Page 104

The kitchen’s warmth vanished. Murray’s knuckles went white against the doorframe, wooden splinters cracking under his grip. Tom’s heart dropped as the truth hit – they weren’t just ahead of them. They’d changed the game entirely.

“Where’s Erin?” The whisper scraped from Tom’s throat.

“I left her at the house—” Murray was gone before the words were fully out, vanishing so fast Tom didn’t even see him move.

Tom was already running for the door. Adam met him in the hall, car keys in hand.

Any other time, Tom would have been thrilled at how the Maserati ate up the road, Isabel weaving it expertly between the sparse traffic. As it was, no speed was fast enough to meet the sense of urgency he felt. Erin had to be alright. She had to be. After the last few days, thinking she was dead… and then he’d left her there, by herself. He’d never forgive himself if something had happened.

He called her phone again, but as the houses flew by on either side, it continued to ring to no one.

29: Chains of My Own Making

Itook longer than usual to come around – or I thought it did, but I had no real way to tell. My head was fuzzy, and my left eye remained swollen shut, no matter how I tried to force it open. How the hell I’d ended up here – wherever here might be – was still a mystery, but my head pounded and my body ached with every movement, so I seemed to have put up a fight, at least. I tried letting the memories surface, but there were only flashes.

With only half of my vision intact, I tried shifting my position to get a better idea of where I was. Each movement sent little shocks of pain where what felt like zip ties cut into my wrists. My bare arms scraped against the wall behind me as I tested my bonds. A metal pipe dug sharply into my spine, the cold seeping through my thin vest.

Beneath me, my legs were dead and useless, pins and needles crackling through them when I tried to move. The rope around my ankles bit into flesh already rubbed raw. But they’d strapped me up so tightly, I stayed upright despite my body’s protests.

From what I could see in the semi-dark, there were cabinetsand a sink unit across from me – it looked like an old, pre-war kitchen, shiny vinyl doors and all. The pipe I was tied to connected to a series of others, snaking along the wall to old-fashioned radiators – part of a central heating system. Which meant cast iron. And not a damn chance of breaking free.

A deep breath calmed my racing heart. There it was again – the hint of petrol in the air.Shit.

I ran a quick mental inventory, testing what still worked while I was still conscious. My shoulder – the one that was already injured – was either dislocated or fractured. Not good, but a familiar enough injury that I might be able to fix it if I could get loose. It wasn’t just my eye that was swollen either – the whole left side of my face felt tight and stiff, and I’d bitten my tongue at some point. Swallowing hurt. But there was no blood that I could see, and my skin seemed intact everywhere else.

All in all, not great, but not the worst state I could have been in. Though after all my big talk about being able to take care of myself, it seemed like I’d been taken from my bed. My own fuckinghouse. The thought stung almost as much as my injuries.

I pushed down the anger – lashing out wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I was alone, that was something. The petrol scent lingered in the chilly air, but it didn’t seem to be getting any stronger. Which meant I might have a few minutes to think and hopefully plan a daring and spectacular escape – if only I had any clue where I was escaping from. Or where I was. Or even how long I’d been here.

Sifting through the flashes I could recall, a couple of things stood out. I’d been in my bed, with Nicholas sleeping beside me. I’d watched him for a while, and I vaguely recalled he’d got up to leave before the sunrise. I shivered, and allowed myself a moment of refuge in the memory of his lips brushing mine as he kissed me goodbye. I clung to the feeling, to the certainty that he would realise I was missing. That he would come for me.

After that though, things got blurry. I’d slept again. And then I was in the street. It had been bone-achingly cold, I remembered that much. And snowing again. How had I ended up outside? I squeezed my eyes closed, sifting through the images for some cohesion. Petrol. Something held over my mouth. Someone grabbed me, and I fought back – that was when I’d got the kick to the face. Then falling… through my bedroom window.

The memories slipped away with each throb of my temples, nausea building in my stomach. At least we’d been right about being drugged before my car went over the bridge – this felt almost exactly the same, minus the blinding sun and with the addition of a fucked-up shoulder.

That same petroleum smell was getting stronger, but I couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from in the long room. The fumes made my nose burn, and my senses dull. I scanned the kitchen again, looking for anything useful.

It had been stripped bare. Its walls might have been yellow once, but they were grey with decades of grime now. Someone had boarded up the single narrow window with fresh planks, and stuffed fabric in the gaps – to block out the light, I assumed.Still, that meant of the two people who might have brought me here, at least one of them wasn’t a fan of the sun. And that was knowledge I could use.

I tried to focus my hearing, and cast my senses out beyond the kitchen, but everything felt wrong. My left ear was ringing like hell, but beyond that, all I caught was the creaking of the old walls as the temperature continued to drop outside. It really didn’t feel like anyone else was here, but something niggled at me. If I shut down everything else, there was something. Maybe.

Most of the cabinets in the opposite corner were missing their doors. The largest – a larder – drew my attention. A hoarse rattling came from within, barely audible. It took me a full minute to place the sound for what it was – someone else breathing.

“Hello?” I tried to make my voice carry, but it was an inaudible rasp. A floorboard groaned in the next room. Someone spoke from behind me, and I strained to see a silhouette in a doorway I hadn’t noticed.

“You’re awake.” A shadow fell across the floor in front of me, blocking out what little light I’d had to see by. I shuddered involuntarily, goosebumps prickling across my flesh. The voice was female. What had Adam said? Mary. Émilie. Hélène. Sylvia.

“Who are you?” I managed to croak.

“What is it with everyone asking about me today?” Her voice was high and brittle, nothing like Isabel’s measured tone. She knelt, and I finally saw the face of the woman who’d been tormenting us for so many weeks.

At first glance, the resemblance was uncanny – she sharedIsabel’s dark eyes, full mouth, angular face… But her dyed hair was lighter at the roots. Her eyes were sunken deep in her hollowed face, lashes and brows too pale to match Isabel’s colouring. A little contouring, some pouty lipstick. In the end, she was a cheap imitation trying too hard to be Izzie Misery.

“Everyone?” I repeated.

“Yes. Thomas askedsomany questions.” As she stood, the awkwardness of her movements became apparent. Her left arm was clasped tightly to her chest, and as she turned, I saw her hand was missing below the wrist. Fresh blood darkened the dirty grey of her shirt – a recent injury then, though her healing abilities had already worked on the rough stump, raw pink skin closing the wound over.

I considered her words. She was trying to goad me, that was clear, but I was still concerned. Tom had walked out alone into the night. He should have been safe by now, but I’d told him to go… This might be my one chance to get information from her.