AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I make a face. “That’s weird given Ben is married, and to Max’s sister.” If that’s true.“What did they do when they saw you?”
“Looked guilty. Laughed a little.”
My brain chugs and whirrs, thinking it all through. “So where were you?” If she was in the living area or kitchen, she would have been easy to spot, which means . . .
“In Laurence’s bedroom.” She pauses to see my reaction which I keep carefully neutral. “Nothing happened, but I felt I wasn’t being honest, so I told him why we’re here, and the dilemma I’m facing about Kyle.”
“I think that’s a good idea. Did he clarify his own situation?”
“He didn’t get the chance; as soon as we heard the others he rushed out of his room and told them to shut up.”
Hmm. More details to worry over. On the scale of Never Overthinks to Always Overthinks, I am clearly at one end of the scale, but it does feel like they’re trying to keep something from me. Doesn’t it? Or am I imagining it?
Unable to give it any more consideration, I resolve to shove it from my mind. “Let’s eat,” I tell Josie. “And let’s not talk about the guys for the rest of the day.”
Our lake walkin the early afternoon is a good antidote to the unsettling morning. Bundled up under hats, gloves and coats, we pick a path through the pine trees before they give way to a deciduous wood. When we round the curve of the lake, I look back towards the little beach, the fairy lights strung up in the hut just about visible in the grey light.
A vicious wind whips through the trees, and I resolve to never swim in the lake again, not unless it’s hot enough to boil an egg out here.
Halfway around, we stop to eat brownies and drink tea from a thermos, fallen trees our seats. As the others chat about a programme they’ve all seen and I haven’t, I walk towards the lake edge and look out across the dark surface, letting my mind unspool. I tune out their voices, concentrating on the impossible, on something unknown and intangible. My mind reaches, yearning for the connection of the haunting voice, desperate for some sign that I’m not losing my mind.
I tell the voice I’m trying. That I want to do everything I can. I think back to the headaches I’ve been getting, wondering what’s triggering them and what they mean. At what will be revealed when the black wall shatters.
A blast of Arctic wind hits me in the face and I shriek with cold. “We should keep moving,” I suggest to ready agreement. “I can’t feel my fingers anymore.”
“Same. It’s definitely going to snow,” Jen states. “You might need to drive back on Sunday rather than Monday. Hopefully, my train won’t be delayed; I need to get back to my boys.”
“What’s the latest on the maybe move to New York?” Tabi asks as we pack up.
“I’m not sure. I can’t decide just yet,” I admit.
Josie throws an arm around my shoulder as we trudge through fallen leaves and twigs. “Well, we’re visiting if you do go, that’s for sure. Who knows? A change might be good for you. All the sights and sounds, the millions of people . . . ”
“Yeah,” I murmur absently. “London’s distractions would be a little easier to get lost in though. Less far and more familiar.”
“Fuck London,” Tabi states. “It’s New York all the way, baby!”
Her enthusiasm makes me smile, the promise of a roaring fire in our cabin motivating me.
My phone rings so I bring it out of my pocket and check the screen. When I see it’s Paula, the police liaison officer, I let it ring out, telling myself I’ll call on Monday when I’m back home and have fingers that work. But the call is a depressing reminder that there is an open case that I am the key to closing. That I’m a victim of sexual exploitation. A victim of crime.
“I’ll catch up,” I tell the others. “Go make a fire and get the hot chocolate on. I’ll turn the lights off in the hut.”
“Okay!” Josie calls, stopping while the other two continue on. Seeing that we’re alone, she murmurs, “Let’s hope the snow doesn’t stop our night out tomorrow. I think it’ll be good for you to tackle this with your friends around you.”
“Yeah,” I answer, knowing I need to face this.
Josie heads off with a cautious smile. Meanwhile, the plan to hit a club lodges in my head and refuses to leave. It terrifies me. And even though I’m a logical, rational person, I also believe in the paranormal. In the unexplainable. That sometimes things that make no sense live right alongside us. What if, while wearing similar clothes, I get abducted again? What if, by going clubbing, I’m taunting fate? I’ve no idea what the odds would be—I’m not a statistician, but as experiments go, it would be a horrifically interesting one.
Slowly, my heart leaden, I walk to the beach and switch off the lights before staring out across the water. For several minutes I will the voice into existence, knowing it’s somewhere out there.
When I hear the mesmerising notes, I don’t gasp with shock, I sigh with relief.
La ha ah,
La ha ah ah.
The refrain burrows inside my bones, wriggling into all the gaps and connective tissues, living there like a parasitic earworm. Except, I don’t feel that it’s an ugly, unwanted presence; I feel quite the opposite.
