The Other People

by Tudor, C. J.

  The two girls silently held hands as the storm raged around them.

  Gabe fought to force his words out:

  “Izzy!”

  But she couldn’t hear him. She was somewhere else, staring at some point beyond him, beyond this room, beyond anywhere.

  “Izzy!!”

  And then, in desperation:

  “Isabella!”

  The wind seemed to dip. Isabella turned her head on the pillow. For the first time since the accident, he stared into her eyes. And he saw it all again. The beginning. The end. The ceaseless existence between. The beach.

  “I’m sorry!” he cried. “I’m so, so sorry. But please, let Izzy go. I can’t lose her.”

  She stared back at him, gray gaze unfathomable.

  And then she closed her eyes…and let go of Izzy’s hand.

  The wind immediately dropped. The lid of the piano fell with a heavy crash.

  Izzy crumpled to the floor.

  Gabe staggered across the room and gathered his daughter into his arms. She was still breathing. Thank God.

  “Gabe?”

  He turned. Katie stood in the doorway. He blinked at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I woke up. Izzy was gone. I was trying to get in the door when it just opened.”

  She looked around, only just taking in the whole scene.

  “Oh God.” She raised a hand to her mouth.

  He followed her gaze. Miriam was slumped in the chair beside the bed, still holding her crucifix. Her neck was crooked at an odd angle and her eyes were flat and empty.

  Gabe turned to Isabella. She looked, once again, as if she were sleeping. But he could see that the faint rise and fall of her chest had ceased and the machine beside the bed now emitted a single jarring beep. A final note.

  She was gone. No, he corrected himself. She was released.

  He clutched Izzy tighter.

  “Goodbye, Isabella,” he whispered. “Safe journeys.”

  He drank black coffee, plenty of sugar. He rarely ate. Occasionally, he would blow out a cloud of steam from a vape, despite a sign on the wall that read: NO SMOKING OR VAPING. But no one was going to call him on it. This was his place.

  He wore black: overcoat, T-shirt and jeans. His skin was almost as dark. He was tall, but not overly so. Muscular, but not obtrusively so. His head was shaved clean. Sitting, still, in the corner, he was little more than a shadow. A shadow that most patrons gave a quick glance then chose a seat far away from. Nothing to do with race or prejudice. More a sense of unease. A feeling that if they looked at the man for too long, they might see something they could never erase.

  Gabe walked across the dimly lit café and sat down opposite the Samaritan.

  “Still can’t believe you’re running a café.”

  The Samaritan grinned. “I’m a man of many talents.”

  “That I can believe.”

  “You look almost human for a change. Fatherhood suits you.”

  Gabe smiled. He couldn’t help it. The word “father” did that to him. The thought of Izzy. It had been only a few months but already they were feeling more familiar to each other. She was calling out to him when bad dreams woke her in the night. “Daddy” was sounding more natural on her tongue. She no longer looked at him with a slightly suspicious expression. They still had some way to go to get to know each other again. But he felt eternally grateful that he had the opportunity.

  Before, he had taken fatherhood for granted. He had been too busy, too tied up in his own life and his commitment to Isabella to devote enough time to his daughter. Gabe didn’t believe that “things happen for a reason.” People tried to make sense of tragedy, when the point of tragedy was that it was senseless. Bad things didn’t happen for a greater purpose. They just happened. However, he did feel that he had been given a second chance. A chance not to make the same mistakes again.

  His daughter still held mysteries. They had talked a little about her narcolepsy, or “falling,” as she called it. It seemed to have started again after the day the “bad man” came—the day her mother was murdered. It worsened during her time with Fran. Probably the trauma. But Gabe couldn’t explain what she had told him about the beach, or the pebbles. It seemed insane, impossible. But then, he had seen what had happened in that room, with Isabella. He couldn’t explain any of that either. So, for now, he just accepted it. Although, fortunately, since that night, it seemed to be getting better. Slowly.

  Izzy saw a counsellor once a week. Gradually, they were easing out some of the story; her time on the run with Fran. But the details of the day Jenny died were harder to retrieve. Izzy had locked them tightly away. The counsellor had warned Gabe and the police that they may never release those memories. But that was okay, Gabe thought. Frustrating as it was, sometimes, some things are best left alone.

  DI Maddock already thought they had a reasonably full version of events. It transpired that Fran and her daughter, Emily, had recently moved to the same town as Gabe’s family. Emily had gone to Izzy’s school. Fran must have known Jenny casually, in the way mums at school gates do. Gabe had probably seen her once or twice. Perhaps he had even mistaken her daughter for Izzy when they ran out of the school gates at pickup time. Apparently, the two girls were “almost identical.”

  At some point, Maddock believed, Fran had been contacted by the Other People to repay her Favor. It seemed likely that this Favor was to go to Gabe’s house, get Jenny to let her in and ensure that the front gates were left open to give access to the killer. That was important, he realized now, because for Gabe to be implicated in the murder of his family, there must be no signs of a break-in.

