Mia yanked her hand out of Clare’s grip. She held the woman between her fingers, the soft flesh tearing under her nails. Clare screamed and Mia’s other hand shot up, striking her in the temple with a balled fist. Not enough to knock her out, but enough to knock her sideways.
Mia flipped over, straddling the shocked woman. Her hand twisted, sending shock waves of pain through Clare’s body. At the same time, she forced her hand against Clare’s windpipe, cutting off just enough air to subdue her.
It was Mia’s turn to pant and gasp. Her ecstasy was far beyond whatever Clare’s had been. She played Clare like an instrument, wrenching the notes from her damaged body, listening to the perfect symphony it created in her own. Her mind flooded with the euphoria, filling her to the brim with bliss. As she turned her fingers, torturing the woman beneath her, their eyes locked again.
Clare’s were wide, dilated. Pleading. Tears ran from the corners, her terror evident. Mia saw it all, but she was lost. There was nothing she could do to stop, even as the high peaked before the fall.
Mia writhed and she gasped. She shuddered, tensing her muscles, better than any sex, better than any orgasm. Her pleasure was absolute and without equal.
It became too much, as it often did, and Clare’s consciousness yielded within minutes, shutting down. Her body went limp and Mia paused, enjoying the last remnants of pleasure, before sliding off, her naked body covered in blood and sweat.
Mia panted, her heart racing and her skin tingling, unable to tear her eyes from the damaged and twisted body in front of her. Clare was still alive, by a fraction, and Mia’s thoughts spiralled. Maintaining her anonymity was essential for survival, but the sight of Clare’s face caused waves of guilt and terror to crash through Mia’s mind. The nausea hit her and she gulped it back, bringing her bloodied hands up to her face.
Leave, Mia. While you still can. Before the fog descends and you lose all sense. You can’t risk staying here.
She didn’t want Clare’s life to end like this. The realisation was there, even through the departing ecstasy and the relentless surges of despair. The pain might be the last thing Clare felt, everything transferring to Mia in her final breath. Perfect pain and an imperfect death. She had never wanted it. This wasn’t what Mia wanted to be.
Mia tortured herself with the thought as her high ebbed away.
Still covered in blood, Mia left Clare on the floor and pulled on her clothes. She left through the front door, pulling it shut, hearing the lock click behind her, ignoring the photo on the wall of Clare with two others, perhaps her parents, embraced in a family hug.
Another family destroyed, Mia. Another life. It’s what you do.
Her body began to cave within minutes. The high was gone and the regret came thick and fast, launching itself from her stomach, sending shivers down her spine to every extremity.
She vomited into the gutter until her stomach was dry, tears streaming from her eyes, sobbing into her fists. She stared at her hands, the hands that mere moments before had caressed another human being. A possible friend, a lover, a companion.
But it can never be, Mia, she told herself. You’re a monster. It’s what you are and always will be. Your hands are not for pleasure, they’re for pain.
Don’t ever forget that. Don’t ever forget what you are.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Alex shuffled in the seat of his Merc, staring at the old family house. It was the house he and Grace had bought together. The house they’d raised Katie in. It was also the house Victor Lazar had kidnapped Katie from twelve months earlier. Grace had refused to move, asking Alex to promise that the threat had disappeared when the case was closed. Alex couldn’t do that, not one hundred per cent. She’d stayed anyway.
He’d been sitting in the car for twenty-five minutes, watching the flow of young teenagers being dropped off outside, all carrying presents and fizzy drinks, some with balloons. He’d brought the same, of course, but for some reason couldn’t get his body out of the seat and out of the car.
He knew the reason. The reason was John.
Alex knew this type of jealousy and resentment was typical at this stage of a break-up; in fact, he’d be worried if he didn’t feel it. Only a sociopath would wish their ex-wife a happy future with a new man. But he couldn’t let these childish emotions turn into childish behaviour. Not here. Not now. Alex needed to show Grace his maturity and respect for her choices, whatever they might be. He just hadn’t figured out how to do that yet – not in the twenty-six minutes he’d been sitting in his car.
