My stomach churns at the thought. Phyllis’ dad is one of the constables, so she gets all sorts of inside information. Today’s, though, sends a shiver through me. I find my eyes darting around, as if at any moment, the killer could jump out and strangle me. Suddenly, the town that once felt dull feels lethal.
‘They have any leads? Any motives?’ I prod, squeezing Charles’ hand for comfort. He squeezes it back, a gesture I’ve come to love in our few months together.
Phyllis shakes her head. ‘That’s the truly scary part. They’ve got nothing. Nothing at all. Whoever did it has covered his tracks well. I don’t know if anyone has any idea. But golly, isn’t it just terrifying? The killer out on the loose? Do you think he’ll strike again?’
I touch Phyllis’ hand, mostly to comfort myself. ‘I’m sure it will be okay. There’s no reason to believe it will happen again. Who knows, maybe Elizabeth was mixing in the wrong crowd, you know?’
Phyllis raises an eyebrow. ‘You know you don’t believe that.’
I sigh, admitting she’s right. There’s no one in the world let alone West Green who could believe that saintly girl – too saintly for my liking, sometimes – would have any enemies.
After some small talk about cheerier topics, Phyllis parts ways with us, heading off to catch up to her mother near the front of the market. Charles and I stay put, me leaning on his shoulder, taking in the sights of the town beside him. As always, I search for that disgusting face. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve encountered Oliver’s rage, mercifully, and he’s never been bold enough to harass me in public. For that, at least, I can be thankful. Still, it’s always in the back of my mind that someday, that all might change. It wouldn’t do at all to have him around Charles. It doesn’t do to have him lurking about me, either.
Eventually, we rise from the bench, and I stretch in the rays of the sun. Charles and I pass the hour hand in hand, walking and talking, kissing and revelling in each other. When he drops me off later, tipping his hat to Mum, she simply glares, not even extending a dinner invitation as would be proper. No matter. Charles kisses me on the cheek, promises to call on me again as soon as he can, and heads to the church to retrieve his bicycle and ride home.
Dad returns home well after dark, as usual, and Mum expresses her fears to him about my gallivanting about with a murderer on the loose. As always, Dad manages to calm Mum, winking at me over her head as he hugs her and soothes her. At least one of my parents is somewhat likeable.
Later, when I head to bed, sitting at my desk by the window to peer out onto our street, my mind wanders to what Phyllis told me about the murder. Bite marks in all sorts of places – disturbing. Haunting. Who would do such a thing? To think it happened here, in West Green, this laid-back, lacklustre town.
I lean against the window, staring out into the drizzly night when suddenly, I clutch my chest. Squinting, I lean closer to the murky glass, the hazy rain and darkness making it difficult to see, even with the streetlight. Still, as my heart beats wildly and I peer into the darkness, I’m certain that I’m not mistaken.
Across the street, a shadowy figure stands on the walkway, studying the McConnel house. It’s too dark to make out who it is or what the person is doing, but even from here I’m certain it’s a male figure due to the bulk of his stature. A lump forms in my throat as the figure turns, as if peering up at me. I shudder, trying to make out the face but unable to as suddenly, the person turns and walks casually away.
What was that? Who was it? I wonder, tears forming as panic rises. Is it – no, it can’t be. He must have calmed down by now. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen him. Time has dulled his resolve to get retribution, hasn’t it? But could the figure be someone else with even more sinister intent than Oliver? After all, Oliver’s a monster in his own right. But even he wouldn’t stoop to such horrific levels as the maniac who killed Elizabeth – would he? It’s a terrifying prospect, thinking that anyone in this town would be capable of such an atrocity. I think of Elizabeth’s mangled body tossed in the skip like rubbish, her face contorted. I shudder. I think about waking up my parents, to tell them what I’ve seen. But what have I seen? A person in the street? Nothing criminal, of course. I’m sure it’s just my weary brain panicking due to all the paranoia in town. That’s all. Who wouldn’t be bothered by the thought of Elizabeth in pieces? We’re all on edge. And when one’s on edge, the mind doesn’t hesitate to play warped tricks.
