Were they back? Or was Nat making connections that just weren’t there? It was almost as if she wanted them to be responsible, and she wasn’t for a minute stopping to consider that more people were dead and a little girl was missing. It was as if their lives didn’t matter to her. All that mattered was getting revenge. All that mattered was making Aaron Black’s death mean something. But to whom? To the world? Or to herself? Because that was what it was really about. Wasn’t it? It was about making herself feel better. It was about appeasing her guilt.
Meanwhile, she was hurting the one person who cared about her and freaking out potential friends.
Stopping outside the next caravan, Nat knocked on the door. When no one answered, she let herself in with a set of keys and headed into the bedroom. No dirty underwear on the floor. That was something, she supposed.
As she stripped the bed and replaced the sheets, she thought about Rose and her desire for Nat to leave the cove and do something with her life. She thought about Rachel living in London, daydreamed about them hanging out together, best friends exploring galleries and art cafes. It was a life that she could have. Maybe not with Rachel in it – she’d be surprised if Rachel ever wanted to see her again – but still, it was a life that could be hers. All she had to do was tell Rose and Rose would help her make it happen.
All she had to do was give up her obsession with the Dawn Children. All she had to do was forgive herself for Aaron’s death.
Could she do that? Could she find it in herself to let it all go?
Finished with tucking in clean sheets, she stood back to admire her handiwork. There was something under the bed. More dirty underwear. Nat wrinkled her nose and heaved her shoulders.
She could try, she supposed. She could try for Rose. Even if she couldn’t try for herself.
15
CARRIE SAT BEHIND THE wheel, feeling hot and uncomfortable in her black trouser suit, as she drove along the A30, heading for Bristol. The mid-morning traffic was heavier than she'd expected, with vehicles of all shapes and sizes shooting along the dual carriageway. She didn't know why she’d dressed so smartly. It wasn't like she was going to a job interview or a business meeting.
It had been four days since her phone call to Doctor Jensen. Four days in which guilt had risen up to consume her. There had been no further developments in the Church family murder investigation. Lindsay Church had still not been found. Carrie had tried to do what Detective Constable Turner had advised – to get on with her life – but it was proving difficult. Like right now, for instance. She was on her way to visit her murderous son, who was locked away at a secure hospital in Bristol.
As she changed lanes, she glanced through the side window at the vast stretch of Bodmin Moor, barren peaks and crags rising up in the distance. The emptiness fed her anxiety, reminded her of how she felt sometimes in the cramped streets of Porth an Jowl with everyone staring and pointing fingers—isolated and alone. She checked the clock on the dashboard, then her arrival time on the Satnav. The closer she was getting, the more her anxiety was spinning out of control.
Melissa was with Dylan until Saturday. She hadn’t told either of them where she was going. Just last week, Melissa had said that if Cal came home, she would go to live with her dad. Who could blame her? She was still having nightmares, still traumatised by that night in her bedroom when she’d watched her brother stab her grandmother. All Carrie wanted was for Melissa to feel safe again. All she wanted was for Cal to be well. But it was as if she had to choose between the two. Like one would cancel out the other.
She thought about Cal coming home one day and re-joining the family. Wondered if that day would come. Or if it even should. She was still having trouble coming to terms with Cal’s crimes. He’d taken a life. Almost two. And even though Carrie knew he was a victim himself, that Grady Spencer had destroyed him, she still couldn't separate the violence.
As for Dylan, she didn't even know what was happening. He'd been the one to suggest a trial separation, the one to say their marriage was impossible with Cal still around. But lately, since he and Carrie had been spending time apart, Dylan was behaving like he’d changed his mind. There were little signs – a warm smile, a lingering look, staying around for coffee after dropping Melissa home. The only trouble was Carrie didn't know if she felt the same. Melissa, Dylan, and Cal – they couldn't exist within the same circle. To have them all in her life, she would have to tear herself down the middle. Only give them half of her time. Would that mean she could only give them half of her love, too? She didn't think that was –
An urgent, angry, blast of a car horn ripped her from her thoughts. Carrie looked up, saw that she’d drifted halfway into the next lane, dangerously close to another vehicle. With a cry, she spun the wheel, quickly pulling away and back into the correct lane. The other car shot past, horn still blasting, an angry face screaming obscenities at the driver window.
