The Final Child

by Fran Dorricott

  Erin nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. She – she should be at home tonight, I think. She doesn’t normally work evenings at the beginning of the week.”

  “Come on then,” I said. “Before it gets too late.”

  * * *

  I drove. It was only a ten-minute drive but every second of it seemed to last half a lifetime.

  Eventually we came to a stop outside a house. The windows were dark.

  “Are you sure she’s home?” I asked.

  “She should be. That’s her car. You won’t leave while I nip in will you?”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I turned the engine off. Erin got out of the car and headed to the door. She rang the bell. Waited. Then tried the handle. It dipped smoothly and the door swung open.

  Erin turned back towards me, worry in her eyes. I went to join her. The shadows seemed to dance on Erin’s face and I fought the urge to look behind me.

  “Maybe she left it open?”

  Erin shook her head. “She wouldn’t.”

  The street around us was deadly silent, the houses all quiet and dark. Erin didn’t move, her lips frozen half-parted as we listened. But there was nothing. Erin gave the door a gentle nudge and it swung inwards.

  That’s when we noticed the candles.

  AFTER

  Mouse

  HE RECOGNISED THE BOYS but he wasn’t sure where he had seen them before. He found them in the potting shed, their hands tied together and their mouths stuffed with old tea towels. One was younger than the other.

  They panicked when they saw him but he soon calmed them down. They were both small with black skin and short curls. The older boy was the skinnier of the two. He said his name was Isaac. The young one, around Mouse’s age, was called Oscar.

  “Where are we?” Isaac asked. Tears streaked his dirty face, snot caked around his nose. It was gross. One of the boys had wet himself and the shed smelled like a barnyard.

  “How did you get here?” Mouse asked. The boys didn’t move. It didn’t matter how hard he tried, they didn’t know the answer. It might have been Mother, but he doubted it. Mouse felt excitement tickle his toes. Father must be back.

  He thought about leaving the boys there. It was springtime, and the days were getting longer and warmer without being hot. He could leave them in the shed. Mother probably didn’t know they were there; he should check what she wanted to do.

  But that wouldn’t stop the feeling inside of him. Why were these boys here? He didn’t understand. Ever since Mouse’s father had left he’d felt like something out there was looking after him. Helping him get what he wanted. Was it his father or a ghost?

  Mouse had said it aloud. How he wanted a new brother or sister. Not any old brother, maybe not even just one. Two would be good, to start. He wanted to make sure he got the right kind, one who would look after him and play with him and love him for ever. He’d spoken quietly to himself, deciding how he would choose which brother was better by watching them play together. And now, here was a special present. Two brothers in the shed – just for him.

  If Mouse had to choose, he thought the younger boy was better. Oscar said he was only a year older than him, but Mouse had a birthday coming up so that wouldn’t last. And Oscar wasn’t loud, either. He didn’t cry or yell when Mouse untied them. He didn’t try to run away like Isaac had. Although the cool thing about Isaac was how small and slow he was for his age. Mouse was strong and big, and the running away had given him the chance to try out a really good punch.

  He took both boys back to the house. Mother was in her bedroom with her films going, cigarette smoke so heavy he could hardly see her. He didn’t want to bother her. The boys asked when they were going home, but they didn’t even know where home was.

  Mouse made them sandwiches, cheese triangles with the crusts off and slices of cake, just like Chris used to like. Isaac started to cry. Maybe he didn’t like cheese. Mouse watched the brothers from a distance, his stomach burbling and his brain spinning.

  Where had they come from? Why were they here? He didn’t like either of them, really. Not even quiet little Oscar. He thought of the shed, how nobody went back there. Of how it looked, from his window at night, like a rotten gravestone tooth. They must be a gift from Father, even though Mother had said he was gone forever. Father had left him the cat that time. Sick and quiet, and easy to play with. That was fun. It would be just like Father to do something like this, to get back at Mother for all of the times she’d loved Chris best. Father would find it funny to bully her—

  A sick thought curled inside Mouse’s belly. It was like a sharp bit of ice in Mother’s drink. What if the boys weren’t a present for him? What if they were instead of him? He didn’t know why he had the thought but it frightened him.

  When the boys had finished their food and wiped their dirty faces, Mouse made sure they were listening.

  “There are rules,” he said. He didn’t care that Isaac was older than him. Mouse knew how to fight, and Isaac was skinny like a twig, so they’d both have to listen.

  He closed the kitchen door and led them to the door to the basement, the one that was hidden. The house was old and filled with puzzles like this one, corridors and stairs that went nowhere, doors that opened to bare brick wall. Father told him that it had been two houses, once, like that Frankenstein’s monster thing all sewn together.

  The boys looked at him and their dark eyes were scared. Good.

  Oscar stepped behind his brother.

  “What rules?” Isaac squeaked, trying to be brave.

  Mouse thought about this for a minute. He needed rules that would keep him safe. Rules that would make sure they couldn’t hurt him, couldn’t make the sickness start again. Mother wasn’t allowed to like them better. He didn’t really want them getting any attention at all.

