“Alison Findlay.” My hand flies to my mouth. My throat goes dry with either fear or shock, I’m not sure. “I thought it was me. I thought I did it in my sleep, imitating Isabel because there was part of me that…”
“Loves her?” Tom says. “I know. I’ve always known that. Which is why I took advantage of it and made you think you’d killed her.” His eyes drop to the floor and he rubs his nose, his body twitchy with nervous energy. “I replaced your medication. That’s why you were hallucinating and sleepwalking more than usual in Scotland. Then I followed Alison home through the quiet fields and murdered her, making it look like Isabel’s handiwork.”
I find a chair to drop into. “No, Tom. No. You couldn’t have. You were at home that night.”
“I came in as you were sleepwalking, and then I smeared blood on your hands and told you that you’d killed someone. You were so out of it that it worked. I wasn’t sure if it would.”
My eyes fill with tears. “How could you?”
“I told you it was unforgivable.” He takes a drag of his cigarette and flicks the ash into a mug.
“Why? Why that woman? She did nothing to you, to us.” My hands ball into fists as anger and shock and sadness rushes through my body.
He pulls on his cigarette and shakes his head. “I was so filled with hatred. You brought Isabel into our lives and I wanted to punish you for it.”
“That’s no excuse.”
He looks at me sharply, and I get a glimpse into the depths of his anger. I see it now. I didn’t want to before, but I see the rage in his eyes.
“You never told me, mum. You never sat me down and told me how I was born. I had to find out by accident. That I was made through incest. I… I needed to let it all out, this rage. Killing David Fielding made me feel so powerful and I wanted to feel like that again.”
I can’t believe the things he’s saying to me. How did I miss all of this? We’re both silent for a moment, the sound of Tom smoking the only noise in the room. A last, terrible thought hits me.
“Did you ever want to kill me?” I ask, watching a tear roll down my nose and drop to the floor.
“Yes,” he admits.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tom
She doesn’t seem afraid of me, but she is devastated. Her tears wet the floor while I find my own tears drying up. They were real, the tears I shed for Dominic. I wasn’t faking them. But I had never been certain if I’d ever feel remorse for what I did. I was wrong, there is remorse inside me, banging on my bones, demanding attention.
But more than anything, I want my sister back. I want everything to be back to how it was before Isabel escaped Crowmont Hospital. Leah was ill when we were living in the cottage, but if she’d gone to the doctor’s and been diagnosed, we could’ve had a happy few years there. I want to be blissfully unaware of who I am. I wish I’d never killed David Fielding. Sometimes I even wish I’d let him murder Leah, and then Isabel could’ve killed me. At least it would’ve ended it all before it began.
That’s not the reality, though. Here I am sitting in front of my sister, confessing a premeditated and sickening murder to her. And there she is, wiping her eyes, trying to compose herself.
“I only ever wanted to be your mother,” she says. “But it was taken from me. I was so young, and I felt so violated. Mum never believed that it was Dad who did this to me. She took over and raised you as her own, making you my little brother. I’ve made mistakes, Tom, countless mistakes. I shouldn’t have moved out of that house, I should’ve stayed and protected you, but I thought I could get you out once I’d settled in a job. I had no idea what Dad was going to do.” She takes a break because the emotions are too strong. I see her swallow hard. “You’re right. I did bring Isabel into our lives and there is a part of me that loves her. I hate her so much, but we’re connected by something… otherworldly.” She shakes her head. “I can’t explain it.”
“You’re attracted to her,” I say. “She’s smart, free, dangerous. She’s obsessed with you and that has to have some sort of effect on your ego, even if you don’t over-analyse it.” I watch her closely. I’ve never known if Leah’s ever been aware of the effect Isabel has on her, but I suspect it’s because of our father and the house we grew up in as children. It’s a part of myself that I’ve also come to understand. Leah and I think love will come from darkness. From pain.
