I didn’t go out with the police to search for Shelly’s brother. I stayed home. Stayed home under the pretence of making drinks, being a base, helping to be the point of call. But in reality, I seated myself in my living room and stared out of the window. Watched the bright yellow jackets in formation as they scoured the landscape looking for Jack Morgan.
My staying behind could’ve been perceived as altruistic but the real reason wasn’t so selfless or noble.
I didn’t want to help.
Didn’t want to speak to Amelia, or Shirley.
Didn’t feel strong enough to deal with anything.
The world around me was starkly real, a sensation I hadn’t experienced since starting my medication five months ago. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a zombie on the meds. Didn’t miss days, knew what was happening, could function even though I chose not to. I took them at night as they helped me sleep. Knocked me out and didn’t allow me to dream. The mornings were always the worst. The world always seemed blurry, distant, like I was viewing myself from outside my body.
However, by the afternoon I was usually better. More with it. Like the previous afternoon when I had sprawled on the window seat. That was my usual spot by the time one o’clock came around. Reading occupied my afternoons, usually. Cushions piled high, the woollen red and green blanket a common addition as I usually felt the chill of the day by this time. That was something caused by the pills, too, but I didn’t mind.
At least I wasn’t screaming or chasing my overactive imagination like I had been doing before the meds.
The storm had held my attention more than any book could. It was a drama within itself unfolding for my entertainment. I’d never expected to see someone standing there; never expected someone to appear, to change my life all over again. I hadn’t even recognised it. Hadn’t even remembered my lie to Shelly all those months ago. The same lie I’d told her that fateful evening that’d triggered the events of the last eleven months.
Maybe the pills were working after all.
It’s a shame I didn’t take them before I’d gone to bed the previous night. Can’t believe I’d forgotten to take them, especially after everything that’d happened. Usually, these days, my pills were the first thing I reached for in times of stress but I hadn’t given them a second thought.
Maybe I’d known I’d needed to be alert, needed to be on my guard. Shame I hadn’t realised it was Amelia I should’ve been wary of after all.
The search parties were only out for less than an hour before they found Jack Morgan. He’d been dead for at least three hours as far as they could tell. It was difficult to gauge the exact time because of how cold the night had been, but the initial examination indicated he’d received a blow to the head, probably because he'd stumbled and fallen, and then exposure to the elements had finished him off.
Shirley Morgan completely broke down when she heard the news. She hadn’t been with the team searching for him as it was decided that she should stay exactly where she was - in my kitchen. Reasons, or excuses depending on how the situation was viewed, spoke of her waiting for news and being safe rather than hindering the police whose job it was to deal with situations like this.
I heard the animalistic howl when they broke the news to her. Heard the absolute desolation in that noise, that agonised noise that sounded as if it’d been ripped from the very depths of her. A part of me wanted to comfort her, wanted to go back into the kitchen and take away her pain. But I doubted she’d want to see me. Doubted she wanted to come face to face with the person whom she believed was to blame for everything.
I wondered if she’d reacted like this when she’d heard Shelly was dead. Had she screamed and howled then? Had she been told by a police officer, a family member or a friend? Had Harrison been with her to catch her when her legs gave way? Wrapped his arms around her and told her everything would be fine?
Everything would be fine? How could everything be fine when your child was dead?
I’d only ever seen the cold side of Shelly’s mother. The grasping greedy side of her. The side that was more concerned with what she could get rather than the reality of losing her daughter. I’d never imagined she would be so devastated and I have no idea why I would think that. Who wouldn’t be torn apart by the passing of their child?
I think I’d expected her to come looking for me, accuse me of the deaths of her children, so when she burst into the room and charged straight for me, I knew it wouldn’t be good. I tried to stand, tried to speak and explain how I felt, even offer my condolences, but there was no reasoning with her, no apologies to be given.
The first blow she landed stunned me, the second nearly knocked me out. I didn’t want to fight back. How could I hit a woman who’d just lost her son? I staggered, slumping onto the window seat next to a quivering Jiminy who’d only just settled from his earlier ordeal.
Two officers grabbed Shirley and pulled her back and away from me and the Jim, but the vitriolic splurge of words still flowed freely.
“You! This is all your doing!”
The pain in my jaw intensified as I tried to answer her but, to be honest, what could I say? I’m sorry just didn’t cut it.
“If you’d have just given us what was ours!” She tried to lurch forward, tried to get to me but the police officers held her back. “You deserved what you got! More than what we gave to you!”
Amelia silently moved into the room.
“More than what you gave to me?”
I was confused. The Morgans had never given me anything apart from grief. And had I deserved what they’d given me? Shirley Morgan couldn’t stand the thought of me living in my own home as she believed the property mainly belonged to Shelly then, subsequently, after Shelly died, to the family.
The penny dropped. It was the house. They’d wanted the house. They’d wanted me to turn it over to them and I’d refused. I’d not heard from them for months and thought they’d finally realised that they didn’t have a leg to stand on in the eyes of the law.
“But the house belonged to both Shelly and I.”
Shirley spat at me. Actually spat at me. I’ve never been spat at by anyone in my life and would never have expected a grown woman to do so.
“I understand you’re upset, Mrs Morgan...” Amelia had moved closer, “but this is no...”
“Fuck you!” The two words were directed at Amelia, who, surprisingly, didn’t flinch. “You lot are all fucking useless. We told you there was something not right. Told you my daughter was murdered and you lot did nothing!”
A coldness slipped down my spine, the chill of it spreading outwards. Shirley tried to move past the officers to get to me but they acted as a human barrier; Amelia moved closer to me.
“There was an inquest. Everything was above board.”
Amelia’s tone indicated she knew what she was talking about, almost as if she hadn’t needed to read the articles that had miraculously appeared on my kitchen table the previous evening.
I stumbled slightly, the loss of balance prompting me to sit down on the window seat. I was unsure whether it was because of Shirley accusing me of foul play and hitting a nerve, or whether it was because I had the distinct feeling that Amelia Griffiths’ appearance at my home was more than accidental. Had she planned the whole thing? I know I’d questioned her appearance at my door. But if her purpose was to get me to admit my actions had led to Shelly's death, why was she sticking up for me? And, even more importantly, why would she jeopardise the case by sleeping with the soon to be accused?
“See? She looks as guilty as hell!”
I felt as guilty as hell. So many things were whirring around in my head. If I hadn’t pushed Shelly she wouldn’t have been in the road. Or if I’d just upped sticks and moved back home to Manchester, the Morgan’s could’ve had the house and Jack wouldn’t be dead. The saying “killing two birds with one stone” sprang to mind even though it didn’t quite fit. Two people were dead but there’d been no stone throwing. Just pushing. Just staying put.
“I’m sorry.” The words just sounded. I hadn’t meant to apologise.
Shirley Morgan spat at me again, the tail end of it landing on the bottom of my cheek. I wiped it off with my shoulder, looking at her as I did so.
Hatred. Pure, undiluted hatred. That’s the only way I can describe the way her expression.
“You can never apologise enough for what you’ve done to my family.”
I had to bite my tongue. It would’ve been so easy to expose Shelly for the woman she was, tell the room that Shirley Morgan’s daughter used to beat me, abuse me, almost crushed my spirit, made me feel worthless. But what was the point of me telling her that? The woman before me had lost both her children. Shelly wasn’t a good person but she hadn’t deserved to die and Shirley didn’t deserve this loss.
“Would you like us to break the news to your husband or would you like to tell him?” Amelia stepped closer to Shirley. “I could organise a car to take you home to him or bring him to you...”
Shirley sagged, her whole body seeming to fold into itself. A mewling sounded; a mewling that shifted into a keening that developed into a primitive howl. One officer tried to stop the distraught woman from sinking to the ground but was unsuccessful. The scene was nothing short of agonising and even though I didn’t like Shirley Morgan, I couldn’t stop my own tears joining hers.
Instead of staying there, I lifted Jiminy from the seat and left the room. I needed to get away, regroup, come to terms with what had happened.
“Katie? Can I...” Amelia was right behind me, her hand on my arm.
I knew even before I turned what her expression would be like. She didn’t have to say anything as I already knew she wanted to explain, wanted to put across her side of the story.
I didn’t give her a chance to.
“Not now.”
“I need to...”
“I said not now.”
I didn’t have to shake her hand from my arm, it fell away when I moved. The ache in my chest ballooned, the push of it climbing up my throat, the pressure pushing through my mouth to pop a stifled sob into the air.
“Katie, please.”
But I ignored her. Climbed the stairs to hide away in my room until I knew everyone had left.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It must’ve only been less than an hour later when Amelia knocked on my door to tell me she was leaving. Her initial contact sounded professional; her “Ms Hammond? Could I have a word?” was followed by the quieter plea of “Katie, please. Can we talk?”
I ignored both requests and waited a while longer until I was sure she’d gone before leaving my bedroom and moving downstairs once again.
The house was empty. The detritus peppered on the table evident of the throng of people who had passed through the space seeking refreshments whilst they been looking for Jack Morgan. I’d witnessed, from my bedroom window, the silent blue throb from the lights of the police cars. First a mass. Next, the unsettling, paced flashing dwindled to one, the same one that was still parked outside. The ambulance carrying the cold, dead body of Shelly’s brother was one of the first of the emergency vehicles to leave. Then it was Shirley Morgan.
I’d watched Jack’s mother being led to a waiting police car, the rear door opening to allow her to slip onto the back seat. Her face ashen, bleached, lined. A greyness held her, the shade bleak and lifeless. She looked older, spent, the movement of getting into the car difficult. The person holding the car door was someone I recognised. Even though, initially, she had her back to me, it was obviously Amelia. Dark locks of hair caught and danced wildly in the breeze, her back straight, her attention scanning the area around her almost as if she was acting as Shirley’s bodyguard.
Then she looked up to my window and I moved backwards, obscuring her view of me and my view of her.
But now it was just me and Jiminy inside the house. Two police officers were outside doing something or other but I couldn’t be bothered to check what it was. Instead, I fed Jiminy the last of the cooked chicken and rice I had in the fridge. I didn’t eat. I couldn’t. Didn’t feel as if I’d be able to keep it down if I did.
The afternoon dragged to early evening and early evening dragged to the time I could go to bed. Mundane tasks had occupied my day since Amelia had left - taking care of Jiminy and making cups of tea for the police officers outside the house taking the bulk of the time. I’d heard nothing from Amelia, and even though I’d made it obvious I hadn’t wanted to talk to her, I’d still been surprised when she’d done as I’d wished. Seems there was no pleasing me. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t.
After my shower, and a last pee outside for Jiminy, I poured myself a glass of water and then pulled out my blister pack of medication from the kitchen drawer. Considering I’d been against taking pills at the start, swallowing a cocktail of Quetiapine and Mirtazapine was second nature to me now. It’d taken a few months and a couple of attempts of different medication to get it right, but after I took my nighttime tablets, it wasn’t long before I was knocked out. It was amazing what these little pills could do. Amazing how they blocked everything out. Amazing how reliant I’d become on them - or not amazing, really. I’d always known that taking these pills could have a detrimental and significant impact on my life, and not always for the better. And that is why I’d fought against taking them at the start.
But, if I wanted to get out of St Georges and not be put on a Section 3 for up to six months, I had to show willing.
So I did.
Dr Khalil had started me on Citalopram whilst I’d still been in St Georges, then I shifted to Sertraline after seeing Dr Bailey three weeks after my discharge only to change once again to Mirtazapine a month later.
In all honesty, I didn’t give the first two drugs a chance to kick in - just said they weren’t working, said they made me feel sick, that I couldn’t sleep, had shortness of breath, headaches, dizziness - a list of the “side effects” I’d read about online. I’d even toyed with saying I’d suffered a painful erection that had lasted more than four hours but decided against it as only I would’ve found that funny.
At least my humour had started to pick up. Maybe the pills had been working after all.
But, even though taking the pills went against everything I’d ever believed in, I knew that I needed to do something to abate the dreams, assuage the demons, alleviate the feeling of shame and guilt and horror that consumed me twenty-four hours a day. I hadn’t wanted to leave the house, hadn’t wanted to associate with friends and family - although this wasn’t exactly linked to the events of eleven months previously, and, to be honest, I still didn’t really want to leave the house or associate with friends and family.
However, it was the persistent feeling of detachment from the world and everyone in it that got to me the most. Weird considering I shouldn’t have given a flying fuck about any of the above as that was part and parcel of my diagnosis. The not giving a flying fuck, I mean.
But Mirtazapine didn’t quite hit the mark so Quetiapine had been added as a boost. Well, the opposite of boost. It acted more as if I’d been hit by a tranquilliser dart - a complete blanket of nothingness until the next morning, and even then it would take hours to shake off the effects.
I popped the pack, the tablets falling into the palm of my hand. So small, so innocuous in appearance, so deadly. I hadn’t taken any meds the previous evening and the bad dreams had returned.
I lifted the pills to my mouth, ready to take them, but another thought pushed in.
Considering I always took my meds in the evening, and had believed them to be working, why had I started seeing weird shit, hearing weird shit, sensing weird shit from early afternoon? That was the time when I usually started to come back to the land of the living not digress into the land of the dead.
And without taking the tablets, I’d started to feel something other than blankness. Wanted to be with someone. Wanted more than the emptiness life had held for me for far too long.
I looked at the pills again.
If I took them, I would be out for the count.
If I took them, I wouldn’t know if it had been someone inside my house or not.
If I took these tiny objects that sat on my palm, I wouldn’t be aware of anything - not even if Jiminy needed me.
I jiggled my hand, the pills dancing like Mexican jumping beans.
Then I stopped jiggling and the pills became inanimately sombre once again.
There was something not quite right about it all. Something not quite right about the pills.
When I’d first taken the mixture of both medications, the effects had been quite dramatic, the Quetiapine prescribed as an adjunctive treatment to work with Mirtazapine. Initially, I’d been nauseous and had slept heavily but that had started to ease when I’d reached my therapeutic dose.
But then, for no apparent reason, about a month after I’d started the mix of pills, I’d started to experience nausea again, my sleep heavy, dense, but not refreshing at all.
Then everything seemed to even out again, my body adjusting to whatever the hell had happened. The pills were the same. The same prescription and strength. The same blister packs, the same everything. Life returned to monotony, although this monotony held less guilt and fewer night terrors so at least there was some hope and positives to being a zombie.
About two weeks later, this “monotony”, and vagueness of feeling, shifted once more. My sleep replicated what I could only imagine a coma to be like. I’d take the pills and that would be it for the night. The mornings were becoming more difficult to navigate. The effects of the tablets harder to shake off. I was becoming forgetful, which wasn’t a bad thing. I’d wanted to forget. Wanted the memories of the “accident” to disappear, wanted the time where I’d allowed myself to fall victim to the abuse of another person to evaporate into air. But to rid myself of one memory, I had to accept that more memories would fade, memories I’d wanted to keep.
I curled my fingers around the tablets and squeezed. I needed to take them, especially since I’d missed my dose the previous evening. But, once again, there was something not right, something not sitting well with it all.
I moved to the window to check outside. A police car was parked just at the end of my driveway, not the same car as before, but there was one was still there. I couldn’t work out why keeping a police officer hanging about in the middle of nowhere after everything was over was needed. Jack’s body had been discovered and taken away and Shirley had been escorted to her husband. Did they think either of the Morgan’s would be back to cause mischief in the non-too distant future? Was I at risk? I’d worked out from earlier that Jack and his mother had been trying to freak me out by doing things outside the house but neither of them had come in. The weird stuff inside the house had been someone, or something else entirely.
Maybe Amelia had wanted to talk to me about Shirley and Jack before she left. Maybe it wasn’t about an “us” after all. Maybe her shift from “Ms Hammond? Could I have a word?” to “Katie, please. Can we talk?” was just something she’d learned in her police training and not the words of a woman who wanted to explain why she had withheld the fact she knew all about me.
That was the kicker.
If she knew all about me, knew about Shelly and her mother and her brother and every fucking thing else, why had she continuously badgered me to tell her about the inquest? Why had she made out that she believed Shelly was alive? Asked me if Shelly was coming back? Was she expecting a confession? Had I been set up?
I didn’t even give myself the chance to think of an answer to any of the questions I’d asked. I opened my hand and popped all four pills into my mouth, swallowing them down with water.
“Come on, Jim.”
The dog trotted at my heels as I made my way to bed.
Hopefully, a dreamless sleep awaited me. I’d had enough dramas in the last twenty-four hours to last me a lifetime. And I certainly didn’t want one with Amelia Griffiths playing the leading role.
***
I turned away from whatever was trying to wake me but to no avail. The noise filtered in; the scuffling continued.
“Yap!”
I pulled the covers over my head but something pulled them down again.
“Yap!”
I tried to open my eyes but even the meagre light coming through the window hurt. Lifting my hand, I covered my eyes and slightly, and slowly, opened them.
“Yap!”
The sharpness of the noise stabbed inside my head, a little pickaxe working away trying to either tunnel its way in or out.
The first thing to greet me was a very black and wet nose, the same nose that moved slightly to the left, back to centre, and then slightly to the left again. Next, were two deep brown eyes staring intently almost as if they were wishing for me to get up and get cracking.
I lifted my head, the ache and strain of it too much leaving me no option but to slump back onto the pillows.
Jiminy released a sound like a canine harrumph before stretching up to lick my face once again.
I turned to check the time on the bedside clock. 8:32 am. I’d slept through the night without waking and felt as if I could sleep for the rest of the day and it still not be enough.
Jiminy made the same harrumphing noise and I realised he probably wanted to go out, or eat, or go out and then eat. I wanted both of those, too. The bathroom then breakfast. And with that realisation, the urgency of needing the loo escalated to priority.
The morning went by sluggishly yet quickly, filled with preparing food for the dog, showering and dressing, interspersing each stage with looking out of the window. The police car was still there but there was no sign of an actual officer. I deliberated going outside and looking for whomever was supposed to be on duty with the offer of a cuppa but I couldn’t be bothered. Seeking out company was not my plan for the day.
I knew I should go to the store as I was low on groceries, but, truthfully, I didn’t want to. As well as having to be social and talk to people in the land of the living, what would I do with Jiminy? I didn’t want to leave him on his own and I couldn’t have him loose in my car whilst I was driving. Not only was not having an animal unrestrained in a vehicle illegal, it was dangerous.
However, if I did take him with me at least I could’ve had him checked over by a vet - even inquired if anyone was missing a dog.
That was the decider. I wanted more time with Jiminy. So, instead, I stayed home and ordered some groceries to be delivered later that evening.
Just before lunchtime, a knock sounded on the front door. Instead of barking, Jiminy raced into the hallway. Unlike him, I made my way there at a decidedly slower pace. The knock sounded again, not insistent, not aggressive, just to alert me that someone was waiting.
My thoughts moved to Amelia. Had she come back to talk? To explain? To talk and explain?
It was the first time that day that I’d felt anything more than just existing.
“Ms Hammond?”
The voice was male and my heart became heavy again.
“I’m Police Constable Neil Barratt and I would like to ask if I could possibly use your amenities.”
I deliberated telling him he could pee behind a wall but sighed and moved to open the door.
“Any ID?”
The letter box popped and a warrant card landed on my doormat, just like a different time when a certain female did the same thing with her driving licence. However, there had been no announcement of being in the police force from her. Maybe if there had, things would’ve panned out very differently between us.
