I Dare You (ARC)

by Sam Carrington

  the dead – and he wasn’t afraid of them. No one bothered him

  there. He’d left Eliza tucked up in bed; he always made sure she

  was asleep before he locked her in.

  Billy let out a wail, swiping at the head of the roses he’d

  placed there a few days ago. He was too young for this to be his

  life – for it to be over before it had properly begun. He was

  pissed off that he’d been dealt these shitty cards. Eliza had been an accident – a moment of uncontrollable lust between two

  teenagers. Then, later, he’d done what he thought was right –

  married Rosie. From that moment on he’d had to work like a

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  dog to get the money to support them all. He’d been lucky, if he could call it that, that his father had died not long after they’d got hitched at Gretna Green. The money he’d left Billy in his

  will was substantial. He could’ve started his own business with

  that money, but instead he bought the bungalow in Mapledon

  and settled for getting the odd carpentry job here and there.

  Biggest mistake of his life. He’d never had the chance to attain

  any of his goals, never had the opportunity to be someone. Apart from the ‘Village Weirdo’. He’d managed that all right. He let

  his head loll back, his gaze travelling over the glittering night sky, wondering if Rosie were one of the brightest stars. Then

  the stars seemed to fade, and blackness replaced them. He felt

  the weight of the dark pressing against his skin, then lowering

  further and entering him. As it often did.

  ‘Eliza is all I’ve got, Rosie,’ he said, placing both hands on

  the ground that was mere feet above his dead wife. ‘But she’s

  not all I need. I have needs too – who sees to those now you’re gone, eh?’ He’d tried to suppress his desires, drank them into

  oblivion – but he couldn’t simply put them aside. They kept

  resurfacing whether he wanted them to or not. He required an

  outlet, a way of expressing his thoughts, feelings of hurt, anger, frustration and sexual desire.

  He realised now he was never going to have that in this village.

  Mapledon was not only small in area, it was small-minded

  too. And they’d made their minds up about Billy Cawley. He

  wouldn’t change them now. But he had no means of leaving.

  He could sell the bungalow – but he’d also be getting rid of the memories, of what lay beneath. He wasn’t ready to do that.

  There had to be another way.

  ‘I need help, Rosie. Help for me and help for Eliza. She’s not right. And the more I do for her, the worse she seems to get.

  I’ve tried to be everything to her, told her she only needs me,

  not the vile kids in this place. I’m striving to make her stronger, you know? She has to be hardened in order to survive. The other

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  kids are mean to her, but she doesn’t see it; she’s too innocent.

  She tries to be friends with them. I keep telling her she’s different to them; they’ll never accept her. She doesn’t help herself, what with the way she destroys those dolls. It’s unnerving. I caught

  her doing really . . . really, odd things to Polly, the doll you gave her – the only one she hasn’t de-limbed. She looked so guilty

  when she saw me watching her. And then today she seemed

  distant. I think it’s to do with those God Freaks.’

  Billy involuntarily looked over his shoulder towards the

  church. ‘ They are putting stuff into her head!’ he spat. He turned back to Rosie, lowering his voice. ‘When she came back from

  Sunday school earlier, she wouldn’t even look at me. Didn’t

  speak a word or come near me for hours. Just sat in the garden,

  pulling her dolls to bits. Then, when she did finally come in, I

  tried to put her in her nightie for bedtime and she smacked my

  hand away, like she was telling me off. She said, “It’s wrong to

  touch, Daddy.” And she told me to leave her room. She’s never

  done that before. They are saying things to her, I know it.’ Billy pushed himself up from his kneeling position.

  ‘I need to keep her away from them, Rosie. This village and

  its people are poison.’

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  Chapter Forty-Three

  2019

  Anna

  Monday 15th July

  They’d left the village hall not long after the revelation that Lizzie was Eliza, the daughter of murderer Billy Cawley. Lizzie offered

  them a lift home, which Anna accepted. She felt zapped of energy

  and didn’t relish the thought of the walk back anyway. The shock

  hadn’t abated; Anna still felt numbed by it. She wasn’t sure why, because none of what had happened had been Lizzie’s fault. She’d

  only been eight. Why would, or should, Anna feel so taken aback?

  She couldn’t even remember much about Eliza Cawley: what

  she looked like, or what she did – but she did recall the rumours for some reason. Or maybe she’d grown up hearing about the

  day social services had taken her from the bungalow. Her only

  memories of Eliza were related to her and Jonie talking about Eliza – about what she used to do to her dolls and seeing the

  bits strewn haphazardly in the yard of the bungalow after the

  girl had gone. And what with a major piece of evidence having

  come from Anna herself about seeing Jonie getting into the truck

  with one of Eliza’s doll’s heads on it, she supposed that was the sum of what she knew.

