The Final Child

by Fran Dorricott

  Except Harriet.

  Maybe it was time to face the questions I’d avoided since I was a child. Maybe Harriet would have the answers. And she wasn’t like the others; she wasn’t police, but she wasn’t really press either. She was sort of… calming. I thought back to the way she’d reacted when Mum had her asthma attack the other night. How confident she’d been. How I’d frozen. Alex – he wouldn’t have stumbled like that. I pushed down the guilt.

  The truth was, there were a lot of things that I didn’t know, and maybe Harriet could help. I remembered the night we were taken only in smudged shadows of memory. First: Alex and me, together, huddled somewhere in the dark. Red and grey and fear. Then, only me. Darkness and cold. And then a jogger in the weak morning sunlight, calling an ambulance as I collapsed. There was nothing in between. No memory of the weeks I had been gone, or what had happened to my brother, how I’d come to be without him.

  I often thought about it. What had happened? We’d been together, and then we weren’t. I must have made him angry – the man who took us. Alex couldn’t have, he wasn’t like that, but I could have. Maybe I’d cried, or maybe I’d screamed too loudly. I’d thought about it hundreds, thousands of times, but the problem was I just couldn’t come up with a theory that stuck. Nothing felt right. Like the truth was fighting away my feeble attempts at an answer, while remaining steadfastly hidden.

  Whatever had happened, it felt, now, like I’d spent my life running from it all, but it hadn’t seemed that way before. Before it had simply been about moving on, getting over it, learning how to be myself without Alex. But perhaps that’s why I was feeling so unsettled. Perhaps Harriet could help me to make sense of my imagination, the feeling that wherever I went somebody was watching me.

  I pulled up outside my house and counted to ten. I’d sleep on it before I agreed to anything. I wasn’t going to let some random writer with a pretty face overturn all the decisions I’d made since I was a kid – not without thinking it over first.

  I got out of my car, the night misting with my warm breath. Within seconds I noticed that something wasn’t right. My neck prickled.

  My bedroom window was open.

  I rarely slept with my window open. I usually tried for an hour or two when it got unbearably warm in the summer, but the paranoia, that horrible feeling like spiders on my skin, flared up before long. Unsafe. Open windows and unlocked doors were unsafe. If I opened any windows, while I was cleaning or if the day was warm, I always shut them soon after. I thought back to last night. Had I opened the window without thinking? Forgotten to close it? What about this morning? My blood hummed. Something wasn’t right. I wouldn’t have forgotten.

  It had to be Mum. She had a key and a habit of stopping by with bits she’d picked up at the supermarket, but she’d never opened the window before – and her thoughts on safety were similar to mine. Besides, she should be on her way to Skegness now, not taking time out of her holiday to check on me. And why would she have opened my window in November anyway?

  My stomach clenched and my hands balled involuntarily.

  The door was still locked. Maybe Mum had turned the heating up and then made herself too warm? Maybe she’d had a headache and needed a lie down with some fresh air? I knew I was grasping at straws but the reasoning helped me to stay calm.

  Inside, the house was cold, the heating off and the lights untouched. I inched inside. I heard the door creak behind me and the hairs on my arms stood to attention. But it was just the wind.

  If it wasn’t Mum who had been inside, it must have been somebody else. A burglary or something. Anger started to override the fear in my gut as I looked at my house with new eyes. The TV in the lounge was still there, but it was an old bulky thing. I didn’t have much else worth stealing except a bit of cash and jewellery, and my laptop in my bedroom…

  I crept up the stairs, frightened by the sound of my footsteps on the worn carpets. As I reached the upstairs hallway I realised that I should just call the police. It was their job to check if stuff was missing – or at least help me do it. If I’d been burgled then somebody could still be inside my house. But, I reassured myself hollowly, everything looked normal. The bathroom was empty, so was the spare room. Everything exactly as I’d left it. Except it was cold in here, freezing.

  Somebody had been in my house.

  Icy panic swallowed all of my logic and reason. I reached for my mobile phone.

