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People frequently talk about what it is like to have ‘made it,’ but it is far better to be on your way than to have arrived. If you succeed too soon, or arrive too early, that just means there is nowhere else left to go. Success is like love – it’s not something everyone can appreciate, even when they have it. And life is about moving forwards and moving on. Never look back; that way only leads to feeling lost.
Which is how I feel now, because I’m running out of time to find her.
Things have mostly gone according to plan so far. I dumped Rachel’s car here a couple of days ago. It was fun to drive, and this seemed like as good a place as any to hide it. I’d never driven a sports car before. It made me think of all the other things I haven’t done, things that some people probably take for granted. It was tough financially when I was growing up, and I had to work for everything I’ve got. It was hard but I think it made me stronger.
Now I just have to finish what I started, which means finding her before anyone else does. She was supposed to be dead by now.
Finding people is surprisingly simple once you know how, even those who do not wish to be found. Police and journalists use a lot of the same tools to trace people. You’d be amazed how easy it is, not just to find someone, but to find out everything about them. All the things they would rather nobody knew.
My job made it almost too easy.
People trust people like me.
But they don’t know who I really am, what I’ve done, or what I am capable of.
I said at the start of this journey that I was going to kill them all, and I meant every word.
Her
Thursday 01:45
‘Everything is going to be OK, Mum,’ I say, not believing a single word of my own lie.
Then I hear what sounds like a gunshot in the distance.
I can see from the look in her eyes that she heard it too.
‘We need to hurry, are you sure we are going the right way to get home?’ I ask, dragging her along beside me.
‘I think so,’ she whispers, finally seeming to understand that we are in danger.
We only manage a few more steps before I hear the sound of someone running in the woods behind us. The night is so silent, that the noise of branches snapping travels through the trees. It’s impossible to tell how far away they are, or see anything in the darkness, but I know they’re getting closer. The possibilities of what happens next play out in fast-forward in my mind. None of them are good.
We won’t be able to outrun them.
The best we can do now is hide.
I duck down and pull my mother onto the ground with me.
‘Sorry, Mum, but you have to stay still and be quiet. OK?’ I whisper.
She nods as though she understands. The sound of someone running stops a short distance from where we are. I hold my breath, willing them to turn back or run the other way. But I don’t get my wish. They keep getting closer. I try to think of a way to defend myself and Mum, my fingers searching the forest floor for a rock or a stick at least, but they find nothing of use. As much as I don’t want to give up, I think this might be it.
I see the torchlight then, shining between the trees, and it isn’t long until the beam finds us. I’m blinded at first and can’t see who it is.
‘Anna?’ a voice says in the darkness.
I shield my eyes, then blink away tears when I recognise the person in the distance.
I have never been happier to see my ex-husband.
‘Anna? Is that you?’ he calls again.
‘Yes! Jack, thank God you’re here!’
He smiles as he makes his way towards us through the trees. We’re safe. The relief that floods through me is overwhelming. I know that Jack will get us out of here, and that we’re going to be OK now.
Then I see the shadowy silhouette of someone behind him.
He turns to see what I’m looking at, but it’s too late.
The sound of gunfire echoes through the woods and Jack falls to the ground.
Everything is silent and still for a second, maybe two, maybe three, as though life itself has paused to see what will happen next. Then some kind of primal survival instinct kicks in. I pull Mum up and use the only word left in my vocabulary.
‘Run.’
She does and so do I, but I’ve no idea if we are running in the right direction. She’s surprisingly fast for her age, quicker than me thanks to my twisted ankle. Whoever is out there is gaining on us; I can hear them not too far behind. Branches and leaves slap me in the face as we scurry though the woods. Moonlight breaks through the canopy of trees in places, but the forest floor is mostly cloaked in darkness, and I struggle not to trip and fall. I follow my mother, constantly trying to keep her in sight, but she soon gets ahead of me. Fear can make runners of us all.
When I realise I can no longer see her, I stop. I’m too scared to call her name. I don’t want to attract attention, so I spin around, completely disoriented. Lost. Then I hear them. Despite instinct urging me to run in the other direction, I rush towards the sound of my mother and another woman screaming at each other. Their high-pitched exchange is impossible to translate, simultaneous shrieks cancelling out any discernible words. I find them just in time to see my mother fall to the ground. Cat Jones is standing over her, holding a bloody knife. She stares at me with those huge eyes of hers, then shakes her head and starts to cry.
‘You ruined my life,’ Cat says in my direction, sounding hysterical.
She takes a step towards me, the knife still in her hand. I can’t speak. I can’t move. I just stare at my broken mother on the forest floor.
‘You pretended to be my friend,’ Cat says between strangled sobs, getting closer. ‘You ruined my childhood. You followed me to London, pretended not to know who I was, so I pretended too. But then you tried to steal my job. And then you tried to steal my husband, and now—’
I hear another gunshot behind me. Someone is shooting in our direction, but when I spin around I see nothing but darkness. When I turn back, Cat has gone. I rush over to Mum and cry tears of relief when I see that she is still alive.
‘I’m OK,’ she whispers, but there is blood on her nightdress and her hands.
I put my head under her arm and lift her, then we hobble together as fast as we can, away from the sound of twigs snapping in the distance behind us. I think I must be hallucinating when we literally stumble across a road and see a car. The driver’s door is open, and the key is in the ignition, as though someone just got out and left it here for us to find. But then I see the old oak tree it has clearly crashed into.
I gently lower my mother into the passenger seat, and fasten her seat belt before getting in myself. She presses on the wound on her stomach, trying to stop the bleeding, but there is a lot more blood now than before.
‘Can you drive it?’ she asks.
‘I guess we’ll find out.’
I manage to turn on the engine, and when it starts, I feel a rush of hope. I slam the gearstick into reverse, and the car slowly rolls backwards away from the tree. I change gear, ready to drive away, then I hear sirens in the distance. I look at Mum and can tell that she hears them too.
‘It sounds like help is almost here, shall I wait?’ I ask.
Her hopeful expression changes into one of horror, and she screams.
When I follow her gaze, I can see why.
