I Will Break You (Best International Thrillers)

by Daniela Arnold

  She went into the living room where her laptop was on the table and opened it. Without further ado she wrote her boss a letter of resignation in which she pointed out that during her notice period she would first take vacation and then overtime. After she had reread the letter, she happily pressed send. When the box with the send confirmation appeared, Charly felt a heavy load falling off her. Grinning, she picked up her cell phone.

  “I just quit” she texted to Andreas. “Goodbye forever!” Then she blocked the app from receiving further messages from him.

  Instead of another high she felt a tingling sensation on her skin. She whipped her head up to the open window, in front of which the curtains were puffed up when a violent gust of wind blew in.

  She jumped up and locked the latch, then pressed her face against the window pane and stared out into the dark of the garden.

  Nothing, only a few bushes and branches swaying in the wind.

  Charly shook her head. She couldn’t get rid of the feeling that someone was sitting out there in the dark, staring at her. Someone who was angry with her. She ran back to the table, staring at her cell phone. How many times had she read about mothers downloading tracking apps onto their children’s cell phones so they would always know where they were in case of an emergency? Had Andreas loaded such a program onto her cell phone without her knowing about it? Had he managed to locate her? She carried the cell phone to the window, opened it, then dialed his number and waited. When the ringtone sounded, she listened to see if anything stirred in the garden, but it remained silent.

  Not a second later Andreas answered. “Are you crazy?” he asked angrily. “Who do you think you are?” Charly knew by his tone of voice that he had already read her previous message.

  “Did you put a damn locating app on my cell phone?” she asked curtly.

  Silence.

  “Answer me!”

  “You’re gonna get your ass on a plane tomorrow and come home, you understand?” he growled. “Otherwise you’ll get to know me, my sweet, and you wouldn’t wish for that.” It clicked on the line. Andreas had hung up.

  A chill overcame Charly. She was absolutely sure someone was watching her. But when Andreas had answered, it had remained quiet in the garden. Either he had set his cell phone to silent or he was still in Berlin. In any case, his demand to her to come back to Germany tomorrow spoke for it.

  So if it wasn’t her stalking ex staring in at her from out there, who the hell was it?

  Chapter 8

  Newhaven, June 2015

  In the darkness the ocean looked deep black, yet she felt neither fear nor anxiety. Quite the opposite. The glitter of the stars in the night sky was reflected on the surface of the waves and offered a unique sight. She stepped forward one step. Another one. Then another, until she stood at the very edge of the cliff. She felt the cold of the rock under the soles of her feet, continued to feel her way forward millimeter by millimeter until there was no more resistance under the tips of her toes. Now she was only a gust of wind away from redemption. Only a few centimeters to freefall. She wondered if it would hurt. Would she feel the impact? That moment when her body burst open like an overripe tomato and life slowly left her body? Never mind! She took a deep breath, filled her lungs with sea air, tasted the salt on her tongue. How much she hated this place. Or much more the certainty of her guilt. The thought sent her innermost being into turmoil. Guilt? Of what? Because she was still alive? She staggered as a draft pushed her towards the abyss. The lighthouse towering before her out of the sea seemed strangely out of place, like an admonishingly raised forefinger. She should not be up here. Panic rose in her. Away! She had to get away from here. But instead of taking a step back, she pushed herself forward and forward until half of the soles of her feet protruded over the abyss. It just wouldn’t work! it screamed inside her. I can’t go back anymore. She dropped her head. The roar of the sea beneath her sounded like an invitation, the clapping of the waves against the rock face like a mating call. She stretched out her arms sideways as if they were wings and tilted forward, feeling the weightlessness during the fall. She saw the towering tips of the boulders lying around the shore coming towards her. They looked like fangs just waiting to destroy her. Instantly, the ocean no longer had anything beautiful and alluring about it, and it looked like a huge black gorge just waiting to swallow her up. Her mouth opened to scream, but she only produced a hoarse croak. Submissively, she waited for the pain of the impact. Her last thought was for Jody.

  JODY!

  Soaked in sweat and completely out of breath, Charly tore the blanket from her body and jumped up. Confused, she looked around. She recognized the outlines of Imogen’s living room furniture in the darkness. Then she ran out of the room and up the stairs to Jody’s nursery. She creaked the door open, peeking in through the crack. When she registered Jody’s peaceful expression, she hitched a breath and leaned her forehead against the wood of the doorframe. It had only been a dream. A shitty dream. She laughed softly, closed the door, and made her way back to the living room. As she stood in front of the sofa, her eyes fell on the book on the floor. Everything came back to her in a rush. She hadn’t felt like watching TV last night, and had chosen an historical novel from Imo’s bookshelf, hoping to find some distraction. She must have fallen asleep while reading and… Wait a minute… Panic flooded Charly’s innermost being like an electric shock. If she had dozed off over the book, who had turned off the light? It couldn’t have been her, unless she did it in her sleep, which was nonsense, and Jody was too little to reach the light switch. Charly whipped her head around to the window. It was locked. Then she went to the front door, jiggled the handle. Locked. Relief spread through her. She checked all other windows and doors in the house and went back into the living room. Maybe she had woken up and gone to the toilet while half asleep, had turned off the light on the way? It must have been just like that, she tried to convince herself, and wrapped her arms around her upper body. She was terribly cold and longed for a cup of hot tea. She wouldn’t find any sleep now, anyway. Sighing, she headed to the kitchen.

