by Tara Lyons
Felicity felt the sharp tip of a needle pierce her arm. Her own screams echoed throughout the room. Sweat dripped from her forehead, while her heart raced like a drummer.
‘What. What are you doing? Why?’ she mumbled.
‘Now, we wouldn’t want you passing out too early, would we?’ the distorted voice said. The monster placed Felicity’s baby finger inside a pair of plyers. ‘We’ll start small. I need to know what really happened at Lake Windermere.’
‘Please don’t do this,’ she urged. ‘Donna, if that is you under the mask, I know you really don’t want to do this. Please, things weren’t meant to play out like they did. It was a stupid dare. You were up for it –’
‘Shut up! You know nothing.’
The steel clamped through Felicity’s flesh and bone. Distorted yells pieced her eardrums, her eyes rolled back into her head. She begged the assailant to stop, promising she knew nothing more.
‘You just can’t stop yourself from lying!’ the low voice boomed, travelling around the table and injecting Felicity’s right arm. ‘Treat people like utter shit, that’s what you’ve always done. Take no responsibility for your actions. What about all the pain you caused your friends? You’re a low-life slag.’
‘No. Please.’
‘If only you’d been honest with me.’
‘I will. I will,’ Felicity repeated, desperate to look down at her hand where blood gushed from the exposed, cold wound.
‘Maybe this will help you.’
Ghost face lifted a transparent bucket from the ground. Felicity’s eyes widened and she thrashed around the wooden table at the sight of hundreds of spiders, all different shapes and sizes, climbing over each other. An evil laugh reverberated through the hidden device.
‘No! Please. No!’
The gloved hand lifted the lid from the container and launched its contents over Felicity’s torso and legs. She immediately felt the whispers of their legs scurrying over her skin. Some up her trousers and others crawled towards her neck. She threw her head from left to right, hoping to propel some of them from her body, but the movement came much slower, as though her petrified body had begun to give up on her. Scared to open her mouth, she lay bound and snivelling.
Ghost Face snorted. ‘Oh, yes, another Felicity fear. You really should be careful the secrets you divulge with your friends. Especially if you intend on stabbing them in the back one day.’
A spider bit Felicity’s inner thigh. She arched her back and lifted her buttocks, struggling to shift the eight-legged creatures, but hoping to squash a few of them as she thumped back down onto the table.
Am I moving at all?
Throwing her head back, she thought of her mum, her sister, and her niece, wondering if she’d ever see them again. A low howl escaped her lips.
‘Shut up!’ the voice demanded. ‘Now, I want the truth, before it’s too late for you to answer. Tell me exactly what happened during that trip to Ambleside two years ago.’
17
Two years ago
Felicity gripped the mobile phone between her fingers and nervously searched through the crowded library. As coursework deadlines loomed, and with exams imminent, it became the only time the campus’s old building would be busier than the bar. Studying came naturally to Felicity, a trait many of her friends had come to hate over the years. But she enjoyed learning and somehow managed to learn a lot with minimal effort. She could retain information she’d only read or heard once, regardless of years passing, and she valued absorbing new things. Research, to Felicity, was fun, entertaining, and rewarding. It was the main reason she’d chosen journalism as her degree; having the chance to delve into new things and people, as well as historical and unexplained events, enthralled her. But she also understood that wasn’t the case for everyone, especially with nerve-wracking exams around the corner.
She scanned each passage between the towering, mahogany bookcases and prayed she’d find her friend. The text message she’d received just twenty minutes previously, while on the bus into Uxbridge town centre, worried her. She’d jumped off at the next stop and jogged back to campus. As she approached the backend of the second floor, she wondered if she’d need to search the other levels of the building, or if maybe she hadn’t been quick enough in returning to the library.
‘There you are,’ she exclaimed, and rushed down the last passage, an echo of shushing from fellow students in her wake. ‘What’s happened?’