  Thinking about it now, Anna wondered if it were that piece

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  of evidence Billy Cawley had focused on all these years. Obsessed about, maybe. If Anna hadn’t informed the police she’d seen

  him, had watched as Jonie climbed in beside him in the cab,

  maybe the jury wouldn’t have convicted him. Was that why her

  mother’s house was being targeted now? Because it was Anna’s

  childhood home?

  The police still had the necklace they’d found in Billy’s

  bungalow, though, she reminded herself. Jonie’s. Auntie Tina

  had identified it. So even without Anna’s witness statement, they likely would’ve found him guilty. Wouldn’t they?

  If it were hers and Tina’s statements that ultimately led the

  jury to believe he was guilty, maybe that was why they were the

  ones who’d received the dolls’s heads on their front doors. Was

  Muriel right to suspect Lizzie? But surely now her father had

  been released there was no need to seek any kind of vengeance.

  Years had gone by, why would Lizzie want to do something like

  that now?

  Unless she was doing it for Billy. He had restrictions; his daughter did not. She could be doing it for him, for his revenge.

  ‘You’re quiet, Anna,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘Mind is elsewhere, sorry.’ Anna kept her gaze to her left, out

  the passenger window. Her mum’s road was approaching. She

  opened her mouth to direct Lizzie, but stopped short. Lizzie

  had already taken the right turning and was driving up the road.

  Next left was Muriel’s. Lizzie indicated and turned in, coming

  to a stop right outside Muriel’s house. Anna
swivelled a bit in

  her seat so she could face Lizzie.

  ‘Thank you for the lift back,’ she said, her eyes locked on to

  Lizzie’s.

  ‘It’s fine. Thank you for not making a big deal about who I

  am.’ She smiled, but seemed guarded. ‘Maybe we could chat

  later? I could come and get you.’ She leant into the passenger

  footwell and retrieved her phone from her bag. ‘What’s your

  number so I can let you know when I’m on my way?’

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  Anna’s instincts were telling her to say no. Not to get involved.

  ‘Sure,’ she found herself saying before rattling off her mobile

  number. Lizzie immediately rang it.

  ‘Great. And now you have mine,’ Lizzie said, smiling.

  It seemed she never could learn – ignoring her gut instincts

  had done her no favours in the past, yet here she was again,

  leaping in blindly, going against her body’s self-preservation

  impulse.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Muriel piped up from the back seat.

  Anna got out of the car and opened her mother’s car door.

  ‘Mum. It’s fine, come on, let’s go inside.’ She spoke in her firm, don’t-mess-with-me-voice in the hope Muriel would get the

  message and leave it. ‘Nothing will happen while I’ve gone.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Let’s go in and get a cuppa, shall we?’

  ‘We’ve just had one!’

  Anna screwed her eyes up and took a slow, deep breath. Why

  was she suddenly being so awkward?

  ‘Actually, why don’t you take your mum in, make sure she’s

  all right and come back to Bulleigh Barton with me now? We

  could have lunch in the garden. Save you coming out again

  later?’ Lizzie suggested. Maybe she, too, was becoming impatient

  with Muriel’s behaviour.

  ‘If you can wait here for five, I’ll come back and let you know.’

  Anna ducked her head back inside the car and gave Muriel’s

  arm a gentle tug. She finally, but slowly, climbed out of the back seat.

  ‘What has got into you, Mum?’ Anna hissed as she opened

  the front door and did a quick check of the floor to make sure

  there’d been no other deliveries.

  ‘I don’t trust her. ’ Muriel jabbed a finger towards the waiting car.

  ‘I know.’ Anna ushered Muriel further inside. ‘Look, you

  might be right not to trust her. She just drove straight to your

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  door without asking for directions. I mean, I know Mapledon is pretty small, and she did walk this way with me on Saturday, but we were still a few roads away. How did she know exactly

  where you lived?’

  ‘Because she’s been here before,’ Muriel said, her eyes fixed

  on a point beyond Anna.

  ‘Exactly. So maybe she is the one hammering dolls’ heads to doors. When she was a child, she was always tearing those dolls

  to bits. It makes sense it’s her doing it now.’

  ‘And you want to go and have lunch with her?’

  ‘I thought it would be a good opportunity to dig a bit deeper.’

  ‘I don’t really like the idea of being left here alone, Anna.’

  ‘Pop next door and have a catch-up with Sandie. It would be

  a perfect opportunity to ask her if she’s had anything strange

  happen, seen anything or anyone unusual. And anyway, if we’re

  right, nothing will happen while I’m with Lizzie, will it?’

  ‘Fine. Be careful, though, Anna,’ Muriel said, her eyebrows

  raised. ‘Sometimes when you go digging you unearth things

  you’re not looking for.’

