by Luca Veste
Mark was shown through to a pristine-looking living room, which left him searching for what could be considered a ‘mess’. There wasn’t a thing out of place. A smell of lavender air freshener was all that seemed to give it life.
‘Please, sit,’ Kevin said, gesturing to a beige-backed armchair. ‘What can I help you with?’
Mark sat on the chair slowly, as Kevin Blackhurst took a seat opposite him on a matching sofa. ‘Are you aware of the missing person case regarding Emily Burns?’
Kevin paused again, his smile slipping a little. ‘I can’t say I am, I’m afraid.’
Mark nodded, trying to place the accent. Not Liverpudlian, that was certain, but it wasn’t northern either. Anything south of Nottingham and he started to struggle to place them, he supposed. ‘She’s a nineteen-year-old who hasn’t been seen for almost five days now. The name doesn’t ring a bell?’
‘Can’t say it does.’
Mark consulted his notes again, leaving a gap for him to elaborate, but Kevin didn’t take the bait. ‘You are the owner of something called “The Huddle”, right?’
‘Well, owner is probably pushing things a little,’ Kevin replied, smoothing down an unseen crease on his trousers. ‘I was somewhat involved in the creation of the website, but I left the day-to-day running of it to others. It’s been disbanded now.’
‘The website is still live…’
‘I don’t think they’re taking on any new cases, though.’
Mark nodded again, wondering why he felt as if Kevin was choosing his words a little too carefully. ‘What was it set up for, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Of course not. It was intended to be a sort of hub for people experiencing bullying. In schools, colleges, even workplaces; anywhere where bullying was occurring. The Huddle was set up to help those in need.’
‘How did it work?’
‘It was an online support forum. You could get in touch and talk to others who had been in the same situation you had. It was supposed to help and give advice, that type of thing. That then branched out into a couple of sessions held in real life. That wasn’t as successful though.’
‘No?’
Kevin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. ‘From what I heard, there were some issues with those who had been tasked with running the sessions and those who attended.’
‘And what was your involvement in all of this? Were you just the money behind it, or something like that?’
‘Something like that.’
Mark tilted his head, trying to maintain eye contact with Kevin, but he looked away and out of the large bay window.
‘I had a son,’ Kevin said after a few moments had passed. There was a weary look on his face now, as if the memory had changed him somehow. ‘Andrew. He was a good lad. Always did well at school, played rugby and cricket. Was near the top of each class he was in, until he was around fourteen. Then things changed with him. He wasn’t the same boy. It suddenly didn’t matter to him about his future, or anything of that sort. We tried everything to get him out of it, but nothing worked. He just shut down.’
‘He was being bullied,’ Mark said quietly, beginning to understand what Kevin was telling him now.
Kevin nodded silently. ‘We didn’t know until it was too late. A group of boys he’d once been friends with turned against him. I imagine at first he didn’t understand what was happening; he was a little naïve, I suppose. That’s the thing; it doesn’t matter what you have at home. The money, the luxuries… Then, it just becomes about differences. Perhaps today he would have been given some kind of diagnosis, but we just put it down to a little eccentricity. Thing is, at that age, anything outside of the norm is a target. That’s what he became.’
‘What happened to Andrew?’
Kevin hesitated and when he finally spoke, it was as if every word was painful to say out loud. ‘He died two days before his sixteenth birthday. His mother found him in his bedroom. It was too late. He left a note.’
Mark wondered how long ago this had happened. It probably didn’t matter; the wound would always be open. ‘So, you created The Huddle as a reaction to what happened to your son.’
‘Yes. Not just that one. I’ve been involved in a number of different organisations that have tried to combat and help within that arena. I’ve been incredibly lucky over the years and have the means to do so. What else am I meant to do with my money? Andrew was our only child and by the time he was gone, it was too late to have any more. He died fourteen years ago this year, but no matter what we do, it only seems to get worse. When social media became the new way of victimising people, I got involved with The Huddle, hoping we could at least have a force for good available online. There are countless others trying to do the same thing, but it only seems to be getting worse.’
‘If someone was to get in touch with The Huddle now, what would happen?’
Kevin shrugged his shoulders. ‘Once I became aware that the face-to-face sessions weren’t really helping anyone, I withdrew my financial support and supported other places.’
‘That seems a big decision to make. There wasn’t more to it than that?’
Mark held his gaze until the man finally looked away.
‘What really happened?’ Mark said, when it became clear Kevin wasn’t going to continue. ‘I’m not buying that you would make a decision like that lightly.’
‘It became… It became clear that it wasn’t helping anyone. They turned it into something else. A revenge mission, of sorts. The sessions became more heated, I was told. Less structured. The people running them lost control, I guess. I got reports back that some of them had been found stalking people, getting into trouble. A lot of different things. So I got out of it before it went even further south. My name might be on there, but I don’t have anything to do with it now. As I said, as far as I know, it’s not live. There’s no money to pay anyone to work for them since I walked away from it, so I wouldn’t think it’s still running. All those requests would just disappear.’