“I don’t want you to be right,” she admits. “But I think you are.” She smiles thinly, not a trace of joy on her face. “When did you become so wise?”
“When you weren’t paying attention.”
“Well, I think it’s safe to say you have my attention now.” She leans back in her seat and rubs her eyes. “What do we do now? Do I know everything?”
I nod my head. “You do.”
“What about Jess? Dominic? Josh?”
“None of that was me.” A ripple of emotion runs through me. “I could never kill Dominic. He was the one who helped me stop.”
“Did he know?”
I shake my head. “He thought it was drugs all along. I never told him about Alison. I think that’s why he dumped me, because he knew there was this secret between us.”
She nods. “He mentioned a secret to me. He was upset, you know. He loved you and he wanted to make it work. But I saw bruises on his wrist. He tried to make it seem like there was some consensual stuff going on, but I could tell he was lying. You were violent with him.”
“I’m like Dad,” I admit, throwing the butt of my cigarette into the mug. “Sometimes I can’t control my temper.”
She comes closer to me now and takes my hands in hers. It’s surprising to feel her touch. I thought she would run out of here screaming. I almost forgot; Leah loves monsters. “Remember when I was drinking too much and you were scared for me. You convinced me to give up drinking so that I didn’t turn out like Dad.”
I don’t understand where she’s going with this, but I nod anyway.
“Well, now it’s my turn to stop you from becoming Dad.”
I lean away, confused. “I already am. I’m a murderer.”
“A murderer who confessed, and who is working on their addiction, who’s trying to improve.”
“You’re not going to call the police?”
“If I call the police, you’ll go to prison,” she says.
I pull my hands away from her. What did I want from this? Did I want her to turn me in? I’m not sure. “I think I belong in prison, Leah. I took a life just for the hell of it. That woman had family and I ruined all their lives. You’re not going to call the police?”
She shakes her head. “You’re my son and I want to help you be better. You’re not lost, not yet.”
What she’s saying is insane. No one could forgive me for what I did. But when I search her face, I see no trace of a lie, and Leah has never been a convincing liar. I can’t believe she would protect me, perhaps that’s because the woman who raised me failed to protect us both.
“What was Dad like when you went to visit him in prison?” I ask.
“He was like a… a shadow of who he was when we were young. Thinner, shorter… smaller in general. He wasn’t the man we remember. He wasn’t the monster we remember.”
“You weren’t scared of him?”
“No,” she says, and she seems almost surprised by this admission, as though it only now occurred to her. “He was pathetic to me. I pitied him.”
“Like you pity me?”
“I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through. Maybe I’m not seeing this clearly. We’ve known so many psychopaths. You know, maybe that’s not true. Dad isn’t a psychopath. He’s weak. He’s pitiful. Isabel is a true psychopath, not you. I think maybe you tried to be like Isabel to make it stop hurting. But you’re not her. You have love to give, Tom. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” She places her palm on my cheek, and for the first time she begins to feel like my mother. “I’ve been thinking about Dad ever since the pregnancy test turned out to be p
ositive. I feel awful about what I said to you in the car that day, about how I’ll be passing on his genes from one generation to the next. I think I made it sound like there was no hope for you, that you’d forever be a copy of his worst traits. But that was wrong. Tom, I think we’ve both inherited some of his darkness and I think we’re idiots if we don’t admit that to ourselves. And I think that’s why people like Isabel are drawn to us, because we’re people who could have turned out like her, but we didn’t. We’ve been fighting against it. If you were like Isabel, you wouldn’t feel guilt for killing Alison. But you do, don’t you?”
Dumbfounded, I merely nod my head. I hadn’t looked at any of these issues from this perspective.
“Maybe at one point you enjoyed it, but you were lost then. And I was lost, too. I think we can find who we are together, and we can’t do that if you’re in prison. No, Isabel confessed to Alison’s murder and we’re not going to rock that boat. But you need to keep going to the meetings. And I think you should stay with us for a week or so.”
