by Amy Cross
Filled with a sense of panic, I turn and hurry away. I make my way along the street, while trying once again to push all thoughts of Caitlin out of my mind. It's as if she's haunting my thoughts, filling my every waking second with a constant reminder of her death. I know I need to stay calm, but my head is spinning and I barely even notice where I am as I reach the road that runs around the edge of the village green.
“Lisa!”
Startled, I turn to see Michael waving at me from the front of the pub. Before I have a chance to really react, I realize that the two police detectives are right next to him. I briefly consider turning away and pretending that I didn't hear anything, but I already know that I'm too late for that.
I look around, and then I make my way over.
“This is Lisa Ashford,” Michael says to one of the detectives. “It was Lisa and her father David who were with Caitlin last night in the pub.”
“Were you and Caitlin friends?” the detective asks as I get closer.
“No,” I reply stiffly. “Not really.”
He hesitates, before holding a hand out toward me.
“Detective Chief Inspector Bamford,” he says as I shake his hand. “This is Detective Constable Riley. We're making inquiries into the circumstances surrounding Caitlin Rush's death last night. I'm sure you heard that her body was found in the park earlier today.”
“Yes,” I say, trying my best to seem innocent and relaxed.
“So you were in the pub with Caitlin last night,” he continues, “is that right?”
I briefly consider lying, but I know there's no point.
“I had a drink with her.”
“And your father was there too?”
I nod.
“Was that something you did a lot?”
“What?”
“Meeting her for a drink with your father?”
“No,” I reply. “It was the first time.”
“I see. And what was the occasion?”
“She was leaving this morning,” I explain, figuring that I should stick as close to the truth as possible. “She was going to move to London and stay with some friends for a while.”
“So I understand.” He pauses. “And how did she seem? Did she say anything that made you think she might be worried or nervous?”
“She seemed pretty okay with it all,” I tell him.
“If it was her last night in the village,” he replies, “I assume she would have wanted to mark the occasion in some way. You said you weren't friends with her. What about your father, were he and Caitlin close?”
“No.”
“Right.” He pauses again. “So how did you end up spending the evening having a drink with her?”
“We just met her at the bar,” I explain, while glancing briefly at Michael and seeing that he's watching me intently, “and got talking. Then we moved to a booth. I think my father had met her once or twice before and they'd talked about stuff. It wasn't really anything deep.”
“I see.” Bamford turns to his colleague for a moment, before turning back to me. “And you all left together?”
“Dad and I went home,” I reply, lying before I really have a chance to stop myself. “Caitlin went home too.”
“And where do you and your father live?”
“Number nine, over there,” I say, nodding toward our house on the far side of the green.
I glance at Michael. If he noticed that Dad and Caitlin walked off together last night, he's given no indication so far.
“Can I go now?” I ask.
“Of course,” Bamford says, “but we might drop by later to ask you and your father some more questions.”
“I've already told you everything I know,” I reply.
“I'm sure you have, but perhaps your father remembers something else,” he points out. “And right now, Ms. Ashford, your account of the night is very important. Apart from the killer, you and your father might be the last people to have seen Caitlin Rush alive.”
Chapter Fifty
Ten years ago
“Lisa, wake up!”
Startled, I roll over in bed and find that Dad's kneeling next to me. He's switched my bedside lamp on, and he's staring at me with wide-eyed intensity. He seems a little breathless.
“I'm a terrible person, Lisa!” he stammers, and now there are tears running down his cheeks. “I've done awful things. I can't help it, I just have to let it out sometimes, but there's only one way to do that and I always end up hurting people!”
He holds his hands up and stares at them. They're trembling slightly, and Dad seems almost in awe of the sight of his own fingers.
“You don't know me, Lisa,” he says, leaning back against my bedside table with such force that he sends it bumping hard against the wall. My lamp wobbles. “I hurt people. I do it because it makes me feel good, because it makes me feel normal. And it works, Lisa. I swear, I only choose bad people, people who are going to hurt the world. So it doesn't matter if they die, does it?”
I wait, too scared to say anything.
He turns to me.
“Does it?” he continues. “Does it matter, Lisa?”
“I don't know,” I reply, but I'm starting to feel scared.
“I wrap my hands around their throats,” he says, looking at his hand as he squeezes them tight together, “and I wring the life out of them. It only takes a few minutes. I couldn't do it any other way, I couldn't let there be blood, I need to force myself to feel the life draining out of their bodies, out of their souls. I need to feel that strength, that power. I need to know that I'm the one who ends their lives.”
Staring at him, I realize that he seems lost in his own thoughts.
“Do you...” My voice trails off briefly. “Do you mean you actually kill them?” I ask.
“Oh, what do you think , Lisa?” he replies. “I'm a monster. Sometimes I think that, anyway. Sometimes I think I'm this terrible creature, sometimes I think the world would be better off without me. But then I realize that I help people. I make the world a better place. You understand that, don't you? You think I make things better. Don't you, Lisa?”
