On His Grave

by Farrar, M K

  He sighed and shook his head. “Yes, it was horrible. But things had to be done. You said yourself, no one was doing anything to help Ollie.”

  She stared in horror. “What did you do?”

  He didn’t answer her, only pressed his lips together and glanced away.

  “What did you do?” Her voice rose to a high-pitched shriek. “What did you do?”

  “Only what needed to be done. A little shove from behind when he’d been up in his treehouse. He hadn’t even seen me coming.”

  “Felix is just a little boy!”

  “A little boy who would have grown into a violent man, if something hadn’t been done. You wanted to hurt him yourself, Kristen. You told me as much.”

  “I threatened it in the heat of an argument. That was all! I’d never have actually wanted any harm to come to him.”

  “Oh, be real. Don’t kid yourself that you didn’t feel that violence coursing through your veins when you saw what he’d done to Ollie. Don’t tell me that you weren’t relieved to your very core when you heard he wasn’t coming back to school.”

  “No, no.” She shook her head, hating that every word coming out of his mouth was the truth. She had wanted Felix to hurt. She had been relieved when she’d found out he wasn’t coming back to school any time soon.

  “I did it for you, Kristen. I did everything for you.”

  “Everything?” Her mind raced to figure out what else he was talking about. “Stephen?”

  “Now, that one I actually enjoyed. Shame I didn’t kill the son of a bitch, but you know he had it coming.”

  She shook her head, backing away. “No, stop.”

  He moved closer. “I want you to know I didn’t plan any of this, Kristen. I mean, obviously I planned part of it—the start where I killed the real Haiden. I needed to get out of the country, and what better way than by posing as someone else? No one ever really looks at the passport photographs of everyone on those big coaches, and I looked enough like the real Haiden to not get questioned—tall, with blond hair and blue eyes. It was enough to flash them the photograph in his passport, and they just moved on. It was laughably easy, really.”

  “Why did you choose me?”

  “Just a happy coincidence. I had originally been planning on pulling a vanishing act shortly after I arrived, but then I saw you at the coach station, and everything changed. I meant everything I said about that first time I saw you. I know it’s a cliché, but it was like a thunderbolt hitting me in the chest. And then you were so kind to me, welcoming me into your family like I was a part of it. I never really had a family of my own. Not a decent one, anyway. My mother ran off when I was small, and left me with an alcoholic, abusive father, and you can see how that turned out.”

  Her mouth gaped. “You’ve killed people.”

  “Yes, well, I was hoping you’d never have to find that out. It was stupid of me, really. I should have left a long time ago, but instead, we kept getting closer and closer, and I just couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

  “You hurt Felix. And Stephen...”

  He snatched up her hand, his grip like a vice, and she stifled a scream. “I did all those things for you, Kristen. Can’t you see that? It made me so fucking angry to sit back and watch how people were treating you. You have literally lived your life for everyone else—taking care of Ollie, and your sister, and putting up with that arsehole ex-husband treating you like shit. Someone had to do something.”

  She shook her head, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. Her entire body vibrated with adrenaline. “All those things that were happening... the broken plant pots and the window, and the car tyres. Was that you? Were you trying to frighten me?”

  “Fuck, no! Haven’t you listened to a single word I’ve said?” His eyes darkened with anger and she tried to backpedal.

  “No, of course, it wasn’t you. I’m sorry.” Her voice stammered and shook as she spoke. “The police are on their way, Haiden.” Shit, that wasn’t even his name. “I mean Filip. You might as well just let me go.”

  “No, I can’t. Not now. I’ve told you everything.”

  “The police know everything anyway.”

  He shook his head. “They don’t. They don’t know about Felix or Stephen.”

  “I won’t tell them, I swear.”

  He snorted. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Yes, believe it. I swear I won’t say a word. Just walk out of here now and keep going.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “I can’t do that.”

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  He didn’t answer her question but moved closer. “I could have loved you, Kristen. That’s the saddest thing about all of this. What we had was real.”

  She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. I don’t even know who you are.”

  She had to buy herself some time. The police were coming, but the only thing they had to track her location was the mobile phone in her back pocket. She remembered how she’d asked if he was taking his phone with him, and he’d said he was leaving it back at the house. Was that how the police had found him? No, they wouldn’t have even needed to do that. Once they’d realised the real Haiden was dead, they must have figured out the killer was posing as Haiden and tracked him down to her house. If only they hadn’t chosen this weekend to go away. Had he known they were closing in on him? But it was better that they were away. If they’d been at the house, Ollie would have got caught up in all of this.

  Inwardly, she groaned at the thought of all the police turning up at her house. They’d probably searched it. The neighbours would all be talking, and poor Ollie and Violet would have been confused and terrified.

  His broad form blocked the way. She’d never get past him to the car.

  Shit. Where were the car keys, anyway? She remembered throwing them to him when he’d gone back out to the vehicle to bring in the bags. He must still have them on him. She’d never get away by just running. He was taller and younger and would catch her in an instant. But without the car keys, what choice did she have?

  “You need to give me that phone, Kristen,” he said, taking another step towards her.

  She couldn’t let him get the phone. If he took it and destroyed it, the police might never find her.

