BOOK TWO OF THE FORGOTTEN BRIDE SERIES:

THE BRIDE’S REVENGE

BY PHILIP ANTHONY SMITH

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COPYRIGHT © 2025 PHILIP ANTHONY SMITH

PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLERS

BY PHILIP ANTHONY SMITH

THE FORGOTTEN BRIDE

THE WOMAN HE LEFT BEHIND

YOU WILL NEVER FIND THEM

RUN FOR YOUR LIFE

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

THE PACKAGE

THE WEDDING

THE RECEPTION

THE HONEYMOON

THE VISITOR

THE MOTEL

THE INTERVIEW

THE STUDIO

THE SAVIOR

THE NEW FRIEND

THE GROUP

THE PLACE

THE CALL

THE FIZZ

THE PEP TALK

THE WARNING

THE SIGNING

THE STORM

THE DIVE

THE CUT

THE SHOT

THE EMBERS

THE TEST

THE OLD HAUNT

THE HEARING

THE JAILBREAK

THE CHARGE

THE BUNKMATE

THE COLD CALLER

THE RETURN

THE RING

THE LIES

THE LEAP

THE KNIFE

EPILOGUE

BECOMING BENJAMIN

THE BRIDE’S SALVATION

A LETTER FROM PHILIP

THE WOMAN HE LEFT BEHIND

YOU WILL NEVER FIND THEM

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PROLOGUE

OLIVIA – 2025

Time eerily stood still. The only thing not affected by the strange phenomenon was my hammering heart, unyieldingly smashing its way through my fragile chest. The sheer magnitude of each thump tensed each muscle in my arm in turn like tumbling dominoes, pulsing and throbbing as it sent intense shockwaves of unadulterated rage down to the palm of my sweating hand. My stalwart gaze wandered for a fleeting moment, eventually settling on the quaking fingers that were still fervently clinging to the knife handle.

My fingers.

Caught up in the midst of an unwelcomed out-of-body experience, my eyes gingerly continued upwards, tracing the shining edge of the few inches of steel that were still exposed to the light until the blade came to an abrupt halt in his chest. The adrenaline coursed through my system like electricity, tingling and burning my skin as it whizzed past, supercharging my senses beyond their limits in the process. My heart instantly ceased to beat as I remained transfixed on the entry wound with bated breath, patiently waiting for the first droplets of blood to seep out and begin to stain his crisp, white shirt.

First came the smell: a rich metallic aroma that saturated the room, coating my parched tongue with the taste of rust. My eyes widened in shock as his very life essence started to trickle out of his wounded chest. It started with a fleeting, single droplet, almost resembling a microscopic ruby-coloured oasis sitting out of place in a desert of thin cotton.

In a matter of seconds, the tiny droplet began to grow, and once the fabric near the wound soaked in as much blood as it could, the scarlet mere went on to rapidly expand like an overflowing river, bursting its banks wildly in every direction. It grew into an unrelenting tsunami, the crimson wave drowning everything around it, quickly swelling all of the clean fibres in its path, so much so that the gore began to pool on the surface and run down his chest, encountering no resistance whatsoever.

I was suddenly jolted back into reality, finally realising the irrevocability of what I had just done, and I woefully looked into my quarry’s pained eyes, which remained uninterruptedly transfixed on mine. I felt the sensation of a tear rolling down my cheek, irritating me as it fell, so I instinctually shook it off my face and watched it crash onto the concrete beneath my feet.

When I tentatively looked back up, his cracked lips parted as if poised to say something profound, so I leaned in slightly to catch his laboured last words. Still holding the blade in my right hand, I grabbed his shoulder with my left, shaking him gently to try and coax the words out of him. He exhaled as best he could, a wet, bubbling crackle of blood filling up his lungs as he desperately tried to mouth the words on the tip of his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

As soon as the hushed words parted from my lips, the spell was broken, and time started to pass normally again. Without further warning, his quaking knees went instantaneously limp, his reddened eyes rolled back into his skull, and his entire body nauseatingly slid off the end of the steel that was still plunged into his chest. He plummeted helplessly and landed on the floor with a damp thud, leaving me standing tall above him, with the weapon still firmly gripped in my hand.

I could almost hear his feeble lungs gurgling as he gasped and fought for every breath; he was coughing and spluttering while fretfully clawing at the cold concrete with his splitting fingernails in a desperate bid to put some distance between him and his entranced assailant. The scarlet lake beneath him began to spread out rapidly, the edge of it shyly reaching the toe of my trainers, so I recoiled in abject repulsion, which is when my eyes got a full picture of the atrocity I had just committed.

In my panic, I immediately dropped the blood-soaked dagger, which clattered onto the concrete before it came to a halt a few feet away from him. He desperately crawled away for a few more precious seconds with the aid of his shuddering hands, which he frantically lifted up to find one of the legs of the steel table in front of him so he could grab it and hoist himself up. I silently looked on as his shaking fingertips almost came to touch it just before the strain became unbearable, and he defeatedly collapsed under his own weight.

As he writhed in the sticky puddle growing underfoot, I remained motionless, staring down at the life I had been forced to extinguish, still unable to grasp any semblance of the enormous task looming ahead of me. His determined battle for life stopped, as did his laboured breathing, and suddenly, the only audible sound was the persistent drip from the bunker ceiling crashing down to the floor.

“Hey!” I sternly whispered, nudging his lifeless body with my timid foot.

Nothing.

“Fuck,” I muttered to myself.

The numbness seizing my body was short-lived; before I knew it, I was being thrust into the throes of a full-on panic attack, which frantically pushed me to pad myself down for the prescription tablets that I already knew I didn’t have on me, leaving sticky handprints all over my trousers. I lifted my quivering hands to inspect them, finding them so soaked in his blood that I could barely recognise them anymore. I shut my eyes and paced around the room, distraughtly hoping that the ground would open up and swallow me, leaving me unable to deal with the mess I had just got myself into.

I looked up, spotting the television screens above the desk in front of me, focusing on the empty room they were displaying. I took a deep breath, and self-preservation quickly took over, impelling me to wipe my hands with the first thing I set my eyes on: his suit jacket. I manically cleaned as much of the blood off my palms and fingers as I could, yet the reddish remnants were still garishly obvious. I spotted the old, disused sink in the corner of the room, so I ran over and feverishly scrubbed at my fingernails with the fetid sponge, which had been abandoned there, in a desperate attempt to remove every lingering trace of him from my soiled skin.

“He deserved it,” I muttered under my breath repeatedly as if to convince myself while I feverishly continued to scour my hands.

Despite the undisputable fact that my old captor, Alex, was still behind bars, I could almost feel his putrid breath warming the back of my neck. In a moment of mounting paranoia, I whipped my head around to check behind me, catching further sight of the man lying lifeless on the floor. I winced in disgust, whipping my head to avert my eyes before slowly turning around again to face what I had done head-on. I was reminded that Alex, the master puppeteer, was over a hundred miles away but still calling all the shots from a six-by-six concrete cell in California State Prison. I swear that I could see the blood-stained strings attached to each of my kill’s limbs.

That man tortured me. He ruined my life.

What was even worse was that he was still observing me from the sidelines and probably chortling with delight as the new life that I had fought so hard to rebuild around me was beginning to crumble to dust underneath my feet. I was now under no illusion that he was responsible for the cracks and that he single-handedly set everything in motion the day he snatched me from my family. Every fucked-up thing that had happened to me since the day he uninvitedly came into my life could be traced back to that same dangerous parasite who burrowed himself under my skin like a gorged tick, and once inside, it refused to let go.

My mind was cast back to the night he confessed his crimes to me and my-husband-to-be, Nathaniel, and I bitterly regretted not ending Alex’s charade there and then. I regretted not taking the gun, which he once pointed at us, pressing the barrel without the slightest hesitation against his temple and pulling the trigger until the clip was empty. I totted up the number of lives in my head that I could have saved from irrevocable damage by extinguishing Alex’s that night, and knowing what I know now, I would have gladly done it without so much as giving it a second thought. Even back then, we both knew that the only way this was ever going to finally come to an end was by one of us stepping off this mortal coil, and I was foolish to think that his incarceration would satisfy his rampant lust for vengeance or stop him from messing with the lives of my loved ones.

In my distraction, the sink had started to overflow onto the floor, and I quickly turned off its corroded tap. Still dissatisfied with my cleansing efforts, I slowly turned back around, hoping that the man’s body had somehow disappeared as if by magic. To my despair, the grim scene that I had created was as real as ever, and a sudden twinge of guilt began to wash over me despite knowing what I had done was totally justified.

The man at my feet wasn’t a stranger. He was family.

I did know him, or at least I thought I did, and in the preceding hour, I would have mistakenly believed that he didn’t deserve the fate I had just imposed on him. Hell, I would even have leapt to his defence, given half a chance. However, I now knew better, and the misplaced remorse began to fade away, being quickly replaced by a sense of twisted pride: that I was responsible for one less piece of shit still breathing on the face of the earth.

His eyes were still wide open, deadened and frozen in time, so I crouched down to close them in utter disgust with my fingertips to put an end to his unnerving staring. Just as I was about to touch them, something dark and wicked flashed behind them, which stopped me dead in my tracks and made me flinch away, almost sliding headfirst into the pool of sticky blood underneath my feet.

They were his eyes looking back at me.

I knew the truth. Like a malignant virus, Alex had somehow injected himself forcibly into that dead man’s head and was still lingering behind his lifeless eyes. We had that in common because a part of Alex still dwelled inside both of us, like a traumatic echo that couldn’t escape and destructively ricocheted between the sides of our skulls, ravaging everything in its path. I just wished I had been given the opportunity to find out why.

When the tears started to spring into my eyes out of sheer anger, I violently shook my head to postpone them. I had no time for soul-searching, nor could I afford the luxury of debating the morality of the feral brutality I had just committed. At any second, someone was likely to burst into the room, law enforcement or the dead man’s associates, and I couldn’t still be standing there when they eventually did.

If I wanted a fighting chance of coming out of it unscathed and retaining my hard-won freedom, I had no option but to hide the body, scrub myself clean, and come up with a miraculous plan out of thin air. I had doggedly earned, suffered and toiled for my precious freedom, and I had already lost too many years of my life to allow a half-baked plan to snatch it all away. I refused to be flippantly labelled as just another troubled woman who had gone through too much and eventually snapped. It would be a very cruel joke indeed if I undeservedly ended up behind bars after the hellish ordeal I had been through. Goodness knows, by a cruel twist of fate, I could even end up in the same penitentiary as Alex, dooming me to listen to his psychopathic chuckle being carried down the corridors for the rest of my life.

I grabbed hold of the stiff’s ankles to begin dragging him towards the exit, but I was only able to slide the tremendous weight across the floor. I whispered some expletives under my breath as I spotted his wallet sticking out of his pocket. To prevent it from falling into the vast puddle of blood, I dropped the load and carefully leaned over to pull it out with my thumb and index finger. I mindlessly opened it; my attention was immediately drawn to the photograph behind the clear-plastic pocket. It was rather old and faded, probably due to the countless years it had been a permanent fixture in there. I scowled confusedly at it for a moment, leaving me with a vague sense of familiarity with the image, the realisation only just hitting me before I heard the frightful sound of footsteps stomping down the steel ladder at the entrance.

I was thrown back into immediate panic, wildly spinning my head left and right while trying to conjure another exit out of the void.

I scuttled over to the knife, whipping it from the floor and shakily holding it close to my chest as I waited for the presence to appear.

There was no other way out.

I was bang to rights.

Friend or foe, I would have to deal with whoever walked through those doors in one way or another. I simply took a deep breath, anxiously peering through the doors, patiently awaiting my fate being swiftly delivered by whoever was about to emerge. The footsteps were getting closer and closer, so I stood straight up in the room, throwing the wallet on the floor and clutching the knife tightly.

“Well, fuck,” I mumbled to myself, “here we go…”

1 WEEK EARLIER…

1

THE PACKAGE

OLIVIA – 2025

After over a decade of waiting, the big day had finally arrived. I was sitting in a tiny room in our chosen church, a small, unassuming venue tucked away in the vibrant heart of London, doing that whole stereotypical nervous bride thing for the second time and desperately fighting the urge not to bite my newly manicured nails. Are the flowers going to look how I imagined them to be? Did we invite enough people? Maybe we should have invited Cousin Sandra after all. Should we have seated Nathaniel’s dad at another table? If I nip outside for a breath of fresh air, will I get knocked out and dragged into the back of a van once again?

“Fuck,” I whispered to myself.

I made a promise to myself that I would never dare think about what happened to me eleven years ago. I vowed to finally live in the moment and truly enjoy the fabled day that had been ten years in the making. If truth be told, it wasn’t the first time I thought about the abhorrent acts I endured that day. It wasn’t even the second. If I was being totally honest, it was in triple figures at least. Therapy, drink, drugs—none of it seemed to work. Everyone around me, Nathaniel and Aurora included, looked at me as a bastion of infallible strength, able to just put the past behind me without a second thought. I was to blame for their ignorance because I had chosen to put on a brave front, a mask that I wore daily to convince everyone around me that I was keeping my demons firmly at bay. However, the stark reality that I was confronting on my own is that I was just as lost as the evening I escaped the underground bunker where a pitiless and cruel creature held me captive for ten unending years.

I looked up to check the time; it was ten minutes to the hour, which was my cue to wait outside for the ceremony to start. I took one final cursory look into the mirror right in front of me and gathered my elaborate wedding dress so I could exit the room without leaving a trail of destruction in my wake. I vigilantly emerged in the atrium, careful not to let Nathaniel see me as I sneaked around the door and slowly closed it behind me. It was then that I heard a sharp nasal exhale from behind me, so I turned my head to find Gloria, Nathaniel’s insipid mother, in the corner of the room. True to form, she was disdainfully sniggering at me in the company of some unimportant distant relative of hers whose name I didn’t care to recall.

“Gloria,” I announced with a disingenuous smile.

“Dear, you look… lovely?” she awkwardly mustered with an upward inflexion.

“Thank you so much!” I falsely gushed with sickly enthusiasm.

“Congratulations, Olivia,” the woman beside her uttered.

“Thanks,” I said icily, “have you seen Aurora around?”

“I think she’s outside, about to light a cigarette,” Gloria said in a judgemental tone of voice.

“Smoking! You’re kidding! I’ve told her how we feel about that!” I said in feigned shock.

“Well, you had better go and stop her, then. Smoking is terrible for wrinkles. The last thing she needs is lip lines.”

“Look in the mirror, you old bag,” I snappily uttered under my breath.

“What was that, dear?” she brightly asked.

“Nothing. I’d better go and pry the cigarette off her mouth, then. Thanks for the parenting tip,” I said as I pushed past them and through the church doors.

Perched on the church steps, Aurora was facing away from me in the black backless dress she was so intent on wearing, with her dark locks neatly tied up in a bun behind her head. I heard the unmistakable sound of a lighter being clicked and quietly chuckled to myself when I saw my daughter struggling to ignite it in the blustering wind. Intentionally slamming the door behind me, I made her almost jump out of her skin, and she quickly scurried around, trying to conceal the packet of cigarettes she was holding. I melodramatically looked at her with my hands judgingly placed on my hips. She knew the jig was up, which immediately put her on the defensive.

“Mom, it’s nothing. It’s a special occasion!” she argued almost passionately.

Huh, we were more alike than I cared to admit.

“Can I bum a ciggy?” I asked with a mischievous smile. My British vernacular seemed to almost cause her physical pain as she scrunched up her face in embarrassment and whipped her head around to check if anyone else was within earshot.

“Bum a ciggy? What does that even mean?” she teased.

