by SE Moorhead
She grabbed the duvet and moved back towards the bathroom, stopping momentarily on the landing to see if she could hear anything. Now she had found Isabel, her concern was for Molly. What if the drugs had got the better of her and her heart had stopped? She would wrap Isabel up and then go down to check on Molly.
She hurried back to Isabel, whose teeth were chattering, her skin goose-fleshed. Her eyes were rolling and she was mumbling incoherently. Kyra bent over her and put the duvet around her, stroking her cheek as she said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m going to get you out of here as soon as I can.’
‘I don’t think so,’ came a quiet, calm voice from behind her.
Startled, she fell backwards and looked up. The last time she had seen this face had been fifteen years ago at the eco-recycling centre as he had sat in the driver’s seat of the ambulance.
‘Stephen Fennig,’ she exhaled.
His short brown hair was brushed neatly over to the right, clean-shaven, the hint of a cleft chin. His features were normal, except for a scar over one of his eyes which had turned his iris a cloudy pale blue, like an opal.
He looked serene and terrifying.
Isabel was pale and shivering, but still breathing. How could Kyra protect her now? Oh God, Molly downstairs, on her own! Was she still alive?
‘What have you done to my niece?’ She launched herself up towards him, but he had the advantage of being upright. There was a sudden forceful blow to her ribs, a cracking sound, as Stephen kicked her hard, winding her, and then he pulled her up by the hair and grabbed her in a chokehold.
She struggled against him for a moment, then brought her elbow backwards, digging into his ribs. He made an ‘oof’ sound and let go of her. She pulled away from him.
‘I know all about you, Stephen!’ she croaked, scrambling against the side of the bathtub. She needed answers, whatever was going to happen to her.
‘What do you know?’ he said quietly, standing upright now, his hands poised in front of him as though he was going to grab her again.
‘Why did you become a peri-med, Stephen?’ she asked, rubbing her throat, her ribs burning with pain. ‘You weren’t smart enough to be a doctor? Ah, the urban myth that serial killers are all geniuses. Is that what you think of yourself?’
He turned his face one way, then the other, all the time keeping his right eye locked on her.
‘I became a paramedic to save people.’ There was no hint of irony.
‘No, you hide behind a façade of helping people. That’s how you get your victims, isn’t it?’ Kyra asked, as she stood up and faced him. ‘People who are in trouble, in pain, who need you. Do you like being needed, Stephen? If you like saving people, then why don’t you save Isabel’s life?’
He rolled his shoulders. ‘Isabel has a job to do and she’s going to do it,’ he said with chilling calmness and control. ‘No one’s going to prevent that happening.’
‘You’re not the biggest guy in the world, Stephen,’ she goaded, trying to catch her breath between the words. Could she wind him up, get him off balance? It was a risk, but the alternative was that he would kill them all, and soon. Could she keep him talking until help turned up? If he focused on her, then he might forget about Molly.
They’re coming for us, aren’t they?
‘You always pick small women. Is that so you can overcome them easily?’ When this didn’t hit home, she added, ‘Was your mother small, Stephen? I bet your dad could really get stuck into her.’ She was guessing, but his expression changed.
He grabbed her and threw her up against the bathroom wall, hard, and roared at her, ‘He’s to blame! He might not have done it with his own hands, but he’s to blame!’ His face was ugly with anger.
She glanced at the floor, trying to locate the scalpel.
‘But you’re no better than him,’ she provoked. ‘You pick small women and overcome them, hurt them, degrade them. You learned a thing or two from your dad, eh?’
‘It wasn’t my dad!’ Stephen screamed, pressing against her harder. ‘It was my mother’s boyfriend. David Lomax and I are nothing alike!’ Stephen’s face changed, as though the words had somehow burnt his mouth.
David Lomax!
‘If I had my time over I would go back and kill the bastard!’ He punched the wall behind her head and she trembled.
‘Is that why you framed him, made it look like he did it?’ she asked, trying to hide her fear. Could she keep him talking until help showed up?
Help’s coming, isn’t it?
Stephen straightened up, took a breath, as though he was trying to regain control of himself. ‘He has to suffer for what he did to my family.’
‘But you’re making Isabel suffer too, and all those other women,’ Kyra could hear herself begging.
He calmed down then and stood still for a moment before giving a sinister smile.
‘I heard what you said to your sister, a long time ago, in the cafe. Another bad mother.’ He shook his head at her and tutted. ‘Your judgement, not mine.’
Kyra’s heart jolted. How did he know about that? Had he been there, in the cafe, and then taken Emma? Your judgement. What had he meant by that?
‘And yet, there is Molly, downstairs, young, beautiful, innocent,’ he said, raising his eyebrows as he spoke.
Her stomach twisted into a knot.
‘Don’t you hurt her …’ she began. Jesus, please let her still be alive!
He jumped forwards, grabbed her roughly by the neck and pushed her over to the bath and hissed into her ear. ‘It’s too late, for all of you.’
The bath hadn’t drained, the plughole stoppered with melted wax.
He forced her face down into the ice-cold water.