  “No.”

  “Give. Me. The. Phone.”

  She might not be able to get past him, but there were other options.

  “Now, Kristen!”

  He lunged for her.

  Chapter Thirty

  With a scream, she spun on her heels and threw herself towards the hallway. Expecting to feel his hand clamping onto her shoulder or around her throat at any second, she could barely believe it when she slammed her way into the bathroom and managed to get the door shut behind her. Frantic, dizzy with adrenaline, and her hands shaking, she fiddled with the lock.

  He crashed into the door from the other side. The door bowed, but she managed to crack the lock into place. She fell back, panting hard. The backs of her legs hit the side of the bathtub, and the strength went out of her limbs. She sank down onto the edge, staring at the locked door in terror.

  His voice boomed from the other side. “Open the door, Kristen! I mean it.”

  She didn’t answer.

  Desperate, she looked around, trying to figure out her next move. There was a window, but only the narrow top part opened, and even then by only a few inches, and she knew there was no possibility of her squeezing through it.

  A crash came at the door, and she jumped, her heart pounding.

  “I’ll break the fucking door down!” he bellowed.

  Thank God for old, heavy doors. If she was in a new build right now, he’d have broken through within a minute. The bangs came again, the sound of his shoulder hitting the door. The door rattled in the frame, but it didn’t give, and somehow the lock held, too.

  She sat, staring, her gaze dropping down to the substantial gap between the bottom of the door and the floor, watching the shadow his bod
y created. Her entire body shook violently. She needed to do something with the phone. The moment he got in here, he would try and take it off her. But if he couldn’t find it, it would buy her more time.

  Where could she hide it?

  The room wasn’t big, and there weren’t many places to hide things—the small bathroom cabinet, a rack filled with towels, behind the toilet, perhaps?

  She glanced back to the window. Could she risk throwing the phone out, into the garden? What if it broke, and the battery fell out? Plus, the screen was already cracked, and another fall might break it completely. But would that make it untraceable? She wished she knew more about this kind of thing.

  She looked back around the bathroom. She could hide the phone in the toilet cistern, perhaps? But would it get wet?

  Indecision rendered her useless.

  The banging against the door had stopped. Where had he gone? Shit. Would he come around the side of the house and smash the window instead? If he did, she’d know the door was free and she’d be able to get out that way.

  Unease trickled through her. What was Haiden—no, not Haiden, Filip—playing at?

  The shadow appeared beneath the door once more, and she braced herself for another slam of his body against the wood. But instead, something black and rubbery was pushed under the door. A hose? She narrowed her eyes, wondering what was happening. Whatever it was, she was sure it wouldn’t be anything good.

  From the other side of the door, a loud hissing started, and suddenly white foaming powder exploded from the black rubber nozzle and filled the small bathroom.

  Kristen staggered backwards, her lungs trying to suck in oxygen, but only inhaling white powder. The identity of the rubber thing suddenly came to her. He’d taken the fire extinguisher from the kitchen. The son of a bitch was trying to gas her out.

  Another blast from the fire extinguisher filled the room, and her lungs tightened. She coughed, her hand clutched to her mouth. Instinctively, she clambered towards the window, but the tiny gap wasn’t enough to replace the amount of oxygen the chemicals in the room were displacing.

  “I’ll keep it coming, Kristen,” he bellowed. “I won’t stop. I’ll force you out of there. Open the door, or you’ll die locked in a bathroom.”

  “Then I’ll die!” She wanted to sound brave, but her voice was weak and strangled.

  More CO2 filled the room.

  Coughing, her hand half-covering her mouth and nose, she knew she had to make a decision. He was going to tear through this small bathroom in a matter of minutes, and then he’d find the phone. She needed to buy herself time.

  Shit shit shit.

  With tears streaming down her face, she grabbed a towel and went back to the window. It was already open a crack—probably the only thing saving her lungs right now—and she pushed it open as far as it would go. Then she wrapped the phone up in the towel and held it out of the window.

  Please don’t break, please don’t break, please don’t break.

  And she let it drop.

  It hit the ground on the outside of the cottage, and she winced, but couldn’t do anything now. She just had to hope it was still in one piece. At least now, to get the phone when he realised what she’d done with it, he’d be forced to leave the cottage to go and get it. Hoping it would confuse him, she yanked the window shut again, and gave in to the coughing. Another blast of CO2 came from the fire extinguisher, and she felt like her throat was closing over. She was struggling to breathe.

  “Okay, okay. I’m unlocking the door.” Her vision blurred from tears caused by all the coughing and also the chemicals in the room.

  She didn’t have any choice. If she kept it locked, she’d die in here. By the time the police showed up, he’d be long gone, and all they’d find was her body. All she could think about was Ollie and how he’d cope without her. Violet would step in to take care of him, especially with Stephen in hospital, too, but it wouldn’t be the same. He needed his mum, and she couldn’t let this psychopath take that from him.

  Her chest tightened, her lungs contracting. Her vision started to pull away from the edges. Was she going to pass out? No, she couldn’t. If she did, she’d be dead.