‘And none of these people have an outlet anymore,’ Mark said. He could see it still pained the man that it had been a failure. He wasn’t sure why it had been, however. ‘It must have been pretty bad for you to have walked away.’
‘I trusted the wrong people,’ Kevin replied, shaking his head and pinching his nose at the bridge. ‘What I’ve learned in being involved with this sort of thing, with people from all kinds of different backgrounds and experiences, is that there are some who have been bullied who will take any opportunity of power to then become what they had once despised. Give them control and it’s like a drug. They just want more and more.’
‘According to Emily Burns’s family, it’s possible she may have been in touch with someone on The Huddle. Before she went missing. Who could that have been?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘I’ll need the names of those who ran these sessions. And who had access to the website. Just to eliminate them from our enquiries.’
‘You think this girl disappearing might have had something to do with the website?’
Mark blew out a breath. ‘I hope not, as it seems to have been set up with good intentions. I’m just looking into every possible avenue at this time.’
‘Was she being bullied?’
‘From the information we have, it looks as if this was something she may have experienced in the past. Possibly still. As I said, it’s about looking into everything we can.’
Kevin nodded, his hands linking together in his lap. The man looked to have aged at least a decade since Mark had arrived. ‘Andrew’s death is something that never disappears. No matter what you do, it’s always there, even if it’s faded. That’s what I’ve learned in the years since his death. All the people it affects, how they carry that forever.’
‘What happened in those sessions, Kevin? What was so bad that you pulled out from something that you had so much passion for?’
‘Some of them didn’t want help,’ Kevin replied, closing
his eyes and leaning back into the sofa. ‘That wasn’t ever going to be enough for those who had tasted power and didn’t want it to end. They wanted something more.’
‘What was that?’
‘They wanted revenge. They wanted to make those who had treated them so badly pay for what they had done. In the end, it didn’t matter who their own personal bully was, they wanted all those who they believed had transgressed to pay. Even those within the group who were there for help – if they didn’t meet expectations, they were attacked. Not physically, but in other ways. The atmosphere was described to me as toxic. That was enough for me. That’s not what it was meant to be.’
‘Does the name Joanna Carter mean anything to you?’
Kevin thought for a second and there was a momentary blip of hope in Mark. Then he shook his head and seemed certain. ‘Sorry, doesn’t sound familiar.’
‘I’ll need the names of anyone you can remember…’
‘Okay, I’ll give them to you. I don’t think they’ll have anything to do with your case, but it can’t hurt, I suppose.’
Mark wrote down the names Kevin gave him, then an email address and a phone number that he found in his mobile. It was clear that Kevin was only the face of The Huddle. That he’d handed over responsibility to others, then shut it down when it became something toxic.
Absolving himself and moving on.
‘I hope you find her,’ Kevin said, as he was showing Mark out of the house. Outside, it had grown overcast, turning the world grey and dull. ‘I really do.’
Mark nodded, then turned and made his way back to his car.
Thirty-One
PLAYER ONE
It was time.
This is how it ends.
Game over.
Game completed.
She hoped, anyway.
It wouldn’t be over really. She knew that. Not with what they were making her do. It would just put her into another bad situation.
They wouldn’t believe her. That would be obvious. They would think her mad and that would be it.
She hoped.
Holly looked around her, then out across the water. The river was choppy, the water foaming as it settled against the wall below the promenade and dispersed backwards. The wind was stronger here, lifting her hair from her shoulders and rippling through her jacket. Dull conversation from other people standing nearby, words she couldn’t quite decipher.
A world away from the bedroom that had almost become a prison to her. Locked away, so she couldn’t be hurt out in the real world. And it had only succeeded in bringing the hurt even closer.
What had been an escape had instead cornered and trapped her.
She gazed out across the Mersey, the view staring back at her blandly.
No note. You can’t tell anyone where you’ve gone. We’ll know.
Holly traced a pattern on the concrete she was standing upon with her right foot, stealing a glance at those closest by. The knife up her sleeve was weighing heavy against her arm. She imagined the blade slicing into her flesh, drawing a line of blood from underneath the skin. The release and relief it would give her.
She turned and looked at the people on the waterfront. The tourists, the day-trippers, the unemployed, the workers on their lunch break. The sounds drifted towards her but didn’t permeate the shell. Lost in a void she had created for herself. A barrier, so they couldn’t get in.
Just the one thing and it’s over.
Holly felt as if everyone could hear the sound of her heart beating, crashing against her chest. The sound of her breaths shortening, the sound of her hands shaking, tapping against the top of her legs. She was a shuddering ball, a cacophony of noise and anger and fear.
Do it.
Do it.
Please.
She took the knife out and waited for the shouts to begin. The shock, the exhalations and alarm. Instead, there was silence. As if she was invisible. Holly looked around, almost daring someone to make eye contact with her, to notice what she was doing.
But there was nothing.
