9 Months Trilogy: A Novel of Horror and Suspense

by Matt Shaw

  A Fresh Start.

  “Mum?”

  Snap back to reality.

  “Yes?”

  “Can we go home now? Please?”

  I don’t answer.

  I can’t answer - still not sure what to say to her. Still struggling to see a way out of this nightmare.

  “And then in the morning - perhaps we could go and see the doctor.”

  We’ll stay here tonight.

  I need to think.

  EPILOGUE

  I’ve left her in the bath - cleaning herself now.

  She seems to be coming round.

  She seems to be okay with what she has done.

  Seems to be.

  But as I sit at the bottom of the stairs, peering around to the body of my husband.... I realise - I’m not okay with it.

  I’m not okay.

  He ruined things for us all.

  He ruined everything.

  She...

  Jessica...

  She’s made it worse.

  She has made everything worse.

  There was a chance of Bryan and I going to prison but now.... now he is dead. He is dead and we can all go to prison. He’s rotting in Hell, where he deserves to be....

  No...

  He doesn’t deserve to be in Hell.

  No.

  I loved him once.

  No.

  I love him.

  I still love him.

  My husband.

  Losing the baby, all those years ago - it obviously hit him harder than I thought. The thought of losing another child pushing him over the edge.

  My husband.

  My poor husband.

  I wish he hadn’t hidden his true feelings from me.

  Even so...

  He’s rotting in Hell.

  Her fault.

  He’s rotting in Hell and we’re going to prison. Me for my part in her abduction and her for killing her father. And they’ll probably even arrange an abortion for her, as that’s what she clearly wants.

  Well, I’m not having it.

  I know now.

  We have to see this through.

  We have to take it through to the natural conclusion.

  Jessica called out from the bathroom, “I’m ready to get out now...”

  “Okay, I’ll bring your stuff in,” I called up.

  I stood up and walked towards the bag, which I dropped by the kitchen door earlier. Opening it, I pulled out some underwear. Fresh, clean underwear. Glancing upwards and I catch a sight of Bryan’s body again.

  Still undecided with what to do with that.

  Ignore him for now.

  Deal with her.

  Just a pair of knickers for Jessica.

  She doesn’t need anything else.

  Not now.

  I walked over to the cellar door and pulled the handle. The door creaked open.

  Good.

  Part of me worried it would have been locked.

  I leave the door open.

  I have a feeling she’s going to struggle.

  I don’t want to hurt her but I don’t have a choice now.

  She has forced my hand.

  For me...

  For Jessica...

  It’s over.

  Our lives are nothing now. Our lives are finished - just as Bryan’s life is over.

  It has taken me far too long to realise this. My judgement clearly clouded with what it perceived to be the difference between right and wrong.

  This may be a strange way of achieving something so right but.... this is definitely the best thing to do now. It’s the only thing.

  The baby is the only one who is going to come away unscathed.

  I’ll make sure of that.

  TO BE CONTINUED...

  9 MONTHS

  BOOK THREE

  PART FIVE

  1.

  It was the same every time I brought Jessica to the park.

  To begin with, everything would be nice. She’d be happy and excited to be going and I’d be happy knowing she was having a nice time. It was always the same at the park too - she’d happily do laps of the playground; either playing on her own or making friends with people who were already there. I’d sit back, on the bench, absorbed in a good book - or, on some occasions, I might have even closed my eyes a little; a sneaky little nap.

  Happy times.

  And yet, it always ended the same way.

  When it was time to go she’d have a strop. She’d scream that she wasn’t ready to go home. She’d yell at me, at the top of her voice and the other parents would just watch us.

  Watch the power struggle between mother and daughter.

  Knowing they were watching - I’d always try and keep my voice down, both so they couldn’t hear me and also to try and stop Jessica getting louder. I had long since learnt that, the louder I shouted.... the louder she did too.

  I’d always win, though.

  I’d always get her out of the park. Out of the park and into the car for the peaceful journey home. Peaceful only because she’d be quietly sulking on the backseat; frown on her face and arms folded in a snotty little manner which only made me want to smack her - not that I ever did. I never felt the real need to hit her. A few stern words were often good enough to deal with any of her moods.