  Kristen clawed at the door, unable to bring the lock into focus. Her fingers caught cool metal and then slipped from it again. The room turned in a slow circle, and for a moment she forgot where she was and what she was supposed to be doing.

  No, no, no.

  She grappled for the lock again, and her fingers found purchase. To her relief, it clicked open. In her desperation for air, she’d forgotten the man on the other side.

  The door burst inward, and she staggered back.

  He was on her in an instant. Grabbing the front of her shirt, he swung her around and shoved her out of the bathroom. He didn’t let go of her, though, matching her movements with his own, so he remained towering over her.

  His hands wrapped around her throat. “Where is it, Kristen? What did you do with the fucking phone?”

  She clamped her mouth shut, determined not to tell him, no matter what he did to her.

  Sensing she wasn’t going to tell him, he gave a roar of frustration and pulled back his fist. His knuckles met with her cheekbone, rocking her head backwards, pain blasting like a firework across her cheek.

  He threw her to the floor, and she landed on her back, hitting her head and what little air she’d managed to inhale bursting from her lungs. Everything seemed to hurt now, so she struggled to distinguish one pain from another.

  Then he was on top of her. “Tell me!”

  Her eyes rolled, and she fought to stay in control of her body. The weakness and disorientation must have been caused by the powder she’d inhaled.

  He gave another roar and grabbed her by the sides of her face and lifted her head up before slamming it back against the wooden floorboards.

  The world tunnelled. She was barely aware of him getting off her again and going back into the bathroom. She heard the crashes as he was throwing things around. Just as she’d expected, he tore everything apart, swiping toiletries off the side, so they fell into the sink with a clatter.

  With him distracted, she managed to crawl onto all fours. Her head swam with dizziness, but she knew she needed to get out of there. She winced as a loud crack came from behind her, signalling the bath panel being torn off. He was literally pulling the place apart to find the phone. Soon enough, he’d realise it wasn’t in there, and that there was only one other place it could be.

  Had enough time passed yet for the police to have traced the phone? It felt like both a matter of brief moments, and the longest time of her life since she’d spoken to the officer. But if they hadn’t yet traced it, and he got outside and destroyed the mobile, all hope would be lost.

  Kristen staggered to her feet. He was still engrossed in trying to find the phone, and either hadn’t noticed her trying to run, or figured there was nowhere she could go. He still had the car keys, and there was only open moorland around them. Even if she ran, he’d catch her within minutes.

  She spotted the board where they’d prepared lunch. The bread knife, and the smaller knife she’d used to slice tomatoes and cucumber, were still there.

  “Kristen!” His roar came from behind her. “Give me that fucking phone!”

  Throwing herself forward, she snatched up the bread knife. Then she picked up the smaller of the two, weighing up which would be better.

  “You’re not getting away that easily!”

  She spun around, brandishing the bigger of the knives. “Stay away from me.”

  “You’re going to cut me?” He no longer looked like the Haiden she’d known. Something had changed about him, his features harder, his eyes as cool and pale as glacial ice. This was the killer she’d brought into her home.

  She stabbed the knife in his direction, fighting against another round of coughing that tickled the back of her throat. “Stay back!”

  He darted for her, jabbing out with his hand. She screamed
and slashed with the knife. She missed.

  He laughed, his ice blue eyes flashing with anger. “What do you think you’re doing, Kristen? You’re not going to hurt me. We’re lovers, remember?”

  “You’re crazy.”

  The knife trembled in her grip. She wanted to look strong, but she was fighting against the crap she’d inhaled from the fire extinguisher, and the bang to the head he’d given her. He was so big, swamping the space in front of her, alive and filled with cold determination. He was going to kill her.

  She lunged for him again, swiping the knife down in an arc. He lifted his hand to bat her away but misjudged the speed she was moving, and she caught his forearm. He yelled and yanked away, and she saw a slash of red. Brazened by the small win, she attacked again, going for his face this time. The knife sliced down his cheek, and a flap of skin peeled away.

  Kristen screamed in wild triumph.

  He was furious. “You bitch!”

  Lowering his shoulder, he rushed her. It was like being hit by a bull, sending her flying. She lost her grip on the knife as she fell, slamming to the ground. The air exploded from her lungs, leaving her gasping. Sharp pain stabbed into her hip, but she ignored the wound and the feel of hot wetness soaking her jeans.

  The man she’d known as Haiden was on top of her again, his bodyweight pinning her down. One hand clamped down on her throat, strangling her, while the other reached out to where the knife had fallen.

  Her gaze darted wildly to the bread knife. His fingertips scraped the handle. Almost there. He reached out farther, stretching as far as he could without removing his weight from her torso, or his hand from her throat.

  He got his fingers around the handle of the breadknife, more focused on that than what she was doing. As he lifted it high, ready to drive it into her chest, she reached to her hip. With a strangled scream, she yanked out the smaller knife she’d hidden when she’d picked up the breadknife and swung her arm. The small but sharp blade sank into the side of his neck.

  His whole body went rigid. His eyes widened in shock, and his mouth dropped open. He tried to suck in a breath, but there was only a strange whistling sound, and a red bubble of blood appeared between his lips. The bread knife fell from his fingers and clattered to the floor.