“Jesus, fine,” I conceded as I slowly lowered myself on the step to sit beside her. “May you, perchance, have a spare cigarette you could gladly furnish me with?” I enunciated with pompous nobility.

“Much better,” she smiled whilst lighting a cigarette in her mouth before passing it over and pulling another out. I took a deep drag, the initial buzz of the delicious nicotine quickly rushing to every corner of my body, and I almost felt something that resembled relaxation before it rapidly wore off. I pensively took the cigarette out of my mouth and contemplatively looked at it in my hand before shrugging my shoulders in guilty acceptance and popping it back in for another long puff. I missed smoking; it’s a crying shame that this habit is insidious enough to slowly kill you behind your back.

“This is weird, isn’t it? Dad and I getting married, I mean,” I anxiously asked.

“It’s long overdue if you ask me,” she mumbled as she tapped the ash onto the step beside her.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I broodingly replied, still trying to chase the initial nicotine rush.

“How’s Dad? Is he a jabbering wreck yet?”

“No idea. It’s bad luck seeing the bride before a wedding; I’m not making that mistake again.”

“Shall I go and check on him?”

“Not yet,” I smiled, “keep me company for a while.”

It felt so surreal. A few months earlier, I was scratching a line into the bunker wall, fervently believing that I would never see the light of day again, let alone share a precious moment with my daughter minutes before my wedding. A passerby sent congratulatory smiles our way as he walked past, and I nodded back at him with a smirk, saluting him with my smouldering ciggy.

I smilingly reminisced about what Aurora was like at my previous attempt to get married. Back then, she was a carefree, happy-go-lucky child who was keen on spreading joy and cheer wherever she could. Despite knowing that the happiness she was spreading now was of a different type, I was nonetheless bursting with pride after witnessing how she had turned out against all odds, as well as rejoicing in the knowledge that our little family was finally back on track. Before the rising emotions could get the better of me, I stubbed out the cigarette on the concrete steps next to me and threw my arm around my little girl to pull her in close.

“I love you, Aurora,” I tearfully beamed.

“I love you too, Mom,” she smiled.

“I can’t believe we finally made it here. It was touch and go there for a while,” I chokingly laughed in between short puffs on my cigarette.

“Are you worried he might come back for you and Dad if he ever broke out of prison?” I asked.

“Who?”

“Uncle Alex.”

Urgh. That piece of shit.

“It’s just Alex,” I sternly reminded.

“Sorry, force of habit.”

“I doubt it, as he is locked in a maximum-security prison for life. I still think about him from time to time, though, and what he did to us, but don’t you worry, love, because he won’t hurt us anymore.”

“That’s reassuring to know,” she mused.

“Do you still think about Stephanie?” I gulped inquisitively.

“Sometimes,” she began with a far-away look in her eyes, “I miss the good parts, but I have to remind myself that all of it was a pack of lies.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t all lies.”

More often than not, I worried about Aurora, who had been through so much at her young age, all of which made me wonder whether she had inherited the same mask that I conveniently donned when anyone tried to have a frank chat with me about what happened. Needless to say, anything or anyone touched by Alex or Stephanie turned black or became corrupted and polluted, so much so that my family knew that the monstrous tendrils of their malice had embedded themselves deeply in all of our lives, even after they were long gone. Although it seemed unlikely, I hoped against hope that Aurora had somehow been able to come through it unscathed and wouldn’t have the same lingering voice whispering in the back of her head as I had.

Just when I was finally plucking up the courage to carefully ask her how she really felt about it all, a deafening popping sound coming from down the street derailed my train of thought. I rapidly turned my head to the source of the noise and noticed a garishly hot-pink sports car thundering towards us. As the cogs started turning, I laughed in amused disbelief when I instantly realised who it was and saw Stacey’s boisterous, overexcited wave as she approached us. She pulled up directly on the road outside the church with the obnoxious motor’s engine still purring and wound down the window with a massive grin spanning her face.

“Stacey, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I jovially scolded.

“What?” Stacey yelled from the car window before she killed the engine.

“Well, for one, you are massively late, and two, what the hell is this car?”

“One, I had to drop the kids off at Mum’s, and two, I loved it so much that I decided to get one when we got back.”

“Unbelievable,” I uttered, shaking my head in wonder.

“Hi, Aurora,” Stacey grinned as she elegantly got out of the car with palpable sass.

“Hello, Auntie Stacey. I love your dress,” Aurora glowed.

“Thank you, darling,” Stacey said with a little twirl.

Thankfully, some people never change.

“Sweetheart, can you go in and check if Dad’s not having a panic attack? I need to have a catch-up with this reprobate,” I asked.

“Sure,” Aurora replied before skipping through the church doors.

I remained seated on the concrete, staring up at my oldest friend with an incredulous smile until she silently beckoned me to stand up with her hands outstretched. I briskly leapt up, threw myself into her arms, and we tenderly locked each other in a tight embrace.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight for even a second this time round,” she whispered almost threateningly in my ear.

“Fine by me,” I uncomfortably let out before she released me, finally getting my breath back.

“Oh my God! Are you excited? It’s finally happening!” she enthusiastically shrieked.

“A little,” I smiled.

“Before you ask,” Stacey said with a sigh before she produced a cigarette.

“I’ve just had one; I’ll be short of breath walking down the aisle if I have another.”

“But it’s a special occasion!” she said, making quote marks with her fingers.

“Okay,” I began as I snapped it from her hand, “you’ve twisted my arm.”

We both sat back down on the steps in a comfortable silence for a few seconds before she sighed and leaned back slightly, and I knew exactly what was going to come out of her mouth next. Just the expression on her face said it all, and I threw her a dirty look, impelling her to keep quiet about it on that day of all days. Predictably and true to form, she didn’t take the hint, though.

“I’m ever so proud of you, Olivia, now that you’re getting on with your life and leaving the memory of that scumbag behind, which is exactly how you get your revenge on him,” she earnestly explained.

Although I did intend to shut the conversation down there and then, the thought of letting a little of the pressure out of my head was favourable, so I decided to allow it.

“His plea hearing is in a few days. I am shitting myself slightly if you want me to be honest with you.”

“Oh, Liv, why?” she said empathetically.

“What if I have to testify? I’m going to have to look him in the eye, aren’t I? I don’t know if I’ll be capable of that. Nath doesn’t want our entire lives open to the public, either. Only God knows what will be brought to light if that happens.”

“Surely it won’t come to that, will it? He’s going to plead guilty.”

“What if he doesn’t? Michelle said that—”

“Who’s Michelle?” she interrupted.

“My therapist. She convinced me to write the book, saying it would be an emotional release, but I think its success has only antagonised him further.”

“Who gives a fuck about his feelings?” Stacey laughed.

“I do,” I said, pointing to myself. “He’s fucking dangerous, even behind bars. I don’t want to have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life.”

“Listen, Liv. I know it doesn’t make up for what happened to you, but you’re finally getting the credit you deserve as a writer, and as your manager, I’m finally making a salary that suits the needs of my expensive tastes. This is your moment, don’t let that piece of shit ruin it for you.”

“I don’t care about any of that. I just wanted the story to be told, expecting it to make me feel at least slightly better,” I said before pausing for another drag. “But I just feel worse.”

“I know you don’t give a damn about the materialistic stuff, but the world needs to know what kind of a sicko Alex truly is. You’re doing a public service, if anything.”

“Anyway,” I started as I coughed to clear my throat, “it’s my wedding day. I don’t want to talk about this shit.”

Just as Stacey was about to say something else, the doors opened behind us again, and I slowly turned around, knowing that I had been caught in the act with the smouldering evidence still between my fingers.

“Mom?” Aurora harshly blurted out behind me.

“Oops!” I mischievously replied, flicking the half-smoked cigarette into the street.

“I hope you brought some gum,” Nathaniel jovially warned behind her.

“Why?” I asked as I stood up, “are you planning on kissing me?” I flirted shamelessly.

“Maybe,” he smirked.

“Guys, gross!” Aurora exclaimed.

“I thought it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?” I asked Nathaniel as I gingerly moved within a few feet from him.

“What can I say? I’m unconventional,” he declared.

Before I had a chance to passionately and very publicly disagree with him, he happily walked over to me to pull me in for an unexpected kiss. As Stacey let out a deafening whoop in my left ear, we pulled away from each other and just looked into each other’s eyes for a second. It was a strangely bittersweet moment because he wasn’t the man I was ready to marry a decade earlier, and I wasn’t the same woman, either. What we went through had irreversibly changed us, but it also gave us the opportunity to fall in love with each other all over again.

We had been through so much pain and anguish that sharing that tender moment together, with all the people that mattered to us within touching distance, felt like a privilege I once thought I would never enjoy again. I had both my freedom and my family back. Even the vestigial traumatic whispers that plagued my mind were temporarily silenced, and for the first time in a long time, I was genuinely happy.

As my lips were about to part to give Nathaniel another kiss, that feeling of true happiness was cut short when a van pulled up beside us, which stopped me in my tracks and made us all turn round to gawp at it as it screeched to a halt. A rough-looking courier hopped out of the vehicle, bemusedly alternating his gaze between checking the address on the package and looking directly at me. When he approached me, still clearly unsure if he was even in the right place, I smiled at him with frightening anxiety.

“You must be Olivia Lakewell?” he surmised with a lingering confused expression on his face.

“I am,” I anxiously announced.

“I have a package for you,” he said, clumsily throwing the package at me before he hurriedly got back in the van and peeled away down the road.

“Mom, what is it?” Aurora worriedly asked.

I felt all the colour drain from my face as I nervously squeezed the hastily wrapped parcel I had just been handed. Without thinking, I tore through the brown paper it was wrapped up in, exposing a bundle of dirty, white fabric, all tied together with blood-red string. I noticed the intricate detail across the hem, a particular style of lace that I had only seen once before. It was exactly the same dress I was wearing when I was kidnapped ten years ago. With my mouth agape in horror, I looked at Nath, who instinctively also recognised the provenance of the tatty wedding dress. He covered his mouth with a gasp as I started to unfold the crudely written note that was attached to it.

To the blushing Bride,

I’m awfully sorry I couldn’t be with you today, but I would be remiss if I didn’t at least send a little something in my absence to make your day even more special. My little prisoner is all grown up, and despite being upset, you didn’t ask me to give you away; I’ll let that faux pas slide for the time being.

Even though you are now a world-famous author, you must never forget your roots, which is why I’ve arranged for your old, tatty wedding dress to be delivered to you. It’s your ‘something old,’ which may be ill-fitting and obnoxiously ornate, but you are already wearing your ‘something new.’ The ‘something borrowed’ is likely to be standing beside you right now with a gormless look on his face. As for your ‘something blue,’ well, cheer up, Olivia, it is your wedding day after all.

Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame of the Lord. Many waters cannot quench love. Neither can floods drown it. If a man offered for love all the wealth of his house, he would be utterly despised.

Break a leg.

Benjamin

I swivelled my head left and right, frantically trying to spot someone watching us from inside a shop doorway or beside a shaded corner, but I couldn’t make out anyone who may have looked suspicious. I knew he was confined to a cell thousands of miles away, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes peering at me from a distance.

I stood at a crossroads. Any sane person would have cancelled the wedding right away and scurried off to the nearest police station to cower in safety. I couldn’t speak to my own sanity, but I refused to allow that putrid man to rule my life any longer, and if he or an accomplice was within sight, I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of watching me break down in tears either.

“What does it say, Mom?” Aurora asked with trepidation.

I stared at her whilst weighing up how much danger I was putting her in with my intended actions and silently wished that she didn’t have to go through all this again. I took a deep breath, walked over to the nearby bin to dump the package I had just received, and stuffed it inside with my bare hands until it was no longer visible.

“Nothing,” I replied, trying to force a smile through the impending tears. “Are you ready to get married, husband?” I abruptly asked with a chirpy grin.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Nathaniel said with a knowing nod.

“Well, fuck, here we go!” I excitedly announced as we all made our way into the church.

2

THE WEDDING

AURORA – 2025

The ancient church doors ominously opened with a creak, and looking over my shoulder, I bemusedly walked through them behind the wedding party. Was I the only one that was exceptionally anxious about what had just happened? A freaky parcel delivered to any bride who was on the point of walking down the aisle would be off-putting enough, but we all knew exactly who it was from and what it meant. Mom had made a conscious effort to totally ignore it, even going as far as to throw it all in a nearby trashcan, refusing to give it even a second more contemplation than she had already. My heart broke for her simply because she had waited so long for this day to arrive that when it finally did, it was already tainted by the past before it had even started.

“I’ll see you in there,” Mom tenderly explained to Dad with a half-smile.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this, Liv?” he softly asked, placing both his hands on her hips.

“Actually, come to think of it, we should call the whole thing off. I’ve always thought you were a bit of a drip,” she awkwardly quipped.

“Liv, I’m serious. What if he has someone watching us? What if it was a warning, and there’s more to come?”

“I don’t care. There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that we aren’t getting married today,” she smiled heartily but with a dangerous look in her eyes.

“We should at least ring the police, Mom,” I meekly added.

“Great idea! One of the bobbies could escort me down the aisle!” Mom facetiously enthused.

“All righty then! I can see we aren’t going to win this one, so I’ll meet you in there,” Dad chirpily conceded as he made his way through the doors into the nave.

As soon as Dad turned his back, Mom ditheringly took a deep breath, puffing her cheeks out and then blew the piece of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes out of the way. Stacey and I instinctually held back, silently looking at each other with niggling worry, both of us clearly wanting to know if Mom was okay. I glanced down and noticed the slight tremor in her hands, but she quickly clasped them together to forcibly conceal her nervous disposition. I raised my head again to make eye contact with her and couldn’t help but notice the tears that were already forming in her eyes. She delicately wiped them away before they destroyed her painstakingly applied makeup.

“Aurora, go and give the organist the nod. I think he might have fallen asleep by now,” she said.

Auntie Stacey warmly touched my arm approvingly, ushering me to walk through the doors with her, which I gladly did. As we walked briskly down the aisle to take our seats at the front of the sparsely seated church, the handful of guests that my parents had invited to their wedding turned their heads to the inescapable clatter of our high heels on the thin carpet underfoot. When I reached the front pews, I stood for a moment to catch the terrifically old organist’s attention, and after finally making eye contact, I gave him the thumbs up to proceed with the nuptial hymn. Without further ado, the dramatically majestic music started to swell, and everyone expectantly turned their heads to watch Mom emerge into the nave.

Ignoring all the guests’ unblinking stare, she rhythmically started taking her steps in time with the blaring music and only locked eyes with Dad as if he were the only person present in the room. It was only when she was about halfway to the altar that she began to speed up, and I couldn’t help noticing that she was getting all misty-eyed again when she almost power-walked the last few steps. She reached Dad and grabbed his hands, and both of them lovingly looked into each other’s eyes, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Although she was smiling at him brightly, I could detect something untoward in her eyes, a slight discomfort that she was valiantly trying to fend off regardless of all attention being focused on her. It was plain to see that she was putting on a brave face despite being mortally terrified to her very core. A latecomer rolled in through the doors behind us, awkwardly hunched over as they picked a seat in one of the last rows of back pews. Mom got visibly agitated by this late arrival and almost snapped her neck when she swilled her head as quick as a flash. On realising there was no danger, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, with Dad desperately trying to keep her calm by stroking her arm. As the music began to fade away, the vicar loudly cleared his throat and whispered something to my parents before beginning to speak.

“Welcome all!” he boomed. “We are gathered here today in the sight of God, and kith and kin, we are to join Nathaniel and Olivia together in unbreakable holy matrimony. In the few years since they found each other, their ceaseless love and earnest understanding of each other has grown and matured, and now they have decided to unite their lives as husband and wife.”

