She's Gone (A psychological thriller)

by M A Comley

  Louise ran at him, and she thumped both hands on his chest, sending him stumbling backwards into the wardrobe. “You bastard. How can you say that? I opened my heart and my home to you. You used me because Deborah kicked you out and you had nowhere else to go, go on, admit it.”

  “I didn’t. I can’t even remember how all this came about. My life was in a spin back then, nothing by comparison to what it is now. I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us. But I can’t apologise for blaming you, not yet, not until I have my little girl back. If that makes me a vile person, well then, so be it. I have to go now, Debs needs me.”

  He walked towards the door and felt a thud on his back. Glancing down at his feet, he saw the ornate silver brush Louise had inherited from her grandmother. “Really? Do you feel better now, Louise?”

  “No. I feel like shit. All this has had a detrimental effect on me, Martin, whether you want to believe it or not. I’m gutted about Adele. I’m not in the habit of repeating myself, nor should I when you downright refuse to bloody listen to me. As a mother, this is eating me up inside. At a time when I need your support, you’re turning your damn back on me, only making things ten times worse.”

  He stood anchored to the spot as her words sank in; for the first time, he could see deep into her soul and had mixed feelings running through him. Was he right to blame her? Of course I am. Maybe I’m guilty of being too damning, though. As a mother, she should realise what the loss of a child means to a parent. Unable to find the words he needed to put the situation right, he turned and walked down the stairs.

  “You utter fucking bastard! You may never forgive me, Martin, but equally, I will never forgive you for making me feel the way I do. I hope for Christ’s sake Adele comes home because if she doesn’t, I know this is going to eat away at you and your hatred for me will grow each and every day she’s missing. To have someone share your bed with you one day, only for them to turn their back on you the next, is soul-destroying and totally overwhelming. Go, Martin, I hope you take a long hard look at the way you’ve spoken to me today.”

  “Goodbye, Louise. I’ll pick up the car another day.”

  With that, he left the house. She screamed his name, but he didn’t bother going back inside.

  She was dead to him now.

  9

  Why is this damn road blocked? Martin tried to squeeze past a few cars that were jutting out awkwardly when he returned to Debs’ house. It wasn’t until he looked beyond them, at what might be causing the hold-up, that he spotted the huge crowd outside the house. He abandoned the car where it was and ran the length of the road as fast as any sprinter could, if the burning in his lungs was anything to go by.

  “What are you doing here? Get back. How dare you? I’m going to call the police if you don’t get out of here. Fucking let me through! Get out of my way.” The more he pushed, the more the crowd closed ranks and refused to let him pass. In the end, he carried out his threat and called the police.

  During the agonising wait, the crowd badgered him with questions. Bloody journalists!

  His gaze was drawn to the man at the front of the crowd, leaning against the door to the house. Todd Wilkins. Bloody bastard! He’s rallied the damn troops, all because I wouldn’t do an exclusive with him. Is this what we’re going to have to contend with going forward? Jesus, I hope Debs is okay. I need to get in there and see if she’s all right. Her nerves were frayed before, they’re going to be a darn sight worse now.

  “Mr Jenkins, any word about Adele yet? How are you and your wife holding up? Weren’t you separated? Are you back together now? Do you know what has happened to your daughter? Are you satisfied with how the investigation is going or are you frustrated they haven’t found her yet? Have they found her? Do they know where she is? Did she walk off? Get abducted? Has the kidnapper called you asking for a ransom to be paid? What about Deborah, how is she holding up? What about you, how are you doing? What have the police told you about the investigation? How is it going? Are they any closer to getting your daughter back? What happened? Why was she left alone at the time of her disappearance?

  Questions, questions, all mind-numbing. Some I just can’t answer and others I have no intention of answering. How dare they be here, pestering us when we’re at our lowest ebb? Vultures, picking over the bones of a situation just to get a story. Bastards, the lot of them.

