Page 48 of The Serial Killer’s Sister (The Serial Killer’s Daughter #3)

The ground is hard. Twigs and stones press against my bottom, my arms ache and my face stings.

I close my eyes, and my ears, to Dean. I’ve got the gist. He blamed Henry for his sister’s disappearance, possibly her death, and he devoted his life to finding out what happened to her.

It’s fair enough and actually, very caring in a fucked-up sort of way.

I don’t need to hear more. His voice drones on, strangely hypnotic in the relative silence of the woodland, and for a moment, I give up and start to drift.

Then something sparks inside my skull and my survival instinct kicks in; my mind begins to search frantically for a way out of this.

‘Get up!’ His breath is hot against my ear.

‘How dare you.’ The blood leaves my head and I feel strange, woozy, like I’ve been drugged.

His arms are under my armpits, and he drags me to a standing position.

My legs are tingly and weak, won’t hold me up, and I fall like a rag doll back to the ground.

His breath heaves, his face turns a deep shade of red as his anger rises rapidly and he hauls me to my feet again.

‘Listen, bitch,’ he says, spittle flying from his mouth.

‘I’ve not spent my adult life tracking your brother and you down for you to ignore me like I don’t matter.

’ He props me up against the stone wall of the well and I’m transported back seventeen years to when Henry did the same.

This is where it ends. I’m going to be thrown to my death into the dark hole alongside my childhood friend.

‘You ready to hear the rest?’ he says. I nod, keep nodding, fear surging through my veins.

‘Come on, Anna Lincoln. Don’t forget your roots.

Us kids from the scabby home have a shared history, don’t we? ’

I’m not Anna Lincoln . I worked hard to escape those roots, become a better person.

I scrunch up what little of my face I can still move and shrug, while in my head I repeat: I am Anna Price.

I am Anna Price . I carved out a good life for myself and until Dean came along, everything was going well.

I ignore the nagging voice that contradicts this.

Now’s not the time to think about Ross and Yasmin.

If I’d had the chance – been in the right headspace – I might’ve been able to deal with that situation, and maybe even reverse it.

‘We were all mistreated. Abused. It was something we got used to. Whether we like it or not, it impacted who we were. Who we are today. I had many days when I almost forgave Henry. You. You were both victims of circumstance. Seeing him each day, though, made it impossible. I couldn’t let it go.

I guess I’m also a product of the broken system.

I do see that. I just try to balance it out by doing good, too. ’

How much time has passed? Streaks of orange merge with dark grey clouds, and the sun is dipping behind the tall trees.

If no one comes soon, we’ll be difficult to find.

I think we’d hear approaching vehicles, though – we’re not that far from where our two cars are parked.

If I make enough of a commotion, I might gain attention to lead police to me.

I’m thinking this through as Dean explains how Finley Hall closed due to a string of claims detailing negligence and abuse.

And, as I told him when he asked a few days ago, the children were all sent to different places – they were scattered around the country.

Then Finley Hall had a massive fire, destroying files and ensuring evidence of the wrongdoing never came fully to light.

Miss Graves, Frank and all the other carers escaped prosecution.

‘I lost track of almost everyone. It wasn’t such a big loss. But it did mean finding Henry was difficult. It’s one of the reasons I became a policeman: so that I could track Henry down.’

I whip my head around, eyes wide, my interest piqued. Did he find Henry before he found me?

‘It was a surprise, I admit, when I finally found him, and things came to light that I hadn’t factored in.’

My pulse thumps in my neck, my breaths becoming shallow. I stare at Dean, trying to read his expression.

‘He wasn’t what I’d been expecting all those years.

You’d have been proud of your little brother, Anna.

He turned out pretty well considering his past. He didn’t recognise me either, but then, he was worse for wear.

Blind drunk. He said he was celebrating his new job.

He was a talker, I’ll give him that. Ahh …

’ Dean lets out a sigh, then directs a smile at me.

‘Your brother’s face is imprinted in my mind. Along with all my other victims.’

My head is suddenly too heavy to hold up, and it drops to my chest. None of what’s been happening recently is down to Henry, and a surge of guilt pushes its way through me for thinking it was.

Dean murdered Henry. But why, then, did he come after me?

If Henry had stuck to the story we agreed, then Dean should’ve stopped there.

Hadn’t he got what he was after by taking revenge on Henry?