Dad whispered something in Mom’s ear, and she almost burst out laughing. In the few months that she had been back, he had developed this uncanny knack of immediately calming her nerves whenever things started to overwhelm her. It warmed the cockles of my heart to see that he hadn’t lost his touch on that day of all days, and I swooningly grinned at the palpable love between them both.

“Olivia and Nathaniel, you are here today so that the Lord may strengthen and seal your union in the presence of this humble minister, of His word, and this community before us. In the presence of this gathering, I ask of you both to openly state your intentions,” he announced, “have you both come here freely and without reservation to openly gift yourselves to each other in marriage?”

“I have,” Mom solemnly announced.

“I have!” Dad excitedly bellowed.

“Well, that’s the monotonous part over! Now we can have some fun!” the vicar theatrically explained.

His little jest made the audience chuckle dryly, most opting for a nasal exhale as a substitute for laughter, but to be honest, it made me wince. In my opinion, dog collars and humour didn’t mix, and Mom had the same opinion as she shot me a discomforting look from the altar. She crossed her eyes together as I let out a little giggle, and Stacey knowingly jiggled my arm in excitement.

“The beautiful couple have meticulously written their own vows, so my part is over for now, and I’ll hand straight over to Nathaniel,” he said with a friendly pat on Dad’s shoulder.

“Olivia,” he shakily began as he glanced at the small card in front of him. “It has literally taken us years to get here, but regardless of our long wait, I want you to know that I feel exactly the same about you as I did ten years ago. I love you, adore you, and I’ll do anything to make you happy and to keep you safe. It’s no exaggeration to say that the road to where we stand here today has been bumpy, but I am quite glad that I have someone like you to navigate our crazy life with. It will be a privilege and an honour to call myself your husband, and I will spend the rest of my life proving myself worthy of your love.”

Mom was perceptibly bawled over; it was the single most beautiful thing I had ever heard Dad say out loud. It should go without saying that if you handed him a paint brush, he could craft masterpieces for you in a matter of minutes, but he was never similarly gifted with a pen. Stacey began furiously clapping beside me, and I let go of my inhibitions to quickly follow suit, joined by the rest of the congregation, who began to cheer and whoop. The only ones who were not moved in the slightest by his words were my grandparents sitting across the aisle. Their stony expressions and flagrant defiance against my parents’ tying the knot summed up the antagonistic relationship they had with their new daughter-in-law.

“And now we will hear from Olivia with her vows,” the vicar broadcasted to the assembly.

“I thought we were doing jokey vows?” Mom quipped, arousing a wry shrug from Dad, who placed his cue cards back in his pocket and braced himself.

“Nathaniel,” she tearfully started. “It took us ten years to decide to get married. Then, it took another ten years for it to finally happen. What happened to us taught me many things, but by far, the most important lesson I learned was that when you stumble across a love like ours, you just have to grab onto it with both fucking hands and don’t let go.”

The vicar looked slightly shocked by Mom’s casual use of obscenity, and she paused to apologetically hold her hands up to him. “Sorry, Father,” she whispered before continuing.

“I promise to treat every fleeting moment together as the most precious, and each second I spend in your arms, I will cherish forever. You are—”

Mom choked for a second, rushing to pull a tissue from the side of her dress to carefully dab her eyes.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “You are the very reason I am still here at all. Our love was so powerful that it conquered every difficulty that was thrown in our way, and I want you to know that no matter how many trials or tribulations may befall us, I know I’ll be fine with you by my side. I love you, Nathaniel, and I choose you today and forever.”

Stacey nearly deafened me as she rose out of her seat, making a squealing sound that I had never heard come from a human before. The entire church started raucously howling, and the vicar smiled at the happy couple, quickly forgetting Mom’s prior blunder in the house of God.

“Aurora?” the vicar gently prompted me between the persistent cheers.

I carefully stood from my seat and anxiously made my way over to Mom and Dad, who both hugged me as soon as I was within reaching distance. Realising why I was there, I clumsily fumbled around in my bag past the packet of cigarettes to find the ring box, opened it, and gave them each a band that was inside. With a chuckle, Mom looked at the ring in her hand and swapped it with Dad’s; in the panic, I had gotten them mixed up.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“We love you so much, you know,” Mom quietly gushed.

“I love you guys,” I beamed.

“Now go and sit down; you’re causing a scene,” Mom jovially instructed.

I laughingly returned to my seat, the tears of joy already streaming down my face, and Stacey threw her arm around me to pull me in tight as we continued to witness the joy at the altar. The vicar nodded at Dad, who gulped before reciting the words he had spent all night trying to memorise.

“I, Nathaniel, give you, Olivia, this ring as an undying symbol of my love and commitment to you,” he said adeptly before delicately sliding the wedding ring onto Mom’s finger, “with this ring, I thee wed.”

“I, Olivia, give you Nathaniel—” Mom quakingly started, looking to the vicar for a hint.

“This ring,” he softly reminded.

“—this ring as an eternal symbol of my love for you,” Mom continued as she ham-fistedly forced Dad’s finger through it, “with this ring, I thee wed.”

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride!” the vicar proudly proclaimed.

Mom needed no further prompting, so she lunged at Dad, and for the first time ever, the image of them kissing didn’t fill me with child-like disgust. I saw them grinning through the kisses as they pulled each other as close as possible. The audience started to cheer loudly, all on their feet, apart from my sour-faced grandparents, who begrudgingly clapped their hands together a few times before returning to their emotionless observations. Dad turned to me and beckoned me with his hand to return to the altar, and we all shared a hug in front of the spectators until their applause started to die down. I turned around to stare at the onlookers, and there was barely a dry eye in the house. I understood Mom’s reluctance to let something as petty as a package ruin the happiest day of her life, and the decision she took in the blink of an eye proved to be the right one. They finally did it, against all odds, and I was so incredibly proud to be their daughter.

“Now, back to the boring part, I’m afraid! Olivia and Nathaniel have some paperwork to complete to make this all official, so please talk amongst yourselves until—”

The vicar was stopped dead by a creaking door up on the balcony overlooking the pews, and half the churchgoers began to turn around to locate the source of the unexpected disturbance. An unknown figure emerged from the shadows; even from down below, I could tell that they weren’t dressed for the occasion on account of their tatty grey hoodie that pulled over their head.

“There are plenty of free seats down here if you’d like to join us,” the vicar shouted up to them.

The figure did not deign to respond. In fact, they barely moved or reacted to being called out. I could see their hands awkwardly rooting around in the pouch of their hoodie until they produced a small object, immediately throwing it down to the floor from at least thirty feet above. Upon hitting the floor with a very loud bang, the echoey thud it produced ricocheted off the limestone walls of the church. The wedding guests gasped in shock, some going as far as to move away from the aisle to avoid further missiles. When I looked back up at the balcony from where it was thrown, the figure had already vanished into thin air, leaving the door screeching as it closed behind them. Gramps, unfazed by what had happened, was the first to reach the item and slowly bent down to retrieve it from the cold stone floor. He looked at it privately for a few seconds before holding it aloft for all of us to see, parading it around as he walked down the aisle. It was a copy of Mom’s book, and she began trembling again as he disdainfully handed it to her at the altar, then grumblingly returned to his seat.

“Who the hell was that?” Dad asked confusedly.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” Mom uttered as she took the book from Gramps and started leafing through it idly. It had been defaced, with the word ‘liar’ angrily and repeatedly smeared onto every page. Dad immediately pushed past us, sprinting down towards the exit in a valiant attempt to catch up with whoever had thrown it from the balcony. Mom began to stare numbly into space, and her shaking hands numbly closed the book with a loud thud.

“He’s here,” she mumbled before dropping the book at her feet.

3

THE RECEPTION

OLIVIA – 2025

Iwas in emotional freefall, plummeting back to reality at speed, patiently waiting to splatter on the distant ground below. My head was racing at a hundred miles per hour, thousands of questions whizzing by with not a single answer to dilute them. Alex was everywhere and nowhere, wordlessly observing me from the shadows and intermittently poisoning every angle of my mind with his whispers of paranoia.

From the outside, I was sure that Nathaniel couldn’t see the internal chaos reigning in my brain as I numbly stared at the grey-panelled wall in front of me. Nonetheless, with a look of deep concern, he gripped my hand in an attempt to coax some words out of me, so I parted my lips slightly to flippantly blurt out something glib to deflect his attention before quickly opting to remain shtum.

He sighed as I anxiously tried to find the couple of pills that I had stashed in my pocket, but since I had carelessly stuffed my elegant, classy wedding dress into the tiny, uncomfortable chair that I was perched on, it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I groaned loudly in defeat, impatiently checking the time on the clock in the corner of the room, still waiting for the police officer to return to the interview room after taking down our account.

Silently, I glanced at my husband, who was staring down at the floor, presumably hoping a hole would emerge and swallow him in. The flickering fluorescent lighting overhead started to offend my reddened eyes, and I nursed the headache that was starting to form by incessantly rubbing my temples. I hadn’t stopped to consider how my husband might be feeling about what happened, and the urge to inject a bit of life into the room was becoming too hard to ignore.

“Hey! If we could just have one wedding day that wasn’t completely fucking ruined, it would be nice. I mean, it’s not much to ask for, is it?” I sarcastically mused.

“To be fair,” he started in a mumble with his eyes still on the floor, “we got a little further than last time.”

“It was him, wasn’t it? Or am I going insane?” I anxiously asked as I gripped Nathaniel’s thigh.

“You aren’t going insane, but he’s locked away, Liv. There’s just no way.”

“Obviously, not physically him, but maybe an accomplice? One of his patients? A jailhouse girlfriend? Or boyfriend.”

“They are more likely to be a crazed fan,” he said dismissively.

“Seriously? No, Alex is behind it, I’m sure of it.”

Barely had I finished my sentence when the door to the interview room flew open, and a scruffy-looking police officer with a cigarette perched on his right ear casually trudged in. He clearly wasn’t expecting us in full wedding attire and wryly sniggered when he sat down, scratching at his five o’clock stubble with his grimy fingernails. He gently placed the copy of my book onto the steel table we were sitting around and leafed through the pages without so much as introducing himself. I soon noticed that he wasn’t wearing any gloves either, and I looked on in horror as he got his greasy mitts all over the pages.

“Shouldn’t that be checked for fingerprints?” I asked.

“Fingerprints? This isn’t a TV show, Madam. Regardless of that, there’s no crime here or anything that remotely resembles one,” the officer announced.

“Excuse me?” Nathaniel interrupted.

“A man left a book in a church; I don’t see anything illegal taking place.”

“Sorry, who are you, exactly?” I provokingly enquired as I leaned forward.

“DS Phillips. I’m the on-call sergeant tonight.”

“Okay, DS Phillips,” I began mockingly, “have you been brought up to speed with my case? Have you spoken to the FBI yet?”

“The FBI?” he sardonically asked.

“Yes, they have the man responsible on remand in a maximum-security prison. He was behind this,” I sternly explained, tapping the book in his hands.

“The man who left the book?”

“No, the man who fucking locked me away for ten years; don’t you watch the news? I really don’t give a shit about the book. It was a threat.”

Phillips, clearly perturbed by what I had just said, started to indifferently skim through a folder that had been left on the table for him by the officer who initially shown us into the room. He rubbed his balding head while scanning through the pages for a few minutes before quickly jumping to a conclusion that I knew I wasn’t going to like.

“I’m sorry, Miss—”

“It’s Mrs,” I corrected.

“I don’t see a connection between that and someone discarding a novel in a church. It was probably just a bad review from a fanatic who didn’t like your work.”

I shot Nathaniel a look.

“Officer, could you please just contact the FBI and make sure that Alex is still in custody? Just to rule out he didn’t have anything to do with this,” he diplomatically requested.

“Are you being serious?” Phillips laughed, “a man broke out of a maximum-security prison in California and boarded a flight only to throw a paperback from a choir loft? I don’t think so. Not plausible by any stretch of the imagination.”

“He clearly has an accomplice. You don’t understand what this man is like; he likes to play these mind games,” Nathaniel interjected.

“Listen, it’s Friday evening, and I’ve had a long day. Please believe me when I tell you that you’re both overreacting.”

“I don’t care how long your fucking day has been. You need to do your job!” I yelled.

“Okay,” he conceded with a grunt before he sat back in his seat, “we’ll contact the American authorities first thing in the morning, but I very much doubt that you’re in any immediate danger on this side of the pond.”

My hand started shaking violently under the table. I could feel the cold sweat forming on the back of my neck before I became immediately parched. I steadied my hands by gripping them together, but my knees took over and started to bounce uncontrollably underneath my pluming dress.

“Don’t you have a reception to go to?” Phillips asked after pulling the cigarette from his ear and tapping it on the table.

“We did,” I uttered bitterly.

“Then I suggest you go to it. If you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call the station,” he coldly announced before standing up and leaving the room.

“Can you fucking believe that?” I asked as soon as the door slammed shut.

“He’s an arsehole, but maybe he’s right,” Nathaniel cautiously admitted.

“Sorry?”

“Alex isn’t going to risk the trial by playing stupid mind games like this. These kinds of shenanigans are part and parcel of stepping into the limelight. I warned you it’d be like this. There are lots of stories I could tell you about the mad things people have sent me in the past…”

“The old wedding dress? The note? Now, this book? I don’t believe in coincidences, Nath. That vile snake has someone watching us.”

“Listen, Liv. I know that it’s going to be difficult, but let’s try to forget about this for now and just enjoy what’s left of our wedding day.”

I gulped, let out a deep sigh, and sat back in my chair slightly. I could see that he was eager to recover the day, and deep down, I had the same urge. However, I couldn’t remove the image of Alex’s sickening smile from my head. I delved back into the depths of my dress, this time luckily locating the loose pills in the secret pocket and dry swallowed them, even though Nathaniel was looking on with concern.

“Okay,” I begrudgingly agreed.

“Yeah?” he enthusiastically began. “We could ring around some of the guests. I’m sure most of them will have made their way there by now and must be waiting for us.”

“Okay,” I nodded, “it’s a plan,” I added dryly.

Nathaniel excitedly stood from his seat and raised his hand to help me up. The billowing dress prevented me from freely standing at first, so I awkwardly yanked it from the seat after noticing that it had become trapped in the armrests. After a few attempts, I was finally free and leaned on the table, letting out a huff.

“Maybe we should go back to the States to testify,” I mused as Nathaniel put his hand on the small of my back.

“No, Liv, we’ve talked about this. If either of us gets on that stand, our entire lives will be on trial. Neither of us wants that.”

“I know, but I really need him to be in prison for the rest of his life. If he is skulking in the shadows somewhere, I’ll be forever looking over my shoulder.”

Nathaniel grabbed my shoulders and piercingly looked into my eyes until I met his gaze. He took a deep breath and gently held me at arm’s length.

“It’s over. We won. The mountain of evidence against him is overwhelming. Let him play his petty games. We need to ignore him, rise above his nonsense, and simply live our lives. That’s how we have our vengeance on him.”

“I suppose you’re right, but—” I mumbled with a subtle smile.

“No buts,” he interrupted, “I love you, wife.”

“Oh God, that sounded really weird. Hey, I’m a wife!”

“I know. I thought I’d try it out. How did I do?”

“Well, you could have waited until we weren’t in a shabby police interview room, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Well?” he said with a smirk.

“Well, what?” I asked bemusedly before immediately realising what he meant. “I love you too, husband,” I added.

“That’s better. Now, come on, let’s get out of here.”

Nathaniel grabbed my hand, leading me out of the squalid interview room and back into the corridor of the police station. We passed DS Phillips, who was sitting at a messy desk with his feet up on it, and I discretely flipped him the bird as we rushed by him. Aurora was waiting for us in reception, tapping away on her phone, but quickly locked it before she stood up to greet us.

