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The noise muffles, then repeats. Louder. More insistent.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

A voice whispers, “Fran-ces-ca. Oh, Fran-CES-ca,” and a terrified sob lodges in my throat.

I can’t stand it.

I sprint from the house, slamming the door shut behind me. Outside, I suck my lungs full of freezing air, trembling head to toe as I climb into the back seat of my car.

Bedding is already piled in the footwell. It’s not the first night I’ve spent out here.

I lock the doors, triple-check they’re secure, and curl into a ball with a duvet over my head, blocking every nook and cranny so the bogeyman can’t get in to hurt me.

It doesn’t matter how. I need to get rid of the monster in the garage if I’m to stand any chance of evicting the monster inside my head.

I pull out my phone with shaking fingers and dial the number.

“Yes?”

It’s a male voice. Older. Gruff.

“I have a freezer to dispose of. I need to dump it somewhere untraceable.”

“Francesca?”

My head spins. How does he know? I’m shaking when I quietly answer, “Yes.”

“Richard said you might call. Five thousand. I’ll send you a text with details for a crypto wallet. Deposit the funds and once we have the money, we’ll schedule an appointment. Shouldn’t be more than a few days out, maybe a week.”

My racing pulse slows a little. He sounds like a businessman. “Okay, and—”

But he’s already gone. A second later, the promised text arrives.

Five thousand dollars.

Five thousand.

Where the fuck am I meant to find that much money?

CHAPTERTWO

Three weekslater

FRANCESCA

“Chess!” Aidan calls at the top of his lungs, hands cupped around his mouth like a megaphone. “Over here.”

I wave and jog to meet him on the sidelines of the rugby pitch.

Wednesday afternoons are always game days at Westlake High School. Anyone with a team sports elective competes against other schools, either on home turf or away. With our rugby team undefeated so far this year, they’ve only had home games.

It’s just gone two o’clock and in approximately fifteen minutes, my friend will compete in his first outing since being confirmed in the Westlake First XV. Since I don’t take any PE subjects, I’m happy to spend my study period lending support from the sidelines.

“Look at you,” I exclaim, twisting his shoulders so he turns to show me the back of his brand-spanking-new team jersey. “Feels like there could be anAll Blackselector in your future.”

“Right,” he says, giving a self-deprecating eyeroll before flexing his biceps. “But those hours in the gym are paying off.”

From the stories he’s told me over the past few weeks, his biceps aren’t the only muscles getting a workout in the local gym. My friend is incredibly charming, knows and gets on with everyone, and openly admits to being pansexual, though he’s explained he doesn’t think of methat way.