Page 13 of The Serial Killer’s Sister (The Serial Killer’s Daughter #3)

The smell is the first thing I notice. It’s not the musty, old people smell I was expecting, but a pleasant, zesty aroma like freshly squeezed orange juice.

The entrance hall has the same Victorian geometric black-and-white stone floor tiles, and the wooden panelling that reaches halfway up to the high ceiling, but it seems brighter – not dark and dingy like it used to be.

But maybe it felt that way because of what it meant to me; how seeing it made me feel back then.

The woman I spoke to greets me and offers a handshake. All very formal. She’s called Georgia and she is the senior care worker on this shift, she tells me.

‘If you don’t mind waiting in the lounge, Natalia will be with you shortly.’

She ushers me across the hall to the room that used to be the games room.

Gooseflesh immediately springs up on my arms, and my legs stop moving.

A pool table once stood in the middle, its green cloth worn at one end.

If I close my eyes I can see the scuffs as if it were yesterday, remember the times I’d witnessed the arguments over who was allowed to play, watched in horror as Frank stormed in, slamming one unfortunate victim face down against it.

I can still hear the cries, followed by the deathly silence as someone was dragged away and made to sit alone for hours in an otherwise empty room, in unofficial solitary confinement.

Tears prick my eyes; I blink rapidly to clear my vision.

‘Are you all right?’

I nod. Forcing myself forwards, I step into the room.

I focus on the chairs lined up by the window and stride to one to sit down.

The lounge is empty. I imagine as it’s early that maybe the residents are all being assisted in their ablutions.

Georgia is staring at me, a concerned expression on her face.

‘Thanks again, Georgia. I am really grateful for you letting me in.’

‘You’re welcome. If you leave your details when you’ve finished the tour, I’ll make sure the manager calls you. I hope it’s what you’re looking for.’

I hope so, too. When she’s gone, I get back up and walk to the far end of the lounge, to the window that overlooks the first-tier lawn.

Down some stone steps lies the large area of grass, edged with trees.

Or it did. I’m almost afraid to look now in case it’s all different.

If the trees have been felled, I’ll be back to square one. I take a deep breath and look out.

I breathe a sigh of relief. The rows of conifers are dwarfed by the large cedar trees – and I’m transported back to being a child. More importantly, I’m taken back in time to The Hunt. I have to get outside and somehow ensure I’m on my own when I search those trees.

After a whistle-stop tour of the home, I ask to see the grounds.

‘Sure,’ Natalia says, guiding me through the patio doors at the rear of the dining room.

There are only two residents out in the gardens – the ‘young ones’, as Natalia described them.

A married couple in their seventies who were made homeless following a fire last year. Natalie likes to talk, I’ve found out.

‘Very impressive.’ My words are forced through tight lips.

Being here again after swearing I’d never return feels as bad as I could ever have anticipated, but at least a lot has changed within the walls of Finley Hall – not so much is recognisable.

But outside, it’s almost identical to how I remember, albeit the shrubs and trees have grown somewhat.

But standing on the concrete steps, I can envisage the area filled with children, all running around, playing.

Screaming. I want to put my hands over my ears, block out the noise of my memories.

‘We’re lucky to have such amazing gardens here,’ Natalia says, pulling me out of my past. ‘The residents enjoy sitting watching the wildlife, or the more able ones love to walk the paths by the lake – there’s even a maze,’ Natalia says, like an excited child.

‘Ooh, I’d love to see that,’ I say, widening my eyes with fake enthusiasm. It might be a good opportunity to ditch her and get to the trees. Natalia grins and takes a step down, beckoning me to follow, when an alarm sounds. We both look towards the high-pitched wail.

‘Oh, so sorry. Maybe another time.’ She jogs back to the door, looking to me to do the same. ‘It’s a bathroom alarm.’

‘I’ll be fine here – you go,’ I say. ‘If you’re not able to come back, I’ll let myself out.’ She hesitates for a second, but as I flash a reassuring smile, she nods and runs inside.

Perfect timing. I wait for the coast to be clear.

A few moments later, the young ones disappear into the treeline at the bottom of the grounds where the path leads to the lake.

I stride towards the cedar trees. There are three in the main ground, and it’s the centre one I go to.

Middle for diddle . The trunk is thicker, the tree taller, but the hollow knot remains.

I check around me. Natalia is still inside; no one else is in sight.

I stand on tiptoe to peer into the hollow.

I had to get up onto my friend’s shoulders to reach it before.

All I can see is a black hole. Damn. I’m going to have to put my hand inside.

Every horror film moment where I’ve screamed at the screen for the character not to do it comes back to me now as I pull my sleeve up and place my fingertips in the cavity, inching my hand in further and tentatively feeling around.

‘Please don’t let there be a spider,’ I whisper.

My hand finds something cold, hard, and I withdraw it quickly, cursing quietly. I take a couple of deep breaths, then shove it in again, grasp the item between my finger and thumb, and pull it out.

My breath catches in my throat. It’s faded, the red now a pale pink, and the plastic screen is cracked, but I recognise the old childhood toy instantly.

And just as instantly, I know what it means.