Page 72 of Taboo
"Buddy, go sit in my chair. I’m going to lock the door, okay? But you’ll be safe here. Don’t get scared. I’ll be back soon to get you."
"Okay, Daddy," he says.
I head out then, taking the door’s key with me. I run as fast as I have ever run outside and head for the lake. I pray to God as I run that Jason is wrong. That he saw wrong and that Amelia is not lying at the bottom of the lake, dead.
Chapter
Forty-Seven
MAX
My boots pound the gravel. My heart is a jackhammer, raw fear claws my throat.
Mummy put Aunty Amelia in the lakeloops endlessly in my skull.
The moon’s high, silvering the water’s surface, and the swing creaks above it, swaying like a ghost in the breeze.
“Amelia!” I shout, voice hoarse, shattering the quiet, but the lake’s still, mocking me with its silence.
I don’t think, don’t stop, just dive in. The water is icy, slicing through my clothes, my skin like a knife. I don’t really feel it. It’s dark, murky. My hands thrash in the darkness and weeds searching for her.
Amelia, please don’t be here.
I look and look. My lungs burn, but there’s nothing, just silt and cold that drags at my limbs. I break the surface, gasping, panic like a vise around my chest. I haul myself out, water gushing down my body, my jeans heavy, clinging to my legs. My eyes dart, frantic, scanning the landscape, the trees, theshadows. Where is she? Where the fuck is she? A rustle catches my ear, and I spin around. It’s Tom, the gardener, his straw hat gone, his face pale under the moonlight, his hands muddy and trembling as he approaches me.
“Sir,” he says, voice gruff, stepping closer. “I got her out. Amelia—she was in the water, barely breathing. I don’t understand what’s happening, but as soon as ... the Madam left, I fished her out, did CPR. She’s alive, but just. I don’t know why Madam would do that, so I didn’t call 911. I called my brother, and he rushed here immediately and took her to the hospital. St. Mary’s Hospital. They’ve been gone for about twenty minutes now. I had to keep it quiet, I’m sorry. I didn’t want Madam to know what I had done."
My knees nearly buckle with the relief that slams into me like a truck. “She’s… alive?” I choke out, voice cracking, my hands fisting, nails biting my palms.
Tom nods, his eyes steady but grim. “Yes, sir, but she didn’t look good. She was babbling a bit. Someone hit her on the side of the head. You go to her as soon as you can.”
"Of course, yes of course. Thank you.”
I pull out the key to my office and hand it over to him.
“Jason is in my office. Get him out of there and take him home with you. Don’t let Sara know. Try your best to make as little noise as possible. Can you do that?’
“I will, sir,” he replies. “I will do that.”
“Alright. Thank you. You’re a good man, Tom,” I say, and give him the most desperate hug I have ever given anyone in my life.
Afterwards, I don’t waste a single moment. I run, my boots slipping on the wet grass, back to the house. I grab my keys from the foyer, the marble cold under my sodden feet, and sprint to the SUV. The engine roars, the tires screeching as I peel out ofthe house. A few minutes later, the city is a blur of neon and headlights. My mind is raging like a demon.
Sara did this.
Sara tried to kill Amelia.
None of this feels real. It feels like I’m trapped in a nightmare, and with each second that passes, I keep willing myself to wake up. I can’t stop thinking about Sara, her audacity, her madness. I am in shock that she is even capable of such a thing. How spectacularly I misjudged her. I curse and swear as I weave through traffic. My horns are blaring, and I’m sure I’ve been caught by at least a dozen speed cameras, yet every passing second feels like an eternity.
I try to calm myself, but it’s next to impossible.
Eventually St. Mary’s looms, its white walls stark under floodlights. I swing into a parking spot in a dash, slam the door, and run inside. The ER’s chaos hits me instantly—beeping monitors, nurses darting, a gurney rattling past. I grab a nurse wearing scrubs. Her face is tired, and she turns to me without a smile.
“Amelia Fitzwilliam,” I say, my voice rough and desperate. “Where is she?”
"Reception. Ask at Reception," she says, her eyes running down my wet clothes and hurries away.
I calm down enough to rush to Reception. Another bored-looking woman asks me for the information she needs so that she can help me. Eventually, things are cleared up, and I watch as she checks a tablet, her fingers quick.