  Finally, a patrol car showed up around ten minutes later. It was the longest ten minutes of his life, apart from the day Adele went missing.

  “All right, all right. Let the gentleman pass. What’s all this about?” the older officer said, pulling at some of the journalists.

  “We’re entitled to be here, we’re trying to help the family,” one of the female journalists insisted.

  One of the two uniformed officers got in her face and shouted, “You think harassing the poor family like this is helping them? How do you figure that one out?”

  The woman’s mouth opened and shut a few times, imitating a fish gasping for breath out of water. She took a step back when she drew a blank to his question. The officer then proceeded to tear his way through the crowd while his colleague nudged Martin ahead of him and brought up the rear. He was in a police sandwich being escorted to the door and the crowd were being eased back, their futile questions ignored.

  Eventually, they reached the front door, and Martin came face to face with Todd Wilkins. “You, I hope you die a long and painful death for putting me and my family through this.”

  Todd smirked, seemingly unimpressed by Martin’s outburst. “What have I done? The public have a right to know what’s going on.”

  “Why hound us? As if we bloody know, we’re not in charge of the ruddy investigation, are we? Go pester another unfortunate soul, desperate for help, because I told you earlier, we’ve said all we’re going to say to the press. We’re grateful for you trying to help us, but not like this.”

  “You’ll change your mind, people in your situation always do, come the end.”

  “You’re going to have a bloody long wait. We won’t be changing our minds. Now do one.”

  Todd folded his arms and shook his head.

  The officers urged Martin to go inside the house, but when he slipped the key into the lock and opened the door, the chain barred him. “Sweetheart, it’s me. Can you open the door?”

  “No. Not until those horrible people go away,” Debs screeched. It sounded like she was on the other side of the door in the hallway, but he really couldn’t tell.

  Martin glanced at the officers. “She’s refusing to open up until these people go. Can’t you force them to leave?”

  One of the officers shook his head. “We’ve done as much as we can, unless they start to make a nuisance of themselves.”

  “What? And you don’t regard blocking the road and camping out on my doorstep being a nuisance? God, give me bloody strength. I need to get in there, Debs needs me. Don’t you think she’s going through enough at the moment? Why do we have to contend with this shit when we’re already suffering the loss of our child?”

  “We’re doing our best, sir. We’ll remain here for the time being, until the fuss dies down. They’ll soon get bored if you ignore them.”

  “You reckon?” he asked sarcastically, noting the twinkle in Wilkins’ eyes. He turned back to the door and spoke quietly to Debs through the gap. “Honey, please, just open the door and let me in. I can’t help you if you shut me out like this. Please, let me in.”

  The chain jingled on the other side and the door eased open. Martin issued a quick thank you to the officers and slipped through the gap. He slammed the door behind him and gathered the distraught Debs in his arms. “My God, how long have they been here?”

  “They arrived not five minutes after you left. It’s been terrible, horrendous. They’ve been knocking on the doors and windows, demanding to speak to me. Why? Why do that? We don’t know anything. They should be hounding the police for answers instead of badgering us for any news.”
She placed her head on his chest, and the sobs soon followed.

  “Come on, let’s get you settled in the lounge.”

  She stared at him, petrified. “No, they’ll be able to see us.”

  “They won’t, I’ll pull the curtains across, block them out. Come on, Debs, do it for me.”

  She finally agreed, but held back until Martin had used the curtains to shut out the rest of the world and told her the coast was clear. Debs sat on the edge of the sofa, her hands clenched tightly together until her knuckles turned white.

  “Can I get you a coffee or something stronger, perhaps?”

  “Maybe a tot of brandy will help calm my nerves. I didn’t think you were coming back; I was so scared, of them, of you not returning. I couldn’t handle it if you left me, Martin, not again.”

  He sat next to her and enfolded her in his arms. “I’m not going anywhere, love. I promise you.”

  “But I thought you were going to pick up your stuff and yet you’ve come back empty-handed.”