  * * *

  “Nothing’s missing?”

  The policeman who had been tromping around my home while I searched it wore a friendly expression on his young, clean-shaven face. He’d been nothing but kind, polite and businesslike but his words nettled me. As if I was wasting his time. His partner was outside, checking the perimeter of the house.

  “No, it doesn’t look like it.” I’d ticked off all of the obvious stuff. TV, laptop, cash, jewellery, all where I left them. “I mean, nothing obvious anyway. Maybe he was startled.”

  “It’s possible. Neighbourhood like this, all the houses pretty close together, it’s easy to spook a thief.”

  I nodded, absently rubbing my hands over my arms, my skin prickling. The police officer had had a good look around inside, too, checking windows and door jambs. He’d looked for fingerprints, but I knew most of the ones he’d found were mine, smears of lotion after a shower or sticky with dust from where I’d been cleaning and needed to breathe fresh air.

  “So, what happens now?” I asked hesitantly.

  We were in the lounge, and the police officer had just finished making a few more notes. He looked up and gave me a reassuring smile.

  “House-to-house enquiries,” he said, indulging me. “Check with the neighbours, see if they heard or saw anything. I’ll leave you my details and you can get in touch if you find anything is missing later. Smaller things, especially, aren’t always obvious right away. Check your electronics again, that sort of thing. Officers from the Burglary Unit will take over from there.”

  I nodded again. I felt stupid.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I really thought… Thank you for coming.”

  I watched out of the window as the officer talked with his partner out on the drive before they both climbed into a car. Once they were gone I made myself a shaky cup of tea in the kitchen. It was late, and I stood drinking it beside the kettle, body still too tense to move. I sighed as the warmth thawed my limbs, glad I’d turned the heating right up to push out the icy night air.

  Finally I headed upstairs. I was bone tired, my whole body aching with the exhaustion after all that adrenaline. I couldn’t help myself, peering into each room as I passed it. Bathroom, spare bedroom, even the airing cupboard, before I finally came to my own bedroom. I’d thrown stuff around a bit as I searched for the jewellery I knew was there, but since I hardly ever wore any I’d made a bit of a mess trying to find it.

  I didn’t want to stay here tonight, I realised. It felt like my privacy had been invaded, even if that wasn’t true. Even if I was imagining it. I should probably just grab some stuff and go and stay at Mum’s. I didn’t fancy sleeping in my old bedroom, but her sofa was comfortable enough. I’d just chuck some stuff in a bag and I could leave.

  But coming into the bedroom now I was struck by something. Something I hadn’t noticed earlier because I was looking for what wasn’t there that should be, not something that was there and hadn’t been before.

  There was a child’s doll sitting on the bed, her dress pooling in her lap, her glossy curls a little bit wild. I frowned. Something about it was familiar but I couldn’t place it. Where had it come from?

  I was too tired to question it. Too tired to do more than quickly grab a clean top and some underwear, my hairbrush and my phone charger, and then hurry out to my car. I’d call my mum from the road.

  * * *

  I hardly slept. Curled up on Mum’s sofa with the lights on all night, candles burning on all surfaces, it felt like I was inside a shrine. The candles made me feel like I was safe, so
mehow, the flames a mark of warmth. I’d made some of them from scratch for Mum over the last few years. She liked to save them, like ornaments, but I lit them all, even despite the migraine that made my vision swim. Making candles was one of my favourite things to do; the balance of scents, the way the wax looked as it softened. I let the TV trip from episode to episode of one mindless show after the other because I couldn’t sleep but I didn’t want to think either.

  The following morning I received a visit from Wendy. She’d been with us since Jane got promoted a few years ago, but it was clear she didn’t intend to stay a liaison officer forever either. I’d hoped she wouldn’t call today, but in the end I realised that had never been an option.

  My head was splitting from the after-buzz of the migraine and it felt like a hangover.

