Run Away With Me : A fast-paced psychological thriller

by Daniel Hurst

  ‘We’ve checked your wife’s bank account,’ PC McGregor says as he closes his notebook and looks up at me again. ‘It hasn’t been used since the 23rd, three days before her disappearance.’

  I nod my head because I was expecting them to say that. That’s because I didn’t actually withdraw any cash on the night Laura and I ‘ran’. I only pretended to. I knew she wouldn’t be able to get a good view of the cash machine from where she sat behind me in the car, so I went through the motions, but really the cash that was ‘withdrawn’ that night was already in my wallet beforehand. I use that money for funds in the village for food and newspapers without leaving a credit card trail, but there were no substantial transactions at the cash machine around the time Laura went ‘missing’ to raise any eyebrows.

  ‘We are continuing to monitor her account for any more activity,’ PC McGregor tells me.

  ‘Good,’ I reply because it is. They won’t find anything of interest there.

  ‘Is it okay if we have that look around now?’ PC McGregor asks, and I nod as I get up off the sofa.

  ‘What is it you’re looking for?’ I query as I lead the officers back into the hallway.

  ‘Anything that might give us an idea of what happened to your wife,’ PC Stone replies and I’m almost caught off guard by the sound of her voice.

  She speaks.

  This rookie has potential.

  ‘Just anything that might provide us with a clue as to where she could be,’ PC McGregor interjects. ‘Have you noticed anything missing besides a few items of her clothing? I know you said it doesn’t look like she has taken much, but it could be something less obvious than clothes. Any photos? Jewellery? Things that might hold some significance with her?’

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  PC McGregor nods. ‘You check down here. I’ll have a look around upstairs,’ he says to his colleague before climbing the staircase.

  PC Stone smiles at me before wandering away into the kitchen and I’m just left standing like a spare part in my own home. I guess I’ll just wait here until one of the officers speaks to me again then.

  I check my watch and see that I have been gone from the cottage for an hour now. I’d like to be back within two, but I have an array of excuses ready if I’m not. But I don’t think Laura will even care about hearing any of those excuses when I do return to her.

  She’ll be more worried about what I’m going to tell her when I get there.

  24

  LAURA

  I heard Adam’s car arriving back at the cottage a moment ago, so I’m just waiting for him to come inside and enter the bedroom before I demand to know where he has been for so long. He’s been gone for just over two hours. Seriously, how long does it take to go to the village, check the news and come back? Less than an hour surely. So why has it taken twice that amount of time?

  I’m fuming.

  I hear the front door open and close, and then I hear the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. By the time the bedroom door opens, I’m about ready to blow him back down those stairs with the force of my anger, but then I see the ashen look on his face, and I pause. He looks terrible. And what he says next explains why.

  ‘It’s in the papers.’

  Adam’s words hang in the air for a moment as we both look at each other and comprehend what this means. Basically, it means any hopes we had about the body not being found and the police not looking for the driver of that car are gone. If it’s in the news, the police will already be looking into it.

  ‘The local ones?’ I ask, but Adam shakes his head.

  ‘The nationals.’

  ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘I wish I was.’

  Adam’s frightened face is freaking me out right now so I bury my head in my hands to avoid seeing it anymore. This is it. It’s official. Our lives are ruined. I almost feel stupid for thinking that it wouldn’t be reported in the news and we might have been able to go back home in a day or two. Of course it was going to be reported. Somebody has died, and somebody has to be punished for that. But why does it have to be my husband?

  ‘What’s the latest?’ I ask when I can finally bring myself to lower my hands and look at Adam again.

  ‘Just that they found the body. Suspected hit and run. Appealing for any witnesses.’

  ‘Nothing about a suspect?’

  ‘Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘I do. The police will check the cameras. How can they not?’

  ‘I’m just trying to stay positive.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be positive about.’

  I wish Adam wasn’t giving up hope because I’m only just hanging on to a thread of it myself. But I hate to admit that he is right. It seems that we are screwed.

  ‘What was their name?’ I ask as Adam takes a seat on the edge of the bed and stares out of the window as more rain begins to fall.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The person you hit. What was their name?’

  Adam takes a moment to answer, and I feel a little bad for even asking because he must be so torn up inside about taking another person’s life, but I’ve already put the question out there now.

  ‘Steven,’ Adam replies solemnly. ‘Steven Owen.’

  I don’t know why but hearing a name to put to the body somehow makes it seem even more real than it already is. Steven Owen. No longer just a nameless piece of meat lying on the road. Now he has an identity.

  A first name that his parents gave him.

  A surname that ties him to the lineage of his family.

  A lineage that is now forever tainted with tragedy.

  I wonder if Steven had a wife and children. Maybe he was a Grandparent. But I daren’t ask. I don’t actually want to know, and I’m definitely not going to make Adam tell me. But he must know. I’m sure it was in the articles that he read. He must have been so distraught when he discovered them.

  ‘Come here,’ I say to Adam, reaching out towards him and pulling him closer to me.