  A little later, clasping a cup of hot tea in both hands, the dream from earlier came back to her mind. The fine hairs on the back of Charly’s neck stood up. What did the dream mean? She remembered the crushing feeling inside her just before she had tipped over. She sipped the tea nervously, jerking as the hot liquid wet her tongue and burned her upper lip. Cursing, she put down the cup, felt the tears shoot into her eyes. The dream was over, but the guilt was gnawing at her, tearing at her insides, causing her nausea. Bitter bile shot into her throat. Charly barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up with a violent choking sound. When she caught her breath, she rinsed her mouth with cold water. What the hell was wrong with her? Did she feel guilty because she was alive while Imogen was dead? Or was the dream not about her at all? Had she witnessed Imogen’s suicide in person in the dream? Was such a thing even possible? She remembered that in her dream she had the feeling that she could no longer go backwards. It had been like a compulsion to keep moving further and further toward the edge until she could no longer help but tilt forward. Had Imogen given her a message in her dream? That it had really been depression that had driven her to her death? She remembered how the waves and the sea had lured her and made her feel like it was the right thing to do. Had it been like that with Imogen?

  On her way back to the kitchen, Charly felt the urge to be close to her dead friend. She climbed up the stairs into the bedroom, turned on the light, and opened the closet. The sight of Imogen’s clothes made her gasp for breath. She took out a light blue cardigan and pressed her face into the soft fabric. The familiar flowery scent of coconut rose into her nose, filling it. Sobbing, Charly dropped to her knees. She spotted a pile of photo albums next to the gift bags for Jody. Her hand trembling, she reached for the top album. She opened it to spot the happy faces of Imogen and Adam looking at her from the first page. Charly shook her head as she flipped throug
h the pages. How could it have happened that such a happy couple had become two people who stopped talking to each other and kept their problems to themselves? Or was what Jake Bishop had told her not true? But why would he lie to her about that? Jake was on the case as a police officer, what would he gain by lying to her? Could he have misinterpreted Imogen’s statement?

  Sighing, she closed the album, put it back in its place. Then she went into the kitchen, where her tea had become lukewarm. Still thinking of Adam and Imogen, she emptied the cup and put it in the dishwasher. Then she went into the living room and sat down on the sofa. With a flash, Charly realized what was wrong here at all. Allegedly, Imogen’s marriage had been in crisis for quite some time. But her friend would have told her about it, because her fight came much later. Charly was sure Imogen had not told her about marital trouble and Adam’s alleged affair because she herself had only found out after his death that there really was someone. That must have been the way it was. Jake Bishop didn’t know Imogen as well as she had known her, he just put it together. Charly’s head was spinning and mixing into a confused mush. Imogen had probably found clues after Adam’s death and started to investigate who his lover had been. Perhaps she had even had a well-founded suspicion to assume that this person was also responsible for his death. Had this knowledge become her own undoing? So much spoke for it. The gifts for Jody. The fact that she hadn’t told anyone, not even her best friend, before she could be sure. Charly began to tremble. It could have been that way, couldn’t it? Adam had had an affair and ended it when Imogen got pregnant. Maybe his mistress had blackmailed him to tell his wife everything if he didn’t do what she asked. In the beginning he had given in and when he refused at some point, disaster struck. Imogen then fell into a state of shock until she discovered the clues that pointed to his past affair. But nobody had wanted to believe her, not even Jake. They had declared her crazy, blamed everything on her depression, left her alone with her grief and fear. When Imogen had gotten too close to the person responsible, they had made sure she disappeared from the scene.

  Had it been like that? Or did she get lost in something? Charly felt a throb behind her eyes—signs of an impending migraine—and lay down. For a while, she continued to think about Imogen and Adam until she was overcome by tiredness and eventually fell into a deep and fortunately dreamless sleep.

  A ringing tore her from her sleep. Dazed, Charly drove up from the sofa and checked the clock. Only shortly after eight. She got up and ran up the stairs to check on Jody, who was lying peacefully in her crib, sucking her thumb in her sleep. Charly sighed in relief, then ran downstairs and opened the front door.

  A beautiful dark-haired woman stood before her and smiled at her. “Sorry to bother you so early, but I was in the neighborhood and I thought…” She looked down, scuffed the ground with her shoe. When she looked up again, she said, “You must be Charly. I have heard so much about you.”

  Charly raised her shoulders in confusion. “I’m not sure… do we know each other?”

  The woman smiled warmly. “Sorry, where are my manners?” She reached out her hand. “I am Alice Lee, Imogen’s half-sister.”

