Forever afraid to drop my mask.
Did I write this?Or was it Claire? A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead. I have no recollection of writing it myself but maybe it’s my own subconscious inventing my other half, light and twice as bright.
I don’t know what has happened to my twin sister. I don’t know where she is or why she disappeared from her own life. But I do know that nothing she has done since then has made any sense. And my senses scream a warning to me, that she could be very, very dangerous.
CHAPTER 36
FAYE
Iwalk along Seeley Moor wishing I had a faithful dog with me by my ankles. Salt air mists over the sea, and my hair clings to my forehead, tentacles splayed across the shifting sands of my mind. I walk farther than I ever have, all the way to the highest point of the cliff, alone aside from an old, tumbling farmhouse in the distance.
Alistair hasn’t been in touch since lunch the other day. I’ve respected his request to give him space, but I’m finding it very hard. I want to tell him all about the visit from PC Forrester, the bloody shirt, the suspicious glances from her colleague as he searched the house. But most of all I want to tell him I’m sorry. That I was selfish and wrong not to tell him about my diagnosis. That I would do anything to turn back time and trust him enough to share it with him. Instead, I regularly check my phone, hopelessly knowing that he’s going to need longer than a few days to think about things.
A smattering of cold drizzle wets the back of my neck on the way home. This summer is unpredictable. My moods are too. Dark thoughts lap at the surface, wetting the edges of my paranoia. I no longer feel safe inside my house, not now I know she’s been there. I lie awake at night, alert to any noise, picturing the police opening drawers, peering in cupboards and going through all my belongings. It doesn’t feel like home anymore.
This morning, I covered every mirror in the house with tea towels and scarves and shawls. I don’t want to see her face at all. My dark half, staring back at me, always watching. Though it doesn’t stop her appearing in my dreams.
I’ve been checking in with my mum every day. Of course, I don’t tell her what’s been happening, it would worry her sick. But I need to make sure she’s okay and that no more mysterious visitors have paid her a call. So far, nobody’s been back there. I just hope it stays that way.
I’m standing close to the edge of the cliff watching the sea emerge from the fog as it slowly lifts, when my phone rings, breaking the silence.
“Mrs Mathis, this is DS Oliver from Cleveland Police. I’ve been assigned the Claire Blackburn case. I believe you’ve been dealing with PC Forrester.”
“That’s right,” I reply.
“Good. I’d like you to come to the station to answer a few questions. Right away, if possible.”
“I’m not home right now. But as soon as I get back, I’ll set off immediately,” I say.
“Excellent. Then I’ll see you soon.”
By the time I arrive at Stockton police station a couple of hours later, my legs are shaky. I want my body to be stronger than it is, but every muscle seems jellified, like I’m boneless. A tall man steps forward and announces himself as DS Oliver. “Mrs Mathis.” He extends a hand and gives me an official nod before leading me through to an interview room that is small and too bright. He shows me where to sit. There’s a female officer with him too, but not PC Forrester this time.
“Can I get a glass of water?” I ask.
“One moment, Mrs Mathis. I’m setting up the interview.”
I note the recorder on the desk. This is official. Should I call a solicitor? I’m second-guessing myself. If I do that then I might make myself appear guilty. But guilty of what? I think of the blood on the shirt.
A word rushes into my mind, burning hot as it scalds its way forward.
Murder.
DS Oliver announces my name to the recording device, stating the date and time. The other officer is introduced as PC Henry, a stocky woman with red cheeks.
“How do you know Claire Blackburn, Mrs Mathis?” Oliver begins.
“I don’t,” I say. “I wish I did. I found out recently that she is my sister. My twin, in fact. Only we were separated at birth. We were adopted to different families.”
Oliver nods. “So, when did the two of you meet?”
“We’ve never met,” I reply.
“You’ve never been face to face with Claire Blackburn? Never spoken to each other?”
“No,” I say.
“When did you realise you had a twin?” Oliver asks.