Donna sat slumped on the floor, her back against the hard wood, the shelves almost bare of resources. Her head rested on her knees, strands of honey-blonde hair sticking to her wet cheeks. Felicity slid beside her and scooped her up into a bear hug. It felt like hours before Donna finally lifted her head and faced Felicity, a rim of swollen redness surrounded her friend’s eyes.
‘What am I going to do, Flick?’ Donna whispered.
She lowered her tone to match her friends, and to keep the high-on-caffeine students from lynching her for making too much noise. ‘Your text made no sense, Donna. What do you mean you can’t cope with anything anymore?’
Donna wiped her face, brushing the remnants of tears into her hair. ‘I’ve left everything to the last minute, Flick. All the books I need are already out on loan; I’ll never get them in time to finish my dissertation. I’ve screwed up. I’m never going to graduate now.’
Felicity’s chest tightened, as her friend’s head fell down into her lap. She’d never witnessed Donna so low; usually the life and soul of any party, there’d never been a sign of worry for assignments.
‘D, you have started your dissertation, right?’ Felicity held her breath, too worried to miss the answer.
‘Of course.’ A muffled noise came from Felicity’s thighs, and she lightly pulled Donna’s head up. ‘I don’t even have much more to write, but the resources I need aren’t here. How can they only have a few flaming copies of certain important books in this enormous place?’
As Donna’s tone rose higher than anyone in the library would be happy with, Felicity guided her onto her feet and towards the door. Students crammed together at the large tables, or stood in queues for the photocopiers and computers. Felicity silently mimed her apologies as she barged through them with Donna clinging to her arm like a drunk person.
Despite the fresh air, Donna dropped to the bottom step and sat down with a sigh. Felicity yearned to help her friend, but she knew nothing about creative writing. She was a woman who stuck purely to the facts when creating her stories. Her concerns were interrupted by Calvin, who yelled their names as he exited the bar, directly opposite the library.
‘What’s with the long faces?’ he asked. ‘Don’t tell me you’re joining my club, and they’ve kicked you out of university. Jeez, not far off graduation too. That’s hard luck.’
Felicity punched him in the arm and shook her head, hoping he’d get the hint and leave them alone. But it was too late; Donna jumped to her feet in seconds.
‘You’d fucking love that, wouldn’t you, Cal? Then you wouldn’t be the only loser around here. Why are you still here anyway?’
Calvin flinched, a mixture of confusion and pain stamped on his face. ‘It was a joke.’
‘My degree is really important to me,’ Donna continued, and took a step closer to Calvin, his towering figure peered down at her petite and wild face. ‘It’s not my fault I’m not being supplied with the right tools I need to get the job done … What do you care? You don’t understand.’
He raised his hands in protest as Donna elbowed him out of the way. Felicity felt torn, there were now two of her closest friends feeling less than their normal selves. But she knew Calvin could bounce back, and it wasn’t the first time Donna had blown off steam at one of them.
‘What the actual fuck was that about, Flick?’
‘Forget it, mate,’ she said and walked backwards away from him. ‘Just dissertation stuff, you wouldn’t get it.’
As she turned to catch up with Donna, Felicity regretted her choice of
words and hoped Calvin wouldn’t take them as another low blow. She promised herself she’d buy him a pint later and explain. The two women walked away from campus, towards the bus stop, when a thought occurred to Felicity.
‘Hey, you said your dissertation was about realism in creative writing, or something like that, didn’t you?’
Donna nodded solemnly. ‘Essentially, yes. It’s more in depth than that with different topics and styles of writing, but I’m examining how different aspects of reality are entwined into non-fiction novels. The last book I needed … well, you know the rest.’ She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled loudly.
‘What about journalism? I’ve got tons of resource books on the subject back at my flat, and maybe you could focus on a book that –’
‘In Cold Blood,’ Donna screamed, and jumped up and down on the spot. ‘Flipping hell, Flick! Truman Capote followed the lives of those murderers in Kansas, interviewing their families, as well as the victims and their families. All before he wrote a single word of the actual book, which can be argued is a mix of fiction and non-fiction. His story was completely influenced. I could go so many different ways with this. What a frigging awesome idea.’