I sighed, scooped up the warrant card, didn’t even look at it before opening the door. What was the point? Nothing was ever as it seemed anyway.
***
PC Neil Barratt was, as my mother would’ve said, a nice young chap. He used the loo then hung around in the doorway of the kitchen where I pretended to be busy. Eventually, I’d offered him a cup of tea and he’d eagerly accepted.
General inane chitchat ensued: the weather, the damage, the roads. Jiminy was hesitantly inquisitive and finally ended up sniffing the police officer’s boots whilst allowing PC Barratt to make a fuss of him whilst I still pretended to clean the kitchen. I should’ve taken the opportunity to clean out my cupboards instead of wasting energy faffing about pretending to do it.
“Any reason why you’re still here when...” I gestured outside, the Jeye cloth still in my hand, “the Morgan’s have gone?” I tried to sound nonchalant but failed.
PC Barratt continued to fuss with Jiminy, his demeanour not changing at all.
“Not a clue. Just told to watch over you. Keep an eye on the place.”
I moved to the sink, rinsed the cloth under the tap and pretended to be thinking over what he’d said instead of blurting out something along the lines of “Why the fuck would you be told to keep an eye on me?”
Instead, I said “Why on earth would you be told to keep an eye on me?” Subtle difference to my internal thought but without the language that indicated I was aggressive and lacking the ability to control my emotions.
PC Barratt shrugged, sat up, lifted his tea and took a mouthful.
“Came from high up.” He took another sip, eyed the plate of biscuits I’d placed in the centre of the table and nodded at something he must’ve thought of but didn’t think warranted hitting air.
I pushed the plate to him, his face lighting up.
“Help yourself.”
I watched him eat three biscuits before I asked again.
“High up? Who?”
PC Barratt picked up his fourth biscuit, stared at it before looking at me.
“Detective Inspector Griffiths. Her orders.”
Detective Inspector? What the actual fuckity fuck?
“Are you okay, Ma’am?” The young officer stood, the biscuit still in his hand.
I nodded, although I didn’t feel okay at all. I felt as far from okay as I could possibly feel.
I sensed hands on my shoulders, knew I was being ushered to sit, recognised that someone was gently guiding my head between my knees, whilst all the while I was bombarded myself with questions relating to the woman I thought I knew but in fact knew nothing about. Knew nothing about at all.
I squeezed my eyes shut hoping to stop the rush of everything.
Minutes passed. The urge to pass out subsided; the urge to shout obscenities easing but not leaving me completely.
I opened my eyes to see Jiminy seated beneath me, his face looking up into mine. If I hadn’t felt so shitty I would’ve thought this to be adorable.
I stroked his face, his eyes blinking with the action. It was as if he was empathising and my heart swelled with love for him.
I sensed the officer next to me; knew he was itching to speak.
“I’m fine. Honestly.”
A glass of water appeared under my face and I lifted my hand to take it, unsurprised to note the slight tremor rippling along my fingers.
“Thank you.”
Small sips. That was it. Small, deliberate sips.
A few minutes passed before I spoke again.
“Have you any idea why Detective Inspector...” I paused, pretended not to know her name.
“Griffiths. Detective Inspector Amelia Griffiths.”
I nodded, continued. “Why Detective Inspector Griffiths told you to keep an eye on me?”
“She didn’t say that, Ma’am. She said to watch over you and keep an eye on the place.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
PC Barratt shook his head. “No, Ma’am. If I was asked to keep an eye on you, it means that you’re probably up to no good. I was asked to keep an eye on the place. Make sure no one was coming or going that couldn’t be accounted for.”
“Has anyone been?”
The young officer shook his head. “Not since I came on duty at 6 this morning. Well, apart from Detective Inspector Griffiths who came by just after 8.”
The glass trembled. Well, my hand trembled and the glass reacted.
“Here, Ma’am. Let me take that for you.”
The glass was taken from me, something I was thankful for as I was unsure whether I could’ve stopped myself from dropping it.
I wanted to ask so many things, so so many, but the ability to form my questions into questions was lacking.
“DI Griffiths did knock on you door, Ma’am.”
“Please. Call me Katie.” I tried to smile at PC Barratt but I’d the feeling it came out more of a gurn.
He nodded, smiled, nodded again, but didn’t say anything else.
I leaned forward, tried to not look overly interested but still interested.
“And?”
“And what, Ma’am... Katie?”
Before I could say anything, he continued. “Oh, right. Well, DI Griffiths wanted to talk to you but you didn’t answer the door.”
Obviously.
“Did she mention what she wanted to talk to me about?”
PC Barratt released a small laugh and shook his head.
“No. Only that she would be back later.”
Later? As in now later or later later?
Instead of babbling out my internal lack of succinctness, I shrugged, tried to look bored, then said, “Today?”
“DI Griffiths didn’t specify. Just instructed me to pass the message on about keeping a watch over you and an eye on the place to the constable who takes over when my shift ends.”
“When is that?”
“Four. My replacement will be here before I leave so I can update whoever comes.”
I stood, suddenly, and in the process of standing suddenly, I surprised both myself and PC Barratt.
“You must be starving!”
My tone of voice was a little over excited and overly enthused but I was on a roll, although I wasn’t too sure on what I was on a roll about.
“Let me get you something a little more substantial than a handful of biscuits.”
The police officer tried to dissuade me but I wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Soup okay?”
I didn’t wait for a response.
What was with me and serving soup to coppers? Granted. I didn’t actually know Amelia was a copper when I had met her the previous evening but soup was definitely the plat de jour - or better still, potage du moment.
And whilst Neil Barratt was eating his lunch, maybe I could find out a little more from him. Or maybe I could find out a little more about Detective Inspector Amelia Griffiths and why she’d made sure I’d “around the clock” protection. Even if that was not her intention, it sure as hell felt like it.
I didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified to be under her wing.
As I stirred the soup, the same questions churned: What was going on? Why had Amelia appeared on my doorstep? Why had she pretended not to know anything about me or the events of last year? Why had she constantly questioned me about Shelly, about the inquest? Why was she making sure I was protected?
And if she had set out to catch me out, other questions formed:
Why did she kiss me, make love to me, made me want her so fucking much? Why had I let her in - and not just into my house, not just into my life, but inside my chest, my mind, my soul?
But the worse thing was, when I was daydreaming and over-analysing every motive Amelia may have had or hadn’t have had, I’d forgotten the main thing.
Who the hell was Amelia protecting me from?
And, more importantly, who, or what, had been inside my house the previous night. Outside, Shirley and Jack. Inside - well I knew about Amelia and Jiminy. But they’d not called my name, turned lights and lamps on, pulled down covers, moved and mended my glasses. They’d not opened doors, not organised newspaper cuttings, not stood behind me when I’d been in the bathroom.
Coldness swept over me, the chill of fear seeming to swallow me whole.
***
Chapter Thirty-Seven
An hour later, PC Barratt was back outside and I was totally drained. Being sociable took work, and considering what I’d gone through in the last forty-eight hours, and the addition of my meds, I was surprised I was still standing.
Instead of going back to bed, I plumped for my usual habit of having a read whilst sprawled on the window seat. I tried to kid myself by saying habit and tiredness were the only reasons. I didn’t want to admit the window seat gave me an unobstructed view of any up-and-coming visitors - specifically one certain Detective Inspector. The inner battle of wanting and not wanting to see Amelia had started as soon as she’d left and it was still just as strong.
Why did I want to see the woman who had, in effect, hid her true purpose from me? Not only hid it from me but lied about it? Not only lied about it but tried to make me tell her about Shelly. Did I want to see her so she could clarify her intentions or to assuage my desire for her?
Fuck it. I didn’t want to keep thinking and thinking and overthinking the minutiae that made up the actions of Amelia Griffiths. It had happened. That is all.
Jiminy trotted ahead as if he knew exactly what I was going to do, jumping on to the window seat and scrabbling at the red and green woollen blanket to make himself a bed. Huffs blended with the sound of his paws pulling at the soft material; his small shoulders hunched, his focus solely on his pursuit of comfort.
Just as I got to him a thud sounded. He stopped. I stopped. Jiminy turned to look at me as if questioning the source of the noise.
On the floor, at the base of the window seat, was a book. An innocent looking book, a book I recognised as the one I’d been reading the day of the storm. The same book that had gone missing after I’d placed it on the seat when I’d gone to investigate the figure outside.
But.
That’s all I could think. But.
I’d sat in the window seat most of the previous afternoon and the book had not been there. I’d folded the blanket before going to bed and even though Jiminy had just been scrabbling away at it, the blanket had been in the same place I’d left it.
No one had been in the house apart from myself and PC Barratt all day. The young officer had nipped to the loo and then spent the rest of his time in the kitchen with me. But even if he had come into the room, there was no reason why he would’ve planted the book on the seat. Or even placed the book under the blanket on the seat in the first place.
A gnawing started in my gut.
Had I done it and couldn’t remember doing it?
Worse still, how much else had I done and not remembered doing?
The events from the night with Amelia. How much had been fact? What had I imagined? What connections had I made that should never have been connections at all?
Tentatively, I picked the book up, the weight of it decidedly real, the coolness of the cover reassuringly solid. This was no dagger of the mind brought on by guilt and an overheated brain. This was no hallucination but palpable to feeling and to sight.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to shout out “Who the fuck are you?” into the room. I wanted to throw the book at someone or hold it close to my chest, both in equal measure. I wanted someone to tell me I wasn’t going mad although with my past history that wasn’t likely. I had a drawer full of medication to say my mental state wasn’t stable and I should just keep popping the pills and let life carry on.
But I didn’t want my life to “just carry on”. I wanted purpose. I wanted my health back. I wanted to go out and be with friends, wanted to see my family and be treated as I used to be treated before Shelly came into my life.
I slumped onto the window seat, Jiminy climbing onto my lap and nestling against me, my arm wrapping around him whilst my other hand gripped onto the book. I kissed the top of the dog’s head and looked out onto the afternoon.
The clouds hung low, the greyness of the day slashing over the sky intermittent with an off white. The threat of rain was imminent but the force of it was forecast to be decidedly gentler than that of the storm. Debris still cluttered my garden, something I needed to clear but couldn’t seem to invoke the motivation to do.
A little like living, really. I wanted it but couldn’t be arsed working for it.
I kissed Jiminy’s head again and leaned back onto the window seat, my legs lifting and landing to shape my usual position. Well, my usual position with the addition of a dog.
Jiminy arranged himself so he was half on, half off my legs, his chin on my thigh. A contented snuffle hitting air.
I opened the Sharon Bolton book I’d been reading and realised I didn’t have my reading glasses, so I closed it again.
It took a few moments before I remembered. My broken then mended reading glasses. Broken by me, mended by...
I looked to the small table where I’d thrown them the night I’d argued with Amelia, argued with Amelia for mending them and trying to freak me out.
They were still there. Still bloody there. After everything, the bloody glasses were exactly where I’d put them. Considering I lived on my own, why was I surprised that something would be exactly where I’d put it?
Because nothing in this house was acting as it should. Me included. The glasses had been almost thrown onto that table when I went to follow Amelia out into the storm, thrown onto the table next to the tray full of tea things. The same tray that had been removed and replaced by fresh tea once we had come back in from the storm.
Wouldn’t the glasses have moved a little? Been pushed to the side at all?
Gently, I lifted Jiminy’s head from my thigh and placed it onto the cushion. He lifted slightly but nestled back down as I stroked him.
Standing, I moved to where the glasses sat innocently on the table almost as if they had been waiting for me to remember them and reunite them with my book. They looked innocuous enough, inanimate yet expectant.
I placed the book on the side and lifted the glasses, my attention moving to where the break had happened. No sign of trauma to the arm, almost as if they had never been broken. I slipped them on, the room instantly blurring.
I pushed them up to sit in my hair, picked up the book and made my way back to the window seat.
I couldn’t be bothered trying to work out what was going on. My brain, like when I looked into the room whilst wearing my glasses, was blurred. However, I couldn’t just push up a pane of glass from inside my head so I could focus clearly. So, might as well just go along with it all and hope everything turned out as it should.
Talk about despondent. I was the pin up girl for the hopeless.
I didn’t want to read. Didn’t want to stare out of my window like bloody Jane Eyre.
I wanted Amelia Griffiths. I missed her. I missed her smile, her laugh, her smell. I missed the feel of her in my arms, her lips on mine. I missed the brown of her eyes, the sound of her voice.
But, most of all my wanting, my missing, my loneliness, I just wanted to be with her. In the short space of time I’d known her, I’d felt alive. Even though Amelia hadn’t told me she knew who I was, she must’ve had her reasons. And by what PC Barratt had said, she was out to protect me not drag me over the coals.
A smile formed, the ache of it wonderfully welcome. I knew at that moment that when Amelia came back, I would listen to her. Let her explain herself.
I nestled back into the seat, propped against the side, a sleeping dog against my thigh, a feeling of calmness spreading through me for the first time in a long time.
And now I would wait.
***
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Four days and no sign of her. Four fucking days. Come back later? Later? Later for me didn’t mean four days. Later to me suggests momentarily, or in a little while, or even, at a push, later that day not four days later.
And even though it was four days later, Amelia still hadn’t appeared. Just an army of solitary police officers who mainly sat in the car at the end of the driveway unless they needed the loo. I would take the opportunity of them entering the house to ask questions about why they were still here, what was going on, anything about the Morgans whilst avoiding the real question: where was Amelia Griffiths?
But after four days, they left, too. The police were reassigned and I was left looking out of the window once again.
That said, I’d made my way out into the wilderness of my back garden over the last four days and tried to clear up the devastation caused by the storm. It was a job for two people, really, and obviously, there was only one. Jiminy helped, well helped as much as mooching about sniffing everything and anything, pausing to scent mark it when the mood struck.
I showered, dried my hair, let Jiminy out for his last wee of the night and was just about to settle into bed when something caught my attention.
A noise downstairs. A click or a tap or a clink. A noise that could be easily missed, easily passed over as the noise of a house settling for the night.
I wouldn’t have paid it much attention if Jiminy hadn’t lifted his head, raised his ears.
“What is it, Jim?” My whispered question made his ears flick backwards before facing the front again.
His attention was solely on the door to the bedroom almost as if he was expecting someone to walk through and into the room.
This thought unsettled me. An unwelcome chill of expectation filled the air around us both, the dread of what could be lurking too real.
Jiminy stood, his small body trembling, the vibrations travelling through the mattress. His ears pulled back, his tail moved between his legs and he half bent over as if cowering.
A creak this time. And then another. My mouth was so dry, it was an effort to swallow.
A low growl emanated from the obviously terrified dog, and he moved slightly backwards and closer to me. I’d no idea what I would do if there was someone in the house. If I couldn’t manage swallowing, I didn’t have much hope at defending myself from intruders.
But, I had to do something. I couldn’t just keep sitting on my bed waiting for my would-be-attacker to come into the room and attack, rape and kill me or hurt and kill my dog.
As silently as I possibly could, I slipped from the bed. I deliberated whether I should pick up Jiminy but decided against it as I would, probably, need both my hands if someone jumped out at me. Then I changed my mind and lifted him, kissed the top of his head before moving towards my wardrobe. Shutting him inside could save him if there was someone here who was out to harm us. He’d tried to help before and been kicked for his trouble. I couldn’t let that happen again.
“Be a good boy. Stay.” I couldn’t see his expression but knew those soulful eyes would be looking up to me.
Closing the door as quietly as possible, I listened again. A noise sounded from just outside my door, a slight creak, the eek of it seeming painfully high yet muffled. Someone was turning the door handle to my room. Someone was just outside my bedroom door and was trying to come inside without being heard.
Instead of waiting for the inevitable, I moved towards the door leading to my en suite bathroom. If I could get in there, I could escape through the outer door and make a break for it.
Momentarily, I considered going back and getting Jiminy but decided my chance of escape was still uncertain. If he stayed quiet, the person coming into my room would not know he was there and, therefore, he’d be safer there than taking his chances with me. The likelihood of me getting away silently was extremely limited.
The door handle creaked again. I had to go. Had to get out. Had to get my mobile, call the police, get them back to check over this house.
A soft click announced the unlatching of my bedroom door, the pause following the noise indicating the deliberation of whoever was about to enter.
My breathing was ragged and I tried to calm it, tried to swallow the building panic clawing up my throat. I couldn’t decide why I was so terrified. Was it because there was a stranger in my house who was out to get me or was it because I imagined there was a stranger in my house again whom I believed was out to get me? Was I sliding back into madness? Was this another incident where truth blurred so readily with fantasy that I couldn’t differentiate between the two?
The sound of a door slowly moving over carpet prompted action. Pondering my mental well-being at this point was not an option. I had to get out, get help. If I was wrong and my brain was playing tricks again then so be it, but I couldn’t take any chances.
I moved silently and quickly to the other exit in the room and eased the handle down hoping the small creak was unheard by whomever was in my home. I opened the door wide enough to allow me to slip through, my stomach churning over and over and over. I hated leaving Jiminy. Hated to think he may be discovered or frightened. But I knew he, at this precise moment, was in the safest place he could be.
Unlike myself.
The landing was dark but I could still make out the shape that moved through the door and into my room. It would be the matter of moments before whomever had entered my bedroom would realise I wasn’t there. My steps hurried, each stair a potential giveaway, my eyes moving from one door to another expecting to see the dark mass emerge and come after me.
Just as I reached the bottom step, I heard a voice.
“Ka-tie?”
The voice wasn’t loud, wasn’t shouted or threatening. It was just there. There right next to me. The most unnerving thing about this voice was that even though it came from right next to me, there was no one there to speak it. That spot was empty. Dark and empty. I’d heard this voice before, heard the huskiness caress each syllable of my name but, at that time, believed it to be Amelia.
This voice didn’t belong to Amelia. This voice belonged to only one person.
Shelly.
How I could believe that the voice belonged to my dead ex by only hearing one word, I don’t know. I just knew deep in my gut it belonged to her.
“Ka-tie?”
My mouth was devoid of moisture as every drop of fluid seemed to have raced to my bladder in readiness for me to pee my pants in fear; whether the fear was brought on by believing the voice was from beyond the grave or that of the bastard who was upstairs, I was unsure. I just knew that someone, or something, was out to get me.
“Ka-tie?” The voice was more insistent, the t of my name almost a hiss.
I spun around, my eyes frantically trying to adjust to the dark so they could make out who was speaking. But, like before, there was no one there.
I just didn’t get it. The voice was close. It’d said my name - I’d definitely heard it say my name - but I was surrounded by shrouded emptiness. And to top it off, there was someone upstairs who’d definitely knew by now that I wasn’t where they’d thought I’d be - so that could mean there were at least two people in my home - the shadow and the voice.
Fuck.
I had to leave, had to get out and get help. All I needed to do was to get to the utility room and get my coat. I always kept my car keys in my pocket now. Always.
I wanted to ask, “Where are you?” or demand “Show yourself!” but I was too scared to find out, too scared that I’d get my wish and some creepy fucking thing would actually show itself. Or herself. Shelly, more specifically, if I was being honest. I just couldn’t handle the thought of a ghost being in my home.
So, once more, I’d put this down to an aural hallucination brought on by fear or my guilt riddled brain conjuring up the dulcet tones of a woman’s husky voice. Either that or I was in deep shit - not that having someone sneaking about my house or me hallucinating wasn’t deep shit anyway.
