The torch beam bounces off the altar ahead of us and I notice something sitting on it. ‘What was that?’ I ask Liam.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘Over there,’ I say, pointing. ‘Shine the light.’
He moves the torch’s beam so it lights up the far end of the chapel. There’s definitely something on the altar. We walk down the aisle towards it, unable to make out what it is. As we get closer, though, I see it’s a photograph, propped up against a musty hymnal. It’s of a girl, or a young woman; maybe mid-twenties, possibly younger; with blue eyes and blonde hair. The photo has been torn in half erasing whoever was standing beside her in the photo, but his arm remains around her shoulders. They’re standing on what looks like a mountain with a view of the ocean behind, and the woman is grinning at the camera.
I go to pick it up, but Liam reaches out and snatches my arm, stopping me. I look at him and see his eyes are fixed on the photograph and his expression is one of total terror, as though it’s not a photograph but a poisonous snake.
‘Who is it?’ I ask him. ‘Do you know her?’
Liam doesn’t answer. He just keeps staring at the photograph, open-mouthed and turning paler by the second.
‘Who is it?’ I press, feeling panic starting to rise in my chest.
‘Mia Watkins,’ Liam finally says, his voice barely a whisper.
I glance at the photograph again and then back at Liam. ‘Who’s Mia Watkins?
Liam pulls his focus from the photograph on the altar and turns to me. ‘She was murdered,’ he says. ‘Her and her boyfriend.’
The breath leaves my body in a sharp exhalation. ‘Who killed them?’ I ask.
Liam shrugs, shaking his head. ‘No one was ever arrested.’
‘Was it your case?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘It was in Cumbria. Cumbria police had jurisdiction. They called in Scotland Yard, which is why the file crossed my desk. I remember it because the crime scene photographs were …’ He breaks off, shuddering at the memory before glancing my way and obviously deciding not to share the details. ‘They found a glass angel at the crime scene,’ he adds.
Goosebumps cover my skin. I’m rooted to the spot. ‘What do you mean, a glass angel?’ I ask, although I already know.
Liam turns to me, grim-faced. ‘Like the one in the living room that I stood on earlier.’
I slump down into the nearest pew and put my head in my hands, dark spots dancing before my eyes. I try to draw in a breath, but my lungs feel too tight.
‘I didn’t think about it until now,’ Liam goes on. ‘It rang a bell, but I didn’t put two and two together until’ – he gestures at the photograph – ‘I saw that picture.’
I glance at him, feeling the cold hand of terror grip hold of my insides and start squeezing.
‘It was never confirmed that the suspect left it behind,’ Liam says. ‘But there was one found on the kitchen table at the crime scene. As if he’d positioned it there to watch.’
‘To watch what?’ I ask, almost too terrified to hear him answer.
‘What he did to them,’ Liam murmurs.
I swallow what feels like a twig that’s lodged in my throat, my heart smashing loudly in my ears. ‘What did he do to them?’ I hear myself ask. I don’t really know if I want to know the answer, but I need to.
Liam frowns, looking pained, as though he doesn’t want to tell me.
‘Tell me!’ I hiss at him.
He takes a breath and then lets it out in a loud exhalation. ‘He killed them. We think he tortured the guy first – his name was Will – and that he made Mia watch. Then he dumped their bodies in a ditch.’ He says it without any emotion, but I’m sure, judging from the expression on his face, that he’s holding back the gruesome details.
‘And the police never found out who did it?’ I ask.
‘No,’ Liam admits. ‘Whoever it was got away with it.’
‘How?’
‘He was smart. There was no evidence left at the scene of the crime. Not a trace of anyone. It was a mystery.’
‘Why would someone do that?’
Liam shakes his head. ‘Who knows? I had a theory that he was in love with Mia. He thought she belonged to him and when he saw her with another man, he got angry. She betrayed him, so he punished her.’
Liam turns away and picks up the photograph. He must be wondering what the hell it’s doing here on top of the altar. I wonder at the placing of it there – in a chapel. It’s like a memorial. ‘What’s it doing here?’ I ask Liam.