“Oh,” I say. “There’s a problem with that. Seb. I think he suspects me.”
She gets to her feet and chews on a thumbnail. “I’ll have to talk to him and smooth things out. He knows. He’s figured it out for himself, and I think he thinks you’ve hurt his brother.”
“I swear I haven’t—”
“I believe you,” she says. “Stay here for now and I’ll try to figure it all out.”
***
Dominic’s parents have no desire to meet me. I try calling them using a number DCI Murphy gave me, but as soon as I explain who I am, they make their excuses and hang up the phone. They’ll never know about Dominic’s last months with me. They’ll never accept who he was. By doing that they’ve robbed themselves of learning all about his amazing qualities. The way he managed to keep me on a lighter path, despite the darkness that had taken over. They’ll never learn about how he helped to make me a better person.
Now that I’m alone again, I decide to head over to the next town to go to an AA meeting. I’d forced Leah to leave after we discussed everything about Alison Findlay. I’d wanted to be alone when I called Dominic’s parents, not that it had any benefit. But being alone makes me want to drink, or go out and get in a fight, or whatever. Anything that numbs the pain.
Despite the centimetre of snow on the ground, the buses are still running. The early morning dusting is all anyone can talk about. I see the people in front of me browsing the weather report, paranoid that the snow will get worse and they’ll be stuck. I don’t care.
The meeting is the usual affair: bad coffee, weak tea, and uncomfortable chairs. There are six of us in total, all sitting in a circle like a discussion group. As always, we go around the room and each person gets their opportunity to speak. Finally, it’s my turn.
“I drank alcohol last night,” I admit. “I broke the promise to myself and I drank. But alcohol isn’t my main addiction. Drinking doesn’t help, obviously, but it isn’t what strips away at me until I don’t recognise myself anymore.” I rub sweaty palms against my jeans. “My boyfriend was murdered. I found out about it yesterday.”
There’s a murmur all around the room but no one talks.
“I walked straight out of the door of my flat and I went to the nearest shop to buy booze. I wanted to numb myself, or to lose myself, I don’t know which.
“I met my boyfriend when I was at my lowest. In fact, I was drunk then, too. Not the fun kind of drunk, either, the crying, shameful, throwing up on your own shoes kind of drunk. I was walking down the street without any money for a taxi and he helped me get home. He didn’t know who I was, but he helped me into bed, made certain I didn’t choke, and then slept on the sofa. The next day I moped around feeling sorry for myself while he made me hot drinks and told me things would get better. He’d recently been thrown out by his parents and had spent a couple of nights on the street. But now he had a job and things were looking up. When he smiled at me, it was like someone was shining a torch on me, or him, I’m not sure.
“And then he hardly left my flat, even though I kept telling him that I was no good. He helped me find a new job that I actually liked. He made me start coming to meetings. He was always by my side when I felt the worst about myself. I gave him so little in return because I convinced myself that I had nothing to give. I gave him nothing but pain. And now he’s dead because of me, because of the life I chose to live. And it isn’t fair. None of it. I want to say that I wish I’d never met him, because if I hadn’t, he’d still be alive. But I can’t wish that, because he saved so many lives and he doesn’t even know it, including my own.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Leah
Tom asked me to leave his flat so that I could give him space to call Dominic’s parents. He wants to tell them about their son. About the relationship they had and the way Dominic helped him get through the bad times. My legs feel like jelly as I leave. I’m still reeling from his confession.
Tom killed Alison Findlay.
He didn’t just kill her, he also tried to make me believe I’d done it so that I didn’t suspect him. He replaced my pills and risked my delicate mental health. I don’t know how I’m even going to process this.
I get to my car and sit in shock. Tom murdered Alison Findlay for pleasure. I listened to him, and I made the decision not to call the police. Does that make sense?
No matter what, he’s my son and I love him. I meant it when I said that he isn’t a psychopath like Isabel. I’m convinced of that at least. He loves and is loved. Isabel loves no one. She has no soul, no conscience. Tom isn’t like that. Is he?