With his right hand he fingered the packet of Xanax in his jacket pocket. There’d be wine for the adults at the party, plenty, but he knew he’d need more than alcohol to get through three hours of small talk and new faces, particularly one he didn’t want to meet.
He popped a pill in his mouth, swallowed it dry, then heaved himself out of the car. Grabbing his present, balloon and a rather good vintage Rioja, he shuffled towards the front door.
It opened before he knocked. Katie stood in denim shorts and a top – she never wore dresses any more – and screamed.
‘Daddy!’
‘Hi, sweetie,’ said Alex, dropping the present and letting the balloon float to the hallway ceiling. He managed to keep hold of the wine as Katie jumped on him, wrapping her arms and legs around his body.
Alex enjoyed the hug. These moments were still the purest and most perfect he knew, and he buried his face into her neck until she giggled and wriggled away.
‘What did you get me? You didn’t have to do presents, you know. It’s not a birthday. Mum said.’ Katie pulled a face, but it changed as soon as he picked the box up and handed it to her.
‘Well, it is the holidays.’
Katie ripped open the paper to find a gift box containing a matching bracelet and necklace. Alex knew the right set to buy, even without Grace’s very specific text messages. He wondered at what point he’d missed the transition from Lego to jewellery, but he didn’t mind. Katie would soon be a young woman and Alex would buy her the Earth if he thought it would make her happy – a habit he wouldn’t recommend in any good parenting guide but nevertheless couldn’t resist. He got to spoil his daughter: it was one right nobody could take from him.
Again Katie shrieked her delight – Alex could tell she was already high on sugar and excitement – and gave him another quick kiss before running off with her friends.
Alex paused in the hallway. Standing here evoked a mixture of complex emotions and memories, most of them pleasant, many tinged with regret. He remembered Katie’s first day of primary school, adjusting her red cardigan, unbuttoning and buttoning until they got it right, checking the Velcro on her shoes and pulling her socks to the right height.
He should be standing in this hallway every morning, ready to go to work, waving goodbye to Grace and Katie. Instead, he’d spent his time in this house derailing his marriage, spiralling into self-destruction and forcing Grace to make a choice.
She’d chosen for him to leave.
Alex checked his reflection in the hardwood framed mirror – a present from her parents one Christmas. He looked old, pale with bags under his eyes, growing by the month. He checked his hairline: still holding, but noticeably thinner. What wonderful things to look forward to in my forties, he thought.
The shrieks from the garden filtered through, bringing him out of his haze. He took a breath and headed into the kitchen.
‘Alex.’ Grace was perched behind the breakfast bar, pouring cordial into plastic cups. She nodded towards the far end, where several wine bottles waited, glasses sparkling – desperate to be filled.
Alex put on his best smile. ‘Hi, Grace,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek, catching a waft of her perfume, feeling her brief embrace and trying not to linger.
Grace stood back, her hand resting on his arm. ‘I’m really pleased you came. Katie would have been devastated if you hadn’t.’
‘And you?’ Alex couldn’t help it.
Grace’s expression softened. Her eyes were full of warmth.
‘I’m always pleased to see you,’ she said, turning away, playing with a loose strand of hair. ‘Now,’ she said, turning back, composing herself. ‘Would you pour us a glass of wine? I see you’ve brought a bottle no doubt more expensive than anything we’ve got. Shall we start with that?’
Alex poured two glasses. They toasted to Katie.
‘The most perfect thing I’ve ever done,’ said Alex.
‘Ditto,’ said Grace.
They sipped in silence, the noise of all the children distant in the moment. Alex watched Grace: the gentle sway of her hips, her hand movements, the nervous playing with her hair. He wanted to go to her, hold her and tell her how sorry he was for everything.
But he’d done that already. Many times over. He didn’t even know if he and Grace being back together would be the best outcome for Katie. Grace was stable and in control of her life. Katie, a strong and intelligent young lady, reflected that.
