Final Betrayal

by Patricia Gibney

At last the noise faded and the only sound Amy heard was the thudding of her own heart. Her hair was plastered to her scalp but the hand held firm. She scanned the car park, the deserted spaces slipping in and out of focus, but it offered her no safety. She felt the head lower to her face again. And this time she heard the words.

  If she could have screamed, she would have, but Amy could do nothing but slump against her captor as all the power disappeared from her body.

  * * *

  Katie Parker hadn’t been out on the town in almost two years. This was supposed to be the start of the new Katie, but now her ass of a sister was ruining it for her.

  ‘I told you not to drink shots, Chloe. You’re too young, plus you haven’t the constitution to withstand so much alcohol.’ Katie held her sister’s arm, trying to keep her upright.

  ‘You sound just like Mother. Dictators, that’s what the two of you are.’ Chloe folded into a hoop with a bout of hiccups. ‘And I’m nearly eighteen. So there.’

  ‘Yeah, well you’re a fool and you’ve ruined my evening.’ Katie guided her away from the gathering crowd and into the ladies’ toilets.

  The cubicles were all empty. Chloe dropped the toilet lid and plonked herself down. Katie watched her in the mirror as she ran a finger around her smudged mascara. She turned on the tap and brown water spluttered into the sink.

  ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘Water?’ Chloe offered.

  ‘No, the sink. It’s all gooey.’ Katie touched a finger to the bowl and knew instantly what it was. She moved to one of the cubicles and noticed the same substance on the cisterns. Vaseline. Dotted with white powder.

  ‘Coke, is it?’ Chloe slurred.

  ‘In my day, a few joints was all we could afford.’ Katie recalled with a wry smile her illicit smokes with Jason, her boyfriend and the father of her son. Jason had been murdered, and it seemed like a whole lifetime ago. She suddenly felt a lot older than her twenty-one years. Maybe she was getting too like her mother. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Chloe said.

  ‘You can’t go home drunk as a skunk. Mam will kill you.’

  ‘Don’t want to go home.’

  With a sigh, Katie hauled her sister up off the toilet, stretched her arm around her and hugged her tightly.

  ‘You and me, we have to make life work for us. And getting blotto on a Saturday night isn’t doing either of us any favours.’

  ‘I think you’re drunker than me,’ Chloe said.

  ‘I’m being pragmatic.’

  ‘Ooh. Big words now.’

  ‘Yeah, and you’re a big girl, so quit the melodramatics and act your age.’

  ‘Yes, Mam.’

  Katie held her at arm’s length. ‘I’m serious. We’ve been through some bad times. Both of us. And Mam has always been there for us. I think it’s time we cut her some slack and helped her out.’

  ‘What has that got to do with me enjoying a rare night out?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘You’re talking like a jigsaw puzzle, and I’m sick as a dog.’

  Katie stepped out of the way just in time as Chloe puked all over the toilet seat. She realised the lid was coated in Vaseline too. She coiled Chloe’s hair around her fingers and waited until her sister raised her head.

  ‘Can we go home now?’ Katie said.

  ‘Yeah. I think that’s a very good idea. But …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Don’t tell Mam.’

  Katie laughed at the childish plea. ‘I won’t tell her if you promise not to throw up all over our new bathroom.’

  ‘Pinky promise.’ Then Chloe turned and vomited once again.

  *

  One down. And I’m not finished yet. I pull off the Teflon apron and gloves and roll them up with the paper hat.

  I have to have two of them. That was the plan all along. To cause as much confusion as possible. But I knew it would be hard to deal with two together, so I have to go back for another. I thought I wouldn’t have the stomach for it, but now that I’ve dispensed with the first one, I feel thirsty for more. That feeling. It was like an electrical surge through my body. A torrent of life infused me while she spluttered out of existence.

  I dump the clothing in the boot of my car and take out a fresh sealed pack, then sit and watch. I have an eagle-eyed view of the club. I look on as two girls come out the door, one holding the other upright. Easy prey. Easy pickings. But should I deviate from my plan? Or keep them for later? The urge to take them now, to make their mother pay for her wrongdoing, is all-encompassing. Will I ever have another opportunity to get them both together? Possibly. If I’m clever enough.

