Page 51

51

LONDON, 1986

If the phone hadn’t been ripped from the wall, Cassie tries to convince herself, she would have used it to summon help—but who would she ring? Her father? No. Nicole? Absolutely not. If it weren’t for her sister, none of this would have happened.

As Michael’s lips turn blue, Cassie hurriedly looks around for anything that might shock him into breathing. Taking the flowers out of the vase on the coffee table, she throws the water into his face, hoping that it will wake him from his slumber, but he doesn’t even flinch.

Nothing about this feels right, and panic swirls around Cassie’s chest, constricting her airways as she dares to imagine the ramifications if anything should happen to one of the biggest pop stars in the country.

A tidal wave of images floods her mind: Michael being zipped into a body bag, tomorrow’s headlines, the wig-wearing judge seeking justice for his untimely death. The torrent of premonitions almost stops her from breathing, but then she pulls herself together. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She only gave him the drug, which he would no doubt have taken from his own stash if she hadn’t supplied the goods. She didn’t force it on him; she didn’t administer it. It was entirely of his own doing, and no court in the land would be able to argue otherwise.

“Michael, wake up!” she says, hoping it’s loud enough for him to hear, but not for anyone passing outside.

His mouth begins to foam, and Cassie knows she needs to get help, but something stops her. Whether it’s the fear of being embroiled in something she doesn’t deserve or that she’d rather see him dead than alive, she isn’t sure. But his life is ebbing away, right in front of her eyes, and she watches with morbid fascination, counting down the seconds until his pulse slows to a stop.

And as it does, a strange sense of calmness floods Cassie’s extremities, an anesthetic of peace and equilibrium, making her feel that all is suddenly right in the world.

Making sure to put the camera in her bag, she surveys the room, imagining the scene in an hour or so’s time, when the police will be scouring every fiber and surface for evidence of what led to the demise of one of Britain’s biggest pop stars. Confident that she’s removed all trace of herself, leaving only clues that will lead them to Ben, she’s bizarrely satisfied that, by a sublime twist of fate, she’s managed to kill two birds with one stone. It wasn’t intentional, but the sense of gratification is intoxicating.

She places the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door as she closes it behind her and turns the key in the lock.

“Cassie!”

She freezes, her blood running cold. She needs to take a breath to stop herself from passing out with fear, but her lungs are being squeezed by an invisible force.

“Oh, thank god,” says the voice, getting ever closer.

“ Dad? ” she croaks, her brain trying to assess whether he is the lesser of the evils.

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been going out of my mind!”

“I’m fine,” she says, taking two steps toward him in a panicked rush to get him away from there. To get them both away from there.

“Is he in there?” asks John, his relief immediately replaced with anger toward the man he holds responsible for all his family’s woes.

“Leave it, Dad,” says Cassie, putting her hands on his chest as he forges toward the closed door of room 245.

“I swear to god, if I get my hands on him…”

“Dad, please!” says Cassie, feeling as if a steam train is thundering through her head.

“Edwards!” he bellows, slamming an open palm onto the door. “You piece of scum. Get out here!”

Cassie pulls at her dad’s arm. She has to get him away from there.

“I’m not leaving here until he looks me in the eye,” he roars.

Terrified that the commotion is going to draw attention, Cassie throws a glance down the corridor. “He’s off his head,” she says. “He’s not making any sense.”

“Well, he’d better make sense of this ,” says John, banging on the door again. “Because I swear, if you ever go near either of my daughters again, I’ll fucking kill you!”

The silver key jumps from the lock and Cassie holds her breath as her father watches it fall, as if in slow motion, to the floor.