  He flops easily into my arms so that he is now lying on the bed before me, and I hold him like he is a wounded animal taking his last few breaths. While I’m battling plenty of my own anxieties right now, I can’t even begin to imagine what Adam is going through. How must it feel to read a news story about somebody being killed and knowing that it was you who was behind it?

  ‘Did you bring the papers back?’ I ask.

  ‘I threw them in the bin,’ he replies. ‘I just couldn’t look at them anymore.’ Then he buries his head into me, and I tell him that it is okay as I comfort him, even though I was hoping he hadn’t thrown them away. I wish there was a way for me to see the articles because I want to know more without having to ask Adam for the information, but there isn’t. No signal here means no chance of getting on the internet on my phone.

  Thinking about my phone reminds me about the incident in the night when I lost my device only for Adam to say he had found it under the bed. My discovery that it was impossible for it to have gotten under the bed in the first place is still troubling me, but I feel like I can’t bring it up now with Adam like this. Instead, I allow my fragile husband to rest in my arms for a moment. I’ll bring it up later. Right now, we have more important things to discuss anyway.

  ‘What do we do?’ I ask as Adam sits up on the bed and wipes away a tear from his eye. He thinks he did it discreetly, but I noticed it.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replies. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

  I don’t know either, so I lie back on my pillow and gaze out at the raindrops running down the window.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ I hear Adam ask me, and I feel him take my hand in his.

  ‘I’m okay. I’m feeling a little better now.’

  ‘That’s good,’ he replies as he lies down on his own pillow beside me.

  But that word seems ridiculous because nothing is good right now.

  It will never be good a
gain.

  25

  ADAM

  Steven Owen. I’m quite pleased with myself for the name I decided to give to the non-existent person I ran over and killed two days ago. While it’s fake, the name does have special meaning to me. It’s a combination of my two favourite Liverpool players. Steven Gerrard and Michael Owen. I had to get my love of football into my masterplan somewhere.

  I’m glad that Laura didn’t ask to know more details about the “victim,’ even though I’m prepared for it. Steven has an age (52), a profession (painter and decorator), and sadly he does have a family (wife and two teenage sons). I created the full fictional story of Steven Owen which I memorised and am able to recite on demand to my wife if necessary, but for now, Laura has no more questions, other than the most obvious and pressing one.

  What do we do next?

  Of course, I know the answer to that question, but I can hardly say it. Instead, I must keep up this whole charade a little longer. I have to mope around the cottage. I have to seem distressed and remorseful. And I also have to perfect my ‘thousand-yard stare’ as I look out of the window over the rain-swept hills. It’s the blank stare that is associated with soldiers after they have got back from war, and is caused by the fact that they have seen so many dreadful scenes during their life. I am doing my best to wear that same expression as much as possible whenever my wife looks in my direction because I too want to appear like someone who has seen terrible things that I am incapable of forgetting. Because I have. I’ve seen a man die right in front of me as he hit my car. Or at least that’s what is supposed to have happened.

  Laura is still in bed, and I’m downstairs fixing her up another drink while I run over the home visit from the police in my mind. PC McGregor and PC Stone completed their ‘check’ in twenty minutes and didn’t seem to notice anything of interest before they thanked me for my time and left, promising me that they would be in touch should they have any further news about my missing wife. I thanked them for their time and watched them drive away in their vehicle before allowing two minutes to pass before getting in my own car and heading back to this cottage. With that piece of the plan ticked off, it’s time to move on to the next stage, and I’m excited about this part. Things are going to start moving quickly now, and it’s vital that they do. Laura could give birth at any moment, but I want this all wrapped up and concluded before that happens.

  I finish pouring the cranberry juice into the cup, but before I return the carton to the fridge, I take a few seconds to pour some of it down the sink. The less we have means the more we will need, and considering how much Laura likes to drink it, I’m going to have to ‘pop back into the village and do another shop’ very soon.

  What a shame.

  I walk back upstairs and re-enter the bedroom, handing the cup to Laura before standing by the window and getting some more practise in with my stoic stare.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Laura asks me. She has obviously noticed how distracted I am, which is good because that’s the whole point of a stare like this.

  I ignore the question to make it seem like I am lost in my deep and dark thoughts, and she doesn’t bother asking it again. I wish I could answer her. I wish I could tell her what I am really thinking about. That’s because behind this blank stare of mine, my mind is racing with all the excitement and possibility that the next forty-eight hours are going to bring.

  The mystery. The mayhem. And the murder.

  I want Laura to ask me again. I want to tell her what I am really thinking. I want her to know that she is going to be dead very soon and there is nothing that she can do about it. But she doesn’t ask me, so I just keep staring out of the window at the rain. It’s so dreary out there. I think I’ll take a holiday when this is all over. Somewhere warm and sunny. Somewhere exotic. The Caribbean, perhaps. Or maybe Sri Lanka. Of course, I’ll have to wait a decent amount of time after Laura’s funeral before I go jetting off anywhere. I will have to play the part of the grieving husband, and I can hardly do that if I’m sipping a cocktail on a sun lounger beside a pool. But time will pass quickly, as it seems to do more and more these days, and I will eventually get my day in the sun. I will get my reward for all of the hard work I have put into this plan, as well as for all the pain and suffering I endured before it was hatched. I deserve it too. I just have to stay focused for a little while longer, and then all of this will be over.

