On His Grave

by Farrar, M K

  Kristen used what remained of her strength and shoved him off her. He fell onto his back and lay there, gasping, his fingers hovering around the hilt of the knife protruding from his neck. His hand wrapped around it, and he pulled. The blade slid out of his flesh, but with it came an arc of blood. The flap in his cheek, combined with the hole in his throat was a nightmare brought to life.

  She dragged herself backwards on the floor, not daring to take her eyes off him in case he came after her again.

  But more blood gurgled from his lips, and finally the light in his eyes faded.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting on the kitchen floor. She was barely aware of her surroundings, preferring to withdraw inside her head and block out the scene in front of her. All her limbs were freezing, and she couldn’t remember anything beyond the knife going into the neck of the man she’d believed to be Haiden Lindgren, but who was actually a stranger called Filip Nilsson.

  Outside, the familiar hum of car engines approached, punctuated by the slamming of car doors. Still, she remained in the exact same position.

  Movement came in the doorway. She recognised the uniform of police officers. Perhaps she should have been relieved to see them, but she felt nothing. Only cold and detached.

  “Ms Scott?”

  “He’s dead,” she called out, her voice trembling.

  One of the police officers stepped more fully into the room, spotting the body. “Shit.” Then he called out, “In here!”

  Was she going to be arrested for murder? She’d killed him. In that moment, she’d wanted him dead. Haiden—no, Filip—had been right when he’d said she had that capacity for violence inside her.

  “Ms Scott? Are you all right?” The police officer came and crouched beside her. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

  “You’re bleeding.” He gestured to her leg.

  Dumbly, she glanced down at her thigh to discover her jeans were dark and wet. Of course, she’d stabbed herself accidentally when he’d thrown her to the floor. She’d completely forgotten. Was that why she was so cold? A volley of coughing clutched at her lungs and she spluttered and hacked until her eyes streamed.

  “We need a paramedic in here,” he called out. “And we’re going to need the coroner’s office, too.”

  She was only vaguely aware of more people entering the room. An older man in a suit approached her. “Ms Scott. I’m Detective Superintendent Miles. We spoke on the phone.”

  “If I go to prison,” she said, her voice not sounding as though it belonged to her, “will you make sure my sister looks after my son?”

  “You won’t be going to prison. There will be an enquiry, of course, but we know what kind of man Filip Nilsson is. Was. He’s wanted for three other deaths in Sweden. We can see this was clearly self-defence.”

  Three other deaths? Deaths that didn’t include the real Haiden.

  He touched her arm, trying to be reassuring, but she jerked away.

  “Don’t worry about any of that now,” he said. “We’re going to take you to the local hospital and get you checked over. There’ll be plenty of time to go through the events leading up to now when you’re doing better.”

  She nodded and allowed him to help her to her feet. She struggled to put weight on her bad leg, but he supported her. As they moved at a slow lurch through the cottage, she couldn’t tear her eyes from the body.

  The man she’d killed.

  The cold she’d been experiencing went right down to her soul. She was responsible for a man’s death. The life she’d been living for the past month had been a lie. She’d had a murderer in her home, living under the same roof as her son.

  Kristen lowered her head and barked out a sob.

  He’d hurt Felix, and Stephen, too. She’d brought this man into their lives. What could have happened if the police hadn’t discovered who he really was? Who would have been next? Would he have set his sights on Violet, or even Ollie? She couldn’t stand the thought of it.

  She went over the things he’d said before he’d died. Had he truly believed he was helping her by harming Felix and Stephen?

  No, he had a twisted mind. He just used her as an excuse to hurt people.

  “This wasn’t your fault,” Detective Superintendent Miles told her, as though reading her thoughts. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You could have been anyone.”

  Her heart twisted. Was that supposed to make her feel better? She’d finally found a man she’d believed she might even be able to love again, and it turned out that he was a murderer, and not only that, she could have been anyone? Was it better or worse to think that there may have been the tiniest amount of truth in their relationship? That some of it may have been real.

  Her head hurt trying to think about it.

  They stepped outside. It was fully dark now, and the fresh, cool air went some way to bringing her out of her stupor. She suddenly realised how much her leg hurt and how tight her chest was.

  She remembered something. “My phone. I threw it out of the bathroom window.”

  He nodded. “We’ve got it. I’m afraid it’s going to need to be used as evidence.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. “What about my family?”

  “They’re being kept informed about you. We’ll let them know what hospital you’re being taken to, and they can meet you there.”

  As though he’d conjured up the vehicle, the lights of an ambulance rumbled down the little lane towards the cottage. It pulled to a halt, and two paramedics jumped out and ran to her.

  “We’ll talk again later,” the inspector said, before patting her on the arm and vanishing back inside the cottage.

  SHE WAS TAKEN TO HOSPITAL to be treated for concussion, shock, and the inhalation of the powder from the fire extinguisher.

  “Mummy!”

  Ollie ran into the room, shortly followed by Violet.