“He’s still in jail,” she abruptly announced.

“What? Who?” I asked.

“Uncle Alex. My friend Mel rang the FBI to double-check for us. She mentioned the package, and they said he wouldn’t have been allowed to send anything like that. It would’ve been intercepted.”

“See?” Nathaniel said as I rolled my eyes, and he smugly smiled while we all exited onto the street.

“What now?” Aurora asked, cradling herself in the cold, “are we heading home?”

“Fuck no! We have a reception to go to,” Nathaniel announced.

“It’s almost ten o’clock, so everyone will have gone home by now, won’t they?” Aurora said after checking the time on her phone.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud. The most important people are still ready to party,” Nathaniel explained before sticking his hand out onto the road. “Taxi!” he shouted.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Aurora softly asked.

“I’m good, sweetheart. Let’s try and salvage this bloody wedding, shall we?” I smiled while planting a tender kiss on the top of her head.

A taxi pulled up, so we all bundled inside and started making our way towards the reception venue. As we weaved through the traffic on the cold streets of London, my mind was still racing with unanswered questions. I wasn’t stupid; I knew that the person who threw the book down wasn’t Alex, and in my heart of hearts, I accepted that there was a slim chance it wasn’t even related to him at all. Although I couldn’t explain it, it was the same exact feeling I had when I started to suspect Stephanie after I escaped the bunker. Whether it was intuition, faith, gut instinct, or whatever you want to call it, I had learned the hard way to trust those feelings because they had kept me alive.

Nathaniel was quick to dismiss Alex’s involvement, but not me. After what happened, I would be turning around to expect Alex sneering behind me if I as much as stubbed my toe on a piece of furniture. My therapist blamed it on PTSD or a deep, undiagnosable paranoia that festered beneath the surface, pointing the finger at my old captor if anything slightly inconvenient happened to me. Unlike everyone else, I didn’t see it as a negative thing or even a problem to be solved with medication or psychotherapy. It kept me perpetually on my toes, and even though that compulsion was pigeonholed into a mental health problem, I embraced it. Everyone, including my family, thought that the nightmare was over. Not me. I was still waiting to wake up.

We arrived at the reception venue, a beautifully understated lodge on the outskirts of London. The delicate lights illuminated the crushed gravel path towards it, and they twinkled through the misted-up windscreen as the taxi slowly navigated the rough road. It was rustic and picturesque, and as soon as we laid eyes on it, we booked it almost immediately. The persistent wintery rain did little to stifle its splendour, and I actually felt a pang of excitement while we were approaching the warm and welcoming entrance.

Nathaniel was the first to jump out of the cab when it came to an abrupt stop, quickly tossing some cash on the front seat before he eagerly ran around to aid my exit. Aurora was the last out, gently lifting the train of my dress off the floor to prevent it from dragging through the sodden ground below before the three of us rushed inside to escape the deluge. I quickly scanned the car park as we did, only spotting Stacey’s bright-pink convertible amongst the collection of drab hatchbacks that presumably belonged to the staff. I closed my eyes on the way in, hoping for some kind of welcome party, and Nathaniel flattened his suit jacket after spotting a bemused-looking member of the staff gawkily walking over to us.

“Better late than never,” I awkwardly joked to her as I swiped the rain from my shoulders.

“Mrs Anderson, I’m so sorry, but most of the guests have already left. We tried calling multiple times,” she apologetically explained.

“We had a bit of a hiccup and ended up stopping by the police station, but we’re here now!” Nathaniel chirpily announced.

“Your bride of honour has already filled us in, and she’s waiting for you at the bar. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Maybe in a little while. Has anyone else stayed?” I nervously asked.

The woman sullenly shook her head as she gestured for us to walk in front of her through to the delicately lit bar area. Stacey was frantically glued to her phone, with about four empty wine glasses sitting in front of her, and quickly jumped up when she saw us approaching.

“What did they say?” she frantically asked while giving me a hug.

“Pretty much told us to piss off,” I responded, lifting a half-drunk glass of wine off the table and downing it.

“They’ve shut the kitchen. I tried to stop them, but people started leaving.”

“Fantastic!” Nathaniel sarcastically exclaimed before he walked off to find the manager again.

“Are you all okay? Have they found the culprit?” Stacey asked.

“Yeah, we’re okay, but the police aren’t interested. Alex is just never going to leave us alone, and I’m not sure what else to do about it,” I gloomily explained.

“You both need to go and look that psycho in the eye. His arraignment is less than a week away.”

“No,” I began as I glanced at my husband at the bar, “Nath doesn’t want to. The prosecutor is hoping that they have enough evidence without having to put either of us on the stand.”

“Fuck the evidence. You need to do this for you. If you put on a show of strength, he’ll know not to mess with either of you. It will make you feel better if nothing else.”

“I know, but Nath doesn’t know that—”

“They won’t even make us a measly sandwich,” Nathaniel angrily announced, interrupting what I was about to say.

“How can you think about food at a time like this?” Stacey asked.

“To be fair, Stace, I could eat a horse too. I’m starving,” I added as I patted my stomach.

“Guys, I have an excellent idea,” Aurora said, chirpily shaking her phone in the air.

Within the next thirty minutes, we were all scoffing red-hot slices of pizza and chugging glasses of wine by the open fire, with all the venue’s staff gawping at us as if we were a pack of feral dogs. I looked beyond the bar area and into the room where we had diligently planned to have our party, imagining all of the speeches and the laughter that never happened. Even though we organised the whole thing in a matter of weeks, it looked absolutely breathtaking. In all honesty, it would have been the perfect day: a joyous celebration of our love and a toast to finally coming through the other side of the monstrous things that happened to my family. As my gaze moved around the circle we were in, I observed them all devouring slice after slice of pizza in front of me, and I couldn’t help beaming proudly. It may not have been the wedding I had originally planned, but that was nice, too.

“I heard what you said to Stacey earlier,” Nathaniel quietly announced to me through a mouthful of molten cheese, “if you need to do this, we should go back.”

“Go back where?” I asked.

“California. Regardless of whether he had anything to do with what happened tonight, I refuse to cower over here and allow him to believe that he’s won. And I hate the way it’s making you feel.”

“I thought you said—”

“I know what I said. Neither of us has anything to hide, and we need to show him that. You need closure, and if we have to return to get that, then so be it.”

“What if what happened between you all those years ago gets brought up?” I whispered.

“It’s not important. If our testimony ensures that he is behind bars for the rest of his life, I’ll do it.”

“Aww, Nath, the honeymoon!”

“It can wait. This is more important.”

I remained silent in contemplation.

“Also, there are a few TV stations that have been foaming at the mouth over the prospect of getting you in for an interview, Liv. It could be very lucrative for you,” Stacey interjected, prompting a dirty look from everyone surrounding her.

“Eavesdrop, much?” I laughed. “Aurora, what do you think?” I added.

She carefully pondered her response for a moment as she finished chewing.

“It’d be nice to go back, and Dad is right. Uncle Alex needs to pay for what he’s done to all of us,” she softly explained, “we’re here for you, Mom.”

I knew what Alex’s plan was. He wanted to demonstrate to me that he could get to us, even from behind bars. He wanted to scare us into not getting on the stand. He was desperate to prove to us and himself that he was still in control, and he would exhaust every avenue to that end. I wasn’t the same woman that he plucked from her family all those years ago. I wasn’t even the same woman that he set free after it. I was something else entirely, and for my own sanity, I needed to show him that he didn’t know me as well as he thought he did and certainly couldn’t dictate how I was to feel or act.

“Okay,” I said, polishing off my wine, “let’s do it, then.”

4

THE HONEYMOON

AURORA – 2025

The wheels of the plane touched down with a hefty bump, and we all lurched forward in our seats. Mom’s hand frantically reached out for mine as the engines roared and squeezed it rather tightly for reassurance. When the captain slowed down the aircraft, I heard the sound of excited applause, and lo and behold, I turned my head around to find an entire family three rows further back in the opposite aisle, clapping like hillbillies with garishly coloured travel pillows firmly wrapped around their necks. I couldn’t help but smirk at them after noticing that all the seemingly well-travelled passengers around them were staring at them with utter disdain. After unclicking my seatbelt, Mom exhaled sharply a few times with her eyes shut, and I jostled her left leg to bring her out of whatever pit of despair she had fallen into and told her to unfasten hers.

“Are you okay?” I asked Mom as Dad stood up to get the bags from the overhead locker.

“I’m good. I just hate flying, and I never thought I’d be back here so soon.”

“Think of this trip as a weird honeymoon that’ll be filled with criminal trials, traumatic memories, and uninspiring interviews,” I wryly quipped.

Mom didn’t even crack the shadow of a smile.

She was famous for making jokes in the face of adversity, so I never knew exactly when I had to worry about her, really. She routinely put on this humorous façade, even when deep inside, she was at rock bottom. There was something that had really got under her skin at the prospect of returning home, and I suppose I could barely blame her for feeling that way. In my mind, the physical distance between us and Uncle Alex was largely inconsequential, as he was still behind bars. Irrespective of his imprisonment, the mere physical closeness to him now that we were on American soil was already exerting a profound impact on Mom’s state of mind, judging by the way her hands had started to tremble again. On noticing that I was watching them with a bemused look on my face, she reached down into her hand luggage and fished a tub of white pills out of it.

“Are they helping?” I gently asked.

“What?” she bemusedly asked before taking a couple with a mouthful of water. “Oh, the tablets? Yeah, I think so.”

“It’s all going to be okay, you know? You’re doing the right thing by coming back here.”

“I know, honey. Honestly, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me; worry about your father instead,” she said before nodding over my shoulder.

I turned around to see Dad in the midst of a pitched battle between himself and his carry-on bag, which had inexplicably got stuck in the overhead compartment. He pleadingly asked a passing flight attendant, weaving her way through the cabin, to help him retrieve his bag, which she kindly did with relative ease while Dad pretended to check his phone to hide his slight embarrassment.

“Having some trouble there, husband?” Mom asked.

“It’s my shoulder. Sometimes, I tend to think that the surgeon was one of Alex’s therapy clients and left the bullet in there as punishment,” he groaned as he rotated his arm as much as the open space would allow.

“How are we all getting to your parents’ house? Taxi?” Mom asked.

“God no, it’ll cost us an arm and a leg. Gramps has apparently sent a car for us,” Dad announced with a cynical expression on his face as he shook his phone in the air.

“So, he isn’t going to honour us with his presence? That’s a bonus.” Mom quipped.

“Apparently not. I think he’s pissed about how the wedding ended.”

“Not as much as I am! Are you sure you don’t want us to check into a hotel? My treat.”

“No,” Dad began firmly, “we’ve been over this before. It’s much safer at their place.”

“Yeah, but at what cost,” Mom joked as Dad began following the other passengers off the plane.

Mom and I quickly joined the queue to leave, and as soon as we stepped out of the door, the hot, humid air hit us like a slap in the face. A pleasant one, but a slap all the same. The cold and miserable London air that had stowed away with us in the cabin escaped through the open door, being instantly vapourised in the midday Californian sun. As its rays warmed my face, it really hit me how much I had missed being home. In the two or three months we had been living in England, I don’t think I got truly warm even once. Most of the time, I felt like I was playing the role of a Victorian peasant, shivering to death in my bitter room, so it was nice to be able to bask in some honest-to-God sunshine for a change. I turned around to Mom with a contented smirk on my face, but she was too busy cowering from the sun like a vampire and rifling through her bag to locate her sunglasses.

We were slowly herded like cattle through the long terminal. I took out my phone as we trudged through the endless corridors in silence, turned it on, and the notifications rapidly came flooding in. Most of them were garbage, so I swiped at them to banish them from my phone screen as soon as they popped up on it. The text messages were the last to come through, and top of the list was Melissa, who was clearly ecstatic about me returning to the States for a visit, regardless of the context.

I can’t believe you are on your way here! So excited! x

While we were lumbering along the terminal building after an eight-hour flight, I gazed at the text with a beguiling smile, but I had to conceal my phone very quickly in my hoodie pocket when I saw Dad out of the corner of my eye peering over my shoulder. Trying to hide my discontent at his indiscretion, I turned my head round in a huff with the intention of wiping the smug, knowing expression from his face.

“What?” I petulantly questioned.

“Who’s that, then?” he pryingly asked.

“No one,” I said with a sigh, “a friend,” I added.

“Does this ‘friend’ have a name?” he interrogated.

“Mel—Melissa.”

“Lovely,” he smirked.

“You’re so embarrassing,” I muttered under my breath.

I hissed, shaking my head, and continued facing forward, desperate not to let him know that there was an element of truth to his inference. First and foremost, Mel was my friend, possibly the best friend I had ever had. She wasn’t like Spike and all those other troublemakers; she actually cared about me, and best of all, we got on like a house on fire. Was there anything beyond that? That was the million-dollar question. Even though I was quick to dismiss Dad’s shameful inquisition, I had to admit that I did fancy her. I just hoped our online relationship would work out just as perfectly in the real world. I met her on social media shortly after we moved to London, and I was so excited to finally meet her in person now I was back home.

I had always just been that girl whose mom vanished on her wedding day. No one really gave two hoots about my thoughts or feelings. They just wanted to squeeze the macabre details of what happened so they could discuss it behind my back. To be honest, most people in my life didn’t actually listen to what I had to say at all; they just impatiently waited for their turn to speak, but thankfully, Mel was different. God only knows how many hours we had spent talking to each other on the phone, each exchanging our darkest secrets and insecurities. I could tell that she wanted to know absolutely everything about me, the good and the bad, and didn’t judge me either way, regardless.

It was really attractive.

Tragically grinning to myself like a love-sick puppy and being careful to obscure the screen from the watchful eye of my dad, I quickly bashed out a message and hit send.

Just landed now, can’t wait to see you! x

“Aww, a little kiss,” Dad teased over my shoulder.

“Piss off, will you?” I scorned.

“What are you two yammering on about?” Mom interjected.

“Nothing,” we said in unison.

We finally made our way through security and passport control after being diligently prodded and poked by the miserable TSA agents, and at long last, we eventually made it out to the arrivals lounge without a hitch. We all searchingly looked through the sea of homemade signs with various surnames written on them until I spotted Gramps’ expressionless face poking out above the multitude of strangers.

“Gramps!” I shouted.

“Butterbean!” he exclaimed back.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Mom mumbled under her breath as we all walked over.

“Dad? I thought you were sending a car?” Nathaniel bemusedly asked as he arrived, offering an emotionless handshake.

“It’s a glorious day, and I fancied the drive, so I thought I would make the trip out here myself,” my grandfather pertly announced.

“Well, that’s so thoughtful of you,” Mom said with almost believable sincerity.

“Come on, no time to waste. The car is parked just outside,” he said as he ushered us through the crowd.

Free from the continuous scrutiny of airport security and back in the radiant sunshine, I excitedly ran over to Gramps’ luxurious motor, and he clicked a button on his fob to open the trunk.

“Shotgun!” I shouted, haphazardly throwing my cases inside before I ran over to the passenger side door.

“Aurora, come on, it’s a five-hour drive. I can’t be cramped up in the back seat the whole way,” Dad moaned.

“She did say shotgun…” Mom reasoned.

“Dad?” he asked.

“Nathaniel, you are supposedly a full-grown man, so either act like one or get in the back seat,” Gramps grumpily declared as he climbed inside.

“Fine, I’ll just put up and shut up!” Dad said before cramming himself inside.

