Page 21 of My Heart to Find

Oh, God. I really have messed things up.

I need to distract myself, and I need to talk to him—I need to see if wecanstill have that connection we had on the retreat. “Do you still like true crime?”

He seems surprised I remembered, stares at me for a moment. “Yeah, of course.”

“What podcasts are you listening to now?” My voice sounds a little forced, and I wince.

“My Favorite Murder,” he says. “AndUp and Vanished. They’re both good.”

“Oh yeah?” I’ve only listened to a couple episodes ofMy Favorite Murder, but I nod along. I’ve never been a big podcast listener—I always preferred watching the documentaries and films about true crime or reading crime fiction. There’s something thrilling about immersing yourself into these stories, these lives, making your heart beat fast, while having the reassurance that you yourself are safe. “Ah, what’s the new series called? I saw it advertised recently? Something likeA Walk in the Dark?”

“Oh, yeah.A Walk in the Night,” he says. “I mean, it’s mainly about serial killers that do their murders at night. But the episodes so far have been very much focused on sex workers who’ve been victims, but the speakers seem kind of judgy on the women’s work-choices.”

“What? Like they’re blaming them, not the actual killers?”

Damien nods, wrinkles his nostrils. “Yeah, it’s not a good angle to take. Kind of makes me not want to listen to the next episode really. They need to focus more on showing the women as victims, not criticizing them for their work-choice. I mean, the men are the actual murderers here.”

“Wow,” I say. “I didn’t think a podcast would ever take that angle. I thought it had good reviews too.”

“It has.” He nods. “Because celebrities are backing it. Ah, what’s her name?”

I have no idea who he’s talking about and shrug.

“Well, I wouldn’t recommend it anyway,” he says. “They’re really judgmental about the victims too, even if they’re not sex workers. Like if a victim liked a drink or something, they don’t give them the same treatment as other victims who pretty much never touched a drop.”

“Like the police with Marnie,” I say. “Marnie Wathem? You heard about her? Missing from this town.”

“Yes, I heard about that,” Damien says as we cross the road. I indicate for us to turn right.

“Heard about it in what way?” she asks. “Because most are saying she’s a runaway, but if listening to crime podcasts and reading all those books have taught me anything it’s that she probably didn’t. Police won’t listen though. But just because she was a terror at school, that doesn’t mean she can’t have been abducted or whatever.”

He frowns as he looks at me. “So, you think it is a case?”

I breathe out hard. My breath fogs a little in the air. It’s cold for the end of September. “Yeah, I do.” Or do I just want it to be? Want that little bit of excitement that it would bring to my life? Especially if I turned out to be right. I’ve had these whole scenarios constructed in my head of the various different ways I’d prove she was missing and then be the one to save her. In all these scenarios, I’m healthy and well, and I want that to be reality. Even if it does make me selfish. My shoulders squirm. I don’t reallywantMarnie to be in danger.

I just want to be better. I want to be strong. I want to do something that makes people notice me for the right reasons. Not write a load of harmful things on my Facebook page.

“Do you know her?” Damien asks.

I shake my head. “Six years younger. I mean, when I was in the sixth form, I think Year 13, she’d just joined the school then? I don’t know, but that’s as much of a connection as I’ve got with her. That and us both living in Brackerwood.”

He looks disappointed. Maybe he was hoping to ask me more about her—because he’s really into true crime, and maybe he wants to play detective too.

Damien the Detective. And maybe I could be his partner, Cara the Crime-Solver.

“Her brother doesn’t think she’s run away either,” Damien says. “I came across his Twitter when I was looking up Marnie’s disappearance. He’s sure it’s a crime.”

“Yeah,” I say. “He’s been putting posters around the town too.” I look around, but I can’t see. “Not many posters though. Or people keep taking them down.” I wouldn’t put that past some of the residents of this town—they’ll do anything to preserve the idea that Brackerwood is an idyllic place to live. A sleepy little town, taken straight out a film. They don’t want to believe that something bad could’ve happened here.

“I did quite a bit of digging around last night,” Damien says a little sheepishly as if he’s letting me in on a big secret. “And I agree with the brother. What’s his name? Trevor Wathem?” He looks at me questioningly.

I nod.

He starts moving his hands—and I don’t know how I could possibly have forgotten just how animated Damien gets when he talks about something he’s passionate about. It’s really attractive.

“So, Marnie’s a big Instagram user,” he says. “Trevor talked about that a lot on his Twitter. So, she made no secret on her account that she wanted to be an influencer. And two weeks ago, one of her posts had a comment on from a big-name brand. That seems to be how they contacted her. So, Marnie, started doing these posts about this waterproof makeup or something two days before she disappeared, and she titled themone of sevenandtwo of seven. And then there was nothing. And it matches up with the dates—the third one should’ve been on the day she went missing.”

A car whizzes past us, churning up exhaust fumes. I try to hold my breath, try to ignore the crawling sensations on my skin.

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