The Broken Ones (20 page)
Authors: Sarah A. Denzil
“What?”
“Sounds like an easy choice, doesn’t it? But there’s more to it. I’m not leaving England until that woman over there is in the ground. So, if you want to live, you have to kill her. And if you won’t do that, I’ll kill you both.”
She hands me the knife. “One. Two. Now
you
.”
I’m a perfect mirror image.
At night, I remove my make-up bit by bit to reveal the woman underneath. There I am. I am here. I exist.
She was buried quietly on a grey, drizzly day, which she would have hated. I put little in the newspaper. I didn’t want to attract attention. The cause of death was listed as suicide. At the funeral, I heard a few people discussing how only a few weeks before, she had tried to drink bleach. That made me smile. Loose ends all tied up nicely. No one will suspect the grieving daughter who stood by her side all these years.
I think I do a good impression of being her.
PC Hollis came to the funeral, which surprised me. Standing at the back of the meagre congregation, he was an unwelcome reminder of the last few months. It was easy enough to avoid him during the service. But I couldn’t avoid him afterwards, when he traversed the damp grass of the cemetery to pass on his condolences.
Right away I saw the flash in his eyes and the tension along his jaw. He took my hand briefly, but soon dropped it. I was about to move away, but he began to speak.
“You never told me about your twin sister,” he said.
“That…” I stuttered. “That was a part of our past that Mum kept private. She was ashamed… about the ordeal. She forgot to pick us up from school that day… and… well, you can understand.”
“It would have helped greatly with the investigation.” PC Hollis’s eyes narrow.
I readjust the sunglasses on the bridge of my nose and angle my face down. His gaze is too penetrating, too searching. Too keen. He suspects something.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it. With everything going on with Mum… You see, I started to think it was all in my head, that it was local kids messing around. I—”
“We both saw the footage, Ms. Howland. We both know that it wasn’t teenagers. It was someone targeting you. Stalking you. With purpose.”
“Well, they aren’t anymore. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but you can drop the case. I’ve not had any prank callers, break-ins, or otherwise. Things are quiet as a mouse. Too quiet, now that Mum has gone. I’m sure you understand how much I miss her.” I turn away sharply as my voice breaks.
“Of course. But there was another reason for me coming here today. I don’t think we should close the case at all. The fingerprints weren’t a match for you or your mother, but the prints were almost identical to yours. We believe they belong to your twin sister.”
“What? Are you sure? But that’s not possible. She was declared legally dead after seven years.”
He nods slowly. I can tell that he’s still searching my face for clues. He’s checking to see whether I’m lying. My skin itches under his examination.
“I’m very sure.”
I raise my hand to my mouth. Hollis’s expression softens and he leans in, perhaps to comfort me with a touch, but I back away.
“This is all too much,” I say through my fingers. My hand rises to wipe a tear from under my glasses. “It’s my mother’s funeral. I… I can’t.”
“I’m sorry to have caused you distress.” For the first time, Hollis appears uncomfortable. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other and folds his arms. “I’d like to investigate this further. If we can find the whereabouts of your sister, Becca, I would love to bring her back for you.”
“I have a lot on my plate right now. I’m sorting out the house and all the paperwork. Of course, that’s what I want too. To see Becca. That would be… It would be a miracle. But you must understand that there have been many false alarms over the years, and there’s a chance this could be one too.”
Of course Hollis wants to find my sister. If he could close a thirty-year-old unsolved missing person case, he’d be a hero. And as for the false alarms, that’s a lie. As far as I know, once my mother moved to Eddington, everyone forgot all about missing Becca. That wouldn’t happen now, of course. Snatched children become newspaper fodder for decades.
I wonder what the news would make of my mother. I wonder how much money I would get for selling my story, like she sold a child…
Hollis takes my hand in his. “This is a good lead. I’m going to do everything I can, Sophie.”
I believe him.
I need to act fast.
