“This is hopeless.” Damian’s voice sounds hollow.
I peer around the room, searching for something, anything, that might explain how Alexa Carling’s daughter found Kara’s locket in this strange house. I run my hands over the wall at the far end of the cellar. My fingers glide over the bricks, then hit a ridge. I stop. Peer closer. The gap between these two bricks and the two below is looser than the rest, the bricks not flush against the wall. I pick at the cement. It crumbles in my hand.
“Look,” I say.
Damian rushes over and kneels beside me. We slide our fingers between the bricks. All four come away easily, revealing a dark hole behind. There’s no sound in the room. All I can hear is my own, jagged breathing.
“Go on,” Damian urges.
I reach my hand inside. My sweating fingers meet cool metal. It’s a box. I grip the sides and pull it out. It’s beautiful—about the size of a large shoe box and hammered out of some kind of silver. Very simple and very unusual.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” I whisper.
“Let’s open it.” Damian crouches down and reaches for the lid. It’s locked, and this time, there’s no sign of a key.
I glance at Damian, chills creeping down my spine.
“There’s something bad about this box,” I say, my voice hoarse.
I put my hand on the metal. It’s cold to the touch. I don’t believe in ghosts or evil spirits but, if I did, I would be certain that one lurks inside this box, right now.
“I don’t want to open it,” I say. The silence around us—from the house and the moor beyond—weighs down on me like a physical presence. The evil is here, in this room, coming from this box. “If we open it, we let the evil out.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Damian takes the box from me. “We need to see what’s inside this.”
I look up, frozen with fear. Damian peers at the lock.
“Don’t you feel it?” I ask.
He shakes his head, intent on examining the box. He disappears, returning a minute later with a knife from the kitchen. He levers the blade between the lid and the main part of the box, then prizes it open with a snap.
I gasp.
“We have to, Livy—he was hiding it.” Damian sets the box on the floor between us. “Ready?”
I nod, my eyes intent on the box, as Damian slowly raises the lid.
I look inside. It’s a random collection: a small exercise book, a plastic button, a tiny gilt brooch, a bottle of nail varnish, a belt buckle in the shape of a snake, an butterfly-shaped hair grip, and a single double-C Chanel earring.
“What are all these?” I ask.
Damian points to the earring. “Shannon was wearing that when we met her.”
He’s right. I look more closely at the little exercise book. It says scientiffik experiment on the cover. I lift it up. My heart jumps into my throat. Kara’s locket lies underneath. Pulse beating wildly, I take it out. It’s definitely Kara’s locket, complete with the little nick on the back and the picture of her and Julia inside. I stare down at it, sick to my stomach.
This is it. This box belongs to the killer.
We have found him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Oh Jesus, look at this,” Damian breathes. He holds up the nail polish. “I think this was Julia’s.”
He’s right. I recognize the silvery color from Julia’s toes the night she died. I back away, my skin crawling, unable to bear the thought that her killer, Kara’s killer, touched this box.
“Okay, that’s it.” Damian slams the box shut. “We’re out of here. Take all this to the police. Hand everything over.”
I nod, then stumble after him up the stairs. Damian holds the box with one hand. He’s fishing for his phone with the other. A moment later he curses. “No signal.”
I check my own cell. Same story. It isn’t surprising. We’re in the middle of Dartmoor. Outside, the air is cold and the sky dark. Rain is falling again, a light drizzle. I still can’t make any connection between Alexa Carling and the masculine interior of much of the house, but right now it isn’t important. What matters is to get out of here, to take what we’ve found to the police.
We race along the path and over the gate. It’s gloomier than ever, dark and still drizzling, with the muddy track shrouded in mist. Still feeling spooked, I hurry into Damian’s car. He gets in beside me and hands me the silver box. I don’t want to touch it, so I keep my hands on the dashboard. Damian starts the engine, then switches on the high beam. Light floods the track as Damian turns the car around and we move off slowly.