Her heart crashed against her chest. Her hands trembled on the wheel. She'd almost died! What would have happened to her children then? What would have happened to Cal?
Seeing a sign for a service station, Carrie changed lanes, then took the next junction. She followed the road, slowing down, until she reached the service station, which was a mishmash of overpriced eateries, coffee shops, and fuel pumps. Parking the car, she let go of the wheel and buried her face in her hands.
What was she doing? Why was everything so damn hard? Tears came, splashing on her suit. How could she help Cal when she couldn't help herself? How could showing up at the hospital when she wasn’t ready to see him do any good?
Pulling a tissue from her bag on the passenger seat, she dried her eyes, then glanced out the window. A family was leaving its car and heading towards one of the coffee shops. She watched the children skipping along next to their parents, happy and carefree. She'd had that once. Wondered if she would ever get it back again.
She’d call the hospital and apologise. Then she would go home. Maybe try again next week.
No. Whether you feel it or not, he’s still your son. He needs you. Now more than any other time. And you need him.
Dumping the tissue, Carrie cleared her throat, checked her appearance in the rear-view mirror. “You can do this.”
She started up the engine and continued her journey to Bristol.
BY THE TIME SHE ARRIVED at the hospital, her heart was beating so wildly she thought she might faint. The guard at the security gate lifted the barrier and waved her through. Carrie parked the car in the visitors section and switched off the engine. She sat there for a minute, still and unsteady, trying to slow her breathing. She glanced up at the hospital building, clean and modern, its exterior masking the anguish that lay within.
Steeling herself, she pushed the door open and headed inside. At the reception desk, she signed in, then was shown to a room, where she emptied her pockets and put her belongings into a locker. Next came a body search. Then she waited, growing more and more anxious with the passing of each minute. Just when she thought she might turn around again and head back home, a burly nurse arrived to escort her to one of the visitor rooms.
He was waiting inside. Cal. Her son. Sitting at a table in an empty space devoid of sharp objects or anything else that could be used to cause harm.
The nurse stayed by the door. He was tall and muscular, his expression hard and cold. But Carrie had spoken to him before and knew that beneath the steely exterior he was sympathetic and kind.
Sitting down at the other end of the table, Carrie placed her hands on her lap and looked up at her son. His appearance shocked her. He was terribly thin. The skin of his face clung to his cheekbones. The hollows under his eyes were like two shallow graves. And those eyes, usually so deep and dark, had grown horribly dull.
“Oh, Cal... What have you done to yourself?”
But even as the words left her mouth, she knew that this was her doing. She’d abandoned him. Turned her back and left him alone for weeks.
“I’m sorry,�
� she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”
Cal sat, motionless, disappearing inside his clothes, his head downcast and turned away from her.
“You need to eat, baby. You need to do what the doctors tell you and eat something. You need your strength or you won’t get better.”
She stared at him, mouth half open, tears brimming. Cal didn’t even blink. It was like he was somewhere else.
It’s the drugs, she thought. They’re pumping him with all sorts of medications, turning him into a zombie.
No, it’s because he’s gone. Dr Jensen was right. My sweet boy is gone.
Carrie cleared her throat and tried again.
“Cal? Can you hear me? Can you just say hello?”
A thick globule of saliva slipped from the corner of his mouth and hung there precariously. Carrie recoiled, unable to tear her gaze away.
“Cal? Baby? I just wanted to tell you that –”
His fist shot out and slammed down hard on the table. Carrie flinched. At the door, the nurse sprang awake.
