Even Pretty Things Rot: A dark, heart-pounding psychic thriller

by Farah Ali

  The edge of the textbook dug into her side and she switched shoulders again.

  ‘Urgh.’

  She hated history, hated most subjects in fact, but her mother was threatening to pull the funding for her dance classes if Abby’s grades didn’t improve. Abby pouted. Her life was meaningless without dance. She might as well drown herself if she couldn’t dance. Dance was everything and she excelled at it.

  If life was fair Abby would spend all day in the mirrored studio watching her reflection as her body flew and gyrated in time to the music. She studied the other girls covertly and it filled her with pride to know she was the best. The shelves on her bedroom wall were loaded with trophies she’d won in competitions all around the country and Tessa and Jake, her instructors, had assured her a bright future.

  An idling engine interrupted her daydreams of becoming a star. A squat, balding man examined the tyres of a funny-looking black car. Movement inside caught Abby’s eye and she looked with interest. There was a woman in the back wearing sunglasses and a silk scarf over shiny red hair like a movie star from the ‘60s.

  ***

  ‘That’s her. What do you think?’ Bert asked nervously.

  Alma slid her sunglasses down a little and squinted at the girl in jeans scuffing her feet in the dirt as she walked towards them, a scruffy satchel stretched almost to capacity on one shoulder.

  ‘Oh my. Oh my, Bert. That black hair and porcelain skin. That lithe body. So trim, so elegant. Shame about the jeans and trainers, she’d look so much better in a nice dress and heels. Why do girls dress like boys?’

  ‘She dances, I think.’

  Alma bounced in the seat her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. ‘Oh, yes. I want her. Go get her for me, Bert. Quick, before some busybody comes.’

  Bert disembarked, pretending to examine the Cadillac, wringing his hands. He looked up.

  ‘Miss? Excuse me, miss.’

  Abby came to a standstill, a little wary. ‘Yes?’

  Bert smiled. ‘Ah. I recognise you. You come to Happy Cones. I work there.’

  Abby relaxed. ‘Oh yeah.’ She hadn’t recognised him at first without that stupid pink and white uniform. She visited Happy Cones at least once a week—they did the best ice cream sundaes in Deerleap.

  He scratched his head, his pale eyes worried. ‘I’m having a little trouble with my car. My missus is on her way to the hospital for a check-up. She’s very anxious, would you mind chatting to her until I figure out what’s wrong?’

  Abby hesitated. The passenger door flew open.

  ‘It would mean a lot to her.’ Bert’s lips trembled, but his eyes never left her face. ‘She survived a house fire and gets horrible panic attacks when she’s left alone. You don’t have to sit with her, just talk to her for a minute.’

  ‘Oh sure, it’s not a problem.’ Abby’s parents had brought her up to help others in need, especially those less fortunate.

  Bert opened the boot, humming under his breath. Abby put her satchel on the ground and bent down, wrinkling her nose at the scent of strong perfume. She gasped. The woman inside was horribly disfigured and wearing a synthetic wig that looked awful up close.

  ‘Hello dear. It’s sad isn’t it? The fire burnt me so badly, I was lucky to survive. Thank you for sparing your time. I’m Alma.’

  The woman’s voice sounded like gravel crunching. Abby flushed red, not wanting to stare, but finding it hard to look away. She shook the outstretched hand, disliking the scaly texture of the skin, pity making her stomach clench. Alma’s uneven lips coated in coral lipstick curved upwards.

  ‘Um...hi. How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m all right. Just a bit jittery.’ Alma poked some of her bright red hair back into the scarf. ‘On your way home Abby?’

  ‘Yeah. I have an essay to write.’ Abby paused, confused. ‘Wait. How did you know my name?’

  Alma removed her polka-dot cat-eye sunglasses and folded the arms. ‘What do you mean dear?’

  ‘I thought you said my name,’ mumbled Abby.

  The woman tilted her head. One of her eyes was cloudy and white—the other studied her with a hunger that made Abby flinch.

