‘I know that I don’t have amnesia. And I know that you’re not who you say you are.’
‘I’ve told you everything I know,’ he replied, perplexed.
‘Have you, Ted? Really?’
‘Yes, of course I have!’
‘Why did you lie to me about us being married?’
Ted hesitated just a moment too long for Emilia to believe any rebuttal.
As he opened his mouth, a glint of light caught her attention. She turned to see a long, metallic instrument slicing through the air before it plunged deep into Ted’s skull.
He slumped to his side on the bench and then rolled to the ground. A horrified Emilia screamed and pushed herself away but lost her footing, also falling to the ground. She scrambled backwards on all fours until her shoulders were pressed against the railings.
‘Ted!’ she gasped and stared open-mouthed at the young mum who was now slipping the murder weapon back into her coat pocket. Emilia recognised it from a memory. She had brandished one herself in her recurring dream when she attacked a staff member in an electronics shop. But Emilia had not used it like this woman had. Then, as casually as the stranger had arrived, she walked away, still with the toddler in tow.
Emilia focused on Ted’s body. The wound was only a few millimetres in width, but in depth, the tool used to skewer his brain had gone deep. A cascade of blood seeped from the hole, trickled down the side of his head and gradually pooled around it like a crimson halo. Ted’s mouth frothed with foamy bubbles before his dark brown irises rolled back into their sockets leaving empty, shiny white ovals in their place.
This was her fault. She might not have used the murder weapon, but she had lured him away from his security team.He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead …she repeated to herself.What the hell have I done?
Chapter 39
FLICK, ALDEBURGH, SUFFOLK
The modernity of Elijah’s beachfront property contrasted with that of its traditional neighbours.
From the shoreline, Flick surveyed the large oblong building clad in black corrugated iron. There were only a handful of new properties built on the former car park and within spitting distance of town. And his was unlike any of the others. A waist-high wire fence separated the green lawn from a sandy path and pebble beach. Even from this distance, Flick could see straight through the two-storey glass front aspect and out to the other side. If she lived here it would take hiding in plain sight to a new level.
She approached the front door, still uncertain as to why she had agreed to his invitation. Again, she tried to pick apart Elijah’s motives and find a reason to put herself off him. She recalled a feature she had read in an online magazine in which it was explained how society places single people into four categories. She reluctantly identified as one of the four Ts.
A study by anthropology students at the University of Brighton reveals that those who have not been Matched are either Tourists, TBCs, Turn-Downs or Tough Luckers.
Tourists– Enjoy dating a wide number of partners before they register their details with Match Your DNA.
The TBCs (aka To Be Continueds)– Registered with Match Your DNA and are sexually active with others but have yet to find a Match.
Turn-Downs– Those who identify as preferring to find love the traditional way and without biological assistance or remaining in untested relationships.
Tough Luckers– Someone who’s already been Matched but is unable to be with their pairing for a multitude of reasons, such as illness, geographical distance, insurmountable age gap and unwillingness to experience an alternate religion or sexuality to their own. Often the most frequently maligned category and belittled for being unable to make love work.
Flick was a Tough Lucker – it didn’t matter that Christopher was a serial killer or now dead. She was forever tainted in the eyes of the majority. But which one was Elijah? Was he only showing an interest in her until his Match came along? Her instinct suggested he was a Turn Down. By knocking on his door, she could be about to make her already complicated life that little bit more problematic.
‘Will your indecision take much longer?’ Elijah’s teasing voice appeared through an intercom.
Flick’s heart skipped. ‘You’ve been watching me?’ she replied, her face reddening.
‘Only for about ten minutes.’ She hadn’t realised she’d been there for that long.
The door buzzed and hesitantly, she took a deep breath and entered, walking slowly along a corridor until she found Elijah. He was standing at the top of a clear Perspex staircase, dressed in a stained T-shirt, shorts and an old pair of cream-coloured Converse trainers. His hands and wrists were caked in powder.
‘Come up and join me,’ he invited.
‘You’re expecting me to go upstairs with someone I barely know?’ she asked. ‘Really?’
‘If I was trying to seduce you, I’d have at least washed my hands first. As I wrote on the postcard, I need your help.’
Only after pausing again to take in her surroundings for potential threats did Flick follow him to an open doorway. Rap music played in a room so wide, it took up much of the first floor. Incomplete canvases were propped up against the walls and shutters blocked out direct sunlight from a pitched-glass roof.