Mom and I got in afterwards, followed closely by Gramps, who perplexedly poked the screen of the complicated-looking satnav. Much to my amusement, I saw Dad shudder in the rearview mirror when the estimated journey time said five-and-a-half hours, so I smugly sunk into my plush, leather seat, feeling like I had immediately got my own back on him for embarrassing me in the terminal.

“You’ve still got the gas-guzzler, I see,” Mom remarked.

“I’m sick to my back teeth with the propaganda coming from the left-leaning media outlets, who are constantly trying to guilt us into buying one of those horrendous electric contraptions. I pay my taxes, so it’s my God-given right as an American to drive whatever car I darn please. Not like those soap-dodging tree huggers who have been brainwashed into believing our planet is on its last legs,” Gramps angrily explained.

“He has investments in the oil industry,” Dad quietly added.

“And for good reason!” Gramps bellowed as he cranked the radio up.

Some old country tune started blasting through the speakers, the sound of which was being tinnily distorted because of the high volume, prompting my parents to immediately throw their hands over their ears. Grandpa didn’t take the hint in the slightest and happily began driving out of the airport.

“It’s really loud!” Dad shouted.

“What?” Gramps replied.

“Turn it down. It’s way too loud,” Mom yelled.

My deaf grandfather begrudgingly turned the volume down as we quickly navigated through the airport traffic and onto the freeway. I obsessively watched the satnav screen as the number of miles remaining gradually dropped while occasionally looking in the wing mirror at Dad, who was awkwardly shuffling to get as comfortable as he could in the back seat.

“Have you heard that friend of yours is having his arraignment early next week?” Gramps asked.

“That’s why we are here, Dad, in case we are made to testify.” Dad replied, “and just so you know, that scumbag is no friend of mine anymore,” he added.

“There was some talk on the news about him last night. That overpaid crook of a lawyer he’s appointed was spouting all kinds of nonsense.”

“Like what?” Mom interposed.

“Proclaiming his innocence, mostly spouting nonsense that the evidence was either mishandled or falsified. This state hasn’t been the same since they did away with the electric chair. There’s no room for people like that in our society.”

“It was barbaric,” I started, “what about all those people who were put to death and then subsequently proven innocent?”

“A small price to pay for some order if you ask me. And you all know he’s guilty, right? So, what’s the problem?”

“It’s too quick,” Mom pensively began. “He deserves to rot for what he’s done to us,” she bitterly added.

Gramps looked shocked at Mom’s words and glanced at her in the rearview mirror before tilting his head in disingenuous agreement with a slight nod.

“My word, Olivia. That’s the most sensible thing you have ever said,” he calmly stated.

Mom rolled her eyes.

“Son, it’s like I’ve always told you. Due diligence. This kind of thing is exactly why you have to do your homework. I wouldn’t dream of going into business with someone without knowing absolutely everything about them. Why should a friendship be any different?”

“I think that’s probably why you don’t have any friends,” Dad mumbled from the back seat, making Mom and I silently chuckle into our palms.

“I do have friends!” he scorned, “In fact, I have far more than you do.”

“You collect useful people; that’s not the same thing, Dad. And don’t even dare to bring up that gaggle of vacuous, creepy fat cats you socialise with at the country club. The thought of them makes my skin crawl.”

With a disdainful grumble, Gramps turned the radio back up, and I smiled at Dad in the mirror as he pulled funny faces at him and laughed with Mom like a couple of naughty school children enjoying their bawdy horseplay. It was going to be a long five hours, and I kind of regretted yelling shotgun.

We arrived at Los Altos Hills and pulled into the driveway of ‘Casa De La Gramps,’ as I had grown fond of calling it. I had forgotten how massive it truly was. In London, everyone seemed to live on top of one another. No matter how big your house was or how secluded it was, you were always sleeping no more than six feet away from a complete stranger. Conversely, back in California, we had a sense of space, or at least my infinitely rich grandparents did. As we sumptuously made our way down the endless driveway, I spotted all of the house staff lining up outside the doorway. It was a bizarre ritual that Gramps was adamant he didn’t force them to partake in, but it always turned my stomach, like he was a wealthy plantation owner being greeted by his captive subjects as he returned home from the market.

“We’re finally here,” Gramps announced.

“Thanks for the lift, Ernest. We appreciate it,” Mom said, nailing the feigned candour to a tee.

“Make yourselves at home. Leave the cases; I’ll get the help to move them while you both freshen up.”

Mom and Dad got out of the car, and I heard the trunk being popped open, watching with a smile in the wing mirror as she removed her own cases from the back. Gramps saw it too, and tutted when he saw her mild act of defiance. An overly loud ringing sound started playing through the car’s speakers, and Gramps grumbled as he searched for the answer call button on his steering wheel before firmly pressing it.

“Ernest Anderson speaking,” he snobbishly answered.

“This is a collect call from California State Prison. If you would like to accept—” the recording started playing before my grandfather quickly ended the call.

“Who was that?” I sternly questioned.

“Nobody. Forget all about it,” he announced before abruptly climbing out of the vehicle.

5

THE VISITOR

OLIVIA – 2025

Inoisily dragged my suitcase over the gravel, somehow summoning a smile as I passed Ernest’s nauseatingly lined-up servants and began tackling the steps to the Anderson mansion so I could scuttle away into the guest room that my affluent in-laws had assigned to us. I despised being back in California. It wasn’t the inescapable dry heat, the shockingly vapid personalities, or even having to revisit the very same places that held so many traumatic memories for me. The real reason was no mystery; it was simply being on the same continent as my very own pet psychopath, Alex.

Gloria was thankfully absent from the welcome party, and I spotted her reading in one of the reception rooms through the open door as we wheeled our suitcases by. I looked at Nathaniel, almost to ask permission to completely ignore her in favour of going to hide in the guest room, and he glanced at her with an understanding smirk crossing his face.

“You head up, I’ll announce we’re here,” he said.

“Thank you. I just need to wash the airport off me and have a minute before I lock horns with the battleaxe,” I said in relief.

“I’ll check what’s for dinner.”

“I love you,” I said, pecking him on the cheek.

“I love you too. Wish me luck!” he falsely enthused, abandoning his suitcase in the lobby before greeting his mum.

I trudged up the stairs, struggling with the weight of my baggage as I did, finally reaching the guest room at the end of the hall. I tentatively opened the door, stuck my head around it, and was immediately greeted by a huge oil-on-canvas portrait of my eccentric in-laws. The sight of it made me shudder, and I averted my eyes as I immediately grabbed my wash bag from the case and went straight into the en suite to start the shower running. I quickly peeled off my clothes and got underneath the lavish stream of piping-hot water, hoping that it would scald my mounting anxieties away.

Under the cover of the sound of the running water around me, I laughed manically, immediately followed by hysterical tears. I just couldn’t bring myself to believe it: Alex was still ruling my life. I had foregone my honeymoon in favour of going back to where my lurid escapade once began, just like he wanted. Nath and I had decided we weren’t going to let Alex run our lives anymore, and with him safely under lock and key, we just concluded that we could finally relax. Without skipping a beat, we excitedly moved to London, eager to start our new lives and hoping to instil a little bit of the culture into our daughter Aurora. We firmly agreed that simply living our lives was the best form of revenge on Alex, and all that was left for us to do was focus on what was most important: our family.

It was a good plan.

The thought of him rotting away in a cell gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, although it was incredibly short-lived. After the evening that I left him crying in his homemade dungeon, wrapping his lips around the muzzle of a pistol, I misled myself into believing that it was over. With the crushing plethora of incriminating evidence levelled against him, he was quickly thrown in a maximum-security prison, denied bail, and faced the prospect of spending the rest of his life behind bars, just like he had originally intended for me when he held me captive in his underground bunker. Before my second wedding day, I imagined him sitting in his dank, musty cell, frantically rocking his torso in the corner, constantly petrified that his big and burly cellmate would find out what kind of deviant he truly was. For my own sanity, I had to imagine that. His misery and suffering were the only things that gave me any modicum of comfort or any sense of justice. I cranked up the heat on the shower tap and dropped down into a squat, ceaselessly scraping my drenched hair back with my fingernails until my scalp started to burn.

If all that was true, and I was considered the victor, why did I feel like I was losing my mind? How was he allowed to continue meddling in my life? He wasn’t being punished; he was having the time of his life doing what he did best, testing the very limits of my cogency by torturing me from afar. I couldn’t even look my husband or my daughter in the eye without picturing him or hearing his distorted voice rattling around in my head. I had no physical scars to carry, only mental ones, and those wounds had been reopened so many times that they had given up trying to heal altogether.

It was misguided and reckless, but I had to go and become a literary sensation. I had to tell my story, even if it rubbed salt into my psychological wounds. He must have caught wind of my overnight success and realised that every scrap of positive publicity I garnered made his blood boil even further, which is why he couldn’t help digging his seemingly far-reaching claws back into my life. Because of my book, everyone seemed to be labouring under the misconception that I was this unerringly strong person and that I would confidently get onto the stand, dooming Alex into prison for the rest of his sorry existence with the sheer power of my testimony alone.

I didn’t feel strong, though. Not one bit.

Truth be told, I felt nothing but a never-ending cycle of anxiety and weakness. I was only able to continue living what resembled a life thanks to the prescribed drugs that I barely knew what they contained or the harmful side effects that they could trigger in the long run. One thing was certain, though: I wasn’t the fierce female survivor I had painted myself out to be in my literary pursuits. Behind closed doors, I continued being just as fragile and pathetic as the day when I was knocked unconscious and helplessly dragged into his bunker.

“Oliva?” I heard Nathaniel shout from the bathroom door.

“Yeah? I’m just in the shower,” I yelled.

“Do you want something to eat?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’m not that hungry, anyway.”

“Okay, I’m just going to make Aurora and me a sandwich or something. Are you coming down after you’ve finished?”

“Yeah, I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“No problem,” he shouted before I heard him leave the room.

I cut the water off, grabbed a fluffy towel from the shelf beside the shower, and, with my hand, wiped the steam away that had collected on the bathroom mirror. Then, I made the mistake of looking beyond my own reflection back into the cubicle I had just exited, and that’s when I saw him. Most people would have screamed in horror if they believed he was real or sprinted to the nearest head-shrinker if they didn’t. I wasn’t perturbed by his presence, so I did neither because, illusory or not, Benjamin was still a frequent visitor who intruded into my life uninvited.

The only other person who knew about his ephemeral visits was my therapist, Michelle, who even struggled to make sense of them. My working theory was that in my mind, I had amalgamated Stephanie and Alex’s personalities, thrown in some extra trauma for good measure and seasoned it heavily with crippling angst and unescapable paranoia. The resulting creation was the metaphysical embodiment of all my deepest, darkest fears and essentially a fictional character that my mind fabricated in an attempt to compartmentalise what had happened to me. Despite the misted-up mirror and the mask he was wearing, I could tell by his demeanour that he had a gloating grin from ear to ear.

“Have you missed me?” his distorted voice creepily asked.

“Like a hole in the head,” I mused to myself as I patted my hair dry.

“I’ve missed that view. I thought I’d finally seen the back of you, but now I’m quite literally looking at the back of you.”

I contemptuously shot him a look of disgust into the mirror as I covered myself up with the towel.

“I will show you the judgment of the great prostitute who is seated on many waters, with whom the kings of the earth have committed sexual immorality, and with the wine of whose sexual immorality the dwellers on earth have become drunk,” he hammily recited.

“How do you even remember all that religious claptrap?” I asked.

“Well, technically, you are remembering it; I’m a figment of your overactive imagination, remember?”

“Or a symptom of mental disease,” I coldly retorted.

“Semantics being the only distinction, right?”

I slammed my palms on the countertop and scornfully stared back into the mirror.

“What do you want, exactly?” I venomously asked.

“Just popping in to say a quick hello. Wishing you the best of luck with the arraignment. It looks like you’re going to need it.”

“He’s going to plead guilty,” I dismissively argued as I tried to calm down by drying my hair with a separate towel.

“Pull the other one, you don’t believe that! Oh boy, I can’t wait until they get you onto that stand. That fancy lawyer of his is going to fucking eviscerate you.”

“It will never come to that,” I mumbled.

“What are you going to do when they bring up the fact you slept with Alex? You conveniently left that juicy nugget out of your little book, didn’t you, smarty-pants? You are going to be paraded around like a dumb whore in front of the entire world, and you know that for a fact, don’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“I wonder if the trial will be televised. All your adoring fans will have a different opinion of you once the real truth comes out.”

“There won’t be a trial.”

“Hey, what’s Nathaniel going to say? It is going to break him. After everything you’ve already put him through, that’ll just be the cherry on the cake, won’t it?”

I gritted my teeth so hard that I thought one tooth or two would crumble under the pressure, and suddenly, my awareness of these imaginary arguments being an indicator of madness started to wane.

“He’s going to be beside you like a docile kitten when you are interviewed next, looking like a battered husband, failing to convince the audience that he already knew you were fucking the defendant, who also happened to be his best friend. It’s going to be a proper tragicomedy, both tragic and hilarious,” he continued to taunt.

“He’s not a battered husband. We are happy,” I mumbled.

“Yeah, until he finds that out! Why didn’t you tell him, Olivia? Poor decision-making, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t know how to,” I quietly sobbed.

“Poor Aurora, too,” he mockingly began, “she’s gonna be so disappointed in you. She does look up to you, you know? You’re the mother who is strong enough to easily lift a car to save her child trapped underneath but so weak-willed that she couldn’t even turn down a quickie from the despicable man who ruined her family’s lives.”

“You don’t know anything about me!” I shouted.

“I am you, you stupid bitch!” he sneered.

“Get out of my head!” I shrieked as I grabbed and threw a glass-encased candle standing beside the sink directly into the shower screen. It shattered it into a million pieces, and upon wincing at the impact, I was suddenly alone again. Immediately aware of the frightful racket I had made, I quickly shuffled my bare feet away from the shards of glass littering the tiled floor and rooted through my wash bag to find the tablets that were failing to keep Benjamin at bay. I felt a piece of glass crunch underneath the sole of my foot, so I lifted it up and saw the blood already spewing out of the tiny cut it had made.

“Shit,” I uttered to myself.

“Mom? Are you okay in there?” I heard Aurora frantically shout from the bedroom.

“I’m fine, I just slipped. Please, don’t come in. I’m not decent,” I yelled through the door after properly wrapping the towel around me and navigating the broken glass out of harm’s way.

“What happened? I heard shouting,” Aurora quizzed before looking down at my foot, “are you bleeding?”

“I was moving the candle by the sink and lost my balance on the tile floor. Somehow, I ended up putting it through the shower screen.”

“Mom, you can be honest with me,” she said mistrustingly.

“I am being honest, Aurora.”

“It’s those tablets, isn’t it? You are taking too many, and they are giving you side effects.”

She was looking at me like I was a drug-addicted mess, which truly broke my heart.

“No, sweetie, honestly. Just a lapse in concentration.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I nodded tearfully.

“Okay, well, I’ll ask Granny for a dustpan and brush. I’m sure there’s some band-aids somewhere in the kitchen.”

“I wouldn’t bother; she won’t have the faintest idea where they are kept. Ask Elijah instead.”

“Okay, I will,” Aurora mumbled, still standing in front of me.

“Is everything okay? I should really get dressed,” I awkwardly remarked.

“It’s nothing, probably. Just something weird happened with Gramps when you got out of the car.”

“Weird? Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t read too much into it, but he got a collect call on his smart phone from California State Prison, and he quickly cancelled it before I could even hear the name. That’s where Uncle Alex is jailed, right?”

“It is,” I bleakly nodded.

The explanation of why an inmate was calling a genteel and prosperous man like Ernest was beyond me, but it was too much of a coincidence. Neither of my in-laws truly liked me; I didn’t even have Ernest’s phone number, and I was his fucking daughter-in-law.

