S is for Stranger

by Louise Stone

  ‘Yes?’

  I explained again.

  She smiled and looked at the man. ‘Pete, you do know what she means, the manor house, ten miles or so outside of Aberaeron. It was on that programme a few years ago. Does that sound right?’ She glanced at me now.

  I shrugged. ‘Possibly.’

  ‘There’s nothing for you in that place. It’s derelict now,’ she said. ‘In fact, rumour has it some girl was murdered there but no one ever could confirm that.’ She prodded her finger at me. ‘You don’t want to be going to a place like that by yourself.’

  ‘The lady just needs to know where it is,’ her husband said. ‘Come on, Morwen.’

  ‘OK.’ She put down the potato, wiped her hands with a tea towel and pointed to a map on the wall. ‘Let me show you.’

  A few minutes later, after I had made her repeat the directions to me a good few times, I left the warmth of the shop and headed back out into the wind and the rain. The clouds were darker now and hung lower in the sky; the castle on the hill silhouetted against the stormy backdrop.

  I climbed in the car, grateful for the shelter and cranked up the heater. Seconds later, condensation ran off the windows and I was forced to let some outside air in. The wind whistled past and the distant sound of thunder out at sea reverberated through the town. Gripping the wheel with clammy hands, my knuckles white, I turned the key, waited for the light and pulled out. The rain hammered the roof of the car making it almost impossible to hear anything. Anything: except for the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears.

  CHAPTER 28

  A quick glance at the clock: three forty-five. Fifteen minutes.

  I passed through Aberaeron, as the woman had directed. The multi-coloured houses sitting alongside the harbour ordinarily looked so bright in the sunshine but, now, even they appeared melancholic. Boats skipped up and down on the rough water. One sole fisherman bravely readied his nets for the trip out to sea and the local grocer’s shop was open for business but, otherwise, there was little sign of life.

  Once out the other side, I came to a fork in the road and headed right, as I had been told. The lane was narrow, almost impassable and my headlights bounced off the hedgerow and stonewalling. I had no memory of the route; even as I followed what I presumed was the same road as the taxi twenty years previously. In fact, the further I drove into the Welsh countryside, the more unsure I became.

  I thought about the techniques Darren had taught me and I knew I had to force a memory to surface. I needed to know I was heading in the right direction and that’s when I saw it: the lighthouse out at sea. That night, just as today, I recalled the light as it bounced off the inky sky, over the choppy water and across the cliff face. Hitting a ridge in the road, the car jolted me upward and I focused my attention, once again, on the lane in front of me.

  A light flashed on the petrol gauge: I was almost running on empty.

  ‘Shit.’ I hit the steering wheel, my mouth like sandpaper. ‘Not now.’

  I shifted gear. Three forty-eight. I had twelve minutes. Twelve minutes. My throat closed up and I pressed down hard on the accelerator: pushing the Honda to its max.

  I hit a bend and overcompensated with my steering, sending the car violently veering across the road. The rain was coming down harder still and I could barely see a few feet in front of me. The light on the gauge flashed twice.

  I was climbing higher, the car struggling to cope with the Welsh hills, and the lighthouse caught the car in its lamp’s compass. The car started to slow and I could hear a strange thudding sound coming from the rear of the car. Moments later, the Honda spluttered to a standstill.

  ‘No, goddamn it.’ I punched the wheel repeatedly with my fists and cried out in frustration.

  With no time to lose, I leapt out and started running instead, moving along the road at a pitiful speed, rain in my eyes. Tearing my coat off, I chucked it on the ground. The rain soaked right through my T-shirt and thin cashmere sweater in seconds, my jeans were sodden. A streak of lightning flashed across the purple-grey sky.

  My legs couldn’t go any faster; with no sleep and food I was working on pure adrenaline. After a few yards, my shoe caught on a rock and I stumbled forward, landing heavily on my hands and knees; gravel embedded in my palms. I lifted myself off the ground and I had nearly given up all hope as I reached the top of the hill.

  That was when I saw it. The house where it all began.