“Cal,” he warned. “Watch yourself.”
Slowly, Cal turned his head. The drool that was hanging from his mouth broke free. He looked up and stared at Carrie, his dead eyes coming back to life, glittering with hate, then growing darker by the second, until she felt like she was falling into a black hole.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I didn’t mean to leave you. I was scared, but I’m here now.”
Cal lowered his head. His fist, which was still curled on the table, quietly withdrew. The fury that had gripped him only seconds ago vanished. He looked at Carrie again and this time she saw two fathomless pools of sadness. A single tear escaped from one of them and sailed along the sharp contours of his face, before splashing on the table. Then he turned away and disappeared once more.
Carrie stared at him. You did this. You gave him up and now he’s never coming back.
She looked at the nurse as she choked back more tears. He gave her a nod and a sympathetic sigh.
“Come on, Cal,” he said gently. “Time to go.”
Back in her car, Carrie sat behind the wheel and stared up at the hospital. She felt empty. Like there was nothing left to try. She couldn’t fix this. Couldn’t fix her son. Didn’t know how. Or if he could ever be saved.
Let him go, a voice whispered in her ear. Set him free.
The tears she’d been fighting to keep inside escaped. She sobbed loudly, a flood of pain, guilt, and grief erupting from her body.
Let him go. You’ve done all you can.
But he was her son and she was his mother. She could never let him go.
Could she?
Her phone was ringing. Wiping her eyes and sucking in a steadying breath, Carrie pulled it from her bag and glanced at the screen, half-expecting it to be Dr Jensen calling to encourage her back inside. But it was a number she didn't recognise.
“Hello?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Carrie?”
The world turned upside down. A hundred memories came crashing through her mind like a train wreck.
“Kye? Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. I know this is out of the blue, but...”
Carrie was silent, shocked by the voice on the phone.
“It’s been a long time,” Kye said, sounding awkward. “How are you doing?”
The shock was fading, replaced by anger. “What do you want, Kye? This isn’t a good time.”
“I'm in town. In Porth an Jowl. I was wondering if we could meet up.”
Memories danced behind her eyes. Sitting on a beach at night. Curled up in the back seat of a car, naked and sweaty, limbs wrapped around each other. Stepping out of a bathroom and showing him the blue strip of a pregnancy test kit.
“Please, Carrie. I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
She was silent, still reeling.
“How about eight tonight? At The Shack?”
Carrie clamped her jaw together, unable to speak. Instead, she listened to his breaths in her ear.
“Carrie? Are you still there?”
She stiffened. Glanced at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. Pushed away the memories and the grief. Pushed away Cal’s angry dark eyes, full of hate.
“I'm here,” she said. “What do you want to talk to me about?”
“It's better if we do it in person. Face-to-face. So, The Shack? Tonight?”
Carrie glanced out the window at the smooth, grey walls of the hospital.
“Fine,” she said, her voice tight and clipped. “But it better be important.”
“It is,” he said. “See you at eight.”
Then he was gone, leaving Carrie alone in silence and staring at her phone.
Dumping it in her bag, she pulled her seatbelt across and started the engine. What else was the week going to throw at her?
She stared up at the hospital again.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered.
Then she was driving out of the car park and starting the journey home.
16
SITTING IN THE DARK, time had escaped her. She didn't know if hours, days, or merely minutes had passed. Lindsay felt strange, as if she were simultaneously sitting here on the bed in this dank cell and falling endlessly through space. Sometimes, she felt so hot that she thought her skin was blistering. Other times, it was if she felt nothing at all. And she was forgetting. Forgetting who she was. Forgetting her name. Forgetting the faces of her family. She was trying to remember them. Mum. Dad. Todd. But it was as if shadows had crept into her mind and were painting over her memories.
She'd been awake for a while now. Or maybe it was seconds. The ground beneath her feet felt cold and hard one minute, the next like sponge. Getting up, she shuffled over to the bucket in the corner, where she squatted and urinated. When she was done, she pulled up her shorts and reached out a hand, until she was touching the wall.