Mist swirls around us, glowing eerily in the car’s bright headlamps. Almost as soon as we start driving I catch movement up ahead: a shadow crossing the track.
“What was that?”
“Probably just a fox,” Damian says, but he doesn’t sound sure.
I glance down at the box on my lap and feel spooked again. Stupid, I know, but I can’t get the thought of the evil spirits out of my head.
“What’s that?” Damian leans forward, peering through the windshield.
I follow his gaze. There’s a shape lying on the track up ahead. A shiver snakes down my spine as Damian slows the car to a crawl.
A child—no more than seven or eight—is lying on the track in jeans and an outsize hoodie that bunches around the waist. Damian stops the car. My heart pumps furiously in my ears.
Has a child been run over? I can’t see any blood. Thanks to the large hood, pulled down over the face, it’s impossible to tell whether a boy or a girl is lying there. The car is just a meter in front of the body. The child isn’t moving. Fear clutches at my throat.
“Oh, Christ.” Damian is frozen beside me.
He turns off the engine but leaves the high beam on. The child is wearing yellow sneakers. I lean forward, peering more closely. Zack has a pair just like them.
Reality swerves around me, and the truth crashes into me like a fist.
“Zack.” I breathe his name, and already I’m pushing the box to one side and flying out of the car. I drop to my knees, by his body, barely aware of the cold, wet mud beneath me. Everything is Zack. My beautiful boy.
I reach for his face. Turn it to mine. His eyes are closed. No blood. Is he gone? He can’t be. I wet my finger and place it under his nose, just as I did when he was a tiny baby. Every cell in my body releases as I feel the shallow breath cool my finger.
“Zack? Zack?” I call his name, shake his shoulder, but he lies motionless. Panic swirls inside me. I feel his arms and legs, his stomach. Nothing feels wrong. No broken bones. I touch his head. No swelling, no lumps, no bruises.
I don’t understand. I don’t understand.
“Damian!” Why isn’t he here? I fumble for my phone. Still no signal. “Damian!” Where is he? I need his help to get Zack back to the car.
As I turn to face him, the car lights go off. The track is plunged into total darkness.
“Damian!” I yell. The rain is falling harder now. I hug Zack to me. He’s a deadweight, too heavy to pick up off the ground, so I drag him back toward the car. I can barely see it in the misty gloom. “Damian!” I shout out again. What the hell is going on? My heart is in my mouth, my head about to explode with fear.
“Help!” Zack’s legs bump over the mud. I’m breathing heavily as I reach the car. I set Zack down at my feet and feel for the car door. Locked.
“Damian?” I try the car door again. Why is it locked? “Damian!”
Fear crawls like ants over my skin. I am shaking, rain running down my face, into my mouth. Zack lies slumped against my trembling legs as I draw my phone from my pocket. It lights up as I touch it. Still no signal. I hold the phone up to the car window. There’s just enough light for me to make out Damian’s outline. He is sitting where I left him, in the driver’s seat, upright, his eyes glazed but open.
“Damian?” My voice quavers. I bang on the window, shouting his name again. What is the matter with him? Why doesn’t he hear me? Then
the light catches the dark red pool, gleaming on the dashboard, dripping onto the floor of the car. I peer in through the window, wiping the rain from my eyes, trying to force my brain to make sense of what I’m seeing.
Blood. It streams from Damian’s throat, staining his shirt, a slick sea around him. A terrible second passes; then his head lolls to the side. I stare, unable to take it in. His throat is cut. With a click, the car unlocks. I spin around.
“Who’s there?”
The only sound is the rain, falling steadily around me.
I’m shaking uncontrollably. Zack is still lying slumped at my feet. The sight of him spurs me to action. I drag him away from the door, then open it. The car interior lights up. Oh God, the whole inside of the car is red with blood. Everywhere, the seats, the ceiling, the dashboard.
I reach inside and touch Damian’s face. His eyes are wide and staring. I bring my trembling fingers to his arm. It hangs limp and heavy. I press, hard, against his wrist. I move my fingers. There’s no pulse.
