Darkness Falls (Kate Marshall, #3)(25)

Kate and Jake moved through to the kitchen, and she sat on one of the stools opposite the kitchen window as he filled the kettle.

“Are you still going to your AA meetings regularly?” asked Jake.

“Yes. I’ve just been to one.”

“This late?”

“I met Tristan afterward . . . ,” said Kate, and she briefly told him about the new case. Jake listened and made them tea and himself some toast.

“Have you found another sponsor?” he asked.

“I’ve just told you about my first proper case with the agency, and that’s the first thing you ask!” said Kate.

“It’s great about the agency; I just wanted to know if you’ve found another sponsor, after Myra?”

“No. Not everyone has a sponsor,” she said, hearing the defensiveness in her voice. Jake didn’t say anything and took a bite out of his toast. He chewed and swallowed.

“Only asking cos I love you,” he said. He got up and put his plate and mug in the dishwasher. “I’m knackered. I’m going to bed. Love you.”

He gave her a kiss on the top of the head and left the room.

Kate had been sober for thirteen years, but there had been many years before this when she’d lost people’s trust. The guilt and the feeling of people doubting her were hard to shake off, especially coming from Jake. The way he’d kissed her on top of the head made it feel like the roles were reversed. He was the responsible adult, and she would always be trying to gain back his trust. It made her all the more determined to stay sober, and never drink again.





13


It was a long drive back to the house with Hayden in the back of his car. Tom took the B roads, avoiding the traffic cameras on the motorway. He’d needed to pee since they left the bar and was only halfway home when he could hold it in no longer. At the next lay-by, Tom pulled off the road to pee. The darkness was absolute as he stared into the trees. They creaked and swayed in the light breeze.

He felt sick with what he’d done. There was always a point where he could stop, and not go through with it, but he was past that now. Years ago, there had been times when he’d put the brakes on. Stopped and let them go, none the wiser. But Hayden wouldn’t be released back into the wild. Tom would have to see it through to the end. The thought of this always held a tingle of excitement.

He zipped up and went to the boot. When he opened the door and pulled the blanket off Hayden, he lay very still, trussed up with his chest rising and falling. That was good. He was still alive. Tom put his finger to Hayden’s throat and traced down until he felt the boy’s pulse. He held his finger there, feeling the short, urgent twitch of his pulse point, like a tiny clock. It was ticking down the heartbeats until his death.

It was time to change the plates on the car. Tom rolled Hayden onto his side and opened the well where he kept the spare tire. He took out a set of different number plates and a screwdriver. He closed the boot, and he changed the plates, working fast in a practiced set of movements. When he opened the boot, he rolled Hayden onto his side again. Hayden’s left trouser leg rode up a few inches, displaying the meaty muscle of his calf. The boy was athletic, and he was wearing white-and-green-striped football socks.

Tom reached out and stroked the fine hair on Hayden’s calf muscle. Delicately, he took two or three hairs between his finger and thumb and pulled. Hayden moaned, muffled by the gaffer tape. Tom pulled again and saw Hayden’s face muscles twitch.

The sound of an approaching car shook Tom out of his game, and he quickly covered Hayden in the blanket, closed the car boot, and walked round to the driver’s door. He climbed inside just as a car appeared on the road behind and its headlights lit everything up.

It was late when Tom pulled into the garage at home. Hayden was still unconscious as Tom lifted him out of the car boot and carried him up the stairs to the bedroom and placed him gently on the bed. He cut the tape from his wrists and ankles and massaged them, helping the circulation to bring back feeling.

He arranged Hayden on the bed, laying him on his back with his arms by his side, and then he lit candles. The bedroom seemed to pulse and glow in the soft, forgiving light. Only then did he feel comfortable peeling off his own clothes until he was naked. Ready on the nightstand was a pair of round-ended scissors. The kind used for cutting the clothes off patients in the hospital accident and emergency department.

He worked carefully, untying Hayden’s shoelaces and slipping off each of his trainers. He took the tip of each long sports sock and pulled so that the material stretched out like bubble gum before sliding off Hayden’s leg and foot and pinging back. He dropped them on the floor at the end of the bed. He ran a fingernail across the clean, soft sole of each bare foot, and Hayden gave a little moan. Tom set to work, slowly cutting him out of his jeans and T-shirt. He took care with the scissors when he sliced off Hayden’s white briefs on each side of the waistband. Then stood back and admired Hayden’s naked form, rolling him over onto his front and then back again. He was so muscular and lean. His body in that firm yet juicy stage that lasts fleetingly in the early twenties.

Slowly, he clambered up and lay on top of Hayden, their naked bodies touching. His older soft, crepey flesh molding around Hayden’s sculpted muscles. He lay there for a moment, slowing his breath until they were breathing in unison and he felt the hot thud of Hayden’s heart against his chest.