Staring at him, I realize that he desperately wants me to agree with him. I keep telling myself that I must be misunderstanding, that he can't really have killed people, but a slow sense of dread is creeping up through my chest.
“What am I doing?” he asks, before sitting up and leaning toward me. “Lisa, forget all of this,” he continues, as he starts pushing me back down against the bed and tucking me in. “Lisa, I want you to go to sleep and I want you to ignore everything I just said. It's not important, and it won't happen again. It won't ever happen again, so you don't need to think about it. Is that clear?”
I open my mouth, but I don't know what to say.
“I can be so silly, sometimes,” he says, leaning down and hugging me tight. “I can be such an idiot. Please, Lisa, forget every word I've said to you tonight. From this moment on, I'll never do any of those things again. I'll be the perfect father for you, I promise.”
“But if -”
“Go back to sleep!” he hisses, pulling me even tighter and harder. “Forget about everything I've said. In the morning, I'll make pancakes for us, okay? Everyone loves pancakes? Have you ever even tried pancakes, Lisa? I'll make them and you can see.”
“I -”
“Just wait!” he says, getting to his feet and heading to the door. “I'm sorry I woke you up, Lisa. Sometimes I just... I need to get it out, that's all. I won't trouble you again, though, I promise.” He turns to me. “Just sleep. You need to rest. Sleep and forget everything.”
With that, he shuts the door, leaving me sitting alone in the dark as his words echo through my mind. I think even someone normal would have a hard time understanding what just happened.
Chapter Fifty-One
Today
Dad'll be home soon.
Standing at the window, I watch as a police car slowly crawls along the road on the other side of the vil
lage green. An ambulance left a short while ago, traveling at normal speed, and I'm guessing that's when Caitlin's body was taken away. I've watched enough crime shows to know that's how things usually work, but I also know that there'll be police crawling all over the village for quite some time.
And sooner or later, they're going to connect this murder to at least some of the other deaths.
Why did Dad have to do this? Why did he have to kill someone so close to our own home? I can't shake the fear that maybe this was somehow my fault, that perhaps he did know that I was getting friendly with Caitlin. Is it possible that he was getting jealous, that he wanted to lash out and hurt me? I find it hard to believe that he'd be that cruel, but at the same time he always swore that he'd never kill anyone in the village. Why has he taken such a big risk?
I watch a police officer walking out of the pub, and then the landline starts ringing. I hesitate briefly, and then I go over to answer the phone.
“David Ashford?” a woman says on the other end of the line.
“Uh, no,” I reply, “this is his daughter.”
“This is Madeleine Lewis from Golf Road Surgery. Could you ask your father to give us a call back at his earliest opportunity?”
“Sure,” I say, surprised by the idea that Dad might be unwell. “What's this about?”
“I really can't discuss that, I'm afraid,” she replies. “But if you can get your father to call us, that would be great. Thank you.”
“Thanks,” I murmur as the call ends.
I stand completely still. I've noticed lately that Dad sometimes seems to be in pain, but for the most part I've managed to avoid worrying. Now, however, I'm starting to wonder whether he might be sick. I know I shouldn't snoop, but I head through to the hallway and then I hurry upstairs. I know Dad's still out, and I also know that this might be my last chance to check for a while, so I push open the door to his room and head inside.
I go straight to his bedside cabinet and crouch down. When I open the drawer, I immediately see a set of boxes and pill bottles. I check my phone and bring up a search bar, and then I type some of the drug names into Google. I start scrolling through the results, and then I stop as I see the one word that I've been dreading.
Cancer.
No.
Dad doesn't have cancer.
I check one of the other drug names, however, and I find that this too is often used to treat prostate cancer. I bring up a list of symptoms, and I'm quickly relieved to see that Dad doesn't seem to fit that list at all. Then again, he's always been good at hiding things, and I'm starting to worry that maybe he's seriously ill. I check the name on the bottle of pills, and I find that it's a very strong pain-killer.
When I open the bottle, I find that about half the pills are missing. I check the boxes, and they're running a little low as well.
Dad's on a serious amount of medication.
I put everything back how I found it, and then I take a step back. I don't want to believe that anything's wrong with Dad, but at the same time I know he's always been very much against going to see a doctor. For him to be this far advanced with some kind of treatment, something must be seriously wrong.
I start to turn and leave the room, but then I freeze as I realize I can feel somebody's breath on the back of my neck. I hesitate, telling myself that there's no way Dad could have made it all the way up here without making a noise, and then I force myself to turn.
And I find myself face-to-face with Caitlin.
“What...”
My voice trails off as I see her staring back at me.
“What are you doing here?” I gasp, filled with relief as I realize that somehow she's still alive. “I thought you were dead! They said you were found in the park!”
I wait, but she doesn't say anything. She's simply staring at me, although I quickly realize that her eyes seem a little bloodied, as if lots of blood vessels have burst.
“Caitlin?” I say cautiously. “Are you...”
She tilts her head slightly.
“Why?” she whispers.
“Caitlin...”
