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“Let me out! Don’t leave me here!”
Her dad’s laughter sounded through the door. “You love ’em so much, you get to spend the whole night with ’em, Babs. And tomorrow, I’m going to pay your little friend a visit.”
She heard his footsteps crunch away and the splutter of the old truck engine disappearing into the distance. She screamed. She kicked and hammered at the door. But it was no good. The wood was sturdy and strong, and there was no one to hear her cries.
Barbara turned and looked back around the lodge. Windows that were too small and too high to reach. No other door. She was trapped.
Just her and the trophies.
The multitude of vacant eyes stared back.
And that was when she noticed it.
On the far wall, amid the snarling decapitated heads, was an empty wooden mount.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to pay your little friend a visit.”
Mercy.
40
Barbara’s eyes shot open. She wasn’t sure what had woken her. The room was dark and silent. Just the sound of her own breathing. And yet, something felt off.
She reached for her phone and glanced at the time: 3:30 a.m. The Grill had been shut when she got back from the church. After a quick wash, she’d collapsed into the embrace of the sagging mattress and fallen straight asleep.
Now, she felt wide awake. She stretched out her fingers and felt for the bedside lamp. She clicked it on. Nothing happened. Damn. A blown bulb maybe? Then she realized what was wrong. The room was too dark.
Normally, the glow of the Christmas lights provided illumination through the thin curtains. But tonight, there was nothing. It must be a power cut. Unsurprising. In the town she grew up in power cuts were a regular occurrence, especially in winter, the grid as unreliable and cranky as the people who lived there. The power would probably come back on at some point and…something thudded downstairs. The sound of a heavy item falling. Shit. Barbara sat up.
Carly and her family lived a couple of houses further down the street. Other than that, it was just her and anyone else who might be staying here. Barbara debated with herself. She had Carly’s number, but then, what was Carly going to do if there was an intruder in the place? Call the police. And Barbara was the police.
She yanked a jumper on over her pajamas, slipped her feet into her snow boots and reluctantly picked up her gun and holster from the bedside table. Her bag was on the floor at the end of the bed, alongside Rita’s box of photos. Rita had agreed to let Barbara take them to look over again. Barbara rummaged inside the bag and pulled out a flashlight. She flicked it on, the beam blinding her as it hit the mirror opposite.
“Crap.”
She blinked to clear the red stars in her eyes and pointed the flashlight around the room. All looked as she expected. But from downstairs she heard more thuds. Someone was moving about.
Barbara walked over to the door, unlocked it and stepped outside. The corridor felt even cooler than her room. She shivered a little as she padded along to the top of the stairs and shone her flashlight down the narrow staircase. Carefully, she descended. Treads that didn’t seem to make a sound in daylight groaned under her weight. Finally, she reached the bottom. She took a breath and pushed open the door to the bar.
One hand on her gun, she swept the room with her flashlight, left and right. The booths and tables looked empty; chairs stacked on top, but it was hard to see beneath. Keeping her eyes on the room, she reached for the lights to her left, flicking the switches just in case. Still out. Damn. She turned toward the bar. Nope, no one hiding there ready to jump out. That only left the kitchen. Barbara swapped the flashlight into her left hand and pulled out her gun. Moving forward, she pushed open the door to the back of the restaurant with her shoulder.
She swung the flashlight around, hoping to catch an intruder by surprise. The kitchen wasn’t that big. Chrome ovens and grills lined either side. Utensils hung from hooks. A pan lay on the floor. Knocked there? She walked forward, gun held at her side. It was cold in here. Really cold.
And now she could see why.
The freezer door hung open.
It must have its own generator.
Her heart thudded in her throat. She shone the flashlight into the freezer, telling herself that the shaking in her hands was only the sub-zero temperatures. She could see Marcus’s body lying on the steel table. Of course. What had she expected? But she couldn’t deny the momentary shudder of relief.
It was short-lived. Someone had been in here. The freezer had been disturbed. Hunks of meat lay on the floor and freezer bags full of…what the hell? Barbara walked inside, keeping the flashlight trained in front of her. She bent down to examine the bags more closely. Hearts, she thought. But they didn’t look like animal hearts to her. They looked like…
Clunk.
She whirled round, flashlight jittering in her hand.
The freezer door had swung closed behind her.
