In My Wake: A Breathtaking Psychological Thriller With a Killer Twist

by Ruth Harrow

  I think of how Will dropped us off at our house that night. It was true he hadn't hung around. He had driven straight off down the lane. I can still see his headlights sweeping away in the twilight through the dark leaves of the hedgerow.

  Had he turned around? Gone back to the woods without us knowing?

  David watches me. 'It's funny how everything always comes back around to your husband isn't it?'

  I say nothing. I need to get out of here.

  'William Peterson was too much of a coward to help my little sister. He should have gone for help. Should have owned up. He had every opportunity. He was scared and perhaps didn't think it through at first. But maybe he thought about it afterwards. He didn't want you and your sister as witnesses. I saw his face that day. He knew what he had done.'

  'He didn't kill Paige. I won't believe it,' I say. Behind my back, my palms brush against the rough chipboard blocking the light from the window. It is too firmly attached to the frame.

  'I guess it's up to the Old Bill now then,' he says. 'They seem to be taking more of an interest in him this time around.'

  'Why do the police suspect Will of killing Reg? Would that be anything to do with you?'

  A rush of anger rushes over me when I see his face twist into a smirk again. 'Yes it is too bad your husband has attracted their attention again isn't it?'

  'He didn't kill Reg. You did.'

  'No. You're dead wrong, Hannah. Everyone seems to like accusing me of things that I haven't done. You certainly aren't the first. Maybe it is karma that your husband was seen visiting the old man.'

  'It wasn't him.'

  'So it is just a coincidence that the old guy popped his clogs a day or two after your husband went to see him? But then again, there is always April. I'd bet my life it was one of them that did it. They are almost as bad as each other. It's a shame things didn't work out between them, isn't it? If you ask me, they were a much better match than you and he ever were.'

  My head is a mess. Everything is up in the air. I want more than anything to be out of this house. David seems at home here, but then, this was his home. I had thought all the Wakefields were gone forever.

  'You've got it all wrong,' I say. 'This just can't be true. It can't be.'

  'But it is,' he says. 'Remember, Hannah – I watched it all happen. I heard the car hit Paige. I saw Will get out and talk to her. He seemed to think he could get away with it. But he knew it was bad. He could easily have put her in the car with you and April and driven her to hospital, but he didn't. He cared more about his own skin than the life of my little sister.

  I'm guessing that old rust-bucket of his wasn't insured. Am I right?'

  'I – I don't know …'

  Will's insistence that I know as little as possible about the situation has left me with so many gaps. In all the time we have spent together since we have never even discussed it. I don't know what to believe any more. For some reason, I am more inclined to believe David. Will has told me so many lies. No matter how unbalanced he is, David seems to at least care about the truth.

  If he wasn't keeping me here against my will and hadn't tormented me and my sister, then I would almost feel sorry for him. He has been keeping all this to himself for years.

  His life is a result of everything that happened.

  We both have lost a sister because of that terrible day.

  But David will not get away with what he has done to April. I will make sure of it. His harassment must surely have led directly to her suicide. It is easy to believe, especially if the messages she received were anything like mine. The picture message was almost too much too bear. I dread to think what horrors might be lurking in the device in my hand. Would April have deleted them?

  David shows no intention of letting me go, but I have to leave.

  It is now or never, I decide.

  I have no choice but to make another run for it.

  I can't stand the thought of never setting foot outside this house again.

  63

  I need to keep him talking, distracted. If only I could get him away from the doorway.

  'Why now?' I ask, abruptly. 'Why keep all this to yourself for years? What stopped you going to the police?'

  'I didn't keep it to myself. I told the police at the time what I saw your husband do. I told them everything.'

  'What?'

  'But as my old man told me – you can't trust the police. He was right. They twisted everything I said, didn't want to hear it. I was livid, but there was nothing I could do … They thought of me like the rest of the village did …'

  David seems to have talked himself into a deep reverie. He stares at a large hole in the carpet beneath the boarded window and I think now is my chance.

  I take several slow and silent steps towards the door. When I am close enough, then I will break into a run.

  David snaps out of his pool of thoughts just as I am almost level with him.

  'They arrested Will, though, didn't they?' I say, to distract him from my difference in position. 'He was questioned by the police. Someone at the station must have thought you were telling the truth.'

  'But they let him go,' he says flatly. The dull look in his eyes is somehow just as frightening as when they take on that wild look 'Just like recently when they let him go again. But I doubt they can do it a second time. Not with the new evidence they have found on him.'

  'How did you know there was new evidence?' I forget all about my escape plan for a second. 'What have you done?'

  'Nothing at all. But from what I have heard spreading over the village, it sounds like the police found something in Reg's house.'

  'Like what?'

  'I have a theory. I'm sure I am right, too. I think it is Paige's necklace. The one she always wore. She was wearing it on the day she died.'

  He stares at me, as though he can read my thoughts. 'You know, I saw you pick up something when you got out of the car to throw up. I didn't realise what it was at first. It took years for it to dawn on me. You picked up her necklace, didn't you?'

  My eyes fill with tears of defeat. I don't want to admit it, but I know it is over. There is no point pretending any more.