The last month has been one thing after another. Since I discovered that I was pregnant, so much has happened, from Dominic’s murder, to Josh’s disappearance, to Tom’s confession. I’ve cried more over the last month than ever before. There’s been a lifetime of suffering.
I try to push away those thoughts, and check my phone for word from Seb or his mother. There’s a text message from Donna to say that there’s no news. But there’s also an email from Cassie.
I hadn’t given Cassie much thought since Josh had gone missing, but the email sitting in my inbox screams for attention. The subject matter: PLEASE MEET ME!
Dear Leah,
I’m so sorry to bother you. I read about your brother in law going missing. You must be so stressed out. I can’t even imagine. But if you have half an hour to spare, I’d really appreciate it. I need to tell you more about Neal. I can’t stay silent anymore. I can’t keep working for him! You’re the only person I know here and I need someone to talk to.
She proposes that we meet at the same place. I fire off a quick reply and she responds immediately to ask me to meet her now. I’m about to tell her that there’s too much going on to meet today, but then I think that this might be the best kind of distraction. Perhaps listening to someone else’s problems will help me calm down. Plus, I believe Tom when he tells me that he didn’t kill Jess, and Neal’s alibi sounded sketchy. If he had a part in Jess’s death, is it possible he had something to do with Josh’s disappearance, or Dominic’s death? Any information could be useful now.
Because I’m already in the village, I arrive at the café earlier than Cassie. I order myself a latte and sit near to the door so I can see her arrive. While I’m waiting, it strikes me as odd that she’s not filming today, because it always seems that the cast and crew work for long, hard hours and rarely have a break. This bit of snow might have shut production down. Or maybe they’re focusing on a different character. Perhaps it’s me and Tom in the cottage. Or the dinner I had with the Fieldings. The thought makes me shudder. Two of the people from that awkward dinner are dead now, and the other two are fugitives.
When she arrives, I note that she seems agitated. Her hands flutter around her face, moving strands of hair from out of her eyes. She orders a herbal tea and settles down.
Her voice is breathless as she speaks. “Thanks so much for coming. I’m so sorr
y about Josh.” She sheds gloves and a thick scarf, dumping all on the floor.
“Thank you,” I say, without going into any more detail. Dominic’s death hasn’t been reported yet and I don’t want to spread the news around.
“If this is Isabel,” she says. “God. I suppose it’s our fault, for making this film. It’s made her go crazy.”
“Isabel has been mentally ill for a long time,” I remind her. “But I did warn Neal about what the movie would do to her. She’s a narcissist and this plays right into her hands.”
“Yeah. I think he knows that.” She grimaces, staring out of the window. Then seems to shake away a thought, lifts her cup, and takes a sip. The motion makes her sleeve fall down slightly, and I notice a bruise around her wrist. Very similar to the bruise that Dominic had on his wrist. The kind that almost looks like fingers wrapped around the limb.
“Are you all right?” I ask. It must be a coincidence, surely, but dread seeps into my bones like a cold night.
“Oh,” she says, covering it back up. “It’s makeup.”
Relief floods through me. “It’s so convincing.”
“The team are great. They make everything look real.” Her eyelashes flutter as she glances away from me and she scratches her wrist. This doesn’t feel right.
I decide not to push it, even though my instinct tells me she’s not telling the truth, or at least, not the whole truth. “You seemed a bit upset in the email. What did you want to meet about?”
“Did you tell the police about Neal?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I told them everything you said and I kept your name out of it like you asked. But the police told me he was with his ex-wife.”
She nods. “An officer went to question him, asked him for an alibi. He gave them his phoney story and convinced them he’s innocent. It’s all a load of bullshit. He admitted everything to me.”
“What?” I lean in. “He confessed to murder?”
Three For A Girl (Isabel Fielding Book 3) Page 16