  Bryan, on the other hand, rarely bothered with the stern words. He’d simply inform Jessica, if she was being naughty, he’d have to tell me what she was doing and that was normally enough to placate her. He always took the soft option.

  Not sure how I came to take the role of ‘bad cop’ between us.

  Which made what he did to her all the more strange and out of character. No point thinking about that now - no point dwelling upon it.

  I’m more concerned about how she’s going to react when I try and get her back in the cellar. I don’t want to hurt her but - she’s crossed a line. She’s taken things to a new level and it’s up to me, now, to keep the control. It’s up to me to go back to being the ‘bad cop’ in the relationship.

  Technically - I need to be both the good parent and bad parent now? Not that it matters. I’m sure, given the circumstances... I’m sure she isn’t going to give me much scope to have to be good to her.

  I still can’t hit her, though. I must remember that.

  Can’t hit her.

  Mustn’t hit her. Even if she lashes out to me and, I’m sure she will try it. She lashed out to Bryan, in the end and I’m filling his shoes now. I’m the monster.

  I’m the bad guy of this little story.

  I don’t like that.

  I didn’t choose the role.

  She chose the role for me.

  She chose it.

  I just have to live it now.

  See it through to the bitter end.

  “Mum, I’m getting cold,” she called out from the bathroom.

  I opened the bathroom door and she was just stood there, not even a towel around her clean body. I handed her the clean knickers.

  “Did you find me a towel?” she asked.

  “Use that one,” I said, pointing to one which was already on the floor.

  “It’s dirty!”

  “Well, it’s the only one I have at the moment.”

  She picked the towel up and wrapped it around herself.

  “So what happens now?” she asked. She seems calm now. Almost as though she is okay with what she’s done. Okay with the fact she killed her dad.

  I can’t trust her - not for one minute.

  He trusted her.

  He let his guard down.

  She killed him.

  I won’t trust her.

  I won’t let my guard down.

  He was soft.

  I won’t be.

  Now she’s killed him - her life is over. She just doesn’t know it yet. Murderer’s don’t go on to have normal lives with normal jobs and normal relationships. She must be able to see this. She must know there’s no turning back - she must know there’s no ‘normal’ now.


  Regardless - she killed Bryan.

  Her dad.

  My husband.

  She’s just as bad as he was.

  And I’m just as bad as both of them.

  To me, she is dead now. As dead as my husband.

  The only one who matters now is the baby.

  “Any ideas at all?” she asked - obviously uneasy by my silence.

  Now we finish this, I thought, but I can’t just blurt it out. I can’t just laugh and tell her I’m going to see his plan through to the end now. I need to be subtle about it. The more I think about it, though, the more I see it’s the best thing to do; keep her here, make her have the baby, kill her, put them all in the cellar.... brick the cellar doorway up and wallpaper over the top - a hidden room... set fire to the house too? I’m not sure yet, need to have a proper think about how to handle the situation.

  The neighbours, at home, I can tell them Bryan and I have separated though. We split due to things not working out between us - I don’t need to give them specifics. When they ask about Jessica.... well, I’ll just say she chose to stay with him.

  The baby will be harder to explain.

  I doubt they’d believe Jessica was happy to move away with her dad but didn’t want to take the baby.

  They don’t need to see the baby, I guess.

  I could keep it hidden.

  If the neighbours hear it crying - I could just tell them I have it for the weekend, or something, before I have to take it back to Jessica. They might believe that.

  Again, small details. I can work on them later.

  Maybe do as Bryan originally said - sell the house, move somewhere else, start again. The baby could be mine then. No one needs to know it’s not. No one, other than family, knew Jessica was adopted. In fact, not all the family think of her as being adopted, we see them too infrequently. Some of them just presumed it had been that long since we spoke, Bryan and I had a child and they missed out on hearing the news. Missed out or forgot.

  Move away definitely sounds like a good plan. Just need to get these long months out of the way so I can put this whole scenario to bed once and for all.

  I wonder, raising a new baby into the world and giving them the best life possible.... would that redeem my soul too?

  Jessica brought my mind crashing back to the present, “Do you think I’ll be in trouble too?”