“Damian?” I let out a low moan. My fingers move to his neck, wet with blood. I feel around the side of his throat. Nothing.
“Oh, Damian.” It’s a whisper. I stagger back from the car, bile rising in my stomach. The stench of blood fills my nostrils: a sharp metallic tang. I take a deep breath of the cool, dark air. Who has done this? Where are they?
I look all around me. I can’t see whoever it is, but they must be here, nearby.
Zack is still out cold. I try to focus, to force my scrambled brain to think. I have to get Zack out of here. I have to get away.
Which means moving Damian so I can drive the car.
The blood is wet on his neck. I grit my teeth and try to push him across the car. He’s too heavy. I rush around the other side, open the passenger-side door and try to pull him toward me. I can’t. Sobbing, I run back around and tug at his arm, desperate now just to get him out of the car.
And then I hear footsteps behind me. I look around. Someone holding a flashlight is walking toward me.
“Hello?”
The person doesn’t speak. I can’t see his face, because of the bright beam from the flashlight. I shield my eyes. It’s a man. I’m sure of that. He’s wearing plastic overalls, the kind forensic scientists use.
It’s him. The killer.
I reel back, reaching for Zack. The man steps forward. He stands over Zack’s legs.
“Drink this.” He sets a water bottle on the ground. His hand is gloved. His voice is a low whisper. I can’t place it, but I’m sure I know it.
“No.” I back away, pulling Zack with me along the track. “Who are you?”
The man steps forward again. He holds out a knife. “Stop.”
I freeze. The man crouches down beside Zack. I still can’t see his face. The plastic overalls are white. He has plastic boot covers too, like the pathologists in Julia’s flat.
“Drink or I’ll kill him.” The long blade of the knife glints in the torchlight. He holds it out so the tip rests against Zack’s throat.
“Oh God, no, please.” I rush forward and grab the water bottle. I pick it up. “Please don’t hurt him.”
“Drink,” the voice says in a soothing whisper. I know I’ve heard it before. “Drink and I promise you’ll see your son again.”
I place the bottle to my lips and take a sip. The liquid tastes salty.
“More,” the man orders.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It won’t kill you,” the voice says.
I hesitate again, my eyes on the knife at Zack’s neck. One tiny slip and his fair skin would be ripped open, just like Damian’s.
I take two big gulps of the drink. Then two more. I’ve drunk about half the bottle.
“Good, now, get in the trunk and I’ll put Zack in there with you.”
I experience a throb of terror that the man knows Zack’s name. “Why? What are you going to do to us?”
“Do you want your son in the trunk with you? Or shall I slit his throat here?”
“Okay.” I have no choice but to trust what he says. I edge around the car, still blinded by the flash beam. The man reaches the trunk before me. He flicks it open. I crawl in, then look back out. All I can see is the glare of the light, a white hole in the dark night sky. “Zack,” I say. My mind whirrs. If Zack is with us here, then where is Hannah, where is Will?
“Phone.”
I reach into my pocket and hand him my mobile. “What have—?”
The lid slams shut. Panic rises inside me. What about Zack? I thump on the metal above my head. There’s no room. I can’t move. Claustrophobia closes in. I open my mouth to scream, but before any sound can come out, the trunk lid lifts again. No flashlight, just the outline of the man. I still can’t see his face properly; he’s wearing a surgical mask. Zack is in his arms. I reach up as Zack is lowered in beside me. The gloved hand brushes my cheek. It smells of rubber and chemicals.
“What are—?”
“Quiet or I kill your daughter.”
I gasp. The lid slams shut. I hug Zack to me, my heart beating wildly.
He has Hannah too.
I hold my breath as thuds and bangs echo through the car toward me. The darkness in the trunk presses in on me. Is Hannah in the car somewhere? What about Will?
I touch Zack’s face. He is still out cold.
The car engine starts. We are driving away.
