“April?”
The house is silent. I check every room before I try calling her again. There’s no answer. I run my fingers through my hair and dial Matt’s number. No answer. The house is silent as I let out another frustrated scream.
Where could she have gone? I make my way into April’s room and close the door. I’ve put this off long enough. I need to find some answers. I drop to my knees, and start my search under the bed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hannah
April can’t sit still. Her neck is constantly craned as she gazes out of the window, or twists her body to see behind us. She moves around in her seat as though she’s anxious and wants to be somewhere else. I start to wonder if I’m making a mistake. Is this kidnapping? If I let a thirteen- year-old into my car, am I committing a crime? I had thought that I was helping. That I was a hero. I have the letter in my bag, and I have April alone so she can tell the police what’s happening. They didn’t take me seriously before, but I didn’t have any evidence then. Now I have April to tell them what’s happening.
I’m saving her.
“Pull over,” April says.
April’s face is screwed up, like she’s about to cry. She claws at her seatbelt, trying to take it off.
“But we’re going—”
“Pull over!” April screams. The high-pitched nature of her desperation is so shocking and frightening that I miss a gear change and the car lurches. “Pull over, now!”
I swerve into the verge and slam on the brake. “What’s going on, April? I thought you wanted to go to the police?”
The passenger door opens, and April hits the ground running. I watch her with a slack jaw, still for a moment, wondering what to do next. I watch April climb over the gate and into the field between the road and the woods. Then I shake my head, and cut the ignition. I can’t let a troubled teenage girl run away into an empty field. I have to go and help her. I get out of the car and slam the door behind me, before following in April’s footsteps and climbing over the gate.
“April!” I shout, but she’s so fast that she’s already disappeared into the field.
Chapter Thirty
Laura
The keys rattle from my shaking hands. It takes me three attempts to unlock the car door. I dropped the keys underneath the car in the first attempt. Then I climb into the seat, and rest my head on the steering wheel, trying to calm my heart.
I still feel sick. Every time I close my eyes, I see those images. It makes me nauseous to think that it was going on in my house and I never knew. Every woman thinks that they will know whatever is going on with their child. They’re arrogant enough to think: It’ll never happen to me. Or: Why didn’t that mother know? She should have known. But now it has happened to me.
I’ve failed.
I put the key into the ignition and sit in the car for a few moments, trying to recollect my thoughts. I need to find April more than ever, but how am I going to do that? My fingers scroll through my phone, as though somehow the answer will magically appear.
But something magical does happen. I remember last Christmas, when we bought April her new mobile. It was in hope that she might join in at school. All the girls liked to text or WhatsApp each other. I felt as though April was missing out on all that. But before we gave it to her, we put some restrictions on her phone. One of the things we installed was a GPS tracker so that if April lost it we could find it. Of course, it dawned on me then that I could use it to find her. But then April never really went out, so I never thought about it. I forgot all about it. Until now.
It takes me a while to figure out how to use the App. Matt was always better with technology, I used to let him do everything while I complained about things that didn’t work. But then I find the little dot on the map, and I know exactly where she is.
Chapter Thirty-One
Hannah
I chase the red top April is wearing, watching how her black hair bobs up and down. The girl is fast. I have to sprint to keep up with her. I’m older, and slower, and desperately out of shape, but determination keeps me going. I can’t let anything happen to her. Not when I’m so close to saving her.
When April begins sprinting towards the woods, I follow her, watching my feet so that I don’t trip and fall. The ground is hard from the lack of rain. The grass is sparse and dry. My trainers kick up dust as I run. I’ve given up shouting her name. She knows I’m here, I know she can hear me. She doesn’t want to answer. She wants me to follow.
What is she going to show me?
My chest tightens with panic. After everything April has been through, I’m scared of what it might be.
April begins to slow down. She glances behind her to check I’m still there, before disappearing between two trees. I hurry to follow her. April comes to a stop and looks back to check I’m still there. After meeting my gaze, she nods towards an outhouse.
I’d been watching April so intently that I hadn’t seen it. It’s half covered in branches and ivy, a little shed in the middle of the woods.
“What’s in there?” I ask.
April backs away so I can go first. She doesn’t say a word, and somehow that is worse for my imagination. I take a deep breath. I need to earn April’s trust. My mouth goes dry as I take a step towards the shed. This could be a place her parents have brought her in order to hurt her. An isolated torture house. Sick images invade my mind. My stomach lurches. I feel sick. But I keep going. Whatever the reality is, it can’t be as bad as what’s in my head. My fingers are trembling as I reach for the door.
I turn back to her. “Do you want me to go in? Do you want to show me what’s inside?”
April nods. Her eyes are open wide and vulnerable. There’s a shine of emotion in her eyes, I think it is hurt, but it could just be the exhilaration from the run. She pulls at a thread on her red top, with her small shoulders hunched high. She’s so young, so innocent. I almost can’t bear to face the reality of what has been going on. But if I don’t do it, who will?
