Page 7 of The Lost Zone (Dark Water #3)
“Here.” D glanced over her shoulder and then produced a choc ice from under her apron.
“It wasn’t on the menu. I took it from the staff freezer for you,” she confided with a conspiratorial smile.
He wasn’t in the mood for it, but he didn’t have the heart to decline the gift, so he took it with a whispered “thank you”. She beamed and scurried from the room.
He returned to the rec room and turned on the screen, searching for news of his father as he ate the choc ice, but there was only the usual spew of bad news and nothing about Noah.
Maybe he’d died, and he’d missed it during his time locked up on Tyler’s island.
An idea occurred to him, and he searched through the magazines looking for something – anything – about his father.
News of a funeral, or him leaving hospital with Charles by his side, would surely have made one of the gossip rags, wouldn’t it?
He worked through the first pile of magazines and found what he was looking for, close to the bottom.
Hero’s Dad Goes Home! We visit Olympic hero Charles Lytton and his father, Noah, at their beautiful home in Kent.
There was a picture on the front cover of Charles and Noah in side-by-side wheelchairs.
Charles was giving a full-wattage smile, but Noah still looked ill.
Alex studied him closely. His face was lined, his hair greyer than he remembered, and he was thinner, too.
The left side of his face was sagging as a result of his stroke, but he was alive.
The article was full of stupid inaccuracies. They called the house The Ridings and said his mother’s name was Iris. They reported Alex correctly, though – every single detail of his downfall was recounted with zealous glee, followed by a Q whatever, or whoever, was behind this door was clearly worth protecting.
Alex found his way back to the reception area and found B there, engrossed in something on her nanopad.
“Is it okay if I…” Alex waved at the front door.
“What?” She glanced up. “Oh, yes, go ahead, Mr Tyler. It’s a bit windy out there today, so you might want to take a coat.” She gestured to several raincoats hanging beside the door. “Enjoy yourself. I must be getting on.”
She hurried away, and Alex wondered what she, C, and D were so busy doing when he appeared to be the only resident.
He put on one of the coats and walked out of the door. Such a small thing, but it felt momentous. The last time he’d been out on his own had been during that dreadful week of his escape, and he couldn’t help still feeling like a fugitive as he walked around the grounds.
The Belvedere estate was remote, perched on a clifftop, with only one long, winding road leading in and out.
He walked towards the sea, drawn by the screeching of the gulls and the scent of saltwater.
It was a dull, chilly day with a hint of drizzle in the air.
He reached the cliff’s edge and gazed down at the grey waves thrashing onto the rocks below.
It would be so easy to end the continuing horror of his existence and throw himself off the cliffs, to be cut to shreds by the rocks below. If he did that, Solange would never get the justice he’d promised her, but at least he’d be free of George Tyler.
Who are you?
He thought he’d made this decision when he’d started eating again back at Tyler’s house. Maybe it wasn’t that easy. Maybe it was a decision he had to commit to every day.
He could take a few steps forward, stretch out his arms and fall to his death.
It would solve so many things. He thought of Joe, enduring the brutal murder of the man he loved.
Would he ever contemplate suicide as a response to that loss?
He barely knew Josiah Raine, but he was sure he knew the answer.
Who is Alexander Lytton?
He stared down at the mesmerising white froth on the rocks below, and then, without thinking, he turned away.
“So, not suicidal, then,” he murmured to himself. “Whoever I am, I’m not that. At least, not yet.”
The Belvedere grounds were neatly kept, with borders of evergreen shrubs. He admired several large camellias that were flowering in a riot of pretty red flowers and took a stroll through an Edwardian walled garden, full of herbs, fruit trees, and shrubs.
He wandered up the road away from the house and found that it led, eventually, to a set of ornate wrought-iron gates, with Belvedere fashioned in elegant lettering in the middle.
As he drew closer, he saw that the gates were open. He stopped, looking around. There was a gatehouse but nobody was in it. There were no guards, no surveillance, nothing. He could just walk out of here and be free.
Of course, freedom was a relative term. He glanced down at the red dot blinking in his wrist. He could cut it out again and make a run for it.
He was already by the coast, and there might be local sailors prepared to take him away.
He didn’t have any money but he could offer to work his passage, one way or another.
He was so used to selling his body that it was second nature by now, and there was always someone who wanted to buy.
He could go to France and disappear, live out the rest of his days far away from Tyler. It would mean abandoning any hope of getting justice for Solange, but he doubted she would begrudge him that. It was his choice.
Who is Alex Lytton?
He stood there for a long time under the grey December sky. Then he turned around and walked back to the house.