  “Erin, are you alright?” Wendy asked before she’d even got in the door. She shrugged off her coat and headed straight for the kitchen to make tea, like always. I followed with a barely repressed sigh. I just wanted to be left alone.

  “I’m fine,” I said firmly, convincing myself. “My head is killing me but what else is new. I hate migraines. Look, I think I made a mountain out of a mole hill, but I’m okay now.”

  It didn’t sound like I believed what I was saying, but I was determined to try. I wasn’t Jillian, and I wasn’t going to let myself get freaked out over this. Erin was fine.

  Wendy turned, halfway through opening the teabags.

  “Well, I’m glad your mum called me even if you didn’t,” she said. “She kept going on about how she should come home, forget the holiday. I told her to stay where she was and that I’d stop in.”

  I leaned in the doorway.

  “Thanks. Honestly. Her coming home early would be the worst thing for her. And for me. She’s been on about that holiday—”

  “For ages.” Wendy handed me a cup of tea in Mum’s favourite mug. “I know. That’s why I told her to stay. I’d have driven over to Skeggy to see her today but they’ve got me running through some blurry old CCTV bus station footage so I’ve not really got time. I said I’d pop round here though, make sure you were okay…” She gave me a look that wrinkled her nose so the dark freckles danced on her pale brown skin.

  “I swear I’m alright.” I held up my fingers in a Scout’s honour sign. “The officers last night were great. Nothing was broken, not even the window, and whoever did it was long gone before I got there. I’m fine.”

  We headed back into Mum’s lounge and I turned the TV off.

  “And you haven’t noticed anything strange recently?” Wendy asked. “Anybody hanging around? None of those true crime nuts, or anything like that? You know you can talk to me.”

  Truth be told, I’d been avoiding Wendy for a while. She was younger than me by a year or so, and had been a fresh recruit when she was first assigned to my case. It felt like she was always trying to make up for that – she was too friendly, too much, always ON all of the time.

  I didn’t need a friend.

  “Why wouldn’t I have told you?” I asked.

  “People get embarrassed, think they’re wasting time, but anybody that’s been following you or bothering you is worth mentioning.”

  I shook my head. “No. Not even journalists this year, which is great. Well, aside from one but she’s totally harmless. After last time – people finding out, you know, me moving here, I thought it might be harder to hide. But so far they’ve left me alone. Which is good because I like this job and I like my house even more.” The last time somebody found out who I was, that I was little Jilly Chambers, it was a co-worker. They wouldn’t let it drop. They asked me questions – inappropriate questions – and got angry when I wouldn’t answer them. They threatened to write a blog and tell everybody in the office who I was.

  I had a meltdown, properly freaked out because they wouldn’t stop texting and calling me. They’d created this whole forum dedicated to the Father’s crimes and they sent me photographs from the newspapers, photos I had never wanted to see. That was why I’d moved house, changed jobs. It was why I didn’t really have any friends any more, and nothing like that had happened since.

  Wendy’s expression said she wasn’t convinced by my I’m totally fine routine. I sighed.

  “Alright, I have been feeling creeped out recently,” I said. “A bit on edge. But I thought that was just me.”

  “Creeped out?”

  “Yeah. Like, I’ve had this weird feeling the last few days that somebody is following me, but whenever I check there’s nobody there. But – you know what it’s like. Mum gets all sorts of paranoid around this time of year, seeing Alex everywhere, and I thought it was just rubbing off on me.”

  “Yeah, I get that.” Wendy had wrinkled her nose again at the mention of my mum. She always made out that she was just as impatient with her as I was, as if she wanted to be my friend, but I never knew how much was an act and how much Mum’s over-the-top personality genuinely annoyed her. “But it was definitely just a feeling, yeah?”

  I paused. Had she noticed something I hadn’t realised I was doing, a tic or a flinch that betrayed the fact that I hadn’t told her everything? I stopped pulling at the threads on my jeans.

  “There was something else. Something I found in the house when I was packing some stuff to come here. I went into my bedroom and, on the bed, there was a toy…” I shrugged, feeling weird now I said it out loud. There must be a plausible explanation, right? “A doll. Just sat there, you know?”