I crawl into bed, talking myself down. I take a deep breath and count, one, two, three, just like Mum always told me to do when I was nervous. As a child, I was often panicky, my heart racing at odd moments. She always taught me to count to three and to let it all go with the exhale of breath.
When I close my eyes, I reassure myself. No sense in getting my parents worked up over nothing. It was just a person in the street. Gosh, it was probably a constable patrolling, after all. Elizabeth was an unfortunate tragedy, but nothing more. It will all be fine. West Green is a safe place to live. But as I drift off to sleep that night thinking about Charles, I know the dreams that come will be more like nightmares as the terror from recent events settles into my chest, my bones, and my heart.
Chapter 3
Smith Creek Manor Nursing Home
2019
It feels so far below. The little pathway, the ground. It’s too far. My breathing is rapid as I study the ground. I thought I could do it, but I can’t. I can’t be up here. I turn now, looking back to Claire and the woman who are standing in the doorway.
‘It’s so far up,’ I say shakily. Claire steps forward.
‘It’s going to be fine, Mum,’ she consoles.
My head shakes, my heart racing as panic rises. I’m so far up here. One, two, three, I count in my head, just like my mum taught me so long ago. Over and over I count to three, the magic number. I need to calm down, but I can’t.
‘It’s too far up. If there’s a fire … you know I can’t be this far up,’ I say, my voice croaking out the words.
Claire reaches for my hands now. ‘Mum, listen. You know it’s okay. It’s very safe here, right Ms Martin?’
‘Oh, yes. State-of-the-art fire alarms and sprinklers. All will be okay, darling. No need to worry. For now, this is our only open room. Maybe in the future we could move you, but for now …’
My breathing picks up as I can feel the flames on my hands, licking up my body, scorching my face. I will burn here. It’s too far up. Why did they put me on this floor? My mind flashes to indistinguishable, panicked faces as the fire consumes them. It shows me a blip of my own face as I scream in agony, the smoke choking me as I claw at the window. I bury the thought, squeezing my eyes shut. So many years, but it never gets any easier, and my fears only seem to get stronger.
‘Mum, listen. You need to calm down. This isn’t good for you. You know you’re safe here. That’s why we picked this place. Safe. Sound.’ She leads me to the tiny bed, and I sit down. I breathe in and out. It’s okay. I’m going to be okay. Claire’s right. I’m fine. This fear isn’t anything new. I’m going to be fine.
I glance over to the bedside table where the staff has propped up some of the photographs Claire had sent over from my house. A photo of Charles and me sits by the lamp, another of Claire as a child right beside it. I smile at the memories, at the happy times. I think about how when I was in Charles’ arms, I could battle these fears from long ago. But he’s not here. And soon, Claire will be gone. I need to tackle my demons on my own. I’m on my own now, even though I’m surrounded by people. I’ve never felt more alone.
‘Here, dear. A glass of water will soothe you until we can get some tea up here,’ our tour guide says, handing me a tepid glass. I look up at her.
My heartbeat seems to calm as I sip the water. It’s bitter, chalky almost. It coats my throat in a peculiar film. I force down the chemical taste before holding up the glass, the water inside tinged and imperfect. I set the glass on the wooden table nearby, abandoning it. A moment of silence goes
by. Finally, I look up to Ms— Her name. I don’t remember her name. I shake my head in frustration. I hate when this happens.
‘Well, I think I’m okay now. Thank you,’ I say to her, giving her the hint that she can leave. I’m tired. I need some time alone. I don’t want her hovering. There will be time enough for that.
‘Okay, well, if you need anything, there’s a call button right here,’ she says, showing me the button by the bed. ‘Or you can wander out to the nurse’s station. It’s the whole way down the hall and to the right, though. Kind of a long walk. No need to trouble yourself, dear. Just push the button, okay? The common area is down that way as well, in addition to a reading area, a community room, and some activity rooms. Oh, and the dining room. We can’t forget that. But I’m sure the staff will be happy to show you around when you’re ready.’
