Page 59 of The Serial Killer's Sister
I don’t make another sound, but the thrumming of my heartbeat is loud in my ears.
His face contorts and he bangs the barrel of the gun against his temple.
‘I knew something bad had happened to her,’ he says. ‘There’s no way she’d have left me in that hellhole without so much as a goodbye. That runaway story that Miss Graves tried to spin – it was bullshit.’ He lies the gun beside himself while he opens the mobile, removes the SIM card and cracks it in half. Placing the phone on the ground, he picks his gun back up and whacks its barrel down onto it. I hear the casing splinter. He strikes it several times until the phone is bent and twisted, then he resumes his position, gun in hand.
I lean, tilting my head to try to get his attention, but his eyes are glazed, like he’s somewhere else. Seeing the past. He carries on speaking without looking at me.
‘I knew that night, when I saw you both creeping back in long after curfew, that something was very wrong. Kirsty’s face – it was like she was wearing a mask. There was no emotion. The light had gone out. Then I found out about the attack.’ He shakes his head, wipes at his eyes – and my heart aches. He’d always been good to his sister – she’d never appreciated it enough. My memory of that night forces itself into my mind: the party, its aftermath, and a day later, Dean being dragged into Miss Graves’s office, his face bruised. He took revenge on Neil then, like he’s going to take revenge on me now. Only, this time, it won’t be a beating he inflicts. The five women he’s murdered – how he snuffed out their lives – give the best indication of how I’m dying today.
I’m desperate to know, though:why me?What about Henry? He had a part to play in all of this – a massive part. I get the impression he’s intending to give me the full story, and I hope and pray it’s a long one. The sky is darkening – I’ve no idea of the time but I need to eke this out for as long as possible if I’ve any chance of being saved.
But no one knows where you are, Anna.
My chest tightens as this reality hits me, and I struggle again to draw enough air in through my nostrils. Given his intentions, I’m guessing he didn’t really inform the team of the location. Maybe he hasn’t told them any of it. And I have a sinking feeling Ross won’t be in a position to come looking for me, even if he is capable of reading my text. A sob catches in my throat and I cough. It’s aweird sensation with something covering my mouth. I swallow then take a slow, gentle breath. I can’t afford to have a coughing fit, or vomit, or anything that’ll cause choking.
Serena.There’s still a flickering flame of hope, because my friend is clever and she’ll read between the lines of my message. She’ll know something is up. Maybe, given recent events, she’ll be worried enough to go to the police. DI Walker – Dean – didn’t take my phone off me until just now. It must be traceable up to then, surely?
But Dean is a detective inspector. Will the police just assume I’m fine because I’m with him? History might be repeating itself. They did nothing about two runaways back in the day, and maybe they’ll do nothing about me being missing now, either. As far as they’re concerned, Henry is the one they’re after. He’s the serial killer, not Dean. Not their very own DI Walker.
Dean’s been talking, I realise. I’d lost concentration. I need to keep up.
‘You knew she’d been attacked but you only told me half a story. I was her brother – you should’ve told me everything.’
I should’ve told – it’s a regret that weighed me down for a very long time. But I can’t think about that now; there’s a more pressing issue. He’s not watching me. If I bend my knees up, put my head towards them, I can start picking at the tape on my mouth. If I could just free it enough to get some words out, I could get myself out of this predicament. I need to speak.
‘That lowlife raped her.’ The tears – of anger or hurt, probably both – are apparent in his voice. ‘In hindsight, the beating I gave him was nothing compared to what it should’ve been.’
There’s a pause and I look up quickly. He’s staring at me. Did he see what I was doing? I cough, open my eyes wide.
‘I’m not removing the tape. Not until I’ve said everything I need to say. You’ve had your time. You kept quiet about my sister all these years, kept the whole truth from me – now you’re going to keep your mouth shut for as long as I say. Understand?’
I jerk my head, trying to communicate that I understand. But he’s seen something. He squints, then stands, coming closer. Then his face is inches from mine.
‘Hah! You sneaky shit,’ he hisses. He gets the roll of tape, pulls off another strip and presses it hard against my mouth. ‘Think you can peel this off?’ He wraps it around the back of my head. Around and around, tighter and tighter, and I let out small whimpers with each rotation. Once he’s satisfied that I’m not going to be able to pick at it, he stands back.
‘No. That’s not going to stop you, is it? If nothing else, you’ve proved you’re not to be trusted. You’ve given me no choice.’ He pulls at the tape on my wrists, freeing them. Without hesitation I push my hands against his chest, try with all my strength to get him away from me long enough to use this opportunity to rip the tape from my mouth.