I pull open the door. The inside of the outhouse is dark, and the place has an unused, musty smell. I scan the walls as I step in, trying to gauge what this place is. There’s no blood, no shackles, no ominous weapons or torture devices. I let out a sigh of relief. I’m an idiot for letting my imagination run wild. There’s some movement behind me as April follows me. I can’t see what’s in here. There doesn’t seem to be much. But as my eyes adjust to the dark, I make out a lumpy shape in the far corner. I squint and lean forward to try and figure out what it is.
The air whistles. There’s the sound of a thwack. I think it’s surprise that I notice first, then that there’s pain coming from the back of my head, then that whatever hit me has propelled me towards the ground. The side of my face hits the hard floor. I try to stay conscious, to keep my wits about me, but it’s impossible. As the world changes to black, I feel the warmth of my blood dripping down my skull.
I can hear him downstairs bumping into the furniture. I know he’s drunk. I don’t even need to see him. Then the light goes on underneath the door, and Mum’s footsteps patter along the hallway. I wait until she’s down the stairs and then listen. I can usually tell when it’s going to be bad. They start in hushed voices and get gradually louder until they’re yelling. After the yelling, if it goes silent, I know what comes after silence. I know that soon I’ll hear the sound of Mum begging him. Then he comes for me.
I jam a chair under my bedroom door handle. There’s no time to run into the bathroom this time. I need somewhere else to hide. With my heart beating so hard I can hear it, I check the room for hiding places. There’s under the bed. He’ll check there first. Or in my wardrobe. Maybe if I make myself really, really small… Maybe he won’t get in. Not with the chair jammed under the handle.
I scurry across the floor, open the wardrobe door and press myself all the way at the back, pulling the clothes around me. They’re yelling at each other now. Mum will be telling him he’s good for nothing. That h
e’s a no good drunk. She’ll be saying that he doesn’t care about her. Then she drags me into it. He should be caring for his daughter. He should get a proper job and stop drinking all his money away. I’m working hard at school despite the bullying, despite everything.
Snap.
There’s she goes. I hear the tumble onto the floor. He’s hit his level. She’s made him feel so inferior that he needs to prove he’s a man.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t. Don’t!
The begging. It always comes in a higher pitch, but it’s gin-soaked and slurry. Mum drinks at home, Dad drinks in the pub. Then they meet in the middle and all hell breaks loose.
I hear him roar, and my blood goes cold. I hear the sound of his fist on her flesh. Then comes the silence I’ve been dreading. She’s out. She’s not fun to hurt anymore. He needs someone who will scream and beg.
It’s my turn.
I bury my head in a thick woollen jumper to try and muffle the sound of my breathing. What if the chair won’t hold? Maybe I didn’t push it hard enough against the handle. My father is a large brute of a man. I’m a scrawny teenager. What if I haven’t pushed it hard enough?
His footsteps travel slowly up the stairs. Either he’s enjoying this moment of cat and mouse, or he’s so drunk that he has to slow down. Or maybe it’s a combination of the two. I think probably the latter. The creak of the top step tells me that’s he’s almost reached the hall.
I start to cry. The door won’t hold against him. He’s too strong. I imagine his feet under the door. Two blobs of black cutting off the yellow light. I bet he’s still wearing his boots. Maybe he’s even wearing his jacket. I wish that Mum would stay in bed when he comes back. Why can’t she do that?
There’s a thud as he slams his huge body into the door. I pull my knees up against my chest, making myself as small as I possibly can. I can almost feel the way his body hits the door. I feel the cold slap of the wood and the pain in his shoulder. The more he has to work to find me, the worse it will be. He cries out in frustration and starts kicking the door.
“There’s no point hiding from me, Laura. I’m coming to get you.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Hannah
A crash of metal. The feeling of being thrown. Glass all over my lap. A tiny, broken body on the backseat.
I wake up with a start, sucking in stale air. My nostrils are filled with the stagnant reek of an abandoned house. I open my eyes. This is not a house. I’m in a small, wooden shed. My body is bruised and aching, resting on a hard floor. For a moment I’m confused, but then I remember.
“April?”
There’s no answer. I take in my surroundings. The shed is dark, but on one wall there are two very small slits of light around a piece of wood that resembles a slat designed to move forward and back. The floor is wooden, covered in the dust of old leaves and cobwebs. There are a few things on a shelf—a rusty tin, a pair of dusty binoculars, and what could be a hat. I try to stand so I can inspect the shelf, but it’s then I realise my hands and feet are tied together with zip wire.
My head pounds. I was hit. But what was I hit with? I keep inspecting the shed for clues. Before I was hit I saw… The lumpy shape on the corner.
With my eyes adjusted to the dark, I can make out what the shape really is. When I realise, the panic hits me with such ferocity that I almost faint. The shape is Matt Mason slumped on his side. There’s a trickle of dark liquid coming from the back of his head. His hands and feet are bound with zip ties. Someone hit him—like they hit me—before binding his hands and feet. His body is on his side, with his back slightly arched. I presume that April bound Matt where he fell after she hit him with the golf club.
The door opens, letting light into the tiny space. I wince and close my eyes. I don’t want to, but my head is throbbing, and the light makes it worse. When the door swings shut, I open my eyes and see the person who has entered the shed. I let out a sigh of relief.
