His & Hers(82)

“Mum, it isn’t safe and we need to get home.”

“What if she’s there, waiting for us?”

“Who?”

“The woman who knows.”

The trees around me start to bend and melt out of focus. I feel dizzy and sick.

“Mum, you said the woman who came to the house had a badge. Do you remember what it said? Just try to picture it.”

She squeezes her eyes closed like a child, trying to look back at a past that frequently seems to escape her in the present. Then she opens them and whispers the name: “Priya.”





Him



Thursday 01:35



“Priya, how do you know how to pick locks?” I ask.

She shrugs, still holding her gun, I notice, before closing the solid wooden door behind me.

“I watched a video online; it isn’t difficult.”

“You understand, strictly speaking, what you just did isn’t legal, right?”

“Do you want to find Anna or not, sir?”

I don’t answer. I’m too busy taking in the sight of the house we are in. It looks like the set of a horror movie: gothic furniture, ancient wallpaper, creaking wooden floorboards, and a huge elaborate staircase in the middle of the hallway. All of it covered in a theatrical blanket of dust and cobwebs. I don’t think I’m someone who scares easily, but this is creepy.

I follow Priya down the hall, both of us walking as quietly as possible, before stepping into a huge formal living room. The furnishings look like they might have been borrowed from Windsor Castle, and the ancient-looking light fittings on the wall flicker a little. I glance at the pictures on the mantelpiece, but don’t recognize any of the faces. Then I trip over the fireside tool set, catching it just before the whole thing can clatter onto the stone floor.

“Perhaps we should split up?” Priya says. “Why don’t you look upstairs while I finish checking the rooms down here?”

“Good idea. Think I’ll take this with me,” I reply, picking up the metal poker.

To say that I climb the stairs with caution is an understatement. If whoever killed Zoe and the others is here, I’d rather they didn’t see me coming. The house is completely silent now, except for the sound of my own rushed and labored breathing. My chest still hurts where I slammed into the steering wheel, and that isn’t the only thing bothering me. I’ve learned to trust my gut over the years, and this all feels wrong.

I scan the elaborate red-carpeted landing, and see that all the doors on the first floor are closed, except for one at the very end. I check each room, my heart thudding inside my chest every time I open a door, unsure what I might find behind it. Most of the rooms are completely empty—except for dust, dirt, and cobwebs—but one of them is spotless and I see something I wasn’t expecting. There are two small beds side by side, covered in pretty pink sheets, and a nightlight casting a constellation of moving stars over the walls and ceiling. I notice the dolls on the pillows, two glasses of water on a little table, and a copy of Little Red Riding Hood. There were children here tonight, but they’re not here now.

I try not to think of my own little girl as I step back out on the landing and turn to face the final door at the end of the hall. The floorboards seem to get louder with every step that I take toward it, as though trying to warn me to stay away. An iron poker doesn’t seem like adequate defense right now. I hesitate when I reach the door, then kick it fully open, not wanting any unexpected surprises. I get one anyway. The cameraman is dead on the floor, lying in a pool of his own blood with his head bashed in.

I stare down at him, it’s impossible not to, then check the rest of the room until I am certain nobody is lurking in the shadows.

“I need you to drop the weapon, sir.”

I spin around and see Priya standing in the doorway.

Despite the combination of noisy floorboards and perfect silence, I still didn’t hear her coming. At first, I feel relief. But then I notice her gun—the one she said she carries for self-protection—pointing in my direction.

“Priya? What are you doing?” She looks down at the dead cameraman, then at the iron poker I’m still holding in my hand. “Now, hang on a minute—”

“I said drop the weapon, and put these on.”

Without taking her eyes off me, she reaches inside her pocket with her free hand and produces a set of handcuffs.

“Priya, I don’t know what you think—”

“Last chance,” she interrupts. “I’m not going to ask you again.”





Her



Thursday 01:40



It’s as though Mum can no longer hear me, so I ask her again.

“When did the policewoman come to the house, and what did she want?”

“Lots of times. Asking questions.”

“About what?”

She squeezes my hand and stares up at me.

“You.”

“Me?”

Tell a person they’re wrong and they’ll cover their ears. Tell a person they’re right and they’ll listen to you all day long.

“It’s okay, Mum. I believe you, but we have to get home now.”

She nods and we carry on walking, navigating a path through the woods. I drag her along as fast as I dare over a forest floor full of obstacles. Giant roots and fallen trees can be dangerous in the dark, but then so can Cat Jones. And I fear she’s still out here somewhere, hunting us down.