The Family Game by Catherine Steadman (85)

I suck in a lungful of frozen air and force myself to pull it together. I’ve seen dead bodies before; I have seen those I love still and quiet; I am certainly strong enough to bear the death of a stranger.

I dip my hand back into the snow, keeping the beam of my torch on my hand as I tunnel into the gap. My fingertips find it again: a thick tendril of matted hair, coarse and frozen by the cold. I carefully brush the snow away and see I am wrong. It is not hair. It is not a body. Held in my hand instead is a frayed length of hemp rope. I pull at it and the snow all around the well shifts as the rungs of a rope ladder emerge from beneath. I rise to standing, dragging it up and out of the snowy scrub. At one end of it is a large double-claw hook.

I guess I will have to go down the well after all.





45


The Point of No Return


SATURDAY, DECEMBER 24



There are times in your life when you really do question where it all went wrong; and if scrambling into a pitch-black well at night, in a snow flurry, wearing a Balmain blazer dress, just shy of three months’ pregnant, with a torch rammed in your mouth isn’t one of those times then I don’t know what is.

The rope creaks but it does not give. It held my weight when I tested it on the outside of the well wall but now, looking down into the darkness, doubts surface regarding its reliability.

I know there’s water down there—a dropped stone proved that—so if I do fall, at least I’ll hit water, even if it is freezing. The question is, how would I get out if I fell?

I pat my pocket for my iPhone and feel its reassuring bulk. It can survive being fully submerged in water, or so popular advertising would have me believe. If worse comes to worst, I can call someone. Edward. He can get me out. I might lose this game; I might have to tell him everything, but at least I wouldn’t die of hypothermia. Granted, I may lose him in the process, but I’d have to call him if it came to it.

The opening of the well recedes above me, the midnight sky visible in blue through the breaks in the clouds as white flakes land delicate and cool on my upturned face.

I’d estimate the ladder to be approximately fifty feet long, and watching the shimmer of water far below, fifty feet seems about right.

The smell hits me a few more feet down. It is so overwhelming that I have to stop, take the torch from my mouth, and bury my face in my elbow crease to keep from retching. It’s the unmistakable smell of rot, of something dead. I force my mind to picture a rat, a fox, a coyote—anything but the dead thing I fear is actually waiting down there for me.

Peer into my darkness, it’s cold and deep,

But to win you must find the secrets I keep.

For the first time this evening, I wonder if I’m really playing the same game as the rest of the family. There’s a chance my clues lead me only down here and nowhere else. For all I know, I might have crawled into my own grave.

My gaze shoots up to the opening of the well, fully expecting to see a figure above me—a figure who will send me splashing down into the darkness, unable to find a way out. But there is no one there.

Another terrifying thought occurs and I fish the iPhone from my pocket, careful to hold it with the firmest grip as my eyes fly to the signal bar. I let out an audible sigh of relief because I do not live in a horror movie; even down here in this well, there is a signal. If I fall, I can still call for help.

Robert is no fool; if he’d planned to kill me down here, he’d have damn well made sure I didn’t have a phone on me.

I secure my phone back in its zipped pocket and pull out an old tissue. I rip it in two with one hand and my teeth, dampen each section with saliva, and force them up my nostrils to block out the vomit-inducing stench.

Below me, the ladder meets the water and the well opens out into a small cavern, its walls no longer man-made but craggy rock.

I shine the flashlight into the water beneath me. It’s clouded, so impossible to gauge its depth. I swing the torch beam around the cave walls, their wet slime glimmering and flaring in the roaming light. Then something catches my attention and I swing back. The pop of a bright envelope. My next clue. The third clue. I could still win this. I just need to get that envelope.

I hover above the water, the envelope still a good six feet away from me, positioned high on a jutting section of rock. I’ll need to get in the freezing water if I want to reach it. I shine the torch into the murk beneath once more.

I plunge a trainer in and let the cold seep through and fill it. My breath catches; it’s freezing. I tell myself I can do this; people swim in cold water every day. Lila did this morning. As long as I’m in and out quickly, as long as I can get dry, I’ll be fine.

I push the smell from my mind as I gently ease my body into the water. I take in a sharp breath as it seeps through my clothes and reaches my skin, the cold somehow burning hot, but I sink no deeper. The cave floor is solid underfoot, and the water only reaches to my waist.

I wade to the ledge and haul myself up from the waterline, grabbing the card from the rock shelf. I rip it open and read.

You’ve come so far, you’re almost there.

The next clue is something she would wear.

You can sense her, she’s right here,

Reach out and check,

Your present is under what’s around her neck.

There is someone here. Oh my God. I swing my torch back over the milky water. One of the women from Robert’s list is here. It could be Melissa, Aliza, any of them. Though the smell suggests one of the more recent women on the list.