The pan soared upward, connecting with Daniel’s face. The rifle flew from his hands. His lip burst open. He tasted blood and gulped back a loose tooth. Angel buried her nails into the flesh around his eyes. Daniel tore his head away, freeing his eyes, but Angel returned like a troublesome mosquito, scratching and biting.

  Daniel wiped blood from his eyes and raised his hand, slapping Angel across the face. She spun on the spot, losing her footing and collapsing into the table. Shards of glass exploded like rays of light, slicing through Angel’s skin.

  Daniel snatched the bone saw. It was still whirring, still ready to do damage. The sound wriggled like a worm into his head, tempting him to use it. He clamped Angel’s arm to the floor and lowered the saw to her wrist. She struggled, but her fight was over and they both knew it. All that remained was vengeance.

  The bone saw went silent. Daniel stared at it with a frown, pressing harder on the trigger as if that might galvanise it into action. His eyes followed the wire from the saw to the wall. Bronson, wrapped in tarpaulin tarnished with his own blood, had pulled out the plug.

  “This isn’t right,” he said.

  “She was going to kill you,” Daniel said. “She was going to kill us all.”

  “I know,” he said, lumbering forwards, “but I can’t let her die until she meets one of our friends.”

  * * *

  Angel was rigid with fear, her eyes large through her fallen, blue fringe. She gripped the seat, her fingernails bending into the wood. Her lips moved, but her voice was silent.

  “Are you sure about this?” Daniel said.

  Bronson was hunched in the rear of the rowing boat. He was in pain and had lost a lot of blood. Daniel had dressed him in one of his turtleneck jumpers to keep him warm. It was far too big for him and stretched to his knees.

  Next to him was Bear. His face was sallow, catching moonlight in the pits of his cheeks. He wore a black sling around his arm, immobilising the broad shoulder that had taken two of Angel’s bullets.

  Bronson had called Bear in the hospital where he had been coalescing after Angel’s attack on his family. His daughter was in the same ward and was expected to make a full recovery. Bronson had explained their current situation and Bear had discharged himself immediately, joining the other men as they rowed Angel out to the island of Five Oaks’ lake.

  “She tried to take what was most precious from me,” Bear said.

  Overloaded with bodies, the boat sat heavy in the water.

  “But we can’t keep killing. It has to stop somewhere,” Bronson said.

  The man-made island was twenty square feet, beginning life as building rubble before topsoil had been added at Ed Dayton’s behest. Shrubs were planted to naturalise the area, but they were soon overrun by thorny brambles. From the shore, it looked like a tangled nest, but the island’s value lay in its isolation.

  “She can’t swim,” Bronson said. “I overheard her mother at dinner.”

  Angel’s eyes were closed. Her teeth chattered and whispered words tumbled from her mouth.

  “This isn’t over. Someone will come for me,” she said.

  Bronson rubbed the wounds in his legs. “There’s no one left. They’re all dead.”

  The boat hit shallow water, its bottom scraping on the lake bed. Angel cried out. Leaping into the lake, Daniel wrapped his arm around her shoulders and dragged her backwards.

  Angel’s hands fought for purchase, her fingernails breaking as she clung to the boat. “No, don’t. Please. I’ll do anything.”

  “That’s what we’re afraid of,” Bear said, shuffling forwards and releasing her grip. Daniel gave a tug and Angel lost her hold with a scream. She battled against him, her arms flailing, but Daniel pitched her into the thorny hold of the brambles. He rushed back to the boat and pushed off the island with an oar. The three men bobbed on the waves, watching Angel struggle free of the brambles. She raced to the shore, but stopped before her shoes touched the water. Pacing back and forth, she screamed, a guttural low howl of terror.

  “Take me back”, she shouted, her arms in the air. “I’m sorry.”

  Bear covered his face with his hands, turning away from the others. His shoulders shook, rocking the boat and Daniel averted his gaze as the big man wept.

  They returned to Five Oaks as dawn broke. It coloured Daniel’s face in an orange glow. “You’ve taken another prisoner, Bronson. First Scott and now Angel. You aren’t planning on keeping her alive, are you?”

