All the Lost Girls
A Psychological Thriller
Bilinda P. Sheehan
Copyright © 2019 by Bilinda P. Sheehan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For Mom
I guess your obsession with Forensic Files
finally paid off.
Contents
All the Lost Girls
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
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All the Lost Girls
1
18th October 1996
The music hummed around me, filling me up. The pressure of the relentless beat built beneath my skin until I was sure it would explode out through the top of my head. The thought made my stomach heave and I clumsily slapped my hand over my mouth in an attempt to stop the acrid sugar-sweet vomit from belching out past lips that were still sticky from the cheap lip gloss I’d applied earlier.
Just the effort of keeping that last blue alcopop I’d split with Lauren in the bathroom of the community hall from escaping my stomach sent the room spinning. The hall became a blur. The too bright, pulsing lights—red, blue, green, and yellow—swirled through the crowd. I closed my eyes and the lights swam sickeningly on the inside of my eyelids. I opened my eyes. The teenagers surrounding me pressed together, blurring together until watching them made my head hurt.
If I could just get out of here without upchucking everything, I would never drink another blue drink again as long as I lived. I made a silent prayer, appealing to Padre Pio just for good measure. He was the Saint my granny always swore by and she was seldom wrong about these things.
I slid along the back wall, groping along with my fingers, ignoring the sticky surface as best I could. A cold hand wrapped around my upper arm roughly, fingers digging into my soft flesh as I was jerked to a halt. A sweaty body pressed mine. Dizziness washed over me as I looked up, barely recognising one of the lads I’d fawned over earlier with Lauren. One of the lads from the boys’ school down the road from the all-girls Catholic secondary school I attended.
What was his name again? Tom? Or was it Thomas?
I tried to smile but it was probably more of a grimace as I fought against the bile churning in my guts. Not that he noticed. His brown eyes were fever bright as he leaned in close. His breath, warm and smelling of salt and vinegar crisps, washed over the side of my face as he spoke. Only the movement of his lips told me he was saying anything at all; I couldn’t hear him over the thump of the music. I shook my head and shrugged. Was that the proper reaction? I ha no idea; my brain was swimming in a liquor bath.
He pressed his mouth to my ear, his moist breath making my brown hair stick to the side of my face as he shouted, “Will you snog my friend?”
His freckled face loomed in front of me as he pulled away, smiling expectantly. The overpowering scent of Lynx deodorant washed over me, swallowing my senses whole.
I clamped my hand over my mouth, trying to keep the inevitable from happening.
Stinging bile poured up the back of my throat as Thomas—or was it Tom—grabbed my hand insistently and tugged it away from my mouth.
“Will ya?” He shouted again, somewhat frustrated. At least that’s how my panicked brain translated his expression.
My mouth formed an ‘O’ of dismay and the wide grin disappeared from his face as I half hiccupped, half vomited down the front of his black shirt.
“Jesus Christ!” he bellowed, shoving me away from him and against the wall.
Crack.
My head snapped back, slamming into the partition that separated the bathrooms from the hall. There was a moment where the world went black, the disco I’d begged my parents to let me go to disappearing into the fog of my alcohol fuelled brain.
When everything returned, I was slumped on the floor, huddled against the wall. The sparkly silver dress I’d so proudly bought with my pocket money was damp down the front of the chest panel, further proof that I clearly couldn’t hold my drink. Tears blurred my already impaired vision as I struggled to my feet, humiliation driving me on.
Was everyone staring at me?
Oh, God, what would they say in school?
Pain throbbed in the back of my head where I’d hit the wall.
Please, God, just let me get outside without vomiting again. I swear I’ll never drink again! I mean it. I swear.
Hail Mary, full of grace…
Gone was the warm glow I’d felt after the first few mouthfuls of the drink we’d hastily gulped down while waiting for the doors to open. The first one had been fine. It was the third one that was causing all the problems. Lauren’s older brother had hooked her up with the drink. It was easy for him now that he was eighteen.
Stumbling toward the main exit, I slipped past the hawk-eyed gaze of the female chaperone manning the door. The cool autumn night was a balm to my sweaty skin and I drank down mouthfuls of the crisp air, sucking them in as fast as my heaving lungs would allow, the churning of my stomach finally slowing down.
