A strangled sob of anguish emerged from deep within Annalise’s core. The roaring sound in her ears drowned out the screams from behind. The vehicle rocked on its suspension. Something hammered into the back of her seat. The wire mesh partition between front and rear shook from repeated blows.
“Sit still or I end it,” Steven barked. “You’ve already lost one daughter. Unless you behave, you’re going to lose the other right now. Another sound and that’s it.” The quivering tip of the knife hovered next to Annalise’s neck.
The pandemonium in the rear seat slowly subsided.
Beatrice is dead. Annalise felt a part of her mind fracture. She buried the boiling mass of raw emotion deep beneath the surface, replacing all feelings with dispassionate analysis. The pounding of her racing pulse slowed. Ice-cold resolve flooded her veins.
She turned and stared into the back seat. Her mother sat clutching her head between her hands. The rise and fall of her shoulders signalled the depth of her despair as waves of anguish rocked through her body. Her father leaned forwards, his eyes incandescent pinpricks of rage.
“Face the front,” Steven ordered. “There’s no help coming.”
An occasional vehicle passed them travelling in the opposite direction, but mostly the roadway was empty. The first hints of light appeared on the horizon as they ate up the miles. A traffic sign indicated a bend to the left ahead. Steven eased off the accelerator. As he rounded the curve, a line of stationary police cars came into view. They blocked the carriageway, their blue lights flashing in rhythm to create a blinding wall of brightness.
“Shit!” Steven jammed his foot on the brake. Annalise extended her arms to brace against her forward momentum. Despite the attempt, her head thudded into the windscreen. She slumped in her seat, dazed by the impact. Sophie whimpered in fright. Steven spun the wheel, flinging Annalise against the door. The tyres scrabbled for purchase on the loose stones and soil of the verge. Within moments they were racing back the way they had come. Soon, the wail of sirens grew louder. More strobing lights appeared, some behind, others ahead. A left turn sign flashed past. Steven slowed, his eyes focused on the rearview mirror.
“Hold on,” Annalise yelled. She lunged for the steering wheel. The car slewed across the road amidst the screech of tortured rubber. Steven lashed out, catching her face with the back of his hand. Still, she held on, yanking down harder. A flash of déjà vu jolted through her mind. Suddenly the tyres bit. The vehicle lurched leftward. Out of control, it veered off the tarmac. It skidded over a patch of rough ground towards a shallow ditch. Annalise covered her head with her hands and screamed in terror. On impact, clods of earth and shredded vegetation showered the surrounding area. Inside the cabin, the airbags triggered instantaneously, flooding the interior with a cocoon of pressurised white material. A cushion of gas flung her backwards in the seat.
The ticking of the cooling engine seemed incredibly loud to Annalise’s ears in the lull that followed. A groan from behind shook her out of her paralysis. Steven twisted to face her, still dulled by the confusion of the collision. Slowly, consciousness returned. Instinctively, his hand moved towards the knife. It was no longer where he had placed it on the seat between his legs. He beat the airbag away from his body and scanned the footwell. It wasn’t there either. A glint of light flashed from the floor on the passenger side.
Annalise caught the direction of his gaze and stared down at her feet. Steven lunged forward to retrieve the weapon, but the seatbelt held him back. She stretched down and closed her fist around the handle. Both fixed their eyes on the wicked-looking blade.
“Is this what you’re after?” she murmured.
Steven fumbled with the restraint, but Annalise was already moving. With a yell of rage, she plunged the knife deep into his thigh. Steven screamed in agony as blood oozed from the wound. He made a grab to disarm her. As she jerked it clear, his fingers ran along the razor sharp edge, severing the tendons. Annalise maintained her grip, driving the blade through his hand and into his shoulder. Another cry of anguish escaped from his lips.
“That one was for Beatrice.” Annalise drew back for a third strike. The screech of brakes and the chilling brightness of the blue lights jolted her out of her bloodlust. She reached for the door handle and shoved. After a moment of protest, it lurched open. She staggered out into the cool night air and dropped the knife.
Two men emerged from the police car. “Get down on the ground,” one of them yelled, “and put your hands behind your head.”
Annalise ignored the command and limped to the rear of the car. She hauled on the handle. The door swung towards her, and the frightened faces of her parents stared out, both apparently uninjured.
“Thank God,” she murmured.
Her body seemed to sag in on itself. Her eyes rolled up revealing the whites. She collapsed, unconscious, to the damp earth.
Chapter 60
The murmur of low voices dragged her back to consciousness. The sounds seemed to mingle together. Slowly, her mind ground into gear, and she picked up the occasional word.
“... okay ... wake ... coma ...”
Annalise’s eyelids fluttered open. The bright light stung her eyes, and she immediately closed them again, leaving a dancing afterimage.
“I think she’s waking up.”
She tried again, holding a palm up to shield herself from the glare. Squinting against the brightness, she identified the outlines of her parents, one on either side of the bed.
“Where am I?” she croaked through parched lips.
“Good morning,” her father replied. “You’re back in hospital. They don’t think there’s any lasting damage, though.”