  But Fran had never intended to go through with the plan, not fully. Maddock told him that, in the days prior to Jenny’s murder, Fran had given notice on her rental property, booked two train tickets and a holiday cottage in Devon. She had then excused Emily from school for the rest of the week, on the pretext of visiting her sick grandmother. She had also bought two cheap pay-as-you-go mobiles.

  On the day of the murder Fran made an anonymous call to the police before reaching Gabe’s house, reporting a break-in at his address. She must have hoped that the police would arrive in time to prevent whatever was about to happen. Then, she would disappear with her daughter, somewhere the Other People wouldn’t find them.

  But the call wasn’t given priority; the police arrived too late. Fran went on the run with Izzy in the killer’s car.

  The police still didn’t know who the man in the trunk was. But from what Izzy had told them, it seemed as though the Other People must have found them at some point. Fran had killed the man and dumped the body and the car in the lake.

  Gabe still didn’t understand why Fran took her daughter to his house that day. Perhaps she simply had no one else to look after her. He didn’t know how Emily ended up dead or why Fran didn’t go to the police straight after the murders. How could she have just abandoned her daughter’s body? That piece of the puzzle was missing. But he knew, at some point, there had been two little girls in his house. Then a killer came. Only one little girl had survived. Izzy. And he had seen her that night. On the motorway. In the car in front of him.

  The police had Miriam’s confession, recorded on his phone. Harry had given a statement, too, but would not face prosecution. It was not deemed in the public interest. Gabe had to agree. However, that didn’t mean he had to let Harry and Evelyn see their granddaughter. Not yet.

  DNA tests had confirmed that Emily was Fran’s daughter. Her ashes had been re-buried in a plot beside her mother. Together, at last.

  Katie had asked him to come to Fran’s funeral. He had refused at first, and then changed his mind. She had tried to save Jenny and Izzy, he reminded himself. And she had kept Izzy safe. He should thank her for that.

  Katie’s mother wasn’t there, but her younger sister
was. She sobbed noisily into a stream of tissues. Katie wept, more quietly, beside him. He had stood there awkwardly, unsure what he should do. Then, perhaps a moment before it was too late, he had slipped an arm around her shoulders. He felt her tense and then lean against him. And it was all right.

  The police were still trying to trace the Other People, but it was a pretty hopeless task. The website had been removed, although it was undoubtedly still active, under a new URL, somewhere on the Dark Web. Just invisible to them.

  Louise’s ex-boyfriend, Steve, had been arrested but had so far refused to comment. Two charges of attempted murder were obviously still preferable to whatever else the Other People might have in store for him. Maddock had told Gabe that he was also under investigation for witness intimidation and falsifying evidence in several other cases.

  It looked unlikely they would ever find the person responsible for Fran’s murder. Whoever it was had been professional. So professional that the police believed he hadn’t intended Fran to die right away. He had wanted her to suffer.

  * * *

  —

  “SO,” THE SAMARITAN said. “You’ve given up the traveling life.”

  “I suppose I have.”

  “That’s good. That shitheap van of yours was an embarrassment. You want to take that straight to the junkyard. Crush it.”

  Gabe smiled, but couldn’t hold it.

  “There’s still a few loose ends.”

  “That’s life. It’s not neat, like in the movies.”

  “Yeah. But there’s one thing I keep coming back to. One thing that keeps niggling.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Who knew Fran was going to be at the lake that day, at that particular time?”

  “Maybe someone was watching her?”

  “That’s what the police think. They found some remnants of masking tape and broken branches in a tree. They think that someone may have set up some surveillance.”

  “So you have your answer.”

  “Except we were the only ones who knew that the car and the body were there in the first place.”

  “I see your point.”

  “It got me thinking about something Katie said, about the teenager who killed her father. Jayden. Apparently, he was put into care at an early age. His mum had died, and his dad was a career criminal.”

  “Usual cliché,” the Samaritan said. “Absent father. Kid doesn’t have the guidance. Falls in with a bad crowd. History repeats. Sometimes the dad doesn’t even know he has a kid till he’s grown. When he does, the kid looks up to his dad. Hard to put your kid on the right track when you’ve spent so long following the wrong one. But maybe you try. Maybe you do your best to steer him in the right direction. Then he makes one mistake…”

  Gabe stared at him. “I managed to unearth a mugshot of his dad. It’s pretty old. He disappeared off the radar years ago.”

  He reached into his pocket. Before he could get his hand halfway out, a fist closed like iron around his wrist.

  “Don’t do it.”

  The Samaritan’s eyes bored into his. He felt the bones in his wrist shift and something inside wilt. Gabe suddenly wished he had agreed to meet the Samaritan somewhere other than his own place. Here, if the Samaritan wanted to kill him, he would, and no one would see a thing or say a word.

  “Okay,” he muttered.

  The Samaritan released his arm. It fell, like a dead weight, to the table.

  “I will tell you this once, and once only. You understand?”

  Gabe nodded.

  “You’re right. He was my boy. And he was only eighteen when that bitch had him killed. He wasn’t a bad kid. I know what he did was wrong. But he had a lot of good inside him, too.”

  “He killed a man and went to a party.”