  “No running away again,” he said firmly. “Or you’ll get it. Don’t bother Mother. Don’t be loud. Stay downstairs unless I say you can come out. And do exactly – exactly – what I tell you.”

  They shook and cried some more, and Mouse realised he was pleased. The scared feeling inside him had gone, now. He didn’t expect the boys to follow his rules exactly, but this way, he could punish them when they disobeyed. And if neither of them made a good enough brother, if they argued or made Mother want to hurt him again, he’d just get rid of them both and it would only be like before.

  EXCERPT

  Randeep & Jaswinder Singh

  Abducted: Burton on Trent, 3 June 1998

  Jaspreet Singh was one of the first people I spoke to when I was thinking about writing this book in late August 2009. A few things have changed since then. Jaspreet is no longer married – her husband moved down to London in January of 2011 – and she is now employed full-time as a teaching assistant. She loves to show me photographs and videos of her son and daughter.

  Randeep (9) and Jaswinder (7) are always grinning. Pictures, videos, even drawings of each other show that. Always, those big toothy smiles.

  “Jas lost both her front teeth a couple of months before they were taken,” Jaspreet told me the first time we met, pulling out a big folder of pictures.

  “Did her teeth both fall out at the same time?” I asked. “My brother’s did. He looked so goofy for ages.”

  “Yes, but not on their own. Jas and Randeep were playing swingball at the park – you remember that game where the tennis ball is tied to a pole and you’ve got to hit it back and forth with rackets? We were at a big picnic that my husband’s company organised every year, and Jas and Randeep were playing with another little boy and his mum, and the ball hit Jas square in the face. Randeep helped her up, you know, really worried, and then Jas – she was such a brave one – she just picked up the racket and started playing again. The mum apologised since she was playing opposite Jas when it happened and she probably hit the ball too hard, but it wasn’t a big deal. Or it didn’t seem like it until both of Jas’s front teeth fell out.” Jaspreet shook her hea
d. “She had this great big gap in her smile after that. That’s how I remember her, even now.

  “For years she had all her teeth. But those couple of months without them, they’re what I remember. I guess because she hadn’t got her grown-up teeth yet. I used to think about that every day. How I’d never know what her grown-up smile would have been like.

  “I think the same about Randeep, too. Whether he’d have kept playing football, whether he’d have become a doctor. That was his plan. Most kids have lots of ideas about jobs they could do, right? Randeep always wanted to be a doctor. But he still slept in his Man U shirt every night, because he said it let him play football in his dreams.”

  “I’m sure he would have been a good doctor,” I said. It probably wasn’t the right thing to say, but Jaspreet smiled anyway.

  “He’d have made a great doctor,” she replied.

  TWENTY ONE

  Erin

  I INCHED NERVOUSLY INTO Monica’s dark house. There were two red pillar candles at the bottom of the stairs; their faint orange glow made the darkness flicker around us. They were like the ones left in my kitchen. A knot tightened in my chest. Vaguely I knew Harriet was behind me and I was glad I wasn’t alone.

  The stairs went straight up from the front hall. I knew she wasn’t downstairs, the rooms all dark and expectant. I fumbled for my phone, dialling Monica’s mobile number. A frozen claw dragged through my heart when I heard the faint trilling of her phone upstairs.

  I didn’t turn the lights on.

  “Maybe it’s another joke,” I whispered desperately. Harriet said nothing. “There’s obviously nobody here.”

  Together we climbed to the top of the stairs, their creaking the only accompaniment to our breathing.

  “Monica?” I tried.

  And then I was at the top of the stairs and Monica’s bedroom door was open, just as mine had been. It was like with the doll only I knew this was not the same.

  Harriet took a sharp breath behind me.

  “I’m calling the police.”

  Monica was right there. A dark mass on the white sheets of her bed. The only light in the room came from a single red candle that guttered by the open window, curtains trembling.

  But now her bed sheets weren’t white. They were red.

  And in the middle of the bed was a small, plain piece of paper. I inched closer, my breath coming in sharp bursts. Just three words. My whole body went into shock and I felt sick. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t.

  Remember the Father.

  * * *

  I was still shaking. The police station was a hive of activity but I couldn’t make sense of any of it. I didn’t recognise anybody, even the people I knew I should. I sat numbly in a small room with a big blanket around my shoulders. Somebody had checked me over. Somebody else had brought me coffee which was now cold.

  I’d spoken to a handful of people. I couldn’t remember what I’d said to any of them. Not even Wendy or Harriet. I vaguely remembered phone calls, panic. Darkness and then lightness and then a bumpy ride where I cried and threw up the minute we came to a stop.

  My brain was one big blank spot around the image of Monica, lying there on her bed. All that blood. The white bed sheets. The window, the moon. The carpet soft and a little damp. The note. Remember the Father.

  I wanted to be sick again but I didn’t have anything left to throw up. I tried to keep my hands still but I couldn’t. My arms crawled with invisible spiders.

  I didn’t know what time it was when the next person came into the room. I glanced up, my body vaguely registering that this was a face I did recognise.

  “Erin?”

  I stared. My heart seemed to be beating incredibly slowly. My ears were full of water.