She struggled against his strong grip, panic rising hot and quick. She tried to kick out with her legs but her feet kept slipping on the wet tiles. Her lungs were straining now with the need to inhale.
But his strong, determined hands held her steady. Weakened by pain and broken by the thought that she might have condemned her own sister by her words, Kyra already felt herself defeated. Her strength was gone.
A moment later, he pulled her up by the hair. As she started to regain her breath, he whispered, ‘Don’t worry, I know you love her. I’ll make sure to give her your heart. I’ve got the box ready and waiting.’
And he pushed her head beneath the surface once more.
She flailed weakly against him, her arms wind-milling in desperation, the water in her ears making everything sound muted, other-worldly. As the lack of oxygen started to affect her brain, she panicked more, fighting as hard as she could, but it was pointless, he had won.
Then came a stillness in her mind where all the meaningless everyday tasks and events, the plans she had had once for her life, the worries of the future, the work and the pain disappeared, and all she could think about was those she loved, her mum, her dad, Emma, Molly.
She had failed them all.
The cold had crept throughout her body now, a darkness was settling in her mind.
She had tried. All the sacrifices, all the effort … it had come to nothing.
The cold became an aching pain in every part of her body.
She felt herself giving up, giving in to the darkness.
Letting go.
The hands around her neck released the pressure and then twitched. Stephen lurched forward, crushing her ribs against the side of the bath and then he let go.
Her survival instinct that seemed to have failed her moments before kicked in and she reared up out of the water.
She took time to get her breath back, desperately sucking in the air, wiping the water out of her eyes. She spun around, bracing herself.
Stephen was slumped to the floor.
Molly stood at the bathroom door holding a surgical hammer, her white gown and pale aspect making her appear spectral.
‘Oh my God, Molly!’ Kyra struggled up and went to move towards her.
Her niece was still drugged, but there was reco
gnition in her eyes.
‘Molly, we’ve got to get out of here …’
Kyra looked round to Isabel lying on the floor. Stephen looked out of it, but Kyra couldn’t leave her there.
Stephen suddenly reared up and grabbed Kyra’s arm, digging his fingers in painfully. He used her to lever himself up and, still grasping Kyra, knocked Molly to the floor with a hard punch.
He turned to Kyra, blood from the wound that Molly had inflicted pouring down his face, the whites of his eyes and his teeth showing through the crimson as he leered at her demonically. He swung her around to face the water again.
She ducked down to her knees so he couldn’t push her over the side and, as she tried to wrestle her arm free from his clutches, patted her other hand around on the wet bathroom floor and finally found cold metal.
She took a swipe and missed, but the second time she felt the blade make contact, scraping along bone in his face; then came the snap of the blade. He yelled in pain and loosened his grip, then fell to the floor, motionless.
Exhausted and weak, Kyra slumped to the ground next to Molly who was groaning by the bathroom door. She put her arms around her niece and held her tightly. Kyra looked over at Isabel, still wrapped up in the duvet. She had opened her eyes and her expression was one of confusion.
Next to them Stephen Fennig lay motionless, a scalpel protruding from one eye socket, the other milky-blue eye staring blindly.
An unbroken circle of silent women surrounded them – Jennifer, Madelyn, Jessica, the unknown woman, Amelia, Skylar, Caylee and Emma. They gazed down lovingly at Kyra, no sadness now, no fear, only peace. She could feel that their pain and anguish had gone.
They smiled as she held Molly and cried her heart out.
Chapter Forty-One
THURSDAY 8 FEBRUARY 2035
9.16 a.m.
Even though her eyes were still closed, Kyra could tell it was a bright day. She felt the cotton sheets beneath her fingertips and the pillow soft underneath her aching head. There was an excruciating pain in her ribs when she inhaled deeply. Should she open her eyes? What if she were to see pink floral curtains … a rocking chair … a nightlight …?
She was relieved to see, instead, the white of the clinical sheets and the hospital monitoring equipment next to her bed. On the wall in front of her a screen was on silent, an antiques programme showing ugly ceramic figures with outrageous price tags.
She’d made it out of that hellhole, somehow.
Where was Molly? Had Isabel survived? Her memories of last night hadn’t kicked in yet, as though her brain needed time to reboot.
‘Kyra …’ Jimmy sat in the chair next to her hospital bed. He pulled himself upright and shuffled the chair closer. ‘You’re awake,’ he said softly.
She lifted a few fingers, waving a feeble hello.
‘Molly?’ was all she could manage to say.
‘She’s here … downstairs … in another ward. She’s going to be fine.’
Kyra took a deep breath, winced and then smiled.
‘He injected her …’ she began, an image of the mortuary drawer burst into her mind, the syringes, the horror when she had seen Molly lying as though dead. The hairs on her arms stood up.
‘We know. The doctors are taking good care of her. Your mum is with her. She’s going to be okay.’ He fiddled with his Commset. ‘I promised your mum I’d message her when you woke up.’
‘Isabel?’
He opened his mouth to speak, but the door was flung open and two children burst in, a young boy and a little girl.
Kyra’s whole body stiffened, accentuating her pain. A swarm of anxiety overwhelmed her. No, no, no! I thought all this would end, when he was caught …
Why was she seeing them now, after it was all over?
