Emergency services response time is around eight minutes, but in a rural place like this, and given the snow, it could be much longer, somewhere between twenty minutes and several hours, I’m not sure. Let’s say I have around twenty minutes. That’s long enough to find and gut Leah. It might even be long enough to escape to the place Owen and I arranged to meet. But if I don’t make it, at least Leah will be dead, and yes, she has to die, especially now.
The cold seeps down to my bones. It pierces the stab wound on my chest, and it’s like being stabbed all over again. Visibility is terrible on the moors, and I can’t run, because it hurts too much. But neither can Leah. When I stuck the knife in her leg, I was aiming for her femoral artery, but sadly missed. At least she’ll be in pain now. There’s no way she’ll be able to run down to her precious farm this time.
I set off through the snow, blinking in the face of the blizzard before me. It’s like walking through flying ice. The ground isn’t particularly firm and my shoes sink and slide. Each step is blind. I could stumble over rocks, or I could step into a drift. I could fall on my face. This is all fine. I can adapt and overcome every time. I have the knife, I have my instincts, and I have a job to finish.
Leah knows these moors much better than I do. I don’t want to admit it, but she has the advantage. I can’t forget that.
Cold wind and snow hit my eyes, but I force them open. I force my chin up so that I can search for her. There’s no swing of her long hair. No hint of a figure in the distance. Nothing. I take a slim torch from my coat pocket and check the surface of the snow for footprints. The stupid tourists have muddied the waters. There are several scuffs and half-filled footprints that could belong to anyone. I try to follow them as they change direction. What size are Leah’s feet? Which shoes was she wearing? Hiking boots, I remember that. She had on a dark jacket that may be visible through the snow.
High up as I am, my torch should be able to find someone making their way down the path. But there’s no one there. Leah is hiding somewhere. Did she crouch behind a boulder last time? Humans constantly repeat themselves. They act the same way in the same situations. Leah is no different to anyone else.
Then I see it. The drops of blood on the snow. I think of it dribbling from the wound in her thigh, all the way down her leg to the ground. I smile to myself. There we are. All I needed was patience. I knew everything would turn out well in the end. And now I’m finally going to end this.
Chapter Forty
Leah
It all came full circle. I think there has always been part of me that knew it would. My psyche knew, because it continued to lead me to the abandoned house on the moors. It had unfinished business with me. Isabel had unfinished business. Part of me knew we would end up at that house again, fighting for survival. And perhaps my body predicted that I would be hiding here, tucked away by a ravine in the moorland, crouching down where her torchlight can’t find us.
The girl next to me whimpers and I shush her sharply before examining the wound on my leg. I don’t mean to be harsh with her, but the world is silent apart from the snow. I don’t know where Isabel is and what she can hear, but we can’t take any chances.
I place my hand next to the wound on my leg. I was lucky she missed an artery. But the wound is over an inch deep and still bleeding. I quickly untie my shoelace and wrap it around my thigh, wincing at the pain, watching as the girl next to me silently cries. I smile at her, hoping that it helps, but she huddles there staring at me with wild eyes. There’s smudged eyeliner travelling down to her nose, but still the whites of her eyes seem like an expanse in the darkness. Her chest rises rapidly up and down. I tie the laces and place my hand on the side of her cheek to calm her. She trembles under my touch. It’s at that moment I comprehend that in this moment, I’m not panicking. I’m calm, because I’ve been here before. When I was here before, I won and I can win again.
“Did you call the police?” I whisper.
She nods her head.
They’ll be on their way by now, though it won’t be quick in this weather. This is an isolated area and I don’t know which station they’ll come from, especially if Isabel sent the police to a fake address.
“Sit tight,” I mouth.
Last time Isabel was searching for me on the moors, she was bold enough to call my name. It was the middle of the night, Tom had killed her father, and I was hiding behind a rock somewhere. This time, she’s silent, only the bob of torchlight through snow gives me a vague idea of where she is.
