Saving Sophie

by Sam Carrington

  A pang of guilt shot through her. She hadn’t been there for Rachel when her ex moved in with the new woman though, had she? She’d allowed that one to go right on past her, not noticing, not feeling the latest traumatic event in Rachel’s life. She’d have to try to make up for that slip. Rachel had been there for Karen in the past. Particularly after the attack.

  A shriek ripped through the room, causing acid to rise immediately into her mouth. She shot up. Her heart bashed an erratic rhythm, filling her ears as she ran to Sophie’s room and whacked the door open, crashing it into the wall behind.

  ‘What? What the hell is it?’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  DI Wade

  ‘It’s. Not. Her … It’s not her.’ The words, spoken between shallow gasps. Tears rolled freely. Tears of relief?

  ‘Are you sure?’ DI Wade turned to Mr Howard for confirmation. He nodded his head, a thin smile evident as he helped Liz to her feet.

  ‘I’m sorry to have put you through this … The description was so close to your daughter.’ She offered up her arm, assisted her to the low seats in the viewing area. ‘Are you okay?’

  Liz pulled another tissue from her coat pocket and wiped at her nose. ‘Yes. Yeah, I’ll be all right.’ Her face crumpled again. She looked up into her husband’s face. ‘Where is Amy?’ She grasped hold of his sleeve. ‘Where’s our Amy, Nathan?’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Howard, the police are conducting a missing person investigation. I’ll inform them straight away and the search will continue, now an ID hasn’t been made. We’ll find her.’ As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. It was as good as a promise, one she couldn’t be sure she’d keep. The look on Liz’s face stopped DI Wade in her tracks. Despite the relief, there remained a pained expression: sad, upset.

  Liz’s eyes settled slowly on hers. ‘It’s not Amy—’

  ‘I know, that’s good, Mrs Howard—’

  ‘No. It’s not Amy.’ She used the tissue to swipe away fresh tears. ‘But I do know who it is.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Karen

  Karen searched their faces. They were smiling.

  ‘What? What’s happened?’ Her throat was tight, her voice squeezed through.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s all okay now.’ Sophie and Dan hugged each other, then Sophie pulled away from him, looking up to Karen. ‘It’s not her, Mum. The body they found, it’s not Amy.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘She’s just texted. Show her, Dan.’ Dan held up his mobile in a shaky hand. Karen snatched it and read the group text: Sorry about all the fuss. Bumped into Jonathan and ended up at an all-night party. Been sleeping all day. AM SAFE!

  ‘How can you be sure it’s her? Ring her. Ring her now, Sophie, please.’

  ‘Of course it’s her,’ Sophie scrunched her face into a don’t be so stupid look Karen didn’t appreciate.

  ‘What if the murderer has her phone and it’s him texting?’

  Sophie looked at her witheringly. ‘It’s not a film, Mum.’

  Karen wasn’t reassured. A body had been found. Murdered. A film was exactly what this felt like.

  ‘Just do as I ask, please.’ She held out the mobile to Dan.

  Dan took it, and pressed the screen. ‘Sure, Mrs Finch, I’ll give her a call.’

  A few moments of heart-in-the-mouth tension passed before Dan spoke. To Amy.

  Karen put her hand to her forehead. Her relief came in the form of an instant headache.

  ‘Good, I’m so pleased this is over. I’m going for a lie-down.’

  Sophie and Dan, already in conversation about the events, didn’t even notice Karen leave the room. She went downstairs first, to inform Mike of Amy’s contact. He seemed as relieved as she did. Perhaps now things could get back to normal. Her kind of normal at least. She climbed the stairs, heavy legs making the fourteen steps seem more, then collapsed back on the bed. The anxiety of the weekend had taken its toll; she felt exhausted, mentally and physically.

  Apart from the time of her own attack, this had been the longest weekend she could remember. The edges of the room blurred, so she closed her eyes. She wasn’t particularly religious, but now, lying on her back with her eyes shut, she put her hands together in silent prayer and thanked God for Amy being safe. She also prayed for the parents of the girl who had been murdered.

  Although one family was now released from the grip of anguish, another was about to be condemned to it. They shouldn’t forget that.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  My Beautiful,

  I simply can’t wait to meet you, I’m craving you beyond measure! How can I be so lucky as to have you – although not in the physical sense – I have you in mind and soul, I guess the body part will have to wait? But not too long I hope. Please can it be soon? I want to be able to hold you in my arms, breathe in your delicious smell, be with you. Inside you. That moment when our bodies become one, I cannot tell you how much I want you. I feel as though we’ve known each other for years.

  I know you feel the same. Email back as soon as you can, I’m here. Waiting.

  xxxxxxxxxxxxx

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Karen

  Monday

  ‘Erin is dead.’

  The cry had shredded her eardrums. The words replayed on a loop. It’s all Karen had thought about during the night. The relief of Amy being found: brief, temporary, now replaced with a new horror. The victim wasn’t Sophie’s best friend; it was Karen’s best friend’s daughter. Sophie’s friend since birth.

