He turned to address Tim. ‘Go on up to your room. We’ll have a little chat about your behaviour when I get back.’
Her pulse jumped.
Tim dropped his head and scuttled away. As he mounted the stairs, each step felt like a nail in her coffin.
Erin eyed the gun. Though Stern was fit for his age, and a good fifty pounds heavier than she was, he was an older man and, once outside in the darkness, she could probably outrun him.
He stood aside to let her pass. ‘Let’s go out through the front door, shall we? So much more civilised.’
But fear rooted her feet to a spot on the floor. It was impossible to breathe. The old terror, always lurking beneath the surface, came roaring back. Vivien’s cobra eyes, glinting in the dark. The sour smell of Graham’s breath. All those hours and days locked in the damp cellar. The threat of the asylum and Vivien’s cold sneer. I can have you locked up, anytime I want.
Erin straightened up and found her voice. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’ Her legs were shaking, but she turned to face him. ‘If you’re planning to kill me, you’d better do it here. Though you won’t get away with it. Several people know where I am and why I’ve come. If I disappear, the police will show up on your doorstep asking questions.’
Stern snorted with laughter. ‘In that case, I would kindly invite them in, like the gentleman I am, and inform them that you came here to thank me for the care I’ve provided for my son, after saving him from that wretched asylum. And after having a drink with me, you left for home in the middle of a storm, where you must have met with a terrible accident.’ He fixed her with a bloodless stare. ‘It happens all the time in the backwoods. People disappear. Sometimes they die.’
With her brain reeling, she scrambled to come up with a plan of action, while pretending to give in and follow him to the front door. When they reached the stairs, she could make a dash for Stern’s bedroom and bolt the door. There was a telephone in there. If she moved fast enough, she might be able to alert the police in time.
‘Coming, Dr Cartwright?’
With an eye on the shotgun, she moved past him and into the hall, her eyes flitting from side to side, searching for a weapon or a way out, but Stern kept close behind. So close, she could smell the alcohol on his breath. If she was lucky, he might be unsteady on his feet.
Halfway there. The hall clock ticked the minutes as rain drummed on the roof. A bolt of lightning lit up the dark hall, blinding her briefly. This was it. She spun round and pushed Stern hard on the chest. As she fled up the stairs, fear gave wings to her feet. If Stern had locked his bedroom door, she’d be trapped. But the door was open, and she flung herself through it, scrabbling for the bolt as Stern pounded up the stairs. She shot the bolt closed, a second before he slammed his weight against the door.
She sprang away. Solid oak, but was it strong enough? Could he break it down, or blast through the door with the shotgun?
The room was dark, and she stumbled to the bedside table, where a white phone gleamed, and switched on the light. At the sound of the dial tone, she was flooded with relief, but as she punched in the emergency number, the line went dead. Erin dropped the receiver and scanned the room for a weapon. He’d lied about the shotgun. So there might be pistol in the nightstand. She yanked open the drawers and felt around, but there was nothing.
Sprinting to the dresser, she rummaged through his clothing. Nothing. As she straightened up, she came face to face with the row of photographs on top of the dresser. One looked oddly familiar. It was the photo of Ray and his father on the beach in Santa Barbara. But it wasn’t Ray’s father. The man in the photo was Stern. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Ray and Stern. Pain squeezed her chest. Everything he’d told her was a lie.
Something hard smashed against the door. She dropped the picture and ran to the window, but it wouldn’t budge. By slamming her palms against the sash, she managed to raise it a few inches.
Another crash against the door splintered the wood. He must have got hold of an axe. Terror gave her strength and she wrenched the window wide enough to climb out. Rain hammered the roof tiles, and the wind blew her hair in her eyes as she scrambled onto the steeply pitched roof. The ground was dizzyingly far below, but if she could skirt round the back, she could drop onto the roof of the kitchen, and from there onto the ground.
Rainwater streamed down the back of her neck. Clinging to the slippery roof tiles, she crab-walked away from the window, moments before Stern smashed through the door. She turned to see his face, tense with fury as he raised the shotgun to his shoulder and took aim. Tim loomed up behind him. They locked eyes for a split second before he lunged forward and grabbed Stern around the chest.
She was two storeys off the ground, but there was no time to lose. Her wet hair stuck to her face, blocking her view. For a moment, she was too frightened to move. If she lost her grip, that would be it. Don’t look down. Sprawled flat, she inched forward, praying the rain gutter would hold her if she slipped.
‘There’s nowhere to hide.’ Stern was at the window, pointing