“Why didn't you help me?” she asks, her voice sounding much rougher than before. “You just watched him killing me, and then you ran away.”
“No,” I say, taking a step back, “that's not what happened.”
“I saw you.”
“No, I -”
“You ran away!” she snarls, taking a stumbling step toward me.
My legs bump against Dad's bed.
“You could have saved me,” she continues, “but you didn't. You could have stopped all of this, you could have saved all the other girls, but you kept your mouth shut.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, “you have to understand, I -”
“You let us die,” she sneers, as thick bruises start to spread around her neck. At the same time, her throat seems to be collapsing in on itself. “You could have stopped it all,” she groans, barely able to get the words out as she takes another step toward me and raises her hands, placing them on my shoulders. “If you'd just done the right thing, he would have been stopped years ago. But you... just... let him... keep... on... killing!”
“No, I -”
“It's your fault!” she gasps, lunging at me and pushing me down onto the bed.
“No!” I scream, trying desperately to push her away. “I didn't do anything!”
“We're dead because of you!” she continues, struggling to get the words out of her crushed throat. At the same time, I see several other dead faces lean over me, glaring at me with expression of pure hatred. “You let him kill us!” they all snarl. “You could have stopped him, but instead you let him kill us all!”
***
Stepping over to the postbox, I hesitate before reaching out and slipping the envelope through the slot. I immediately worry that I've done the wrong thing, but deep down I know that I didn't really have any other choice. I've tried to decide what to do about Dad, and I've reached the point where I can't make a decision either way.
So now it's all in the lap of the gods.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Ten years ago
“Hey, that's her!”
Stopping at the end of the lane, I turn and see a group of kids watching me from the bus stop. Sean Alton's there, and Samantha Hain, and two or three others as well.
“Lisa!” Sean says, gesturing for me to join them. “Get your butt over here!”
I hesitate, but then – not wanting to be rude – I wander over. I really just want to get home with the milk I just bought from the shop.
“I heard your mother died,” Sean says with a grin. “That sucks. What happened?”
“She had an aneurysm,” I reply.
Samantha and the other girls start giggling. I look over at them, but I don't know what's supposed to be so funny.
“What's an aneurysm?” Sean asks.
“It was a thing in her brain.”
“A thing ?” He's still grinning at me. “What kind of thing? You need to be a little more specific.”
“She just collapsed,” I tell him, and I'm already starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable. “I'm sorry, I have to go home now.”
I turn and start walking away, but I immediately hear the sound of him coming up behind me. I flinch, just as he puts an arm on my shoulder and holds me back. I'm supposed to meet Dad outside the shop.
“She just collapsed?” he asks, sounding both amused and incredulous. “Maybe I'm being a dumb-ass, Lisa, but I don't think people just collapse like that. I can't help thinking that there must be something more to it. Is it possible that she simply saw your ugly face and died of fright?”
I immediately hear the other girls laughing.
Staring straight ahead, I clench my jaw.
“I think that might be it,” Sean continues. “Yeah, I guess no-one told you that, because they probably wanted to save your feelings, but she probably died because of how ugly you are. Does that make you feel guilty, Lisa? You're s
o ugly and so stupid, you ended up killing your mother.”
There's more giggling as I slowly turn to him.
“Sorry to be so blunt,” Sean adds, “but I guess you'd rather know the -”
Before I can stop myself, I swing at him with my right first, trying to punch him in the face. He ducks out of the way and I miss, but then I turn and swing again. This time, just as he starts laughing, I hit him right on the jaw and send him stumbling back against a nearby fence.
“You bitch!” he snarls, as he wipes blood from his lip and lunges at me. “I'm gonna make sure you -”
“What the hell is going on here?” Dad yells, hurrying up behind me.
Just as Sean is about to grab my arm, Dad pushes him away.
“Your stupid bitch of a daughter attacked me for no reason!” Sean yells angrily. “She's a monster, she needs locking up!”
“It's okay, Lisa,” Dad says as he pushes me back and steps toward Sean. “I'll take care of this.”
“She needs sorting out,” Sean continues. “You want to take her into the forest and put a brick into the back of her head. No-one'll miss her. She's like a mad animal, and there's only one thing to do with those!”
“Maybe you should be getting home, Sean Alton,” Dad replies. “I'm sure your parents wouldn't want to think that you're out here in the middle of the village, causing trouble.”
“She punched me!” he yells.
“Go home,” Dad tells him. “It looks like you need to clean yourself up.”
As Sean and the girls leave, Dad turns to me. He puts a hand on the side of my face and gently forces my head up until I'm looking directly at him.
“It's okay,” he says calmly, “he won't bother you again.”
I look past him and see that Sean is glancing back at me. He looks angry, but he quickly disappears around the corner and I breathe a sigh of relief. Still, Forkworth is a small place and I'm sure it won't be long before I bump into that idiot again.
“Let's get home,” Dad says, steering me along the lane. “Seriously, Lisa, put Sean Alton out of your mind. I promise you, that was the one and only time he'll ever cause you any trouble.”
