold fear began to flood her body, as she darted around the sea of cars. Seeing no sign of her son, Claire dropped to her knees, and looked desperately beneath the sea of cars in the hope of glimpsing red, size five baseball boots wandering by. Maybe he’s just lost, she repeated to herself, in a tenuous mantra. Standing up, she began to stop random strangers, clutching their arms in swelling desperation.
‘Have you seen a little boy?’ she asked repeatedly, her voice rising to a panicky crescendo.
Suddenly, Claire formed a notion of hope. Perhaps he had simply returned to the bathroom. Tracing Daniel’s initial route, she ran back to the service building. Pushing the male bathroom door open, and with no regard now for propriety, Claire found nothing but empty cubicles.
‘Are you okay?’ asked a female employee, who appeared over her shoulder, wearing a red cotton vest, and carrying a plastic clipboard.
‘I’ve lost my son,’ Claire blurted through a ripple of hot tears. ‘He’s just seven years old.’
‘Okay,’ the woman spoke calmly. ‘Let me help you. What’s his name?’
‘It’s Daniel,’ Claire gasped.
As the woman spoke into a small radio clipped to her lapel, Claire hurried back outside, and ran over to the Toyota. By now, she was making all sorts of deals with God to let her find her son standing nonchalantly at the side of the car. As she reached the vehicle, she discovered only Rita, blissfully oblivious of the chaos unravelling around her.
As a group of hastily organised employees began to sweep systematically through the parking lot, Claire felt a new wave of desperation wash over her. Cupping her hands to her mouth, she began shout her son’s name relentlessly. Rushing randomly from car to car, her calls were still regularly punctuated by the angry blasts of some air horn. As the minutes passed, Clare’s shouting gave way to screaming her son’s name, until her voice grew hoarse, and there was finally no breath left.
It was then, in the hopeless silence, a sound formed, like a flare in an eternity of darkness. The broken mother thought she heard her lost son call out to her.
Pausing, Clare’s eyes widened, and then, she heard the sound again - faint, but enough. She moved closer to the sound, passing cautiously by a rusty Volvo, and then, a Lexus.
Claire was vaguely aware the blasting of the horn was louder now, and coming from a large silver bus, which was angrily lurching inches forward. A refrigerated truck, with European plates, had entered the parking lot on the wrong side of the road, and had stopped in front of the service area, blocking the exit of all other vehicles - including the impatient bus. But, it was then, in the small silences between the raging snorts of the horn, Claire heard her son’s muffled voice. She felt her heart stutter, and, operating on some instinctive level, she followed the sound to the side of the bus. Kneeling on the hot black-top, she was oblivious to the diesel staining the knees of her cream pants, as she put her ear to the side of the juddering vehicle.
For what seemed like a hopeless eternity, there was nothing, and Claire felt a knot of despair form deep inside her body. Tears dripped from her face on to the hot tar of the parking lot, and she felt herself slip out of reality.
Then, a loud banging from within the bus jolted her back to life.
‘Mom?’ a small, scared voice said.
‘He’s here!’ she screamed. Her voice was loud and strong enough to wash out over the car park, like a wave of maternal instinct.
Despite this, for years following the incident, Claire would dream about this moment - only, in the syrupy paralysis of nightmares, no sound would come forth from her barren throat, and she would claw weakly at the metal flanks of the departing bus, while it stole her child away.
The woman with the clipboard hurried across the parking lot, and stood officiously in front of the bus, with her hands held up. The bus engine finally died, and the door hissed angrily open.
Claire was vaguely aware of the people who gathered around her, as she frantically grabbed at the handle of the luggage compartment, ripping off one of her nails in the process.
An elderly man wearing a bus company uniform leaned in front of her, and inserted a small stubby key into the body of the bus. He ushered people back, and opened the compartment. Daniel scampered out of the darkness, and into his mother’s arms. His face was streaked with tears, and a damp patch had darkened his denim shorts. His mother buried her face in his neck, and sobbed and sobbed. She cast her puffy eyes towards the Californian sky, where a small god had a change of cruel heart.
The elderly bus driver, who appeared to be as rattled by the experience as Daniel, was busy telling everyone he had just loaded a bundle of toys into the hold for his twin son and daughter's birthday.
‘I swear, I only went for a smoke,’ he said in a dazed voice. ‘I should have checked again.’
A small smattering of passengers, who had also descended from the bus, confirmed they had collectively known nothing of the small stowaway.
But, the crowd of onlookers were only interested in the happy reunion in front of them. As the audience returned to normal life, Claire and Daniel made their way back to the car, where the baby remained locked in oblivious sleep. Daniel, who was being carried, had his arm curled around his mother’s neck. As they moved through the lanes of cars, the boy smiled and waved at the bus driver, who offered a relieved grin, and waved back at the departing child.
However, once they were out of sight, the elderly driver’s expression changed to that of pained frustration. He turned to one of the passengers - a large man wearing a Hawaiian shirt - and patted his broad shoulder.
‘It’s okay, Wendell,’ he said softly. ‘We’ll have plenty more chances.’
1
Vicki had already picked up the telephone handset and quickly replaced it three times, before she finally summoned the confidence to fully dial the number. She was sitting in front of the green-glass dining table, in what had once been, prior to the divorce, her parents’ beach apartment. It was a tasteful, single storey building, with smooth whitewashed walls, and a small balcony overlooking the booming ocean. A wooden deck led directly on to the bone coloured beach. If Vicki actually allowed herself to, she could remember countless seasons spent here in the cool, white sanctuary. Looking out through the patio window, she could see the sun-bleached balcony, where she had often
sat as a child, blanket-wrapped upon her father’s knee, watching shooting stars streak above the sea, while her mother sat comfortably inside, sipping Earl Grey tea. Her father had pointed out constellations, and told her everybody’s lives were written in the stars, like a secret message only some people knew how to read.
But, now, she chose not to think about that; her past had been a lie.
In front of her, on the table was an iPad, displaying a moving slide-show of photographs featuring two smiling female students. Gazing intently at the pictures as they faded smoothly from one to another, Vicki barely recognized her own image, and found herself in the bizarre position of being envious of her own life - or at least, of the one presented on the screen. The photographs had been taken three and four years earlier, so she looked younger, obviously, but the difference was more than simply superficial.
Back then, Vicki had been optimistic about the world and life - and this had shown in her untroubled eyes. Partly she’d taken confidence by osmosis from the girl standing by her side in many of the photographs. They had been physically alike - petite with long light brown hair - and many of the other students had assumed they were sisters, but this shared physicality was their only similarity; at least, initially.
Vicki was a mouse-like, self-conscious young woman, whereas Laurie was confident and strong. She had to be. When she had been six years old, her father had gone out to buy some cigarettes and never returned. Laurie’s mother responded to this sudden change in circumstance by sinking progressively into a cave of clinical depression. Therefore, throughout most of Laurie’s childhood, she served as the emotional support for her mother, rather than the other way around. She told Vicki how she would often come home from school to find her mother in the dark bedroom, sitting in her nightgown, with an overflowing ashtray on one side, and her wedding photograph album on the other.
