Blood Lines

by Angela Marsons

  She paused for a moment before ripping open the envelope. She unfolded the single sheet of paper and took a deep breath before starting to read.

  She tried to ready herself for what she was about to read. A rush of emotion was surging around her body but it had no name. It was not grief, nor loss, nor regret or even a hint of sadness. Neither was it relief or cheer. It was intense, expectant.

  Her eyes scanned for key words like death, funeral and condolences.

  She frowned as her gaze caught none of them but stumbled over ‘parole’ and ‘hearing’.

  She turned the page over as though there would be a painting of a clown face or an explanation of this cruel joke. She turned the page back. It was the brown embossed logo of Grantley which told her it was a genuine communication.

  She could feel her head moving from side to side as though her physical denial would erase the letter.

  How the hell was this happening, she wondered and immediately took out her phone.

  ‘Damn it,’ she growled as her thumb refused to stay on the button long enough to register her print. She needed to stop this. Right now. That woman could not be allowed to leave that facility under any circumstances.

  Kim held the phone as she paced the room. What the hell had changed? Her mother had never sought release from Grantley. In fact, she’d had a violent episode right before every other hearing, ensuring her continued incarceration.

  Kim had not known that her mother was deliberately keeping herself locked away until the sociopath that was Alexandra Thorne had told her.

  ‘Oh shit,’ she said as her legs came to a standstill and her eyes glanced towards the kitchen drawer.

  She experienced a sudden sinking sensation as she recalled the letter from the previous day. There was no way in hell that these two intrusions into her life were coincidental.

  She took two deep breaths before placing her thumb on the button again. This time the screen flickered into life. Perfect.

  She turned her back on the kitchen drawer. She could only deal with one evil bitch at a time.

  She scrolled to the number for Grantley Care and pressed.

  The facility would now be on night mode but that still meant the phone got answered. And it did on the third ring.

  ‘Kim Stone,’ she said. ‘Relative of Patty Stone.’ The word daughter could not make it out of her mouth. ‘Is Lily there?’

  ‘I’m sorry but Lily rarely works the night shift anymore. Is there anything I can help with?’

  Kim wanted to reach in and throttle the perfectly modulated and pleasantly trained voice. It was not that kind of conversation.

  ‘I’ve received a letter,’ Kim stated, waving the piece of paper in the air.

  The female hesitated for a second, and then caught up.

  ‘About the parole hearing? We always inform family when—’

  ‘Is she aware of it? I mean, does… Patty know about it? She’s never allowed one to go ahead before.’

  ‘I know,’ she said with a smile in her voice. ‘We were surprised too. Both the medical and psychological assessments presented to the parole board have been positive for the last seven years. The overall improvement in your mother’s mental health has been substantial during her incarceration. It was only the occasional outbursts that—’

  ‘And there has been no sudden violence at all?’ Kim asked. Her stomach churned more with every response.

  ‘None at all,’ she said. ‘Your mother has been the perfect patient. She’s been well-behaved, pleasant, helpful. A true delight.’

  Kim could feel the nausea building in her stomach. The world was tipping and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  This woman was evil to the core, and Kim would never believe otherwise. She didn’t care who had assessed and monitored her or for how long. Only she had endured the cruelty and abuse that flowed from her mother so easily. And she had been living with the consequences of her mother’s actions all her life.

  ‘You should be very proud,’ the voice said cheerfully. ‘We all know the change in her behaviour is down to you.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Kim asked. She hadn’t changed a thing since she’d found out where her mother was. A monthly phone call to check she was still there was the extent of her involvement in the murdering bitch’s life.

  ‘Oh yes, it’s all down to you. It all began to change when she started to receive your letters.’

  Kim heard no more as both the letter and the phone fell to the ground.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  15 DECEMBER 2007

  Dear Diary,

  Today I touched her. I had to.

  The pleasure was both painful and exquisite at the same time. My fingers touched the back of her head as I undid the gag that had kept her quiet through the night.

  I had instructed her beforehand. Make a sound and die.

  She had listened.

  Her hair wound itself around my hand, silky and soft with a smell of Jasmine. I know the smell of Jasmine. It is a favourite of my mother’s. It felt as soft as the hair on a new-born baby. I stroked it in wonder. I sniffed it and rubbed it against my cheek.

  So cool.

  I felt my arousal grow as I tugged on it, hard, and felt her sharp intake of breath, a tiny groan of pain and an instant look of apology.

  She had made a sound.

  I let it go. Just this once.

  I tipped the juice into her mouth. It dribbled deliciously over the side of her lips and down onto her chin. It was both disgusting and erotic at the same time. I wiped it away and felt the warm velvet of her lower lip. It trembled beneath my touch. It was not with desire but with fear. Good. I prefer fear.

  I squeezed her lip between my thumb and forefinger as though trying to burst a zit. I increased the pressure until the soft, pliant flesh flooded with colour and turned crimson beneath my touch.

  She writhed, trying not to cry out. She was learning how to play the game.