Liam doesn’t look at me. I gaze, half-dazed around the chapel. ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’ I ask before looking back at Liam. ‘He’s here on the island with us.’
Liam meets my gaze then comes over and puts his arm around me, pulling me against his chest. ‘Don’t worry,’ he tells me. ‘I’ll keep you safe. I swear I won’t let anything happen to you.’
I extricate myself from his arms and start to walk up and down the aisle, frantic, trying to think it all through. ‘Why us though?’ I ask, rounding on him. ‘Why would he lure us here? You didn’t work the case. It’s got nothing to do with you, has it?’
Liam’s thinking hard. Obviously he’s been wrestling with this very same thing. ‘I don’t know,’ he finally offers. ‘It doesn’t make sense to me. I can’t figure it out.’
I stare at him, willing him to join some dots.
‘Did he stalk her before he killed her?’ I ask.
Liam shrugs. ‘We don’t know. I mean he definitely watched her, yes. He obviously planned things out in detail. That’s why he was able not to leave any DNA behind. I’m only guessing from the file I read about the crime scene, but the violence against the boyfriend – the number of times he was stabbed – suggests he was furious about something. Presumably he was angry because he thought the boyfriend had stolen Mia from him.’
I stare at Liam. I know he likes to get inside people’s heads, but it’s as if he’s trying to excuse murder. ‘He’s a sick bastard. A psychopath,’ I tell him.
Liam says nothing. His brow remains furrowed.
‘I’m a replacement for Mia,’ I say looking up at Liam, my pulse thrumming like a bird’s.
Liam glances at me with a frown, as though I’m spouting nonsense.
‘Look at us,’ I say, stabbing the photo with my index finger. ‘We look really similar.’
Liam wrinkles his nose. ‘Not that similar.’
‘We’re both blonde, blue-eyed, roughly the same age.’
Liam looks more closely at the photograph and then at me.
‘I think he killed Mia and then transferred whatever he was feeling about her onto me,’ I say. My voice shakes when I speak.
Liam pulls a face, a half-smirk. ‘That’s ridiculous,’ he says, dismissively.
‘Is it?’ I ask him, hands on hips. ‘We’re being stalked,’ I tell him. ‘Just like Mia and Will.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Day Six
We stretch out on the choir pews behind the altar. Liam brings out the blankets and I lie down, my head pillowed on my hands, wrapped up in one of them. I’m guessing it must be past midnight.
Liam stays sitting upright beside me, rigid, gripping his knife in his hand. He hasn’t said much more about my theory that the killer is on the island and that he’s stalking us, but I know he’s thinking about it.
‘With any luck he’ll think we’ve left,’ Liam mutters now, and I can hear how hard he’s trying to convince himself. I’m trying too, but I keep remembering the silhouette of the man standing above me on the landing, gun resting on his shoulder, the room filled with strips of meat and the NO TRESPASSERS sign written in blood.
Liam switches off the torch and I lie still, my hip aching from the hard bench, wondering how I’ll ever fall asleep, with the cold and the wind howling, and with the knowledge of what is outside, hunting us.
I do sleep though. I must still be so exhausted from the swim, and from all that adrenaline coursing through my body,
that I pass out.
When I wake up, watery sunlight is filtering through the stained-glass window above me, painting rainbows of colour onto the stone floor. I’m stiff as a board, aching all over, and there’s a gnawing hunger in my belly. I glance at Liam, still sitting in the pew beside mine. He is staring up at the third panel in the stained-glass window: the Resurrection. With a blanket wrapped around his shoulders he looks like a supplicant monk from medieval times.
‘Did you sleep?’ I ask him, scrambling to a sitting position and stretching out my aching limbs.
He shakes his head. ‘I wanted to stand guard, in case.’
He’s been awake all night. He looks exhausted, frayed around the edges; his eyes are sunken and days of beard growth are darkening his cheeks.
‘You were talking in your sleep,’ he says, glancing my way.
‘I was?’ I say, surprised. ‘I didn’t have a nightmare, I don’t think.’
