The Family Game(87)

Something about the trail of blood up ahead makes me steel myself. I finally release my right hand from the maze wall and raise my weapon in both hands. I pause again before the next corner as I take a steadying breath before propelling myself around it.

A monstrous stone fountain looms over me and I stumble back, surprised to find myself at the heart of the maze. My gaze darts around the centre of it, searching for a person, but there is no one here. I shuffle hesitantly around the fountain to make sure. Snow fills the fountain’s tiers; no water is flowing from the gaping mouths of fish and sea creatures who instead seem to scream silently up into the moonlight. I shiver. Lila was right; it is a creepy fountain.

Carefully I continue to make my way around the centre of the fountain, following the line of blood, and as I do the shovel Fiona was carrying comes into sight. The soil beneath it has recently been turned. It is a mound; there is something buried beneath. A shallow grave.

In the silence the soil gently moves and I fly back from it, letting out an animal noise as I do. Whatever is under there is still alive. I edge closer to it once more.

‘Fiona,’ I whisper gently, and from my tone it’s clear I don’t really want an answer.

The mound remains still and I step closer. It suddenly shifts and I leap back again, hand to heart, as its soil crumbs tumble and settle.

I dive to the ground and use my numb hands to scrape the soil away from her. A hand, an arm, a nose, lips and, for a second, I really think she might be okay. But when I clear the soil from her face I see the wide set of her mouth and the dirt filling it. I continue to uncover her, scooping her onto her side, into the recovery position, but as I turn her, I feel a warmth spread across my own stomach, across my arms. I look down and see the thick blood pouring from her, congealed and soupy brown. I release her back onto the dirt and see the wound in her abdomen: deep and wet and dark. I gently place a hand on her chest; she’s warm, but not warm enough. I hold for a heartbeat but there is none.

One of her legs kicks out again, reflexively, and I realize what is going on. Cadaveric muscle spasms. You can learn a lot of things researching novels. Bodies can move even after death, muscles contract, mouths open, faces twitch. I pull back from her, my arms and coat thick with her blood, the skin of my arms and thighs drenched in it. Fiona is dead.

I jerk up to standing, my breath coming in sharp snatches.

The game, already terrifying, just kicked up a gear into something else entirely.

Robert is picking off members of the family. It suddenly occurs to me why I might be here: my USP. I have a history of violence, and now Fiona’s blood is all over me. I was also one of the last people to see her.

I realize how easily her death could be pinned on me. Anyone’s death could be pinned on me. Robert has literally invited me here to get away with murder. He’s sent me on a wild goose chase around the property in order to give himself time. I will take the blame for this if I don’t end up dead myself. I need to stop him.

I rise, remove my phone from my blood-soaked puffer coat and pull it off, wiping as much of Fiona’s blood from me as I can before discarding the coat entirely.

I abandon the paperweight, grabbing the shovel instead, and head out of the maze. Fiona said she’d seen either Stuart or Edward outside too, and with a jolt of terror I wonder if I am too late to warn him.

I dial Edward’s number on my phone. The game has changed; none of us are safe.

Edward answers after one ring. ‘Where are you?’ he huffs, his breath short, his concern knocking the emotion clean out of me. Wherever he is, he knows what’s happening too. Floodgates open inside me.

‘Ed, something awful is happening,’ I say to him, my voice quivering with cold and fear. I look down at my trembling body in a blazer dress and trainers, my arms filthy with mud and blood and God knows what else.

His voice is a whisper when it comes; he must be hiding inside the house, ‘I know. Same here. Listen, listen to me, Harry. Are you safe where you are?’

I look around at the moonlit garden. ‘Um, I think so,’ I tell him.

‘Great, where are you, exactly?’ he asks, and there’s an urgency in his voice. ‘Tell me and I’ll come get you.’

‘Is everyone okay there, Ed? Is everyone in the house okay?’

Silence and then, ‘No. No. I don’t think so. No.’

‘Oh my God,’ I hear myself say. But the truth is, this is my fault; I thought I could fix this by myself. I selfishly tried to protect my secret by not going to the police and now Edward is in danger.

‘Where are you, Harry?’ Edward repeats, trying to focus me.

‘I’m outside. It’s so cold. I need to come in. I can’t stay out here. Where are you? I’ll come find you.’

He is silent for a moment. ‘Okay, yeah, come find me,’ he says, but I can tell it’s not what he wants. And now there’s something strange in his tone. ‘I’ll meet you in our room,’ he continues. ‘But, listen, be careful, coming in the house. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t stop for anyone until you find me. Don’t let anyone see you. Do you understand? You need to make sure you get up to me without talking to anyone, okay?’

‘Yeah. Yes, I can do that,’ I say, though every bone in my body is telling me there’s something not right about this. Edward sounds different.

Robert could have Edward already; he could be forcing him to say this to draw me in. But my Edward wouldn’t do that; he wouldn’t lure me anywhere, even at gunpoint. Besides, Edward wanted to come to me; it was my idea to go back inside.