  “And you ran over a girl when you were drunk and left her brain dead. And yet here you are. You, with your white privilege, get a second chance.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “Oh, I know you were poor. But white poor ain’t the same as black poor, and don’t try and say it is. The white trash who almost kills a girl drunk-driving gets a suspended sentence. A black kid, up for manslaughter—take a card and go straight to jail. Boom.”

  Gabe remained silent.

  “Jayden felt remorse. He told me. He wanted to make amends, to change his life. Like you did. But he never got the chance. Because some bitch, blinded by revenge, got him killed. You know what they did? They didn’t just cut his throat. They beat him first. Pulverized every organ in his body. He died slowly, alone. Just eighteen.”

  “How did you find out?” Gabe asked.

  “It took some time, but I’ve got my ways. I started searching for her, following the trail. And I found her. Tracked her down to some little village in the Midlands. I watched her and I planned what I would do to her.”

  “She had a daughter.”

  “And I had a son.” He glared at Gabe. “But then she disappeared, never came back. I lost her again.”

  “But you put two and two together. You knew she was involved in what happened to Jenny and Izzy. That’s why you found me, became my friend. You weren’t looking out for me, you were looking for Fran and you thought I might help you find her.”

  He shrugged. “You were easy to find, man. Hanging around service stations with your flyers. I did what I had to. And I did you a favor.”

  “How?”

  “If Fran was alive, you don’t think she’d come back for Izzy? You really want that?”

  Gabe couldn’t reply.

  The Samaritan nodded. “Yeah. Thought so.”

  Gabe had known it. Feared it. But knowing you’re right doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

  “There’s something else,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Miriam. Someone must have worked it out and got to her before me. Gave her a gun. Told her to kill herself.

  “Sounds like good advice.”

  “She called him the Sandman.”

  “Cool name.”

  “Yeah. It is. On the bridge you said you had a lot of names. Is that one of them?”

  The Samaritan sat back and regarded Gabe silently for a moment. When he spoke again his voice was low and grave: “Y’know, I’ve stood on that bridge, too. After Jayden died. Except my bridge was a bottle of whisky and a lot of tablets. I waited for the darkness to take me. But it didn’t. Not all the way. I found myself on a beach. But not a beach like anywhere on this Earth. This was some other place. It was cold. And the sea was black and angry, like the waves might reach out, grab me and drag me down…I couldn’t stay there. I ran and I scrabbled up that shore. I woke up in hospital, vomit down myself, shit in my pants. And this in my hand.”

  He tapped his tooth and Gabe felt his insides turn to ice.

  “A pebble.”

  “Yeah. Weird shit. Like I’d walked through a nightmare and brought back a souvenir. I had it broken up and a piece set in my tooth. To remind me.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of what lies waiting. For people like me.”

  “That’s how you got the name?”

  The Samaritan shook his head. “That wouldn’t make sense, man. Pebbles, sand. No.” His voice hardened. “I got the name because I put people to sleep.”

  Gabe felt goosebumps dust his skin.

  “You done with the questions now?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I should go. I have to fetch Izzy from school.”

  The Samaritan held out one large hand. “Good seeing you again, man. Stay safe and look after that little girl of yours.”

  Gabe hesitated and then shook his hand. The Samaritan waited until he had turned from the table before he said:

  “You know, if you really want to tie up all those loose ends, there’s one thing you’ve forgotte
n.”

  Gabe sighed. He turned back. “What’s that?”

  “The car?”

  “What about it?”

  “You were driving back home that night, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the car with Izzy in it was in front of you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Wrong.”

  “Sorry?”

  “It should have been driving away from your house. It was heading in the wrong direction. You never ask yourself why?”

  It was a beautiful sunny day. The sort of day children draw in crayon, with a bright round sun, garish blue sea and toxic-yellow sand.

  They walked down to the beach from the house. Gabe and Izzy, Katie, Sam and Gracie. He had never thought he would actually move into the big house. But Izzy had wanted to. She said she liked being near the sea, the beach. And he couldn’t deny her that.

  It hadn’t really been part of the plan to invite Katie and her children to move in either. It had just sort of happened. They had visited a lot over the holidays when Gabe was redecorating. Sam and Izzy played well together, and Grace was a sweetheart. Katie had helped him choose color schemes, furniture, pictures: things to make the big old house feel more like a home. He was grateful for her input—after three years living in a camper van, he had found himself helpless in a new world of flat-pack furniture, fabric samples and tester pots.

  When Katie asked what he would do with all the space he had jokingly said that maybe she should move in. Izzy had immediately and enthusiastically seconded this. They had laughed it off, but he had found himself thinking about it more and more. The house was way too big for just him and Izzy. He didn’t want to end up with empty, dead rooms, not like before. So he suggested it again to Katie, more seriously. Fresh start. No need to pay rent. Built-in babysitter. No strings.

  To his surprise, Katie had accepted. She had found herself a new job at a hotel not far away. It had been six months now, and things felt settled, calm. The huge house, which had always seemed more like a morgue, now echoed with laughter and life. They weren’t quite a family, not in the traditional sense. Katie and he were still getting to know each other. He wasn’t entirely sure where it would lead, if anywhere. But this was one road he found himself excited to follow. He hadn’t quite rejoined life but, somehow, life had found him.