  I eventually tire of staring out of the window and trying to appear all pensive and moody to my wife, so I turn back around and join her on the bed. She has already finished her drink, and now her eyes are closed as her hands rest on her swollen belly. She looks like she is trying to sleep, and I feel like I might join her in that.

  I’ve earned a rest.

  It’s been a busy day.

  But it’s nothing compared to the one I’m going to have tomorrow.

  26

  LAURA

  There’s not much chance of having another dream again tonight. That’s because I can’t sleep.

  There’s simply too much running through my mind.

  I can feel Adam wriggling in the bed beside me, so I know he isn’t getting much rest either, although he seems to be managing it a little better than I am. I did hear him gently snoring around half an hour ago, so he did at least manage to drift off for a little while. I, on the hand, have been staring up at the dark ceiling for the majority of the time since we turned the lights off in here, and despite my weary body demanding me to close my eyes, I refuse to. How can I allow myself the peace of sleep when my real world is so chaotic?

  I know what I need to do. I know I won’t be able to rest until I have done it.

  Therefore, I need to go and do it.

  I peel back the duvet carefully so as not to disturb Adam before grabbing my phone, scooping up a few of my clothes from the floor and heading for the door. I wait until I am far enough away from the bedroom before I start to get dressed, throwing on a pair of jogging bottoms and a sweater and trying to keep my balance in the dark as I put my socks over my feet. Feeling slightly more prepared to be wandering around a cold cottage in the middle of the night now, I head downstairs where I quickly put my coat on and zip it up as silently as I can. The cottage is so quiet that even the tiniest of sounds seems ridiculously loud, but I do my best to make it to the front door as delicately as I can before turning the handle slowly and feeling the frigid air seeping in from outside. Only a madwoman would go outside on this hilltop at this time of night, but my lack of sleep has got me feeling more than qualified for that title now.

  I step outside the cottage and take a painfully long time to close the door behind me because I can’t afford to ruin all my hard work and make a noise that will result in Adam hearing me and rushing downstairs to investigate. With my teeth gritted in concentration, I get the door to seal silently, and now I am out.

  I pat the left pocket of my jogging bottoms to make sure that my mobile phone is still in there and then I hurry away from the cottage down the dirt track that leads back to the main road. My eyes are already watering from the ice-cold wind that is blowing straight into my face, and I almost feel as if the weather is mocking me for the pathetic amount of clothing that I have dared to brave the elements in tonight. I should have a hat, gloves and scarf as well as the coat on my back, but instead, I am out here shivering, and it’s only going to get worse before I make it back to the cottage and climb back into that warm bed.

  I walk as quickly as I can down the track, doing my best to dodge the muddiest parts, but it’s not easy with so little light to guide me. There’s no moonlight breaking through the dense clouds that are swirling above my head to help me, and in the end, I have no choice but to take out my phone and turn on the torchlight.

  The light from the beam makes a big difference, and I’m able to eventually make it to the end of the track without getting my shoes covered in muddy water. Now I just need to figure out how far I need to go until I can get a phone signal.

  I
know Adam said about not using our phones, but I’m sure it will be okay if I only do it for a minute or two. It’s a risk, but I’m so desperate to see the news for myself that I am willing to take it. If things are as bad as Adam says they are, it sounds like we will have to be on the move from here soon anyway, so it doesn’t really matter if the police pick up my signal.

  Adam goes all the way into the village to get the newspaper every day, but he has the car, so it’s easier for him to do that. But I’m on foot, so I can’t walk all the way there and back, at least not if I want to be back by sunrise. Therefore, I need to find somewhere along this dark road where I can get a signal. There has to be a sweet spot around here.

  I just have to find it.

  I keep my eyes on my phone screen as I walk alongside the edge of the road, and I’m not expecting there to be any traffic down here in the middle of the night, but I’m being careful just in case. I’ve heard the stories about some of the drivers in this part of the world who like to drive home after a night of boozing in the pub because they know their chances of getting caught here are slim to none. It’s terrifying to think that someone could have several pints of beer and get behind the wheel, but I imagine it happens all the time in the countryside. But it’s not just the risk from speeding cars that is keeping me so close to the roadside. I also need to make sure that I can duck into the treeline if I do see another vehicle approaching. The last thing I need is somebody spotting me. I doubt there are too many heavily pregnant women wandering these roads after dark. I’d be pretty memorable, and that’s the last thing I want because my face might be in the newspapers soon and that driver might recall seeing me out here. It wouldn’t take long for them to track me down at the cottage then.

  Fortunately, I hear no car engines in the distance, nor do I see any sign of headlights on the horizon. But most annoyingly of all, I still see no signal on the screen of my mobile phone.

  I hold my device above my head because isn’t that what everybody does when they are trying to get their phone to connect to something? But even that technical expertise fails to do the job, and now I’m beginning to think that I am going to have to go all the way into the village if I want to get the signal that I need to use my data and check the news articles online.