She began her daily routine: first walking the length of the wall, feeling the bricks against her fingertips, then turning right, hearing the dull thud of her fingers bouncing off the bars of the door, then turning right again, tracing the opposite wall, standing on the bed, walking along until she reached the far wall, then turning right again, stepping down, shuffling along until her foot kicked the bucket and sloshed some of its contents on the floor. Then the journey started again, over and over, around and around, until she grew dizzy or until she blacked out, whichever came first.
She was on her third cycle when she froze. Someone was unlocking the front door to the building. Moving unsteadily, Lindsay crawled onto the bed, pressed her back against the wall, and shielded her eyes. Bright light flooded the corridor outside, spilling into her cell. Was it Cynthia bringing her food again? She felt like she'd eaten only minutes ago. Or perhaps it had been days.
But it wasn’t Cynthia. It was someone else.
Squinting through her fingers, Lindsay saw the outline of a man. Her heart thumped in her chest. She pressed her spine harder against the wall.
The man stood on the other side of the cell door, silently watching her. As Lindsay’s vision began to adjust to the light, she saw that the man was in fact a boy. Maybe a year or two older than Todd. He was tall and lean, with short hair and intense, dark eyes that seemed to penetrate her skin.
“Don't be afraid,” the boy said. “My name is Heath.”
Every cell of Lindsay’s body quivered. His voice – she recognised it instantly. Through the fog, she was suddenly back at the holiday home, watching a boy in a devil’s mask open her brother’s throat with a knife.
Heath leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around the door bars.
“I'm sorry for keeping you in here,” he said. “Cynthia tells me you’ve been very well behaved. She thinks you're ready to join our family.”
Images flashed in Lindsay’s mind. Her brother’s terrified face. The blade plunging into his neck. Blood spurting from the hole it made in a wide arc. Then her mind was g
rowing blank again, her body growing numb and heavy. Lindsay fought to stay focused. She dragged nails across her shins. She pinched the skin on her calves.
“You killed my family,” she croaked, barely recognising the voice coming out of her mouth.
Heath smiled, shook his head. “We freed you from their shackles. We’re your family now. Children are the New Dawn and no one can hurt you anymore.”
Lindsay stared at him. She didn't understand what he was saying. She didn’t know what a New Dawn was and she didn't need to be set free from her family. No one was hurting her, except maybe Todd once in a while, when he’d pinch her for taking his things without asking.
She didn’t like the way he was watching her. She didn’t like the way he kept sniffing and rubbing at his nose.
“Are you ready?” Heath asked. “Are you ready to become a child of the Dawn?”
Lindsay scratched at her shins. She felt blood trickling down to her ankles. She hated this cell. She hated being swamped in darkness, the stench of her own filth burning her nostrils. She hated this feeling of falling. But she had a feeling that whatever lay on the other side of the door was far more dangerous.
“You’re free to speak,” Heath said, rubbing his nose again. “The Dawn Children are all equal. We are all each other. Together we will cleanse the world of all threats to children. Together we will bring in the New Dawn.”
She watched him mutter something to himself, then glance over his shoulder as if someone was there. But Heath was alone. Where was Cynthia? She was much nicer, even if she hadn’t let Lindsay out of the cell.
Heath dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. They clinked together, singing of freedom.
“If you’re ready to join us I can let you out,” he said. “But first you must do one thing. You must say goodbye to the people you saw as your family. Because once you're out of this room, you can never speak their names. You can never think of them or shed tears for them. Because those people you call your family did not love you. You were their possession. A puppet they controlled. They told you what to do, what to wear, how to think. They poisoned your mind with lies so that you would never wake up and see the truth or question their authority. Those people are gone and you are born again. Do you accept the Dawn Children as your rightful family? As your brothers and sisters?”
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