  CHAPTER 29

  In that moment, as I stood at the end of the long drive, the last twenty years dripped away with the rain. Bethany was here. Or, at least, it felt as if she were. I closed my eyes and, for a second, I could almost sense her hand clasping mine, the electricity I felt just being near her. Even now, the memory of her was enough to create arousal in the pit of my stomach, a gentle but passionate longing for the woman by my side. Here I was, twenty years later, and I yearned for her touch, for the way she had brought me alive.

  My eyes snapped open. She was not stood beside me and I gave a small shake to my head in an attempt to rid myself of her ghostly presence. I was here to face the past; I couldn’t allow myself to be dragged back down into the quagmire of memories and secrets. I needed to focus.

  Taking a deep breath, I started the walk toward the house. It was hidden from view, behind a small wood. The rain came at me in horizontal sheets but I was beyond caring, already soaked to the bone and numb with cold. Rivulets of water flowed down the dirt track and the pine needles glistened with water. Halfway up the drive, I stopped, drank in the memories before stepping forward again and, minutes later, the house was in front of me.

  With every stride, the uncertainty of what lay ahead grew more intense, more suffocating. A small part of me wanted to run back onto the road, find the nearest house and get help. But there was no one around for miles and, even if I was lucky enough to find someone, it could be too late. Amy needed me now.

  Walking quickly, my trainers squelched and stuck in the mud. I caught the first glimpse of the side of the house and swallowed; a small trickle of saliva worked its way down my throat.

  I rounded the bend and the house sat in full view. Memories came crashing back. Years of sadness reflected in the derelict building. The windows were, as I thought, boarded up. However, the wooden planks had been removed from two of the windows.

  Light flooded the front room, bulbs hung from the ceiling where the chandeliers had once been. A fire roared in the hearth as it had done twenty years ago. One floor up, another room was illuminated and I realised, fear creeping into my heart, that Amy must be upstairs. The bulb in the upstairs room flickered on and off and I thought back to that night. Bethany had died in that room.

  Shakily, I walked up the front steps and stood just as I had done twenty years ago. I glanced to my right as if Bethany might appear. I didn’t know who or what was on the other side. Swallowing hard, I pushed the door and, as expected, it opened.

  She was waiting for me.

  I walked into the hall, relying entirely on the light from the front room to make my way. The door slammed shut behind me and I jumped. My heart was beating wildly and, with pricked ears, I waited. The wind shrieked as it whipped through the cracks and crevices of the old house, the logs on the fire crackled in the hearth but, otherwise, the house was silent.

  The house smelt fusty and dust hung in the air making it difficult to breathe. I crept slowly toward the staircase. Out the corner of my eye, I caught something glinting in the darkness but pressed ahead, placing one foot tentatively on the bottom step.

  A floorboard creaked and, as I turned, an arm grabbed me around the neck.

  ‘Please,’ I breathed heavily, the attacker’s arm heavy on my throat, ‘I can’t breathe.’

  She spoke, a voice muffled by cloth. ‘You’re late.’

  I could tell she was slight but fit. I struggled to turn around, get a better look but with each throw of my body, her steady grip only tightened and I gasped for air.

  ‘Please. I just
want to see my daughter. Take me to my daughter.’

  ‘How do you know your daughter’s alive?’

  I struggled to make sense of her words. ‘What do you mean? She has to be alive.’ I started to kick out frantically but she fought hard. ‘Please,’ I sobbed, ‘tell me she’s alive.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  I swung my arm forward and elbowed her hard in the ribs. She recoiled and momentarily loosened her hold. Enough time for me to stamp on her foot, sending her staggering backward. I turned and peered at the figure as she emerged slowly from the shadows. Sheer terror seized me as I realised she was holding a gun. She smiled and moved into the light.

  I gasped. ‘You?’

  CHAPTER 30

  ‘Who do you think I am?’ The woman smiled.

  I gasped. ‘Polly? Are you Polly?’ The woman who had been more jealous of Bethany at university than even I had. My head was reeling and, with one eye on the gun, I moved backward. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  She smiled, a demonic smile. ‘We finally meet again, Sophie. I killed your friend and now I want you dead.’ She flung the gun from side to side as she talked, my eyes never leaving it. ‘And now I have your precious daughter who frankly deserves a better mother.’