  “I haven’t. My bag is in the car, I couldn’t get any closer. It’s parked up the road. Hey, you can’t get rid of me so easily.” He kissed her on the cheek.

  “I’m glad. I couldn’t handle this on my own. I don’t know where to turn for help. We haven’t heard anything from the police. I fear I’m going to end up losing my mind at this rate.”

  “Nonsense. You said it yourself, we’re stronger together, as a team. I’m not about to up sticks and leave you again, sweetheart. You’re going to have to believe me when I tell you that. I’ll fix us a couple of drinks. Damn, I forgot to stop off and pick up a takeaway on the way home. It was as if something was urging me to get back here straight away.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think I could eat anything, anyway.”

  “You have to eat to keep your strength up. I’ll fix us some nibbles to go with our drink, how’s that?”

  “Okay.”

  He left her and walked into the kitchen. Luckily, there was no way the journalists could get into the back garden—it was walled with a small solid gate at the end which Debs always ensured was bolted and never used. Saying that, there was nothing to stop the more determined journalists from climbing the wall. He shook his head, shaking loose the image. He was halfway through preparing the plateful of cheese and biscuits when his mobile rang. He answered it with an abrupt tone, “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  He listened more intently and could just make out someone breathing.

  “Who is this?” he demanded, his heart rate notching up a little.

  Still no response.

  “If you don’t tell me who this is I’m going to ring the police, they’ll track you down, they have ways of tracing incoming calls. Now who the hell is this?”

  “Martin, it’s me. Your mother.”

  “Jesus, Mum, you had me bloody worried there for a minute. Why do that to me, knowing we’re obviously going out of our minds here?”

  “I apologise. I didn’t think. Please, don’t be angry with me. I’m trying to make amends.”

  “For what? Months of ignoring me? Why the sudden change of heart after all this time? Guilt, is that it? Your guilty conscience pricking you into action now that your granddaughter has gone missing?”

  “Don’t say it like that. Maybe it’s a bit of the truth, but I miss speaking with you. Visiting you. Please, I want Adele back as much as you do, don’t shut me out, not now,” his mother said meekly and with a certain degree of hesitancy.

  He closed his eyes, pictured his mother’s ageing face and shuddered. She’d had months to ring him and yet she’d chosen to cut him out of her life completely; and now, here she was, expecting to be welcomed back with open arms. “To be honest with you, Debs and I are on the edge at the moment. I can’t think about anything or anyone else, other than Adele. I don’t have it in me to tiptoe around others in case I step on their fragile feelings or say the wrong thing.”

  “I hear you. I’m sorry, the last thing I want to be is a nuisance at such a troubling time. I just needed to hear your voice and to tell you that I’m here for you if you need me.”

  “Thanks. I’m not sure what else you want me to say other than that, Mum. If you want to get back into my life, then it’s going to take time to mend things. I haven’t got it in me to forgive and forget at the moment. I’m sure you’ll be able to understand that, given the circumstances.”

  “I do. I’m prepared to wait,” she stated, her voice trembling with emotion. “But please, before you put the phone down on me again, I want you to know that you’ve never been far from my mind. I’ve thought about you daily, as any mother would. I just haven’t had the courage to phone you to put things back on course between us.”

  “That’s fine. Leave it with me, Mum. I need to go and get back to Debs now. We’ve got a hoard of bloody press outside. I reckon they’re going to camp out on the doorstep for days. It’s tough to handle, as I’m sure you can appreciate. Debs needs me by her side.”

  “I’m glad you’re back together. I never thought you should have left her and gone off with that floozy in the first place.”

  He groaned and rolled his eyes. “See, now saying things like that is only going to drive another wedge between us, is that what you want?”

  “Oh no, please, don’t say that. I didn’t mean it. Me and my big mouth. I’m so sorry. Forgive me, no, don’t hang up on me. I couldn’t bear it if you hung up.”

