Page 117 of The Devil's Torment

“I want the truth. All of it. But he dies. I want him gone.”

“Agreed.” Dad picks up the journal and his phone. “Let’s pay him a visit, shall we?”

George and Alice live in a large farmhouse on the far side of the estate. I often wondered why they didn’t live at Oakleigh, and now I know. Mum made it so. Although after she died, I’m surprised he didn’t change that. Stake his claim.

As Dad drives away from the house, a chilling thought crosses my mind, almost too abhorrent to consider. But within seconds, it’s taken root like a cancer.

“Dad, what if George was behind Annabel’s and my kidnapping?” Deep down, I always believed there was a mastermind behind what happened to my twin and me. What if that mastermind was an enemy from within, a man who had access and opportunity?

Dad hits the brakes. My seat belt snaps into place as the car stops. He twists to face me, aghast.

“Surely not?”

“Why not? A man who rapes his brother’s fiancée has shown what he’s capable of. What if, when he returned from Japan, he threatened Mum in some way, and when she refused to give in to his demands, he took us to punish her.”

Dad flinches. “Kidnap and murder of his own flesh and blood?” Another wince. “God, if he did…”

He presses his lips together and puts the car into gear. We drive the rest of the way in silence, both of us caught up in our own thoughts. George is dead regardless, but if he had a hand in the kidnapping that resulted in the death of my sister, I will drag out torturing him for days.

There’s a single light on downstairs when we arrive at the farmhouse. We exit the car and stride to the front door. Dad barges straight in without knocking.

“George?” he bellows, marching through the house.

“I’ll check upstairs.” I take the stairs two at a time, moving from room to room. Empty. I return back to the ground floor.

“Anything?” Dad asks.

“No sign.”

Delving into his pocket, he pulls out his phone and jabs at the screen. The sound of a ringtone is followed by George’s voicemail message and a beep. “George, it’s Charles. Ring me. It’s urgent.”

He sounds calm and in control. Not sure I’d have managed it under the circumstances. I’d probably have yelled, “You’re fucking dead, you bastard!”

We’re about to leave when a white envelope lying on the hearth of the living room fire catches my eye. I go and pick it up. It’s addressed to Dad, and it’s in George’s handwriting.

“Dad?” I show it to him.

He takes it from me and rips it open. Inside, there’s a single sheet of paper, torn from what looks like a spiral bound notebook. Written on it are two words:

I’m sorry.

“No!” I slam my fist into the wall. “How the fuck did he know?”

Dad screws up the note and tosses it into the fire. “I don’t know, son, but one thing I do know: he won’t get far.”

No. He won’t. I’ll make damn sure of it.

ChapterThirty-Nine

VICKY

Almost three months later…

“Clean bill of health.” I wrap my arms around Nicholas’s waist from behind and rest my cheek on his broad shoulders. “Thank goodness I don’t have to go for another check-up for three months. I’m sick of being poked and prodded.”

He twists to face me, an amused quirk to his lips. “Not by me, I hope.”

I laugh. “You need to work on your sexy talk.”

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