  Kristen pushed herself to sitting in the hospital bed, trying not to wince at her now bandaged leg. She’d needed stitches, but otherwise she’d escaped relatively unharmed. She’d been very lucky. Tears filled her eyes at the sight of her family, and she put her arms out for Ollie to clamber into.

  “Be careful of your mum,” Violet warned.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said, hugging Ollie tight, pressing her nose into his soft hair and inhaling the scent of him. Was there any smell in the world that was better? “I don’t know what I would have done if something happened to you. I love you so much, and I totally take you for granted. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Violet said. “None of this is your fault.”

  Kristen wished she could believe her. Silent tears streamed down her face, dampening Ollie’s hair.

  “He tricked everyone, Kristen.” Her sister took her hand to offer her some comfort. “It wasn’t just you. It was everyone he met. Shit, even I thought he was a good guy.”

  “Aunty Vi!” Ollie scolded. “You used a swear word.”

  Kristen exchanged a teary smile with Violet, knowing that what had happened deserved more than just one swear word.

  Kristen shook her head. “I’m still struggling to believe this isn’t all one bad dream. How did I not know who he was?”

  “The university messed up, big time. And so did the authorities when they didn’t check his passport properly. This isn’t your fault.”

  She sniffed and nodded. “I know.”

  But even though she knew what her sister was saying was the truth, she still couldn’t get her head around it. She’d cared about a man who’d been dead in an unmarked grave for the past month. No, it hadn’t been him she’d cared about. It had been the Haiden that Filip Nilsson had created.

  A forgery. A ghost. A shadow.

  Her Haiden had never existed.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Are you ready?” Violet asked Kristen.

  Kristen squeezed her hand and nodded.
“I think so.”

  “You don’t think this is a bit weird?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe, but it feels like closure.”

  She was about to meet Mr and Mrs Lindgren at the spot where the real Haiden’s body had been discovered. One of the hardest parts of her recovery over the past couple of months had been mentally trying not to think of Haiden as Haiden. The man who she’d killed at the cottage had been called Filip, and yet she couldn’t shake the idea that it wasn’t Filip who had been killed, but the Haiden he’d been impersonating. She struggled with nightmares in which the Haiden she’d known was still alive and was coming back for her. Even though she’d seen his body, the idea that there had been two of them made it impossible for her to move on.

  Haiden Lindgren’s parents had struggled, too, understandably. They’d believed their son to be alive for a month after he’d been so brutally murdered and left in a shallow grave. They wanted to meet the woman who’d lived with the man who’d killed their son and offered to cover the costs to bring both Kristen and Violet out to Sweden for the weekend.

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” Violet admitted.

  “I have to do it. It’s the only thing I can think to do that will help me move on.”

  Violet squeezed her hand in return. “I hope it does, Kristen. You deserve some peace.”

  “Thanks, Sis.”

  One good thing that had come out of all of this was that her relationship with Violet had been greatly improved. Violet admitted how frightened she’d been, thinking she was going to lose her, and she realised how important her sister and nephew were, and that she’d make more of an effort. She even moved in with Kristen, paying the rent so Kristen wasn’t short on the income. Violet knew that while Kristen needed the money, she also didn’t want to be the only adult alone in the house right now, and she wasn’t about to bring another stranger into her home any time soon.

  Kristen had left Ollie with Stephen and Lisa for the weekend while she and Violet flew out to Sweden. She wouldn’t have wanted Ollie to be in this situation. It had all been confusing enough for the poor kid. Stephen was home and doing better. He still had a noticeable slur, but physically he was almost back to his old self. During his recovery, Kristen had got much friendlier with Lisa, and had even confessed to her fear that Stephen had wanted to take Ollie from her before the accident.

  Lisa had reacted with horror. “No offence to Ollie, Kristen, because he’s as sweet as a five-year-old boy can be, but the idea of having three kids under the age of six at home full time would be way too much for me to handle.”

  Kristen had managed a laugh at that. Lisa was a good woman—better than Stephen deserved, not that he’d ever realise that.

  An enquiry into exactly what had happened to allow Filip Nilsson to pose as Haiden Lindgren for so long had been conducted. It involved a proper investigation into who was responsible for the window breaking and tyre slashing that had occurred while Filip had been a resident at Kristen’s house. It turned out one of their neighbours had security cameras which caught the outside of Kristen’s house, and had therefore captured the person who’d been destroying her property.

  Rachelle Hurst had eventually admitted that she’d been the one trying to scare Kristen, hoping she could frighten her into leaving the area. She was only charged with a misdemeanour and ordered to pay damages, but she was also struck off the parent teachers association, and there wouldn’t be much chance of seeing her up at the school again—something Kristen was particularly relieved about now that she was back at work. Felix himself was doing better. Young bodies healed well, it turned out, and he’d made surprising advances in regaining feeling in his legs. Of course, they wouldn’t be staying local now. Even with Felix on the mend, everyone knew what Rachelle had done, revealing herself for the absolute bitch she really was, and they’d be moving out of the area.