  Good.

  I told her about the search. I sat beside her and whispered tenderly into her ear. I told her that her parents no longer thought she was with a friend. They were worried, scared. I told her she hadn’t made the national press. After all, she’d only been missing a day. She wasn’t important enough for that. I told her that her photo had been on the local news and on the front of the Dudley Star. I saw the hope enter her eyes but I chased it away. Silly girl. No one was going to find her. She didn’t need to worry. We had lots of time together.

  As I whispered into her ear my lips brushed the fair downy hair on her lobe. It sent a surge of ecstasy around my body.

  But it wasn’t enough. The experience has only made me hungry, desperate for more. I want to touch, squeeze, torture, own every single inch of her.

  And tomorrow I will.

  I must.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘Righty folks, what do we have?’

  ‘A growing list of patrons with no memory,’ Dawson said, morosely. The accompanying smile was just a second too late.

  ‘Have you got them all?’ Kim asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Gotta be close. The same names are now coming up for the fourth, fifth time.’

  ‘Any joy with the Chinese takeaway?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Much harder, boss.’

  Kim understood. The pub was a point for people to gather socially. It was the local. There was an element of memory by association. As people searched their recollections they were able to pinpoint who was sitting where, who was playing pool or darts. Who was standing at the fruit machine. Who’d had enough to drink, got belligerent. They might not be able to supply full names but maybe a surname, a nickname that would prompt the memory of someone else. Eventually the net closed.

  Not the same situation with the takeaway. You walk in, order, collect, leave. Few people would notice Elton John playing his piano in the corner.

  ‘Good work, Kev. Keep at it.’

  From all the people who had been around that night it only took
one to recall a face, a shape, anything.

  ‘Stace, phones?’

  ‘Yep, must have bin a slow day yesterday as two of the networks have confirmed that folks were where they said they were. Phone records for Anna and Sylvie should be with me later today, but still waiting on the permission from Rebecca and Mitchell.’

  Kim frowned. That should have been through yesterday. Bryant had requested they all inform their providers to save them gaining warrants.

  Bryant shrugged, indicating he had no idea why Mitchell and Rebecca would not have done so.

  ‘Okay, we’ll look into that. Stace, while you’re waiting for the phone records I want you to dig a bit into the Brightmans’ financial situation. That house did not come from the salaries of two civil servants.’

  ‘On it, boss.’

  ‘Okay, guys, keep at it,’ she said, heading towards The Bowl.

  She stepped inside and closed the door. She took out her phone and turned her back on the curious glances. Her call was answered on the second ring.

  ‘Lily… please,’ Kim said.

  The fingers of her left hand were already drumming against the desk.

  ‘Kim, how lovely to hear from you,’ said the warm voice that had not changed in years.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ Kim exploded.

  The frustration of the situation had intensified throughout the hours of darkness when she had been able to do nothing except for pace, sit, make coffee and pace some more. And now she was pacing again.

  She had convinced herself that one call to Lily, her only contact at Grantley, would straighten out this whole mess. Lily would assure her the letter had been sent out in error. That it was nothing more than an administrative hiccup. And then she’d be able to breathe again.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kim, please be more—’

  ‘The letter. The parole hearing letter. It’s just a mistake, isn’t it?’

  The silence at the other end ignited the anxiety in her stomach. Where was the reassuring chuckle, the warm placations that it was an error that would never happen again?

  She waited.

  ‘Lily… ?’

  ‘It’s not a mistake, Kim.’

  Kim fell into the chair as a mini quake shifted the ground beneath her feet.

  ‘But how… I mean… why… ?’

  ‘Your letters have had a profound effect on your mother, Kim. I’m so pleased you finally—’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Kim growled, trying to understand.

  ‘Didn’t what?’

  ‘I didn’t write any letters, Lily. They didn’t come from me.’

  The silence between them was now filled with confusion.

  ‘But I read them. You talked about forgiveness, second chances, starting again.’

  The nausea rose inside her stomach at the very thought. They would be wearing winter woollies in hell before those words came out of her mouth.

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ Kim repeated.

  ‘They were all signed “your loving daughter”. Are you sure you didn’t—?’

  ‘No,’ Kim said again.

  ‘Not any of them?’ Lily asked, doubtfully.

  She could tell that Lily was struggling to digest this information.

  ‘No,’ Kim snapped.

  ‘But who… ?’

  ‘I have a pretty good idea,’ Kim said, glancing at the envelope she’d brought into work.

  Silence fell between them.

  ‘Lily?’ Kim said, wondering if she was still there.

  ‘I just… don’t know what to say.’

  Kim could hear the doubt in the woman’s voice. She shook her head at the notion of having to convince this woman that the letters had not come from her.

  ‘Lily, we have spoken many times over the years. Have I once uttered anything resembling the words forgiveness or new starts?’