I try to steady my breathing. To work out what on earth I can do to get away. The trunk is tightly shut. Where is Hannah? Where is Will?
I lie still, trying to focus. Time passes. Zack stays unconscious. I recognized the man’s voice. But where? How? I can’t make sense of what is happening. The darkness swirls around me. I grip Zack tightly, afraid I will fall. Fall from what? I suddenly realize I can’t feel Zack anymore. I can’t feel anything. I can’t move, not even my fingers. I can’t speak.
It all feels like a dream. Zack is my only reality. I strain my eyes open, trying to see into the darkness.
The world dances inside my head. I am clammy with sweat.
Suppose I died now?
Suppose this was death?
The man said I wouldn’t die.
You can’t trust him.
He said you’d have Zack and you do.
You can’t trust him.
You can’t trust anything.
I close my eyes, letting the vibrations of the moving car throb through me as the darkness swallows me up.
* * *
My head feels tight and sore. My throat is so dry, it hurts. My muscles ache. I can’t move. There’s darkness all around, pressing in on me. For a second I think I’m in a coffin. Then I remember. I am in the trunk of Damian’s car.
Zack.
The memory of his unconscious body obliterates all other thoughts. We were crammed in before, our bodies right next to each other. I try to reach out, my eyes straining to see in the darkness. Where is he?”
Gone.
I want to yell out, to thump my fists against the roof of the trunk, but I’m paralyzed. Terror rises inside me. I register that the car is still, the engine no longer running. Long minutes pass. Then the trunk lid opens. Cold air slaps against my face. I smell the sea. I hear waves crashing against rocks. The man from before is here, still head to toe in his plastic coveralls, the surgical mask still over his face. I try to shrink away, but he hauls me out with a grunt.
He carries me away from the car. I can see only the thin plastic of his overalls in front of my face. I can’t turn my head. It is dark. How much time has passed? Where is Zack? I try to speak but I make no sound. We are walking downhill. The wind is getting stronger. My hair blows in front of my eyes.
And then there’s a click. Lights flash. I hear a thump. A trunk opens in front of me. I am laid inside. How can we be back at the car? We have just walked away from it, downhill? I don’t understand.
This trunk contains things. I can feel shapes pressing against me. It smells different from the other tr
unk. I’m certain it’s bigger too. A different trunk. A different car. I don’t understand.
I lie there, my eyes straining into the darkness.
Hours pass. The car doesn’t move. I lose all sense of time. Fear ransacks my brain. I can’t think, can’t move, can’t speak.
More time passes. The car stays stationary. In a daze, I move my hand. Realize that I can move. I stretch out. My leg connects with something T-shaped and plastic. I feel down its length. It’s the arm of a scooter. I reach the broad, flat metal of the base.
I yell out. “Help!” My voice is hoarse, but at least I can speak now.
Gradually I regain more movement. More sound. I yell and I thump and I kick. No one comes.
And then, without warning, the trunk opens. A figure looms over me. It’s the man again. He stares down at me, only his eyes visible over that mask.
“Where is Zack?”
The man ignores me. He reaches in, grabs my arm. “Out!”
I force my aching, cramped muscles to move. I bang my leg and my head scrambling out of the car. I don’t recognize where I am, but it’s a cliff by the sea. The night sky is lighter than before. How much time has passed. To the left I can see the crests of the waves, far below. To my right is only sky and the outline of trees in the distance. No lights. No buildings.
No people.
In my mind’s eye I see Damian: his unfocused stare, the blood dripping down his neck. Nausea rolls through me, up into my throat.
I turn to face the man who has brought me here.
“Where’s Zack?” I ask again.
The man grips my wrist. I pull away. My head is still groggy, but I’m stronger than he expects. I dig in my heels, letting the fierce salt wind chill through me, waking me fully. Then I wrench the mask off his face.
Horror slams into me.
I know who he is. But I can’t believe it.
You Can Trust Me Page 31
