Something didn’t feel good here.
Two young teenage girls had gone missing from their homes in Bridgwater, a little over an hour away from our house. According to both sets of parents, the girls had left for school as normal that morning. Other pupils told police that they had seen the girls chatting and laughing as usual and that they got on the bus to school together. They sat together, but they normally did anyway, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
The teachers that took the girls for lessons had all been spoken to and they confirmed that both girls had been present that morning, but they had both handed in notes from their parents to say they needed to leave at lunchtime. None had realised at the time that the notes had been produced by the girls themselves with forged signatures.
The families became worried when neither girl arrived home at the normal time. They made many calls to the girls’ mobile phones and left increasingly frantic messages on the voicemail. Neither of the phones were answered. The police were currently sifting through CCTV footage to see if there were any sightings of the girls. No one had yet come forward as having seen them.
As I read the article, in the bedroom after my shower, a pain shot down from my head to my heart. The girls weren’t much older than Michael. The parents no different to me and Neil. And their children were missing.
My brain tingled, as though electricity hummed through every cell. I felt my head growing warmer on the inside. I gulped for air and fought back the welling tears. What had I done? How could I have allowed this to happen?
I knew it was my fault. The missing girls were dead, I knew that already. Both horribly murdered. Abused and killed. They had to be. I had seen it all. All of my visions and dreams had told me this was going to happen. They had all been premonitions — and I had done nothing to warn people. I had allowed it to go ahead.
The tingling in my brain spread through every vein and sinew of my body, and chilled. A thought thrust into me with such force that I felt it through my whole body. What if I hadn’t just allowed it to happen? What if I had made it happen? What if it was me who had done it?
I checked the time and date on my phone. Then double checked it against the bedside clock. I hadn’t blacked out. I surely hadn’t blacked out? How would I have got to Bridgwater? I didn’t have the car keys. Where was I earlier today? Had Abi been with me the whole morning? I couldn’t remember.
My heart pounded in my chest and my breathing came hard. The scar on my forehead throbbed and I put my fingers to it. Ran them along the ridges. Felt the lumps. And the bumps. Phrenology.
If Bridgwater was only and hour or so from our house, it would be virtually the same from Newton St Loe.
From Colin’s house.
I flicked through the story on my phone and searched for similar items. I hunted around the website looking for articles about attempted abductions, especially from the previous week, around the time that Colin had scratches on his face and a bandaged wrist.
I couldn’t find anything. Maybe it just hadn’t been reported.
I picked up a leaflet I used to bite down on when I put my lipstick on, and wafted it in front of my face. Although my body was covered with goosebumps, my face was burning hot. I could have done with a more substantial leaflet.
I tried to remember what Colin had been like on my previous visits. The missing wife, and daughter. The unseen cat. Despite the fact that I was blacking out often, it may still have been him that drugged me on that first visit.
And why had Doctor Jones specifically recommended him? I had no real idea about Colin Connell’s credentials. I was only going on the word of another person. I had seen nothing for myself.
And was it really believable that Colin was seeing me for free? Had Doctor Jones really organised that, or was he getting something out of it too? Both him and Colin Connell seemed to know each other pretty well. I didn’t know what kind of man Doctor Jones was. Did he have a wife? Was she missing too?
I worked back in my mind over all the visits I had taken to the doctor. Was there anything that I had missed? Anything weird or unusual? I wasn’t sure. I recalled his examination of me, his breath on the back of my neck. What had he done to me whilst I had my eyes shut?
He had felt my head too. Felt the lumps and bumps. Was there some connection between him and Colin over phrenology? Was I just part of some bizarre experiment? And why was the phrenology head now missing from Colin Connell’s hallway?
Presumably the doctor lived around here. It would be more than possible for him and Colin to drive to Bridgwater.
I thought again about hearing the thump upstairs at Colin’s house. The thorough cleansing of his study. I wanted to search his house, to look upstairs and hunt through all the rooms, find out what was up there — who was up there. And did he really play rugby? Or was that just to put Neil at ease?
And Neil was at ease. He thought he was a nice bloke. They had seemed very friendly, Colin and Neil.
I didn’t like where my mind was taking me now. I put the leaflet down and shook my head, tried to clear it. But the thought had already started. There was no stopping it.
Maybe Colin and Neil weren’t meeting for the first time. A conspiracy of three. The doctor, the counsellor and the banker.
Don’t be stupid, Christine!
I picked the leaflet up again. Flapped it vigorously.
But Neil had been working late. Over an hour late some evenings. He had a bruise on his face. He looked awful. And he didn’t want me to see the news. He didn’t want me to see that two girls were missing.
I shot a look at the bedroom door. Strained my ears. Was he coming up the stairs? Was that the third stair creaking?
I looked for his cut-down broom handle. I saw it leaning against the wall by his side of the bed.
Neil had turned almost aggressive when I’d told him I wanted to watch the news. And he had practically insisted that I come upstairs for a shower.
What had happened on that night I stayed at Mum and Dad’s? What had Neil really done when I wasn’t at home?
I racked my brain for clues. Retraced the incidents of the past couple of months. The writing on the wall outside. That wasn’t Neil, he was with me in bed. But Colin? The doctor?
And the “intruder”. Neil has a house key, could it have been him. He was the one that “found” the writing scratched into the wall behind the sideboard. How did he know to look there? And why had he not bothered to look for the missing photo? Was he the one that took it?
Everything was spinning out of control in my mind. Thoughts and questions overlapped each other, followed by bizarre answers to questions I hadn’t even thought of. The room felt as though it was on fire. I loosened my dressing gown. I needed a drink, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, it was so dry.
Calm down, Christine.
I knew I had to confront Neil. I had to find out what was going on.
I pulled my dressing gown tight around me. Got back to the missing girls story on my phone and stepped as quietly as I could to the top of the stairs. I heard no sound coming from the living room. The T.V was still off.
I had vaguely thought that I would plan my immediate “next move” based on Neil’s reaction to me pointing out the article on my phone. If he had run at me, I would charge back up the stairs and grab his broom handle. If, instead, he had denied everything I would prepare myself for a prolonged period of arguing and questioning. If he had confessed to everything — well, I wasn’t sure how I would react to that.
So watching him just sink back onto the sofa threw me a little.
‘Neil?’ I screamed.
He put his head in his hands.
The hysterical tone in my voice persisted.
‘Neil! What the fuck is going on?’
When he raised his head up to look at me, I expected to see tears, or embarrassment, or shame. But there was nothing. Even his eyebrows weren’t telling me anything.
‘Calm down,’ he said. ‘Stop screaming.’
The on
ly way I could stop screaming, and therefore give the impression of being calm, was by not saying anything at all. And, under the circumstances, that just wasn’t possible.
‘I can’t calm down,’ I screamed. ‘You need to tell me what the fuck is going on, right now.’
He sat back into the sofa. Stretched is arms out along the top.
‘Nothing is going on,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand what you mean by what is going on?’
‘Why didn’t you want me to see this?’ I said. ‘Why were you keeping it from me? What is going on that you don’t want me to know about?’
He frowned.
I shook.
‘How did you know to look behind the sideboard to find that writing? How long have you known Colin Connell? What’s going on with Doctor Jones? And why didn’t you want me to know about these missing girls?’
If there was a sudden shortage of “stupid” pills, I knew why. Neil had obviously taken the lot. His expression changed from perplexed to total confusion (stupidity).
I crossed my arms and waited for an answer. I had spoken in a language he was familiar with — it shouldn’t have been too difficult.
55
Inheritance Page 52