‘No you don’t,’ he says, spreading my arms and wrestling me flat to the ground. He flips me onto my front and yanks my hands back behind me, and I yelp in pain. Then he wraps the tape around them again.
I lie on the ground, sobbing. He’s made it impossible for me to save myself.
‘Up you get.’ His hands are on me again, moving meto a sitting position. ‘Okay, where was I?’ He steps away and sits against the tree again. Dean continues to relay how he never got over Kirsty’s disappearance; how he had become obsessed with finding out where she was. And how one night, he had broken into Miss Graves’s office and searched the files she kept on every child at the home. He’d read about the rape allegation made by Anna, but knew it wasn’t right. Then, as he flicked through his sister’s file he had made the devastating discovery. A pregnancy was mentioned. He had assumed this was the reason behind her running away.
‘It cut, you know? That she didn’t trust me enough to confide in me. My sister felt so alone, she thought her only option was to run away – or so I was led to believe. Miss Graves told us – me and Henry – that she had evidence you two had been planning it for a long time and had been waiting for the opportunity to put it into action. You’d left us. Gone without a word. You know, I never even had a photo to remember her by? My own sister. I don’t suppose the last image I have of her face is even accurate.’ He shakes his head. ‘I was gutted, but Henry wasn’t at all bothered. And it was his devil-may-care attitude that made me look closer at him. I knew he did those freaky riddles; I heard you and Kirsty talking about The Hunt – she even involved me in one once. I couldn’t prove he had anything to do with Kirsty’s disappearance, but it niggled away at me, and I kept my eye on that psycho. It was in his eyes – a calmness, a knowing look. I became convinced he’d killed the both of you.’
The ground is hard. Twigs and stones press against my bottom, my arms ache and my face stings. I close my eyes, and my ears, to Dean. I’ve got the gist. He blamed Henryfor his sister’s disappearance, possibly her death, and he devoted his life to finding out what happened to her. It’s fair enough and actually, very caring in a fucked-up sort of way. I don’t need to hear more. His voice drones on, strangely hypnotic in the relative silence of the woodland, and for a moment, I give up and start to drift. Then something sparks inside my skull and my survival instinct kicks in; my mind begins to search frantically for a way out of this.
‘Get up!’ His breath is hot against my ear. ‘How dare you.’ The blood leaves my head and I feel strange, woozy, like I’ve been drugged. His arms are under my armpits, and he drags me to a standing position. My legs are tingly and weak, won’t hold me up, and I fall like a rag doll back to the ground. His breath heaves, his face turns a deep shade of red as his anger rises rapidly and he hauls me to my feet again.
‘Listen, bitch,’ he says, spittle flying from his mouth. ‘I’ve not spent my adult life tracking your brother and you down for you to ignore me like I don’t matter.’ He props me up against the stone wall of the well and I’m transported back seventeen years to when Henry did the same. This is where it ends. I’m going to be thrown to my death into the dark hole alongside my childhood friend. ‘You ready to hear the rest?’ he says. I nod, keep nodding, fear surging through my veins. ‘Come on, Anna Lincoln. Don’t forget your roots. Us kids from the scabby home have a shared history, don’t we?’
I’m not Anna Lincoln. I worked hard to escape those roots, become a better person. I scrunch up what little of my face I can still move and shrug, while in my head I repeat:I am Anna Price. I am Anna Price. I carved outa good life for myself and until Dean came along, everything was going well. I ignore the nagging voice that contradicts this. Now’s not the time to think about Ross and Yasmin. If I’d had the chance – been in the right headspace – I might’ve been able to deal with that situation, and maybe even reverse it.
‘We were all mistreated. Abused. It was something we got used to. Whether we like it or not, it impacted who we were. Who we are today. I had many days when I almost forgave Henry. You. You were both victims of circumstance. Seeing him each day, though, made it impossible. I couldn’t let it go. I guess I’m also a product of the broken system. I do see that. I just try to balance it out by doing good, too.’
How much time has passed? Streaks of orange merge with dark grey clouds, and the sun is dipping behind the tall trees. If no one comes soon, we’ll be difficult to find. I think we’d hear approaching vehicles, though – we’re not that far from where our two cars are parked. If I make enough of a commotion, I might gain attention to lead police to me. I’m thinking this through as Dean explains how Finley Hall closed due to a string of claims detailing negligence and abuse. And, as I told him when he asked a few days ago, the children were all sent to different places – they were scattered around the country. Then Finley Hall had a massive fire, destroying files and ensuring evidence of the wrongdoing never came fully to light. Miss Graves, Frank and all the other carers escaped prosecution.
‘I lost track of almost everyone. It wasn’t such a big loss. But it did mean finding Henry was difficult. It’s one of the reasons I became a policeman: so that I could track Henry down.’