I moved towards the kitchen but didn’t quite make it. Something hard connected with the back of my head and my legs buckled with the force of it, throwing me off balance. I scrabbled against the doorframe, my hands searching for a hold to stop me falling. But I didn’t get the chance. Another blow landed between my shoulder blades, the venom behind the punch forcing me forward and into the wall. I tried to turn, tried to see who was attacking me but I was finding it difficult to get my bearings. My whole focus was on escape, just getting out of the house, just getting through the kitchen, through the utility room and out of the door.
Someone grabbed my hair, pulled me back, the pain sharp and intense. My hands lifted to grab at the hand holding my hair hoping to loosen the grip and stopped as they made contact, shocked even more than they were already by the discovery. The fist wrapped around my hair was big, strong, masculine. The person holding onto my hair was male not female as I’d assumed, not Shelly as I’d thought.
Instead of being relieved that a dead woman wasn’t the one nearly ripping my hair out after beating the crap out of me, I was even more terrified.
Who the fuck was in my house?
A slap landed at the side of my face, forcing my head in the opposite direction to how my hair was being pulled. Tears of pain and fear filled my eyes, my already limited vision even more so. A face loomed in front of me but I couldn’t make out the features; just pale skin, just black eye sockets.
The hand loosened from my hair making me feel lightheaded, the release making my scalp tingle.
Before I’d a chance to move, a punch landed in my stomach, my breath whooshing from me in a panicked, pained rush.
My legs gave way, and I lurched partly forward, partly sideways, the pain of the punch still winding me, making me gasp for air but finding it difficult to breathe it in. Then I received what must’ve been a kick to my stomach, the velocity and impact indicated as such. Tears filled my eyes, my vision blurring, the darkness not helping me see whom, or what was attacking me.
Another kick made contact and I folded into myself, covering my head with my arms. A punch hit my side and pain ricocheted through me but there was nothing I could do to stop the attack. I just had to take the beating.
And then nothing. No fist, no foot, no hair pulling. The figure who’d been delivering my pasting seemed to jump back, the air between us almost as startled as I was.
A grunt sounded from close to me, then another. The noise blended with other sounds like scuffling. Whatever was going on was not affecting me - my beating had stopped. But, by the sounds of it, another beating was taking place. It was muffled, vicious, constrained and wild all at once. No one spoke - just released grunts and groans and straining sounds.
I half sat, half slumped against the wall, my hands held loosely in front of my face as if I’d half a chance of defending myself against whatever the fuck was huffing and thundering around in front of me.
Shapes, blurred unfocused shapes. Human. Brawling in a thick mass of anger. I was unsure if one of these blobs of darkness had been defending me against the other blob or they were just fighting amongst themselves for some reason or another.
A shout, or scream, or yell, came from the stairway, the suddenness sparking another jolt of fear through me and I pressed myself even more firmly against the wall.
Another person, or thing, came down the stairs and joined the fighting in front of me. This was my moment to run, to escape, to get the fuck away from the madness and savagery playing out in the darkness of my hallway.
I slouched sideways to the right, got onto my hands and knees and began to semi-scuttle through the kitchen doorway next to me.
As I scrambled through the doorway, I tried to stand, my legs weakened through fear and pain. The fight behind me was still going strong but I needed to get the fuck out.
My hand landed on the door handle to the utility room when I heard it. Heard her. Strained, pained, forced.
“Run, Katie. Get...” The remainder of the sentence was lost, the words half hidden and muffled but the urgency was clear.
Instead of pushing the handle, opening the door and racing to exit the back door, I paused - just for a moment. Paused and pressed my eyes together as if I was shutting something out.
Turning, I moved back through the kitchen and into the hall where I placed the flat of my hand on the wall and felt around.
Click. The hallway blossomed with light, the three figures stilling like deer in the headlights.
Harrison Morgan turned to fully face me, blood smeared across his cheek. Behind him stood Shirley Morgan, her hair mussed, her clothes dishevelled.
The third person didn’t pause for long, and certainly didn’t stand on ceremonies or wait for introductions. Amelia Griffiths punched Harrison Morgan, the velocity smacking into the air, the impact sending his head sharply to the side. He stumbled, grabbed at Amelia’s top forcing her downwards with him. Shirley lifted her hand and thought I saw something clenched within her fist. I didn’t hesitate. Just seemed to spring forward, just seemed to connect my head into her jaw, the crack sounding between us undecided whether it was from her or me, but either way knocking me for six.
It was at this moment the whole place seemed to erupt with noise and movement. Jumbled voices, boots, bodies, a mass of energy and motion. Harrison tried to stand but Amelia pushed him back onto his knees, pulling first one arm and then the next behind his back. The satisfying click of the handcuffs imprisoned him whilst also seeming to free me.
“You are under arrest on suspicion of breaking and entering, the planting of illegal surveillance equipment in someone’s home, attempting to cause bodily harm and swapping prescription drugs to harm another.”
“Fuck you!” Harrison turned and spat straight into Amelia’s face.
She blinked, stretched her eyelids, then continued.
“You do not have to say anything,” Amelia stood, her hand hooking underneath the handcuffs, and she pulled Harrison to his feet in one fluid motion.
“I say fuck you.”
“But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
An ear-piercing scream stopped Harrison replying. Shirley Morgan was struggling between two police officers, her actions indicating that she was trying to avoid being handcuffed.
“She’s the criminal here! You should be arresting her!” Shirley tried to charge at me as she threw her accusations my way but was pulled back.
“She killed my daughter.”
My stomach seemed to fill with sand. Then water with sand.
I managed an “I...” then had nothing to add.
Amelia sidestepped, allowing two police officers to take over with Harrison Morgan. Then she focused her attention on Shirley.
“Ms Hammond has not broken into anyone’s home, Mrs Morgan. Nor has she caused bodily harm.”
The laugh Shirley released was far from humorous.
“Apart from killing my daughter.” She paused before adding, “And my son. If it wasn’t for her, both my children would be alive.”
Nausea was beginning to eat its way up my throat. I wanted to deny it, wanted to run, wanted to be anywhere but here at this moment.
“True. If it wasn’t for Ms Hammond both of your children might’ve been alive today.”
Amelia’s smile looked sad and disappointed at the same time and I was terrified of what she was going to say next. Shirley’s, however, seemed triumphant.
Amelia looked in my direction and nodded once, her expression now unreadable.
“If Jack had not tried to scare Ms Hammond into giving up her home, he may, as you say, still be alive.”
“But the house should’ve been ours. She just wouldn’t give it to us!” Shirley sounded more frustrated than angry.
Amelia released a short, sharp laugh, her head shaking from side to side. “Unbelievable.” She paused for a moment. “PC Barratt?”
The young police officer who had been on watch outside my house appeared from the doorway, nodding acknowledgement in my direction as he did so.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
Amelia seemed to straighten, seemed to stand taller. “Make sure you read Mrs Morgan her rights before taking these two to the station.” A gasp sounded, probably one of disbelief from Shirley Morgan.
“Separate cars, no blues and twos. Take your time. It’ll give them the opportunity to consider how they want to cooperate.”
She held up a carrier bag and waved it slightly. “I’ll keep hold of this.”
Shirley spluttered a noise as if she was about to say something but Harrison stopped her with a single, “No.”
For a moment, man and wife silently communicated, a definite hatred and frustration passing from one to the other.
“I’ll be out in moment. Wait until then before you go,” Amelia addressed the closest officer and she nodded before signalling for the small party to move.
The police officers manoeuvred the Morgan’s outside, the indignant voice of Shirley crying out for retribution for Shelly’s killer reverberating both inside my house and inside my head. Amelia hadn’t addressed that part of Shirley’s accusation, only about Jack. Was that because there was still doubt?
I had the urge to go outside and watch them leave, maybe just to make sure once and for all they were actually going. But fear stopped me. Mainly fear of what could be said, fear of what accusations both the Morgan’s would throw my way, fear that someone would start taking them seriously, and, most definitely, fear of being found out.
Instead of standing on the doorstep, I moved into the kitchen hoping most people would just leave me in peace - most apart from one.
“I need to speak with you.” Amelia was behind me.
I wanted to speak to her. God. I wanted that. But I didn’t want to speak to her.
“Give me ten minutes, okay? I need to speak to the officers before they leave.”
I grunted a response that could’ve meant anything, then slightly turned to look at her. Her brow was furrowed, her expression contemplative, then concerned.
“Yes. Yes, we do. We need to talk.”
Amelia’s face showed relief, a sigh leaving her mouth to help shape it into a smile.
“Ten minutes. Tops.” She moved towards me, stopped, then turned and half ran from the kitchen.
For a moment, I just stayed in the same spot. It only took that moment to make my decision.
Then I moved out to the hallway, up the stairs, across the landing and into my bedroom. Inside the wardrobe was a little bundle of fur waiting for me, brown eyes gazing into mine with such love and trust that my heart ached with the duty of responsibility. This was not a bad feeling. The aching just affirmed my growing suspicions.
I could feel.
I could love.
I could accept another into my life without fear or dread.
But I also had to make things right.
Yes. We needed to talk. I needed to talk. I wanted a life free of fear of being found out. I wanted a life where I could move forward instead of constantly looking over my shoulder.
It was time to come clean. Time to confess what I’d done.
Time to tell Amelia.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
True to her word, Amelia was back within ten minutes carrying the same carrier bag I’d seen her holding after the arrest of the Morgans. In the time she’d been away, I’d thrown some clothes on and then prepared a pot of tea to brew for when she returned. The cups and saucers were set out on the table; I’d even opened a packet of biscuits and placed a few on a small plate between us. Jiminy was curled up on a throw I’d placed on the floor in the kitchen, his head up, eyes alert, tail beginning to thump as soon as he saw Amelia come through the door.
She made a fuss of him, her voice light and motherly, his tail drumming out a contented rhythm as he tried to lick her face. The scene was idyllic, domestic, perfect. I wanted more scenes like this one, however, I didn’t know if that’d be possible after I told her what happened eleven months earlier.
“Sorry I’ve not been able to come before. I’ll explain all if you’ll let me.”
She stood and faced me and I sensed a degree of nervousness about her. If that was so, that would make two of us who were worried about what was going to be said.
“I need to tell you something.” I was surprised the words were audible as my mouth and throat were so dry I thought they’d come out as a croak.
“O-kay.” Amelia tilted her head, her eyes closing slightly as if she was assessing the scene.
“Come. Sit.” I gestured to the table before moving closer and pulling out a chair for her to sit on.
“Tea?”
Amelia slowly moved to the chair and sat, placed the carrier bag onto the table, then nodded before adding, “I’d love one, thanks.”
Her voice sounded different. Distant. Removed. Detached.
Maybe that was a good thing. If she was removing herself emotionally from me, would that, in fact, make my confession easier?
No. Not really. Just because she was stepping back didn’t mean I was.
I poured water into the teapot. I offered biscuits. I poured out the tea into cups and offered her one. I procrastinated as much as I possibly could. I tried to delay the inevitable.
A hand landed on top of mine, stilling the movement.
“I think you have something to tell me.”
Fuck. And fuck. And fuckity fuck. It was different when I was deliberating explaining the events of Shelly’s death but when faced with the opportunity of spilling all, my stomach clenched within itself and I doubted I could tell Amelia anything.
“I killed Shelly.”
I take that back. Maybe I could confess after all.
“No, you didn’t.”
Not the response I was expecting.
“I did. I killed her. She shouldn’t have been out that night. We shouldn’t have been out that night.”
Amelia stared into my eyes, her own unblinking. Then she leaned back in her chair and tilted her head again as if she was assessing me, my confession and the situation. Even at this moment, the moment where I was admitting something truly awful, Amelia looked beautiful.
A slight, yet decisive shake of her head preceded another “No, you didn’t. You were trying to get away from her.”
Amelia leaned forward and took my hand into hers, her thumb brushing over my fingers, her eyes fixed on mine.
“Shelly was an abusive partner. She made your life a misery.” Her voice was soft yet decisive.
“But if it wasn’t for me...”
“Shelly made her own decisions. She decided to go after you that night and...”
“And I pushed her into the road.”
Amelia’s thumb stopped moving, her eyes were still focused on mine, the questions left unspoken.
I pulled my hand free from hers and rubbed my face with it, the action doing nothing to assuage the feeling of impending doom. And even though I knew the outcome of my confession, I still had to do it, still had to say it or I would never be able to rest.
“She didn’t stumble because of the road or storm. I pushed her. Right in front of a car. I pushed her.” Hysteria was beginning to build within me and I was scared that it would bubble over to expose my mental instabilities as well as my guilt.
A tear escaped. The heat of it burned its way down my face and I swiped at it, angry with both myself and the situation. I didn’t want to look at Amelia but couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t want to see the disgust, or the anger, or the disappointment waiting there but I looked anyway.
Amelia was leaning forward, her eyes darker than I’d ever seen them, her expression not of disgust but concern.
“Tell me everything, Katie. Everything leading to that moment.” Her voice was gentle, coaxing.
So I did. I told her everything. I told her about how the abuse hadn’t been too bad to begin with, just sulking, just door slamming, just name calling. Some of it I’d told her before but quite a lot of it had never hit air.
“When I told you that I’d left Shelly after an argument that night, it wasn’t just a verbal attack.”
“What do you mean ‘wasn’t just verbal’?”
Before I’d chance to say anything, Amelia spoke again.
“She hit you? Is that why you left? The abuse had turned physical?” The pitch of her voice had risen showing she was upset.
“It’d been physical for a while but that night...” I cringed.
“Your broken nose? Your cuts? They weren’t from falling over were they?”
I hesitated before shaking my head.
“Fucking Morgan’s!”
Amelia stood, her chair scraping backwards, the noise of it making Jiminy jump and cower.
Immediately, she stepped over to him and knelt, her whole aura exuding a calmness I was sure she wasn’t feeling.
“Sorry, little chap.” She offered her hand to him for him to sniff, then lick.
“Want a cuddle?”
I wanted to say yes but I knew she was talking to Jiminy. He moved forward and clambered onto Amelia’s knee and she picked him up and brought him close to her chest, kissing the top of his head as she did so before bringing him over to where I was seated.
“Sorry.” She sat opposite me once again. “The last thing you need is me shouting and swearing.”
I shrugged and shook my head.
“Please. Continue. I promise to keep my mouth shut and listen.” She kissed Jiminy on top of his head again but her eyes stayed on me as she did so.
I tried to smile but the effort to do so was too much. I just needed to explain, just needed to get the last bit out and it would all be over.
“I hadn’t realised there had been a car coming. Thought the lights were lightning.” I paused and waited for Amelia to call me an idiot or a liar or both but she said nothing so I continued.
The scene of that night was still so vivid; Shelly hammering on my back, each thump she delivered beating the spirit from me. The absolute belief that she had won, that this was it, that there was no escape from my life with her.
Then there was the noise of the storm - the roaring of the wind and rain. The lightning, the closeness of what I believed to be the electrostatic discharge that turned out to be the lights of a car - the same lights that had stopped the bombardment of brutality.
“I just took my chance. Just pushed her with all that I’d left.” I stopped to wipe my mouth with the knuckle of my index finger, the action, strangely, calming.
“The more she moved backwards, the stronger I became. Shelly was surprised, well, at first but it didn’t take long for the anger to show. I knew, definitely knew, that I’d pay for what I’d done.”
I stopped. The room was so quiet. Deathly quiet. I stared at my hands as if they held all the answers, turned them over - first palm side up then the backs, then wide open and palm side up once again.
To think these small appendages could’ve been the cause of that dull thunk of a body hitting something hard; been the cause of that short, sharp cry of pain; been the cause of the stillness, the crumpled lifeless heap that once had been Shelly.
“You didn’t kill her. It was an accident.” Amelia’s voice was gentle. “You didn’t mean for her to be hit by a car. You thought it was light…”
“I wanted her dead. Wanted her dead and out of my life.”
Amelia pursed her lips and waited for me to continue speaking.
“But she isn’t out of my life is she.”
“You didn’t kill Shelly, Katie. It was an accident. You pushed her off you to stop her hitting you. You said yourself that you thought the car headlights were the lightning.”
I released a huff.
Amelia placed Jiminy on the floor and stood, then made her way around the table to crouch at my feet. Her face was so open, so understanding, so gentle, so bloody beautiful, I could’ve wept with the perfection of it all. I’d only known her for the matter of days and I knew the feelings I held for her were more advanced than that. Amelia Griffiths was all I’d ever want in a woman but because of what I was telling her about Shelly, I doubted I’d ever have a chance to be with her. Maybe that was another facet of my punishment. Maybe I deserved it; maybe I didn’t. But either way, any likelihood of forming a long-term relationship were slim.
“As for her not being out of your life, the Morgans shouldn’t be giving you any more grief. It will all be over soon and then you can move on.”
“What do you mean? What should be over soon?”
Amelia leaned back onto her haunches slightly, her head tilting, her eyes trying to read my expression.
“The Morgans terrorising you. They’ve been terrorising you for months. But, hopefully, justice will be served.”
“I don’t understand.” And I didn’t. “The day after the storm was the first time I’d seen Shelly’s family since the funeral.”
Amelia placed her hand on my knee, the warmth of it immediate.
“You don’t have to worry about the Morgans any…”
I interrupted her, shaking my head as I did so. “It’s not Shirley and Harrison, or even Jack that worries me. It’s Shelly. She’s the one who won’t leave me alone.”
The air shifted, it changed, the physicality of it was palpable. It seemed to still, to move, to collect and contemplate. Amelia had moved even more slightly backwards, her expression of surprise momentarily frozen before it morphed into a pseudo professional mask.
“Sh…Shelly?”
“Yes! Shelly!”
I tried to stand, embarrassment and indignation vying for centre stage, but Amelia held me in place.
“How can Shelly… I mean, you know, you’ve just said that…” Amelia looked from one of my eyes to the other as if she was trying to read the difference of my expressions from side to side but not succeeding.
“I know she’s dead. I’ve just confessed to shoving her into the road haven’t I?”
I knew I wasn’t making any sense. I also knew that the more I told her, the more insane I would sound. But, just like confessing to the accident, I had to tell Amelia all of it even if it made me appear as if I was delusional.
“Things have been happening here. Things I can’t explain.”
I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t bear to witness her expression when she realised that I wasn’t the person she’d believed me to be.
“I’ve told you some things. When you stayed, I told you about some things. But there is so much more. So much more.”
Voices, visions, things that go bump in the night. Lights turning on, beds remaking themselves, glasses repairing themselves, orbs, figures both inside and outside the house.
“Katie.”
Amelia’s voice was soft, pacifying.
“And even you heard her. Heard her say your name. Heard her at the door.”
“Katie, I need to explain…”
“And she tried to drown me. She pushed me under the water and held me there.”
My voice sounded hysterical now, the volume becoming higher, the pitch sharper. “I nearly killed my sister because I thought she was Shelly come back to haunt me.”
I stood, this time Amelia’s hand not holding me in place.
“I ended up being committed because of her. Ended up on a psychiatric ward.” Tears were flowing now. Anger and self-loathing flowing freely too.
“I can’t... just can’t... take it...” I broke. Snapped into two then four then eight and then into millions of pieces.
“Whatever I do, Shelly’s there to remind me of what I’ve done. She’s here to make my life as unbearable as possible.”