‘Are you … alright?’
But Jimmy wasn’t talking to her.
The children stopped still and stared at Kyra. The little girl pointed at her and said something unintelligible.
‘Are you in the wrong room?’ Jimmy asked.
He could see them!
Kyra exhaled, relieved.
A woman bustled in carrying a balloon, a water bottle, a potted plant in gift-wrap paper, a child’s rucksack and a handbag. ‘Grandad’s next door!’ she chastised, juggling all the items she was carrying to free up her own hand so that she could take hold of the younger child. ‘I’m sorry, all these doors look the same. So sorry.’ She pulled the children towards the door, apologised again and they all shuffled out.
Kyra’s heart was beating hard, the pain in her ribs throbbing in time.
‘Isabel’s going to be fine, too,’ Jimmy said, ‘thanks to you. She’s in the ICU, but she’s doing well.’
Kyra lay back on the cool cotton, a glimmer of relief breaking through, one that she knew she would relish once she was out of pain and the exhaustion had passed, when she’d had time to make sense of everything that had happened.
Finally, she dared to ask the question that she was afraid to. She needed to know.
‘Did we get him?’
‘You got him,’ he said quietly, firmly, his eyes gleaming.
She let that sink in for a moment.
‘Is he … did he …’
‘He’s in the hospital wing of a secure prison for now, but he’s going down for good.’
She closed her eyes again, content, and let herself relax into the mattress.
Safe now.
She opened her eyes and was met by his concerned expression. He looked away quickly.
‘Jimmy, what’s wrong?’
He shook his head in reply, ‘Nothing, everything’s fine.’
‘He’s not getting out, is he?
‘No, no.’ He patted her hand.
‘I’m going to be okay, aren’t I?’
But he took a little too long to answer.
‘Jimmy?’
‘We’ll have to see how things go when you are out of here. Your brain has been through a trauma. We can’t even scan you. The MOD confiscated CASNDRA.’
The very idea of the lab made her feel physically ill. But the thought of her tech, all her hard work, taken by people who couldn’t even begin to understand its applications, its effects, its consequences, ignited a rage in her.
Without the kit, Fennig, the man who had killed her beloved Emma, murdered and mutilated all those women, and ruined so many lives, would never have been caught. Isabel Marsden wouldn’t be alive. Justice would not have been served.
She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of imagining what good the tech might have been able to do in the future in the right hands.
But what price had she herself paid? How long would it take her to recover? Not only from the fear and stress of being attacked by Fennig, but from the side effects of the technology?
‘We could build a new one?’
‘Come on, Kyra, don’t you think the tech has done enough damage? We can’t let this happen to someone else …’
‘What do you mean, not let this happen to someone else?’ she said alarmed. ‘Jimmy, I am going to get better, aren’t I?’
His eyes met hers.
‘These phantoms, they’ll go now he’s been caught,’ she said. Was she trying to convince herself or him? ‘They’re psychological projections, caused by trauma. That’s all. Now the stress is off …’
‘You’re the neurologist … there might be more to it than that.’
‘No. I’m going to be fine,’ she insisted.
When he didn’t say anything, she repeated, ‘Jimmy, I’m going to be fine! We’ll find somewhere new to work together, when I get out of here … start our own business …’
‘Yes, yes.’ He nodded. But she knew him too well.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Jimmy, don’t tell them … Please.’
He didn’t answer.
Kyra’s mother pushed Molly into the room in a wheelchair. Jimmy stood up. ‘I’ll give you guys a bit of space,’ he said and kissed the top
of Kyra’s head gently before leaving.
Once the wheelchair was close to the bed, Molly launched herself out and flung herself across Kyra.
‘Oh my God, Ky, Ky!’ she cried. Kyra put her arms around her and held her tightly. It made the pain in her ribs worse, but it was worth it.
The look on her mother’s face reminded her of the time she was eight and had got lost in the park – simultaneously angry and relieved.
‘Is she alright?’ Kyra asked her mum, rubbing Molly’s back.
‘The doctor says it’s out of her system now. We’ll have to keep an eye on her, but she’ll be fine. They’ve set up a counselling and support programme for her.’ Her mother’s voice rose half an octave. ‘The pair of you have had me out of my mind!’ she cried. ‘Honestly, love, you’ve been acting so strangely lately. That bloody Tom Morgan! You’re always upset when he’s around.’
Tom … did he know what had happened last night? Had he checked his Commset, seen her missed call? She couldn’t remember.
‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘I think you’d better come and stay with us for a while,’ her mother insisted. ‘The doctor says you’re going to have to take it easy and you’ll need someone to look after you …’
‘Maybe, only for a while, though.’ Kyra smiled.
‘I lost Emma. I thought I was going to lose you two as well,’ her mum whispered. Kyra took hold of her hand.
Molly sat up. She appeared more cheerful now, although her face was white with dark shadows under her eyes. ‘Are you going to come and live with us, Ky? That’ll be great! We can watch films, share clothes …’
‘We’ll talk about it when I’m out of here,’ she said.
‘Come on, that’s enough for now. Let Kyra have a rest,’ her mother added.