She stopped still in the middle of the kitchen, holding her breath.
We are the same.
‘We are not the same!’ She snatched the beer bottle from the table and flung it at the kitchen wall, watching it shatter as the liquid drizzled onto the floor. The cat darted up the stairs. Maybe her only way to solve this was to finally face what she did in all its glory, especially if someone knew all her secrets.
Her deep sobs made her sound as if she were choking. She murdered Terry and now he was back to make her pay.
She stumbled up the stairs and hurried to her bedroom. Then as she went to close the curtains she noticed a spec of movement amongst the trees outside. She grabbed the curtains, closing them on whatever was out there. Back to the wall, she slid down onto her bottom and closed her eyes and all she could see was Terry.
I watch.
I wait.
I am coming.
Those words wouldn’t leave her.I watch. I wait. I am coming. I watch. I wait. I am coming. I watch. I wait. I am coming.She closed her eyes and all she could see was Terry laughing at her as he grabbed her finger and threatened to bend it back until it snapped.He was sending her crazy. ‘Leave me alone,’ she yelled as she burst into tears.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sunday, 1 November
I feel almost speechless as I stare at the screen.Say something!
I hit a random mix of keys in a temper and then it comes to me.
DI Harte,
We’d all like to feel safe but truth is, we’re not. The worst thing is, imagining you are crazy. Even worse is, believing that you are.
They make you crazy, it is their fault.
We’re not crazy. We need to stand up and roar, show them who we really are.
I draw another triangle at the bottom. Again, making it so easy for you DI Harte.
I look at her face staring back at me from the board and realise I’ve been grinding my teeth.
I truly am sorry for what I’m about to do. Innocent casualties weren’t a part of my original plan, but the plan has changed. I feel ignored and that can’t happen. The whole thing is too big to remain a secret forever more.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Gina led the way through the tiny yard at the back of Cleevesford High Street, still confused by the false awakenings she’d had during the night. She stopped in front of the gate and checked the plaque. Maurice Dullard – MBACP. Several other business plaques were screwed to the wall, architects, surveyors and a financial advisor.
‘Here goes.’ Jacob went through and rang the buzzer next to the door. Above them, a bird flapped and a wedge of moss hit the ground. ‘That was close. Why do I have an odd sense of foreboding this week?’
‘I think we all do.’ Gina stared through the pane of glass, wondering which one of the three floors Maurice worked on. Eventually the man came into view around the bend on the narrow stairs, carefully navigating his hefty weight down, one careful step at a time. The man huffed and puffed as he opened the door.
‘DI Harte and DS Driscoll.’
‘Come in, come in.’ He inhaled and wafted his face with a sheet of paper. ‘Such bad news about Alex and he’d been doing so well last year. Follow me. We’re on our own today so it’s rather quiet here. I only came in to talk to you and sort some paperwork out.’
‘Thank you for seeing us at such short notice.’ Gina followed him up at a snail’s pace.
The man gasped and puffed with each step and stopped on the landing of the top floor to calm his breathing down. He pulled an inhaler from his pocket and took a couple of puffs. ‘To top everything off, the stupid intercom doesn’t work.’ He inhaled deeply, twice, and his red face began to calm down. ‘I must make a note to complain to the management company, yet again. Follow me through.’ His brown curly hair crowned his head, sticking out a good two inches all the way around. The snowflake patterned cardigan he wore and his wide frame gave him a cuddly look. He was like a huge bear.
Gina entered his boxy little office. Maurice gestured for both of them to sit. The textured walls were painted in a soothing duck-egg blue and the subtle lighting gave a calm ambience. A couple of pictures containing inspirational quotes adorned the walls but were slightly wonky. Gina glanced at one as Maurice squeezed himself into his chair.
‘It’s all about the small steps that lead to the big changes.’ Maurice smiled and pointed to the picture that Gina was looking at: the one of a toddler being helped to walk by a parent. ‘Alex had been doing so well. I wish he hadn’t left the programme last year, maybe then we wouldn’t be having this conversation now. I did everything I could.’