Felicity couldn’t contain clapping along with Donna’s eagerness, until the moment she caught her reflection in a near-by window and realised they both resembled performing seals. She corrected herself and walked on, with Donna now happily jabbering away beside her. It wasn’t the evening Felicity had envisioned, but she invited Donna back to her apartment and offered help scouring through her personal library of textbooks.
‘Look, while we’re at it tonight, why don’t we book a weekend away for us all after graduation?’ she suggested, deciding they all needed a break after the strenuous final year of studies. ‘That way, you’ll have something to look forward to after all the extra hours you’ll need to put in for your dissertation.’
‘Hell yeah, I’m up for that. We should all get away together, you’re right. You really are the best friend a girl could ask for, did you know that?’ Donna said and linked her arm through Felicity’s. ‘What would I bloody do without you, woman?’
She smiled. ‘Luckily, we’ll never have to find out.’
18
Hamilton marched into the incident room, greeted by the usual whirl of printers and computers, numerous conversations over the phones and between colleagues, and the gurgle of the boiling kettle in the far corner. Clarke strutted through the office and yanked the chair from under his desk, his face as disappointed as Hamilton felt.
Fraser barely acknowledged them, except for a quick wave, as she ran her fingers through her hair, drawing it away from her face. Her fingers worked speedily over the keyboard, while her eyes bore into the screen. Despite being occupied on the phone, Rocky’s face flashed with his signature grin. Hoping the call wasn’t a personal one, Hamilton couldn’t refrain from smiling himself; the young lad’s cheeky chappie routine was infectious. Dixon slurped another mouthful of coffee before standing up and rounding the desks to meet Hamilton at the evidence boards.
‘Just in time, boss,’ she said. ‘I was about to update the information.’
‘Great, what have we got so far?’
‘I’ve been looking into the group’s academic studies at Brunel and found something interesting about Calvin Robinson.’ Dixon placed a hand on her hip and read from a sheet of paper. ‘While Robinson did attend the university, he failed the first year of his journalism course. He didn’t reapply, or re-sit any exams, or resubmit any coursework, from what I can ascertain. Rocky’s on the phone to someone at the uni now, trying to gather more details for me.’
‘Interesting, considering Robinson joined the rest of his friends on a graduation celebration trip,’ Hamilton mused.
‘Perhaps he transferred to a different university,’ Clarke offered.
Dixon shrugged. ‘We’ll soon find out. Anyway, we dug further into the group’s background. While Warren and Felicity had quite a normal upbringing … well, as normal as anyone can, I suppose, that can’t be said for the other three. Holly Walker’s mother overdosed, and the girl was placed into social care, before being adopted at the age of fifteen. Todd Bell lost both his parents in the London 7/7 bombings in 2005. He was twelve.’ Dixon paused for a moment, inhaled a large breath and continued. ‘Bell then lived with his grandmother, even during his uni years. When she passed away last year, he inherited the house and currently lives there. Lastly, Calvin Robinson, also placed into social care after his mother was arrested for prostitution, however, he was never adopted and bounced from foster home to foster home until the age of eighteen. Robinson also served a stint in Feltham, the Young Offender Institution, when he was fifteen for theft and possession of cannabis. By some stroke of luck, he secured a place at Brunel through Clearings.’
Hamilton exhaled loudly. ‘Okay, this is what we needed. I feel like I’m actually getting a picture of these people now. Good. Get these notes up for everyone to see, and I’d also like a print-out of all this so I can read over it again.’
‘Sure thing, boss,’ Dixon said and busied herself at the evidence boards as Rocky joined them.
‘Calvin Robinson did not reapply to Brunel, or transfer to another university,’ Rocky explained. ‘He did, however, continue working in the bar on campus for the last two years of the course.’
‘While his friends were still studying their degrees?’ Clarke questioned.