  “I’m going, Mother. I’m lacking the mental prowess to deal with your shenanigans at present. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  “Martin, no… please, Martin. Don’t hang—”

  He cut her off. His mind whirled as he finished preparing their snack, not that he was in the mood to eat now, after speaking with his mother. The trouble with Kathlyn was, that she was a desperately needy person, always had been and always would be. Up until his father’s death, he’d been able to cope with her mood swings, but once his father was laid to rest, that’s when the neediness had shown its true colours. Even though she ran a successful hairdressing business, which employed ten stylists, her home life had been a stark contrast.

  No, he couldn’t handle her suffocating him, not at this time, not when Adele was out there somewhere, crying out for his help. His primary consideration remained with his child and it always would. Harsh as it might sound, his mother had lived her life; his little girl was just starting out on her incredible journey. Emotion reared its head, anger being the most prominent of all. He threw the sharp knife into the kitchen sink and spread his arms on the worktop as if trying to gain strength from the granite surface. He needed something to ease the anger and tension attacking his insides and causing his muscles to seize up.

  After giving himself a kick up the backside, he completed his task and carried the tray into the lounge. Debs was staring at the TV screen. On it was his daughter’s beautiful smiling face, with the prominent scar on her right cheekbone where she’d fallen off her bike a couple of years before and the wound needed stitches at the hospital. What a day that had been, burdened with anguish. Adele had been inconsolable, fearful of the nurses and the doctor as they tried to approach her with the needle. She’d screamed and needed to be sedated in the end so the doctor could carry out the procedure. It had taken three stitches to stem the bleeding and to pull the skin together. Over time, as the doctor had assured them, the wound healed, but he’d told them there would always be a slight imperfection. He’d laughed and called it a war wound. Martin had also laughed until Debs had struck him, admonishing him for treating their daughter’s discomfort lightly.

  He placed the tray on the coffee table and sat beside Debs who appeared to be mesmerised by the image. Once the newsreader moved on to the next story, Debs just sat there, staring at the screen, tears rolling down her ashen face. “Are you all right, Debs?”

  “I’ll never be all right again, not until she comes back to us. How could anyone take her, knowing she’s only five and desperate to be wi
th her mummy? That’s what I can’t get my head around.”

  “And her daddy.” He felt the need to correct her.

  “Of course. I’m sorry. I’m talking gibberish, you knew what I meant.”

  “I did. Why don’t I put on a film instead of watching every news bulletin that comes around during the day?”

  “I wouldn’t be able to concentrate. I need to see her, to know that they’re showing her face all the time. Oh, Martin, what will happen to her, to us, if the person who took her refuses to give her up?”

  “I’ll never stop asking myself the same question, love. We need to keep optimistic that someone will see her soon and report the sighting to the police.”

  “Have you spoken to them yet?”

  “I was going to call the inspector later on today.” He glanced at the clock above the fireplace and sighed. “I didn’t realise it was so late.”

  “It’s only six-thirty, please, give her a call.”

  He took a sip of the brandy and dialled the number. The inspector answered the call on the second ring.

  “Hello, DI Cobbs.”

  “Hello, Inspector. It’s Martin Jenkins. Just wanted to let you know we’re back safely and ask if there had been any further developments since our departure.”

  “Ah, it’s good to hear from you, Martin. Sorry, no, nothing to report as yet. I want to assure you, my team are putting in the extra hours on this one, but sadly, nothing has come to light yet. We’re not going to give up, though, you have my word.”

  “Thank you. Will you call us if anything surfaces?”

  “Of course. How’s Deborah?”

  “We’re both a mess. We’ve got dozens of damn journalists camped out on our doorstep. The police had to escort me to my front door when I went out earlier.”

  “Damn, I’m so sorry to hear that. Keep onto the local police if it continues, they can move them on if they become a nuisance. You’re going to have to ride the storm. Once these guys pick up on a scent like this, well, sometimes they don’t know when to back off. Stay strong.”