  David inclines his head forward eagerly. 'Tell me what you did with it afterwards. You must have taken it into the car with you or the police would have found it. What did you do, Hannah?'

  'I don't remember. It was so long ago … I think – I think I must have put it in Will's jacket pocket. I didn't have a bag or any pockets in what I was wearing.'

  'Then what happened to it?'

  I feel a frown crease my eyebrows, trying to force my brain to work. Not remembering the information could cost me my life.

  'April took the jacket off me that night,' I say slowly, watching my sister's movements as though she stars in a scene from a television drama. 'That was the last time I saw it, I swear. It was days later before I remembered I had even picked the necklace up after I'd had a nightmare. I'd grabbed it automatically from the road that day without thinking. I don't know why I took it.'

  I squeeze my fingers in the palm of my hand, remembering how they had been grazed by the asphalt as I reached for the plastic flower pendant. 'I must have been in shock ...'

  'And what did April do with the jacket?'

  'I have no idea.' I brush my eyes with my thin sleeve. 'I swear I don't know what happened to it after that.'

  'So either one of them could have had it ... And both visited Reg Green's house in the last month. You know what?' He jabs at me with one of his grubby fingers. 'I'd bet my life the necklace was in that house. I wonder if the police have it now?'

  'Why is it so important to you?'

  'We didn't have much in our house, in case you hadn't noticed.'

  He looks around at the room around us as though seeing it full of furniture and people and animated life again.

  'That necklace was a gift from our mother before she died. Paige treasured it. All I want to do is hold it in my hands again, re
mind myself that Paige really lived once. There is nothing left of her other than the photograph the police put out after she went missing. The original went up in the fire of course. I begged April to tell me where it was for months and months, but she always said she didn't have it.'

  'So you harassed her over it too?'

  I feel angry now. 'Don't you think that if my sister had it, then she would hand it over?'

  'No, I don't! Admission of her guilt, wasn't it? Evidence. As if handing it over was going to make everything OK in a second! She knew that. So she kept hold of it. That was until she got desperate. Her replies became more panicky. But as she had suspected, no amount of begging made the texts stop. I wasn't going to let her forget ...'

  He smiles, revealing a yellowing cracked canine.

  'Harassing a woman to her death does not make you innocent, you know.'

  'Innocent? Who cares? My life has already turned to shit. I don't care what happens to me any more. All I want is the truth out before I go. I've realised after all this time, you see, family is what is important. Everything else is pointless when you have no one. I have my suspicions over where Paige finally came to rest. I'm going to go and join her in a little while. It's funny, isn't it? I want the opposite of what April wanted – she wanted to bury the truth forever. And all I want is for it to come out … It is all I ever wanted ...'

  He looks dreamy again and his eyes come to rest on something near my feet on the floor. He moves forward and I press myself further into the blocked window. I turn just in time to see him pick up a battered red petrol can.

  'What are you doing?'

  David ignores me, his voice rising as though he is about to give a speech to a crowded, chattering hall. 'I'm so glad you came here, Hannah and we had this little chat. It has been so good for me to talk it through with someone.'

  He unscrews the cap as he talks and backs towards the doorway.

  'Wait. What are you going to do?' My terrified eyes dart over his shoulder and towards my only way of escape.

  David holds the can under his arm and suddenly tosses the contents at me. I gag and splutter as the unexpected shower of liquid hits me squarely in the face. It goes up my nose and stings my sinuses far more than the damp of the building.

  I cough and gasp for air.

  My eyes sting and I can't see anything. I frantically try to think of a way to plead with David.

  'David – wait! Please! What happened to Paige was just an accident! We were all only children! And it was Will who was driving, not me!'

  'Paige was just a child too,' David says back as calmly as if he is feeding the ducks at a pond. He produces a box of matches from his pocket.

  I think of Dad. What is he going to think when he finds out what has happened to me? What about Mum?

  What about Eva? I'll never see her again. She's my baby. I've already lost one. She needs me. She is all I have left.

  'DAVID, PLEASE!' I scream desperately. 'What about Reg?! He started the hate campaign against your family – he must have started the fire too! He is more guilty than I ever was! And he is gone now, anyway. He got what was coming to him in the end!'

  David takes another step closer to me, now with a single match in his hand.

  'I'm sure someone did kill him,' I shout quickly. 'You're right – it probably was Will! And if it wasn't – well, April is gone too! The police have Will in custody again. It is all over now. Just let me go!'

  He shakes his head. 'I can't ever forget. Not like you.'

  'I haven't been able to forget!'

  I scream at him hurriedly now, desperate for him to listen. 'What happened that day changed my whole life. For years afterwards, I had nightmares – every night! I still do. I can't ever forget Paige. Neither can the rest of the village. No one will ever forget, David, I promise!'

  'You might,' he says calmly.

  With that, he lights the match.

  April

  I am disconnected. Detached from time, my sense of fear, any sense of anything. I don't even feel cold in the rushing breeze that lifts the hem of my thin dust jacket as I walk along the bridge.

  Black water churns below me, I can hear it gurgling and chattering, calling me closer with icy lips.