With that statement, I cried, the force of it wracking my body. Amelia wrapped her arms around me, held me close and stroked my hair as I fell apart. Everything was too much. The memories, the guilt, the fear, all too much. There were so many things I couldn’t change, Shelly’s death being the main one. Even though I didn’t show it, I was glad I’d come clean about the events of that night - and glad I’d admitted what life had been like with Shelly. I’d finally acknowledged that it wasn’t weakness or stupidity that allowed me to go through everything I’d gone through. It was because I believed I deserved it. Not just the verbal and physical abuse, but the mental and emotional abuse that continued after Shelly was no longer alive.
Amelia held me. Made noises to calm, half formed words used to placate and pacify and protect. Being in her arms was both wonderful and torturous. I wanted to stay within her embrace and let everything else fade away into nothingness.
Time moved. It had to. That’s time’s job. The stillness of the room was soothing but not as soothing as being in Amelia’s arms.
And like time, I had to move too.
I pulled back, my attention moving to Amelia’s face. Her eyes were so dark, so fluid, so compassionate. It would’ve been so easy to close the gap between us, so easy to take those perfectly formed lips with mine and lose myself in her. But I couldn’t. There were so many things I needed to say, so many questions I needed answering.
“Were you watching me?” The words came out softly and without accusation.
She continued to look into me before stepping away, her arms dropping to her sides.
“Did you already know about Shelly? About me? Before I told you, I mean.”
Amelia’s face scrunched slightly before she nodded.
I should’ve been angry. I should’ve screamed and shouted and told her to get the fuck out of my house and never come back, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wanted to know why she’d lied to me, why she’d badgered me for information about Shelly, why she was there in the first place, why had she come knocking on my door in the middle of a storm saying she’d had an accident.
“Why?”
“There is so much I need to tell you.” She gestured to the table and chairs. “I think you’d better sit. I know I need to.”
So I did. And so did she.
***
“As I said, I wasn’t investigating you as such. I was after the Morgans.”
“The Morgans? Why were you investigating the Morgans?”
Amelia leaned to the side and grabbed the carrier bag that she’d left on the table, pulling it over to where she was seated.
“Do you recognise this bag?”
I shrugged, “You had it earlier. Brought it back in with you.”
“Anywhere else?”
I opened my mouth to say no but stopped. A memory of Shirley Morgan popped into my head, Shirley Morgan with something clenched within her hand and just about to attack Amelia. The memory of head-butting Shelly’s mother also reminded me that I’d not been checked over for concussion although apart from a dull ache at the top of my head, I was fine.
“Shirley?”
“Yes, good. Anywhere else?”
Amelia lifted the bag, the logo of the local chemist on the side.
“I get my tablets from there. My prescription goes straight...” I paused. Another memory resurfaced. The memory of Amelia arresting Harrison Morgan and listing his crimes - breaking and entering, the planting of illegal surveillance equipment in someone’s home, attempting to cause bodily harm and swapping prescription drugs to harm another. Quite the list even though I’d no idea what was going on.
“But there’s no way Harrison could’ve tampered with the prescription. I collect them myself. Every month. And they’re in special packs.”
I held out my hand for the carrier bag and Amelia passed it to me. I pulled out the MediPacks from inside.
“See? Each dose is in this little blister part.”
The only section of each day to contain tablets was the one titled “Evening”.
“Some days I take three pills and some days four. That’s why I have the blister pack. I can never remember the dose from day to day.” I tapped on a full pocket, the pills jiggling. “The Quetiapine is only used to help the Mirtazapine.”
I looked across to Amelia. Her expression seemed thoughtful.
“Have you noticed anything strange since you’ve been taking them?”
I laughed. Short and sharp.
“You mean apart from seeing ghosts and hearing voices? But then again, I experienced them before taking the pills.”
Amelia didn’t say anything and I was about to continue banging on about my hallucinations and delusions when it struck me.
“Now that you mention it...”
Amelia leaned closer, “Yes?”
“When I started taking both pills the effects had been quite dramatic. Really nauseous all the time. And sleep! It was so heavy. I could barely function.” I shrugged. “It’s the expected reaction when starting a mix of antidepressants and anti-psychotics.”
“So? Did...”
“Then the side effects eased. Especially when I reached what they said would be my therapeutic dose. But, weirdly, for no apparent reason, about a month later, I got nauseous again. And sleep! Again! Bloody hell. I slept so deeply but woke up feeling worse.”
“How long did this go on for?”
I shrugged. “About the same amount of time. A month more or less.”
“Could this be just your body getting used to taking the pills?” Amelia asked.
I shook my head and added “I couldn’t say. But it happened three times. Just as I got used to the dose, it changed.”
Amelia leaned even further over the table, her expression intense.
“Think carefully before you answer the next bit.”
I frowned before nodding.
“Had your prescription changed at all? Had the doctor increased your dose?”
I didn’t need to think carefully. This is one thing I was sure about.
“No. My pills stayed the same after I hit my therapeutic dose. Same prescription. Same strength. The only thing that changed was my body’s tolerance for them.”
“Like?”
“I slept heavily. I’d take the pills and that would be it. Like I was knocked unconscious. And that’d affect me the next day, too. I couldn’t shake off the sluggishness. I became forgetful, really forgetful.”
I paused before continuing, “That used to really worry me, but at least the events from… you know … Shelly dying… the memories became fuzzier. At least I began to forget all the shit I’d gone through before and after, too. So, not all was bad.”
Amelia waited a moment before speaking.
“Did you ever feel that someone had been in your house when you were sleeping?”
I froze, the blood in my veins seeming to pause momentarily before racing again.
“What the fuck? What do you mean by that?” The panic within me surged from my gut to bloom across my chest like an electrical charge exploding.
“We’ve reason to believe that the Morgan’s were accessing your home when you were out and...” Amelia grimaced before adding “when you were sleeping.”
I stood, the suddenness forcing the chair to scrape noisily across the tiled floor.
“No!”
I’d no idea what I’d shouted no to, or even if I was just telling Amelia that I wanted her to stop.
“We’ve also reason to believe your house has been bugged.”
“Bugged? Why on earth would anyone want to listen to me talking to myself?”
Amelia stood, too, moved around the table and held her hands out to me. Jiminy was still curled on the throw on the floor. He’d lifted his head and was watching us both with interest.
“I know this is freaking you out, Katie. But there is more.”
I wanted to take the hands offered to me but I was so unnerved at that moment I didn’t know what to do with myself.
“More? What do you mean ‘more’?”
Amelia dropped her hands, my reticence about taking them obvious.
“Inside this house are cameras. Some have microphones on them and...”
“Cam-er-as?” The word was so difficult to let free. “In my home? Here?” I gestured with my hands before repeating, “Cameras in my home?”
I felt ill, nauseous, faint and weak and my legs were ready to give out. I staggered to the chair and thudded down, leaning my head forward and part way between my legs. I was trying to understand what was happening. Trying to make heads or tails of what Amelia was telling me before I passed out.
My mouth was dry. I kept trying to moisten my lips but they just seemed to become drier. The room was silent. Amelia didn’t move, didn’t try to comfort me. Then again, I didn’t want comforting. I wanted answers.
Click, click, click, click. The sound of nails on tiles. A face peering up into mine, not a human face but a canine one. Deep dark eyes searched mine, whiskers twitched, an inquisitive nose came forward and began to sniff my forehead.
The world should’ve seemed different viewed from upside down, but considering my life was completely topsy turvy, a different angle was the least of my worries.
Jiminy moved his nose to touch my chin and I sensed the air pass as he breathed in.
I didn’t even realise I’d moved until my fingers twined into fur. Stroking Jiminy eased the panic, or, better still, put things into perspective and the topsy turvy world began to right itself.
“So, let me get this straight.” I lifted my head and looked at Amelia who was still standing in the same place, my hand drifting down to stroke Jiminy. “Harrison Morgan broke into my home and planted cameras and microphones?”
Amelia pursed her lips, half closed one eye before answering, “It could’ve been him, could’ve been Jack or even Shirley.”
“Shirley?” I laughed but there was no humour in it. “All this for what?” I gestured around the kitchen, my free hand moving outwards. “They bugged me, broke in and...” I pointed to the carrier bag, “tried to drug me for this house?”
“Simply, yes.”
I gasped. Even though it was obvious what had happened it still came as a surprise the lengths people will go to for money. But I just had to ask again, just had to check again.
“Really? The Morgan’s terrorised me for this house?”
Amelia sighed before sitting down at the table once again.
“Sadly, yes. We’ve been investigating Harrison for months, even before all this with you.”
A whine sounded from next to me and I scooped Jiminy into my arms.
“Why have you been investigating him longer? What has he done?”
“How much do you know about Harrison Morgan? Did Shelly talk about him much?”
I shook my head before adding, “Shelly rarely spoke about her parents.”
I was kind of understanding why.
“Did she tell you what he did for a living?”
I shook my head - again. “Not really. Just that he worked in the medical field in some way or another.”
Amelia snorted.
“Harrison Morgan is a pharmacist.”
The penny was shifting and readying itself to drop into place.
“Both a very good one and a very bad one. He is extremely talented when working with prescription medicine - especially adjunctive medication. Quite high in his field. However,...” Amelia shifted slightly before adding, “we’ve reason to believe he abused his position in more ways than one.”
I was beginning to think I knew where this was heading but I just wanted Amelia to say it.
“So, by bugging your property, Harrison would know when you were in the house, when you were awake, and when he could gain access without you knowing. That way, he could swap your prescription drugs more easily.”
“Swap? What do you mean?”
The penny was grinding, loudly, and beginning to move. All it needed was the final turn of the lever.
“Harrison was swapping your blister packs for increased doses of your medication. And by the sound of your side effects, he successfully did so on at least three occasions.”
She pointed to the carrier bag once again.
“And even tried a fourth time.”
Clunk. Penny in place. Solidly and surely in place.
“He changed… my meds?”
Amelia nodded.
“He kept coming into my house even when I was here?”
Amelia nodded again and added, “Jack and Shirley, too.”
A wide selection of profanity passed through my head but, surprisingly, none hit air.
“One thing we couldn’t work out though is how they actually gained access into your house. Did they have a set of keys?”
I shook my head. No one had keys apart from me.
“Are you sure? Would Shelly’ve given them one? Or got one from her things?”
I opened my mouth to say no to both ideas and to explain that Shelly’s stuff - including her ashes - were in my spare bedroom as no one had wanted to collect any of it but stopped.
The Morgan’s had collected some things. After the inquest, they’d only wanted the stuff of monetary value - nothing sentimental, and even taken some of my stuff without a peep from me. I’d been too spineless, or wracked with guilt, to say anything.
Keys, keys, keys. Had I put Shelly’s keys into her stuff? I hadn’t seen them since God only knew when. The last memory I had of Shelly with keys was when she’d picked up the car keys with an “I’ll take the car keys” and complimented it with a sickeningly knowing smile.
Amelia’s expression was expectant as she was probably hoping there was a reason for me opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water.
“The funeral. At the funeral.”
“Did you give them a...”
“No. I didn’t give them anything at the funeral. They came here after the service. I was surprised about that but that wasn’t the weirdest thing.”
The memory was becoming clearer. The way Harrison had almost accused me of killing his daughter before pushing past me and moving toward the door.
“But he stopped. Looked up the stairs before moving on. Fuck! Why didn’t I twig?”
“Twig what?” Amelia asked eagerly.
I laughed, shook my head.
“Fifteen minutes after he left, Shirley walked out, then five minutes after her, Jack left. I wondered why they didn’t all leave at the same time. I checked to see if I could see if they’d pocketed anything but there didn’t seem to be anything missing. I didn’t think of keys.”
“Or a camera being fitted.”
“No! Then?”
“Seems like it. If they knew what you were up to they could come and go as they pleased.”
I shook my head, pursed my mouth. The realisation of what had happened made me feel sick to the pit of my stomach.
“I don’t get it. Why would they do that? I wasn’t on medication then. What would be the point?”
“Because if they could get into your house, then...”
Clunk. Another penny. This time a fucking big bad one.
“They wanted to make me think I’d gone mad didn’t they?”
Amelia looked apologetic although she had nothing to apologise for.
“They set me up, purposefully drove me mad, made me believe I was seeing things, hearing voices, getting worse?”
My voice was breaking. Tears gathered, pooled, then freed themselves to slip silently downward.
“They made me believe Shelly was haunting me. How...how cruel can some... one... someone be?”
Amelia leaned over the table and took my hand before standing and making her way to me. Once there, she wrapped her free arm around me and pulled me into her, her familiar smell trying to calm me.
“The Morgan’s were very cruel.” Her mouth was close to my ear, the words semi-muffled, the heat of her breath sifting through my hair to warm my skin.
A soft kiss landed there. If I hadn’t been so acutely aware of her, I’d have missed it.
Amelia pulled her head back so she could look into my eyes.
“There is so much I need to tell you, Katie. So much I need to clarify.”
I frowned, sniffed, wiped my cheeks and chin with the back of my hand before giving a small shake of my head.
“Clarify? What do you mean ‘clarify’?”
Amelia pulled away, her arm slipping from around me, her hand releasing my hand. Her expression, as far as I could decipher, was made up from a mixture of emotions - guilt, fear and something else I couldn’t pinpoint.
“What do you mean, Amelia?”
She cupped her mouth and jaw, dragged her fingers downwards, seemed to decide upon something then answered my question.
“I’ve been watching you for months.” She closed her eyes, swallowed, opened her eyes again. They glistened, sparked, sparkled.
“And I know this is way too soon for you but...”
My stomach clenched with anticipation without being fully aware of what could be following.
“But?” My voice was barely audible.
“But it isn’t for me.”
My stomach clenched again. Either it clenched or it had an army of butterflies Irish dancing inside whilst wearing boots.
“What isn’t for you?” Still the same volume. I didn’t trust myself to speak any louder.
“Honestly?”
I nodded, “Yes. Honestly.”
“I’m in love with you, Katie. I fell in love with you even before you even knew I existed.”
***
I should’ve been over the moon. Should’ve been dancing and singing. Should’ve grabbed Amelia Griffiths, kissed her thoroughly before reciprocating her declaration with an “I love you, too.”
But I didn’t. I just stared at her as if she’d gone mad, as if she’d betrayed me, as if she’d declared that all the events over the last few months had been down to her and not the Morgans.
“Please leave.”
“Katie...”
“I can’t hear this now. Just... please. Leave.”
I stepped backwards, turned to go instead of her. Amelia grabbed my arm and tried to turn me, tried to pull me back.
I yanked myself away, faced her.
“Don’t you dare touch me, okay?”
Amelia raised her hands, one each side of her head, as if in surrender.
“Please, Katie. Let me explain. I...”
“Explain?” The word was forceful, angry. “Explain what, exactly? That you conned your way into my home and lied to me? That you pretended not to know me? That you sat back and watched whilst they all made me believe I was going mad? That you fucking seduced me and told me that you’d never done this kind of thing before?”
“It wasn’t like that.” Amelia stepped towards me but decided against coming too close.
“Not like that? Really? It was very much like that.”
Anger coursed through me and it was having difficulty venting itself fully. It wanted to scream and shout and force Amelia to leave me in peace.
However, stupidly, there was a part of me that didn’t want her to leave, the same part of me that believed it loved her too and that made the anger worse, mainly because I was angrier at myself for being caught out in the first place.
“If you just let me explain then you can tell me to leave and I will. I promise.”
Amelia held her hand out, a gesture of peace. I ignored it and moved past her and back to my seat at the table.
“You have five minutes and then you need to go.” I didn’t look up at her. I sensed her move past me and sit opposite.
She didn’t speak straight away; the silence was painful.
“Clock’s ticking.”
“We were investigating Harrison Morgan, not you, however much you believe otherwise.”
I stayed quiet knowing she’d feel the need to fill the silence.
“He’s a practising chemist in Didsbury in Manchester and there have been allegations that he was doing more than dispensing prescriptions. There is also evidence to suggest the chemist shop he owns is merely a front.”
I didn’t ask for clarification. I just tilted my head slightly whilst still looking at the tabletop, the wood grain obviously fascinating.
“I can’t go into detail as it could jeopardise the case but …” she sighed, “I can clarify that we were alerted of his movements in this area even before Shelly died.”
That caught my attention, my head shooting up, my eyes meeting hers.
“Before Shelly died? But he never came here. I’d never met her family until…” I stopped and Amelia sighed.
“You may have never met them but we’ve a lot of evidence to support our information. Harrison was in this area, meeting Shelly, on a regular basis.”
I frowned, not quite understanding what was going on.
“Shelly was involved with what her father was doing. She…”
“Involved? What do you mean? She was helping him with fraudulent prescriptions?”
Amelia shook her head, pulled a face and then seemed to decide on something.
“Harrison Morgan is a drug dealer. Not just the prescription kind.”
The image of Harrison flooded my head, an image of a businessman and not a bloody drug dealer.
But then again, what does a drug dealer look like?
And Shelly dealing drugs? She may have been many things, but a drug dealer? No. Simple as that.
“Again, I’m not supposed to be telling you all of this. It could really affect the case.”
I ignored her. There was still so much I needed to understand. She’d promised to clarify what was going on and each new piece of information shared only made me want to know more.
“But I don’t understand. You didn’t charge him with dealing drugs. Just swapping prescription drugs.”
Amelia leaned back into her chair, released a slow breath, whilst looking both exhausted and beautiful.
“That’s it.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t seem to pin it on him. That’s why we were watching you.”
My head was hurting, the input of information pushing to overload.
“Look. Can you stop talking in bloody code and tell me what the fuck is going on. Your five minutes is nearly up.” I gestured vaguely at the clock on the wall.
“Why can’t you pin it on him? You seem to know a hell of a lot. And how on earth was Shelly involved? Wouldn’t I have had at least met him at least once if he was meeting with Shelly?”
Amelia sighed again, leaned forward and gave the impression of reading my face for some reason or another.
“Shelly was his accountant.”
“And? Shelly was a lot of people’s accountant.”
“We’ve reason to believe she has evidence to show that Harrison Morgan was a drug dealer. Maybe she has even more than just his earnings to incriminate him.”
“You seem to have forgotten a small detail.”
“Detail?”
“Shelly’s dead, remember? It’s not as if you could just ask to see her books…”
It wasn’t just another penny - one of many that had been tipping out of what seemed to be a never-ending purse of pennies - that dropped as I said the words, it was everything. A huge cog shifted, the grinding of it loud and all-consuming.
“They didn’t want the house did they?”
Amelia shook her head, her mouth grim.
“They wanted her laptop, her records, her Filofax and any evidence she had on them that I may find and pass on to the police.”
“Yes.”
“But I haven’t got them. They took her laptop and phone. I got next to nothing from her employers, either. And I’ve no idea where her Filofax is.”
“They?”
“The Morgans. They went through her things and only took things of value.” I didn’t add that they took some of my stuff too.
“And you didn’t see them take Shelly’s Filofax?”
“I don’t remember seeing it after she died. The weird thing is, she always had it close to her. It was quite a big one.” I shaped out the size. “A4?”
She gave a quick nod before asking, “Do you think Shelly’s family could’ve taken it without you seeing it?”
I shook my head. “I doubt it. As I said, I didn’t see it, didn't move it to the room where all her stuff is kept. And apart from my family, no one else helped collect Shelly’s things.”
I stood, “Come. I’ll show you.”
As I moved away from the table, and barely moved through the kitchen door, I was suddenly hit with such tiredness, so much so, my legs buckled slightly.