“Alice McCarthy, just what do you think you’re doing running around in that state?” The stern tone of the chaperone I’d darted past just seconds before rang in my ears and my heart sank.
I turned to face her, my movements awkward as the ground beneath my feet rolled precariously. Was it me or was the world really spinning?
“I’m sorry, I…” I couldn’t remember her name. She was the mother of one of the girls in the year above me in St Brigid’s but my brain refused to work and my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth as my throat went dry.
“You’re a disgrace. You McCarthy’s, you’re all the same. You and your sister have your mother’s heart broke. If you were my daughter I’d…”
I blocked out her tirade, my hands balling into fists by my sides as she prattled on. They
were all the same; judgmental and holier than thou, like they’d never done anything wrong in their lives.
“Alice!” The familiar voice of my sister washed over me, bringing with it relief, and I turned to see her moving towards me from the other side of the car park.
“And you.” The woman standing behind me turned on Clara as she reached the bottom of the steps. “You’ve some nerve showing your face here. It’s disgusting!” She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in disapproval.
Clara’s expression was defiant but even in my half drunken state I could see the flinching around her eyes the way she dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. She was trying desperately not to cry.
Anger swelled inside my chest and I turned to face the chaperone once more.
“Piss off you old cow!” I said, my emotions causing my blood to boil. Just who the hell did she think she was? “She’s only pregnant. It’s not like she’s killed someone.”
“Just wait until your mother hears about the things you’ve been doing,” the chaperone said, her anger washing over me as she screwed her shrewish face up in disgust. She reached for my arm, dragging me closer. Rage spread up my throat, hot and bitter…and I realised a second too late that it wasn’t anger but more bile.
I let out a belated screech as the vomit splashed down onto her shoes.
“Alice, we’re leaving now,” Clara said, taking me firmly by the hand and dragging me down off the top step. I stumbled after her, my feet tangling with one another as I half tripped, half skipped over the gravel-covered car park.
I said nothing as my sister dragged me away, suddenly not trusting myself to open my mouth.
Clara dragged me toward the road, out of the well-lit car park that surrounded the community hall. We reached the road. The white lines in the centre of the tarmac wavered in front of my eyes.
“Wait, I’m going to be—” I cut off as I broke free of her grip and darted toward the grass verge that ran alongside the crumbling mossy-covered stone wall.
The dry heaving brought more tears stinging to my eyes and I scrubbed the back of my hand across my face. Glancing dismally down at the black mascara and the expensive sparkly eye shadow I’d nicked from Clara’s room—and that was now smeared across my hand—only brought a fresh bout of tears.
My parents were going to kill me.
Ever since we’d found out Clara was pregnant everything had changed. Mam cried a lot and Dad never seemed to come out of his foul mood. They weren’t really angry with her; I’d heard Mam telling Dad she felt frightened and uncertain about the future.
“What’s going to happen to her, Michael?”
“You done yet?” Clara asked, keeping her distance from me.
“I thought people drank to have a good time,” I lamented as I straightened up and held my stomach gingerly.
Clara’s hands were on her hips as she glared at me, her sandy hair piled on her head in a messy imitation of a bun. The hem of her jeans was dark, the rain from the road soaking up into them. I noticed the rip in the denim shirt she wore. It hadn’t been there when we’d left earlier. When I met her gaze, I could tell she’d been crying.
“Where’s Liam?” I asked, glancing around as though half expecting her boyfriend to come bouncing out of a nearby farmer’s gateway.
“We had a fight,” Clara said, her tone informing me that she had no interest whatsoever in pursuing the conversation further.
As far as I was concerned, her tone meant I should ask more questions, like any good younger sister would.
“About what?”
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter…” she trailed off and glanced back toward the community centre. “You know Mam is going to kill you for giving cheek like that to Mrs O’ Grady, right?”
“Yeah I know, but the silly cow deserved it. Who the hell does she think she is?” My stomach contorted painfully.
“Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths,” Clara said. “It’ll help the sickness pass.”
I did as she suggested and within a couple of seconds the bile that had been once more creeping up the back of my throat had dissipated.
“Thanks,” I said sheepishly.
Clara grinned at me. “Next time you decide to get drunk like that, you should tell Mam and Dad you’re staying at Lauren’s. That way, they won’t have to see you stumbling into the house like an extra from the Exorcist.”
“They’re never going to let me out again are they?”