  ‘Such a pretty thing. You’re very lucky. Do you have a sister? No? I had a sister but she was plain. I was the lovely one. Before the fire that is. Norma died, but I survived.’ Alma stroked Abby’s face with a motherly tenderness. ‘Oh yes. You’ll do nicely. Very nicely indeed.’

  Uncomfortable and eager to stop breathing in that overpowering perfume, Abby withdrew. ‘I-I better go. My mum gets angry when I’m late. I hope you manage to get to the hos—’

  A rag damp with an awful stench clamped over her nose and mouth. Abby struggled against the thick body pinning her arms but she soon grew limp. Bert scooped her up and placed her gently in the boot. Collapsing in the driving seat he wiped his forehead and looked into the rear-view mirror anxiously.

  ‘Did I do good?’

  Alma put her sunglasses back on and refastened her scarf under her chin.

  ‘Yes, Bert. Very good, sweetheart. Now drive. Alma’s got work to do.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Angus Brent stalked the incident room as Jack briefed the team. The background pacing was distracting and Jack wished the man would sit, or better still, leave. It was almost ten o’clock but Angus was still in a suit—Jack and everyone else were in street clothes.

  He waved the laser pointer at the photograph pinned next to Bianca Hayle.

  ‘Abigail McNally, sixteen-years-old. Parents are divorced, only child. Reported missing by her mother Susan when she didn’t come home from the library. Nobody has seen or heard from her since she left the library and I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Susan went out to search for Abigail and found her satchel in the dirt track near the house. The satchel contained books, stationary and her purse.’

  ‘So the same person who took Bianca Hayle?’ said Warren who was leaning against a table next to Rhea with his arms crossed.

  Jack nodded. ‘Looks like it. We know Bianca was kept alive for a couple of days before she was killed, but we don’t know why.’

  Alika cleared her throat. ‘Maybe he was building up to it? Bianca was the first so he could have spent time deliberating on how to kill her. We know she wasn’t raped or tortured before she was hanged.’

  Jack agreed. ‘That means Abigail might be killed earlier than Bianca was, which is bad news for us. Serial killers often escalate.’

  ‘Serial killer?’ Angus interjected. ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself Jack. We don’t even know if this girl has been taken, I mean it’s only been a few hours. Good lord, Abigail is sixteen—still a child.’ Angus came to an abrupt standstill.

  Jack exhaled. ‘I know. But it fits the pattern. A teenage girl missing. And look at the photos. Both Bianca Hayle and Abigail McNally are attractive. In fact they’re both prettier than average.’ And Lila Cassandra told me she saw a girl with dark curls full of flowers.

  Angus adjusted his tie, frowning. ‘You think that’s the link between them? That they’re pretty?’

  ‘Could be. I mean, look at them. The killer may be drawn to their youth and beauty. We need to act now.’

  Alika raised her hand. ‘And the soil and flowers from Bianca?’

  ‘I got the report from Raven’s Crossing a little while ago. The soil is just general compost. Common and sold practically everywhere. Nothing special about the flowers either. And no fingerprints were found on the petals. The chloroform angle hasn’t turned up anything yet, but we still have a few folk to speak to.’

  ‘So what’s the plan, Inspector?’ Angus scanned the crime scene photographs on the pin-board.

  Jack addressed Alika, Rhea, Warren and Graham. ‘We need to find Abigail before she’s killed. The killer has taken her somewhere. Somewhere with privacy and space. I doubt it’s in their own house so I want you to focus on barns, garages, warehouses, abandoned buildings etcetera. Of course that’s assuming she’s still in the Hollow.�
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  Rhea adjusted her glasses and nodded unhappily. ‘That’s what I was thinking. The forest is vast and mostly unexplored. People build campsites deep inside that nobody knows about. What chance do we have if he’s taken Abigail into the forest? Compasses and radios don’t work in there and most of it hasn’t been mapped.’

  A murmur of agreement passed through the room.

  ‘Look, we need to remain positive. We’ll focus our search on the town. Even if this person lives outside of the Hollow they must come into town for supplies, maybe for work, to choose a victim.’ Jack glanced at his watch. ‘Time is ticking. I’m going to ask you to work through the night. Is that all right?’

