One Small Mistake(84)

At the click of the key turning in the lock, I get to my feet, feeling for the Nokia in the waistband of the boxers to make sure I haven’t lost it. As always, Jack opens the door, then locks it before descending, but I don’t hear the jangle of keys as he slips them into his pocket, which means they’re still in his hand. What I do hear though is Seefer; she meows loudly, announcing her arrival. A cat carrier comes into view. I’m surprised, I didn’t think he’d actually fetch her.

Holding my breath, I watch as Jack misses the first nail I’d positioned on the second step and I’m pleased to see he’s wearing trainers – they have a much thinner sole than his boots. His footsteps are steady; a hammer against cloth. My eyes flicker to the second nail – my last hope – but I quickly look away from it and lock my gaze onto his. He smiles. Distracted, he doesn’t see the nail. His foot comes down on it with such surety. It’s like a magic trick – the nail disappears beneath his trainer, into his trainer. He screams so loudly, I cover my ears against it. The cat carrier tumbles down the stairs, landing at an awkward angle on the bottom step. Jack lifts his impaled foot – too fast – off balance. He tumbles too. There’s a sickening crack as his head hits the flagstones. He lies motionless at the bottom.

Go, go, go.

I lurch forward, barely hesitating before I leap over him, and scrabble up the stairs. The keys are halfway up, and I feel weak with relief. Grabbing them, I race to the top. Then, with trembling hands, I force the key into the lock. Mercifully, it clicks open and I throw the door wide.

At the sound of an off-key screech, I whip around. Seefer!

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I look at Jack, still unmoving on the ground.

Piss me off and I’ll kill it.

I can’t leave her behind.

I imagine him holding her down by the scruff of her neck, taking a knife and stabbing it into her tiny body over and over.

I can’t. I can’t.

Stumbling back down the stairs, I bend to grab the cat carrier. Seefer yowls, wildly twisting and turning in her cage. I dart a glance at Jack. I can’t see his face but when I look down, his white trainer is slowly turning red. A burbling belch of bile rises as I picture the nail splitting his skin, ripping through flesh and sinew. Seefer hisses, drawing my attention. I clasp the carrier handle and turn, jogging back up the stairs.

I am thrown forward. I whip my head to the side just in time to avoid breaking my nose. Air whooshes from my lungs and I gasp, struggling to draw in more. The carrier slips from my fingers and clunks down the steps. Seefer yowls again. The hand that has hold of my ankle squeezes and drags me down. My grasping, desperate fingers fail to take a hold. Then my knees are on the cold flagstone but the hard edge of the last step cuts into my stomach as Jack forces a foot onto my back.

The Nokia has slipped from the waistband of my boxers and lies on the step above me. I throw my hand out to take it, but Jack beats me to it. He takes the phone and smashes it against the banister. I scream for him to stop. I try to claw my way up the stairs, out of this basement.

A large shaft of light from the open door is our spotlight. But this is his stage and he is the star. He flips me onto my back and hauls me across the floor. He straddles me. Incandescent with rage, his hands wrap around my neck. He squeezes. This is not a warning. Seefer is screeching and Jack’s eyes are bulging.

‘You fucking bitch,’ he snarls.

Saliva drips from his mouth and into my eyes. I blink and blink and blink.

I dig my nails into his hands, but he squeezes harder and I cannot breathe. I buck. Hands still crushing my throat, he wrenches me forward then slams me down. Pain explodes across the back of my skull.

I gasp and gurgle and the world swims and my lungs are empty, and Jack is screaming that I am a fucking bitch, a fucking, fucking bitch. I want to beg; I want to tell him I am sorry, but I open my mouth and there are no words left in me.

I hear bones cracking – where, I don’t know – but it sounds like fireworks popping off in my brain. Tears stream from my eyes and I cannot breathe. I cannot breathe and I am slipping. My back arches and I try to scream but I can’t, and I feel bubbles of spit on my lips and Jack squeezes even harder.

His eyes are bloodshot and full of hate and we both know the truth: I am a dying animal and he is willing to go all the way.





Chapter Forty


106 Days Missing


Adaline Archer

The flyers we put up for you around town all those weeks ago were weather-beaten and peeling off buildings and lamp-posts, so I got a group together – me, Ethan, our parents, Kathryn and Jack – and we all went out wrapped up in coats and scarves against the frosty November air, and set to work replacing the old missing person posters with new ones.

Since we haven’t found your body, the police could only charge David with kidnap. Even though everyone else believes he’s the only one involved, I’m not convinced. I’ve kept my suspicions about Jack largely to myself; telling our parents about my theory will only upset them.

After an hour of flyer distribution, we reconvened for coffee and cake at The Busy Bean in town.

‘So, Kathryn,’ I began, ‘what’re we doing for your birthday next week?’

‘I thought I’d have a quiet one this year.’ This was because of you and the smog of grief which has followed our parents since the discovery of your bloody clothes.