Emma Holden Mystery 03-The One You Fear

by Paul Pilkington

  TOYF

  Title Page

  Prologue

  PART ONE

  PART TWO

  PART THREE

  PART FOUR

  The One You Fear

  Paul Pilkington

  Copyright 2012 Paul Pilkington

  UK English Edition

  www.paulpilkington.com

  Cover Design: Jeanine Henning

  www.jeaninehenning.com

  Kindle Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Also by Paul Pilkington and available on Kindle

  The One You Love

  Someone to Save You

  View here at the Kindle Store

  For those who asked for more. And for my wonderful family.

  Prologue

  Margaret Myers held the remote control tightly in her hand and pointed it towards the sleeping television. She pressed the stand-by button and the box sprang to life, illuminating the otherwise dark lounge. She watched, transfixed and scared, as the images played out in front of her. A policewoman, arms and legs pounding, was running down a rain-sodden street, giving chase to a man. She looked just like that girl – the one who had ruined it all with her wicked ways. The programme frightened Margaret. Programmes like that gave you funny ideas.

  Two weeks ago the television had spoken to her.

  It told her that she should end it all.

  Margaret Myers changed channel, her hand shaking like a jackhammer. The lottery draw – this was better. She didn’t like the police programmes; didn’t like them at all.

  She remembered the time when the whole family would sit down in front of the television on a Saturday night and watch the quiz shows, their dinners on their laps – herself, her husband Peter, and her dear Stephen. Back then everything was good.

  But that was then, and this was now.

  A man and woman had visited and told her that Peter had been arrested. He’d done something wrong. She couldn’t remember what. They wanted her to come with them, to spend some time resting in the same place they had taken her to a few weeks ago – the hospital that was full of disturbed people.

  She hadn’t been fooled by their weasel words and plastic smiles. This time she wasn’t going anywhere. They thought she was stupid, or crazy, or both. But she knew what they were up to. They had taken her son and her husband, but they wouldn’t take her.

  The draw was starting. She leaned forward in anticipation as the arms in the machine kicked up the balls, before sucking one up through the plastic tube and spitting it out down the chute.

  And the first ball is… number twelve.

  She caught her breath. Number twelve. Stephen had been born on the twelfth of December.

  Again a ball was sucked up the tube.

  And the second ball is… number twelve.

  She blinked, shaking her head. It was a mistake. Someone had placed a duplicate ball in the machine. Why hadn’t people noticed?

  And the third ball is… number twelve.

  ‘No, no, no, it’s not right, it can’t be.’

  She jabbed at the controller, blackening the screen and sending the room back into darkness. For a few seconds she just sat there in the pitch black, breathing heavily, her hands curling into tight fists.

  And then a noise – was it someone at the door?

  At first she didn’t move, but just sat there in the darkness. Would somebody be calling at such a late hour? Maybe it had been her imagination.

  But there was a definite knock this time.

  Margaret Myers rose from the sofa and moved into the corridor, edging slowly towards the front door.

  ‘Hello. Who’s there?’ There was no answer. She grasped the door handle – but then she stopped herself. Maybe they had returned for her, to take her away to their place, and evict her forever from the family home.

  They thought they were so clever.

  ‘Go away; I’m not coming with you. Leave me alone.’

  Something was pushed through the letterbox. It fell onto the carpet, and she bent to pick it up.

  It couldn’t be –?

  She cradled the object in her hand, tears swelling in her eyes. ‘It can’t be.’

  Then she grabbed the door and pulled it open.

  ‘It’s you,’ she said, breaking into a broad smile. ‘It’s really you.’ She threw her arms around him. ‘They said you were dead, but I always knew you’d come back to me.’

  One week later

  PART ONE

  1

  Emma Holden woke in a sweat, her head damp against the pillow. At first she didn’t know where she was. Then she remembered. She was in a luxury apartment a few miles outside the small Cornish seaside town of St. Ives, down in the far south-west of England. Dan had surprised her with the news that they were going away for a few days, from Friday until Tuesday. They’d both needed to get away from London for a while, just four weeks after the terrible events of Dan’s kidnap at the hands of Peter Myers. It had felt so claustrophobic in the capital, surrounded by all the raw, painful memories, so Emma was overjoyed at the chance to escape for a few days and release some of that pressure.

  ‘Are you awake, Dan?’

  There was no reply. She reached across the double bed but Dan wasn’t there – the covers had been pulled back and, raising her head off the pillow, she saw that the bedroom door was ajar. She sat up and only then remembered the nightmare. It had been the same dream again, the third time in two weeks. Again it was her wedding. She and Dan were standing at the front of the congregation, filled with excitement and love. For a split second she turned away, and when she looked back, it was Stuart Harris next to her, smiling warmly. The service continued and when they reached the vows, first Stuart’s voice and then his face began to change. Suddenly it was Stephen Myers beside her. He looked older, but still had the same vacant stare and delusional smile. The priest announced, ‘You may now kiss the bride’ and Stephen Myers lunged at her, thrusting his mouth towards hers as she tried to fight him off.