‘Yes. I can’t find out where he lived during those two years, but after they’d graduated, Robinson moved to the studio flat he currently resides in, and began working at the coffee shop where we first met him.’
Hamilton nodded. ‘And were any of them studying science, or medical related degrees?’
‘No, boss. Including Donna Moran, it was two for journalism, two for creative writing, film and TV studies, and social work. Fraser’s delved into their personal and working lives more.’
‘Good work,’ Hamilton announced, and watched the gleam in Rocky’s hazel eyes at the praise he’d received from his superior. ‘Mirror Dixon’s actions and keep everyone updated. I want a hardcopy of everything we’ve got so far.’
Once he had the information from the two newest recruits, and he’d updated them about Claire Newcomb’s deceit, Hamilton dismissed the three of them and waited for Fraser. He quickly checked his mobile, pleased to find a positive reply from Elizabeth about his suggestion of staying with her mother. He could now spend the evening uncovering what had happened to their security lights at home.
‘Sorry, boss, but I wanted to make sure I had everything I could find. I know you wanted to make progress this evening,’ Fraser finally spoke, and pushed away from her desk. ‘Don’t worry, I heard everything you all said, so I’m up to speed with everything. And I’ve printed out the info I’ve got so far, for the personal file you’re creating.’
He was in awe of the young Sergeant, and her ability to multi-task without letting her own work slip. However, on closer inspection, he began to worry about her; her porcelain face had adopted a grey tinge, the heavy bags under her blue eyes were startlingly apparent, and she’d yawned at least a dozen times since his return.
‘At the moment, I can’t find any direct connection with the group of friends and Botox suppliers or distributers,’ Fraser continued. ‘However, I now have further knowledge of a few family members, as well as Melanie King, the woman Todd Bell is dating. So, I’m going to delve straight into them.’
‘Not this evening you’re not,’ Hamilton said and leaned over to switch off her computer monitor.
‘Have I done something wrong?’
‘No, you’ve done everything right … except look after yourself, maybe.’ Hamilton paused. ‘Is there anything you want to discuss with me, Fraser?’
She curved her lips downwards and shook her head. ‘No, boss. Everything’s fine.’ He frowned and waited for more. ‘I guess I could do with a bit more sleep most nights … but couldn’t we all?’
&n
bsp; ‘Last week, when I returned from my weekend away, you mentioned wanting to have a chat with me.’
Fraser waved a hand in the air, dismissing his comment. ‘It’s all sorted now, boss. Honestly, everything is fine.’
Hamilton sighed. ‘Well, if you’re sure? You know I’m always here, if you need to discuss anything.’ She nodded silently, and he knew nothing more would be shared tonight. ‘Head home, catch up on some well-deserved sleep, and I’ll see you first thing in the morning.’
‘I thought you wanted to make a decision about this group of friends.’
He held up the file in his hand. ‘I’m going to take this home now and get all the information together in my mind.’
Hamilton pushed open the car door and froze when its movement alerted the security beam. His front garden illuminated. He remained statue-like, in a half-in, half-out of the car crouching position, and studied his house. The living room curtains had been drawn together, but no glimmer of light escaped through the small crack in the middle. A glow from the upstairs window told him the lamp in his bedroom had been switched on. Leaving the door open, he eased himself from the driver’s seat and silently approached the front door. He waited, with his head down, and listened intently through the wooden door. The surrounding sounds of cars and pedestrians faded into background noise. Gliding the key into the lock, he gently pushed the front door open and took a large stride inside.
An angelic voice reached his ears, the smell of bacon wafted up his nostrils, and he exhaled a sigh of relief. He stepped inside the kitchen and smiled. Leaning against the doorway, he folded his arms and watched his wife shake her hips from side to side while belting out an Adele tune. He wolf-whistled, causing her to scream as she spun around and threw the kitchen towel at him.
‘You scared the bloody life out of me, Denis!’ Elizabeth shrieked. ‘How long have you been standing there?’
