Page 31 of Then She Vanished

‘No, my soundproofing is really good in here.’

‘Can I see your CCTV for those times?’

The woman began to scroll. ‘Of course.’ She passed her phone to Gina. ‘Just press play. You can see the timestamp at the top of the screen.’

Gina pressed play and could barely see through the huge iron gates. ‘The gates were closed.’

‘Oh yes, I forgot. I guess the footage is no good. The gate blocks the road.’

‘We may need to speak to you again, but for now, thank you for your time.’

Jacob’s phone beeped as they both stepped outside. PCs bustled up and down doing door to doors. Gina pulled out her work phone to check her messages. ‘Any updates, Jacob?’

He ignored her as he continued reading his messages.

‘A family liaison officer has been despatched to Keeley Moore’s house.’

‘That’s good news. How is Ellyn, by the way?’ One of their other family liaison officers had been injured during the last case and had ended up in critical care.

‘I heard she is still recovering with her parents, but she should be back with us before Christmas.’

A message from O’Connor flashed up on Gina’s phone. ‘Another chess piece has been found. Bernard’s team bagged it up. It’s a white pawn and it was found near the bushes where John Doe died.’ She pictured John Doe, sitting in his car with his engine running throwing the chess piece out of the window.Had he felt like a pawn in all of this?

Another message pinged up. Gina summarised it for Jacob. ‘We have a name and address for the factory, and it’s open now. It’s called Crastone Foods Ltd. We need to update the team, but we won’t be making the morning briefing. We need to head over there now to see if we can find Marie.’

NINETEEN

GIRL

This past year, I’ve discovered that losing does have consequences. He doesn’t come to see me anymore, and quite often he forgets to turn the lights on, like now. I made my move on the last game and it didn’t pay off. I should have castled and tucked my king away safely, and just maybe I wouldn’t be stuck here in the dark. Using my hands, I let my fingertips lead me to the kitchen, where I pour some water into one of my noodle pots and leave it. I can’t even warm them in the microwave. I wish the power was back on.

His words keep ringing through my head. ‘It’s your fault. Your heart wasn’t in the game. When your heart is in it, everything is better.’

I prod the noodles. Rock hard and the stock in them is barely creating any flavour without the addition of heat.

I wonder what my mum is doing now. If it’s lunchtime or evening, she would be at the restaurant. I hope she’s still on pasta-making duty. She loves making fresh pasta. I can almost smell the walnut, ricotta and fresh herb fillings that she used to stuff in the ravioli while experimenting. In my mind, I’m reaching out and taking one of her egg yolk raviolo, it’s bursting in my mouth as I bite. It was always coatedwith pancetta crumb. Then I reach in and take some hard noodles and feed them carefully into my mouth. I’ve stopped recognising the flavour, they all just taste like monosodium glutamate. There’s no distinction between chicken and curry flavours, all it does is coat the back of my throat and gullet and leave a disgusting taste in my mouth, however hard I brush my teeth.

So, this is me, a year on.

I live in the capsule. I talk to myself in my head all day, like this, in a bid to stave away the crazy tunnel I was going down those first few months. I used to hallucinate figures and faces in the dark. I was convinced I saw my dad one time, but it can’t have been. It wasn’t my dad, it was my crazy, crazy mind.

The darkness is taking my breath away. I go to place the noodle pot on the tiny bit of workspace I have, and my breath goes. The noodles fall to the floor and splash up my legs, and no doubt on the hem of my dress. I try to suck in air, but it’s as if there isn’t any.

I can’t breathe. I am going to die in here.

Maybe if I bang, he will come. After all, he’s always watching and listening.

He must know I’m dying here. He cares for me; I know he does. If he’s out there, he will come.

‘Can’t breathe…’ I manage to stutter as I stagger into the bedroom, using my hands to lead the way. Knocking the chessboard and pieces onto the floor, I crawl onto the bed, knowing this is where I will die, and suddenly I can fill my lungs. Reaching out, I grab the cupcake scarf and hold it to my cheek and sob loudly.

I’m not dead.

The lights go on and my heart rate begins to calm down a little, even though the room is swaying. It’s like I’m drunk, butthis is how it always feels. He knows I won’t die when I get like this, but it feels like I will.

In a bid to try to make this horrible feeling pass, I gaze around at all my drawings: my lovely mother and a drawing of Meowdon with his long whiskers. Then there are all the sketches of my rooms in here, from every angle. I draw what I see, I don’t imagine things well. I draw myself as I imagine I look, but they’re not my best.

His voice booms out. ‘Calm down. Just take a few deep breaths and you’ll be okay. Then you can go and clean up the kitchen and make some more food. Actually, don’t. Tonight, I think we should celebrate. I know you lost the game, but you’ve paid for that. You deserve a takeaway. What do you say?’

---