Simply holding a knife in public wasn’t enough, it seemed. She would have to go through with it.
Complete the level.
End the Game.
Holly began screaming.
‘JOANNA CARTER.’
Over and over.
Then, as instructed, she ran across the busy A road that ran down the waterfront. She felt she could hear footsteps following her, but she didn’t risk a look over her shoulder. Instead, she kept running and screaming over and over. Holding the knife up, against her neck, swishing it in the air around her. The faces around her became a blur. Tears dampened her cheeks, her throat stung.
‘I killed Joanna Carter. I killed her. Joanna Carter. I’m going to do it again and again!’
She didn’t think. She could see the confusion playing across the faces of those who were now surrounding her as she continued to scream over and over.
A young woman holding a knife in the air, shouting until her voice was hoarse and sore. Repeating the same thing over and over.
It didn’t take long for the police to arrive.
Thirty-Two
Mark sat in a café, going over his notes as a waitress placed another cup of coffee in front of him.
What he’d learned only served to confuse things further. How had Emily been implicated in this group? What had been the result? And was Joanna Carter a part of this, too?
He didn’t have long to go over things before Natasha joined him, so he quickly tried to make some sense of all he had learned.
Before he had a chance to make some order of his thoughts, his phone started buzzing on the table.
‘Hello?’
The normally calm tone of DI Bennett sounded different. An almost excited feel to her words. ‘Thought you’d like to be updated.’
‘Of course.’
‘We’ve made an arrest in the Joanna Carter murder. Teenage. Female. Looks like she’s had some kind of breakdown.’
Mark sat back in his chair, his free hand reaching the back of his head. ‘That’s… that’s good news. Is it Emily Burns?’
‘Sorry, no.’
‘Who is she then? How did you find her?’
‘She wasn’t really found. She was waving a knife around screaming Joanna’s name as loud as she could. Uniforms first on scene said she made some kind of confession. Same age as Joanna, but didn’t say a lot when she was booked in. Looked relieved, apparently. No solicitor yet, just keeps asking for her mum. Interviewing her soon, so hopefully she just cops to the lot of it and we can close it.’
‘Fingers crossed for you,’ Mark replied, looking for the sugar and opening the packets with one hand. ‘I think Emily Burns needs to be brought up in questioning. We need to know of any connection.’
‘We will, but you should know we’ve discovered quite a bit more about Joanna in the past few hours. Seems like she had some interesting habits, according to fellow students. I think this will be either jealousy or a revenge killing.’
‘What kind of habits?’
‘We’re preparing a report as we speak. I’ll make sure you get a read. How are you getting on?’
Mark sighed, stirring his coffee and placing the spoon quietly down on the surface. ‘Not very far. Looking into a few different things, but not really any closer to an answer. I’ve learned that Emily has been doing some odd things lately. And that there was something called The Huddle – some sort of support group that went downhill. It’s all kinds of messed up.’
‘I like that term. Well, if that’s your final assessment…’
‘No, not in the slightest. I think there’s a connection to Joanna Carter. Emily had her own issues too, which, if what you’re saying about Joanna is true, means someone could have been out for revenge against her as well. I could do with more help, though.’
‘Not much chance at the moment, but hopefully this arrest checks out and I can help you out with that. Just keep on top of things for
now.’
Still on his own then, Mark thought. ‘Good luck with the interview.’ He ended the call as Natasha entered the café, smiling at him as she spotted where he was sitting. She took the seat opposite, catching the waitress’s eye as she did so. ‘Thanks for coming over my way. I don’t get much of a lunch break.’
‘It’s no problem,’ Mark replied, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘Could do with the distraction to be honest.’
Natasha ordered and then turned back to Mark. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Yeah, just work stuff.’
‘Would it help to share the pain? I can be a good listener, you know. And you know, a problem shared…’
‘Honestly, it’s nothing you want to know.’
‘Don’t be so sure,’ Natasha said, shaking her head and holding her hands out in front of her. ‘Anything to take my mind off my own work issues.’
‘I shouldn’t…’
‘I won’t tell a soul.’ Natasha placed a hand over her heart, as if that was all that was needed.
It turned out to be enough.
Mark breathed in, then began talking. He was careful to keep his voice low, so the two other people in the café couldn’t hear him, and also didn’t name anyone involved. Apart from that, he found himself telling Natasha everything that had occurred in the past few days. The missing teenager. The dead woman. The murky hidden life online that Emily had. The family left behind waiting for answers. The non-connection between the missing and the dead.
It wasn’t until he mentioned the anti-bullying website that he got the sense that Natasha wanted to interrupt. As the waitress took that moment to deliver plates to the table, he stopped and waited for her to speak.
She stayed silent.
‘Have you heard of them?’ Mark said, looking down at the decidedly limp chicken salad on his plate and wondering if it was too late to change it to the bacon on toast that was sitting in front of Natasha. Doorstop bread, as well, he thought. He could smell the grease dripping onto the plate beneath it and almost drooled. ‘The Huddle?’