  Each one was eager and Jack was glad, but he was jabbed by regret and a sudden longing for the city. There were so few of them and the odds were stacked against them. He dismissed the team before anybody noticed his dejection and was about to leave himself when Angus placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes inscrutable.

  ‘Find this killer, Jack. I know your resources are limited, but he has to be found. And remember, your position in Deerleap Hollow is dependent on results. Already people are questioning your abilities, your drive, your suitability for our town. The council have been grumbling about the lack of progress in the Bianca Hayle murder. Now this. They want an arrest.’

  Jack gritted his teeth. ‘I know they want an arrest, but I’m not going to arrest somebody just to keep them happy. That’s not right.’

  ‘I understand. I do. But you have to play the game a little. The council members, the mayor, me, we’re all under pressure from the public. And the public want to see an arrest. So they can feel safe.’

  And more importantly so the mayor, the councillors, and of course, you, get re-elected. You want to keep your mansions after all.

  Angus narrowed his eyes. ‘Are we clear, Jack?’

  ‘Crystal. I’d love to stay and chat but I have to go. There’s a girl missing. And a killer on the loose.’ Jack strode out, anger obvious in the lines of his shoulders.

  ***

  Lila pushed open the doors of the Stag Cafe and paused wondering why her heart lifted at the sight of him. Jack was seated in a corner booth drinking coffee, a congealing breakfast half-eaten on his plate. The cafe was mostly empty at this time of the morning, but in thirty minutes the early-risers would stream in.

  She slid onto the cream padded seat opposite. ‘Good morning, Inspector.’

  ‘Is it? And call me Jack.’

  Lila didn’t have to be clairvoyant to know he was stressed and exhausted. His cheeks were dark with stubble and there were bags under his eyes.

  ‘I heard...about Abigail McNally. You haven’t slept have you?’

  ‘No. We’ve been searching for her. But no luck. You were right. About the hair, I mean. She has dark curls. Poor kid.’ He slid over a school photograph he’d taken from Abigail’s mother.

  Lila studied the girl’s high forehead and fine features before sliding it back to Jack. The waitress came over, but Lila wasn’t hungry and waved her away.

  Jack rubbed his forehead. ‘Sure you don’t want a coffee? Or tea? It’s on me.’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  He fixed bleary eyes on her. Lila had phoned him at the crack of dawn wanting to meet. Her pallor was bad and she was having difficulty looking directly at him.

  ‘So, what is it, Lila? Are you all right? I can’t stay for long.’

  Lila looked down. She picked up a sugar packet and tore it open, pouring the contents on the table and creating a pattern with a fingertip.

  ‘Lila?’ His voice was gentle. ‘You can trust me.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I had another vision. Most of it didn’t make sense to me.’ She told him about the pink and white stripes and the house on fire.

  ‘Pink and white stripes?’ He shrugged. ‘Wallpaper maybe?’

  Lila sighed. ‘Could be. Or it might not even be relevant. Sometimes other images or thoughts intrude...it’s complicated.’

  Jack looked out of the window. An elderly man had settled on a bench to feed the swarm of crows at his feet. Behind him stood the solitary mountain, brooding against the clouds.

  ‘The house fire thing I can look into. Maybe that’s where Abigail is. Or where the killer is from. A house that burned down and was rebuilt. Anything else?’

  ‘I saw a noose and a row of heads. But not real heads, mannequin heads.’

  ‘Mannequin heads,’ repeated Jack. ‘The noose makes sense because Bianca Hayle was hanged, but the heads?’

  Lila swallowed audibly. ‘And that’s not all. I saw Abigail dead like Bianca, with flowers. But this time I saw someone watering her. With a watering can. Like she was a flowerbed. She was being watered, Jack.’

  ‘Watered?’ Jack rubbed his mouth against the back of his hand then slammed it down making Lila jump. ‘That’s it. The killer wants to keep them, to maintain the flowers, to gloat over them. Some killers want to display their work for all to see, but not this guy. He must have been incredibly frustrated when Bianca was found. And let’s face it, if you hadn’t found her nobody would have.’ His mind raced. ‘He never expected us to find her so soon. But we did. We found Bianca and took away his trophy. All that hard work wasted. He had to find another. That’s why Abigail was taken.’