“Why would someone from prison be calling him?” she innocently asked.

“I have no idea, but I’m about to find out. Don’t bother unpacking your suitcase. We aren’t staying.”

“Mom?” she fearfully said.

“Go and wait outside. I’ll deal with this.”

“Okay,” she said before leaving the room.

I quickly rifled through my suitcase for a set of clean clothes, flung them on, and immediately stormed downstairs, sliding my suitcase across the polished marble floor to the front door before I angrily burst into the dining room. Ernest and Gloria were quietly sipping from bowls of soup at opposite ends of the table, with Nathaniel sitting in the middle, biting chunks out of a sandwich.

“Olivia, we’re just having dinner. Would you like something?” Gloria haughtily enunciated.

“No thanks, we aren’t staying,” I proclaimed firmly.

“What’s happened?” Nathaniel asked bemusedly.

“Why don’t you ask your father?”

“I’m not following,” Ernest muttered as he placed his spoon down on the table.

“Okay, play dumb if you like. Just tell me, why the fuck are you getting collect calls from California State Prison? Are you in some way in touch with that psychopath?” I scorned.

There was a split second where a slight smile crossed Ernest’s face, and I only detected it because I was making fierce eye contact with him at the time. His cheeks faintly tightened, which helped me catch a fleeting glimpse of his teeth as his lips curled, and for a brief moment, I actually felt like he had some modicum of respect for me being so bold.

“Olivia, language!” Gloria self-importantly exclaimed as if she had clutched her pearls before Ernest calmly raised a hand to signal her to leave me to him.

“I have many financial interests, and unfortunately, some of them require me to associate with less than savoury characters. I can emphatically assure you that it had nothing to do with what happened to you.”

“Like what?” I challengingly asked.

“Well, I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“It certainly is since my daughter was with you inside the car at the time.”

“You are mistaken, Olivia. Drop it,” he firmly threatened.

“No, I won’t. I need to know what’s going on!” I shouted.

“Son, can you put a leash on your woman, please?” he disdainfully requested.

The atmosphere went entirely blue, and yet I stood there, mouth agape, waiting for my father-in-law’s misogynistic words to sink into my husband’s ears. The sudden rise in my blood pressure was forcing the blood to pool out onto my sock, and the sole of my foot was nauseatingly sticking to it as I scrunched my toes to try and free it. I glared at my husband, who was frozen to the spot because of his father’s words, so it became increasingly awkward that he wasn’t about to leap to my defence.

“Husband? Are you going to let him talk to me like that?” I prompted.

“Liv, I’m sure he’s not in contact with Alex,” he responded before turning to Ernest, “Dad, you need to apologise for what you just said.”

“I shall do no such thing. I won’t have these wild accusations thrown around in my home, at the dinner table, no less,” Ernest said as he whipped the napkin from his collar and hurled it on the table.

“Olivia, I think you should leave, dear,” Gloria amicably suggested.

“Oh, yes! We are going to. Maybe a hotel wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” I said, already halfway out of the door.

“Olivia, just wait—” Nathaniel stuttered.

“No. Not you. You can stay right there where you belong,” I coldly announced before flouncing out of the dining room.

In my opinion, Nathaniel’s parents had always been contemptible moneybags, Ernest especially, and I refused point-blank to be in their presence any longer than necessary at the best of times. Maybe I was being overly sensitive, and Ernest’s cryptic explanation was a genuine one, but there was something about him that made my skin crawl. He was so vocal about Alex in the car, even suggesting that he should be put to death for what he did. Besides, I couldn’t think of a single plausible scenario that could justify any contact with Alex. They always had a problem with me, one that I thought was born of the class difference between us, but he had gone too far, nonetheless.

I made it outside to find Aurora sitting on the front steps with a half-smoked cigarette between her fingertips, blissfully unaware of the fireworks going off inside. I immediately whipped it from her hand as I got closer, and she looked up at me with worry when I started to drag on it incessantly.

“Go and get your things. We’re leaving,” I instructed.

“Mom, shouldn’t we all sit down and talk this out? There might be a reasonable—” she started.

“Go. Now,” I sternly repeated.

Begrudgingly, Aurora got on her feet and slowly began making her way inside, passing Nathaniel with the cases on her way out. I took my daughter’s place on the steps, and he dumped the cases beside me before sitting down with a sigh and searching for a taxi number online.

“Please, don’t take it out on Aurora,” he softly reasoned.

“I’m not. There’s something going on, and I’ve just found out that your dad is involved,” I calmly stated.

“Listen, I know Dad can be a horrible person at times, but he’d never go as far as to be somehow in cahoots with Alex. He barely knows the guy, and he hasn’t even seen him since I was in high school.”

“I don’t care about that anymore. I’m not being spoken to like that by anyone. Aurora and I are going to stay at the Four Seasons until all this mess is dealt with. Can I have the credit card?” I announced with my hand outstretched.

“You can, but it won’t do you much good,” Nathaniel awkwardly explained.

“Why?”

“It’s maxed out,” he mumbled, “we’re broke.”

6

THE MOTEL

AURORA – 2025

As firmly instructed by Mom, I quickly retrieved my case to avoid further scorn. While I was plodding down the stairs with it to return to my parents, I could already hear them bickering as I reluctantly approached the slightly open doors. Instead of going straight outside as she would have wanted, I let go of the handle of my case, sat on it, and pulled my phone out to bring Mel up to speed while I waited for the raging storm to subside.

It looks like we aren’t going to be staying at Casa De La Gramps after all. x

Oh no! What’s happened? x

A big fight between Mom and Gramps. They’re like this all the time, but it should blow over in a few days. x

Do you still want to meet up? x

Of course. I’ll text you later. x

My attention was quickly drawn to the familiar clattering sound of Nana’s high heels thumping the impeccably polished marble floor. When I looked away from my phone, I saw her purposefully ambling over to me with a sympathetic look on her face. I locked and put my phone back in my pocket as she was getting closer, and a few seconds later, she was looking down at me and running her fingers gently through my hair with a sorry smile on her face.

“Honey, I’m so sorry about all this. I was looking forward to you staying with us for a few days,” she said melancholically.

“It’s okay, Nana, I’m used to it by now,” I smiled,

“Do they argue a lot?”

“Not really. They have their moments, though.”

“Don’t blame your Mom. I put her increasingly erratic behaviour down to the antipsychotic drugs she is now on. Everyone knows such strong medication as that can have some very serious side effects.”

“She went through a lot. We all did. I think she can be excused for the occasional emotional outburst, can’t she?”

“I just don’t like what it’s doing to your father. He seems very affected by it all. I really worry about him, about both of you.”

“He’s fine,” I confusedly disagreed, “it will all calm down once the trial is done and dusted, and we’re back home.”

Nana scrunched up her face for a moment before donning her compassionate smile again. She then fumbled around in her pockets for something, and when she found it, she gently pulled my coat towards her.

“Listen, I want you to take this,” Nana said, discretely stuffing a wad of banknotes into my jacket.

“What is it?”

“For emergencies,” she whispered, “don’t tell your mother. I don’t want her biting my head off, too.”

“Okay,” I smiled, “thank you so much, Nana.”

“Aurora?” I heard Mom expectantly shout from the front door, almost scaring me off my precariously wheeled seat.

“I’m coming,” I announced as I got off the suitcase and pulled the handle back up.

“One more thing,” Nana frantically said with her hand across my chest, preventing me from walking past.

“What is it?”

“Just be careful around her. She isn’t telling you the whole truth,” she whispered in my ear.

“Aurora!” Mom boomed.

“Goodbye, Nana,” I awkwardly mumbled while rushing out of the house.

Mom and Dad were still locking horns with each other, albeit not as ferociously, and there I was, caught in the crossfire like a spare part while their shouting match droned on. I did grab another cigarette to light it, but as soon as I started clicking the lighter, I thought better of it after noticing they were both giving me a murderous glare.

“What with the wedding, selling our house in California at a loss, and being unable to pick up a paintbrush for months, we’ve hit rock bottom. What did you expect, Liv?” Dad continued sarcastically.

“What about the book royalties? Stacey said it’s doing really well,” Mom retorted.

“A drop in the ocean. Besides which, you’ve barely cashed a cheque yet. These things take time.”

“I don’t believe it,” Mom pensively remarked as she put her head in her hands.

“I can always ask—” Dad started.

“Absolutely not,” Mom interrupted, “I’m not asking that misogynistic prick for anything. We’ll stay in a motel or something.”

“So, we’re broke?” I interrupted.

“It looks that way,” Mom said as she reached into her bag to produce the prescription drugs she was on.

“Will you please stop popping those pills like they are fucking candy and just have an actual real conversation?” Dad shouted.

“Here,” she said as she thrust them into his chest, “take them. The tub is empty anyway.”

After spotting the cab making its way slowly up the driveway, Mom eagerly picked up her suitcase and waited for it on the gravel. Because Dad glanced at me with an apologetic expression on his face, I chose to remain stationary at the top of the steps until the taxi came to a halt.

“Can’t we at least just talk about this?” Dad asked.

“What are you talking about?” she asked as she opened the cab’s trunk. “We just did,” she added before getting in the passenger seat, leaving the car door open.

“Olivia, please! Just come back inside. He didn’t mean what he said.” Dad pleaded.

“Are you coming or staying, Aurora?” she asked, completely ignoring Dad’s request.

“I don’t know,” I mustered.

“Just get in the car,” Mom instructed.

I looked at Dad, who was willing me with his eyes to go with her, so, with a sigh, I begrudgingly got into the back seat of the cab, and he softly closed the door for me.

“Where to?” the driver chirpily asked.

“Just take us to the nearest motel, please,” Mom instructed before turning around to me, “it’s only temporary, love.”

I confusedly watched through the window as the car pulled away, leaving Dad watching us go down the driveway with a solemn look in his eyes. My grandparents appeared at the top of the steps, vacuously observing the car traverse the gravel. I turned back to Mom, who was looking quite jittery in the front seat, and I managed to catch eye contact with her through the rearview mirror before she quickly averted her eyes.

“I’m worried about you, Mom,” I gingerly said.

“Me? Why?” she asked.

“Just… everything. Dad is worried, too.”

“He doesn’t look it. You weren’t in the room, Aurora. You didn’t hear what Gramps said to me.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled before turning back around, “I’m fine,” she added.

We swiftly descended from hyper-affluent Los Altos Hills, driving for another ten minutes until we got to the bowels of midtown. It was remarkable how a few miles could produce such a stark contrast in wealth; the strip was littered with cheap motels and brightly coloured bars with roving gangs of shady youths loitering on the nearby streets. Without a word, the driver pulled into a dilapidated motel, the Sycamore Inn, and my scalp immediately started to itch just thinking about the state the rooms might be in. The driver edged his way into the courtyard, stopping directly in front of the office that had a retina-burning neon sign that broadcast they had vacancies.

With a disappointed sigh, Mom got out of the vehicle first and removed our bags from the trunk, handing the driver a few dollars to cover the fare. He quickly drove away, deserting us at the curbside, where we both felt surrounded by delinquents skulking in the shadows in every direction. Despite the apparent threat of danger, we thankfully felt protected to some extent when we spotted a middle-aged couple staring down at us from their room on the second floor.

“Like I said, it’s temporary. We will work something out,” Mom said as she tentatively put her arm around me.

“Maybe we should just go back. I’m sure Gramps will apologise now he’s had some time to think about it,” I softly argued.

“You don’t know him like I do. Come on, it’s only a few nights,” Mom chummily said as she dragged the suitcases through the open glass doors.

We walked over to the reception desk, which we wrongly assumed would capture the attention of the attendant on duty, but he barely raised his gaze from the small television screen sitting on a table in the corner until Mom bashed the bell on the counter loudly. The unkempt man stood up, his belly button visible underneath his rather short, stained vest, and he scraped back what remained of his greasy hair before leaning on the counter with both of his palms.

“Is the penthouse available?” Mom jested.

“What?” he asked discordantly.

“I’m joking. Have you got a room?”

“Sure. Credit card,” he said with his hand held out.

Mom tentatively got her credit card from her purse before holding it back at the last minute.

“Do you take cash?” she asked.

The man looked us up and down before shrugging to himself with a sinister smile spanning his face.

“Cash is fine, but I’ll need a deposit though.”

“Fine, how much?”

“Five,” he said as he tapped the counter.

“Five dollars? You’re kidding, right?”

“Hundred!” he corrected.

“Five hundred? What on earth for? I don’t have that kind of money on me.”

“In case there are damages. There’s plenty of other motels in town if you don’t like it,” he said matter-of-factly, ignorantly turning his attention back to his television show.

“Wait,” I said as I riffled through my pocket for the bundle of notes Nana gave me. “Five, was it?” I asked as I placed a neat stack of hundred-dollar bills on the counter.

“Where the hell did you get all that from?” Mom asked.

“Dad gave me some spending money before we left,” I awkwardly mustered as the manager quickly snapped up the money with his sweaty hands.

“I’ll give it back the instance we leave,” Mom whispered with deep embarrassment in her voice.

“Room 18,” the man blankly announced as he handed Mom the room key.

“Don’t you need my name or something?”

“I’ll just write down Benjamin,” he jovially said, waving one of the bills in Mom’s face.

“Right,” she said with an incredulous laugh, “come on, let’s go get settled in,” she added to me.

We dragged our cases out of reception and gawkily looked around until Mom spotted the room, pointing up to the floor above us.

“What a shithole,” she pensively whispered as we started to trudge up the stairs.

We reached number eighteen and looked at the door with disdain. Mom fumbled around with the key, trying to get it in the battered lock, and turned the doorknob with her hoodie sleeve pulled over her hand to avoid touching it directly. She instantly found the light switch as soon as we entered, and when she flicked it, the yellow light flooded the room, leaving us both appalled by the state of it.

It was a disgusting fleapit.

The room was filled with ominous stains, dusty soft furnishings, and a stomach-turning aroma that was a vile concoction of stale sweat and industrial-strength bleach. I disdainfully threw my case onto the bed closest to the door, and as Mom shut the door behind us, we heard the raucous noises coming through the paper-thin wall from the adjoining room. It sounded like the headboard was being repeatedly banged into the wall, followed by the muffled whimpering of someone who was clearly having the time of their life.

“Is that—” I started as I pointed to the wall.

“Uh-huh,” Mom interrupted.

“Wow,” I sarcastically exclaimed. “This place really is a dump.”

“I’m so sorry to do this, but do you have any cash left? I spotted a vending machine down there, so why don’t you try to forage something to eat for us?”

“Sure. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to walk over to that car rental place across the street. Let’s hope they’ll take a pinkie-promise over a maxed-out credit card.”

“Any preferences on dinner?”

Mom got distracted by her phone going off, and she looked at it with a scrunched-up facial expression as the messages continued to come through.

“Just get anything that looks edible,” she distractedly mumbled before quickly locking her phone and putting it back in her pocket. “Stacey’s just landed,” she added.

“Ahh, that’s good.”

“Not really. She’s already lined up a television interview for me tomorrow.”

“That’s great! Are you going to do it?” I asked.

“Well, I haven’t got a choice, have I? We need the money,” she mumbled. “I’ll pop over now; can you grab some ice while you’re down there?” she added.

“No problem,” I said as Mom left the room with a weary smile.

I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled my phone out. To my disappointment, Mel hadn’t replied to my last message, so I started tapping out another, but shortly afterwards, I thought better of it. Instead, I took a deep breath and hit call, and after a few rings, I started feeling really nervous until she hysterically answered the phone almost with a squeal.

“Hello?” I quietly said.

“Rora! Oh my God! How’s it going?” she excitedly asked.

“I’m good, you?”

