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Lifting the pile of letters out, I was about to unfold the first one, when I saw a glint of metal out of the corner of my eye.
My stomach churned as I touched the smooth gold sovereign-style ring, picking it up, already knowing what was going to be on it before I’d seen.
The cloaked man with arms outstretched, one holding what looked like a lightning rod, and the other resting on top of what was either a number eight or an infinity symbol.
The Strelichevo syndicate crest.
My heart was pretty much beating out of my chest at this point, and all I wanted to do was get away from this house, to escape to the safety of my boys, but I had to at least check these letters. I quickly snapped a couple of photos of the ring and let it fall back into the box, then returned my attention to the letters.
I unfolded the first with shaking hands, the paper crinkling under my fingers.
Then the next. Then the next.
All were in Russian.
I photographed the letters I’d unfolded, anyway, even though the ink was barely legible. There were no envelopes, so I didn’t have a return address to give me any clue. Deciding to look at just one more, conscious that I’d already been here much longer than I’d planned, I opened the next one on the pile, and a photograph fell out, face down.
Lifting the photo from the floor, I turned it over in my hands and gasped aloud. The little girl in the photo looked so much like me when I’d been a child, that I instantly knew who it was.
My mother. Maybe around four or five, if I had to guess. What the fuck was Allan doing with my mother’s photo and a box of Russian
letters? I snapped another photo, then quickly piled everything back into the box and replaced it back in the drawer.
I’d just reached the door, when footsteps sounded in the hallway, and a barking cough that I recognised, since I’d only heard it ten minutes earlier.
Allan.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This was the last room in the corridor, which meant he must be headed straight for me. That, and the fact it was his bedroom. Where could I go? The bed was too low to squeeze my whole body under.
I was in full-on panic mode by this point, and I darted for the ensuite door, pulling it almost all the way closed behind me, just leaving a tiny crack that I could look through.
My panicked gaze darted around the darkened bathroom, my breaths shallow, a wave of dizziness assaulting me as I took in the tiny space.
Fuck.
There was nowhere to go. The bathroom consisted of a toilet, sink, and a white porcelain roll-top claw-footed bath with a shower attachment on the taps. Nothing else. Nothing to hide behind.
I was trapped.
All I could do was watch, with a dawning sense of horror, as the handle turned, and the bedroom door began to open.
THIRTY
The window. That was my only option. Okay, I probably (definitely) wasn’t thinking straight, but I couldn’t exactly jump out in front of Allan, waving my hands like I’d appeared after some bloody magic trick.
Quickly, quietly, I made my way to the sash window, original to the house, which meant wooden frames and single panes of glass. I undid the catch that held it closed, and holding my breath, slid it upwards as carefully as I could. Luck must’ve been on my side, because it moved upwards smoothly and noiselessly. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised—knowing what I did of my mother, she probably had someone check all the windows on a regular basis to make sure they didn’t creak.
Back in the bedroom, I heard a soft click as Allan closed the door behind him. I hoped and prayed with everything I had that he wouldn’t come into the bathroom. I eased the window the rest of the way up, enough to create a gap I could slide through.
I threw my shoes through the opening, aiming for the manicured bushes down below, then without bothering to give myself time to think through this insane idea, swung my body out, gripping tightly to the sill. I scrabbled for a moment, allowing my feet to find purchase on the top of the wooden trellis that ran around the outside of the house, ivy growing over it. My bare toes touched the rough wood through the ivy and I breathed a sigh of relief. The trellis was narrow, but it gave me extra support while I held on to the windowsill with my right hand, my arm thrown across the length of the sill to give me extra support. Holding on with everything I had, I used my left hand to carefully ease the window shut.
Just as my hand dropped back to the windowsill, the light suddenly flickered on in the bathroom, and a sense of sudden panic hit me like a cricket bat to the head.
I. Let. Go.
I was falling, and fall—