“Hey, hey, hey!”
Amelia’s arms were around me and holding me steady.
“You okay? God! I’m so stupid. You must be exhausted. Your pills will...”
“I didn’t take any...”
I hadn’t wanted to miss everything going on as the pills would knock me out and had, with some difficulty, gritted my teeth and halved my meds every other day. I was sick to death of living only half a life and sick to death of worrying that I’d be spaced out when Amelia eventually came back to speak to me. But even though my meds would usually have been a factor, it was everything that’d transpired throughout the evening that’d drained me.
“Look. We can wait until the morning to check through the boxes for any evidence. You need to get to bed.”
“I’ll be fine, I just...” felt absolutely fucking knackered, like I was a tyre with a slow puncture - the same deflation, the same sluggish heaviness.
“Come. Let’s get you to bed.”
I was still in her arms as she said this. Still held close, still pressed against her. Her heat seeped through the material of my clothes and I could’ve sworn I was attuned to the blood moving in her veins. The air stilled, expectant. Or did I still with expectancy? Her face was close to mine, her breath warming my skin, her eyes so dark, the depths moving as if they were fluid. I wanted to close the gap and kiss her. I wanted to pull away and slap her. I wanted something I couldn’t and shouldn’t want.
A noise sounded. Shrill yet dull, loud but muted.
“I need...”
So did I.
“...to get this.”
Amelia pulled back, rummaged in her coat pocket and pulled out her phone.
“Yes?”
A slight tilt of her head was the only indication she was listening to the person at the other end of the line. Her eyes were still fixed on me and I was having difficulty dragging my attention away.
“Okay. I’m on my way.”
Just hearing those words made my heart drop. I knew she’d be leaving, knew she had to leave as that was her job, but it didn’t mean I wanted her to leave even though I’d professed otherwise not long beforehand.
Amelia ended the call and put her phone back into her pocket.
“The Morgans are at the station and I need to get there. You’ll be fine won’t you?”
I nodded. I would be fine but that didn’t mean I wanted her to go.
“I can always send an officer to keep watch.”
I shook my head.
“Not much point now you’ve arrested the Morgans is there.”
Amelia nodded and stepped back as if making a move to leave.
“Before you go, can you just explain what happened tonight? How did you know they were here? I mean, there were no police outside, so...”
Amelia gave a soft laugh, so light, so beautifully enticing.
“I sent police to keep an eye on you. But, in doing so, the Morgans stayed away. So, we had to be less obvious.”
“Less obvious?”
She laughed again.
“Yes. Less obvious. We’ve been close to you but not in plain sight. There was no way I was going to leave you vulnerable.”
The anger I held faded a little but whatever Amelia said now didn’t change the fact she’d lied to me. Continuously lied to me.
“Why couldn’t you just tell me who you were instead of pretending you didn’t know me?”
Amelia looked into my eyes; her expression strangely solemn.
“Honestly?”
“Please.” My chest tightened slightly.
Amelia inhaled, the effect of the action lifting her chest, the release of the captured breath was long and slow and I impatiently yet patiently waited for her to speak.
“We weren’t sure you weren’t in on it all.”
I didn’t get chance to voice any reaction as Amelia continued almost immediately, her words rushing out.
“You were Shelly’s partner. Shelly was involved to some capacity so why wouldn’t you know about it?”
I was confused. So fucking confused. Confused enough to release a disbelieving laugh and shake my head like I had a fly in my ear.
“Look. You’re exhausted. Can’t this wait...?”
“No! No. I need to know now.” I closed the gap between us, placed my hand on her chest, witnessed the racing of her heart and knew at that point I would forgive her anything.
“So much has happened in the last eleven months. So much. Most of which I don’t understand. My life has not only been turned upside down and inside out and ripped apart. It’s been shredded. I believed I was going mad. Believed I was totally responsible for what happened to Shelly. Believed I deserved everything I’ve gone through.”
Amelia covered my hand with hers, the heat wonderfully reassuring and giving me the courage to continue.
Before she had the chance to speak, I carried on.
“So please. Is this the real reason, the only reason, why you didn’t tell me who you were?”
Amelia paused only slightly before answering.
“Think about it from my perspective. What would’ve happened if I’d’ve told you who I was, and why I was there, and you were in cahoots with the Morgans? All our work would’ve been for nothing. Case closed.”
Amelia lifted her free hand to my face, her index finger and middle finger tracing a gentle line down my cheek before leaving my face and resting her hand on my shoulder.
“If it makes you feel better, I knew deep down you wouldn’t be involved. But, I had to be sure. So much was at stake.”
“Is that’s why you kept asking me about Shelly? You knew she was dead but made out you didn’t.”
Amelia laughed, the sound light and musical. I frowned.
“What’s funny about that?”
“Remember when the knock came on the door and someone said it was Shelly?”
I nodded. “I fainted.”
Amelia laughed again and another flare of annoyance sprang up and she held up her hand and shook her head as if to pacify me.
“I’m not laughing at you. I nearly fainted too. After everything that’d been happening in your house, I thought she’d come back to haunt me. Then I realised it must’ve been Shirley. That’s why I went outside. There would’ve been no way I’d’ve opened the bloody door if I thought it was the ghost of your dead girlfriend out there.”
Shirley? Shirley! Of course it was Shirley. I’d made some subconscious connection between their voices and now it made bloody sense!
“What I need to know now is why she knocked on the door when she knew I was there. They were bugging the place. Someone’d been in the house on more than one occasion whilst I was there so they must’ve known you weren’t alone.”
I hadn’t thought of that. They should’ve known Amelia had turned up just by the camera and microphones in place, wherever they were. But, the Morgans had been playing silly buggers in my house all evening, even before Amelia had arrived. The figure first. Jack, obviously. The lights being on, the doors closed. Either Shirley or Harrison arsing about with them. The mending of my glasses - fuck knows who did that one. The disembodied voice saying my name and, by her account, Amelia’s too - or Millie, as she’d said. Then the person passing my bedroom door when we were in bed. The newspaper clippings... although how the hell did they arrange them whilst we were actually in the room?
And the events had not only been limited to that one night. Had I really been seeing things since Shelly had died or...
“Did they bring the dog?”
I really didn’t want to consider that Jiminy had been another way of the Morgans getting into my house but I had to.
Amelia shook her head, pulled a face, shrugged.
“I’ve no idea. Can’t see why they would but also can’t see why they wouldn’t. He was certainly a distraction. But why bring a malnutritioned, nervous dog into your home when they’d so easily infiltrated your place already?”
It was my turn to pull a face and shrug. I looked through the kitchen doorway and noticed Jiminy still curled on the blanket, his eyes open and looking straight at us. No. Jiminy was more than a distraction created by the Morgans. Something had happened for him to end up in my utility room in the middle of a storm, half-starved and petrified. I didn’t know what, but I was going to find out. For all I knew, he was a much-loved family pet who had become lost or had been stolen and escaped. He wasn’t a decoy.
“You okay?”
I turned back to Amelia, who looked concerned.
“You’re really pale. I think you should sit down for a while. No. Better still, get to bed. You said you were beat ages ago. This can all wait.”
I was surprised I was still standing after everything I’d found out in the last fifteen minutes, and I knew I had to get to sleep or else I’d be fit for nothing. But even though I knew this, I couldn’t let it go just yet. There was something else I needed to know before I’d let Amelia Griffiths out of my sight.
I swallowed, licked my lips, prepared myself.
“Come. Just sit down if you don’t want to go to...” Amelia cupped my elbow and began to manoeuvre me into the front room.
I stopped, turned, resisted.
“Just sit. Come on. I don’t want you passing out on me.”
I moved with her guidance, finding myself at the window seat, a blanket covering my legs.
“But you still haven’t told me about... you said that...”
Amelia leaned her head forward, her expression soft, a smile forming.
“I love you? I’m in love with you? Yes.” She lifted her hand to my face, paused slightly before stroking a finger down my left cheek. “I love you. I’m in love with you. Can’t help myself.”
Amelia seated herself on the window seat, too, her hand slipping into mine so naturally, so perfectly that my life clicked into place with that one gesture.
“I know it isn’t the best start to our relationship - me spying on you, lying to you, falling in love with you without you even knowing I existed but, as I said, I just couldn’t help myself.”
I nodded, shook my head, nodded then shrugged. In other words, I’d no idea how to react. Amelia was declaring her love for me. It’s not every day that happens. And definitely not in these circumstances.
“Initially, I’d just been following the Morgans. Investigating you wasn’t my priority but considering they spent a fair bit of time casing your house, it was inevitable that I’d be here too.”
The warmth that’d started to spread through me chilled at her words. How could so much have been going on right on my doorstep - literally right on my doorstep and inside my bloody house - and I hadn’t a clue it was happening. Was it the medication that made me so fucking clueless or was it because I was in the middle of some kind of mental breakdown after all?
“They didn’t come every day but I’d come along just to check you were okay.” A blush started to creep along her skin. “I’d sit over by the wall near the outbuilding...” she pointed through the window to the darkness outside, “and watch you sitting here in this window seat. You’d come here most days.”
“Most days? You mean you’d come every day?”
How had I not seen her? It’s not as if it had been dark then - she’d said most days. Yes, I’d been battling the after-effects of the meds but not to see someone outside watching me every day? Not to know that people were coming into my house? Not to know that my life was being lived like a goldfish in a bowl and I was the fucking goldfish?
The tears came. Naturally, suddenly and with relief. Even though I should’ve been angry, or frustrated, or appalled at my lack of observation, I let those emotions wash away with the tears.
Amelia wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into her. The solid softness of her body next to mine was exactly what I needed. She held on to me tightly, the effect wonderfully reassuring - I was safe. Perfectly safe. And I knew at this moment that I’d always been safe with her; she’d always made sure of it. I also knew I’d always be safe with her.
Amelia Griffiths would never hurt me. She’d never make me feel small, feel stupid, feel scared or feel like I was nothing. I would never fear her, never want to leave her, never feel I had to be someone else so she would love me. When she raised her hands to me it would be to show me love not dominance or anger or hatred.
I pulled backwards, her arms slackening so I could manoeuvre myself into position.
Amelia looked so beautiful mainly because she was so bloody beautiful. Even in the low light, she was breathtaking. Her dark hair framed her face, her cheekbones were defined, the sparkle in her eye luminous. Lips parted, the separation of them delectably full, deliciously inviting.
“I... I know I barely know you but I...”
Amelia’s eyes widened slightly; she shifted forward, her head ducking a fraction.
“Yes?” The one word was almost a whisper.
“I believe, no, I know...”
“Yes?”
I took her hand and lifted it to my mouth, kissing the backs of her fingers before lowering them once again.
“I think I could love you, too, Amelia. I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”
The kiss was all-consuming. Her lips claimed mine just as much as mine claimed hers. Softly. Firmly. Completely. The heat of her mouth against mine ignited a need more than just a kiss. It flamed within. And fanning those flames of want and need was the knowledge that this was so much more than carnal desire. This was it, this was the real deal, this was what being in love could feel like.
And for those few minutes I forgot all the crap. Forgot everything that had transpired, forgot the Morgans, the events, the everything.
But, you see, there are things in life that we should never forget. Things that happen for a reason, whether that reason is good or bad, it is the reason after all.
And the reason for my remembering it all would not be that far in the future.
***
Chapter Forty-Two
I woke sprawled on the window seat, the woollen red and green checked blanket half on, half off me, Jiminy curled at my feet. Cushions were piled high behind my back forcing me into a half-seated position. I’d not wanted to go back to bed when Amelia had left as I was too exhausted to move, so she’d covered me with the blanket and promised to return later that day.
I turned to look outside the window, the darkness of night was giving way to a small light creeping in at its base, the shift in hue blurred and indistinct.
Something other than the ache in my back had woken me. A noise, not Jiminy, had broken through the realms of sleep and half-wakefulness, a noise that, for some reason or other, put me on edge.
I sat up, the ache running down my spine and across my shoulders as I moved. Jiminy lifted his head slightly, and I could just make out that he was looking at me.
Weirdly, being under Jiminy’s watchful stare slightly pacified me. If the dog was more interested in me then that meant I was the only thing of interest to him in the room.
“Grrrrrrrr.” The growl was low, threatening and unsettling and it was not directed at me.
At this, I turned to look out of the window, the scene supernatural in its ethereal darkness, to check if there was someone outside watching me again. Not Amelia, that I wouldn’t mind, but someone else. Something else.
A creeping realisation climbed my spine; would I be safe here?
With that thought, I shifted slightly, the image of the cloaked figure lurking at the edge of my garden, gender disguised, the face pale, the eye sockets huge and black, took over rational thought. I knew the Morgans were in custody, knew Jack was dead, knew the figure was something used to scare me into giving up my home, but I still expected to see it, even though I also knew it was originally conjured from my own imagination to distract Shelly from beating the crap out of me.
Jiminy stood and released another growl. However, this time his focus was directed back into the room, his attention on something behind me.
A definite chill filled the air, the particles seeming to freeze and solidify, the expectation of something bad happening swallowing any slither of hope I’d previously held.
Slowly, I turned, my stomach churning, my heart thumping painfully, fear trying to hold me in place.
The room was dark, the bulk of it hidden in the gloom of the night. Only the small space in front of the window seat allowed any of the growing light to show. Jiminy growled again, pushed against me as if undecided if he was protecting me or I was to protecting him. Whichever it was, I needed to take responsibility and investigate.
Leaning forward, something slipped from my thigh and hit the floor with a dull thump. I’d nothing on my lap when I went to sleep, not even my mobile. Even if the blanket had slipped free, it wouldn’t have made a dull thumping sound as it met the floor, a sound like a…
“What the hell?”
I could only see part of the object on the floor, but it was obvious it was a book of some description as part of the corner was in the path of the meagre light coming through the window. I reached down and picked it up, undecided if I was surprised or pacified to see it was the one I’d been reading the night of the storm - the same book I’d hunted for but couldn’t find.
A noise came from the window behind me and I quickly turned back to look outside. There was nothing there. No creepy figure, no one watching me. Just darkness with a smidgen of light. Just a new day coming.
I pressed closer to the glass hoping to see nothing or to make sense of whatever was happening. An empty garden cloaked in nighttime, nothing more.
I pulled back, my reflection showing in the glass. My reflection and something else. Or someone else. Someone dark, pale faced, dark sockets. Someone who was looking straight at me through my reflection because that would be the only way it could see my face as the someone, the something, the it, was standing right behind me.
The realisation forced a shocked sharp cry to escape. Instinctively, I pushed forwards and sideways, my legs tangling into my woollen blanket and hindering my escape from whatever was behind me. The cushions, once things of support, shifted, the movement toppling me backwards and off the window seat.
I hit the floor in stages, the tangle of blanket and cushion stopping the fluidity of my descent. First the base of my back struck the stone floor, then my shoulders. I fully expected to be grabbed by whomever was in the room with me, but no. My descent to cold hard floor was unhindered by the presence of someone else. Only blanket, cushion and dog.
For a moment, I was stunned and slightly disorientated. Whether this was because of the fall or the events before I’d toppled from the window seat, I was unsure. I was also unsure whether I’d actually seen a figure reflected in the glass at all.
Then Jiminy growled again. Whimpered then growled. Fear gripped me, the muscles in my stomach convulsed, the need to run overwhelming yet impossible.
Scrambling backwards to the seat, I tried to press against the once flat side only to find something stopping me. Jiminy was next to me, his small thin body quivering against my side. I placed one hand on his back with the hope it’d calm us both but not really believing such a small gesture could possibly work for me.
I pressed my eyelids closed and tried to regulate my breathing. If I allowed myself to freak out at this precise moment, there would be no way I’d be able to deal with whatever was, undoubtedly, going to happen. Jiminy was still next to me, the warmth of his body strangely reassuring - especially since the temperature in the room had plummeted - so that should’ve helped calm me a little. But no.
The air in front of me seemed to house a column of ice and, even with my eyes closed, I knew that as soon as my breath hit air, the usual unseen water droplets would form condensation and show an icy mist.
However, that was not the worst part. Not by a long shot.
And no, it wasn’t even the low steady growl rumbling from the dog next to me.
It was the sensation of having someone there, someone right there and waiting. And even if I hadn’t opened my eyes at this precise moment, I’d still have known that this someone’s face would be right up close to mine, right there and waiting for me to open my eyes and acknowledge it. And even though I’d known that there’d be a face there, it still didn’t prepare me for what I saw.
Shelly. I saw Shelly. Not a scream mask, not a black socketed ghoul, but Shelly. Her face was close to mine and even in the low light I could make out her features as clearly as if the room was well lit and she was still alive and looking at me.
But that was the point wasn’t it. That was one of the reasons why I was now terrified. Shelly, as I most certainly knew, was dead. And even worse than that, I was the one who had shoved her into the road and into the path of a speeding car.
I could put this down to a delusion or hallucination or a figment of my imagination. I could. I had the medication to prove that my brain was having a tough time coping with reality.
But, even if the meds did highlight my penchant for seeing ghosts and witnessing things that go bump in the night, that didn’t cover the fact that Jiminy was growling and whining at something too. That he was quivering, quaking and trying to get as close to me as he possibly could.
Fleetingly, I considered if Shelly had a sister. Maybe that was what I was witnessing. Maybe there was another sibling or relative I hadn’t known about who was the exact double of Shelly.
And even as I thought this, I knew I was clutching at straws. It wasn’t just because there could never be anyone who could hold the same evil look in those dark eyes, it was because there was no way I could ever mistake anyone else for Shelly Morgan. Ever.
Unlike the reflection in the window, Shelly looked normal – well, as normal as a dead woman standing staring straight at me could look. She was pale, yes, and not as solid as she had been when alive but that was understandable, considering.
“You’re not real. You’re in my head.”
Wishful thinking, I believe.
A wolfish smile broke out across her face and my insides turned to liquid.
“Hey baby.” Shelly’s husky voice hit air, a chill in the air even colder than before accompanying it and turning her words into mist. “You coming?”
Coming?
She held her hand towards me, her palm upwards, her fingers gesturing as if in invitation.
“Our storm is just about to start.” She flashed me that smile again, the same one she’d just given me, the same one she always flashed when she wanted something. Her teeth were still perfect, still straight and still white - but then again, her face was just as white as this smile that shaped her mouth into a slight curve, the same shape it had always taken to signal she was in control. The lady killer smile; the fake smile; the wolfish grin.
The air was expectant around us and deadly between us.
“Katie?” Her voice broke the silence, the smile she’d sported faltering slightly as if she was hurt in some way. But we both knew it was an act.
Shelly’s outstretched hand mimicked gallantry but implied dominance.
My fingers flexed, twitched, but didn’t comply. Jiminy was shaking against my side and I knew he was terrified. I could empathise. Completely. This thing, this apparition, this whatever the fuck this was, had spent too long making me feel as if I was nothing, that I had nothing, that I would always be nothing. Even after her death, she had haunted my life – day and night – awake and asleep.
The dawning light of the day curled around the contours of Shelly’s face highlighting and dramatising her flawless features. Her eyes seemed almost black, the depths of them bottomless, only lit by a glint of light creeping through the window that appeared to shimmer across each eye in turn. The corner of her mouth lifted even more, the curl of it sinister, threatening. The hand she’d extended dropped, her head pulling backward, her chin lifting.
“I’m still waiting,” Shelly announced.