Alex was an addict, pining for a family he’d screwed up, desperately seeking professional accolade away from the trivial appeal of his lucrative practice. Would forcing himself back into their lives at this point be the right thing to do?
‘John.’ Grace’s voice snapped Alex into the present. He turned to see a taller man enter through the French doors. John was thin, wearing chinos and a casual white shirt. Bald, with a trendy beard, he wore sharp-looking glasses.
John extended his hand towards Alex. ‘Alex, hi,’ he said, his voice deep with confidence.
Alex cleared his throat, taken off guard. He extended his hand.
They gripped, neither wanting to dominate with an absurd alpha-male squeeze but neither wanting to be relegated to second place.
‘Hi. John, isn’t it?’ said Alex, his voice calm and firm. Well done, he said to himself. You managed to say hi without screaming. Check that off the list.
They released their hands.
‘Nice to meet you,’ said John. ‘Is that your Merc out there?’
Alex nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘AMG?’
‘C63,’ said Alex. ‘Six point three litre V8,’ wondering why he’d felt compelled to say it. Mine is bigger than yours.
John tilted his head to one side. ‘Nice,’ he said, walking over to Grace and slipping his hand around her waist. Alex stiffened, and to his surprise saw Grace do the same. He recognised her discomfort in a second, and noticed John didn’t.
A mild victory – Grace’s reaction couldn’t hide her feelings, however complicated they might be – although the victory was short-lived. John leaned in and pecked Grace on the forehead, before turning to the wine. He proceeded to take Alex’s Rioja and pour a large glass, slurping it down.
Alex tried to keep his smile, but it was forced.
‘Two thousand and one,’ he said. ‘Muga.’
John sniffed, glancing at the wine before placing the glass rather hard on the worktop. ‘I prefer white,’ he said, turning back to Grace. ‘Do you want me to round the girls up for food?’
‘Sure.’
John nodded to Alex and slipped back out into the garden. Alex heard his deep voice summoning the children to gather round. Alex slurped his own wine, necking the glass and grabbing the bottle for a refill.
Grace put her hand on her hip. She tried to look annoyed, but Alex saw disappointment in her eyes. With him or John?
‘What is it with you men?’ she said.
‘What?’ said Alex, sure he’d done nothing wrong.
‘Not you,’ said Grace. ‘John might just as well have urinated in a circle around me, marking his territory.’
‘Nice vision,’ said Alex. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’m serious,’ said Grace, shaking her head. ‘No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced this.’
Alex saw the angst in her eyes. It wasn’t her fault. Men were blunt instruments sometimes.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said, but he knew he was lying.
John had come into his family kitchen, grabbed Alex’s wife, grabbed his wine, then strutted off to round up his child. Alex felt exactly like the beta male, emasculated and inwardly seething. Was he making too much of it? Yes, but even Grace had noticed. She looked at him with concern.
‘Try and be the bigger man, for Katie’s sake?’
That got him. An unfair card to play. How could he refuse?
The first hour passed without incident. The second started to drag. Katie’s friends were too many to count, polite, but far too grown-up for Alex’s liking. They alternated at great speed between physical garden games and huddling around a smartphone, marvelling at some video or social media posting. Alex couldn’t pretend to know, and hoped Grace was more up to date than he was. The effects of social media on young people’s mental health was a growing concern in Alex’s field, but he got the impression that opening the debate today might mark him out as something of a spoilsport. He and John avoided each other, nodding politely but trying not to talk. Alex lingered in the kitchen, enjoying the mix of Xanax and alcohol. He finished his bottle and most of a second. His head was swimming while he scoured the worktop for a suitable follow-up.
‘Like a drink, huh?’
John appeared at the breakfast bar. Alex looked in vain for Grace or one of the other adults – the parents of several of Katie’s friends from school were milling around, but they were all outside. It was just the two of them.
‘Not sure what you mean,’ said Alex, in a tone that suggested he knew it was intended as an insult. But even in his inebriated state he saw John’s face crease with concern.