  I screamed, my hand flying to my mouth. It was hard to believe this woman was capable of murder, but I saw it now, that look in her eyes. She was more than capable. She was crazy, obsessed with me. Obsessed with Bethany. And now she had Amy.

  ‘Where’s Amy? Polly, where’s Amy?’

  She didn’t speak, just looked at me: all-knowing. We stared at each other: the past rushing at us from all directions.

  ‘It was you! All along, it was you … I told you to leave me and Bethany alone. And after Bethany died, you just disappeared. I thought it was over.’

  ‘It’s time you realised that you can’t always get rid of your demons.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ I couldn’t believe, after twenty years, I was staring into the face of the woman who had stalked me and Bethany, who had decided she wanted a relationship like we had. Like sisters. I had found a box of photos on my bed, once, of me and Bethany. Every single photo she had taken was of us together. The woman was nuts.

  ‘Oh come on, Sophie. You know what I’m talking about. Your demons. The drink, the drugs, the counting to three. Like that’s going to keep the demons at bay. Then there’s me.’ She smiled. ‘Your other demon. Your stalker.’ She laughed, it was a hollow, bitter laugh.

  ‘You are no longer a part of my life. You have not been a part of my life for twenty years,’ I shouted, despite my legs buckling with terror.

  Polly sneered at me. ‘The girl who can do no wrong at the firm despite turning up to work drunk, despite having endless time off for therapy.’

  ‘Where’s Amy?’ I moved forward, I needed to get to my daughter. ‘Tell me she’s safe.’

  ‘She’s not safe. But she wasn’t safe with you either, was she?’

  She was enjoying this: it was the thrill.

  ‘I think we should go upstairs to where it all began,’ she said, her voice strung out, her eyes bulging with excitement. ‘A trip down memory lane, you know?’

  ‘You’re sick.’ I felt another rush of nausea.

  She strode toward me, laughing, almost deliriously, and I stepped backward, falling hard against the stairs. Dragging me up, as if I weighed no more than a feather, she turned me around and pressed the gun to my temple. ‘Let’s go see where it all began.’

  I gulped and shuffled forward.

  ‘Come on, go,’ she said, shoving me up the stairs, the gun knocking the side of my head as we moved.

  ‘Where are you taking me? To see Amy?’

  She laughed. ‘I told you. She’s as good as dead.’

  I thrashed against her. ‘No! She can’t be. You never said that.’

  She turned coy. ‘Didn’t I? Oh, because that’s what I meant.’

  We reached the landing. I knew she wanted me to head toward the light but I couldn’t. Images of Bethany rushed at me. She pushed me hard toward the door, open just a crack, the light stuttering.

  I flinched as she jabbed me once more with the gun. Polly told me to get moving and she propelled me into the room with such force I fell to the floor.

  The last twenty years disappeared in that moment.

  ‘Sophie, get up,’ she snarled.

  Scrambling to get to my feet, my head reeled, my eyes fixated on the spot where Bethany had died.

  ‘Where’s Amy?’ I shouted. I wanted to get away from there, from the memories of the men looking at us with lascivious smiles. ‘I need to see Amy.’ I took my phone out. ‘I’m going to ring the police.’

  Polly shoved the gun in my face. ‘Put that thing away.’

  ‘No, this needs to stop.’

  She scowled and held the gun up again, her once pretty face demonic. ‘I know how to use this thing, you know?’

  ‘Listen.’ Fear pulsated through my body as I realised then exactly where Amy was. An image of Bethany by a cliff spun to the forefront of my mind. ‘I’m going to the cliff. That’s where she is, isn’t it?’ I needed Polly to take me to the exact location so I went on, played into her psychology. ‘I want proof that Amy is …’ I paused, unable to say the next word. ‘Dead.’

  She laughed again, almost overexcitedly. I realised this was all a big game to her. She was enjoying every moment.

  ‘Polly,’ I said, ‘it doesn’t matter if I don’t ring the police anyway because they will be here any second now. DI Ward isn’t stupid, she will be onto you.’