And I was still waiting for her to be gone from my life.
I moved backwards, Jiminy pressing harder against me.
“I want you to stay here with me.”
And I wanted to leave. I’d always wanted to leave. Not here, not this place, but her. I’d wanted to leave her before, I wanted to leave her now.
“You’re dead.”
Shelly leaned forward, her hand rising quickly. I flinched, my head jerking to the side, my eyes half-closing only to flutter madly, the idea that her ghostly hand may not be able to hurt me not registering.
“Hey.” Her voice sounded concerned but I knew she wasn’t. She stretched her fingers as if to touch my face and trailed her fingertips along my jawline, the ice chill of the movement penetrating. Her attention was fully absorbed by the action, her eyes following the trail of her fingertips.
Shelly sucked in, made a clicking noise and shook her head.
“You know I don’t want to hurt you, Katie. It breaks my heart.” Her eyes widened; long lashes should’ve given them the appearance of beauty but the blackness of the irises signified the blackness of her soul. “But I need you to come with me. We belong together.”
I shook my head. However terrified she’d made me feel in the past was nothing to how I was feeling now. Here I was, confronted by the ghost of my dead ex, the same dead ex whom I’d shoved in front of a speeding car and killed, and she was telling me that we belonged together, that I should accompany her to God knows where.
And I thought I was mentally unstable before!
“No.”
The word had only just left my mouth when Shelly roared, her face grotesquely twisting as it shot forward, the icy chill of air bombarding me, making me curl into myself, pulling Jiminy closer to protect him in any way I could.
Then silence before, “I don’t like reprimanding you, Katie, but if you insist on acting like a child, then …” she sighed, shrugged, opened her hands wide as if to show she had no other choice, “then you have to be taught a lesson.”
“A… lesson?” The two words mimicked my confusion. Then the insinuation of those words hit home.
“A lesson?” Incredulity replaced confusion. Then annoyance. “A lesson?”
I stood, moved towards the spectral image of my dead ex-girlfriend.
“I am not scared of you. Not anymore.”
Shelly’s lip snarled; a snort sounded from her nose.
“You can’t hurt me anymore. And not just because you’re dead.”
Annoyance moved to anger.
“You’re a bully. Even in death, you’re a bully. You pick on the weak because you’re weak yourself. Well, not anymore.”
I stepped even closer to the figure of Shelly, a flicker of victory igniting inside me when I saw her flinch.
“I’m not leaving you.” I leaned toward her. “You are leaving me. For good.”
Shelly roared again, the vehemence behind the action filling the room with something akin to undiluted energy. Ornaments began to rattle, the windowpanes strained and shuddered, furniture began to dance along the bare floors, the clank of it almost hidden underneath the howl of the air.
A vase, or something like it, flew across the room and smashed against the wall just at the side of my head, shards of pot cascading in a frenzied arch.
She released another roar, her face elongating, the sockets of her eyes black, her face twisted, her mouth becoming longer and longer and longer. The roar shifted, became a howl, became a bellow, the force of it pushing me backwards, the back of my legs bashing into the window seat, forcing the top of it to come off, the action unsettling my balance.
The floor came up to meet me, the tile hard and cold and unforgiving.
Pain jolted through my head and I remember worrying about Jiminy as darkness took hold.
Then all went as black as the sockets of her eyes.
***
Chapter Forty-Three
I wasn’t sure where I was. I could tell I was lying flat but through the small slits of my eyes I just seemed too far away from the ceiling. Strange, I know, but that’s what it was like. The surface underneath me was hard, cold and hard, almost like I was recumbent on concrete. Apart from behind my head. Something seemed soft there, almost as if I had it propped on a pillow.
The last thing I remembered was being in the living room but this felt different somehow. The chill of the flooring was seeping through my clothes, although there was a definite warmth pressed to the side of me.
I squeezed my eyes shut once more hoping the action would help clear my vision and stop the ache of the light when I opened them again.
Unfortunately not. The light was brighter, blindingly so, and it didn’t seem like a natural light. With a groan I attempted to lift my head, the effect being as if my head was a lot heavier than my neck could support. However, it was the pain shooting across my forehead and behind my eyes that forced me to lie flat, my head resting back onto what I know knew to be a pillow of sorts.
“You’re awake.”
The voice came from behind and I blinked repeatedly three times in recognition.
Tentatively, I turned to where Amelia’s voice had come from, the room slightly spinning as I did so, the glare of what I could only make out to be a torch in her hand. No wonder it’d been so bright. The last thing I knew, dawn had only just been breaking and there was no way the crappy lamp in my living room could have given off so much light.
I held my hand to my eyes and Amelia dipped the torch before turning it off.
“Sorry. I needed to see if you’d been injured and …” she gestured to the lamp, “and that wasn’t very bright.”
Seeing her there, seeing her kneeling right beside me, her beautiful face concerned, her lips parted, her eyes half-closed in concentration, calmed me. I wanted to sit up and pull her to me. Wanted to become swallowed up in her embrace, her voice, her eyes. Wanted to tell her how she’d saved me somehow but I didn’t know how that could be possible.
“How did you get in? The doors were locked.” My voice sounded distant, like I was speaking from the outside of my body.
“You gave me a key before I left earlier but…” She leaned down, her face close to mine. “Let me check your eyes.”
Amelia tilted my face and looked into each eye in turn.
“I’m no expert so I think we should get you checked over by someone who is. By the size and colour of the lump on your forehead, you took a hell of a hit. This is the second knock to your head in the matter of days.”
I frowned.
“Second?”
“You didn’t get checked over when you head butted Shirley Morgan. Your brain must’ve been bashed about a lot.”
I did have a headache, granted, but I felt well enough to ignore her concern and changed the subject.
“I know you’re going to think I’m mad. I think I’m mad.” My voice seemed more my own, like it was now back to being a part of me.
I sat up, the movement making me wince and the room spin slightly. Amelia held onto my arm and kept me steady, Jiminy moving from the side of me as I shifted, therefore identifying himself as the warm lump next to me. I stroked along his back and was happy to see his tail wag.
“I will think you’re mad if you don’t get checked over. I can drive you to A and E as soon as you feel able to stand.” She leaned forward and moved as if to touch my forehead, a grimace crossing her face as she did so.
“You were out of it for getting on ten minutes.”
I knew that being unconscious for over a minute after a blow to the head is not good, especially when the effects of the bump are still floating about. That could lead to complications. I also knew that Amelia was right about getting checked over. But what I didn’t know was how she knew how long I’d been out for the count.
“How did you…”
“Can I at least get a paramedic out here to check you over?” She pulled her mobile from her pocket and I glared at her before nodding reluctantly.
Amelia stood, dialled a number and then informed the person at the other end that she needed a paramedic to come and check over a potential witness.
Potential witness? Seemed strange for her to phrase it like that but I kind of knew what she was getting at. The Morgans had infiltrated my home and terrorised me for months – obviously, me being a part of it all when they were captured made me a potential witness.
“Yes. As far as I could see, yes.” Amelia turned away from me, lowered her voice and I strained my ears to hear. “Pushed, I think.”
Even Jiminy stiffened his body at the comment.
Pushed? What did she mean, pushed? For all she knew, I was here on my own. Jiminy couldn’t have pushed me.
I waited until she had ended the call before asking the obvious.
“What do you mean pushed? You weren’t here. You don’t know what happened.”
However, the reality of what had happened seemed less believable than if a three-and-a-half-kilogram malnourished skittish dog pushing me over, and my admitting as much would make me look as if I had lost the plot. Maybe because, in truth, I must’ve, mustn’t I? Lost the plot? As real as the event has seemed, there was no way that anyone would believe me if I told them my dead ex had come to terrorise me whilst offering me a lifetime in eternity with her whilst being as dead as a door nail.
Amelia lifted her phone, well, a phone similar the one she’d just used.
“Ah, but you see, Katie. I was here.” She shook the phone at me. “I saw everything.”
I didn’t have a clue. Not a clue, although I was undecided who was the most delusional.
“I have no ide…fuck! The cameras! Your phone!”
Amelia grinned wide and waved the phone in the air once more.
“I haven’t watched it back as yet. I saw a chunk of it live as I was coming back here. That was enough to terrify the crap out of me.”
I tried to stand and she held her hand out to me, a whine coming from close to my foot.
“Let’s get Jiminy sorted and then watch it.”
Gently, she guided me to my feet, my body pressing into hers. Her heat was reassuring and calming. Just knowing this woman was here with me now made me feel safe again.
“The software the camera uses stores everything in the cloud and we can access it.” She lifted the phone and it showed the room and us both on the screen. “This is the live mode. I’m not totally sure of everything on it as yet as this isn’t actually my phone. It’s Jack Morgan’s.”
Another whine came from near my feet.
“Hey little fella. You want a wee?” Amelia bent down and made a fuss of Jiminy, his tail wagging so much his bum moved with it.
“Let’s get him sorted first.” Amelia moved to step away and I didn’t. “Sorry, Katie. Do you want to stay here and I’ll take him out?”
I shook my head, a slight pain shooting across my forehead. “I’ll be fine, I just…”
“Just?”
Without another word, I leaned forward and brushed my lips over hers, softly, quickly, just enough to assure me that she was real and she was mine to kiss.
A smile broke across her mouth making her even more beautiful than she already was - a radiant beauty that enveloped the last vestiges of the dark and seemed to put the world right again.
“Come on then.”
I moved out of the room and stopped in the hallway. The front door was open wide like someone had burst through it. Jiminy carried on to the kitchen, ignoring a closer exit. I followed.
Inside the kitchen, the utility door was wide open already. I knew I’d closed it the previous evening before settling into the living room. Jiminy trotted through the door and, once again, I followed.
The back door was wide open, surprising, considering I’d bolted it after letting Jiminy out the night before. Even if I’d given Amelia a full set of keys, the back door wouldn’t have been the place where she could’ve accessed the house.
I turned to ask her but she held her hands up and said, “I came in the front.”
“But…”
“I’ll explain all when Jiminy’s back inside.”
And she did. All of it. And if I hadn’t seen the footage, and other evidence, I wouldn’t have believed it, even with all of the shit happening in my life for the last eleven months.
***
Chapter Forty-Four
“Although we usually wait for the tech guys to access the phone data, I couldn’t wait for them to turn up. I had the warrant, the kiosk machine to help crack the phone and the time, so… “she tapped the mobile’s screen. “As well as all the data, text messages and photos, we had access to passwords to his apps, including this little guy.”
Amelia tapped on the screen with her fingernail. Cam SmartHome.
“This app enables us to see all of the footage Jack captured and gives us the location of each of the six cameras he’d planted in your home.”
“Six!”
She flicked through each camera whilst announcing, “Kitchen, hallway, living room, bathroom, your bedroom, landing. Yes. Six.”
Amelia returned to the live feed of the kitchen camera and I’d a clear view of the back of my head indicating the camera was situated above the utility door.
“One of the best features about this app is that it lets us know who else has access to each camera. See? Shirley and Harrison have been added to the Morgan residence.”
I nodded, too nauseous to speak.
“It also has the live feed like now, but it will record if there is activity - but, only for twelve seconds. All of which is stored in the cloud ready to download if you want it. However, if, like before, you want to capture the live feed… you only have to press record.” She clicked a red button, a timer whirring around at the base of the screen.”
I didn’t know how to react. Didn’t know if I should be overly excited, terrified, heartbroken, relieved. So, I sat there. Just sat there and waited for any indication of how to proceed.
Amelia looked up at me, the smile she’d been sporting seeming to freeze in place.
“Don’t you see? We’ve got them - all of them. Got them doing everything. Swapping tablets, entering your home, bugging the place, watching you, going through your things. Even Jack attacking you when you were in the bath.”
The image of the person holding me underwater all those months ago sprang into my head. Jack Morgan? It’d been Jack Morgan all along? But… really?
“Jack?”
My voice was weak; I felt weaker.
The incident in the bath had been over ten months ago. Ten months. Ten. That would mean the cameras had been set up a lot earlier than I’d realised.
“But that was before the funeral. We thought, I thought…”
“I watched the footage. It was Jack Morgan. He came into the bathroom through the bedroom entrance and didn’t put the mask on until just before he came through the door. There is audio, too. Shirley telling him someone was coming up the stairs. He went to leave from the other exit, unlocked the door but was told to go back the other way.”
Amelia pressed the screen and the figure of Jack Morgan was seen entering my bedroom and climbing through the loft hatch and into the attic.
“Seems as if Jack spent quite a lot of time in your attic.”
My stomach was performing tricks. Jack had hidden my attic? I’d slept in the room with a person who’d tried to kill me watching from above?
“Obviously, we’ll have to check that out. I’ll get a team in.”
He’d tried to kill me. Drown me. Held my head under the water and wanted me dead. For what? A house? A fucking Filofax? I thought of how I’d grabbed the arm of my assailant, how thin it was but how much strength it had as it’d purposefully tried to drown me. I’d even dug my nails into his flesh. I’m sure, if they looked at his body, they would see half-moon scars along his forearm.
Then I’d remembered how I’d just given up. Stopped fighting for my life, stopped kicking out, stopped loosening the hand that was pushing me under. Accepted that I’d deserved it. Just like I’d accepted how Shelly had treated me and how I’d believed I’d deserved being treated by her.
And that made me angry.
“Fucker.”
“Excuse me?”
“Not you.” I gestured at the phone. “Him. Them. All of them. The way they believed they’ve a God given right to do this.”
I looked straight into her eyes, such compassionate eyes, and knew that Amelia Griffiths would never treat me the way Shelly, or her family, had.
“Go on. What else have you got on the Morgans?”
A sudden rapping sounded from the hallway, followed by a male voice shouting “Hello! Paramedic.”
Amelia patted my hand.
“Let him check you over, I’ll make a cuppa, and then I’ll show you what else I saw.”
She leaned forward, kissed me firmly and stood up before making her way to the doorway.
“Hello there. We’re in here. Can you close the door on the way in?”
And once again, I was made to wait for answers. However, I still had the pressure of her lips on mine so not all was bad.
***
The paramedic examined me and asked a series of questions. Firstly, did I know who I was - and not in a philosophical “meaning of life” way, either. What day of the week was it? The answer to which usually escaped me even without suspected concussion.
I failed two of the three principal features of confusion just by being me. I rarely could maintain a coherent stream of thought and was always distracted to some degree from the topic in question. However, my goal directed movements were spot on. I could easily lift my teacup to my mouth and sip without spilling.
After flashing the beam of a small torch into my eyes and listing a range of symptoms for concussion, the paramedic left. Amelia walked him to the door and I could hear softly spoken voices before the door clicked in place.
She was barely back in the room before I asked, “So what were you saying to him? Am I at death’s door?”
I tried to make light of it but just wondered why the need for whispers.
Amelia pulled a half comical gurn before confiding in me that the paramedic was doing her a favour by coming out to check me over and she was reiterating how she “owed him one”.
I wanted to say that I would’ve gone to A and E if she hadn’t been so quick to call in the emergency services. However, there was too much else that came before getting into petty squabbles about, namely, “So what did you see?”
Amelia grinned widely and pulled the smartphone from her pocket.
“Remember when I told you about the live mode?”
I nodded.
“Well, I was playing about with the app when I was at the station and kept on checking to see if you were okay, using the live mode, I mean. There are so many videos over the six cameras… It will take my team quite a while to get through it all.”
“You were checking on me?”
Amelia blushed.
“I… well, I was just getting used to the app. I wasn’t spying on you.”
“Not like when you were hiding outside and watching me through the window, then?”
This time, Amelia went scarlet.
“I… I… well, you know…”
“Hey.” I laughed, reached out and touched her arm. “I’m kidding. Go on.”
She fumbled with the phone; her fingers clumsy. It’d been the first time I’d seen her not fully in control.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed.”
She looked up at me, gave me a small smile, then gently shook her head before releasing a low chuckle.
“It’s me who should be apologising. I just, well, truthfully, I just couldn’t resist you.”
It was my turn to blush and I had to resist my urge to kiss her.
“So, the footage?”
“The footage?”
I laughed and pointed at the phone. “The footage. From this morning.”
Amelia blushed again and I knew at that precise moment that I would love her for the rest of my life.
“I love you, you know.”
Amelia lifted her eyes to mine, the air between us charged.
“And I’m completely and utterly in love with you, Katie Hammond.”
I kissed her or she kissed me, it didn’t matter. Just feeling her mouth on mine, the heat of our breath mingling, the pressure of her body pressing against my body, that’s what mattered.
But, we had to stop or else we would never stop. Breaking the kiss was difficult and the coolness of air between us was sobering.
For a moment, we just looked at each other. For a moment that seemed both too long and too short.
“Right.” Amelia sighed the word and lifted the phone, the screen saver disappearing with the touch of her finger. She manipulated the screen before turning the phone towards me, shifting her position so she could see it too.
“Here. See? The utility door opens but no one comes through. And …” Amelia flicked from one screen to another. “Here. The front door opens and no one comes through.”
“Wait. What? I thought you came in the front door and, for whatever reason, you opened the back door too.”
Amelia shook her head.
“Nope. They were both open when I got here. But did you notice the time?”
I shook my head.
She pointed to the base of the clip. 05:34:09. She then flicked back to the previous clip of the utility door - 05:34:09.
“The doors opened at the same time. And no one entered.” She clicked on a different screen. “You’re asleep on the window seat. But look at Jiminy.”
The dog on the clip held his head up as if he was either listening or looking at something. He pressed himself against a sleeping me.
“But look at this, too. Make sure you observe the times on each, yes?”
Amelia clicked on the camera that focused on the upstairs landing. Four doors were in shot, two fully and the bathroom and junk room half in. Bam. All four opened at the same time. And as they opened, the lights clicked on, then off again. The time? 05:34:09.
My bedroom, the angle showing both the internal door to the bathroom and the external one to the hallway. At 05:34:09, the doors opened, the rooms illuminated, then went dark.
The bathroom. Same thing. Same time. Both doors opened, lights on, lights off.
“What’s that?” I pointed at the screen. “There. In the mirror?”
Amelia zoomed into the area, then pressed play once more. A shape, an outline, a black mass almost human in shape was reflected in the glass. There was nothing in front of the mirror to be reflected, even from the angle we were viewing the footage from. But that didn’t stop the fact there was definitely something in the room.
“Each section lasts 12 seconds, the allotted time the software gives for capturing audio or video when movement or sound is detected.”
“I was already on my way here by this stage. I’d clicked to the living room camera and pressed record on live mode. The drive here was an experience, I can tell you.”
My stomach roiled, nausea sweeping through me. I knew most of what I’d see, and that was bad enough. But there was also things I’d not seen, the things that’d woken me for example.
Amelia explained that the software wouldn’t have recorded anything else in the room until five minutes had passed since the initial trigger. The time at the bottom of the clip stated 05:38:27, just over four minutes since the initial capture. Four minutes that were not accounted for. Four minutes where something malevolent was inside my house and I was vulnerable and asleep on the window seat.
I was still sleeping. My face turned away from the rest of the room, the blanket pulled fully up to my chin. Jiminy was half sat, half pressed against my side, his attention on something in the room. But, as far as I could see, there was nothing and no one else in the room apart from me and the dog.
“The dog. Watch Jiminy.” Amelia’s voice was low.
Jiminy’s head moved slowly to the right as if he was following someone’s movements who had walked in front of him. Then his head moved slowly to the right as if the unseen presence had walked back. Then it happened again. Then again almost as of the presence was weighing up the scene.
