Gripping Thrillers
Page 72
This was not the weekend she’d expected.
Noon
Cheryl took the Prosecco from the fridge and placed it down on the kitchen table. Her mother looked at her in confusion. “It’s a little early, love.”
“Not today it’s not. We’re celebrating.”
“We are?”
“Yep. It’s a Friday afternoon, and you and me are going to spend the day getting blotto and watching Grey’s Anatomy.”
Her mother shifted uncomfortably. This was something Cheryl’s father would never have approved of. “Oh, Cheryl, I don’t think—”
“Mum, stop worrying, okay? Dad is gone. I miss him as much as you do, but he’s gone. It’s okay for us to be happy without him, and it’s okay for us to do things that we want to do, even if it’s not something he would have enjoyed when he was alive. If you want to go on a year long cruise and sleep with a Greek waiter, then do it, mum. Dad’s gone, but we’re still here. I’m still here, and I want to see you happy. I want us both to enjoy being alive. Because that’s what dad would really have wanted for us.”
Tears formed in her mother’s eyes, and Cheryl hoped it was because her words were hitting home. No more being afraid of living. Life was too short. Her nightmare underground had shown her that.
The strange army of eyeless men had held her captive for another five hours after her ordeal in the tunnel, releasing her shortly before the sun had begun to rise along the edges of the field. They handed her back her phone and wallet, then disappeared in a fleet of black vans. For a while, she had just stood there alone, waiting for the sun to rise fully. Once daylight arrived, she felt safe enough to move, and she limped back to the hay barns. All three cars had been removed, John’s Bentley, Monty’s Range Rover, and Leo’s Mazda. There was no evidence anyone had ever been there at all.
She then hobbled along for another two hours until she found a small village. There, she entered a tiny newsagent and asked the assistant for the number of a taxi. It was an expensive ride that she was forced to pay for upfront. Muddy, bloodstained, and limping, she wasn’t someone the taxi driver was willing to drive an hour out of town for on trust. She was happy to pay up front, so long as he didn’t ask questions. The entire journey took place in silence.
When Cheryl had arrived home — something she had feared would never happen — her mother was busy in the kitchen, which meant she had a chance to run up the stairs and get changed quickly. Her mother had been concerned to hear her upstairs, but Cheryl’s ‘happy’ act had been enough to dispel her fears. She’d simply been dying for the toilet, she had explained, and needed to dash upstairs so as not to make a smell. Her mother had clucked her tongue and said, “I told you not to eat the food.”
Nobody opened up the Alscon offices on Monday morning. Or Tuesday. Or for the rest of the week. Eventually the police were informed that something was amiss and they came to ask their questions. Cheryl couldn’t believe how few they had. Have you seen John Alscon recently? When? Did he seem strange? Guilty or suicidal? The questions were all leading, and Cheryl knew enough to play along and answer in the way the investigators wanted. They were wrapping things up with as little fuss as possible.
A few days later, the evidence of Polly’s death came out. Audio snippets, DNA, and secret camera footage painted a picture of Happy, aggrieved uncle exposing a conspiracy of rape and murder. Leo, John, Monty, and Alfie had raped and murdered Polly while Maggie watched. Knowing they were heading for prison, they had cleared Alscon’s accounts and gone into hiding. It was suspected that they had dealt with Happy too in an attempt to silence him — his body had been found beaten to a pulp in John’s office. The newspapers referred to them all as the The Tile Gang. Not particularly inspired, but that was a good thing because the entire ghoulish incident was forgotten within a month. The only person Cheryl felt bad for was Monty. He had been painted as a rapist and murderer, when in actual fact he was only a thief. It wasn’t justice as far as she was concerned.
Her bank account had swelled with mystery funds that she chose not to question. It was almost enough to buy a flat, or even get a low mortgage on a house. A nest egg that she couldn’t help but keep staring at on her banking app. Each time she logged in she expected it to be gone.
“I’ve been accepted back at university,” she told her mother now as she began uncorking the Prosecco. “They’re going to let me continue from where I left off. I could have my degree within two years. Isn’t that great?”
Her mother’s face fell. “What about work? How will you pay your bills?”
“Don’t worry, mum. We all got redundancy money after Alscon was sold off. I’m good for a while. I’ll get a part time job to tide me over.”
Her mother stared down at the table, clasping her hands together. “I suppose that means you’ll move into halls again. When do you leave?”
“I’m not leaving, mum. I’ll get myself a cheap car and I’ll travel to uni. You don’t have to worry about me leaving yet, okay, but you do need to get back on your feet because I won’t be here forever. One of these days, I’d like to meet someone.” She smiled. “To have what you and dad had.”