  With it all settled in my mind, I let the seat back and wait.

  Seven

  Baby Louis was snoring lightly but Lottie was wide awake.

  She couldn’t sleep until her girls were home safe. She usually wasn’t this pent up, but some unknown and possibly unrealistic feeling of foreboding was crawling through her blood tonight. She had to do something, because they were not answering their phones. Maybe she’d have a soothing warm bath. Throwing back the duvet, she padded across the newly carpeted floor, relishing the warmth between her toes, and stepped into the bathroom.

  ‘Oh Holy Mother of God,’ she said. The white ceramic-tiled floor and walls were smeared with fake tan. It was like a troupe of actors had used the small space to get ready for a stage performance. She traced the edge of the integrated shower tiles above the bath with a finger. It came away smudged brown.

  ‘I’ll kill them. Both of them,’ she whispered. Picking up discarded items of clothing, she dumped them into the wash basket and with all thoughts of a relaxing soak in the bath scuppered went downstairs to heat a mug of milk. One of her mother’s remedies for sleeplessness.

  The milk didn’t work. She paced the hallway, phone in hand. It was now past two o’clock. Their curfew was one a.m. For sure she was going to kill the pair of them. Why had she allowed Chloe to go out? She argued with herself in the silence. But she knew she had to trust her girls, even though they had a habit of finding trouble. Or did trouble find them?

  Her bare feet slapped against the hall floor. She couldn’t go out to look for them. She had the baby to watch. Unless she roused Sean. She tried Katie’s phone again. Dead. She tapped Chloe’s number. Same thing. Why didn’t they charge their phones? She toyed with the idea of calling Boyd to see if he’d go out to look for them. No, she dismissed that thought. He’d tell her she was being overprotective and to let them live a little. Her new resolution of being a better mother was quickly evaporating, and still she couldn’t shift the quiver of unease fluttering at the base of her neck.

  Where the hell were her daughters?

  * * *

  Penny Brogan knew she had a wide smile on her face and that her cheeks were flushed. She felt slightly giddy, and it wasn’t just from the last two shots Ducky Reilly had dared her to drink. She ran her tongue slowly over her lips, trying to feel the memory of his. Ducky was a friend. Just a friend. But after the last Jägerbomb, she’d kissed him. Leaning against the scratchy wall behind the seats in the smoking garden. And oh my God, she’d never have guessed in a million years how good it would feel. She was glad she’d worn her lace knickers and not a thong, because she could still feel his hands moving beneath the elastic waistband of her shimmery dress and his fingers toying with the knickers. She shivered with delight. His hands on her bum. Searching and probing. A soft squeal escaped her lips now as she stood outside the nightclub wondering where the hell Amy had gone. Stupid bitch. Should have waited the five minutes.

  She glanced at the screen of her phone and realised it was half an hour since she’d last seen her friend. Why hadn’t Amy waited? But Penny wasn’t going to allow that inconvenience to dim the glow that was warming her body. She couldn’t even feel the rain.

  Making her mind up, she set off in the direction of her apartment. She wasn’t that drunk; she knew how to get
there. She might even take off her shoes and dance in the puddles the whole way home. She giggled out loud. She should have more sense at her age, she thought, then laughed.

  As she turned the corner at the end of the street, a figure loomed up in front of her. Her hand flew to her mouth, cutting off her scream. A head bent in towards her ear and she had no option but to listen.

  ‘Amy? Is she okay?’ she said, hearing her friend’s name.

  ‘She’s in a bad way. You need to come.’

  Penny stalled under the street light. The person was still in the shadows. The light caught their eyes and she took a step backwards. ‘Maybe I should call her dad. Or the guards. Maybe I—’

  ‘Maybe you should hurry up. She might have been raped. She sent me to get you. Said not to tell anyone. She’s in a right state. Are you coming, or are you going to stand there with your mouth open catching moths all night?’