“I’m great, thank you! That’s so weird.”

“What is?”

“Your voice sounds so different now you’re back home.”

“Really? Why?”

“I don’t know, it’s strange. More American.”

“Well, it’s probably because I’m currently living the American dream. We’ve been kicked out of Casa De La Gramps and just arrived at some disgusting motel instead.”

“Oh no! I take it your mom and grandpa didn’t kiss and make up, then?”

“Nope. There’s no chance of that happening any time soon. They’re both stubborn as hell.”

“What was the argument even about?”

“I didn’t hear it, but probably the same old shit. He either said something elitist, sexist, racist, or a delightful mixture.”

“Where is she? In the other room?”

“I don’t think there is another room in this cesspit,” I replied, looking around the room. “Mom’s trying to sort out a car for us, and I’m on dinner duty,” I added.

“I didn’t know you could cook! What’s on the menu, chef Rora?” she asked facetiously.

“Me? Cook?” I laughed, “I’m just about to head down to the vending machine before we starve.”

“Go now, I’ll help you pick.”

“Okay then,” I said, grabbing the room key as I left and locking the door behind me.

“How are you all coping with the big trial coming up? I bet your mom is nervous,” she asked as I jogged down the stairs.

“She’s pretending it isn’t bothering her, but we all know it is,” I said as I spotted the garishly lit vending machine at the other corner of the courtyard.

“Are you at the vending machine yet? The suspense is killing me.”

“Yes, hang on a second!” I laughed.

I gazed through the scratched glass at the cornucopia of sugar-loaded treats on offer, searching without success for something with a bit of substance or even a few grams of protein. The best I could manage was a sun-faded packet of chicken-flavoured potato chips that looked like they had been sitting in there since the dawn of time.

“It isn’t looking good,” I commented.

“What are the options?” she eagerly asked.

“Just sugary crap.”

“Welcome to America,” she melodically said as I put a few dollar bills into the machine and begrudgingly selected the chips. The mechanism creakingly turned, releasing the unappealing snack, and they thudded as they hit the bottom of the machine.

“What did you go for?”

“Uncle Joe’s real chicken chips,” I read from the packet as I retrieved it.

“Good choice! Nutritious and delicious!” she beamed.

My attention was drawn to the ice machine beside me and, more specifically, to the huge puddle of tepid water that had leaked out around it. I carefully tiptoed around the lake, leaning in to pull the door open and peering inside to see the entire bucket was filled with half-melted ice and debris offputtingly floating on the surface.

“Eww,” I said under my breath.

“What? Please don’t tell me you don’t like the chips; we’re going to have a falling out if you don’t.”

“No. Mom asked for ice, but it’s disgusting.”

“You aren’t at the outside machine, are you?”

“Yes?” I said bemusedly.

“Hell to the naw! Walk right away from that and check in the office! They usually have another machine in there that isn’t as filthy.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I muttered as I began making my way back to reception.

“I’m somewhat of a motel connoisseur. I’ve frequented a lot in my time.”

I stopped at the reception door and swallowed anxiously. I wasn’t content with having a relationship over the phone; I wanted to see her in person. I knew I would regret it if I didn’t ask, and I could hear Mel breathing on the line as I chose my words wisely.

“Before I go in, do you still want to meet up?” I nervously asked.

She remained silent for a moment, so I took the phone from my ear to check it was still connected.

“Hello?” I guardedly said.

“Sorry, of course! I’m so excited to see you in person. We could have a little lunch date tomorrow if you feel up to it.”

“Date?” I asked with an audible smirk.

“Rora! You know what I mean!”

“Sure,” I secretly gushed, “I’d like that.”

“Amazing! I’ll send you a text in the morning. Enjoy your dinner!”

“I will. Good night!” I excitedly said.

“Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” she chirpily said before quickly ending the call.

I slowly removed the phone from my ear with an embarrassingly enamoured grin on my face while staring at Mel’s profile picture until the screen faded to black again. I tried to keep my excitement under wraps, but my mind was running a million miles per hour, daydreaming about what the next day would hold in store for me. I found myself overanalysing every word that Mel said. She did say date, right?

Still smirking to myself, I pushed open the reception door, finding it unattended, but the television was still blaring out the same soap opera as when we checked in. I leaned over the counter, looking left and right, hoping to spot the delightful motel manager moping about behind it, but strangely enough, he was nowhere to be seen. Noticing the unexpectedly clean ice machine on the back wall, I decided to unlock the hatch and get the ice myself without disturbing him while secretly hoping not to fall into conversation with such a creepy character. I selected the cleanest bucket and quietly scooped some fresh ice into it, being careful not to alert him to my presence if he was lingering in a back room.

As I turned around to leave, my heart sank when I spotted his computer screen and instantly recognised the old picture of my mom displayed on it. I frantically set the ice down, sneaking over to the desk as I constantly looked over my shoulder and put my hand on the oily mouse. I started scrolling up and down the article he had been reading before he shirked his duties and disappeared; it was the original news article from when Mom went missing. I took out my phone to snap a picture when the doors flew open, and Mom walked through the reception doors holding a set of car keys with a confused expression on her face.

“Aurora?” she nervously whispered, “what the fuck are you doing behind there?”

“Shush,” I whispered as I took the photo, jogging around reception and quietly locking the hatch behind me.

We heard a toilet in the back flush and barely managed to get back outside before the scruffy manager came back into the room, shamelessly fastening his pants back up as he did. Hiding behind the steps and peering into the window, we sneakily watched as he bemusedly picked up the bucket of ice that I had discarded on the floor, and in the tense silence, I showed Mom the picture I had just taken with my phone. With a trembling hand, she snatched it from me to inspect it closer with an anxious gasp.

“What the fuck,” she whispered.

7

THE INTERVIEW

OLIVIA – 2025

Terrified. Exhausted. Skint. I had spent all night wondering why the seedy hotel manager was looking me up online, only to arrive at the conclusion that it was just morbid curiosity and nothing else. Aurora and I still barricaded the door just in case, and she managed to get some rest before Nathaniel picked her up in the morning. Despite nearly suffering several heart attacks every time I heard a peculiar noise, the worst thing that happened to us overnight was a few insect bites and having a sore back when we woke up. I suppose that kind of thing was to be expected when someone stepped into the limelight. Then again, considering what happened to me, I’m sure I could be forgiven for my mistrust. Something as innocuous as a quick online search might be a minor inconvenience to one person, yet to me, it instantly plagued me with a devastating paranoia that I couldn’t expel from my head in just the blink of an eye.

“You’re on in five,” a showrunner shouted through the barely open door.

I had been looking through the leaflet that came with my anti-anxiety medication, hoping to see ‘crippling paranoia’ or ‘harrowingly vivid hallucinations’ amongst the side effects, which could account for my obvious mental decline. Not finding either of those things listed, I disdainfully stuffed the leaflet back in my pocket and stared into the mirror before me, silently contemplating all the choices that led me to that seat as the fleet of beauticians continued to work their magic around me. What with the weirdness at the motel, our impending financial doom, and what my father-in-law’s mysterious involvement was, I barely had a wink of sleep, and the women surrounding me really had their work cut out for them.

Nathaniel and I had been frivolously living high on the hog to keep up appearances, but now I was playing the dumb wife in the background, holding her hands up and stereotypically exclaiming, “I had no idea!” Because of that, I had to sell my soul to the devil, or more accurately, a huge media conglomerate, just to have enough funds to keep us going until we could return home. Stacey was thrilled because she had been trying to force me to do something like this since I got published, but I still wasn’t convinced.

I knew that the money issues weren’t Nathaniel’s fault. I was every bit as careless as he was. We spent an inordinate sum of money on a lavish wedding that barely happened. I essentially forced him to quickly sell up and move back to England, and when you added Aurora’s tuition fees into the mix and the new house in London, it wasn’t a mystery to anyone how we got ourselves into that financial mess.

When I quickly finished my memoir, I never thought anyone would give it a second look, and I largely wrote it on my therapist’s advice, just to release some of the pent-up emotion into the pages. Nevertheless, because of the extensive media coverage that the case garnered, I accidentally became somewhat of a celebrity overnight, and suddenly, everyone wanted a piece. ‘The Bride from the Bunker’ was such a resounding success that it sold out virtually everywhere, and I could barely walk down the street for a pint of milk without being accosted for an autograph.

One of the makeup magicians stopped dead in her tracks as if she had seen something grotesque hanging from my face, and she leaned in to inspect it closely.

“What?” I bemusedly asked.

“I’m just thinking, do you want a touch more powder on your cheeks, honey?” she chirpily asked.

“Christ, more? No. I can barely move my face as it is,” I cheerfully snapped back.

“Sweetie, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re just a bit pale. Those studio lights will wash you right out!”

“Well, don’t look too concerned. I’m British. We don’t really have sunshine back home,” I quipped.

“Trust me. Just a touch more,” she mused to herself as I defiantly dodged the loaded makeup sponge in her hand.

After yet another generous lathering of cosmetics, she inched away to inspect her work. I sunk back into the chair, which allowed me to catch a glimpse of Stacey texting away on her phone behind me. I glared at her as if to desperately beg for her intervention, but she just continued tapping away happily as I sat there being forcibly preened. In lieu of a better option, I sent her a quick text beneath the dressing table, simply with the word “help,” and she quickly looked up from her screen with a chuckle.

“Ladies, can I have a minute with my client before she goes on set, please?” she asked.

“Sure, but we’ll be live any second,” the makeup artist warned as she checked her watch.

“Thank you, I look lovely,” I smiled heartily.

They all hurriedly left the room, twittering amongst themselves as they did, and I looked at Stacey in the reflection with an incredulous grin spanning my face.

“You look like a drag queen,” Stacey dryly pointed out as she stifled laughter.

“I know! What the fuck?” I laughed as I started wiping away the thick layers of makeup from my cheeks.

“Actually, that’s way worse now. She was right, you’re very pasty. It’s called fake tan, Liv. We all have to use it.”

“I should have asked Benjamin for a sunbed. I could have emerged out of that hole like a bronzed goddess,” I joked.

“Come on, that’s not funny, Liv.”

“Laughter is the best medicine,” I uttered to myself as I sparingly reapplied my eyeliner.

“Do you think they would do my makeup too?”

“What? Why?” I frustratedly questioned.

“They might catch me on the edge of a shot. I have my reputation to consider.”

“You’re supposed to be my manager. You can’t be having a makeover. This is work,” I pointed out.

“I am working!” she announced as she shook her phone at me. “I was organising another interview before you interrupted me.”

“Oh God, no. Please! I don’t want to do them; I’m only doing this because we are on the brink of bankruptcy!” I petulantly moaned.

“It sells books…” she mused.

“I don’t care! And this guy, Javier, I can’t stand him.”

“He’s an up-and-comer. This will be great publicity for you; just wait and see. Besides, for the number of zeroes on that cheque, I’d gladly go on stark naked if they asked me to.”

“Still, I don’t like him. Stephanie fed him all that bullshit, and instead of questioning it with some impartiality like a real reporter, he just took out a knife and fork.”

Stacey, laughing at my joke, abruptly stood from her seat and hugged me from behind as she stared at me in the reflection.

“What are you doing?” I asked uncomfortably.

“I’m so proud of you, you know,” she uttered.

“Thanks,” I awkwardly frowned, “now, unhand me, you absolute weirdo!”

“Get out there and go sell some books,” she ordered with a chummy pat on the back.

Reluctantly, I left my seat and pushed open the door to find the showrunner anxiously waiting for me outside, keenly checking her watch. Speaking quietly into her earpiece, she quickly rushed me through the corridors, stopping me at the entrance to the stage where I heard my announcement.

“And now, we have the author of ‘The Bride from the Bunker,’ the bookish hit that has taken the country by storm. Please put your hands together for Olivia Anderson!” Javier announced.

“Go,” the showrunner quietly instructed.

With a deep sigh and a painted-on smirk, I sauntered onto the stage with a gawky wave. The intense studio lights blinded me as soon as I made it around the corner, and I scrunched up my face when I felt the heat from them baking my porcelain skin. The only thing brighter was Javier’s new teeth, glinting under the lights, almost serving as a lighthouse as I attempted to traverse the stage to my seat.

I sat down a tad miffed, snatching the glass of water on the table between us for a quick sip before the nauseatingly chirpy introduction music finished. He quickly glanced at the haphazardly written notes in front of him, leaning back in his chair with a pondering smile. Patiently, we sat, waiting for the audience to stop clapping, and I psyched myself up for his barrage of lurid questions.

I was shitting myself.

“Thank you for being with us tonight,” he enthused.

“Thanks for having me,” I said shakily.

“Now, for those who aren’t in the know, you were kidnapped and locked away for almost a decade, which is the subject of your new best-selling novel that—”

“Memoir,” I smilingly corrected, “a novel is a work of fiction. This actually happened.”

“Sorry. Memoir,” he said as he picked up the fresh copy lying on the table, “it’s quite the tale, very well written. Heart-wrenching stuff.

“Thank you.”

“Essentially, and correct me if I’m wrong, it’s an account of how you were kidnapped by a jealous couple who were trying to split you up from your husband.”

“Err… no? Sorry to do this, Javier, but have you actually read the book?” I jovially asked, which elicited patchy laughter from the audience.

“You’ve got me!” he laughingly began with his hands in the air, “I’ve skimmed it. We get a lot of authors on the show, so there’s a lot of material to get through.”

“Disgraceful! Well, at its core, I suppose you’re right. It is a story about jealousy. However, it was a woman from my husband’s past who decided she wanted what I had, and she took it by force. Aided by her accomplices, she humiliated and psychologically tortured me for ten years until I escaped to expose her for what she was.”

The audience applauded, and I started to feel a little more comfortable, relaxing my shoulders and leaning back in my seat. Javier looked satisfied by my response and adopted a similar posture.

“The woman you are talking about is Stephanie Ward, correct?” he asked as he checked his notes.

“I don’t like saying her name, but yes.”

“She was aided by a corrupt sheriff to conceal her crimes and eventually ended up taking her own life because she couldn’t live with the guilt.”

“Well, Javier, that’s up for debate. I can’t comment on that because there’s still an active case pending in the courts,” I explained matter-of-factly.

“Yes, I noticed you have been very careful talking about that. In fact, this is the first interview you have actually agreed to do! My office has literally been begging you to do this for weeks, which prompts me to ask you, why now?”

“Well, I’m a very private person, as is my husband, and we wanted to stay out of the public eye.”

“Then why write the book at all?”

Okay, that was a bit of a curveball.

“I needed to get my story out there for myself. It was an emotional outlet, more than anything else. Writing is my way of releasing all that negativity back into the world and coming to terms with what happened.”

Javier knowingly nodded, almost with congratulations, as I successfully evaded his question, and I garnered a further round of sporadic clapping from the audience.

“Very brave,” he warmly remarked.

“Thank you,” I politely smiled.

“The active case you are talking about is regarding Alexander Miller, who is actually in jail right now, accused of multiple murders and playing a major role in your kidnapping.”

“That’s correct. Actually, his plea hearing is this week.”

“Will you be attending?”

“Of course. I want to make sure he is put behind bars for his part in my story,” I said plainly, the audience cheering in solidarity when I finished.

“One thing you don’t mention is why he was involved in your kidnapping in the first place. He was a childhood friend of your husband, correct?”

I confusedly crumpled my face because I hadn’t approved that question before the interview. This is exactly what I was scared of: Javier going rogue. I uneasily leaned forward for another sip of water as I quickly contemplated my response on the fly.

“He was. I don’t think we should speculate as to what was going through Alex’s head; there are people far more qualified than I am in that regard. I suppose people will have to read the book and make their own minds up.”