Annalise’s face betrayed her dismay. “Not again. How long have I been here?”
Dan’s hand found hers and squeezed. “Don’t worry. It’s not like last time. It’s only been a few hours.”
She sensed a tight sensation around her head. Her fingers brushed over the material of a bandage. Suddenly, the events of the previous night came crashing into her brain. She pushed herself upright, her anxious gaze flitting from one parent to the other and back again. “Did they find Beatrice?”
Sophie gave a tired smile. “He lied to us. She’s fine. She managed to lock herself in the bathroom. The police had to break the door down because she refused to open it. She spent the night on the next ward. There were some bumps and bruises, but otherwise, she’s alright. She must be feeling okay; she’s already complaining about not being able to use her phone. They said she could go home later today. I’ll get her when they’ve checked you over.”
“What about Mark?”
A shadow crossed her mother’s face. “I’m sorry, but he didn’t make it. He lost too much blood. They couldn’t revive him. The detectives want to talk to you about what happened when you feel strong enough.”
Annalise sank back against the pillows. “His brother said he had killed him, and there were bloodstains all over his shirt. Mark didn’t deserve that. He saved us, you know.”
“Beatrice told us all about it.”
“Everybody thought he was the killer. If he hadn’t thrown himself at that psycho, both of us would be dead.”
Sophie twisted her wedding ring. “We’re just grateful to get you both back alive and well.”
A tear rolled down Annalise’s face. She brushed it away with her fingers. “I’m guessing the hypnotherapist, Rachel, didn’t survive either. He used the knife to ...” A choking sob rose in her throat. “God, it was awful.” Now the tears flowed freely.
Sophie moved closer and wrapped her arms around the distraught teenager. Dan bent down and kissed his daughter’s forehead.
For several minutes, Annalise’s shoulders heaved as all the tension from the past few days dissipated in an outpouring of grief. Eventually, she accepted the handkerchief offered by her father. She dried her eyes and blew her nose loudly. “Thanks.”
“Is there anything we can get you,” Dan asked.
A
nnalise dabbed at her face. “I’m really thirsty. Can I have a drink?”
Sophie passed a plastic cup from the top of the bedside cabinet. Annalise drank greedily then returned it for a refill.
“I’ll just fetch the nurse,” Dan said. “They told us you’ll need to be checked over. They want to keep you in another day or two for observation.”
Annalise groaned inwardly. Not more time in hospital. She surveyed her surroundings. The ward contained eight beds although only three others were occupied. Her bed was closest to the window. The adjacent one was empty. Sunlight streamed in from the cloudless sky of a glorious spring day. Two of the patients were watching television on the screens suspended from the wall on retractable arms. Both were elderly. The third patient was asleep.
Annalise turned her head at the sound of footsteps. The ample figure of Angie Simms approached; her father trailed a pace behind. If anything, she seemed even more imposing than when they had last met.
“Good to find you awake,” the nurse boomed. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. You obviously like it here. How are you feeling this fine morning?”
The two women in the other beds glanced in their direction before returning their attention to the television screens.
“Okay, I guess,” Annalise replied.
The woman measured Annalise’s blood pressure and heart rate then checked her pupillary response.
“No problems there,” she announced. “Any headaches or dizziness?”
“There’s a sore lump on my forehead where I banged it, but apart from that, no.”
“How’s your vision?”
“Everything’s ... hang on a sec.” Annalise angled her head sideways and stared at her mother from the corner of her eye. She repeated the process on her father. “They’ve gone.”
“Who’s gone?” Sophie asked, concern etched across her face.
“The colours.”
The nurse frowned. “Colours? Oh, you mean that nonsense about seeing auras or something.”
“It wasn’t nonsense,” Annalise snapped. “Last night I could pick up bands of colour around people’s heads. Now I can’t.”
“Well that’s not a bad thing, is it?”
“I suppose ... but I was just getting used to it.”
The nurse placed her hands on her hips. “So you’ve lost the ability to see those colours, but at least you’re alive. If even half of what I’ve heard about your recent experiences is correct, that sounds like a good trade to me.”
Annalise shrugged.
“The consultant will still have to examine you, but if there’s nothing wrong, I expect he’ll let you go home either today or tomorrow.”
“I just want to get back to a normal life.”
“Well, we’ve certainly seen enough of you here, young lady. I’ll check up on you again in a few hours. If you need anything, pull the red cord. And no wandering about the hospital by yourself this time.”
Annalise nodded her head. “I’ll try.”
The nurse humphed and turned away. She strode to the sleeping woman and shook her by the shoulder.
“I’m going to fetch your sister,” Dan said. “Her ward’s just down the corridor.” He rose and headed across the room. As he reached the swing doors, they parted to reveal another visitor in the form of Alan Billings, clutching a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of brightly coloured flowers.
“Ah, Mr Becker, how is Annalise?”
“You can ask her yourself.” Dan smiled and pointed in his daughter’s direction.
Billings glanced across to the other side of the room. “I’m glad to see she’s awake.” He raised his free hand in a self-conscious wave. “These are for her.”
