Page 52 of These Tears

Above a burning building.

‘Crank up the volume!’ I say breathily.

Dad fumbles with the remote while Mum starts droning again, muffling what little I can hear.

‘Crank it up!’ I bellow, startling her into silence just as Dad hits the sound button.

‘…have confirmed that a house fire in Cambridge reported late last night is now being treated as suspicious. The blaze was captured on a neighbour’s mobile phone shortly before emergency services arrived.’

‘Crazy blokes everywhere,’ Mum mutters with disdain at the screen. ‘Monstrous.’

I swallow hard as the news anchor continues. ‘The bodies of a man and a woman in their late forties were discovered in the dining room of the property. Formal identification has not yet been released, but the victims are believed to be Isak Crane, CEO of Crane Logs & Timber, and his wife.’

I can’t breathe.

‘Detectives are also seeking to establish the whereabouts of the victim’s brother,’ she says as Elias’ mugshot from Stonebrook replaces Isak’s. They’ve chosen the worst they could find – the one they’d have snapped early on, before routine, food and sleep. His eyes are too bright, cheeks too severe; that hollowed-out look as if he’s been living on air and spite.

My fists clench tighter.

‘…released from custody only days ago after proceedings against him were discontinued. He is currently unaccounted for. Police stress that no arrests have been made at this stage, and enquiries are ongoing.’

Then the camera cuts to the other anchor – already smiling through a segment about preparations for a snowy October, as if the sky hasn’t just split open and dumped its guts on my sitting room carpet.

My knees go first. I grasp the back of the sofa to keep myself upright, unable to take my eyes off the television.

Breathless, I bolt for my room and call Conall – no answer. I call again. And again – until a feral sound in my throat pierces the space and I throw the phone onto the bed.

Pacing starts before I decide to move my legs. Back and forth, back and forth – my mind snapping at its own tail.

Anna’s in the doorway, already half inside, her skirt trailing behind her.

‘What’s going on?’

I’m heaving. Trying to pull air into a chest that won’t accept it.

Her eyes widen.

‘Oh darling,’ she whispers when she takes in my face, and she’s suddenly there – hands on my shoulders, steering me down.

We sit on the edge of the bed, and she presses my head forward, low between my knees as if she can physically shove the panic back into my body. ‘Breathe, love. You’ll faint. What in the world has got into you?’

‘It’s him,’ I manage. ‘Elias. The news.’

She blinks rapidly until the meaning catches and blooms behind her eyes like a bruise surfacing. ‘You think he had something to do with it?’

I don’t tell her about him never showing remorse for killing Arthur. I don’t tell her how calmly he’d spoken about belonging behind bars, about being satisfied there – safe there – because outside he might do worse.

God.

Have I really been that blind—

‘Leah.’ Anna’s face pushes into my vision and she cups my cheeks. Firmly. Her brown eyes lock onto mine, as if the sheer force of her stare could keep me grounded. ‘Listen to me. You are starting a new life tomorrow. You are leaving. This does not concern you.’

Right.

That’s the sensible shape of it. The cleanest version.

There is nothing that tethers me to Elias Crane. I was a prison pastime. He was an escape hatch. We were a temporary madness with visiting hours.