  The owner of the cottage where it had all come to a head also spoke to the police. It seemed Haiden, or Filip, as he now needed to be known, had overheard a conversation the owner had had with an actual friend, offering up the place, and had decided to take it on himself to plan the weekend there. The owner had since had the locks changed and promised to increase the security at the cottage. She imagined he’d probably be doing some redecorating, too. It was hard enough being at her house, knowing that Filip had touched everything, without having to imagine his dead body and the blood splatter every time she went into the kitchen.

  Kristen pulled her thoughts from the investigation and focused on the place the events of the past few months had brought her.

  The spot marking the real Haiden Lindberg’s original shallow grave—the place where his body had lain for almost a month—was marked by a small cross and some flowers. They’d walked through the forest of spruce and pine trees, about half a mile from the road, before they’d found it. Of course, Haiden Lindgren’s body was no longer here. It had been taken for forensics back when it had first been discovered.

  Violet nudged her in the side. “They’re here.”

  The shape of two figures made their way through the trees.

  Kristen sucked in a lungful of air, steadying her nerves. How would they feel about her? Did they think she was a terrible person for having a relationship with the man she’d believed to have been their son? Filip had killed Haiden before she’d even known he existed, so she couldn’t be held responsible for that part, but perhaps they felt she should have picked up there being something wrong sooner? Nothing she could have done would have saved the real Haiden, though.

  She looked up as the couple in their sixties approached, the woman with her arm hooked through the man’s.

  The couple noticed the two other women standing there, and both gave a tight smile and a nod. Kristen couldn’t imagine how they were feeling. She’d come here for herself, but she suddenly put herself in their position. How would she cope if this was Ollie’s grave she was standing by now? It didn’t matter how old your children got; they were always your children.

  The new arrivals stopped on the other side of the shallow grave. “Kristen?” the man said, looking between them.

  Kristen nodded and leaned forward to shake his hand. “Mr Lindgren. I’m sorry we’re meeting in these circumstances.”

  “It’s Hugo, please. This is my wife, Brigetta.”

  Both of the real Haiden’s parents were blond with blue eyes. Yes, Filip could have easily passed as their son. And, like Filip, their English was perfect and barely held an accent.

  “This is my sister Violet. I’m so sorry for what happened to your son.” She found herself blinking back tears. How would things have been if it had been the real Haiden who’d come to live with her? Of course, she didn’t expect for things to have been anything like they’d been with Filip, but maybe they’d have been friends.

  “Thank you,” Brigetta said. “And thank you for avenging the death of our boy.”

  It felt strange how she felt like she knew their son, even though she’d never met him. It hadn’t been their Haiden she’d known.

  “We couldn’t believe it when we found out that bastard had been pretending to be our son all that time,” Hugo continued. “Walking around, using his name. It’s like he was dancing on Haiden’s grave.”

  Like a ghost or a shapeshifter, morphing into someone he wasn’t.

  And then dancing on his grave.

  A shiver ran across her shoulders, and she shuddered.

  “I wish I’d got to meet your Haiden,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise something was wrong sooner.”

  “It’s not your fault. Filip Nilsson was an accomplished liar and manipulator. You weren’t the first woman to be taken in by him.”

  The previous deaths the inspector had referred to had all been women. It seemed he made a habit of making women believe he was something he was not, and then killing them when the women found out. The police had been on his tail, and he’d realised he had to get out of the country.<
br />
  Just like her, Haiden Lindgren had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Filip had seen how much alike they’d looked, and then discovered his plans to go to the UK to study. He’d killed Haiden and stolen his ID shortly before the coach had left, and simply picked up Haiden’s bag, including his mobile phone, and boarded the coach as Haiden Lindgren. He’d been lucky that no one on the coach had met him before or that his parents hadn’t seen him off at the station.

  “I wish we’d driven him to the coach,” Hugo admitted. “But he was twenty-three years old and always was independent. If we’d driven him there, he’d still be alive today, and you wouldn’t have gone through everything you did.”

  So, they didn’t hate her, or blame her for what had happened. They were blaming themselves as much as she’d been blaming herself.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said, laying her hand on Hugo’s arm.

  Violet shook her head. “Only Filip Nilsson is to blame.”

  Yes, Filip Nilsson. Not Haiden Lindgren. Haiden Lindgren was dead, and these were his grieving parents. She’d never known Haiden. The only man she’d ever known was Filip, and she doubted she’d ever really known the real him. He probably hadn’t even known who he was himself, by the end.

  Maybe she could finally make peace with that.

  Kristen hugged Haiden’s parents goodbye, and they thanked her again, though she could never truly accept gratitude for killing a man.

  Then she took her sister’s hand and walked away from the grave, finally leaving Haiden Lindgren and Filip Nilsson behind her.

  About the Author

  M.K. Farrar is the pen name for a USA Today Bestselling author of more than thirty novels. ‘Some They Lie’ is her first psychological thriller, but won’t be her last. When she’s not writing, M.K. is rescuing animals from far off places, binge watching shows on Netflix, or reading. She lives in the English countryside with her husband, three daughters, and menagerie of pets.