  ‘Well, no, but I thought perhaps you’d come to a point in your life where—’

  ‘I haven’t,’ Kim said sharply. Okay, she told herself. It wasn’t a mistake that her mother had a parole hearing. Plan A was a fail. Now to Plan B. How to get it stopped. ‘How did you allow this to happen, Lily?’ she said, accusingly. ‘Why were you not consulted?’

  There was a silence that was leading towards something Kim did not want to hear.

  ‘I was consulted, Kim. And I heartily recommend her release.’

  Kim looked around for the hand that had just slapped her.

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘She’s ready, Kim. I’ve been one of her primary carers for more than two decades. She deserves her last few years—’

  ‘She deserves to have been boiled until the flesh fell from her bones for what she did, but then I suppose we have differing views on justice,’ Kim said, hearing the bitterness in her voice.

  For some reason she was stung by Lily’s approval. Although they’d never met, Kim had felt that, in some small way, Lily was an ally and understood her mother like she did. That Lily was on her side.

  ‘Why the hell wasn’t I informed?’ Kim asked.

  ‘There is a note on her file that you are to be informed only of her death. You specifically requested—’

  ‘I know what I requested,’ Kim said, shortly. ‘But surely the fact that you were going to recommend her release warranted a phone call?’

  Kim couldn’t work out which one of them was being unreasonable.

  ‘Kim, if you would just come and see—’

  ‘I have to go,’ she said, ending the call.

  The contact was already longer than the usual call to make sure her evil bitch mother was safely incarcerated. She shook her head. Her mother out of custody was not something her mind could control.

  Suddenly the world around her looked different. It was no longer a place that she understood. A foreign country had risen up around her and changed the landscape completely.

  And she knew it was all down to one woman.

  She reached into the backpack and removed the envelope.

  She turned it around in her hands, hating the intelligence behind the woman who had written it. Alex knew that she had now made it impossible to ignore.

  She raised her foot and rested it on the wastepaper bin as she tore open the envelope.

  As she removed the single sheet her foot tapped the top of the bin, reflecting her trepidation at contact with a woman who had taken her so close to the edge.

  She took a deep breath and began to read. Her own thoughts interrupting the words in black and white.

  Dear Kimmy,

  The bitch knew the only person to call her that was her mother.

  I hope this letter finds you well.

  Liar.

  I have missed you and find myself disappointed that you have not yet been to visit. Especially after our last encounter on the canal side where we talked at length about your mother. I was sure we had made progress and elevated our relationship to another level.

  Do you remember that moment when I almost brought you to your knees?

  I know how important your mother’s well-being is to you and I have been keeping an eye on her as you have been a bit busy.

  You were stupid to take your eye off that ball.

  I’m sure you’ve heard by now that she feels well enough to attend her next parole hearing. I’m sure the idea of your mother being a free woman has made you very emotional indeed.

  I hope this news has fucked with your head.

  It has been gratifying to share correspondence with your dear mother. It has helped fill my days although as you know I have always been able to find a way to amuse myself.

  And it was all because of me.

  There are many souls within these walls who can benefit from my expertise.

  Surely you remember exactly what I can do.

  But acquaintances and letters can only fill so much of the day. Personal visits from my closest friends would mean so much more.

  Come and see me or people will suffer.

  If you do get a spare mom
ent I would love the opportunity to share some of your mother’s thoughts, probably sooner rather than later.

  And do it now.

  Love as always

  Alex

  Kim slammed the sheet onto her desk and tried to count the number of veiled messages in that one short letter, but the one that screamed loudest was the one the sender had intended her to hear.

  I have the knowledge you need to keep her locked away.

  Kim felt herself being backed into a corner.

  Her last encounter with Alex had been instigated following the murder of a known rapist. Only Kim had felt the woman’s involvement in the crime and had eventually been proven right. Months of manipulation and a visualisation exercise had propelled the rapist’s victim to stab him four times.

  Alex had used the occupants of a halfway house to perfect her manipulation techniques. One young man had almost beaten a fellow to death after a few hours with Alex and another had attempted to murder his wife and her new husband. But the final, most despicable, act had included a mother suffering from post-natal psychosis and her young son.

  Kim shuddered. She could remember blowing air into the body of that lifeless child.

  And all in the name of experimentation.

  Oh yes, Kim knew full well what Alexandra Thorne was capable of, and she had vowed never to go anywhere near her again.

  She swore as her foot launched the bin across the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Alex sat on the metal chair to the immediate right of the door to the warden’s office. She could understand why she’d heard it said that the feeling was not unlike waiting to be scolded by the headmaster. But Alex didn’t feel that way. She had engineered the meeting and she would control it.

  Her dossier contained a sizeable section on Mr Roger Edwards. The man’s career progression had been less than stellar. His work history read like a dance. One step forward, two steps backwards and many steps to the side.

  Although she hadn’t met the warden of the prison her information indicated that he was ineffectual, and after several failed attempts at promotion he had settled like dust at Drake Hall Prison and was going to spend the next two years treading water until his pension kicked in.

  The door opened. ‘Please come in, Alexandra.’