‘Oh no,’ said John, ‘I didn’t mean it like that. God knows, I like one. I actually came in here to find another glass of something. Didn’t realise you were in here.’
Alex paused, studying John’s face. He was telling the truth. Did that make it better or worse? The guy wasn’t suggesting Alex had a drink problem. In fact, he’d almost admitted to having one himself.
‘So you work with Grace?’ said Alex, deciding on small talk, pouring a glass of red for John and handing it over. John examined the wine for a moment before sipping at it.
‘I do like red,’ said John. ‘I’m not much of a connoisseur. The one you brought was good.’ He indicated the empty bottle of Muga on the side. ‘I work in Legal,’ he continued. ‘I’m a solicitor. Commercial, some property.’
Alex nodded. Professional. Grace would only pick somebody with a brain and the sense to use it. But it made him feel even more threatened. His mind clouded and his thoughts became muddled. This was happening too fast. His family was being pulled away and he was doing nothing to stop it.
The alcohol wasn’t helping; he’d already had too much. He should have left after the first bottle. He wasn’t getting any quality time with Katie or Grace anyway.
He took a deep breath, observing his own mental state and physical responses. It was a curse of his profession and seldom useful. He needed to suck it up and be polite – it wasn’t as though he had to be friends with this man. Whatever Alex’s future with Grace, it would not be determined by this lawyer. His interactions today didn’t matter; Alex just needed to remain mature and considerate.
‘And you’re a shrink?’ John grinned. It wasn’t malicious, just playful, but the comment was full of ignorance and it riled Alex. He counted to three under his breath and tried to let it go.
‘Clinical psychologist,’ said Alex. He kept his smile and returned the wine glass to his lips, sipping as deeply as he could.
‘Are you analysing me now?’ said John. He glanced away as a cheer erupted from the garden. The kids were playing a ball game. Alex wished he was out there with them.
‘You couldn’t afford me,’ said Alex. He knew it came out wrong. It was supposed to be light-hearted but came out with a thump. A direct challenge.
John stiffened, leaning back, pulling himself to full height, which was a good few inches on Alex. ‘I do OK, thank you.’
Alex sho
ok his head, trying to laugh it off. ‘Hey, chill out. I didn’t mean—’
‘I might not have a private practice, but I have a pretty decent income. Stable.’
Alex heard John punctuate the last word.
‘What are you trying to say?’ said Alex. He stumbled, holding himself against the bar.
John looked as if he was going to continue, but he backed off, his hands up in surrender. ‘Perhaps a coffee instead of more wine, yeah?’ he said, edging towards the French doors.
‘Fuck you,’ said Alex. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He said it in his head, but the words escaped, stabbing through the air towards John, whose face dropped in astonishment.
‘I beg your pardon?’
Alex realised he’d failed. He hadn’t even made it halfway through the party.
He reached the hallway before Grace came running after him.
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing,’ said Alex.
She looked worried, but her eyes narrowed as she came closer. ‘You’re not driving.’
Alex looked at the keys in his right hand. She was right, of course. He hadn’t planned to. But he needed to get out of the house.
‘I’ll grab a taxi,’ he said.
‘Does Katie know you’re leaving?’
Alex considered walking back through the house, past the memories, past John the lawyer. ‘I’ll call her later,’ he said.
His eyes met Grace’s. They both lingered. Could she see the pain in his? He could see the confusion in hers.
She finally broke contact, sighing, and smiled as she opened the door for him. ‘You lasted two hours,’ she said. ‘I’d bet to myself you wouldn’t make one.’
They stepped out on to the porch. Grace pulled the door ajar, hiding them from the hallway. She gave him a big hug, planting a kiss on his cheek. Alex once again smelled her perfume, her hair, her skin. He backed away and headed to the street.
‘Call me tomorrow,’ said Grace. Alex nodded, waving over his shoulder, turning away from the Merc and towards the high street.
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