‘Thank you,’ I reply, knowing for sure I’m not really up to the common area just yet. Maybe I’ll never be ready for it. Maybe I’ll just pass the days here, staring out the window, or watching some mindless programmes on the tiny telly that’s in the corner of the room. Or maybe in a few days, I’ll be like my roommate, impassively staring at another world, gone from this one in all ways but my breathing. It’s hard to tell, and I’d rather not think too much on it.
Claire stays for a bit, chattering on and on about the activities and painting classes offered here and some dog that comes to visit the residents. I smile and nod, only half listening. I’m tired and numb, but my eyes are also peeled the whole way open, my heart racing as I take in the reality of this place. In truth, I don’t know what I am anymore. Smith Creek Manor has already stripped me of so many things – and it’s only been an hour or so. How much more will it take as the days tick by? I shudder as I consider it all.
‘Well, love, no use staying here all day. I’m sure you have plenty to do,’ I proclaim after a while, Claire holding my hand as she sits beside me on the bed.
‘Oh, nonsense, Mum. I took the day off. Wanted to get you all settled.’ Her smile is warm, her glossy lips turning up in the familiar gesture. Such a pretty, sweet girl, that daughter of mine. My miracle child. I squeeze her hand, thinking about how lucky I am in that department. I didn’t deserve a girl so beautiful after everything that happened.
‘Well, settled I am. Look, love. I have everything I need. Thank you. I’ll be just fine. And maybe I’ll do one of those … those … oh, what’s the word? Activities. That’s it. I’ll do one of those.’
Claire looks at me hesitantly, wondering if she should really go. I know this isn’t completely easy for her, either. None of this has been easy. She lost Charles, too, at the same time she lost that husband of hers. Good for nothing man, in my opinion. I knew it from the beginning. Her life has been in a state of upheaval like mine. And now she’s got my burdens to carry. I need to make things easy for her. I need to make Smith Creek Manor work – or at least make her feel like it is. My life is determined, the best days over, but hers isn’t. She still has some years left to enjoy and adventures to chase. And now more than ever, I understand how important that is.
‘Go on, now. Get yourself home. I know you’ve got plenty waiting for you there to keep you busy. I’m fine. You can ring me tomorrow, check in about that painting class and hear about all my excitements here. As you said, it’s a lovely place. I feel right at home.’
It’s a lie, and I think Claire knows it. But it works because she wants to believe it. We will believe almost anything when we need to, I realise.
‘All right, Mum. If you’re sure. But I’ll be back soon, okay?’
I smile, knowing her words are genuine. That daughter of mine has a good heart. Charles and I got that part right, at least.
‘I know, darling,’ I reply as she squeezes my frail hand.
‘Promise you’ll ring if you need anything?’
‘Cross my heart,’ I reply, smiling as she leans down to kiss my cheek before leaving. I take a breath once she’s gone, knowing I will do no such thing. Claire has her own life. I know she wants me here so I could be close, to make things easier. I obliged. But I don’t expect her to spend her waking hours here in this depressing place. She has things to tend to. She has a busy marketing career taking her all over the place. I will not tie her here.
I decide to walk back to the window, sitting down in the beige chair that’s near it as I stare out into the day. A bird flies by, landing in a tree. My eyes follow it, watching it flitter about for a while before I focus on another sight – the window across the way, the room on the same floor but on the other side of the U-shape. The figure is still there, a man staring out into the courtyard as well. He hasn’t moved, and suddenly my stomach lurches because it feels like he is staring right at me. I shake my head, steadying my gaze back on the trees, trying not to think about how far up I am.
So much upheaval in one day, so many changes. Still, there’s a familiarity here in this town as I remember where I am. I’d thought I’d never see Crawley again. I thought I’d never wander through West Green or Northgate, especially after I promised Charles all those years ago to leave this place in the past. Yet, now, here I am, and I don’t like it one bit. It’s been so long. So much has changed. But there’s still one thing that hasn’t – the feeling that Crawley won’t quite let me go, even after all this time. What were you thinking, Charles, telling our girl about this place? After the promises we made to leave it in the past – how could you do this?