  A few minutes later Charly had put on a pot of coffee and set the breakfast table. Then she sat down at the table with Alice. “To be honest, I didn’t even know you existed until recently,” she admitted. “Edward Clark mentioned it when I asked him if there was no one else who could care for Jody.”

  Alice scowled. “I can’t count how many times I went to him after Imogen died, begging him to help me so that Jody wouldn’t have to go to that foster family. I wanted to take her in, I owed Imogen that.” She lowered her eyes. “We didn’t know each other long, but the time we had together, we were very close.”

  Charly felt a sting in her chest. Nevertheless, she smiled. “It’s nice to know Imogen was not alone. After all she’s been through…” She glanced at Alice. “Why did you contact her so late?”

  The young woman—Charly estimated her to be in her mid-to-late twenties—looked down. “I did not know I had a sister. My mother never wanted to talk about who my father was during her lifetime. She always said he was not worth crying a single tear over, let alone wanting to become part of his life, because he had thrown us away years ago. When she died of cancer last year, I found everything I needed to know in her records to be able to look for my roots. I did some research and found out that my father has been dead for a long time, and that I have a sister. Imogen. Can you imagine how that felt? To be alone after my mother died and then to find out I had a sister I had never heard of before?”

  Charly shook her head compassionately.

  “I was so nervous when I first stood outside the house,” Alice explained. “I thought, ‘What if she’s not interested in meeting me? Or worse, what if she doesn’t believe me?’” Alice chuckled softly. “My fear was unfounded. Imogen was very nice. She checked my documents and welcomed me into her heart with open arms. She needed me as much as I needed her, I suppose. We were both connected by the loss of a loved one. She was stunned that our father had had an affair and did not care for his own child. I think she even felt responsible in some way. She wanted to make amends for what he had done, and no matter how many times I told her it was not necessary, she would not be dissuaded until she…”

  “Until she what?” Charly pressed, leaning forward on the table.

  Alice shook her head. “It was three months before her death. Imogen was changing, becoming stranger and stranger, paranoid and—”

  “I thought she had been suffering from depression since Adam’s death? At least that’s what Jake Bishop, the policeman who investigated her suicide, claims.”

  “Imogen mourned her husband, she cried a lot, but tried to hide it from Jody. She did everything for her daughter, but then…” Alice searched for words, “… then she changed overnight. She was suffering from fears and delusions, claiming someone was out to get her and wanted to kill her. And that someone had killed Adam, too.”

  Stunned, Charly stared open-mouthed at Alice. “That is exactly what I suspected.”

  “What do you think?”

  “That Imogen’s suicide was not a suicide at all, and she may have been killed.”

  Alice looked at her quizzically. “I don’t understand…”

  “Adam, he must have had an affair!” Charly exclaimed. “His death could be connected to that. Maybe Imogen found out who was behind it and had to die because of it.”

  “But Imogen never said anything about her husband having an affair. Not even when she was becoming… strange.”

  “What exactly do you mean by strange?” Charly wanted to know.

  “As I said, she had increasing anxiety and suffered from paranoia. She was sure that she would die soon, trusted no one anymore. Not even me.” Alice cleared her throat. “That hurt, you know, after being so close to each other before. That must have been when she got the idea with the will and went to see Edward Clark in London. She barricaded herself in the house with Jody, not letting anyone else in, talking crazy stuff.”

  “What kind of crazy stuff?”

  Alice raised her shoulders. “I couldn’t do anything with it, but maybe I didn’t want to. It was just too painful to watch my sister, the last of my family, slowly lose her mind.”

  “Why didn’t you help her?” Charly asked sharply.

  “I did,” Alice retorted. “I was the one who made sure she got medical attention, got involved in therapy. I was the one who took care of Jody when she couldn’t. I would have done a lot more if she’d just let me.” Tears were glistening in her eyes.

  “Then what happened?” Charly asked more gently.

  “When she took her medication, things got a little better. She took care of Jody by herself again, even went shopping again, slowly but surely getting back on her feet. But the talk of the people, their looks—it was all too much for Imogen. She stopped taking her medicine, stopped going to therapy, and then her feeli
ngs of guilt came on top of that.”

  “Guilt? For what?”

  Alice lowered her eyes. “As I said, I don’t know for sure because Imogen was getting more and more distant. But as I understood it, there was something in her past. Something she didn’t want to talk about, but which she was sure was catching up with her. It must have had something to do with a girl she used to know.”

  Charly frowned. “Did she tell you the name of the girl?”

  “No, she didn’t tell me. But I know it anyway, because I heard her call it a few times in her sleep when she let me spend the night here.”

  Charly regarded Alice expectantly.

  “The name Imogen called out in her sleep was Megan.”

  Chapter 9

  Newhaven, June 2015

  “You like Aunt Alice, don’t you?” Charly asked.

  The little girl nodded enthusiastically and pressed the new doll firmly against her chest. Her old rabbit under her other arm left her without a hand to hold her fork.