  A hand rested on Penny’s shoulder and she was sure she felt something prick the side of her neck. Damn moths. She didn’t know what to do. The memory of Ducky’s fingers on her skin dimmed and was replaced by a sick feeling of unease. But she had to make sure Amy was all right. Then she’d call her dad. Or the guards.

  ‘Okay, I’m coming.’

  She slipped her high-heeled shoes off and set off through the puddles, slipping and sliding on the greasy footpath in her efforts to keep up. Her mind was whirling with insane thoughts and she was finding it hard to focus.

  As they hurried down Petit Lane towards the bridge under the railway tracks, Penny wasn’t at all sure she was doing the right thing.

  Eight

  Lottie was sitting on the bottom step when the flash of lights lit up the hall through the glass at the side of the door.

  Opening it, she saw her daughters falling out of a taxi and exhaled a sigh of relief. They were home. They were safe. That was all that mattered.

  ‘Mam, do you have the loan of a fiver?’ Katie called out.

  Lottie rummaged in her jacket pocket hanging on the banister beside her and found enough coins. She was barefoot, so she held the money out to Katie and noticed that she was walking upright and in a straight line. As one daughter went back to pay the taxi driver, the other wobbled up the path.

  ‘Hi, Mother.’ Chloe always called her that as she knew it rattled her. It was what Adam had called her in front of the children. It had been endearing to her at the time; now it spelled out the loss she felt without him.

  She shook her head. One minute Chloe had been standing in front of her. The next she was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Chloe?’

  Katie came up the path, bent down to the right of the door and hoisted up her sister, who’d fallen into a patch of shrubs.

  ‘Come inside before you wake the neighbours.’ Lottie got hold of Chloe’s other arm and helped Katie to drag the inebriated girl inside. She shut the door and leaned against it, relief mingled with anger. ‘And don’t wake Louis, or I’ll kill you.’

  A cry bellowed from upstairs.

  ‘Now see what you’ve done.’ Katie bundled past Lottie and raced up the stairs to her son.

  Shaking her head, Lottie followed Chloe into the kitchen, where she found the girl puking into the sink.

  ‘This is the last time, Chloe. Don’t even think about asking to go out again.’

  ‘Do you have to shout?’ Chloe washed out the sink, then stuck her mouth under the tap. ‘My head is killing me.’

  ‘It’s nothing to the ache it will have in the morning by the time I finish with you. Get up to bed and bring a basin.’

  ‘Righto so, Miss Trunchbull.’ Chloe attempted a salute but stuck her finger in her eye instead.

  Lottie shook her head once again. She would have some serious talking to do tomorrow.

  * * *

  Rose Fitzpatrick closed her eyes as she sat alone in her kitchen. The peace and stillness washed over her and she welcomed them. At last.

  She loved her family unconditionally, but she had spent so long living alone that it had almost worn her to the bone having them all around her.

  She had to admit she missed the sounds, though. Of running water in the shower. Constantly. Of baby Louis’ laughs and cries. Of her daughter Lottie talking to her again. Really talking. Despite the awful revelations she had uncovered a year ago about her true heritage. Rose thought their relationship had been damaged irreparably at that time, but although it felt awful to admit it, the fire at Lottie’s house had saved them. Brought them together again.

  She tried to get comfortable in her chair. She would love a snooze, but now the silence was beginning to intimidate her. She felt a lump beneath her cushion and pulled out a soft toy belonging to Louis. Maybe she could call over in the morning to bring the toy to him. Don’t be silly, she admonished herself. Let them lead their own lives again. She’d only get in the way. But the silence was like a physical being all around her, whispering in her ear, shrouding her shoulders in unease. Maybe she should go to bed.

  Rose Fitzpatrick realised she didn’t like the silence at all.

  And that was when the doorbell rang.

  Nine

  Lottie awoke on Monday to the sound of leaves blowing off the trees. She twisted in the bed and squinted out through the slit in the curtains, which refused to close in the middle. Her mother had told her she needed to buy size 90x90 curtains, but they weren’t on special offer so Lottie had plumped for the 65x90. As usual, her mother had been right.