I squeeze my eyes shut, looking away from the window. It wouldn’t do to get upset now. I open my eyes again and glance at the clock. Lunch isn’t for an hour or so, I think. What time did that woman say? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I’m sure I’m not very hungry anyway. Perhaps it would do me some good to take a walk.
I stand from the chair, my knees cracking with the effort. When did I get so old? I wander out to the corridor, but I stop at the threshold and glance at my roommate. What’s her name? Shoot. My eyes land, however, on the noticeboard near her bed and see the drawing of the rose. Is that it? Rose? I think so. My eyes fall back on the woman. She hasn’t moved, still sitting and staring at the centre of the room. I study her for a moment. Her eyes shift, her head moving almost imperceptibly.
I think for a moment she might talk, her lips flapping slightly, her hands curled in on themselves in her lap. She moves one hand up and down, slowly, carefully. It bangs on her legs, tucked in underneath the white blanket wrapped around her.
She emits a moan from her lips. She’s trying to speak, her eyes desperately locked on mine. She blinks over and over and over, a rapid succession of movement from her that I haven’t yet seen. My heart flutters as I walk across the room.
‘Rose? What is it?’ I ask, reaching for her hand. She jumps as I touch her, the groan intensifying.
I can’t understand her. I stare into her drooping face, but no answers come. The poor thing is lost and confused. Is she even really in there, mentally? Does she understand what’s going on around her? I’m not sure.
‘There, there, Rose. It’s okay. I’m going to go for a walk, okay? You take a rest.’ I pat her hand, her skin cold and clammy like she’s already in the grave. In many ways, I suppose she is.
I smile once more, turning to leave. She emits a screeching whimper, desperation clinging to every piece of the sound. It spreads like a plague in my chest, drowning me in uncertainty. Although sorrow for Rose certainly builds within, another emotion pools beneath it: terror. How am I going to survive this? How can I endure a place where death and devastation are in my face every single moment? I know I should be glad that even with my health problems, I still have mobility and my wits about me. I have a lot in Smith Creek Manor terms. But there’s something about the home that just seems to remind me of all I have to lose. I can already sense a harsh reality few want to uncover; this place divests a person until they’re nothing but a pile of bones under a blanket, mumbling incoherently as saddened onlookers try their best to unsee the realities. I don’t want t
o face Rose’s fate. I don’t. It feels like there’s a contagion in this place, and the closer you get to someone like Rose, the more likely it is you’ll fall prey to the unseemly loss of all you hold dear.
So I do what so many do in these kinds of homes. I turn my head, leaving Rose alone, as I step further away and into the corridor. The staircase is adjacent to the left, that door guarding it. A code box hangs beside it on the wall, the cool metal of it taunting me as the fluorescent light glides over it. Instantly, my heart starts to beat faster and faster until it’s racing wildly. A sensation rises, a familiar paranoia I try so hard to suppress.
I’m trapped. I’m trapped here. I can’t escape. Even the stairs have a code, one that I don’t know. My breathing increases. I count to three. I need to calm down. I reach for the wall to steady myself, tears forming.
‘Dear, is everything okay?’ a voice says as footsteps echo on the floor. I turn to my right to see a young nurse with brown hair and a reassuring smile. She quickly marches towards me.
‘I’m fine,’ I offer weakly, but my face must say otherwise because the woman quickens her pace. She clutches my arm gently, and I let myself lean on her.
‘There, there. I know. All such a change. I’m Grace. Come on, now. Let’s get you to a chair. Looks like you’ve seen a ghost or something.’
I don’t argue, letting her lead me back into my room, towards the chair I just left. I avert my eyes from Rose, willing myself not to look over there. My heart beats frantically, which causes my panic to rise. I know I have to stay calm. I can’t let this happen, not again.
‘Now, come on. What shall I get you? Fancy a cuppa?’ Grace asks, her melodious voice wrapping itself around me as I settle by the window once more.
‘The code,’ I spat at her, without any thought.
‘What code?’ she asks, stooping down to look into my face.
‘The stairs. I need the code for the stairs.’ My fingers viciously cling to the velvety feel of the chair’s armrest.
The One Who Got Away Page 4