  Bronson scooped water from the lake and dabbed it on his brow.

  “Not this time,” he said.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Autumn had slipped effortlessly into winter in less than a week. The trees were bare, their leaves discarded and crisp under a light frost. While the air was biting, the sun was shining, warming Daniel’s back as he worked by the lake. His axe thudded into the hull of the rowing boat, breaking it into splinters. The island had received its last guest. His daughter needed a normal home if she was ever to grow up into a normal person.

  Eisha sat cross-legged on a blanket. Daniel had called Lily to arrange the collection of his daughter. Their conversation had been stilted. They wouldn’t be speaking again for a while and Lily had ended the call with a simple statement.

  “Eisha deserves better,” she’d said and Daniel had agreed.

  As he split wooden planks in two, his daughter divided her attention between watching him and listening to the island.

  “That lady doesn’t scream as much anymore,” she said.

  Wood cracked under another blow from Daniel’s axe. “She’s been going on for a bit, hasn’t she?”

  “She’s probably tired.”

  Daniel leaned on his axe and stared over the lake. Angel was hidden by the glare of the sun. Her shouts and screams were less frequent now, growing weaker every day. It wouldn’t be long now, he thought.

  He struck the boat again, driving away his concerns. This was supposed to be a party after all.

  “That’s enough wood for the bonfire,” he said. “Let’s get back.”

  Eisha stood, brushing frost crystals from her backside. She swung Angry Cat by its ears.

  “Do you need to carry that with you everywhere? It’s getting a bit dirty,” Daniel said.

  Cocking her head to one side, Eisha considered his question and hurled the cat into the water.

  “I don’t need him anymore,” she said, thrusting two fingers into her mouth. Eisha whistled and the Alsatian came running from the frosted trees, its big paws thudding on the ground. It slowed to a lollop, stopping in front of Eisha and nudging its head into her waiting arms.

  “I’ve got Princess now,” she said, pressing her face into the dog’s patchy fur.

  Daniel glanced at the dog’s testicles. That was a conversation he wasn’t ready to have right now. He’d returned to Cedar’s Mount to remove any evidence he may have been there. The Alsatian had greeted him with an excited yelp and Daniel couldn’t bear the thought of leaving it behind.

  On the jetty, Bronson stood over an unlit barbeque, poking the coals despondently with a stick. Bear and Helen huddled together, their arms wrapped around their damaged bodies. It was time to get cooking, Daniel thought. The natives were getting restless.

  He pulled his daughter in for a hug and Eisha squirmed in his embrace, but when he looked down, she was smiling.

  “Can I ask you a question, Daddy?” she asked.

  He nodded. “As long as it isn’t about naming dogs.”

  “Do bad people deserve to die?”

  “Yes,” he said. The answer was out of his mouth before he had a chance to consider it. He’d thought about Eleanor’s final question before her own death, but hadn’t reached a conclusion until now and he understood why Eisha was asking. It was a good sign. She’d made her first kill. Anyone who failed to question themselves after that couldn’t be helped. There was hope for Eisha yet.

  Daniel searched for the right thing to say. “There are different kinds of bad people. Some are dangerous and you throw them away, but there are some you need to keep. Like Uncle Bronson.”

  “Am I a bad person?”

  Yes, he thought, but no more than he was. They were different and the same. He drew comfort from that.

  Daniel massaged warmth into his hands. “Why did you shoot Lily’s boyfriend?”

  Eisha drew a line in the shingle with her foot. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Her eyes teared and Daniel ruffled her hair. “It’s okay, pet. You can tell me.”

  “I went looking for Auntie Lily in her bedroom, but she wasn’t there. I saw Uncle Panwar hurting her, dragging her down the stairs. It made me sad and then it made me angry. I got my key for your bedroom drawer and found your gun. Uncle Panwar was hiding in the garden and - ”

  Daniel pulled Eisha into his arms. He didn’t need to know the rest. He let her sob into his body and tried to hold back his own tears. Daniel didn’t know how much of her behaviour was due to their unknown nature and how much was the poor environment he had provided for her. Left unchecked, Eisha’s actions might match those of Angel Maguire, or even his own and Daniel couldn’t allow that.

  “I feel so strange sometimes, Daddy,” Eisha said, “as if I’m on my own.”

  “When I was young, I felt the same way, but it’s not true. We have a family bigger than we could have imagined.”

  Daniel looked to the jetty where Bronson, Bear and Helen were waiting impatiently to be fed. “Why don’t you take Princess and join the others? I’ll find a light and we can get this barbeque started, okay?”

  Eisha pulled away, wiping her eyes on his shirt.

  “Don’t forget the sausages,” she said, scampering away with her faithful hound beside her.

  Daniel returned to the house, searching the kitchen for matches. He’d gone some way to cleaning it. The old takeaway boxes were in the bin. There were still some stubborn stains on the counter, but he’d been too busy bricking up the entrance to the Room to eradicate them entirely. A torture chamber was no place for a child and he was determined to keep Eisha out of there. He’d emptied the tool box of Eisha’s stolen souvenirs and stashed them on the highest shelf in the kitchen where she wouldn’t be able to reach them.

  He looked at them now and saw they weren’t souvenirs at all, but symbols of all the bad things in her life, the things that had made her angry. She was like Daniel in so many ways, but he was an idiot and she still had a chance.

  Daniel found the memory stick Eisha had stolen from Panwar. He rushed upstairs to his computer to search through its contents. The stick contained background information on him, material Panwar could have used to undermine him. Where he had found it was anybody’s guess, but as Daniel stood over the computer, one name was mentioned over and over again.

  Ranta Munstonen. The man who was at the centre of Daniel and Scott’s lurid adoption. His brother knew nothing of his true origins. That burden of knowledge rested with Daniel and it was time to do something about it.

  “Daddy, I’m starving. Where are my sausages?”

  Eisha’s voice reached him from the great hall below. Daniel shut down the computer and hid the memory stick in his pocket.

  “I’m coming,” he called back.

  Daniel could alter Eisha’s environment. He could make it like Disneyland if he chose to, but without knowing who he was and where he’d come from, his daughter would never be cured of her growing violence.

  Daniel had to find Ranta Munstonen before it was too late.

  Chapter Fifty

  Mitchel Phitt sat in his car at Ravenshill Services. It was the last outpost on the A66 before the road plunged into lonely moorland. He loosened bacon rind from his teeth and with one last chew, swallowed it down.

  He called himself portly, though his fellow sales reps called him fat. His hair was lank and thinning, and a double chin crushed the knot of his tie. He wiped his mouth with a paper serviette and tossed it onto the passenger seat with the others. A grey car pulled into the parking bay beside him. A young woman climbed from the driver’s seat and stretched. He gasped as the early morning sun lanced through her thin clothing and he saw what God had given her. She walked in front of his car, giving him a brief smile before entering the service station.

  A familiar craving swept over him. How long had it been? Too long, the craving answered. There were a handful of vehicles in the car park, probably belonging to sales reps like him, selling their souls up and down the motorways for a miserly monthly bonus. But they weren’t exactly like him, he thought. Phitt awarded himself a bonus of his own every now and again.

  Squeezing out of his car, he followed the young girl inside.

  Ravenshill was an identikit of the other service stations he frequented. It housed brand name shops, mostly American, surrounding a central seating area where travellers took a moment’s rest from their journeys. Three men on separate tables nursed coffees and tapped frantically on their phones.

  Phitt searched the shops, but failed to find the girl. There was only one other place she could be. She’d obviously stopped off to relieve herself. The toilets were next to an arcade of fruit machines and he watched over the seating area. The sales reps were engrossed in their business. Pulling the girl into the arcade would be a cinch. What he did after that wouldn’t be as easy. At least, not for her.

  Struggling under his stomach, Phitt released his belt buckle because speed would be a factor. As he did, the girl strolled along the other side of the food court towards the exit.

  He followed her again, slowing his pace, trying to appear casual. Phitt diverted to a side door he used in emergencies, hoping to reach the girl in time.

  He was in luck. More than luck. The girl was bent over the open engine of her car, chewing on a fingertip. He admired her taut legs and the curve of her rump. His craving swelled and he quickly checked his breath in the palm of his hand. Damn it, he thought, but it didn’t matter. By the time she was close enough to smell him, she’d be helpless anyway.

  “Having car trouble?” Phitt asked, flashing the grin that won him the Bottlemore account.

  The girl looked up and he read the anxiety in her face.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with it,” she said. “The car just died. Do you know anything about engines?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  The girl kicked the car bumper. “Just another ten miles to go. I only stopped to use the loo. I wish I’d kept going now.”

  “But then I would have missed the chance to make your acquaintance.” Phitt gave her another of his smiles and turned his back on her. “It was nice to meet you. I hope you get where you’re going.”

  Opening the driver’s door, he pretended to clean the front seat, blood coursing through his choked arteries. This was the moment. This was when he’d know for sure. Had she fallen for the kindly gentleman routine? Or would she watch him drive away, somehow sensing his predatory nature?

  Phitt had made his sales pitch. All he needed to do was wait.

  “Hang on a minute,” she said, rushing to join him. “I couldn’t have a lift, could I? Like I say, it’s only ten miles.”

  “Is someone waiting for you?”

  “Yes. My boyfriend. He’s waiting for me.”

  Of course, he was. They all said that. They all offered up the threat of an imaginary boyfriend. It was police advice, but what difference did it make to good old Phitt? Even if it were true, the so-called boyfriend was ten miles away and this little girl wasn’t getting past mile one.

  “How could I say no to a damsel in distress?” Phitt pointed at the passenger seat. “Oh, dear me. What a state. You might have to clear all those serviettes before you get in.”

  He stepped back, opening his arms.

  “Let me get my bag and I’ll be right with you,” she said, running back to her defunct car.

  Phitt shifted the pleats of his trousers around his crotch. As soon as she reached inside, he’d bundle her to the floor and they would be on their way to a place off the B414. It was secluded, surrounded by trees. Beautiful, really.

  “Got it,” the girl shouted, slamming her door shut.

  “We ought to make a move,” Phitt said. “Don’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” she said.

  The grey door of her car opened. Phitt saw a leg first, long and gangly, followed by a second. A man swivelled in his seat, planting his feet on the ground. His skin was icy white and his blue eyes locked with Phitt’s. He carried a sleeping baby in his arms and when he stood from the car, he towered above the sales rep.

  “Who are you?” Phitt asked.

  “I’m Scott,” he said, swinging a fist. There was no pain, just a transfer of power. Phitt was lifted into the air and his head struck the wheel arch of his car as he fell. The impact snapped his jaw shut. Then came the pain, as if his nerves were howling. The electric taste of blood filled his mouth. Even in his dazed state, he knew he’d landed between the two cars, hidden from view. Fear forced Phitt to his knees and he attempted to crawl to safety.

  “Don’t let him get away, Monica. Grab his ankles,” Scott said.

  But Monica was too busy searching Phitt’s glove compartment, pocketing his wallet. He heard Scott tutting and a hand snaked around his ankles. Phitt was dragged towards the grey car. There was no resisting and his heart drummed in his chest.

  “Please. I was only trying to help you,” Phitt said.

  Lying the baby on the back seat, Scott rubbed his chin. “Next time, we steal a car with a baby carrier. I shouldn’t leave Wren like that. It seems dangerous.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Monica said. “Let’s get this pervert in the boot.”

  Phitt whimpered, trying vainly to fend off their hands. Scott grabbed his tie, using it to pull him to his feet. It constricted his throat, cutting into his fleshy neck. Phitt’s lungs floundered for air and a pain shot from his chest down his left arm.

  “This guy could be missing for weeks before anyone bothers to look for him,” Scott said, manhandling Phitt into the boot of the grey car. “We can take his vehicle wherever we want.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23