The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(45)
‘There you go then. You’ll like my house. I’ve got an Xbox and loads of games.’
‘Even zombie games?’ Toby’s reservations dissipated as his face lit up with glee. ‘Daddy doesn’t let me play those.’
Given the amount of gore and violence in them, it was hardly surprising, but Toby could play them to his heart’s delight as far as Luka was concerned.
‘I’ve got all the games you could want, pizza, chocolate and ice cream too . . .’ He paused, manoeuvring a bend in the road. ‘Or would you rather that I drop you home and we can wait for your dad there?’
‘It’s OK.’ Dimples pressed into Toby’s cheeks as he delivered a toothy smile. ‘I want to play zombie games!’
‘That’s more like it,’ Luka replied.
He pressed down the car indicator as he signalled to turn left. A newly purchased tracksuit waited on the bed, just like the one Ellen wore. How would Stuart react when the game began? Would he risk his life to save his son? Another throb of pain pounded on the periphery of his vision. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Stuart should think himself lucky he was being given a chance.
Luka rested his forehead against the bathroom mirror. It offered a few seconds of momentary distraction from the pounding in his head. He had felt it this morning and had groaned as he witnessed the flashes of light in his vision. It was a warning of what was to come. He stood back from the mirror, his hand trembling as he searched the cabinet for the slim white box among the shaving cream, shower gel and toothpaste. Each movement, each sound, seemed magnified a hundredfold, and his shoulders inched upwards from the pain. There was a church bell booming in his head, a sledgehammer-fisted monster pounding hard. Slowly, he popped the foil packet from the box, flinching at each sound. Like two tiny white angels, the Zolmitriptan tablets nestled in the palm of his hand. Ignoring the flash of pain, he threw his head back and swallowed them dry. Chasing them down with a sip of lukewarm tap water, he dragged himself to bed and waited for the pain to ease. In the safe room, Toby was playing 18-rated games and stuffing his face with forbidden food. It was with some relief Luka had discovered that the child was able to take a few steps unaided from his chair. A degenerative condition of some sort had left him recently wheelchair-bound. But there was no room for empathy in his captor’s tortured mind. Lying in a foetal position, Luka waited for the pressure behind his skull to ease.
Sounds from outside filtered into his consciousness: the never-ending stream of traffic, a dog barking and . . . he covered his ears as a distant siren pierced his brain. At times like these, with his thoughts circling like predators, he did not have to look far for someone to blame. Minutes passed. His jaw unclenched as he surfaced from the worst of the crippling pain. He no longer trusted his emotions, but he had a job to do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Amy’s stomach knotted, just as it always did when she visited her biological mother in prison. Each time she strode down the familiar corridors, she vowed it would be her last visit to the woman whose mission it was to make her life hell. Yet Lillian’s hold was impossible to escape. As she entered the double doors, a waft of synthetic forest glade rose up to greet her, courtesy of the plug-in air freshener on the wall. It did little to mask the stench of stale breath occupying the room.
Her pulse quickening, Amy glanced around. What was it about Lillian that kept her tightly in her grip? True, during their last few meetings she had been given little choice. Had she refused Lillian, she would have been turning her back on the families whose children were buried in unmarked graves. It was only through emotional blackmail that Lillian had brought her there. Despite the mental cruelty her birth mother relished inflicting, Amy had cooperated with her demands in order to give the families of the victims the peace they deserved.
She had been only four years of age when the police arrested her parents. In recent weeks, Amy’s memory of her early years had returned in sounds and smells from which she could not escape. She heard and smelled them in her sleep: the screams of the women in the basement, the sickly air fresheners that masked something horrific in their home. The building had been demolished after Jack and Lillian were sent down, but Amy’s repressed childhood memories were not so easily killed. Just a few poisonous words from Lillian could breathe life into them again.
So why had she returned to see the psychopathic woman who delighted in messing with her mind? Amy had learned the hard way that if she did not give Lillian the attention she craved she would seek it by other means. Over the last few weeks, her refusal to let things lie had driven Amy to despair. The phone calls infiltrating her workspace, the constant visiting orders and unwanted letters to her home. They contained instructions to see Damien and Mandy, the biological siblings Amy was accused of having ‘turned her back on’. According to Lillian, she wanted the Grimes family to be ‘united and supportive’ during her appeal.
Amy had tried following the advice she gave to victims of harassment and stalking, telling herself not to respond. The last straw had come when Flora had almost taken one of Lillian’s calls. Amy couldn’t bear for her old life to merge with her new one. Flora was not as strong as she was. A conversation with Lillian would cause her mother many sleepless nights and Amy could not bear for Flora to be upset. She needed to be protected from the horrors of Amy’s past. It was small consolation that spending time in Lillian’s world helped Amy better understand perpetrators of similar crimes.