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  Chapter Forty-Four

  2019

  Lizzie

  The short drive to Bulleigh Barton passed in relative silence,

  Lizzie struggling to gauge how Anna was taking the news of

  her being Billy’s daughter, Eliza Cawley. She’d spent a lifetime

  pretending she was someone else – who would want to be

  the daughter of a child killer? Why couldn’t her dad have

  been like the other kids’ dads? Someone who blended in,

  rather than sticking out like a sore thumb. But no. He’d lost

  his way in life; lost his ability to work. Had turned instead

  to some dark side that Lizzie couldn’t, and didn’t want to

  understand. How do supposedly normal people carry out

  such hideous crimes? How do they hide their real selves from

  everyone else? But then, she had kept a part of herself hidden for most of her life. Maybe that’s just what her dad had done

  too.

  She couldn’t remember living with him, either before her

  mother had died or afterwards. Her brain had done a good

  job blocking the unwanted childhood memories. Which is

  why she needed help now to unblock them. To finally move

  forwards, she had to cleanse herself. She had to exorcise

  William Cawley once and for all. She’d got Rob onside,

  although he might well back off once he found out she’d lied,

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  and she had Anna. Together they might be able to piece the jigsaw together.

  ‘Well, hello. I see you’ve brought a guest,’ Gwen said as they

  walked into the house, her Irish accent washing over Lizzie like

  warm water. There was something soothing about her voice.

  Kind, honest. ‘Did you two want some lunch in the sunshine?

  I could set you up on the picnic table beside the pool if you

  like?’

  ‘Thanks, Gwen, that’d be perfect. I’ll pay for the extra lunch,

  of course.’

  ‘Ooh, no, not at all. It’s my pleasure. What can I get you – I

  have baguettes with various fillings, or salads, some sandwiches

  perhaps?’

  ‘A ham baguette with some salad would be lovely, thank you,’

  Lizzie said.

  ‘The same, thank you. No onion though.’

  Gwen gave a nod. ‘I’ll pop it out the back in ten minutes or

  so,’ she said, before disappearing into the kitchen. Lizzie led

  Anna to the back of the house, out through the patio doors and

  onto the decking area.

  ‘It really is a beautiful B&B, Anna. Thanks for the heads-up.’

  ‘That’s okay. It’s not like there was much of a choice though,

  eh? It is lovely, though, and Gwen seems to be a fab host.’

  ‘Don’t you know her?’

  ‘No. This place had different owners when I left Mapledon.

  It belonged to the Timothy family then. Their son went to my . . .

  our . . . primary school. He was a bit, well, strange.’

  ‘Even more so than me? I find that hard to believe. By all

  accounts my head spun and I threw up green vomit and

  everything.’

  Anna laughed, which acted as an ice-breaker. Even though

  Lizzie had felt a connection to Anna when they’d met at the

  church gate, since her ‘unmasking’ today, Anna had been very

  off with her. Understandably.

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br />
  ‘Do you remember anyone from Mapledon school?’ Anna asked as she sat down at the wooden picnic table. Lizzie swung

  her legs over the opposite bench, so they were facing each

  other.

  ‘It’s difficult to explain. I don’t think I remember people per se; I feel certain connections instead – I thought I felt that when we first met, for example. It’s like, I know I knew them, but

  can’t locate any specific memories concerning them. I didn’t

  recognise any of the houses as I drove up the main street on

  my first day here, but when we were walking and I saw the

  primary school, a jolt, like an electric shock almost, hit me. I

  knew the place. But I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything about what it looks like inside, or even give you names of other kids

  or teachers.’

  ‘I suppose when I left I was eighteen, so my childhood memo-

  ries had been talked about, reinforced by sharing them with

  other village kids, my mum, and to a lesser extent my dad.

  Because you left at eight, didn’t even get to go to comprehensive school with the village kids, too many other significant memories must have come after and replaced them – or overlaid them.

  Perhaps the more you talk to people in Mapledon, the more

  things you might recall.’

  ‘I guess that was my hope. That and to find out more about

  him. There’s unfinished business for me, as you can imagine.

  It’s like there’s a thousand-piece puzzle that needs to be put

  together to answer the questions I didn’t even realise I wanted

  answered until I read the release letter.’

  Gwen stepped out from the patio doors with a tray and headed

  to where Lizzie and Anna were sitting.

  ‘Here we go, ladies.’ She put the plates in front of them and

  placed a basket of condiments in the centre of the wooden table.

  ‘What would you like to drink?’

  After they’d told Gwen what they wanted and she’d disap-

  peared back inside, Anna spoke.

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  ‘I don’t think the villagers will make that easy, Lizzie. I have a feeling you’ll get so far, but be unable to complete that puzzle without the bits they’ve been hiding for thirty years. And I doubt if some of them even remember what, or where, those missing

  pieces are.’

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