  The faintest trace of apprehension scratches at my insides as I reach the place, but I remind myself of why I am doing this. Even if I blocked the messages, even if my tormentor was to disappear all of a sudden, I know there is no getting away from it.

  I'm tired of the nightmares. I'm tired of never being able to sleep easy at night. I want the voices to go away.

  I just want some peace.

  I clamber up over the railings designed to keep people in. Keep them safe.

  A chatter of voices echoes all around me and I look up. A young couple in their late teens walks, arm-in-arm. The boy says something and they both giggle, sharing a secret smile. I wonder what other secrets they share as they walk away beyond the dim glow of the street light and disappear into the darkness.

  I am all alone now.

  I turn back to the bridge railings and I peer down into the black water. The wind lifts my hair. I have no idea how long I stare into the black nothingness.

  But I know that I want it.

  I climb up further until there is no amount of steel to hold me back. Nothing to keep me safe. There is no going back.

  One slip and I am gone forever.

  I teeter on the edge and wait for my moment.

  I think of Hannah and her daughter and it seems to give me strength. It warms my insides and I vaguely realise how icy my fingers are.

  I know it is time.

  The cold railing slips from my fingers and I feel myself falling. Falling into nothing. Falling away from all the fear and anguish.

  I just hope I have done enough.

  64

  The sun stings my eyes as I step out back onto the overgrown grass again. In the bright sunlight, I reach into my sodden jeans pocket and pull out my phone. Water droplets stream over the black screen. Pressing buttons does nothing to revive the device; it is dead.

  I'm aware of the Wakefields' house behind me. I still feel its presence heavy behind my back, but now there is no fear; I have already been consumed.

  In my other pocket, I find my car key. I don't have to go back to Dad's house after all. But then I remember the abandoned jacket in the hallway; the one with the beautiful summery scent of a vibrant perfume lingering in the folds of the fabric. The one that has hung on the hook for the duration of our stay, waiting for its owner to return. It must be April's. She must have left it there on her final visit.

  I can't explain exactly why, but I can't bear to leave it there any longer; I need to take it home with me.

  The front door of Dad's house remains resolutely unlocked and I drift inside with ease. Hadn't I told Dad to be more careful about who he allows to wander straight inside his home? He hasn't listened. It seems like so long ago that I had the discussion with him; in reality, it was just this morning.

  Everything feels so different all of a sudden, so strange. I feel as though I am the girl who stepped onto the train at eighteen without looking back. Until now. Now I feel I have finally returned to the house. Everything that has happened in between seems like a distant dream – meeting Will, our wedding day that April attended in secret, our whole marriage since.

  There is a powerful sense that something has ended today.

  I lift the coat from the hook, raising an involuntary eyebrow at how lightweight it is, and hold it close, inhaling the soft warm scent. The last trace of my sister.

  Now that I see the garment with fresh eyes, I see just how sleek, stylish and effortlessly elegant it is; now it is obvious that this was April's all along.

  The kitchen door swings open and Dad stares at me as I hold April's jacket to my cheek.

  For a few moments we simply look at each other, then I find my voice. 'This was hers,' I say. I sound accusing.

  Dad seems to think so too. His
eyes suddenly look glassy and his lip trembles. 'I didn't want anyone to know,' he says hoarsely. 'After I heard the news – I couldn't tell anyone that April had been here – that I could have done something to help her. But I failed ...'

  It is horrible to see an old man cry, particularly my father. He always seemed such a strong figure. Now he simply looks pathetic. I don't offer him any sympathy. He let April down. He lied to me. He told Penny, and therefore David, so much personal information, whether inadvertently or not.

  I feel as if I have emerged from Prospect Terrace a different person. This woman will not be so forgiving.

  Dad's wet eyes look at me imploringly. 'You have to believe me, Hannah. There was no warning. Your sister seemed so distracted, so far away. I thought she seemed upset when she arrived. But I didn't know she was that bad. She seemed to calm right down when she came down to breakfast the next day. Her face was peaceful … She told me she would see me again soon when she left. That was the last time I saw her.'

  He bows his head and succumbs to his sobs.

  I know I will speak the same words. I will vow to see Dad again soon. But even as I speak the promise, I know I will break it.

  Like April, I will never return to this house again.

  65

  Before I left, Dad informed me that Will called the house from the police station. I suppose he would have tried my mobile first, but couldn't get through to my broken handset. He has been released again without charge and wants to be picked up so we can go home.

  I have never been to this station before, so everything looks unfamiliar. Signs sail past me as I scan around for a visitors entrance or any trace of my husband.

  I swing the car around the corner and see the main entrance up ahead. As I do, I see the figure of Will striding out of the front doorway towards a red pickup truck that looks oddly familiar.

  I remember seeing it at the Brown farm. That must be Dylan in there, come to pick up his old friend.

  Will freezes as he pulls open the passenger door and spots me. I think I see a flash of alarm on his face before he nods to acknowledge me. He leans into the window and mutters something to Dylan before the truck pulls away. Sunglasses cover the driver's eyes, but I think I see angry muttering from what must be Dylan in his wing-mirror before he pulls away and disappears.