Clara shook her head and her grin widened. “They might. When you’re fifty.”
I threw a dirty look her direction before the urge to vomit washed over me once more.
“Oh God, I—,” I didn’t finish the sentence as I buckled over and the ground rushed up to meet me.
"It'll pass," Clara said, rubbing my back comfortingly.
“It won’t and then Mam is going to murder me," I said, dreading what would happen as soon as we made it home. If I was lucky, Mrs O’ Grady hadn’t rung her yet. No, I’d never be that lucky. She'd probably already been on the phone, telling Mam what a complete disgrace her two daughters were.
Headlights lit up the road, two blazing yellow orbs that turned the trees surrounding us into little more than a tunnel. The rumble of the engine broke up the silence of the night air, quieting the squeak of the passing bats that dipped and swooped overhead.
"I think it's Dad," Clara said, sounding unsure.
"Great," I grumbled more to myself than anyone else as I tried to scrub the worst of the make-up smears from my face.
The thought of sitting in a too-warm car while getting a lecture from my father only twisted my stomach further. Bile poured up my throat once more, bringing with it the painfully sweet tang of the alcopop. My stomach clenched painfully but there was nothing left inside to get rid of. Dry heaving caused the world to run in colourful streamers and the darkness crept closer. Sucking a deep breath in through my nose I prayed for the nausea to pass. Now was really not the time to pass out.
“Alice.” Clara’s voice was odd. “It's not dad.” She dug her fingers into my arm with enough force that I knew I'd have bruises there in the morning. She pushed me back onto the grass verge, standing protectively between me and the van.
It drew to a halt, the white peeling paint on the side panel luminous in the darkness. I tried to focus on it but my brain was made of mush and I couldn’t think past the pain in my stomach. From where I stood, the driver was nothing more than a silhouette behind the wheel, the headlights creating a barrier I couldn’t see past.
"We're fine, thanks," Clara said, her voice high and thread. Hearing the odd tone as she spoke was enough to let me focus a little more.
The driver mumbled, the male voice barely registering over the hum of the engine and the echo from the radio playing the kind of music dad liked to turn up, blasting it out of the car speakers as he zipped around town.
The van rumbled away and Clara stood over me. "I'm going to kill him in the morning," she said.
"Kill who?"
“Liam…”
“Was that him? Couldn’t we have gotten a lift with him?”
“It wasn’t him.” Clara’s voice was tight.
“What was the fight about anyway?" I straightened up and swiped my hand backwards over my mouth, my head swimming at the sudden movement.
"I don't remember," she said softly. "He's just so bloody infuriating."
A giggle erupted from my mouth and Clara glared down at me.
"What are you laughing at?"
“You two," I said. "You're always at each others throats. How you managed to make a baby is beyond me.”
Colour spread up into her face and she looked away quickly, following the red glow of the headlights as they receded down the road.
“If it wasn’t Liam in the van, then who was it?” I asked.
“Just some bloke,” she said. Even in my drunken state, I knew she’d said it too quickly to be true. Whoever had been in the van, she’d k
nown them. Not that it was strange; in this place, everybody knew everyone else’s business. As far as I was concerned it was creepy. I didn’t want everyone knowing what I did every second of the day. Not that what I wanted actually meant anything in this place.
Clara glanced back down the road, in the direction the van had disappeared. Something in her face told me she was contemplating confiding in me.
“You can tell me, you know,” I said hopefully.
She opened her mouth and I fought the urge to hop up and down impatiently. Of course, the fact that I was bursting for the bathroom didn’t help either.
“It’s nothing,” she said suddenly and decisively. If the grim determination on her face was anything to go by, I wouldn’t get anything else out of her.
“Well, I need to go the loo," I said, glancing into the bushes that lined the side of the road.
"What, out here?" she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
“I have to. I'm not going to make it home and I’m enough of a mess as it is.”
"Fine, but make it quick," she said, rubbing her arms vigorously, "I don't want to stand out here half the night waiting for you."
I wasted no time crashing into the bushes, the branches from the trees catching in my hair as I scrambled forward. My foot slipped and I grabbed a tree limb to steady myself, the sap sticky against my fingers as I slid down the sloped embankment that lined the roadway. The grass was wet underfoot, making it even harder to stay upright, but I made it far enough into the tree line to feel sure that I couldn't be seen.
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