But in order to get away with it, I had to do something to you that I felt quite bad about. I switched your medication. Instead of your anti-psychotics, I gave you sleeping pills every now and then. The pills were a very similar shape, and when I brought them to you with a cup of tea, you didn’t even notice. I had to be sneaky about it to make sure that you didn’t sleep all day. I couldn’t do it all the time, just when I wanted to go out at night and find the right girl.
Alison was a therapist who took evening patients until quite late at night. Do you remember those martial arts classes we attended? She had an advert in the village hall for her group therapy sessions in the evenings. She was also an environmentalist without a car who used to walk home near to a stretch of fields. The road was quiet and rural, with no CCTV around. I didn’t take any chances. I wore dark clothing. I hit her over the head with a stone, and I dragged her into the field. I killed her quickly, and then I left her. But I’d forgotten to wear gloves. There was blood all over my hands, and it took a long time to wash away.
You almost ruined my plans. As I came back to that tiny little house, I saw you sitting up in the lounge in the darkness. I swear my heart stopped beating for a second. I even opened my mouth to confess everything to you, to lie at your feet and beg for forgiveness. But I didn’t. I walked up to you, and I smeared the blood all over your hands.
Then I stood back and said, “What did you do?” before walking away from you.
The next morning, I thought you were going to say something to me, or at least suspect me when the body was found. But you said nothing. I wasn’t sure if you remembered the blood or not, you were so out of it. But even without the memory of the blood, you took the blame for something you considered Isabel’s doing. You blamed yourself.
And I let you.
It felt like my little secret. My only fear was that someone would find out, and I would go to prison. I was frightened you might find out, or that you’d notice a change in me, that you’d see how powerful I’d become.
I did everything I could to throw you off. I argued with you about Isabel, and I kept making small changes to your medication, switching the occasional pill for a painkiller or a sleeping pill. You found yourself sleepwalking every now and then, and I could tell there were times when you couldn’t decide what was real and what wasn’t. Eventually, I decided to leave because I couldn’t keep doing it to you. If I stayed, you were going to figure it out. I know you were. I couldn’t control my temper anymore, no matter how much I went to the gym.
But even after I moved out of the bungalow, I was paranoid that you’d figure everything out. The only thing I could do was make you think you were crazy again. I didn’t want to, Leah, I hope you understand that. It was me who planted the magpie on the step. It was me who broke the camera outside the front door. You see, I didn’t want to kill anyone else. I’d done it and tried it out, and I decided that the power of the killing wasn’t worth the fear of being caught. The adrenaline rush wasn’t worth it. But there were times when I felt like someone was telling me to do it. They pointed out how awful people are. We’re all sinners, aren’t we?
I have another confession to make. I didn’t believe Isabel had come to Clifton until I went out to the vending machine to buy food for us both. She slipped that knife softly against my flesh and I knew I could disarm her, but I didn’t. It was me who allowed her to take us both. Me who let her tie me up. I pretended I was afraid, but I wasn’t. Part of me was curious about what Isabel would do. Part of me wanted to watch you die. And part of me also wanted to die.
I’ve been looked down on my entire life. I’ve been called a fairy, a cow, a monster, a fatty, a faggot, and a poof. I’ve been punched, beaten, kicked, and often by my own father. You don’t know how bad it got after you left. But when I sliced through skin, I was powerful. And don’t try to tell me that poor little Alison didn’t deserve it, because everyone deserves it. We’re all rotten deep down. It was only a matter of time before she did something despicable.
I’m a murderer, Leah. That’s just who I am. Who you created.
Now for the big question: what am I going to do now? For a long time, I decided that I would never murder again. The risks were too high. I’m aware of the life I’ve taken, though I do believe that no one is innocent in this world. Taking a life is merely sparing the rest of the world from the monster they will no doubt become. If not today, then tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day. We’re all nasty, spiteful creatures; I’m just more honest about my spite.
Then Isabel threw me a lifeline. I don’t know why, but she confessed to the murder, putting me in the clear. I had been terrified of leaving DNA behind, or you, Leah, remembering something about that night. But now, with Isabel’s confession, the police won’t even bother to keep searching for clues. The case is closed. Isabel will soon be behind bars, and everyone can move on.
And what will I do now?
I’m not sure.
But I know I’ll be watching for a while. Watching you. Watching everyone. I think I may have started something I can’t finish. Not yet.
Sleep tight, big sister.
Or should I say Mum?
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About the Author
Sarah A. Denzil is a Wall Street Journal bestselling suspense writer from Derbyshire. Her thrillers include the number one bestseller Silent Child, The Broken Ones, Saving April, and One For Sorrow. In her alternative life—as YA author Sarah Dalton—she writes speculative fiction for teenagers, including The Blemished, Mary Hades, and White Hart.
Sarah lives in Yorkshire with her husband, enjoying the scenic countryside and rather unpredictable weather.
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Writing as Sarah Dalton - http://www.sarahdaltonbooks.com/
Two For Joy (Isabel Fielding Book 2) Page 22