The way I see it, I have limited options. I could wait in this ravine and hope that Isabel doesn’t find me or the girl next to me. I could get up and face her. We’re both injured, but I don’t know which of us is injured the worst. My thigh wound means that I can’t run. I can walk quickly, but it’s not enough if I want to fight her. On the other hand, I believe I stabbed close to Isabel’s right breast, hitting bone. That has to hurt a lot. She must be almost as weakened as I am.
The other option is to try to lead her to the farm. Though this means possibly putting Donna’s life in danger. But it could be possible. If Isabel sees me, she might follow me. She might decide that self-preservation is more important than killing me and simply run away before the police come. Isabel is clever. She knows that the girl will have a mobile phone, and she knows that the police will be on their way. Isabel knows she has limited time to either kill me or run away. The problem is, I don’t know which option she’s going for and I run the risk of not ending this once and for all. It would extend my life of living in terror, not knowing when she’s going to strike. Could I live like that again?
I think of the baby inside me. I hope he or she is strong enough to live through this stress, both physical and emotional. If Isabel escaped, I could move away. Convince Seb and Donna to sell the farm, then find a nice apartment somewhere warm. South America, or Hawaii, or Australia. Tom could come with us and continue his atonement for what he did to Alison Findlay. Would that be paradise?
But as the snow continues to fall, I see a different path. I see myself looking over my shoulder, recognising Isabel’s features in a stranger’s face. New names, new identities. Moving a second or third or fourth time. A child constantly uprooted by my paranoia, smothered by a sense of my own demise. I see a child who will forever be a possibility to hurt me. Who could be used by a psychopath who does not possess the conscience needed to curb her desires. That’s what I see.
I suck in a deep breath, force my brain to ignore the throbbing in my leg, and stand.
Almost immediately, the torchlight finds me, and I’m aware that I resemble a deer caught in the headlights of a car. Isabel’s mouth opens slightly in surprise. She’s closer to us than I thought she would be. Somehow, she was able to track us in this direction. I don’t allow my mind to linger on that fact. I begin my descent towards the farm. I’m aware that this means luring a serial killer in the direction of Seb’s mum, but I’ll have to cross that bridge when it comes to it. At least at the farm, I can get help. At least the police can find me. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll have the upper hand on my own turf.
I glance behind me to see how far away she is, and, perhaps it’s my imagination, but it feels like she’s even closer. Her bottom lip is mashed between her teeth and one hand has hold of her chest. I can see that the movement is causing her pain, which is knowledge I can use if it comes to a fight. I try to speed up, but the sharp pain in my thigh makes me gasp. I grow light-headed. If I pass out before I get to the farm, this is over.
“You’re too slow, Leah,” she shouts.
I don’t turn around, but I feel the light of her torch on my back. I grit my teeth and push harder, as hard as I can possibly go without feeling faint again. I still have the knife, I remind myself. I can still defend myself. She’s no bigger than me and we’re both hurt. Keep going. Keep going.
“When I catch up with you, I’m going to cut out your heart.”
Keep going. Don’t listen. Keep going.
&nbs
p; “Have you ever seen what the Vikings used to do to their enemies?” her voice is muffled by the falling snow. She has to shout over the sound of crunching snow. But still she won’t shut up. “They’d open up their ribs—” Her breath catches with the effort of moving. That sound frightens me because of how close she is. “They’d pull the lungs out so that they look like wings. Maybe I’ll do that to you.”
I want to engage with her because I know she can’t do any of these things. She doesn’t have time. It’s tempting to shout back, to let her know that I see her empty threats and understand her desperation, but I don’t. I put all my energy into walking. Until… the torch drops, and the light goes out. I feel the stirring of air by my ear. And then teeth sink into my left shoulder. A horrible shrieking sound echoes around the moors. It’s me. I’m shrieking. Isabel yanks away and I half collapse to the ground. She spits a chunk of my flesh into the snow, and then the knife lifts.
Chapter Forty-One
Tom
Light fades, snow falls, and the fog lights come on. Through the blur of the snow, the streets begin to look familiar. But now that I’m away from the main roads and into Hutton village, there are abandoned cars everywhere.