‘You were mumbling “Help”,’ Liam clarifies.
‘I must have been dreaming about falling in the loch,’ I say, rubbing my face to try and wake up. Or maybe I was dreaming about being stuck on the island.
I reach for a wine bottle of water and take a sip. Feeling Liam’s eyes on me I turn. He’s staring at me with a strange look on his face.
‘What is it?’ I ask him.
He pulls something out of his pocket and holds it up to show me. It’s my contraceptive and my anti-depressants. My heart sinks and a flutter of nerves hits me. I look back at his face. He looks devastated and hurt and for a moment I struggle to think of what to say.
‘What are these?’ he asks.
He already knows though. I can tell. ‘I … I’m on the pill,’ I admit to him with a shrug.
His jaw clenches and his shoulders slump. For a moment I think he’s going to burst into tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him. ‘I’m on anti-depressants and I didn’t want to tell you. And I can’t get pregnant if I’m on anti-depressants as it could be harmful to the baby.’
A frown line forms between Liam’s eyes. ‘When did you go to the doctor?’ he asks.
I take a step towards him.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asks. ‘Discuss it with me?’
I can see he’s hurt that I’ve kept a secret from him.
‘I was embarrassed,’ I tell him. I sit beside him and take his hand. ‘I’m sorry.’
He doesn’t respond.
‘I won’t be on the anti-depressants forever,’ I reassure him.
‘Do I not make you happy?’ he asks. ‘Is that it?’
I shake my head vigorously and squeeze his hand. ‘No, of course you do. So happy! I love you. It’s not about you. It’s because of my mum. But I’m getting better. I’m feeling better. I don’t think I’ll need to be on them for long. And then we can try for a baby.’ I kiss his cheek. ‘And let’s just focus right now on getting off this island. We can talk about all this later.’
Liam nods.
‘I love you,’ he says. ‘I just want you to be happy. Us to be happy. That’s all.’
‘I know,’ I reassure him.
‘You’re not keeping any other secrets, are you?’ he asks.
I shake my head. ‘No, of course not.’
I feel a wash of shame and guilt come over me as he studies my face as though wondering if I’m lying to him. I’ve broken his trust and I know it’ll take some work to regain it.
‘I need to go outside,’ I tell Liam.
He frowns at me and shakes his head. ‘No. We’ve got to stay here, inside,’ he says. ‘It’s not safe out there.’ The whites of his eyes are gleaming, and he looks almost like a man possessed.
‘I need the bathroom,’ I say apologetically, glancing around at the chapel. It’s not like I can go in here.
He scowls. ‘OK,’ he finally allows. ‘But let’s be quick.’
He gets up and heads over to the door. I notice that his limp seems more pronounced this morning, his face tightening sharply with pain, and that he’s wincing whenever he puts the slightest pressure on the ball of his foot. The glass must have pushed deeper in; I wonder if it may even be infected. I should have brought the first aid kit with me, but we were in such a hurry to leave the cottage I didn’t have a chance to think about it.
We move the pew out of the way of the door and then creep outside into the morning. It must be around nine o’clock, I guess, judging by the height of the sun. I hurry to a nearby bush and go to the loo and then Liam does the same
I forage quickly for food for the crow, crouching and digging among the graves with my bare hands, looking for grubs or insects.
‘What are you doing?’ Liam asks angrily.
‘I’m getting some worms for the bird,’ I tell him.
‘Forget the bloody bird,’ Liam hisses at me.
‘It won’t take a second,’ I tell him, tearing at the earth, feeling the cold damp soil beneath my nails.
Liam grips my elbow and tries to pull me away, but I’ve just discovered a worm and I refuse to budge until I’ve tugged it out of its hole and caged it in my palm.
Liam drags me back inside, tutting with impatience and muttering about the damn bird, and I bite my lip and glower at his back. It might be stupid to him, but it’s important to me.
I deliver the worm up to the bird and she swallows my offering whole. I stroke her back and the bird ruffles her feathers in response. ‘You need a name,’ I tell her. ‘How about Hathor?’ I say, remembering the Egyptian god. It goes with my dog’s name, Isis. ‘Hathor was the goddess of women,’ I tell the bird. She caws her approval. ‘Hathor it is then,’ I smile.