  In his mind’s eye Jack saw the killer visiting Bianca in the meadow, watering the flowers, dead-heading them if necessary, carefully replanting when they died. Making sure the flowers remained beautiful while the flesh surrounding them rotted.

  A flood of nausea rose up Lila’s throat. ‘So if I hadn’t found Bianca, Abigail would still be alive?’

  Jack leaned forward. ‘Hey. No. You can’t think like that. The killer would never have been satisfied with just one kill. I’m sure of it. There’s a twisted cruelty at work here. Once Bianca had decomposed entirely he would have gone after another girl. He’s got a taste for it now.’

  The guilt didn’t fade. ‘Are you sure it’s a man? You keep saying he.’

  ‘Well, we can’t be sure. But in my experience it’s unusual for a woman to commit violent murders like this and it would take strength to carry a body into the forest.’ He studied her drawn face. ‘Why? Do you think it’s a woman?’

  Lila shifted in the seat. She had sensed a feminine presence as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror in her uncle’s house. She shuddered as she remembered that awful voice and words: Why shouldn’t I have nice things? Pretty things?

  But the voice wasn’t feminine. In fact it sounded barely human.

  ‘Maybe. No. I don’t know.’ She groaned. ‘I wish I could help you find Abigail.’

  Jack studied her profile, an idea forming. ‘Maybe you can.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Really?’

  ‘You found Bianca without trying. Could you find Abigail? And see the killer? If you tried to?’

  Lila balked as she realised what he was asking. ‘You mean you want me to force a vision. Not just wait for it.’

  He inched closer and saw himself reflected in her large, fearful eyes. ‘Yes. Abigail could still be alive. Can you do it, Lila?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She glanced at his eager face. She wanted to please him. She straightened her shoulders. ‘But I can try.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  The silence of the forest was like a shroud. Lila stepped lightly, almost gliding over the uneven surface. She reminded Jack of a wood-fairy and he felt lumbering and flat-footed in comparison. Every snapped twig jarred like a gunshot and his breathing thundered in the vacuum between the trees.

  He glanced sideways wondering what she was thinking behind that veil of dishevelled hair. Jack had returned to the station to update the others and coordinate the next phase of the search. Lila stayed in the car, but Alika and Graham had noticed her.

  ‘Why is Lila Cassandra here? Does she have any information?’

  Jack fended off the curiosity as best he could not wanting word to get back to Angus that Deerleap’
s new Inspector was consulting psychics.

  It was only the second time he had ventured into the wild forest encircling the town and unease slithered up his spine. He liked pavements and roads and traffic, not a dense sea of trees that seemed everlasting. The twisting, tangled tree roots spread across the ground and although Jack kept his eyes downwards he tripped and would have suffered a painful fall if Lila hadn’t grabbed his arm to steady him.

  He thanked her and she nodded, distracted. A conversation with Warren soon after Jack’s arrival to Deerleap came to mind.

  ‘There are caves beneath the forest, you know. An entire network of caves, miles and miles of them. It’s because much of the forest is on the side of the mountain.’ He put his hands behind his head, slowly spinning his desk chair.

  ‘A couple on a hiking holiday came to Deerleap three years ago. They trekked into the forest. Against all advice they came off the main paths and got lost. Visitors can be arrogant like that. They don’t get it, don’t get Deerleap and the forest. People have tried exploring the forest over the years, thinking they’re clever by tying coloured string around trees and rocks as they go so they can follow it back. Do you what happens? Somehow the string gets untied. Or moved around. They get lost. And die.’

  ‘But how is that possible?’ asked Jack, bemused. ‘Who messes with the string?’

  Warren shrugged theatrically. ‘Who knows? Some say it’s the cursed spirits. Some say the hikers do it themselves as they suffer some sort of hallucination.’

  Jack scoffed and crossed his arms.

  ‘Anyway,’ continued Warren. ‘The hiker stepped onto what he thought was a pile of leaves, the ground collapsed and he fell into a deep cave breaking his arm. His girlfriend had no choice but to leave him and make her way back to get help.’