I’ve driven a forty-minute journey in twenty-five, snow falling all around, managing to break every speed limit in a stolen Land Rover. For the first time in a while, luck was on my side. The Land Rover had been parked behind Owen’s lodge, and must have been there for a quicker getaway, which didn’t happen when he was injured by the axe. Seb’s truck is still at the lodge, its windscreen now useless.
Six driving lessons in, I’m underprepared and breaking so many laws that it’s a miracle I haven’t been pulled over. But I don’t care. I have to get to Leah. The snow won’t hold me back, I won’t let it.
My heart is hammering when I turn onto the country roads close to the Braithwaite’s. Even though the snow is deeper here, the Land Rover handles it well. But reluctantly, I ease off the accelerator when I feel the tyres begin to lose traction. How long has Leah been left alone now? Long enough for Isabel to do whatever she wants to her. I glance at the shotgun on the passenger seat. I don’t feel any remorse for shooting Owen. I’m pretty sure he’s dead by now. The world is better off without him. Now it’s time to take Isabel out of the world as well.
Finally, the turning comes up for the farm. I take it too fast and finally lose control completely. The Land Rover clips the gate post on the passenger side, spins, and then stops. I don’t allow myself time to panic, I grab the shotgun, and get out.
Keep going. Keep going.
The farm is silent as I sprint down the lane. Snow has covered everything. The chicken coop, the courtyard. I trip over a stone and land on my knees, panting.
Get up.
Past the farm, now, the cottage coming into view. It’s a long way up the moors to the abandoned house. I keep going, feeling the burn of my muscles as I continue up the hill to Rose Cottage. The lights are off.
Without my jacket, I’m freezing cold. Shivering down to my boots. The snow crunches beneath my feet. I make it onto the moors and stop for a moment to catch my breath.
The moors are silent. I lift the gun, hoping I’ve reloaded it correctly, and continue walking. My breath wheezes slightly from the run. I flex the muscles in my arms, trying to keep the heat in them, and at the same time force my mind to be sharp. How long has it been since Isabel jumped out at me at the campsite in Clifton? I let my guard down that night. It can’t happen again.
But with every step, those thoughts of keeping myself together begin to fade away because there is a sense of foreboding about the general atmosphere around me. I scan the place, trying to put my finger on what seems out of place. And then I see it. Light. It bobs for a moment and then it goes out. Someone is out on the moors. Not walkers, not in this. Walkers wouldn’t turn off their light. But someone who didn’t want to be seen might.
I begin to jog towards the spot where I saw the light. There are no markers or moonlight. Snow catches in my eyelashes and hit my eyes. But I trust my feet, and I start to think through what’s happening. If Leah was kidnapped by Isabel and Cassie, it would be unlikely that she’d be carrying a torch at the time. What would be more likely, is that Isabel, or her new accomplice, kept a torch with them in order to be able to follow someone in the dark.
My breath becomes laboured as I continue jogging. It’s possible that Isabel turned off her torch because she saw me. I lift the gun and rest it against my shoulder, slowing slightly to maintain my control over the gun. I don’t want to pull the trigger before it’s time and waste my bullets. I feel like I’m close to the area where the torch went off when an ear-splitting shriek stops me dead. It makes my blood run cold. Alison Findlay cried out when I killed her. I shake the memory away and hurry towards the sound. Now isn’t the time to feel guilt; it’s time to generate the kind of rage that took me to the lowest, darkest point in my life. It’s time to let out that killer again.
Isabel needs to die.
The snow eases slightly and my eyes adjust to the darkness. Finally, I see her through the darkness. Her small frame surprises me every time I see her. Perhaps I build her up to be a monster in my mind. There’s blood on her mouth, at least I think it’s blood. She’s on top of a lump in the snow.
There are two sets of arms grappling for the same bloody knife. I stop dead, staring at the scene before me. Isabel is in the throes of her fight and hasn’t noticed me. The slight reprieve in snowfall grows stronger again, making visibility difficult once more. It’s Isabel, I recognise the shape of her body, the way she moves. But am I completely certain?
I make a decision. I lift the gun back to my shoulder and pull the trigger.
