It doesn’t take us long to find the page on the dark web.
Danny has used the name Dallyduck. Nev poses as the hit man, telling Danny that everything has gone to plan. We spread blood around the basement and on the now-lifeless hit man. Then it’s time to take the photos. Nev struggles as he finds them disturbingly realistic. But I’m still not satisfied that they look real enough.
We draw more of my blood and splash it on the walls.
Nev’s kindness brings tears to my eyes. I’d been obnoxious to him, and yet, the whole time, he’d hated this just as much as I had. Now, he’s trying so hard to make amends. I promise Nev that he’ll get the money he’s owed once this is over.
He renovated the house into the home I’d always dreamed of, and Daniel ruined it.
We need more blood, but I’m growing weaker, not giving myself time to recover. I look as pale as a ghost. Nev helps meto smear blood on my hair and scalp. He nearly throws up, but manages to hold it together.
Nev takes photographs and I study them. Something’s missing.
‘It’s not right. I need to look like I’ve been beaten,’ I say. ‘Otherwise, it doesn’t look convincing.’
He cringes as I inflict bruises on myself. It hurts, but the pain is less than the emotional suffering I’ve already endured.
Did Daniel even consider what it would mean for Joel to grow up without a mother? Or the pain it would cause my parents? Most of all, did he ever think of the terror I’d feel when facing death?
The thought of being hammered to death makes my skin crawl. But Danny would have done it, and all of it for money. I fight back nausea. The bruises finally turn purple, and the second set of photos looks authentic.
Recording the message is harder. We write several scripts before settling on the one that works best. We add the music, ‘Danny Boy’, for effect. The instructions he sent to the murderer made it clear that Danny didn’t want our bodies found, but I want him to see the photos, to know what he’s done, even if, unknown to him, he hadn’t achieved it at all.
Before leaving, I spill drops of blood inside the van. Everything is ready. As I look back at my ‘perfect’ home, I think about the ‘perfect’ life we planned.
But no one has a perfect life, do they?
Chapter Seventy-Six
Neville
Getting the guy’s body into the van is the toughest part of our plan. My shoulder is so painful that I can barely lift him. Joanna tells me to go to the hospital, but I know that if anyone sees me, the whole plan will fall apart, and I don’t want that. I want Daniel to getexactlywhat he deserves. He isn’t going to slip through the cracks. Not if I have anything to do with it.
‘Okay then, let me look at it,’ she says.
I remove my shirt with her help. The sensation of her warm hands on my skin is almost unbearable. I want to take her into my arms and tell her that soon she’ll never have to worry again.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I never wanted to hurt you.’
She gives a shaky smile. ‘The shoulder looks okay. Better than I thought.’
I know it's her way of changing the subject. ‘Right, let’s get this lump into the van then,’ I say.
It isn’t easy; he’s a very big man. I couldn’t have done it without Joanna’s help but eventually, he’s in. The drive causesmy shoulder to bleed a little, so I take it slowly. Joanna follows in my car. In time, I drive down a secluded track and dump the van.
Getting the body into the driver’s seat is another ordeal. The guy weighs a ton. Joanna tries to pull while I push, but she doesn’t have the strength required. We’re both breathing heavily by the time we get him into position.
I can’t believe we’ve done it. Now we have to hope everything else goes according to plan.
***
Joanna
The memorial was the final insult. Danny knew I was an atheist, like my parents. It was a slap in the face to them, and to me.
I slipped in as the service began and sat at the back, wearing a jet-black wig and sunglasses beneath a veil. No one recognised me.
The whole service was a sham. I wanted to stamp on all those fucking roses. When the vicar spoke about me, I wanted to shout, ‘I’m here. Look at me.’
