Her phone beeped with a text. It was Richie, and she was grateful for the distraction. Her job had become a lifesaver in so many ways.
Extension granted to keep Abraham in custody. Still going no comment. He’s bedded down for the night. More interviews in the morning.
Sarah’s fingers pecked the screen as she drafted a reply.
Thanks for the update, see you early doors.
Tomorrow the onus would be on finding Jahmelia’s whereabouts. Police weren’t allowed to keep repeating the same questions in further interviews and there were only so many ways you could rephrase them. Elliott had seemed so sure when he said tomorrow was too late. She looked at her watch, a feeling of helplessness washing over her. It was late and she had explored every avenue. She didn’t have long left. Should she go to Blackhall? She shrivelled at the thought.
She bent to pick up the junk mail from a pile on the floor, stopping when she came to a small black envelope. It felt tainted in her hands. That hadn’t been there before. She knew it was an invitation before she opened it.
‘Bring it on,’ Sarah said, but her words were hollow as she read.Tonight. Blackhall Manor. Midnight.She turned the card.
If you tell, you’ll go to hell.
The flow of adrenalin started as a tremble in her legs, increasing her heart rate and redistributing her blood.
‘Tell me what to do,’ she spoke aloud, but no response came. ‘Oh you desert me now, you bastard. All this time you’ve been hanging around and the one time I need you …’ A sob caught in her throat. Her husband was long gone. But an imaginary voice had been better than nothing at all. She had to find Jahmelia, but that meant returning to Blackhall Manor. This man was no serial killer. All this had been for her. He could have murdered Libby and Jahmelia’s brothers, who were both wearing headphones when he entered their homes. Instead, he’d barricaded them in their rooms with a chair. As for Sarah … she lived alone. He had been here more than once. He could have finished her off when she was asleep. There was something much bigger to all of this. A sense of returning to past wrongs. Only by killing her, could the Midnight Man complete the game. Maybe he knew she was nearly ready to flatten the Manor. And she would. By God, she would. But first she had to get Jahmelia back. The rules of the Midnight Game played in her mind as she prepared to leave.
Rule one: Stain some paper with a drop of your blood next to your name.
Rule two: Turn off the lights at midnight, leave the paper at the front door and knock twenty-two times. Open the door. You have invited the Midnight Man in.
Rule three: Relight your candle. You must avoid the Midnight Man until 3.33 a.m. If your candle extinguishes, it means the Midnight Man is near. If he finds you, you will die.
‘Get your shit together,’ Sarah told herself as she packed a rucksack. The thought of revisiting Blackhall Manor made her stomach churn. The weight of her stab vest offered a little reassurance as she tightened the Velcro straps. She tugged her coat over it, covering up the fluorescent police badge on the back. She had an idea of who she was meeting, but she didn’t want it to be true. Because there was something else that Elsie told her in the hospital. Christian had needed support growing up. It had come in the form of the big brother scheme. It was something social services made use of when dealing with boys who needed a male influence in their life. For Christian, the scheme had worked well. His ‘big brother’ met him regularly, providing guidance and support. According to Elsie, he’d looked up to him as a teen. Had their friendship been reignited? Was Christian an unwilling accomplice to the Midnight Man’s crimes? It would explain how he had gained access to her home and Christian’s car. But evidence had been planted. Had the Midnight Man turned on him? Sarah hadn’t shared her suspicions as she didn’t know his motives. But also because the person she suspected was her friend. A man with two faces. One good, one bad.
As she drove down the lonely track to the house, she waited to hit the pothole which signalled her arrival. But this was years later and the bump did not come. Brambles scratched against the metal of her Mini as it juddered along the bumpy path, and she flicked on her wipers as a thick mist enveloped her. She turned on the car heater, only to be rewarded with a blast of cold air. The sight of Blackhall Manor from a distance had been enough to raise a chill on her skin. Now she was frozen to the core. It wasn’t just the house. It was the memory of her family. All these years she had blamed her father for taking her family away. Now she was not so sure. Perhaps it was time for the ghosts of the past to be set free.
Pulling on her car handbrake, she stopped at the tall wrought-iron gates. They gaped open in a chasm of darkness, the thick padlock that usually secured them hanging from one gate. The Manor loomed above her, cloaked in mist. ‘C’mon girl, we can do this,’ Sarah whispered as the engine rumbled in protest at having to take the hill. Curling her fingers around the freezing steering wheel, Sarah negotiated her car up the weed-choked path. The house seemed as big as ever, its cracked windowpanes gazing down upon her with black, soulless eyes. Sarah parked her car ready for a quick getaway. She prayed Jahmelia would be with her when she left.