  The call, late last night, traumatic in its entirety, had left Karen numb. Rachel’s response following the outspill of those agonising words: It was Erin, had been one of shocked silence. Karen had been unable to think of a single comforting phrase to fill the void, had only repeated the words I’m so sorry. Lame, useless words meaning nothing; offering no support. But no words could fit this situation.

  Karen replayed the heart-wrenching call, Rachel’s desperation, the way her words had rushed out of her once the silence had been breached.

  ‘I don’t understand …’ Sobs, gasping, gulps of air. ‘The description … it was like Amy, not Erin. I hadn’t seen her. Oh, Karen. She’d dyed her hair, had extensions put in at the weekend … I had no idea.’

  ‘Oh Rach, Rach, love—’ Karen’s contribution to the conversation.

  ‘Help me, Karen, I can’t do this.’ Wracking sobs, interspersed with more gasping, the sound harrowing, tearing at Karen’s heart.

  A deep pain gripped her. How was this happening? Why? And how could she help?

  Now, after a few hours of disrupted sleep, she leant awkwardly against the kitchen worktop, while Mike stared at her. Karen cried. Her friend needed her. How was she going to support her when she struggled to even make it outside her own front door?

  ‘You have to go to her.’ Mike pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her. She allowed the closeness, the comfort, for a few seconds before pushing him away.

  ‘How can I?’

  ‘I’ll drive you over there after your counselling session. You’ll be fine.’

  Sounded simple. Obvious. The reality was far more complicated.

  ‘I don’t think I can …’ She took some deep breaths, trying to stop the rising panic.

  ‘Oh come on, Karen, you’ve been having therapy, or whatever it is, for ever. Surely you can make it out of the house for this?’

  The words cut, but there was an uncomfortable truth there. She really should be able to push herself to go to her friend. She looked down, unable to bear to meet the look of disapproval in Mike’s eyes.

  ‘She’d be here in a flash for you, you know that.’

  ‘Rach understands how difficult—’

  ‘She may understand why you can’t make a coffee morning. I hardly think she’s going to understand you failing to be by her side at a time like this.’

  Karen could see he’d lost any remaining sympathy he might’ve had for her condition. He’d never
understood it, not really. He’d been supportive for the first year, doing everything that required venturing outside, talking to her for hours, making allowances for her erratic behaviour – but he’d lost the ability to be compassionate when she hadn’t recovered as quickly as expected. Everyone had their limits, she guessed, and he’d found his.

  ‘I said I’d call her again at nine-ish.’ Her breathing shallowed.

  Mike shook his head, turned away from her. ‘I’m going to work then. Let me know if you get your shit together, and I’ll take you to your best friend.’ He slammed the kitchen door.

  Karen clawed at the top buttons of her cotton shirt, popping a few as she attempted to reduce the restriction around her neck. Her breathing was out of control already, shallow breaths in rapid succession. She was going to choke. Her lips tingled as the carbon dioxide in her blood reduced. She had to act now or she’d faint. With trembling hands and a darkness in front of her eyes, she grappled in the cupboard under the sink.

  She put her hand on the bag, withdrew it and began breathing in and out of it, the crinkling of the paper offering its usual reassuring sound.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Sophie

  The memory was fleeting – a sudden image striking her while she was washing her hair in the shower. Black hair extensions. A chair. Erin. The words: What does it matter she wanted to be Amy? Her own words, uttered in what everyone assumed to be a drunken stupor, repeating continually in her head. Was it a real memory? Or some horrible vision her mind had constructed, knowing now the body – the dead, murdered body – was Erin’s? It disappeared as quickly as it came to her. As hard as she tried to go back to it, make sense of it, it had gone. Despite the hot water hammering her body, Sophie shivered. Something was there, nudging right at the edge of her consciousness. Fear wrapped itself around her, crushing her – how had she conjured a memory like this? For now, the flashback, if that’s what it was, was out of reach, she’d lost her grasp on it.

  She’d decided to go to work, regardless of the developments, regardless of her lack of sleep. She needed to be around others and keep active to stop the thoughts. Last night’s news had spread through every social network, the majority of her night taken up with messaging, shocked reactions, never-ending questions. The biggest, most asked question: who last saw Erin?

  She’d see Amy at work. She craved contact with her. If she arranged her lunch break for the same time, she could go over Saturday night with her, try to unlock some memories. Real, helpful ones.

  Avoiding both her parents so far this morning had been a challenge; a deep sigh of relief escaped her upon hearing the door slam as her dad exited. So, only her mother to face before she left. She’d prolong leaving her room until the last minute.

  Sophie’s shoulders dipped. What an awful daughter she was. She should really be offering comfort to her mum. It’d been her best friend’s daughter – her godchild – who had been brutally murdered. The news was bound to be full of it today and her mum was going to be alone in the house for most of it. Sophie knew Mondays were bad for her mum. Counselling. Every weekend the build-up began to affect her. It started around Saturday afternoon, like she was tensing up for it; her moods would flare, she’d be unpredictable. The inevitable accumulation of fear usually erupted by Sunday evening. Of course, her mind had been occupied this weekend; the usual effects hadn’t been observable. This morning, though, she’d be in full panic mode. Sophie wondered whether she’d even make this morning’s session. Maybe she would attempt to venture to Rachel’s instead, to be with her?

