I run to the hallway, grab my bag, and pull on some sandals, then I head to the door, my phone clasped in hand. Suddenly I stop.
What if he has it? What if Simon’s waiting there for me to arrive?
Blue tangles around my legs again as I dither by the door. He wants straight out again but that is not a great idea. I scoop him up and carry him upstairs to the spare bedroom to nestle in his bed there. He’ll be safe there until I get back. I pull the door to and head back down to the hall.
The GPS app’s dot pulses in my hand. But another sudden washof fear flashes through me at the thought of actually finding this house, and Anna and Simon and all of it.
I can’t walk right up to it. I’ll have to walk past, note the door number, and go, making sure no one notices.
I swallow hard, take a breath, and let myself out of the house.
I look down at the dot and start walking calmly. It is only now that I zoom in to read the street name.
I stop abruptly on the sidewalk, my thoughts instantly fluttering in panic.
It is the street I spent last night on. The street with Matt’s renovation. Lockheath Road.
Images of last night flash through my mind. I push away the dark thoughts now churning alive inside me.The blue dot isnotcoming from Matt’s,I tell myself.
I have been in his basement. It’s a home cinema, not a plywood-lined cell, containing a woman.
But the thoughts will not quiet. I turn onto his road, the dot pulsing ahead, a cold dread rising up inside me.
I keep walking, fear fizzing through me as my fingers clench the phone tighter.
Ahead, along the road, I see the construction boarding of Matt’s renovation looming, the blue dot drawing closer and closer.
Whichever one it is, I’ll just walk past it, I tell myself. I’ll note the number and just keep walking.
Then I’ll calmly go home and call the police. I’ll lie if I have to, to get them there. I’ll tell them I heard screams—whatever it takes. They will listen if I have an address. They will go and check, and they will find her, and it will be over.
It’s not Matt’s,I repeat in my head.It can’t be Matt’s.
I look down at the dot, and a massive wave of body-shaking relief floods through me. I smile—the dot is much farther along the street, and I am already about to pass Matt’s.
I slip past Matt’s and continue. But when I look down again, the blue dot has jumped back. I have passed it. I stutter to a stop.
No. No. No. No. It can’t be.
I keep walking, terrified to stay stationary, to draw attention, in case someone is watching.
I refresh the app and keep walking.
The dot pulses on behind me; I need to go back.
I make a little show of forgetting something and turn back abruptly, careful to keep my eyes fixed on my phone screen and not at the surrounding houses. The dot is approaching to my right once more, and then I am on it. I throw a quick glance to the building as I pass.
It’s Matt’s. A wave of horror crashes through me. The disc is in Matt’s house.
I look down again. No—wait—it’s not. It’s the building next door, with its overgrown pot plants and thorny bushes.
The dot wavers again. Yes, it’s in that basement. The blue dot jumps again. Matt’s.
Shit.
It might not be Matt’s; it could his neighbor’s. And yet, it could just be Matt’s.
A memory of last night flashes through my mind, Matt’s voice, spine-tinglingly close to my ear: “I’ve never shown anyone inside here. Do you promise not to judge me?”