“I’m just going to fetch Beatrice,” Dan said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Billings ambled to the corner bed and handed the flowers to Sophie. Annalise could swear he was still in the same clothes he had been wearing in the early hours of that morning.
His eyes wandered to the bandage. “How are you feeling?”
“My head’s a bit sore but fine apart from that.”
“I wanted to apologise for not getting to you sooner last night.”
“How did you know where he was holding us?” Annalise asked.
“To be honest, we didn’t. Your father realised the iPad was missing after the burglary and tracked it to the flat. Nobody expected to find you there too or we’d have been better prepared.”
“Yeah, Mark’s brother said something about using it to track our phones. That’s how he knew where we were. Where is he now?”
“He’s in hospital, being treated for the holes you made in his leg and shoulder.” Seeing the sudden alarm on Annalise’s face, he continued, “Not here, though—somewhere else. He’s chained to the bed, and guards are watching his every move.”
“What will happen to him?”
“When he’s well enough to be moved, they’ll charge him and transfer him to a prison cell. After that, there will be a trial, and then I imagine he’ll be spending a very long time behind bars.”
“What about the driving prosecution?”
Billings frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You know, the original crash. Are they still going to prosecute me?”
Billings gave a reassuring smile. “Oh, that. Well, it’s not down to me, but you weren’t the driver, so I strongly suspect they’ll drop it. In any case, I heard on the grapevine that DCI Davies—Toenails—resigned this morning.”
Annalise closed her eyes and sighed with relief. For the first time since waking from the coma, the pressure bearing down on her had lightened.
An awkward silence developed, broken suddenly by a squeak from the swing doors and the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Annalise turned as her sister sprinted across the ward and flung herself on the bed. The pair hugged each other tightly.
Tears streamed down Beatrice’s face. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, burying her head against Annalise’s shoulder.
“It’s alright,” Annalise murmured, patting her sister’s back.
Beatrice sniffed loudly and pulled away. “I ... I didn’t think you were going to wake up. He was so ...”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad we both got through it all okay.”
“So, we’re still friends?”
Annalise smiled. “Yes. Friends and sisters.”
Waves of emotion flooded from the pair as they clung together. Dan and Sophie joined in, wrapping arms around their newly repaired family.
Alan Billings watched for a few seconds, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. He shoved the door open and turned back one last time, content that these young girls would get to carry on with their lives.
Chapter 61
Nine Months Later
Steven sat up. The plastic covering on the mattress squeaked as he moved. He surveyed the small room: a narrow single bed, a basin, a toilet, a chest of drawers, and a wardrobe. The only window was set high in the wall and was covered by bars. There were no curtains. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of disinfectant that seemed to ooze from every surface.
During the day, the doctors organised therapy. Some sessions were one to one, others in groups. The men in white coats never revealed their assessments. When Steven wasn’t undergoing treatment, they allowed him to mingle. He treated the other inmates with caution. A fair proportion seemed almost normal on the surface, but he knew that monsters lurked beneath the human exteriors. Everybody in this place was seriously damaged in one way or another even if it wasn’t always visible. The more severe cases were kept sedated and stumbled around like zombies when they were permitted to leave their rooms.
Raising his gaze to the ceiling, he stared into the black lens of the camera. Privacy was a long-forgotten privilege. He imagined the nurses—the inmates still referred to them as screws—examining the monitor screens, studying him like an insect in a jar, judging and analysing. In half an hour, a bell would ring. Ten minut
es later, they would turn the lights out. It was during the hours of darkness that the memories would creep up on him.
The nightmares had abated during the months of plotting, but now that the subject of his revenge was dead, they had returned with a vengeance. The dreams always began in identical fashion: the house on fire, the locked door, and his parents’ screams emerging from the bedroom. Every night inside his head, his brother, Frank, loomed large. A savage laugh twisted his brother’s lips as his fists and feet pummelled Steven’s defenceless body. The heat was like a physical force, pushing him back, but it wasn’t enough to withstand the pressure from the vicious assault. Then came the moment of contact: the searing pain of the flames, the scent of burnt flesh, and the howl of agony that woke him. And then when he opened his eyes, Frank’s grinning face lingered in his mind.
The nurses gave him pills, but it made no difference. Sometimes he would have the same dream three or four times over the course of one night. On each occasion, he would awake to the pitch black, his body drenched in sweat, a scream choking his throat. The lens in the ceiling watched it all, its tiny red light unwavering. They had told him it was an infrared camera, so they could observe his suffering even in the dark.
Steven lowered his feet to the floor and padded towards the sink. Resting his hands on the cold porcelain, he stared at his reflection. The mirror was made from a plastic material; glass would have presented too tempting an opportunity for the fabrication of a weapon. The image distorted and seemed to move of its own accord. He moved closer until his nose touched the surface.
“Can you see me?” a voice asked.
Steven jumped back in alarm. He whirled around, but the room was empty. “Who said that?”
“It was me.”
Steven’s eyes darted from the bed to the door. “Where are you?”
“I’m right here.” The figure in the mirror winked.
It couldn’t be.
“But ... but you’re dead. I killed you.”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll always be with you.”
The Colour of the Soul Page 26