I glanced at the time on the video - 05:42:40.
A movement from the screen brought my attention back to the footage. The checked blanket covering me began to move downwards, almost as if it was being gently pulled by an unseen hand. It moved so slowly that it could be missed if a person had only glanced at the video, but we weren’t glancing. We were truly absorbed by what was happening and witnessed every single millimetre shifting further and further down my body.
05:44:14 and the blanket stopped moving. Jiminy was terrified but didn’t leave my side, his body significantly trembling, so much so, I did wonder if that was what had woken me.
But no. That wasn’t it. The placing of the book was the catalyst to my waking. The weirdest thing was, it didn’t hover through the air like it was dangling from a piece of wire like I’d seen in films with bad special effects. It just appeared. Bam. On my lap. The book turned upside down, the pages spread over the curve of my thigh.
I watched myself wake up, turn to look out of the window, sit up straighter and then look at Jiminy. I heard Jiminy’s growl, one of the first things I’d heard since watching the video back. The me in the video looked, again, out of the window and as I did so, Jiminy stood, turned and growled again but this time at something behind me. There was nothing there. Even looking at the scene from this view, I could see there was nothing behind me.
I watched as the book slipped from my thigh, heard my “What the hell?” and how I reached down and picked it up.
Another noise sounded, one that distracted me from what had happened. But this time, from my vantage point of watching the overall scene, I saw something move across the floor. Something black, like a mass of darkness. It stopped directly behind where I was sat.
“Look! Look there!” Amelia paused the video. “A face! See it? No, not just your face. Look.”
In the footage, reflected on the window glass was not only my reflection but the reflection of something dark, pale faced, dark sockets, something reflected in the exact same spot behind me as where the dark mass had settled.
Fear gripped me. Again. The shocked sharp cry I’d released at the time was tame in comparison to how I was feeling. I watched myself fall from the window seat, my legs tangling, the fear and panic growing both then and now. My back hit the floor first, the oomph audible. My confusion was evident but short lived as Jiminy growled again.
I’d pushed backwards and into the window seat, Jiminy quickly moving against me and I placed my hand on his back. Even though I couldn’t see it on the video, I knew this was the point where I’d pressed my eyelid closed, where I’d tried to get some kind of control.
Little good that did me.
My breath hit the air. I could see it in the video. A mist of air appearing out of nowhere. Jiminy’s growl was continuous, his attention directed in front of us.
I watched myself as the realisation hit - that the entity in the room was Shelly. My mouth dropped, I’d shaken my head in either disbelief or trying to clear it.
“You’re not real. You’re in my head.” My voice mirrored the disbelief.
As I watched this part, I held my breath. Everything up to this point could be argued as either coincidence or rigged. Even the shapes, the doors opening, the everything. These could’ve been triggered, something put in place by the Morgans. I mean, it’d happened before on the night of the storm. How many times had those bloody doors opened and closed and lights turned on then?
“Hey baby.” My blood chilled. Shelly’s husky voice sounded. Not a recorded Shirley audio, but Shelly’s voice. And alongside the voice, the stream of mist like the one that had escaped my mouth but his time coming from in front of me.
“You coming?”
There was a pause before the voice added, “Our storm is just about to start.”
More mist appeared and there was another pause.
“Katie?”
I watched on the screen as my fingers flexed and twitched.
The room was becoming a little lighter, but even with more light, there was no other person in the room.
“I’m still waiting,” But her voice, and my movement backwards, indicated otherwise and there was more than just me in that room.
“I want you to stay here with me.”
“You’re dead.” No sooner had the words left my mouth, than my head jerked to the side, my eyes fluttering madly.
Amelia stiffened and I whispered, “She didn’t touch me.”
However, Amelia didn’t relax her stance.
“Hey.” A supposedly concerned syllable but I knew Shelly’d never been concerned about how I felt - and not just in the scene playing out in the video.
A clicking noise sounded before she said, “You know I don’t want to hurt you, Katie. It breaks my heart.” The voice paused before adding “But, I need you to come with me. We belong together.”
The video showed the vehement shake of my head that was audibly accompanied by my definite no.
Even though I knew it was coming, even though I’d lived through it already, the roar Shelly released terrified me all over again. Amelia muttered a “Fuck!” and Jiminy whined.
In the footage, I pulled Jiminy closer to me as I curled into a ball to protect us both.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then she spoke again.
“I don’t like reprimanding you, Katie, but if you insist on acting like a child, then …” her sigh showed up as a line of mist, “then you have to be taught a lesson.”
Amelia grabbed my hand and squeezed as if to reassure me that she was there and for that, and so many other things, I was grateful.
“A… lesson?” My voice from the phone’s speakers sounded confused.
“A lesson?” Now they indicated how incredulous I was becoming. “A lesson?” And now annoyed.
I watched myself stand, watched myself move forward into the room, watched my back straighten, my face jut forward, my stance strong and determined.
“I am not scared of you. Not anymore.”
She snorted. I heard it just as clearly now as I had then and saw the bloom of it hit air.
“You can’t hurt me anymore. And not just because you’re dead.” My voice was strong, definite, decided.
“You’re a bully. Even in death, you’re a bully. You pick on the weak because you’re weak yourself. Well, not anymore.”
Again, I stepped more into the room. “I’m not leaving you.” My body leaned forwards, and I knew that at this point I’d been really close to her. “You are leaving me. For good.”
Another roar sounded, the volume louder, the violent intention clearer to me now I watched it all back. Surprisingly, I didn’t move, didn’t flinch. The ornaments around the room began to move, began to rattle and skip across shelves and mantelpiece; the windows shuddered; furniture began to move, the dance like motion clanking on the bare floors and almost hidden under the roaring sound coming from the invisible being in the room.
I watched the vase my sister, Eleanor, had given me as a housewarming present lift off the side table and launch itself at me. It narrowly missed my head, only to explode against the wall behind before cascading in a waterfall of fragments.
Another roar that shifted into a howl then a bellow. I hadn’t realised it at the time, but I’d held my hands up as if to stop whatever she was doing but the image on the small screen showed a woman fighting what could only be described as a gale force wind. I was shoved backwards, my legs smacking into the window seat, the top of which falling off and unsettling my balance.
I watched as the figure on the screen crumpled and fell, a head hitting the floor. I’d even tried to get up but my arms were no use.
Everything stopped. The noise, the wind, the everything, like it had all been vacuumed from the room. Jiminy moved next to me, sniffed my face, licked me, whined, woofed and whined again. He shifted to the side of me, sat and looked around the room as if trying to find whatever had been terrorising us.
After a moment or two, he pawed at my side, whined again and sniffed me. Then, he lay down, pressed himself next to me and kept guard, his ears pricked for any noise.
Amelia paused it, the image of Jiminy on guard duty frozen on the screen. The time stated 05:49:02 - it had all taken less than five minutes. Truthfully, it’d seemed a hell of a lot longer.
“Did you stop recording then?”
I turned to Amelia. All the colour had drained from her face.
“Hey… you okay?”
Amelia lifted her hand to her mouth and I could see she was shaking.
“What’s the matter? You okay? You seem…” the rest of the sentence was lost as Amelia threw her arms around me and crushed me to her. Her whole body was shaking, not just her hands. My face was pressed to her throat and I could feel her gulping huge swallows of air. Her grip became even tighter, and then tighter still.
Her body convulsed and I knew she was crying. I pulled my head back and she buried her face into the side of my neck, the sobs coming thick and fast. I stroked her hair, her beautiful dark hair, curling locks of it around my fingertips, and I whispered nonsensical words of comfort and gently placed soft kisses along her hairline.
I held her until her sobs became hiccups, until her hiccups became ragged breathing, until her ragged breathing became softer, gentler, calmer. I held her. Just held her. And I would continue to hold her as long as she wanted me to.
***
Chapter Forty-Five
Holding Amelia Griffiths for twenty minutes solid was no hardship. Far from it. Having her in my arms was wonderful even though I would’ve preferred her not to be sobbing. Instead of trying to get her to speak, I’d waited for her to tell me why she was crying.
“You must’ve been terrified.”
She pulled her head back to meet my gaze, her eyes glistening, the darkness swirling like molten dark chocolate.
“Being here. Alone. You must’ve been terrified.”
I smiled, stroked my hand down the side of her cheek, her skin like silk.
“I wasn’t here alone. I had Jiminy to protect me.”
She smiled in return, the curve of her lips slight but beautiful all the same. I leaned forward and gently touched my lips against hers before pulling back and looking more deeply into her eyes. Such compassion, such love. I could stay under her gaze forever and never want to leave. There was something about holding Amelia that made me feel as if I could do anything, achieve anything, be anything I wanted to be, do anything I wanted to do. She gave me a sense of purpose and freedom, made me feel loved and wanted and desired. I didn’t fear her or worry I’d say or do the wrong thing. Even though I’d only known her for the matter of days, although she’d known me decidedly longer, I knew at gut level she was exactly who she said she was and that exact person was the one I’d fallen in love with.
“Hey. I’ve got a question for you.”
Her smile widened.
“Oh yes. And what question is that?”
“Did you really get lost coming back from a conference?”
Amelia’s face, once white, flamed red in an instant.
“Erm, well, there was an accident near Thrunton.”
“That’s not what I asked.” I was teasing her and I hoped she knew I was teasing her. I just wanted to lighten the mood a bit. Make her smile, make her forget the images on the screen even for a little while.
The grin she gave me was infectious. “Okay. You got me. I was on a drive by. Happy? I just wanted to check you were okay before I went home after my trip.”
As suddenly as it appeared, the smile disappeared.
“Fuck!”
“What?” I wanted to say fuck, too, but wasn’t sure why.
“That wasn’t Jack in the road. I’ve checked his messages from that night. He was out with his mates.” Amelia picked up the phone and started to scroll through what I could only assume to be messages. “I didn’t even think to… Ah, yes. Here.”
She thrust the phone in my direction and I briefly caught the tail end of a message from Harrison.
Amelia pulled the phone back. “See? ‘Come straight here. We’ll go out to Shell’s place - early hours.’”
“But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t already here.”
She grinned at me. “You’d make a great copper. But …” She scrolled again. “Look at this message.”
The phone was thrust out to me again.
“Tell Mum I’m out with Stew and Owen. I’ll drive up later. Should be at M’s about two.”
“M’s?”
Amelia shrugged, “Michelle? Mum? It doesn’t matter at the moment. What is important is that the figure I swerved to avoid wasn’t Jack or Harrison - or even Shirley, for that matter.”
“And the one outside. The one I saw from my window. It wasn’t… Fuck!” I also thought about the figure outside when I’d been trying to stop Amelia leaving, the one whom I’d reached out to stop and my hand had moved straight through.
After I’d discovered the Morgans had set out to drive me mad, everything that’d happened, in my head, had been down to them. I hadn’t thought past them. They were to blame for the lights going on and off, the doors opening and closing, my glasses being repaired, voices, figures, and newspaper clippings realigning themselves - although that one had always baffled me.
But now… especially after the events of earlier, I had to admit it. There were forces beyond my control happening in the house. What I couldn’t understand was the shape in which the figure appeared. I’d made that up to stop Shelly asking questions and beating the crap out of me for whatever reason took her fancy at the time.
Then another thought struck me.
“How did the Morgans know about the figure, the scream mask? I can’t remember telling anyone but you and that as after you’d told me about the figure you’d seen in the road.”
Amelia shrugged, her expression thoughtful.
“Maybe you said something in the past and they’d picked up on it. I can alert the team to check for any mention in the mails, messages and videos between the members of the family.”
A memory was forming in my head. A memory of when I’d spoken about a figure. Then it came to me. Bam.
“The inquest! I mentioned the figure at the inquest. Said how I’d been scared of it then realised it was Shelly.” I’d been more scared of Shelly at the time but hadn’t said that aloud.
“Shirley and Harrison were there weren’t they. Seems like something they would use for they own interest.”
I shrugged, “Maybe. Too convenient for it to be a coincidence.”
A quietness came between us. Not an uncomfortable one, just a quietness, nevertheless.
“How’re you feeling now?”
“Tired. I’ve not been home since yesterday evening. And that was only to shower and change.”
I thought about inviting her to stay here, to sleep for a while, but decided against it.
“Maybe you could take a nap here before going back to the station or home or wherever.” And even though I’d decided against asking her to stay, my mouth had other ideas.
Amelia stretched her hands over her head and yawned long and loud, the action making me feel sleepy too.
“I could do. Archie is with Mum so I don’t have to worry about him.”
Archie. I’d forgotten about Archie.
“I can’t believe I’d forgotten you have a dog the same as Jiminy.”
Amelia laughed. “I think he’s beginning to think I’ve forgotten him, too. Poor little man has spent more time with my mum than with me these last couple of weeks.”
She pushed her chair back and stood. “I should really get back. I’ve a million and one things to get done.”
I nodded, swallowed my disappointment and stood, too.
Without a word, Amelia pulled me into her embrace, her mouth finding mine, her lips soft and warm and totally delicious. Everything around us faded away. The only thing that mattered was our connection. Kissing Amelia was so unlike any kiss I’d ever shared with anyone else before. She made me feel… made me feel… well, she made me feel. That’s all that really mattered after all.
Our kiss slowed, and as much as I didn’t want it to stop, I knew it had to. I also knew there would be many other kisses shared between Amelia and myself, kisses that would build on more kisses, kisses that would tell her again and again and again just what she meant to me.
“Right.” She pulled back, then quickly kissed me again. “Just need my jacket from the living room. I used it for a pillow for you.”
I’d wondered what that was.
“Then I’ll be off.”
She stepped back and out of our embrace, turned in the direction of the living room before stopping, and turning to me again.
“But, if you’re free later, maybe I can bring Archie around to meet you both.”
I loved the sound of that. Our dogs meeting. Made us seem as if we were becoming a kind of family. Early days but heading in the right direction.
“I’d, I mean, we’d love to meet Archie.”
We’d love? We’d? Our dogs? What the hell? The grin that had appeared on my face began to slip. I didn’t own a dog. The one curled up on the makeshift bed in the kitchen was a stray that ended up in my utility room.
“But I need to find out if Jiminy has been reported as missing. Someone may be looking for him.”
And that person needed stringing up.
“Maybe you know of a vet…”
Of course she knew of a vet. She had a dog of her own.
“They’d know of any missing pets wouldn’t they? And they can check him over whilst he’s there. Maybe he’s microchipped.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Amelia smiled. “Say… four? I’ll call the veterinary practice in Rothbury.”
There was silence between us but, again, it wasn’t uncomfortable.
I made a move forward and to the door, touching her arm as I passed her.
“Come on. You need to get going.”
The living room was lit by the sun and it’d been the first time I’d seen it properly since I’d woken up. The room was a mess. Pieces of vase were scattered all over the floor, ornaments were tipped over, the blanket tangled within itself, the cushions, for some reason, were where the broken vase was scattered. Amelia’s coat was balled up and placed on the floor nearest the window seat, the book that’d turned up was halfway across the room, the pages torn.
There was something else, too. The whole seating section of the window seat had come away and was half on, half off the base. I’d no idea it came away like that.
Amelia passed me and went to where her coat was, lifting it and shaking it out.
“It’s amazing how innocuous this room seems in the light of day.” She slipped her arms into the sleeves, shook the coat on then stroked the front flat. “Not that the room is a bad looking room. It’s just…well, you know.”
She grinned at me, the effect full of warmth and love, completely the opposite to Shelly.
Shelly.
Shelly.
My brain was hurting. It was trying to remember something about Shelly. Something about Shelly and this room.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so.”
Shelly and this room. This room. Her place to work. She would always come in here to work, sit at the window seat with her laptop and her notes and her self-importance.
The image of the last evening she was alive popped into my head - Shelly sprawled on the window seat, her laptop perched on her knees, the screen lighting her face and creating a fluid mass of light and dark. Her usual spot. I’d never understood why but it was.
Even on that night. The night after she’d given me the worse beating she’d ever given me. And for what?
“Katie?”
For what?
My head was hurting even more now. The reason for her beating me…
“Hey, love. You okay?”
“Shelly. She… I…”
The image of Shelly was so strong. The way she’d sat there… there on the window seat. The way she’d held up her hand, the gesture mimicking gallantry when it’d been used to punch me earlier that day. How beautifully ugly she was, the short, thick hair, the cocksure smile, the dominance and arrogance she wore as a second skin.
All I’d wanted to do was leave. Leave her. Leave that day.
“I want you to stay here with me.”
Her voice - her inability to accept I didn’t want her.
“You need to learn not to anger me.”
I swallowed, the noise of it booming in my ears.
“I told her I was leaving her. That day. I’d told her. That’s why she beat me.”
Amelia began to come towards me but I held my hand up to stop her.
“I’d had enough. Got to breaking point. Her mood swings were getting worse. I was tempted to do a flit whilst she was at work but she started to work from home. It was like she knew what I was thinking.”
I shook my head, once again trying to clear it. Memories had blended but were now separating and making more sense.
I’d told her. Actually told her. I’d found a spine and told her I was leaving her. Yes. She’d beaten me into some form of submission but I’d still left her. All this time, I had believed I’d backed down and was going to stay as her punching bag, but no. I was going to leave her and I did. I’d left her. It may not have panned out the way I’d envisioned. For all the dreadful things she’d done to me, for all the beatings and punishments and ridicule Shelly had put me through, I’d never wanted to hurt her. Not physically, not mentally, not emotionally - pity I couldn’t say the same about her treatment of me.
But this memory was not just about me, not just about the way she treated me or that I’d found the strength to tell her I was leaving her. No. It was about something more pressing, something needed now.
“The window seat.” I stepped towards it. “She would always sit there.”
Amelia looked from me to the seat and then back to me again.
“Look at it. The seat. Inside the seat.”
I moved past Amelia and got to the window. I knew even before looking inside what I would find.
A grin broke across my face as I was proven right.
Inside the window seat was a positive treasure trove, the main item being a black leather Filofax Finsbury A4 organiser. Shelly’s black leather Filofax Finsbury organiser, to be more precise.
I pulled the organiser out and held it in both hands. By the condition of the leather, it had been well used, the rambling grain worn in parts.
“I think you might want to take this with you.”
I held the Filofax out to Amelia, her expression of astonishment, her hands reverent when taking it from me.
“Is this what I…”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.”
Yes. Fuck indeed.
***
So much has happened in three months. So much has come to light, been uncovered, been proven and accounted for. Most of the discoveries of the last three months acted like a light bulb being switched on, the epithet “What the fuck?” leaving my lips countless times. I’d known there were things happening in my life I was in the dark about, but in the course of three months I’d realised how much I’d had no clue about.
But, that said, everything that has been revealed has enabled me to change in more ways than I could ever have imagined. And, thankfully, all for the better.
I’d love to say that Shirley and Harrison Morgan have been tried and charged whilst having the proverbial book thrown at them but that hasn’t happened quite yet. The court case is ongoing and, by the looks of things, it will still be going on for a few more weeks. The Filofax corroborated the initial evidence the police held for Harrison’s involvement with the drug trade. For all Shelly’s faults in life, it had to be said, and credit where credit’s due, she was an excellent accountant. If it hadn’t been for her penchant for detail, then maybe Harrison wouldn’t be drowning in incriminating evidence.