“April, quick, untie me,” I say, holding out my hands.
But she doesn’t move.
“Quickly, whoever did this might come back any…” My body goes cold when I see the smeared blood on her clothes, and the golf club in her hand. I don’t understand at first. My first instinct is that she’s hurt. An image of my own little girl broken and bloody pops into my mind.
April’s laugh shakes the image out of my mind. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
It only takes two of her short steps to reach me. She bends down and pushes the handle of the golf club into my hands. I just sit there and watch her with my jaw slack. April is wearing gloves. When did she put those on?
I think about her tears in the car; her insistence that I pull over. I think about how she ran through the fields, waiting as I caught up, before leading me here. Laura’s voice pops into my mind, telling me about all of April’s lies at school. Then I think about how April’s mobile phone number is in my phone, how I’m in the middle of the woods with an injured man and a disturbed teenage girl.
She hit me. She lured me here and then she hit me over the head. She must have done the same with her father. But why?
“You’ve made a mistake,” I say. “I’m older and stronger than you. I can stop whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
She removes the club from my hand, stands up to full height and examines the golf club with a thoughtful smile on her face, as though weighing up options in her mind. “Easy, I found you here standing over Daddy with the golf club, so I got a rock and hit you. Then I tied you up and called the police from my mobile phone.” She drops the golf club, and pulls a phone out of her pocket.
I’ve gone beyond panic. What I feel now isn’t anything like the fear I feel when I go to the shops or remember the accident. It’s more like an acceptance. This is what is happening to me now, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. The nausea dissipates, leaving me with an unnatural sense of calm.
“Why?”
April smiles when she hears that one word. I get the impression she has been keeping this plan secret for such a long time that she relishes the chance to actually talk about it. I can’t believe that this beautiful, young girl would even want to hurt anyone, let alone carry out such an intricate plan to do so.
“People always break their promises, don’t they?” she says. Her voice is soft, almost gentle. It’s the most I’ve ever heard her speak. The smile fades from her lips. Her eyes go hard. “All parents are the same. My biological parents were liars. They promised me that they wouldn’t hurt me again. But they lied, because I’d come home from school, and Mum would be drunk. She never made anything for me to eat, so I would always have to make my own dinner. Then she’d bring her men over and I’d see her cheating on my dad like it was nothing. Later on they promised they wouldn’t get divorced, but I knew better.” She draws a line along the dust wooden floor of the hut. “I thought Laura and Matt were going to be different. I was actually happy when the social worker told me I’d be going with them. Matt told me he’d always be there for me, but I knew… I knew long before you figured it out. He’s a cheater just like everyone else. And Laura, well, why have a kid if you’ve got no time for one? She doesn’t care about anything but her job. She’s never here. She says we’ll do things together, but then she can’t be bothered.”
I try stretching out the zip ties with my hands and feet. Working them a fraction at a time, making small motions that April won’t be able to see in the dim light.
“You’re doing all this to get back at them?”
April nods. “People go unpunished, but they shouldn’t. No one told off my mum when she bought cigarettes instead of food, or sent me to school in dirty clothes. She got away with slapping me when she was in a bad mood, or making me wash my mouth out with soap. People are supposed to be punished in this world. That’s how it’s supposed to work.”
“And you think you’re the right person to punish them, do you?”
She nods. The blank expression on her face
makes me shudder.
“April, what happened to your biological parents?” I keep talking because if I don’t, she’ll call the police. What can I say against a thirteen-year-old? My prints are on the club. I already have a history of stalking the Masons. Who will believe me?
“I burned them.”
The words hang in the air. I’m stunned into silence.
April looks at me one last time, before she turns around and walks out of the shed. Before the door swings shut, I see her put the phone to her ear.
I don’t have much time. I pull on the zip ties, trying to remember a YouTube video that went viral a few months ago, where a man broke out of zip ties by swinging his arms against a hard surface. But after a few attempts on my knees, I can tell I don’t have the strength. Instead, I focus on the ties around my ankles. I slip off my trainers. The bulk of them made the ties wider when April applied them. If I contort myself I might be able to force the tie over my ankle. I grit my teeth as the rigid plastic digs into me, dragging down my socks and scraping the skin beneath. Sweat forms on my forehead as the ties draw blood from the top of my feet. I don’t care. I ignore the pain. I have to get out.
But what am I going to do when I get away from her? Where am I going to go? No one will ever believe this story. It’s too neat, too perfect. I’m the obvious prime suspect in Matt Mason’s death. Who would ever suspect a thirteen-year-old girl with doe eyes and an innocent smile? I’ll be on the run, living away from the world. I’ll never be able to go to the police. I think about PC Baker with his long sighs and PC Ellis with her patronising tone.
I wince as the skin scrapes from the top of my foot. I take a deep breath and try again. The blood is becoming a lubricant for my feet. A little hope pushes me on. With one more try, I pull myself free of the bindings. I lean against the wall of the shed, catching my breath from the effort.
Saving April Page 14