  The narrow slit acted as her alarm clock. An orange glow lit up the backdrop to the trees at the end of the garden. Two wood pigeons nestled on a branch and Lottie shot upright. Had they followed her from her old house? The new place was in a quiet, secluded area. It had a low-maintenance garden and the trees on the lane behind it made it feel like home. It was home now, Lottie thought, though for how long, she had no idea, because she was still waiting for the insurance payout following the fire.

  She listened to see if Louis was awake. No sound. Katie had had a short relationship with Louis’ dad, Jason Rickard, before he’d been murdered, and Jason’s father, a local developer now living in New York, had provided them with the house at a minimum rent. Lottie had wanted nothing to do with Tom Rickard, but as Rose was apt to say, beggars can’t be choosers.

  Once Lottie had showered and dressed in her usual outfit of jeans and long-sleeved white T-shirt, she pulled on a pair of flat black leather boots, At five foot eight, she didn’t need the addition of heels. She headed down the stairs to the kitchen, where she pulled up the blinds and filled the kettle. Chloe had bought a coffee machine with money she’d made from her part-time job, but Lottie didn’t have the patience to follow the instructions. As she took out a mug and fetched the milk from the refrigerator, she was almost afraid to admit that for the first time in a very long time, she actually felt almost happy.

  But she didn’t want to jinx her happiness by over-thinking. She made her coffee and sat at the table debating with herself on the need to have a proper breakfast. She opened a box of cereal bars and munched one in the silence, admiring the kitchen’s stark white walls. This place was such a contrast to the well-worn house she had lived in with Adam. She didn’t think of him as often as she used to. His memories were housed in the ash of their old home. But she kept him locked tightly in her heart, and that alone kept others out. Except Boyd. At last she was beginning to let him in, just a little bit. And it filled her with a warm feeling. Or maybe that was just the coffee.

  She drained her mug, grabbed her jacket and keys, and went to see why Sean and Chloe were not yet up and ready for school. Some things would never change.

  * * *

  Leo Belfield had arrived at the Joyce Hotel early that morning, and now he sat on one of the single beds and stared at her. His sister. His twin sister. After so many years of searching within himself for the reasons why he felt only half a man, now he knew why.

  He was a captain in the New York Police Department, and his blood flowed with curiosit
y. It had taken a multitude of emails and a slew of corrupt officials to get his sister released into his care. He had made it his mission, especially after the woman he believed to be his half-sister, Lottie Parker, had refused to answer any of his questions. But at least she had sent him in the right direction. The Central Mental Hospital.

  A slight smile curled at the corner of Bernie Kelly’s cracked lips.

  ‘Well, brother dear.’ Her voice had the rasp of someone who had not spoken for a long time. ‘You succeeded.’

  Leo wasn’t at all sure that he would describe what he had done as a success. It had been hard work, but in the end, he had secured a day of freedom for his sister. He hoped that would be long enough to find out the truth.

  As she pulled herself upright, he noticed the thinness of her legs encased in jeans a couple of sizes too big; the strip of flesh sagging at her chin; and her eyes … the way she looked at him. The stare was cold and bitter. But it wasn’t his fault she had endured such deprivation while he had lived a happy life in New York. She had been committed to the mental facility following a series of murders. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that she’d actually committed the horrors he’d read about. But now he had the opportunity to find out the truth.

  ‘How did I succeed?’ he said.

  ‘Getting me out of that hellhole. I swear to God, I thought I was going to rot away in there.’

  ‘Bernie, you realise you are only out on day release, don’t you?’

  She laughed then. Long and harsh. And he, a cop of twenty-five years, having served in the toughest districts the NYPD could throw at him, felt a shiver crease his chest in two.

  ‘That’s what you told them. But I know you’re not going to let me go back inside. I can tell you the family secrets, but only if you guarantee I will never have to live behind bars again.’

  She lay back on the bed and drummed a long finger against her temple. And Leo Belfield wondered just what the hell he had done.