It wasn’t just Harrison who’d been implicated by Shelly’s documents. Shirley, too. Seemed as if her involvement wasn’t just to do with how much money she spent for tax purposes. Appointments were not only for Harrison but Shirley also - sometimes even on her own. But both of them were involved in the money laundering side of things. Earning big bucks by running a chemist was something that could easily be spotted, so washing that dirty moolah in a myriad of different “so called businesses” was the way to get it cleaner. Not spotless, but cleaner. It is such a shame - for them - that the path to cleanliness left an army of muddy footprints along the way.
Shelly’s involvement wasn’t just about “doing the books” - it was more like “cooking” them instead and maybe sampling the delights of her cooking. Evidence came to light that Shelly Morgan wasn’t averse to a little money laundering of her own. If I’d have known, I would’ve nicknamed her Persil instead of the nasty names I called her under my breath.
As well as her fingers being in many pies, she also used those fingers to handle a considerable amount of money in offshore accounts. Not that having a bank account “offshore” is illegal, it isn’t if it in full view for the tax man to see and the bank account is actually in the person’s name. Weirdly, and unbeknownst to me, I had an offshore account. Over three hundred and sixty-eight thousand pounds, give or take a few pence, in an account under my name. Shelly had more accounts, in different names, the total coming to just under two million pounds. Not too shabby for an accountant in Morpeth, not too shabby at all - well, unless she’d been caught.
The Filofax was the key to everything and held information that’d make sure Shirley and Harrison Morgan would not be seeing the outside of a prison cell, or feeling the air unfiltered by bars, for many years to come. No wonder they’d done what they had to me. This Filofax wasn’t just the key to their freedom - it also had their offshore bank account details in there, too - not to mention they could’ve cashed in on Shelly’s accounts as well as their own. I wouldn’t have known about any of them. No wonder they weren’t interested in her clothes or old CDs. No wonder they’d gone to such unprecedented lengths to get me to leave or go mad and leave or even, at one point, try to drown me in my own bathtub. I was the one thing standing in their way to a clean getaway. However, I couldn’t quite understand why they didn’t offer to buy me out of the house. I would’ve probably said yes. Eventually, anyway. It wasn’t as if they couldn’t afford it. They were either too greedy or too stupid or too fucking corrupt to consider this option.
But no. They’d bugged and terrorised me for months. They’d infiltrated my home and set up cameras and microphones all over the place to record my movements, probably hoping to see me holding the Filofax so they could swoop in a steal it when I was asleep.
Jack had been the one to do this. He was the one who had planted the cameras and created the account “The Morgan Residence” on Cam SmartHome. He’d added his parents to this account which then incriminated them, too. This was corroborated by not only his messages to them but their phones, also. Obviously, Shirley and Harrison had deleted the app but they’d not thought through the finer details - mainly, how the cloud indicates whether the app has been downloaded previously. A no brainer really. Even I would’ve realised that one, even on a difficult day, even on a day where I’d unknowingly taken a cocktail of 45 mg of Mirtazapine and 150 mg of Quetiapine. Well, I might have worked it out by the afternoon anyway as the medication’s sedating effect was wearing off.
All four phones had been put through the kiosk system, under warrant of course, the machine drawing out evidence by the bucket load. Amelia made sure she did everything by the book. When I say four, I mean Shelly’s too. Jack’s, Harrison’s and Shirley’s phones held evidence to prove they’d set out to do me harm. Video, audio, messages, blister packaged medication with my name on the front was found at their home and countless other trinkets of wonder, all of which were shown in court.
The videos were unsettling. Seeing myself being on screen without knowing I was being filmed is never a good look, and even worse when I am watching the same films in front of a whole courtroom. But, the films showed so much more than a clinically depressed woman trying to cope with her guilt, so much more than someone suffering PTSD. The word I want to use to sum myself up in these clips is haunted. I looked haunted, most probably because that is exactly what’d been happening for eleven months. I’d been haunted by the Morgans - all of them, Shelly included. However, the videos containing supernatural phenomena were kept out of the courtroom, even the ones the Morgans had made comments about. If it didn’t directly involve the Morgans, it was kept out. There was no point confusing the jury with footage that couldn’t be explained away.
The videos and messages the court were interested in were mainly from Jack. It seemed this aspect of the whole family’s reign of terror was mainly his bag. He must’ve spent most of his waking day watching the clips, picking bits out and sending these to his parents accompanied with messages that could do nothing more than incriminate the whole family further.
But still, on the night of the storm, Jack hadn’t been in the area until gone 2:30. There were two short videos of my reaction to seeing the white-faced figure outside, accompanied by a message from Jack to Harrison saying, “What the fuck is she on? Watch the meds you’re giving her, Dad”.
There was so much more footage of that night. So much. Mainly, just me walking from one room to another was the trigger to start the camera recording for twelve seconds. But then there was no obvious trigger to start the recording but still twelve seconds of something being captured. Then there were bits like the doors closing that night when I knew I’d left them open. They’d all closed at exactly the same time.
And the voice. Fuck, the voice! Saying my name over and over and me looking totally terrified, and stupid as I was carrying a Russell Hobbs Power Stream Ultra iron like I was brandishing a baseball bat. What appeared to be same voice was heard saying something like “Millie" but the recording wasn’t brilliant. One “expert” had suggested it said “Kill thee” but I couldn’t get that from the audio - too much of a stretch.
The second to last time Jack sent a video and made a comment was when Jiminy had arrived, a scrawny mass of fur and nothing much else. He’d sent the film to Shirley and Harrison with just an interrobang.
The last clips sent by Jack were when Amelia turned up. The banging, me walking down the hallway and questioning her whilst she was outside … then five minutes went by and she was passed out on my hall carpet. These short clips of video were all bunched together in a series of messages that came a good two and a half hours after Amelia had arrived. Jack had been out with his mates and hadn’t been as on the case as he should’ve been. Maybe the alcohol levels in his blood were the reason for his lapse in surveillance. Maybe that was the reason why he ended up dying of exposure after a blow to the head, his car parked haphazardly less than a mile from my house.
Still makes me wonder who was dressed up in black, wearing a mask to make their face pale, their eye sockets seeming like dark holes. Because it wasn’t Jack, or Shirley, or Harrison - they all had cast iron alibis. They would’ve been the likely candidates, too, as maybe they’d capitalised on their knowledge gleaned from my admission at the inquest - there’d been a cloak left near the wall of my house just before Jack’s body had been found and Shirley had identified it as her son’s.
Such a loss of life where Jack was concerned. He’d been swallowed up by his parents’ vendetta against me that he had almost given up living his own life, the life of a young man in his early twenties. Then when he decided he wanted to be with his friends, have fun, be one of the lads, it had all kicked off, especially after they’d received the video footage of Amelia arriving. The messages showed his parents ordering him back to Northumberland, around 9ish, a journey that would’ve taken him about three hours on a good run. His number plate had been identified en route and tracked for much of the journey on the A1 - the upshot being he was speeding and a driving erratically.
Stew and Owen had told the police that Jack had downed at least four pints of lager and a range of shots before telling them he had to leave and that wasn’t until gone eleven. It’d not occurred to them to ask if he was driving. Well, that’s what they were willing to admit at any rate.
Although his blood alcohol levels were still over the limit at postmortem, this alone was not enough to suggest he was drunk at the time of his injury. The blow to his head was, the experts believe, the reason why he was where he was, but the postmortem suggested it was exposure that killed him. Skull trauma can render a person unconscious for hours, although not when the weather was inclement as the victim would freeze to death before the head injury finished the job. However, the blood alcohol level could still decrease if he’d only been knocked unconscious. It is pretty obvious to say that Jack’s death could be viewed as death by misadventure. The blow being the factor.
What I really wanted to know, what seemed to escape everyone else, was this. How did he get the blow to the head? Did he fall? Was he pushed? Was he thwacked from behind by a pale faced, black clothed, dark-socketed attacker? And where was the mask that went with the cloak that’d been found? His parents denied all knowledge of one, said there’d never been “a mask” and that he would wear the dark cloak to blend into the darkness. It was only a bit of fun, they said.
A bit of fun. A bit of fun that had ended up with him dying, alone, out in the middle of nowhere.
But we knew he’d worn a mask, knew he owned one. He’d put it on when he’d come into the bathroom to drown me. So where was it now?
Jack had missed so many opportunities to see where Amelia and my relationship had been heading. Not that they weren’t recorded, just not accessed. He’d either been out with his friends or driving up from Manchester or traversing the outlying territory to my boundary in the middle of a storm. Whilst drunk. Whilst not dressed for the elements. Jack’d not even seen his parents - he’d messaged them as he’d neared Newcastle saying would meet them there. He’d never checked the message from them telling him not to go to the house. That it was too late. That he was to come to the rented property just outside of Morpeth. That he was a disappointment to them because he’d chosen to go out with his friends instead of “getting revenge on the bitch who’d robbed them”.
But most of all, Jack had missed the opportunity of growing up. Sad. Incredibly sad.
That said, the fact of the matter is, he’d set up a system to record me and I still feel nauseous with the thought of being videoed making love, especially because it wouldn’t just stay between Amelia and myself. All footage, and I mean all of it, was under scrutiny by the police. At least I didn’t have to work with the team of people at the station as they sifted through each clip. Amelia did though but made out that it didn’t bother her before adding that it only captured twelve second sections every five minutes. She could live with that.
And I suppose I could too. Just.
But the worst clips weren’t the creepy assed shit going down. The doors opening and closing, lights turning off and on, things moving about, shadows moving across the floor. It was my invasion of privacy. Seeing the Morgans inside my home, watching them searching through my things, swapping my medication, moving ornaments about probably with the hope I’d think I was going mad.
There were times when I was in bed and Jack would come down from the attic and just stand and watch me sleeping. Times when Harrison or Shirley would come up the stairs and be in the other rooms looking through drawers and cabinets and wardrobes and boxes, and I’d be asleep, vulnerable and oblivious.
I honestly didn’t think I could ever be safe again. Even with all the cameras out of my house, I still felt as I was living my life in a goldfish bowl.
That’s why I’ve sold the house. Moved away. Started fresh. Living in the middle of nowhere was not what I’d ever wanted. That’d been Shelly’s idea of keeping me away from other people, making sure I didn’t have the opportunity to meet anyone else.
I didn’t go far, though. Rothbury, to be exact. My family had tried to convince me that moving back to Manchester was for the best, that they could be there for me more often and not only when they came to visit. But I convinced them otherwise, mainly by introducing them all to Amelia. That did the talking for me.
Amelia. Well, what can I say that I haven’t already said? She saved me. Saved me in more ways than one. Not just her watching over me from her place over by the back wall, or that she decided to drive past me the night the Morgans were going to up their game. It wasn’t just her absolute belief in me, her unconditional love for me, her absolute determinism when it come to my safety that qualifies saving me. It wasn’t even that she spoke to her Detective Chief Superintendent about the night I pushed Shelly into the path of a speeding car and he replied with, “As far as we’re aware, Michelle Morgan’s death was classed as an accident. The case is closed.”
I’d even spoken to the Wilsons, explained what had happened. I had to. If I’d had the chance to move on with my life, so did they. Their response was of shock, relief and then acceptance. Richard had said that, yes - I’d may have pushed Shelley into the road, but they had to take their part in the outcome. They’d been going too fast for the weather, they’d not focused on the road. So, we decided to leave it to circumstance; we’d all learned something about ourselves from that night.
That last one was a big one. A huge one. One that had driven me mad for months upon months upon months. But it still didn’t sum up how Amelia saved me.
Let’s see.
She saved my soul. She saved my heart. She saved my mind. And I love her more today than I did yesterday. And believe me when I say I loved her utterly and completely yesterday so God only knows how my heart could improve on that, but it did and I know it will continue to do so.
Did I say my mind, too? Maybe not my memory, but my mental state has improved. I can’t say this is all due to having Amelia in my life but she plays a very active part.
For example, I don’t need to take as many meds now, and I don’t just mean because Harrison Morgan isn’t tampering with my blister packs anymore and giving me enough to stun a baby rhino. One reason for the reduction of my medication is because my symptoms have eased - miraculously - note the sarcasm - since the Morgans have been relieved of all their “Let’s send her mad” duties, and I didn’t have to deal with people messing with my head.
Another reason I didn’t need as many is the absence of Shelly. The negative energy seemed to evaporate the night I challenged her, the night I told her no, the night her face contorted into its very own scream mask.
However, that said, I think the main reason for my medication to be lowered was having Amelia in my life. Amelia and a little furry lad called Jiminy Cricket.
Yes. He is still with me. Healthier and happier and my right-hand man, a little chap who lifts my mood as soon as I hear his nails click click click on the floor. I am so thankful to be able to keep him considering I’d actually found his owner - a man who was not an evil and cruel man who mistreated animals for kicks.
He was my neighbour, Carl Prescott, and he’d knocked on my door to inquire if I’d seen a young Patterdale Terrier who’d done a runner from his farm. The dog had been given to him by his brother-in-law who’d bought the dog as a gift for his father as company. However, his father found looking after a very lively puppy difficult at his stage in life so had decided to re home the pet sooner rather than later. The dog had only supposed to be at my neighbour’s as a stop off point before they found him new family. But, shortly after arriving at the farm, the pup had gotten out of the house and disappeared. That had been just under two weeks before he’d turned up in my utility room. No wonder he looked thin. Poor little boy’d had to live on his wits and skills as a hunter for that time, and considering he was just over six months old when he fled the nest, he’d struggled to survive.
The thing is, I remember someone knocking on my door almost two weeks before Jiminy turning up and I’d ignored it, waiting for the man to sling his hook so I could go on being a miserable bastard.
I offered to pay Carl for Jiminy but he refused. Said “He’s fallen on his feet coming to you.”
I thought otherwise, but still. I wasn’t going to argue. I am in love.
And not just with Jiminy.
I am in love. I am loved. I will continue to love and be loved for as long as Amelia Griffiths wants me. And I know, definitely know, I will love this woman for the rest of my life.
Yes, we’re just starting out together, just beginning to make a place for us as a couple in this world we live in. She lives a ten-minute walk away from where I’m living now and there’s a part of me that believes that is the right distance, the right choice. Not too close and not too far away.
For now, at least.
I need to get back on my feet more solidly, need to rearrange my life for the better. I’d spent so long being under the shadow of someone else, spent so long allowing Shelly to make decisions for me. I didn’t want that with Amelia. I wanted us to make decisions together, make informed choices about our future as a partnership and not one person calling all the shots.
Although there was the part of me that wanted to go “safely and steadily”, do things properly, there was a very impatient part of me that wanted everything to be happening now, as in right now. I wanted to be with Amelia as much as I possibly could be with her. Share mealtimes, share showers, share stories about our day, share the sofa, share the blanket, share kisses and touches and moments of contact that were more than just moments shared before she went back to her home.
But, going back to my original plan, we were doing this right.
Archie and Jiminy loved each other, their initial reactions when first meeting sparked a bromance of the highest order. I’d met Amelia’s mum, been “for tea” on quite a few occasions, have even been caught kissing Amelia when we were supposed to be washing up - even at thirty-six, I could still blush profusely.
“Hey. You ready?”
Amelia is here with Archie. We’re going for a walk along the River Coquet then for something to eat at The Three Wheat Heads Inn in Thropton. The boys love it there. We all do.
I’ll tell her my news of getting a job at the veterinary practice on reception. A little different to what I’m used to but as I said on my interview, “I’m willing to learn.”
And I am willing to learn - in more ways than one.
If there is one thing I’ve learned already by everything that has happened in my life to this point, it is this.
Never allow the actions of others to detract you from yourself. I allowed that to happen with Shelly, allowed myself to believe I wasn’t good enough, that I deserved everything that happened to me, never questioned an alternative life for myself.
But no. Not anymore.
I have life to look forward to. A life completed by Amelia Griffiths.
How so very perfect is that?
***
Epilogue
Clouds gathered, dispersed and gathered, their colours shifting from white to a steely grey in the course of an afternoon. The wind aided their descent into darkness, moving from a steady breeze to a progressive gust, the trees bending apologetically, submissive, repentant in their willingness to conform to nature. Leaves didn’t dance within the unseen physical energy. They whirled in a frenzy, their sense of direction lost to them.
The darkness of the approaching storm enveloped an eerie lightness as if some invisible force ignited a celestial lamp. The effect was ethereal, elusively deceptive and ominously threatening.
No one was sprawled in the window seat, no cushions piled high behind a viewer, no woollen red and green checked blanket covered anyone’s legs to keep them warm as they witnessed the scene unfold.
The book was jammed down the back of the window seat, forgotten, unseen, invisible to any observer, even the man who was unpacking a box of belongings on the other side of the room or the woman who was cleaning kitchen cupboards before storing her pots away.
The book was old. Left there by owners from years before, the page marked with the turning over of a corner.
If a reader could pull that book from its hiding place and open it at the marked page, what would they see? A drawing and a few lines of text. That would be it. That would be nearly the lot of it. A title, too. A small title inside a book titled: Myths and Legends of Rothbury, Alnwick and the Parish of Upper Coquetdale.
The Grim. An even smaller title.
A section of the book with this title could mean many things, usually an allusion to the Grim Reaper himself. Modern readers would probably think of Harry Potter when considering The Grim - a huge black spectral dog reputed to be the harbinger of death to anyone unfortunate to encounter it. In a way, there is a semblance of truth. The Grim does foreshadow a death but not necessarily to the person who views it. But there will be a death. Most definitely a death.
Even though the portent is differently similar, the shape is most definitely not a dog, not spectral or monstrous or menacing.
The Grim is a person. A figure. An entity that shows itself when death is lurking nearby. Even if the person doesn’t actually see the shape but can conjure the image into being within his or her mind, that could be enough to set the wheels in motion if, and this is the big one, if the figure is actually seen within the year. Some people have wondered whether it was the thinker hiring a hit man from the underworld - think of The Grim, someone dies, a debt must be paid.
This information begs the question: Well, if a person was to see it, how could they recognise it as being The Grim?
A picture is given. Unmistakable in design, the outline drawn in what could only be black ink, maybe a splash of water to illustrate the lack of distinction of the folds of cloth covering the shapeless shape.
If that was not enough to enable a reader to get sense of The Grim, then the text would help to solidify the mass, put “meat to the bones”, or lack of “meat to the bones” of the description.
However, if that still wasn’t enough, if the reader in this room, with this book, with the empty window seat and lack of pillows and blanket still wanted to know what The Grim looked like, this was quite easy.
Attention should be shifted, lifted and directed straight outside the window.
There, down past the edge of the garden, beyond the dry-stone wall and part way across the field belonging to a neighbour, stands a figure, the shape disguising gender. Dark, seemingly cloaked in something smothering, the material unmoving in the wind. A pale patch appeared where a face should be, the features indistinguishable either from the distance or for some other reason.
Maybe, on closer inspection, the reader would notice the figure appeared to be looking straight back into the room, and the reader would look with disbelief, shake his or her head and doubt this to be possible.
Why?
Simple.
How can something be looking straight back into the room when there were only dark spaces where the eyes should be? Eyes are important to see, aren’t they?
But, as the reader will know by now, The Grim sees more than the visible and doesn’t really care who will be the next victim.
Let’s just hope it isn’t you.
The End
You got this far, eh? Well done you!
If you enjoyed this tale, maybe you will like my published work - check out LT Smith at Ylva Publishing or Amazon.
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