  She stared at me. ‘No, she won’t. I’ve managed so far.’

  ‘You’re mad, I tell you!’ The familiar ringing had started up in my ears again, I felt faint but I had to remain strong. I had to get to Amy.

  ‘What did you say? Did you call me mad?’ Anger replaced Polly’s excitement.

  ‘Polly.’ I came toward her, adrenaline pumping through my veins. ‘Just show me exactly where my daughter is.’

  ‘Yes, OK,’ she said and wiped the sweat from the top of her lip. ‘You’re right, we need to go to the cliff, let the fun really begin.’

  Bile rose in my throat as I thought about the many stories I had heard about the cliffs; folktales and horror stories passed down from one university generation to another, from one local to the next.

  Without warning, I felt the gun in the small of my back and looked over my shoulder at Polly.

  ‘Go.’

  I was guided out of the room, Polly hanging back threatening to shoot if I ran; adopting her acting role once more.

  ‘For god’s sake,’ I screamed at her. ‘We need to go faster!’

  We stepped out of the house. The line of pine trees bent against the force of the wind, the rain slashing across our faces.

  ‘Come on!’ I shouted to her over the driving rain. ‘Take me to see Amy.’

  ‘Where’s your car?’

  ‘Up on the hill, but I’ve run out of fuel,’ I said, my voice shrill. ‘Please, Polly, come on!’

  Polly shrugged, a picture of calm. ‘There’s a canister of petrol over she – there.’ She pointed, her face lighting up with an excited smile. ‘I was going to torch this place. You know, erase history.’

  I ran to where she pointed and picked up the metal can. It was heavy and I stumbled forward under its weight. I looked back at Polly who stood unmoving. ‘Are you coming?’

  Begrudgingly she followed me up the hill as I jogged then walked back to the car, my breathing ragged. The rain came at us and the cold, coastal wind whipped around our already soaking bodies.

  I snatched at the petrol cap, its smooth, wet surface impossible to grip. After another try, I managed to unscrew it and, lifting the petrol canister, poured the fuel in. Polly laughed delightedly as the canister kept slipping from my grasp. Once it was empty, I threw it to the side and I clambered into the car, indicating Polly to get behind the wheel.

  She did as she was
told but then turned, and looked at me. ‘Actually, you know what, you drive.’

  Exasperated I got out and we exchanged places. Polly climbed in the back seat.

  ‘Polly, we don’t have time to be messing about, just tell me exactly where my daughter is,’ I shouted, my nerves jagged. ‘We’ll drive there now. This whole thing needs to stop.’

  She laughed as she shut the door. ‘She’s by the cliff, like you guessed. But you would know that, wouldn’t you?’ She smiled, ran her tongue over her teeth. ‘She’s tied up, right on the edge.’ Polly snorted. ‘A bit like you.’

  Horror shot through me. ‘No! But Amy can’t even swim.’

  I started the car and after it sputtered to life, I sped off.

  ‘Which way?’

  ‘Go left at the end.’

  I gave Polly a sidelong look, she was laughing hysterically and I realised she was totally out of control.

  CHAPTER 31

  We were fast approaching the cliff. I drove helter-skelter through the country lanes before cutting a right off the main road and down a dirt track. My mind spun with what lay ahead. Until I had my daughter back in my arms …

  ‘You are taking me to see Amy, aren’t you, Polly?’ I yelled over the roar of the motor.

  She didn’t say anything and we hurtled forward, the headlights casting ghostly shadows over the trees. The thumping sound I had heard earlier from the rear of the car started up again only this time it was louder. I rounded a bend and as the sound grew more urgent, I realised the car might conk out and I came down harder on the accelerator.

  ‘Where is my daughter?’ I shouted as we sped toward the cliffs. The headlights swung left and right, randomly illuminating the craggy countryside. The cliff edge came into view and I braked but it took me a moment to realise that they weren’t working properly. I wasn’t going to stop in time and I started screaming.

  ‘Sophie! What are you doing? You’re going to kill us!’ shouted Polly, her voice momentarily filled with terror.