The bullet hits, and Isabel flies back. I lower the gun and run towards the fray. Leah lies in the snow, clutching the side of her neck. I help her sit up and see the blood seeping through the wound.
“I’m okay,” she says. “The police are coming, but the snow…”
“I know,” I say. I go to remove my jacket for her, but then I remember I left it with Seb. There’s nothing I can give her now. Except, maybe… “Love you, Mum.”
I stand, lifting the gun back to my shoulder.
Leah’s mouth moves as though she wants to respond, but I walk back to where Isabel fell. She sprawls around in the snow, holding one arm with the other. The knife is still in her wounded hand. I lift up the gun and aim it straight at her face, and then I change my mind and direct it towards her heart. I want her body to be easily identified, so that the entire world knows that Isabel Fielding is dead. But when I pull the trigger, nothing happens. My stomach sinks. Isabel begins to smile. She lifts up from the ground and laughs. Her knife catches a trace of moonlight and when she moves closer to me, I see the blood all over her. At least some of it is her blood this time, not like the time she killed poor Maisie. Not like that. No, we’ve damaged her at least. We’ve made her feel pain.
I refuse to back away, instead I stand my ground when she comes for me. With the butt of the gun, I hit her on the right side of her jaw, but she twists herself so that it doesn’t have the impact I was hoping for. She goes for my wrist, teeth sinking into my flesh. This is her stripped away, I think. Feral. Wild.
My skin is so cold that I barely feel the pain. At least until panic kicks in and I realise how much damage she could do. Before I can act, Leah knocks her away from me. It gives me a moment to regroup. I grasp hold of Isabel’s hair and drag her onto her feet. Blood and spit bubble at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes are like two dark pits of rage. I’ve known that rage. This is like looking in a mirror for me.
“Tom!” Leah shouts. She sees the knife before I do.
It all happens so fast. Isabel screams in either pain or frustration or both when she plunges the knife into my hip. She first falls into me, but the shock of it all makes me let go of her hair. Leah attempts to either grab her or stab her, I’m not sure, and then Isabel begins to run, but not towards the farm,
out towards the expanse of the moors.
Suddenly there are sirens wailing closer, but Isabel is getting away. She isn’t exactly sprinting, but she’s limping and groaning away from us. I can’t rely on the police catching her. She needs to be dead. I begin to follow her.
She turns back, sees me, and manages to increase her speed. I glance down at the knife still stuck in the flesh of my thigh, right at the top near my hip. I could pull it out, but I think it might slow me down, so I keep going, ignoring the throbbing. It’s torment, but I can’t let her get away this time. This is it for us. This is how it ends. This is how I save my mother. And I know I have one advantage over Isabel. I know what Isabel has forgotten. I know exactly what she’s running towards. A place she’s been before. A place she’ll never want to go again.
It’s only when she’s close to the edge that she sees the drop. But it’s too late. She stops hurrying away from me and tries to turn, but I’ve gained on her, and now I’m moving even faster than she was. Now I have my arms outstretched. Now I’m shifting my weight backwards so that I can propel myself forwards. Now I’m connecting with her body, pushing us both towards the drop, pushing us both with all my weight so that we don’t end up landing on the platform that I know is underneath this cliff. This is the place where Mum dropped Isabel. But this time, Isabel is going to die, because I’m going to make sure of it.
There’s a scream, possibly two. I can’t tell whether it’s coming from Isabel, Mum, or me. We leave the safety of the snow and then there’s nothing beneath us. It’s like we’re suspended in air until gravity takes over. It’s not long, maybe a second, maybe less. She hits the rock first. Pain explodes all over my body. My head takes a knock. I hear a crack. A bone smashed, and I think it was part of my face. Breathing becomes difficult and a numbness spreads out to my limbs. Perhaps I broke my spine on impact. I don’t have long. I look at Isabel. She’s landed on her back, and I landed on my side, slightly to the right. It’s only now that I pull the knife from my left hip. I don’t even feel it.
Three For A Girl (Isabel Fielding Book 3) Page 22