  Each time she had woken at that very same moment.

  She got out of bed, went into the hallway and through into the main kitchen and living room. It was certainly an amazing apartment. The kitchen was full of top spec appliances, all of which were new – washing machine, dishwasher, oven, and espresso maker – which, by the smell of it, had just been used. The manager, who owned the majority of the apartments in the block, had met them on their arrival the previous day and explained that they had a refit in the spring.

  Bright early-morning late-September sunlight was streaming through the patio doors at the far end. Dan was sitting outside on the small decking area, staring out to sea and over towards the town of St. Ives to the west. On the table in front of him was the freshly made coffee.

  Dan didn’t seem to notice Emma’s approach – he was still staring into the distance as she reached him. ‘Morning,’ she said, taking the seat next to him. She noticed there were two cups of coffee on the table.

  Dan smiled at her. ‘I woke up early and thought I’d try out our new machine.’ He gestured towards the cups.

  ‘I’m impressed,’ Emma said.

  ‘You haven’t tasted it yet,’ he joked.

  ‘Well, it looks great.’

  ‘Actually it tastes great too, b
ut I’ve got to admit, it was my second attempt. The first time I burned it. It was revolting so it went straight down the sink.’

  ‘Then top marks for perseverance,’ Emma quipped, taking a sip. ‘Lovely.’

  ‘It’s such an amazing view,’ Dan said, as they both looked out across the sea. A small fishing vessel was making its way from St. Ives towards open water. It looked so fragile, bobbing up and down on the waves like a toy. Even though it was a spectacularly sunny morning with a flawless blue sky, there was a keen wind whipping up the water into white tips.

  Emma stole a glance at Dan; his short, dark brown hair was messy from sleep in the way that she always found so endearing. He still didn’t look himself. He had been injured physically during his time in captivity, but nothing too serious – mainly bruising, which had now healed. But mentally – well, Emma wasn’t sure. He hadn’t opened up yet about what had happened during those days at the hands of Peter Myers, or about how it had affected him. And although she was desperate to understand, so she could help, Emma didn’t want to press him. He needed to be ready to talk.

  ‘I’m worried about you,’ she said, not really intending to vocalise those thoughts.

  Dan smiled sadly, as if he knew what she was talking about. ‘I’m okay, Em. It’s just going to take time to get over it all.’

  Emma nodded. They were all finding it difficult. ‘You know, if you want to talk about it, if you think it would help, I’m always here for you.’

  ‘I know.’ Dan took her hand. ‘Come here.’

  Emma snuggled into his side, as he placed a comforting arm around her. She closed her eyes, enjoying the brightness of the sun and the warmth of his body. ‘I was so scared. I thought I might never see you again.’

  Dan held her tighter. ‘It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.’

  They stayed like that for a few minutes, just enjoying being close to one another. There hadn’t been much physical contact in the past month, but it wasn’t surprising, after all everyone had gone through.

  ‘How did you sleep?’ Dan asked. ‘You were tossing and turning a little.’

  Emma raised her head off his chest. ‘Is that what woke you up?’

  ‘No. I was thinking about Peter Myers.’

  She sat upright. ‘Really? What about him?’

  ‘I was wondering how he is.’

  His admission came as a shock. They’d hardly spoken that man’s name since being reunited. ‘You’re concerned about him?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Dan replied. ‘I don’t know. I know what he did was a terrible act, but at the heart of it, he’s a victim too.’

  ‘Because of what happened to Stephen?’

  Dan nodded, taking a sip of coffee. ‘Who knows how you’d react if you found out that your son or daughter had been murdered? Maybe you’d want to take revenge too. Maybe the anger would twist your morals, lead you to doing something you wouldn’t normally contemplate.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘I know it sounds crazy, feeling empathy for him – the man nearly killed Richard – but I can see how he might have got to where he is now.’

  ‘I don’t think it sounds crazy.’

  ‘He’ll probably go to prison for many years.’

  Peter Myers had been charged with a litany of offences, including kidnapping and grievous bodily harm. He’d pleaded guilty to all charges, and had been remanded in custody, pending sentencing. There was little doubt that he would spend a long time behind bars for what he’d done. The sentence would surely have been longer if Richard hadn’t survived – he was currently up in Edinburgh, staying with friends and continuing his recovery and recuperation.

  ‘You think he does deserve it, though?’ Emma said.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course I do. He deserves to go to jail for what he did.’

  Emma breathed an inward sigh of relief. Although she could certainly see where Dan was coming from, it was still uncomfortable hearing him say supportive things about Peter Myers. It reminded her of so-called Stockholm syndrome, where captives began to empathise with and even support their captors.