Tense with trepidation, Sarah approached the door. She imagined Angelica and the other girls pricking their fingers on a piece of card next to their names. She wasn’t playing the game. She was here for two reasons. Reasons worth risking her life for. To find her tormentor and to bring Jahmelia home. But there was no power in the building, so she would use a candle and give the illusion she was playing the game. Her actions were robotic as she lit the fat white candle, because her thoughts were firmly on the house. She was in there, somewhere. Her fourteen-year-old self. She was still up in that wardrobe. Only the wardrobe wasn’t there anymore. She wandered into the house, and had a sense of things scurrying around her feet. The smell of rotting upholstery assailed her nostrils and for a fleeting second she thought what a shame it was to see the place fall apart like this. Above her, bats skittered in the rafters, and her candle flickered as a door upstairs slammed shut. Sarah stood, entranced, as the ghosts of the past returned.
She was a child again, returning from trick-or-treating with her gran. Her uncle’s car was on the drive. His mediation had failed. Robin, in his Batman costume, on a sugar high as he clutched his Halloween spoils. The scent of lavender as Sarah gave her mother a hug. Her father’s weary, smiling face as he said goodnight. Her eyes rested on a salt ring, disturbed by the boot prints of the police officers before it was released as a scene of crime. To her left, was a splintered hole in the wall where Libby had escaped. What had possessed Angelica and her friends to come to this awful place?
On Sarah walked, to the wide staircase, tentatively moving up each step. It creaked, as if in acknowledgement. Her hand hovered over the banister. She did not want to physically touch anything. Slowly, she climbed, wary of the rotting steps. A feeling of coming home descended as instinct guided her up the stairs.
51
Saturday, 9th November 2019
I watched from the secret crawlspace, a deep sense of satisfaction washing over me. Everything was coming together. It surprised me, what I was capable of. Finding the right crawlspace had been instinctual. Blackhall revealed itself to the special few. It was why Libby couldn’t open the panel which would have granted her an easy freedom. It was a privilege to be part of something bigger than myself.
Depression was my constant companion – the black dog that never left my side. I masked my true feelings with jokes, caring for others to take the onus off myself. In the beginning, the big brother scheme was as much for myself as anything. Helping others took the focus off my own pain. Then I met Christian, a sad, insecure little boy with responsibilities beyond any normal ten-year-old child’s. With few male figures in his life, social workers believed he would benefit from spending some time with me. It felt good to be looked up to.
Before long, he idolised me. I was indeed the big brother he never had. As the years passed, our meetings became less frequent and eventually we lost touch. He’d been shocked to catch me sleeping in Blackhall. Truth be told, he barely recognised me. I wasn’t the fresh-faced young guy he’d looked up to anymore. I was reaching middle age, with shoulders burdened by depression. But he said he’d do what it took to see me through. I told him I was working on something very important, and he was happy to help – no questions asked. I think he wanted to repay me for the past. I had to come down tough a couple of times when he tried to back away. But spending time in Blackhall brought him around to my way of thinking and he was happy to loan me his car. It was me who advised him to report it stolen in an effort to cover my tracks.
Then, when Blackhall was crawling with cops, he’d offered to let me stay in his room. I had my own place, but it was good to keep an eye on him. I’d felt bad, planting the knife and the balaclava in Christian’s back yard, but I needed to keep the police off my back. I also knew he’d stand a good chance of getting off. Especially when he’d have the best defence that money could buy. Being the son of an Irving brought privileges and that was certainly one of them. But this wasn’t about Christian, or the Irvings for that matter. It was about bringing Sarah Middleton back to where she belonged.
I watched her explore her old home, her face gaunt beneath the light of her candle. A quick call from my burner phone would divert the police to Jahmelia. That would keep them tied up for a while. Jahmelia was of no further use to me now. Sarah was the last piece of the puzzle and it was time for her to die. Again.
52
Sarah’s heart knocked hard and fast in her chest as she stood on the landing, listening for every sound. Was she imagining the faint whispers? The scratching in the walls? Blackhall Manor had a dark past long before her family inhabited it. The big, grand manor house full of secrets and dread. Tonight, the air was thick and frozen, white breath billowing as Sarah took slow shallow breaths.
‘Hello?’ she called out, her candle quivering in her grip. She hardly needed the light. Now that she was back here, she remembered every inch of this place. It was buried in her memories, the ties of the past steadfast. But she didn’t belong here anymore. The place was toxic. When this was over, she would have Blackhall Manor flattened to the ground. A long, hollow groan swept through the landing, as if in response to her thoughts. Or perhaps it was preparing for battle.One step in front of the other,she told herself, as goosebumps rose on her arms.
There was movement throughout the house from every orifice. Bats, mice and insects had made this place their home. She shuddered as she felt a breath of wind sweep over her face.