I fill her empty saucer with rainwater that has handily fallen through a hole in the roof and collected in the font, noticing that my engagement ring is caked in dirt. I brush the worst off, wishing I could scrub my hands or take a shower. I’m still so cold.
The memory of that bubble bath I took on the day we arrived makes me almost cry. I content myself with imagining the first bath I’ll take when we get off the island. I close my eyes and let myself really picture it: the warm, soapy water, piled high with bubbles, my body entirely submerged. I might even pour myself a really large glass of wine to drink while I’m in the bath, medication be damned. The last few days have made me readjust my thinking on everything. I’ve had to remain in the present, not dwelling on the past. I’ve been forced to be active and to concentrate on survival, and that’s pushed all the sadness and grief to one side.
I can make it through this. I will get off this island. I have to; I’ve got so much to live for, so much I want to do with my life. I make a promise to myself here and now, that once I’m home I’ll get back to work and I’ll get back in touch with my friends, too. I’ll even make new ones. I’ll live up to all the potential my mum believed in, and which, until now, I always somewhat doubted. I’m never going to doubt my worth ever again, or waste another second of my life living in fear.
At the sound of a branch snapping outside, Liam and I both freeze. There’s a flapping of wings as a flock of birds takes flight, then another cracking branch. ‘What was that?’ I whisper, looking at Liam in fright.
Liam turns his head to listen too. We hear it again. Movement. Footsteps perhaps. Someone is outside, walking through the graveyard. Liam tiptoes unsteadily towards the entrance. I pull on his arm to stop him and he turns to look at me.
‘What are you doing?’ I mouth in alarm.
He points at the door. I shake my head vehemently. He can’t go outside. We need to stay in here. We need to hide. We have no idea what this stranger might do to us if we confront him. I look down at the switchblade in Liam’s hand and feel a flutter of fear, but before I can argue with him, he pivots and keeps on towards the door.
My heart starts to race as I watch him squeeze past the pew. It would be much safer to stay hidden, but Liam’s not that sort of man. He’s not going to let this guy get away with what he’s done, even if it means taking a risk. What good
is a knife against a gun though? And Liam can barely walk. He definitely can’t move with any stealth, or run. It won’t be a fair fight.
‘What about me?’ I say, catching up to Liam at the door and taking hold of him once again by the arm. ‘If something happens to you, then what will he do to me?’
He pauses, obviously not wanting to confront the thought.
‘You promised you wouldn’t let anything happen to me,’ I whisper, tears stinging my eyes.
He looks anguished for a moment, but then he pulls his arm from my grip, kisses me on the cheek, and vanishes through the door.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I follow him, scanning the view in front of the chapel. The graveyard is empty, and I can’t see any movement. There’s no sign of the man. Liam’s walked to the corner of the chapel’s front side and is peering around it. I tiptoe up behind him. Just then another brace of birds erupts into the sky at the rear of the chapel.
‘Stay here,’ Liam says to me in a whisper, before taking off towards the movement as fast as he can manage on his bad foot.
I ignore him and keep after him, crouching low and trying not to step on any leaves or twigs. We reach a large stone cross covered in moss, its words faded by time, and we duck behind it. Liam glowers at me for tailing him but then peeks out from behind the cross.
‘I see him!’ he whispers excitedly.
I glance past him and see the man walking at a pace away from the chapel grounds, making in the direction of the barrow and the woods. I can’t see his face as he’s striding away from us, but his hood is down, revealing wisps of dark hair. He must be about six foot or so and is and of average build.
‘He doesn’t have his gun on him,’ Liam whispers to me.
I look at the man’s hands, swinging by his sides. Liam’s right; the man’s unarmed. He isn’t carrying anything in his hands, at least. We watch him stride into the woods and then disappear from sight. Liam makes to go after him, but I snatch his sleeve and yank him back. ‘Where are you going?’ I ask.
The Stalker Page 14