  Sophie’s stomach roiled. Thoughts of how this was going to progress, this awful situation, whizzed through her head. So many people were going to be pulled into it. This was just the beginning, the immediate aftermath of the shock. What was to come was unknown. This sort of thing had never happened before. It was a first. A first no one had seen coming, an unexpected blackness that hadn’t been forecast. The fallout was going to be huge.

  A ping. A notification on her laptop. A cold sensation shot through her. A new email. Sophie knew, even before picking it up, what it was. She hesitated. Her breathing uneven. Swallowing rapidly, she opened the mail.

  Another one.

  No doubt remained now. It was her.

  Who was sending these?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  DI Wade

  The smell was like nothing she knew. Lindsay Wade had arrived at the hospital morgue early – an unfortunate trait at times like this, as now she was being treated to an extra post-mortem, the one prior to her murder victim. She knew she was unlikely ever to get used to them, despite having been present at a fair few. It wasn’t merely the stench. It was the way they manoeuvred the body on the cold, metal gurney. The way the head of the deceased slammed up and down on the block, while they hacked at the chest wall, pulled the tongue out from within, a sickening thud reverberating around the white sterile room with each action.

  She shuddered. It was barbaric. A flash of her dad came to her. How she wished she didn’t know about these procedures. Ignorance was preferable to knowledge sometimes. Images of his face the last time she’d seen him alive, his greying skin screaming out for oxygenated blood as his shallow breaths failed to circulate it – her own pale hand holding his as she sat by his chair, waiting for an ambulance to arrive. Her begging the doctor not to have her dad cut up, but knowing she’d lose that battle. She blinked them away, trying to bring herself back to the present. Another thud as the heart landed in the weighing scale. In a while, the majority of this man’s insides would be shoved in a black bin liner, stuffed back into the cavity, and he would be roughly sewn up. Lindsay bit the inside of her cheek and turned from the scene.

  Erin Malone was next up.

  The preliminary examination of the body prior to post-mortem indicated asphyxiation as the likely cause of death; the puncture wounds evident in her abdomen appeared superficial, not deep enough to cause sufficient bleeding to cease respiration or stop the heart. This particular detail, left out of public knowledge, would, in all likelihood, be needed later in order to whittle out those cranks who crawl out of the woodwork in these cases to claim this girl’s murder for themselves.

  She watched a man wheel the trolley bearing Erin’s body into the room, then turned her attention to the doorway. She could leave. Get someone else to relay the required information later. She wasn’t sure she could stomach it.

  But then, the family’s hope was her responsibility now. She couldn’t start ducking out at this early stage.

  She was the one whose job it was to catch Erin’s killer and bring justice and closure to them.

  She had to stay.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Karen

  She hadn’t made it to the bathroom. The vomit burst from her, barely missing Bailey as he chased along beside her, thinking it was a game. The poor dog had been completely neglected over the weekend. He sniffed at it. Karen shooed him away, rushing to the cupboard to get kitchen roll to mop it up. Out the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Sophie, who stood watching her.

  ‘You could help.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum.’ Sophie walked in and pulled a plastic bag from the container of carrier bags hanging from the tall cupboard door handle. Karen deposited the damp roll inside, retching as she did so. She noticed Sophie turn her head away, her face screwed up.

  ‘Sorry. Not pleasant first thing on a Monday, eh?’

  ‘Not surprised though.’ She smiled thinly, her eyes glossy with tears.

  Karen took the bag from her. ‘I’ll clean myself up, don’t go to work yet, wait a bit, will you?’ It was a plea. Sophie nodded.

  Karen allowed the coldness to refresh her; the water splashed over her face, droplets ran down her neck. It felt good. She grabbed her toothbrush and brushed her teeth, spitting out the remaining acid-sickly taste, then ran downstairs, hoping Sophie was still there.

  She was.

  ‘How’re you doing?’ Sophie asked.

  �
�Honestly?’ Karen put her hand to her chest, taking in ragged breaths. ‘Not great.’ She fought to keep the tears at bay, knowing once she started there’d be an outpouring of all the emotion which had built up overnight. Sophie stepped forward, put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. Karen pulled her in, hugging her tight. When she released her grip, still close up to Sophie’s face, she saw puffy, red eyes.

  ‘What about you? How are you feeling about it all? Must be a massive shock, Erin’s always been in your life.’

  Sophie opened and closed her mouth, shook her head and blew out a puff of breath. ‘Do you know, I don’t even know what to feel. That’s weird, isn’t it? Wrong?’

  ‘No, love, no.’ Karen touched Sophie’s cheek, brushed her thumb over it, taking away a fat tear. ‘I’m not sure how anyone is meant to feel. We’ll all go through it differently. The important thing is to keep talking. Keep sharing.’ Karen’s head cocked to one side. ‘Is there anything you need to share, love?’