Her mother’s face was a mixture of emotions, but she reached forward and took Cheryl’s hands. “I hope you have all that and more, sweetheart. I’m sorry these last couple of years have been so hard on you, but I’m proud of the woman you’ve become. I suppose I need to find out what kind of woman, I am now that your dad’s gone. I’ve been too afraid to find out.”
“You’re my mum, and I love you.” She leant forward and wiped a tear from her mother’s cheek. “Come on, let’s go put our pyjamas back on like we used to when I was a kid. We can start life again on Monday.”
“You don’t want to spend the entire weekend with your silly old, mum.”
Cheryl popped the cork. “I do, mum. In fact, I couldn’t think of anything better. Meet you in the living room in five?”
Her mother smiled and got up. “I’ll get some nibbles.”
“Deal.”
Cheryl headed up to her bedroom to get changed. She couldn’t believe she ever hated being stuck at home during the weekends. Excitement was overrated.
Her pyjamas were laid out on her bed, which was strange because she remembered dumping them in a pile on the floor. It didn’t worry her too much because her short term memory had been all over the place recently. Just one of many symptoms of her trauma. She hadn’t been kidding about needing therapy, and every night she awoke from strange and disturbing dreams. People had died right in front of her, and she wasn’t going to wipe that from her mind any time soon.
She started kicking off her jeans, ready to get back into something more comfortable. She reached out for her pyjamas but then froze. Nestled underneath her top was a sheet of paper. This time she was sure she had not placed it there. Somebody else had. Somebody had been inside her room.
She picked up the piece of paper and examined it. It took her a while to figure it out, but it seemed to be a medical report. It had her father’s name on it, and when she checked the date, she saw the examination had taken place a few weeks before he had died. It listed several things, but what jumped out at her was the doctor’s comments that her father’s health was good, and the ratings for blood pressure and cholesterol. Both were fine. Both were healthy.
What did it mean?
Who had put this in her room?
Then she saw it. Written on the back of the photocopy was a message.
JUSTICE DEMANDS THE TRUTH.
JUST SAY YES.
Cheryl looked around her room but saw nothing else out of the ordinary. “Yes,” she said, and then louder, “Yes!”
A few minutes later she went downstairs to join her mother, and to wait for Justice.
It would arrive soon.
Don't miss out on your FREE Iain Rob Wright horror starter pack. Five free bestselling horror novels sent straight to your inbox. No strings attached.
CLICK HERE TO GET YOUR 5 FREE BOOKS<
br />
Plea From the Author
Hey, Reader. So you got to the end of my book. I hope that means you enjoyed it. Whether or not you did, I would just like to thank you for giving me your valuable time to try and entertain you. I am truly blessed to have such a fulfilling job, but I only have that job because of people like you; people kind enough to give my books a chance and spend their hard-earned money buying them. For that I am eternally grateful.
If you would like to find out more about my other books then please visit my website for full details. You can find it at:
www.iainrobwright.com.
Also feel free to contact me on Facebook, Twitter, or email (all details on the website), as I would love to hear from you.
If you enjoyed this book and would like to help, then you could think about leaving a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or anywhere else that readers visit. The most important part of how well a book sells is how many positive reviews it has, so if you leave me one then you are directly helping me to continue on this journey as a fulltime writer. Thanks in advance to anyone who does. It means a lot.
More Thrills from Iain Rob Wright
Animal Kingdom
AZ of Horror
2389
Holes in the Ground (with J.A.Konrath)
Sam
ASBO
The Final Winter
The Housemates
Sea Sick
Ravage
Savage
The Picture Frame
Wings of Sorrow
The Gates
Legion
Extinction
Defiance
Resurgence
TAR
House Beneath the Bridge
The Peeling
Blood on the Bar
Escape!
Dark Ride
Sarah Stone Thriller Series
Soft Target
Hot Zone
End Play
Other
Diary of a flummoxed father
Iain Rob Wright is one of the UK's most successful horror and suspense writers, with novels including the critically acclaimed, THE FINAL WINTER; the disturbing bestseller, ASBO; and the wicked screamfest, THE HOUSEMATES.
His work is currently being adapted for graphic novels, audio books, and foreign audiences. He is an active member of the Horror Writer Association and a massive animal lover.
www.iainrobwright.com
FEAR ON EVERY PAGE
For more information
www.iainrobwright.com
author@iainrobwright.com
Copyright © 2020 by Iain Rob Wright
Editing by Richard Sheehan and Autumn Speckhardt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum