in. The Holiday Inn outside Colchester wasn’t where they usually stayed, but that was the point. No one would look for them there, Michael had said. Having spent less than half an hour in the room, Dee agreed.
She found it small, anonymous and dull. That must match the kind of people who stayed here, she thought, then felt a shuddering memory. Her own origins were much lower than this. But she was a different person now, and she intended to stay that way.
She sat silently on the end of the bed, ankles crossed, arms behind her, watching Michael pace. She knew better than to approach him or speak to him when he was in this mood. This was no time for their intimate power-playing games. When she saw that look in his eyes, that stiffness in his back, she knew that if she even attempted to intervene or turn the situation into a game, he would hurt her. Normally she would enjoy it, give it back, even, if he was in the right mood. But not when he was like this. When the rage was on him, he could carve her up — or anyone who got in his way.
‘What … the fuck … was he thinking …?’
Dee said nothing. She had not been invited to speak.
‘Picking her phone up …
More pacing, more waiting from Dee. Eventually he stopped, turned to her. ‘And have you seen him? What’s he on? What’s Bracken sorted him out with now? He’s … unravelling. Becoming a danger to us.’
Dee took the direct look from Michael as her cue to talk. ‘Let’s get rid of him, then,’ she said, her voice deferential, her eyes downcast.
‘I will,’ said Michael. ‘When he’s finished this job for us, he’s gone.’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘If he’s capable of finishing this job for us.’
The pacing resumed. ‘We’ve let things get out of control, gone too far this time … too far. It’s time to leave.’
‘Where? The country?’
He nodded, still pacing. ‘The route’s been in place for years in case we need it. Nickoll can stonewall for us until we’re away.’
Dee nodded. She had expected something like this to happen sooner or later. It would be sad to go, to leave everything behind. But their lifestyle would continue. They had enough put aside to take care of that. And that was fine. Because the lifestyle would be what she couldn’t live without.
‘What about the three in the car?’
The two police officers and the Hibbert woman had been left in the 4x4. Parked at the back of the car park, covered by blankets, the Golem watching over them.
‘Hibbert I don’t care about. But we can’t risk them finding the bodies of the police officers. They’ll have to disappear.’
Dee nodded. It was what she had expected to hear.
Michael stopped pacing, stood in front of Dee. He grabbed her face, forced it upwards, made her look at him. ‘And when they disappear … we’re gone too.’
She looked into his eyes, tried to smile, as a shiver of fear ran through her.
91
Tyrell stared at the wall in front of him. No. It wasn’t a wall, it was a mirror. And he saw himself looking right back. But he knew it wasn’t just himself. The mirror was twoway. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were watching. He had been watched all his life. He knew when it was happening.
His hands were in his lap, under the table. His feet together, back relaxed. He felt calm and composed. At ease with himself. He felt the best he had been since he had come out of prison.
Prison. It didn’t feel like it at the time, but when he looked back, he realised he had been safe there. Happy, almost. But safe, especially. The safest he had been since childhood. Proper childhood, when it was just him and his mother. Before they went to live in the big house. With the old man who said he wanted to be his father and tried to be kind to him. And the brother and sister who only pretended to be kind to him.
He shuddered. It was one of the memories he had tried to keep hidden because it hurt to think it. But they had all come back now. The good ones along with the bad. He thought of his pretend brother and his pretend sister. How they would smile at him when their father was around or his mother was there. And how they would hurt him when it was just the three of them.
He closed his eyes. Tried to block out the things they had done to him. Too late. He had thought the thought, it was there in his head and he had to see it. He had no choice.
How they would hurt parts of his body. Pull, twist. Hit. How he would scream out and they would make him stop. Threaten to send him away from his mother if anyone heard. He would stop crying, but they wouldn’t stop hurting him. They just got worse. Sticks, tennis racquets, cricket bats. Anything was a weapon. And burning him. Tying him up, gagging him, putting lit cigarettes on his skin.
He wriggled in his seat, reliving the memory.
He could feel the rope against his skin, the knots tightening as he tried to pull away from it. He could hear the hiss and crackle of burning skin as the cigarette was applied. Smell again the nicotine smoke, the cooking flesh. His own flesh. Hear the screams and sobs in his head, the cries he couldn’t let go, that died against the gag in his mouth.
And he felt sad once more, sad for his mother, sad for himself.
Too ashamed to show his mother the scars, hiding them for years.
Hiding. Hide and seek. He was always the one to hide. And he was always found. But the way they played it was different. If he was found, which he always was, he had to do a forfeit. And the forfeit was always the same. He had to be locked in the cellar.
He hated that cellar. Every time they mentioned hide and seek, he knew it would end up in the cellar. But he couldn’t say no. He had tried it a couple of times. They had just hurt him.
The cellar was at the back of the house, right by the river. The water used to come up to the back of the property, and they had a boat moored there. His pretend brother and pretend sister would lift the trapdoor and make him walk down the wooden stairs. Then they would slam it shut and run off, sometimes leaving him there for hours. Even forgetting him completely on a couple of occasions. Inside, it was cold, dark and wet. There was no light, no electricity, no candles even. Just him and the rats. And the slow, swishing sound of the water.
Sometimes when he touched the wall his hand came away wet. His feet too. When the tide came in, the wooden walls would groan with the pressure, sometimes even seep. At first he had been terrified, thinking they would give way and the water would flood in, drown him. But gradually he came to accept it. Could even time how long he was down there by the tides. But he still hated it, it still made him cry.
He shook his head, tried to dislodge the other memories that were coming back. The times his pretend brother and pretend sister would strip him naked before tying him up. Tie him up with his legs apart. He would try to struggle, fight, get away. But it was no good. There were two of them, and they were both stronger than him. The pretend sister, she was stronger than she looked. And sometimes the more vicious of the two.
And then when he was tied up and naked, they would hurt him. It was a different kind of hurt to the cigarette burns. This kind made him scared to touch his own body afterwards. They would shove things inside him. Laugh when he begged or tried to scream. They just shoved harder.
Hurting him like that would excite them. They would strip off in front of him, do things to each other’s bodies. Laugh at his pain. They would push parts of their bodies in his face, his mouth. Force him to …
He closed his eyes. No. No …
Prison. Think of prison. In the cell. Alone. In his head. By himself. His own space. His own time.
He opened his eyes. Looked round. He had forgotten that he was here. In this room. He sighed. Relieved. Even this room was better than where he had been, back in his own head. Anywhere was better than that.
He looked at the mirror once again. Knew they were there. He wondered what they could see. He wished they could see what was inside his head. What he had just seen. If they had, they might have been able to stop it.
He shook his head at the thought. That was just stupid. If they could do that, they would have done it years