  ‘Anyway, you didn’t answer my original question,’ Dan added. ‘About how you slept. I’m worried about you, too, you know.’

  ‘I had another nightmare,’ Emma revealed.

  Dan looked concerned. ‘About Stephen Myers?’

  Emma nodded. ‘It was the same dream, the wedding.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Dan said.

  ‘Why are you apologising? It’s not your fault.’

  ‘Maybe it is.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Well, it was my idea to postpone the wedding for a few months. Maybe that’s why you keep dreaming about it.’

  ‘It was for the best,’ Emma replied. ‘We agreed.’

  ‘I know, but I wonder whether I pushed you into it. Maybe we should have just gone ahead and got married as soon as we could.’

  Emma shook her head. ‘No. It was the right thing to do. Yes, of course I want to be married to you, right now. That’s how it was supposed to be. But I want it to be right, Dan. I didn’t want to get married when there are still all these things going on. Richard is still recuperating, Dad is worried sick about the court case, and the rest of us – you, me, Will and Lizzy – we’re all still coming to terms with what happened. That’s not a good time to get married, is it?’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ Dan agreed. ‘But I am worried about you, Em. These dreams about Stephen Myers, I don’t like them at all. It’s like he’s back, stalking you.’

  ‘He’s dead,’ Emma stated. ‘It’s my imagination, that’s all.’

  ‘Like yesterday at the services?’

  Emma nodded. En route to Cornwall they had stopped at services in Exeter to grab some lunch and stretch their legs. The place had been packed with tourists, many of whom were heading for Cornwall to enjoy the Indian summer England had been basking in. After a disappointing July and August, temperatures in September had climbed to the mid-seventies. The car park was filled with all manner of vehicles, loaded with surfboards, walking gear, and camping equipment. It was as she exited the toilets that Emma saw the man. He was standing with his back to her, on the other side of the atrium, near the slot machines. And then he had turned one hundred and eighty degrees, and appeared to look straight at her. She caught her breath at the sight of his face.

  It was Stephen Myers.

  Except it wasn’t. Because Stephen Myers was dead.

  Instinctively she had looked away, for a split second. When she turned back, he had gone.

  ‘It did shake me up,’ Emma said.

  Of course, she knew that it had just been her mind playing tricks on her. The person had looked like Stephen Myers, or how she remembered him. But it felt as if, for that moment, he had been there, living and breathing. Not dead, but alive.

  ‘I can imagine,’ Dan replied. ‘I’m glad you told me about it.’

  Emma had considered not doing so, but Dan had spotted straight away that something was wrong. And it had helped to talk things through. It hadn’t been the first time she thought she’d seen Stephen Myers. A week earlier, while out shopping with Lizzy on Oxford Street, a man had brushed past her in a department store. She’d caught only the briefest of glimpses and, as at the services, her initial reaction had been that it was him. But of course it couldn’t have been.

  She exhaled. ‘I’m starting to think I’m going mad.’

  ‘It’s just a natural reaction to an amazingly stressful situation,’ Dan said. ‘You’re not crazy.’

  ‘Hopefully not. I think it’s just all been getting too much. That’s why this holiday was such a great idea – it gives us a chance to really get away from everything and clear our heads.’

  ‘Definitely,’ Dan agreed. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t talk about any of this while we’re here. Just pretend that it never happened, and enjoy the next few days.’

  Emma smiled. ‘As man and wife?’

  ‘Why not? Mr and Mrs Carlton, on t
heir honeymoon.’

  ‘Sounds like a fantastic idea.’

  ‘It’s because it is,’ Dan said.

  ‘So what’s the plan for today, Mr Carlton?’

  ‘Well, Mrs Carlton. Shall we go over there?’ he said, pointing towards St. Ives. ‘I’ve heard there are some seriously good places to eat, drink, and shop.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ Emma said, planting a kiss on Dan’s cheek.

  ***

  Dan sat back in the chair and finished the coffee, which by now was cold. Emma had gone to shower, and he’d promised to prepare breakfast. But he felt paralysed, unable to banish the worries from his mind. Looking out at the sparkling seascape he searched for some release.

  He should tell her.

  He wanted to tell her.

  To admit to her what he feared the most.

  2

  Miranda was making breakfast when she heard Edward’s raised voice echoing across the house from the study. At first she tried to ignore it, concentrating on preparing the food – a continental platter of croissants and other delights. But after a couple of minutes, she moved out of the kitchen and up the stairs. By the time she reached the closed study door, he had quietened down again. She knocked. It was the only room in the house, apart from the bathroom, of course, in which she felt such formality was needed. Edward’s study was his bolthole, and Miranda knew he didn’t welcome intrusions, least of all unannounced ones.

  ‘Come in.’

  He was sitting at his desk, clutching his mobile phone. Miranda tried a smile, but he didn’t return it. She couldn’t remember the last time he had been happy. ‘Are you okay?’