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There was a rustle in the trees, and I wiped my face, hoping to clear my eyes.
A flash of light crossed the clearing and disappeared into the night. “You fucking coward,” I yelled into the dark. “Come back and fucking fight.”
When I finally returned to the caravan, she was gone along with my car. I opened a bottle of whiskey, not bothering to pour it into a glass, and took several large gulps. Then I showered and changed into a suit. Vortigern had retreated for now.
Bloody fucking prick.
It wasn’t long before I heard the sirens in the distance and saw the blue flashing lights. DCS Davies and his team busted through the door. I was handcuffed, and the police caution recited to me before they took me to the station. As they led me into an interview room, I saw Navy sitting in the hallway by herself. Mud caked her clothes and body, and dark streaks of smudged makeup ran down her cheeks. Our eyes briefly locked before she looked down. I was a fool expecting to see any love or compassion. Instead, there was only fear.
DC Havard shoved me into a chair. “You fucking piece of shit,” he said under his breath.
I knew better than to react.
“You’re a fucking freak,” he said, kicking the chair. “I told you, you’d pay.”
Davies entered, slapping a file down on the table and taking a seat across from me. A red light blinked on the video camera installed in the corner. He looked worn, and dark circles surrounded his bloodshot eyes. “Mr. Hughes,” he said. “Why don’t you save us some time and come clean. We have Bryn Lloyd’s backpack. We know it was found on your property. Tell me where the girls are?”
The hiss and buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights crackled.
I didn’t say anything.
Davies opened the folder, pulled out three photos, and laid them down on the table. Mary Howell, Anwen Bowen, and Bryn Lloyd stared back at me.
I cleared my throat. “I’d like to call my lawyer.”
ChapterTwenty
NAVY
Ifelt as if I was floating in some ambiguous purgatory. Neither here nor there but rather stuck in a threshold. Caught in my own self-doubt, terror, and grief. Psychologically, I knew it to be called a liminal space. The space between the unprocessed aftermath of trauma and the transition or transformation that follows. Yet I couldn’t seem to move.
I knew Bryn Lloyd didn’t run away.
I knew it instinctively in my gut.
Just as I knew, Rhys would eventually hurt me.
I used to wonder as a child if I was unlovable. Neither of my parents seemed to care. My father made it known he loved his other children much more and my mother any bottle of vodka. Hell, in the end, she would have settled for cough syrup. My boyfriends who followed were no different. They were only concerned about one thing. Sex. So is it any wonder I steeled my heart away from everyone.
It’s true I am cold-hearted.
But I earned it.
And this only added another layer of ice.
I opened the door to my flat, throwing my bag on the bed.
Not sure where I go from here.
After I fled from Môr Haven, I went straight to the police station with the backpack and told Morgan everything, turning over the evidence. Well, not quite everything. I left out the part of Rhys’ face and eyes changing. I didn’t want Morgan to think I had gone made, and I wasn’t sure myself if I hadn’t.
There is no such thing as monsters. I kept repeating to myself like a mantra.
Morgan told me to wait at the station. I would be safe there. I did until Rhys passed me, handcuffed, as he was led into an interview room. The look of horror in his eyes as he saw me.
The look of betrayal.
I hid in the evidence room. A conspiracy board took up most of one wall. Mary and Anwen’s photographs were at the top, along with an empty spot where Bryn’s had been. Seeing the girls’ faces reassured me. I had done the right thing. I did this for them.