*
The day I finally close the door of that house for good, I actually visit her grave. The gravestone is black marble. It’s small, with only a brief inscription. No “Loving Mother” or “Loyal Friend” or cutesy poem to show how much everyone cared. She died with no love from anyone, and she loved only one person in the world. If, in fact, it was love. Real love.
The English summer is fading as I climb into the taxi. The early morning is cold, cloudy, and damp.
On the way, I ask the taxi driver to make a stop at a garage. There, I throw my phone into the courtyard bin. There are three missed calls: one from Alisha, and two from PC Hollis. I feel somewhat guilty about Alisha. But it’s time to cast away this life. Soon, I will have to stop being
her
.
Hollis has been tricky. Luckily, I managed to fob him off with a brief meeting to go over the facts. He asked me about that September day thirty years ago, but I managed to lie.
While I was clearing out my mother’s things from her bedroom, I came across a stack of newspaper clippings about the kidnapping. It was when reading through those that I came across “Sophie’s” eyewitness statement. Sophie claimed that Becca ran away from her. There was no mention of the man in the park. The lies had my mother’s influence written all over them. She knew that if the men were found, the trail would lead back to her. Once again, she put herself before her child. Once again, she proved to be selfish and narcissistic to her very core. I felt sick reading through those articles.
At least it gave me enough fodder to fool Hollis while I sold the house and got out of Eddington.
I almost drift into slumber as the taxi rolls on. I’m thankful that the driver isn’t someone determined to fill silence with inane chatter. I’m grateful that he accepts the money and tip without asking me where I’m going or wishing me a good holiday.
The plane ticket burns a hole in my purse. The thought of it fills me with excitement.
The airport bustles. I weave my way through queues, metal detectors, and security.
They examine Sophie Howland’s passport, and they say nothing. Only nod. And then I move on.
I’m given a boarding pass. Stickers are placed on my bag. I empty my make-up into transparent plastic bags and place them in a tray with my keys and the ereader I bought for the journey.
I’m ushered through a tunnel towards the enormous plane by a woman with perfect teeth. And, finally, I’m shown to my seat.
As I place my bag into the overhead compartment, my thoughts drift back to PC Hollis. I might not be free. Not yet. Once I’ve reached my destination, once I’ve put an ocean between me and that interfering man, I might be able to relax.
I keep thinking of the chances of him pursuing this case further. Is he a man to cut his losses and move on? Or will I be running from him for the rest of my life?
There are other people to consider. Peter—that creepy idiot—has not tried to get in contact. My phone is gone, I’ve left little trace behind, and I don’t think he has the brains to find me. Alisha might try, but she has a family to worry about. Then there’s Jamie, who hasn’t been in touch at all since my mother died. I suppose he’s pleased that the woman he hated for so long is finally dead.
No, Hollis is my main concern. Will he put all the pieces together and come for me? I guess there’s only one way to find out.
“Hello!”
I’m not expecting anyone to know me. The voice jolts me from my thoughts. I see a woman with bleach-blonde hair waving at me, smiling.
“Hi,” I reply.
“I remember you. You were going to North Yorkshire to meet your family,” she says.
“That’s right.”
“Oh, hey, you weren’t kidding about picking up accents. You sound like a native. So, you’re going back to New York, then? How did it go? Was it weird seeing them again?”
“I did everything I wanted to do,” I reply.
“Oh, great! Are you going back home now?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m going to live with my sister.”
THE END
Sarah A. Denzil is a British suspense writer from Derbyshire. In her alternative life—AKA YA author Sarah Dalton—she writes speculative fiction for teenagers, including
The Blemished
,
Mary Hades
and
White Hart
.
Sarah lives in Yorkshire with her partner, enjoying the scenic countryside and rather unpredictable weather.
Saving April
, Sarah’s debut suspense thriller, is a psychological look into the minds of the people around us whom we rarely even consider—our neighbours. What do we really know about them, and what goes on when the doors are closed?
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Find me on:
Writing as Sarah Dalton -
http://www.sarahdaltonbooks.com/