  “Are you sure it’s not one of your old toys?” Wendy asked.

  “Well, no. I’m not sure,” I admitted. “It doesn’t look like mine but it’s… I dunno, it’s familiar. Like I’ve definitely seen it before.”

  “Maybe your mum left it for you? You told me last time I saw you that she’d been clearing out a lot of old stuff. Maybe she found it and thought you’d like it. And it only unsettled you last night because you were already upset.”

  Wendy didn’t seem afraid, and that helped to settle the worry inside me. This was stupid. Imaginary people bringing dolls into my house…

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I said, relief making my whole body relax. “That makes sense. She did say she’d been doing that. She probably left it before she went on holiday. She maybe even left the window open herself, you know. An accident or something.”

  I felt like such an idiot. But I wouldn’t let myself make a big deal out of it.

  “We all make mistakes. Are you sure you’re okay?” Wendy gestured, and suddenly I realised she’d seen the candles, lined up like a dormant army on the mantlepiece. “Do you want to talk about any of it?” She put her tea down on the table and leaned in. “I mean – the police coming to your house. Did that conjure any memories?”

  “About…?”

  “About Alex, and what happened?”

  “Do we have to go over this again?” I rubbed my hands over my face. “I’m not going to remember anything new.”

  But maybe Wendy was right. Maybe that’s why I’d been so spooked about the doll. The police had unsettled me, all those echoes from my childhood. I should have known she’d find a way to talk about it, though. After all, that was literally her job. How would I ever be able to move on when there was always this to come back to?

  “It might help to go over things again,” Wendy suggested. “See if last night shook anything loose. It does happen sometimes.”

  This was the routine I hated: sympathy, questioning, remembering. Always the same.

  “Okay. Well, obviously we were taken in the middle of October so it’s a similar time of year now, which probably explains why I freaked out. Except it’s colder this year…” I let the memories come to me slowly. Half of the things I remembered had been examined so many times, by experts and myself as well, that I wasn’t sure what was true any more.

  “We went to the park after school the day it happened. Played out for hours. I remember falling from the climbing frame and biting my lip. It bled and Alex came to help me.
Or maybe – maybe that happened before. Anyway, we played for ages.”

  “Where was your mum?”

  “She was there for a while, then she sat in the car for a bit, where she could see us.”

  “And later on, after you went to bed?”

  We shared a bedroom, with bunk beds. Alex wanted his own bedroom but Mum insisted that we share until we were old enough. Which meant that until I was old enough to look after myself, Alex was stuck with me.

  I remembered being put to bed that night, the darkness of the room, the cool air snaking through the open window. We knew we weren’t supposed to open it, because of bad things that had happened to other children, but it had been too hot that night, the heating on for too long or the night unseasonably warm. And bad things only ever happened to other people. I remembered the curtains trembling like leaves, and the faint sound of something soft, a thud against the wall, a rustle like somebody opening a bin-liner. The faint smell of rubber.

  “There was a smell.”

  “A smell?” Wendy asked. I jolted back to myself.

  “Yeah, uh, I don’t know what. Like – rubber gloves? Like the kind dentists wear. Not strong.”

  “I don’t think you ever mentioned that before.”

  I felt my heart stutter in my chest.

  “What?”

  “The smell. You’ve never told me about a smell.” Wendy was one step away from gleeful. Like this was part of some big puzzle for her.

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “Maybe I’m making it up. I probably told Jane about it. I just know it was dark, and confusing, and I woke up at one point – and then I was so tired again.” I felt myself getting defensive, fists clenching.

  Wendy leaned over and laid a hand on my knee. She’d done this before, and I hated it, but I didn’t move. Instead I said something to distract her.

  “I broke up with Monica,” I blurted. “Or she broke up with me. I don’t know. I’m just a bit of a mess. Can we call it a day, please? I’m tired of going over this stuff, and I have a headache.”