  The fact she said ‘too’ suggests to me she already thinks I’m in trouble.

  “What do you mean?” I asked - trying to stay calm and ‘normal’ for her sake and, more importantly, the sake of what I am about to do.

  “I killed him.”

  A light-bulb went off in my head. I know how to get her into the cellar without having to fight her.

  “No, you didn’t,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I did.”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  “He brought me here to show me what he had done to you.... I tried to release you and a fight broke out.... a fight between Bryan and I.... one thing led to another.... and I killed him.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  I smiled.

  “Of course, I would.” A lie. “You’re my daughter.” Another lie.

  “Should we call the police now?”

  “I need you to do something first, though,” I said - treading carefully.

  “What?”

  “I need you to be strong and get back down in the cellar....”

  “What?!” she sounded alarmed. “I don’t want to go down there again!”

  “I know but you need to be strong. For me.”

  “We can just tell the police you let me out....”

  “I’m going to put you down in the cellar and leave you there. And, then, I’m going to stab myself too.... to make it look as though it was a proper struggle... he tried to kill me when he knew I was going to tell the police. We fought and I ended up managing to stab him. If I’m hurt too - it will take everything I have just to call for help. The police and ambulance will be here as quickly as they can and they’ll let you out and fix me up...”

  There’s no way the police would believe that story. Fine, they may buy it initially but by the time they look into it properly, and with the DNA evidence around the room.... they won’t believe it for long and we’ll both be rumbled. But hopefully Jessica won’t think like that. Hopefully she’ll....

  “You’re sure they’ll come? What if you stab yourself so deep you can’t get to the phone?”

  “I won’t. I am a nurse. I know what I’m doing.”

  I know what I’m doing alright....

  “You’re sure?”

  “It’s the quickest way we can both get out of this and start again. Just the two of us.”

  “And Darren.... I want Darren....”

  “And Darren.” Another lie. Definitely getting good at this.

  “I’m scared,” she said.

  “Me too.” Yet another lie. I feel numb. I just want to get this done. Finish it.

  “And you’re sure?”

  I nodded.

  “Okay.”

  Success.

  Certainly easier than getting her out of the playgrounds all those years ago.

  2.

  The coldness of the restraints against my ankles and wrists still feel alien to me and cause me to panic. At least this time, I know the end is in sight. She’ll go and do what needs to be done upstairs and I’ll be down here - waiting for the help to arrive.

  I expect I’ll hear the sirens as they approach the house. Sirens; normally a haunting sound as they tend to mean trouble. Someone is hurt, someone is committing a crime.... I don’t tend to think of sirens meaning someone is getting rescued from whatever situation they have found themselves in. Getting the help they need to put everything right.

  Sirens should be a good sound.

  Help is coming.

  I laughed to myself. A laughter born from relief.

  Help is coming.

  Help is coming.

  Help is coming.

  I hope they aren’t long. Although I feel comfort help is on the way - I don’t want to spend a moment longer in these bindings than I absolutely have to. And mum, she’ll be up there bleeding - taking the heat off me for what I did to dad.

  What I did.

  I still can’t blame her for what’s happened to me. It’s all down to him and he got what he deserved. I’m shocked I don’t feel anything other than relief he’s dead, though. No matter what he did to me - he was still my dad. Yet, I feel nothing other than the relief.

  And worry.

  Worry because I know mum is up stairs, in the kitchen, hurt. In need of urgent medical assistance. Stop worrying yourself.

  They’re coming.

  Help is coming.

  My mind drifts to what is to come; will this make the press? Will people read about what happened to me? Approach me in the streets to offer their support? I hope not, I don’t think I’d like that. I don’t think I’d feel comfortable with it. Strangers coming up and talking about what has happened and, no doubt, how they can relate to it.

  Is it possible to keep the media from a story such as this? So horrible and shocking, I doubt it. I expect they’ll lap it up.

  Films.

  Oh God.

  What if television stations and other media bods want to turn it into a film? My life on the big screen for all to see. My embarrassment. My shame.

  Part of me is dreading the coming of the help now.

  Big posters of a girl, pretending to be me tied to a bed, on billboards. Books... the same image plastered on book covers and...