  I blinked blankly at the woman in front of me.

  “It’s me, Detective Godfrey.”

  “Oh, hi,” I croaked.

  The detective’s features smoothed out into more of a smile. Reassuring. At least that’s what I’m sure she was aiming for. It came across as more of a grimace. Her brown skin looked paler than usual in the bright lighting in the police station. I felt like everything had been washed to within an inch of its life, including the detective. I hadn’t seen her in an age. I wanted to break down and spill everything.

  What could I tell her that would help? What more could I do than cry and hurl up my guts? He had been there – right there. In Monica’s house, just like he’d been in mine. But he was supposed to be dead.

  All I could think was, why didn’t I tell the police about Monica’s response on the phone? Why didn’t I tell them about the gifts? Why didn’t I push back when that idiot told me it was a joke?

  “I’m sorry to see you again like this. Do you feel up to talking?” Godfrey asked. “We’d like to confirm the sequence of events.”

  “Did you talk to Harriet?” I asked, panic suddenly filling me again. “Is she okay? Where is she?”

  “She’s fine. She’s still with my colleague. Wendy’s out there too, asked if you were alright. She said you get migraines.”

  It felt like my body was filled with sand.

  “How long was Monica dead?” I asked quietly.

  Godfrey weighed her answer before she spoke.

  “A few hours,” she said eventually. “We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

  “It was him. Wasn’t it? The same person who broke into my house, who was following the others. You know about all that, right? Wendy said you’d see it on your computer or something, after the second one. I was going to call you…”

  “The others?” Godfrey asked.

  “The other families,” I explained breathlessly. “Of the children. Molly Evans and Jaspreet Singh. I saw Jaspreet tonight. She said she thought she was being followed. That somebody left gifts outside her house. Molly said the same thing about being followed the other night.”

  Godfrey’s lips went thin. “How long has this been going on? Why did nobody report anything?”

  “Uh, just a few days.” I ran my hands over my face and swallowed the tears that made my throat sticky. “Jaspreet told me tonight – we didn’t think it was that serious. I called the police when my house was broken into but they said it was just a joke. That somebody was messing with me. I told Wendy about the doll in my bed and she said it was probably mine, brought round by my mum, and I’d just forgotten it and I thought she was right.”

  I felt a boiling sensation in my blood.

  “What doll?” Godfrey asked. Her face was unreadable, but I knew she was angry. A muscle in her jaw corded and she held her pen too tight.

  “A child’s doll. It was on my bed after the first time I said my house had been broken into. Nothing was taken. The police did fingerprints and stuff but I don’t think they found anything. They didn’t know who I was. I only found the doll later. Mum said she didn’t remember it but I just thought she’d forgotten. I had a lot of old toys at her house still. And then the second time—”

  “There was a second time?”

  “Yes. The second time I found candles in my kitchen. I didn’t leave them there but I don’t think the officer who came believed me. He saw my candle stuff and thought it was a prank. My friends messing me around. Because they made a heart shape.” I realised I was crying. “I didn’t fight back because I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. Like yeah it was shitty and I was freaked out, but people are shitty.”

  Godfrey’s frown deepened. “The note,” she said then. “Can we talk about that?”

  “I don’t know what it means. I don’t recognise the handwriting. It can’t be anything to do with what happened, can it? The Father is dead and nobody even knows who I am. I don’t understand. Why would somebody do this and blame it on what happened?”

  Godfrey didn’t answer. Every time I said it, it felt less true. But he was dead. He had to be. Didn’t he?

  “Can you trace the note? Figure out the paper and stuff?” I asked. “What if it’s a copycat? Or, no, not a copycat. I ju
st mean what if it’s some internet psycho?”

  “We’re going to do our best to figure out how this is all connected,” Godfrey said.

  “She didn’t deserve any of this,” I whispered.

  “I know. I’m sorry, Erin, but I need to ask you some more questions.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “Okay.”

  “When they asked you earlier you said you’d known Monica McKenzie for a little while. And that the nature of your relationship was fairly casual. Is that right?”

  I nodded.

  “Now, yeah. We dated for a while. I last saw her properly on Halloween. We met at The Rock and then went back to her house.”

  “Did she seem normal to you?”

  “Yeah.” My voice broke and fresh tears appeared on my cheeks unbidden. “I spoke to her on the phone and she was a bit funny with me, but I just thought that was because we’d not long broken up. I didn’t know what to make of it.”

  She had been afraid, not angry, and I hadn’t even realised.

  “When was this?”

  “Yesterday. She said somebody had been leaving her gifts. She implied it was someone I was in a relationship with. I wanted her to explain but she hung up on me. That’s why I went there tonight. I didn’t think it would lead to this.”

  “What sort of gifts?” Godfrey pressed.

  “She didn’t say. But Jaspreet Singh said somebody has been leaving things outside her house, too. A ball, a football shirt. Things her son would have liked. Monica didn’t – she didn’t tell me what he left for her. I didn’t think it was connected…”

  Godfrey wrote something down in a small notebook.

  “And the last time you saw her, did you notice anything strange? Did you see anybody watching her? Did she say she was worried, or seem upset?”