“A very good response!”

“Thank—” I started.

“You totally avoided the question, though,” he interrupted.

“No,” I combatively began, “there are just some details I’m not comfortable with sharing just yet in this forum or any other.”

“So, it’s purely a commercial decision? Are you saving the juicy stuff for book number two? That’s very astute of you.”

“No. It’s not like that. There isn’t a book number two. Thankfully, that story is over.”

“You’ve intentionally missed out huge details, though!” he exclaimed as he leafed through the book in front of him. “Why Mr Miller was so intent on holding you captive in the first place being the obvious one, and you haven’t even begun to explain his past connection to your husband!”

I inhaled sharply through my nose, which just managed to take me back from the brink of losing my patience, and I smiled at him as he goadingly smirked back at me. I slowly exhaled, placed the glass of water back down, and desperately tried to appear comfortable in my seat again. I glanced at Stacey who was waiting in the wings, and she fearfully shook her head as my lips parted to speak.

“I’m not going to discuss that tonight, Javier. I would appreciate it if you moved on, please,” I diplomatically said.

“Olivia,” he grimly began, “a man’s life hangs in the balance. I think you owe it to him, and everyone else for that matter, to stop cherry-picking facts and tell the whole truth.”

The nerve.

“I don’t owe him a fucking thing,” I angrily blurted out, inciting a wave of gasps through the audience.

“Let me remind you, we are live,” Javier whispered behind his hand. I could instinctually feel the audience turning on me, and I took another deep breath.

“Alexander Miller is a garden-variety psychopath and should be treated as such. He doesn’t deserve to see the light of day ever again. My kidnapping wasn’t just a means to an end like he will claim in court. He enjoyed every minute of it. He’s an abhorrent, sick individual, and that’s all I’ll say about him. Now, can we talk about the actual contents of the book?”

“I have a source who is adamant they have concrete proof that there was a romantic connection with Mr Miller.”

What the fuck?

“Who? What proof?”

“Olivia, I’m a professional. I’m not going to name my source live on air.”

Suddenly, it was as if the studio lamps were turned up to the maximum and were all pointed directly at my forehead. Feeling the beads of sweat forming swiftly, I shakily wiped them from my brow before gulping the rest of the tepid water I had left. I couldn’t see the audience beyond the intense cone of light surrounding me, but they were so torturously silent that I desperately tried to muster anything to say in response as the urge to sprint out of the studio was becoming overwhelming.

“The preposterous idea that I had any romantic involvement with that monster is a ridiculous notion, and quite frankly, it’s embarrassing to me that you would repeat such ludicrous conjecture on your show.”

“Sorry if I wasn’t clear. I wasn’t insinuating you had some kind of relationship with Mr Miller. I meant with your husband, Nathaniel. Isn’t it true they had a sexual relationship back in college?”

The audience loudly gasped.

“No, that isn’t true,” I meekly uttered.

“Okay, well, explain this,” Javier said as he pointed to the screen above my head. I snapped my head back to see it; it was a high-resolution photograph of torn-out journal pages that I hadn’t seen before. I quickly scanned it as the pressure to respond mounted, barely listening to Javier as he explained to the camera what it was in a desperate attempt to get ahead of his questions.

“This is Alexander Miller’s diary from the time. Have you seen it before?”

I anxiously shook my head.

“I slept with Nathaniel tonight. He finally noticed me. It was more beautiful than words can say. Now that it’s happened, I can’t think about anything else.”

“It was twenty years ago,” I mumbled.

“So, you did know about this liaison?”

“I don’t know,” I awkwardly gulped.

“Did you know about this liaison?” he firmly repeated.

“Yes! I fucking did, okay?” I blurted out.

You could have heard a pin drop in that studio.

8

THE STUDIO

AURORA – 2025

Itentatively placed the key in the door and tried to turn it, but the rusted lock was seized shut and wouldn’t budge; it was probably due to the fact that no one had set foot in there in months. Even when I was back at school, the door was always sticky, so I leaned into it with my shoulder as I turned the key, and finally, it unlocked. I dusted off my T-shirt as I entered Dad’s old art studio, leaving the door open for him behind me.

“Christ,” I mumbled to myself.

“Did you get it open?” Dad breathlessly shouted from the stairwell.

“Yes,” I yelled back, “it’s a right mess in here.”

Dad finally made it up the stairs and had clearly forgotten the state it had been left in as he struggled to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. Dozens of scrupulously painted canvases lay deserted throughout the room, the fabric manically flayed from the frames and slashed to ribbons by my scornful ex-stepmother months before she died. Without uttering a word, I left Dad in his introspective trance at the entrance, sweeping my feet through the debris in an attempt to clear a path through the mess, making my way over to the kitchenette at the back with the intention of putting a pot of coffee on for him. I sheepishly opened the lid when I arrived at it, finding that the filter had been left in there and had mould growing from it at every angle. I quickly abandoned the idea.

“Coffee machine is a no-go; it’s that mouldy that it has its own ecosystem,” I shouted.

After not immediately hearing a response, I peered around the doorframe and through the room to Dad; he was still standing in the exact same position as we arrived. I felt awful for him because he really loved that place, and it had gone to complete wrack and ruin. It was a refuge from the world, a sanctuary for him to be truly himself and express his emotions. It was his only outlet, a welcomed shelter in the raging storm of life, which allowed him to step out of his sometimes-grim reality for a few precious hours at a time. Painting got him through some very dark days, and he wouldn’t be the man or the father he was that day if he hadn’t discovered that so early in his life.

Although the studio was inarguably a mess before Stephanie got her hands on that blade, in my eyes, it was still paradise, too. I spent many hours sitting between those walls after school, falling in love with painting myself as I watched the master hard at work. I used to recognise all the paint splatters on the walls. Every droplet on the floor. Each imperfection willingly held onto a part of our lives that we had once let go of, telling a story that both of us preferred not to remember.

As I scanned around the room that Stephanie had left in such disarray, it felt different somehow. Tainted. Corrupted. It even smelled like her. Just like the rest of his life, Dad’s hallowed sanctuary had been openly defiled, irreparably contaminated by her twisted lies and manipulations.

Once we all moved back to London and my parents got married, for some bizarre reason, Dad told Mom that he had given notice on the studio. Only Dad and I knew that that wasn’t true, and between us two it became a little secret that I always struggled to grasp the significance of. I didn’t know the true reason why he had never cancelled the lease. I just told myself that it was an insignificant task that paled in comparison to the mountain of things he still hadn’t processed about Mom’s return. Nonetheless, as soon as I stood back in there, staring at Dad’s blank expression, a thought popped into my head, sending shivers down my spine.

He missed his old life.

Even though we both knew that it was all a sham, I missed Stephanie too, or at least the rose-tinted memory I had of her. Disregarding the obvious issues, we all had a pretty good life together under the Californian sun for a while. Admittedly, we were a dysfunctional yet tight-knit family who were about to enter a new chapter in our lives and leave the past behind us. Dad and Stephanie were a power couple in the prime of their lives, making money hand over fist and taking no prisoners.

Actually, scratch that last bit.

“Are you okay, Dad?” I shouted.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled.

“I’m just going to make a call, okay?”

“Okay.”

Since Dad would rather be left on his own for a while, I slinked off into the storage room and got my phone out. Mel had just sent me a selfie, a high-angle shot of her smiling brightly into the camera with a slight wink, lying on her bed with her golden blonde hair splayed out onto the sheets. Was this the kind of thing friends sent to each other? I had no idea. It made me grin like a buffoon, though, and I quickly called her, knowing I still had a few minutes to myself.

“Rora!” she answered.

“I’ve just got your selfie,” I beamed.

“Did you not send me one back?”

“No, I just called you instead.

“Send me one back!”

“Fine,” I began, “hang on.”

I took the phone from my ear and snapped a picture. I disdainfully looked at the image I had just taken; my black, greasy hair was stuck to my forehead because I was too scared to wash it in the dingy motel bathroom. My makeup was all over the place, and I had a fresh zit directly in the middle of my chin that I thought I had successfully managed to cover up. I made another attempt, then another, but I could hear Mel mumbling away on the phone as I held it at arm’s length.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“I said the suspense is killing me! Fire it over!”

With a dissatisfied sigh, I reluctantly hit send on the last iteration, and the phone made a little whooshing noise when the photo was being sent out.

“Have you got it?” I asked.

“Oh my God, Rora! You’re fucking gorgeous!”

“Are you sure you’re looking at the right picture?” I jibed.

“I mean it, wow. How are you still single?”

“It’s one of life’s biggest mysteries.”

“Where are you? In a warehouse or something?”

“Dad’s studio. I’m just helping him with a few bits and pieces.”

“Does that mean dinner is off?”

“I’m not sure; I’ll see what time we get finished. To be honest, I’m knackered. I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.”

“The illustrious motel accommodation wasn’t up to scratch, then?”

“The manager is a total weirdo, so we were freaking out a little bit, so much so that we ended up barricading the door.”

“Oh God, why?”

“Mom thought it wasn’t safe. I spotted that the creep had been researching her missing person’s case on the Internet.”

“He’s probably just one of those true crime nutjobs unless he had a severed head stashed away in the ice box?”

“Thankfully, no, he didn’t,” I laughed.

“Then I think you’re fine then,” she chuckled.

“Aurora, can you get this television working?” Dad shouted to me from the other room.

“Hang on a second, Mel,” I said into the phone before pulling it from my ear. “Why?” I yelled back.

“Mom’s interview,” he solemnly declared.

“Mel, I have to go. Mom’s doing an interview, and Dad wants to watch it.”

“Okay, well, give me a call later if you still want to meet up! I don’t know how much longer I can wait!”

“I will! I promise,” I said before hanging up.

I walked back into the room, finding Dad scratching his head about the remote. I thought his advanced years had left him with a mild dose of technophobia, but I couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t functioning either. I tried taking the batteries out of the back and swapping them around, and that must have done the trick because the TV came back to life. I quickly flicked through the stations, trying to find a shot of Mom, until Dad’s hand gently touched my shoulder.

“You’ve gone past it,” he interrupted.

“Sorry,” I said as I quickly went back a few channels. The television was muted, but Mom looked incredibly distressed, and I quickly turned up the volume so we could hear what was going on.

“This is Alexander Miller’s diary from the time. Have you seen it before?” Javier questioned.

Mom anxiously shook her head as she arched her neck to try and read what was above her.

“I slept with Nathaniel tonight. He finally noticed me. It was more beautiful than words can say. Now that it’s happened, I can’t think about anything else,” he read from above.

“Dad?” I anxiously prompted as I turned to him.

“Shush,” he crossly said.

“It was twenty years ago,” Mom quietly croaked with tears in her eyes.

“So, you did know about this liaison?”

“I don’t know,” she uncomfortably whispered.

“Did you know about this liaison?” he sternly provoked.

They remained in a silent deadlock for a few seconds until I could see the surrender in Mom’s eyes.

“Don’t do it, Liv,” Dad whispered.

“Yes! I fucking did, okay?” she blurted out.

Dad was enraged by Mom’s admission and immediately stormed away from the screen, kicking something violently into the corner of the room as he retreated, leaving me rooted to the floor, completely dumbfounded, and with my eyes still glued to the screen.

“I was respecting my husband’s right to privacy, and I think you should do the same,” she derisively reasoned.

“The American people deserve to know the truth, and you lied to them!” he began, only pausing to allow the scattered applause from the audience to quieten, “if you’ve lied about that, what else are you lying about?”

“Turn that shit off,” Dad requested from the back of the room.

“Wait,” I meekly let out.

Dad, clearly not interested in hearing any more of the interview, stormed over to the television and ripped the plug from the socket in the wall. I stepped back slightly, worried that he might kick the television off of the table it was perched on, but he thought better of it and quickly receded back into himself with a frustrated groan.

“Dad, I had no idea—”

“You weren’t meant to know. Ever,” he interjected.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You had a gay fling two decades ago. Big deal.”

“I’m not ashamed of that,” he admitted.

“What then?”

“I let that psychopath get into my head. I shouldn’t have had anything to do with him after that night.”

“How could you know? He pulled the wool over all of our eyes. If it hadn’t happened to us, he’d have picked out someone else. He’s sick, Dad.”

“Don’t you see? Everything that happened was my fault. If I hadn’t been trying to drink myself into oblivion at every opportunity through college, it would never have happened. Your mother went through hell because of me. You had to grow up without a mother because of me. I may not have directly ruined our lives, but I let him do it.”

“Dad,” I started before quickly wrapping my arms around him, “it isn’t your fault.”

“You know what’s worse than having to live with that guilt every single day? The fact that it’s just been broadcast all over fucking television! This will make me a laughingstock.”

“We’ve been through much worse,” I remarked.

The look of embarrassment quickly vacated Dad’s face as he came to some kind of internal realisation, and he pulled away to frantically pat down his pockets for a few seconds.

“Do you still have the keys?” he asked.

“Yeah, right here,” I said as I jingled them.

“Do me a favour and lock up when you’re done. I need to go see somebody.”

“What? Where? How am I going to get back?”

“Mom will pick you up. Sorry, I have to go,” he said as he quickly left the studio, leaving me perplexed and shrugging my shoulders with the keys dangling from my hand.

“Man, this fucking family…” I uttered to myself.

9

THE SAVIOR

OLIVIA – 2025

Oh, Nathaniel. I tried picturing the expression of utter betrayal on his face, knowing that somewhere, he was probably witnessing me get gutted like a fish on live television. Stupidly, I had openly divulged the one thing he was desperate to keep under wraps from the world, all because I couldn’t control my temper. I was furious and wanted to leap at Javier’s jugular like a wild animal, tearing him apart right there in front of the cameras, with only the massive societal pressure keeping my bum on the seat. He was looking back at me, waiting for the monumental embarrassment to set in, all with a smarmy, self-satisfied smirk splitting his face.

“I was respecting my husband’s right to privacy, and I think you should do the same,” I disdainfully argued.

“The American people deserve to know the truth, and you lied to them!” he began, waiting for the sporadic cheers from the audience to die down, “if you’ve lied about that, what else are you lying about?”

“Nothing,” I snapped back.

“Olivia, I’m trying to help you here. This is your chance to come clean about it all,” he said with mild reproach.

A grim realisation clicked in my head, and a manic smile meandered its way through my embattled scowl. I provokingly glowered into Javier’s eyes, just long enough to see him squirm slightly in his seat as he wrestled with the uncomfortable silence. Just as he parted his lips to speak, I took the opportunity from him and jumped straight in there.

“How much are they paying you?” I abruptly asked.

“How much—what?” he bemusedly questioned.

“Alex and that lawyer of his. How much?”

“Olivia, I’m a serious and impartial journalist. We don’t take bribes.”

“Okay then, so what does he have over you?”

“Olivia, I’m so sorry, but I have to stop you there because we—”

“Don’t you dare,” I interrupted, “you’re telling me to be honest, so why don’t you lead by example?”

“Olivia, I have never taken a bribe, and no one has anything over me. You are clearly clutching at straws because I’ve backed you into a corner.”

My eyes diverted from Javier’s furious gaze for a second, and I looked at Stacey, who was having a similarly heated conversation with the showrunner on the sidelines. Her eyes locked with mine for a second, and she subtly beckoned me over with her hand. It was the only signal I needed, so I took one last look at Javier and chose my next words very carefully.

“Fuck you,” I venomously scorned as I rose from my seat, accidentally knocking it over in a fit of towering rage.

“Wow! Tensions are really riding high!” he announced to the camera. “We’re going to cut to a quick commercial break, but we will be back in a few minutes,” he added as I stormed off the stage, being accompanied by a chorus of boorish jeers from the audience. I escaped the studio lights, and Stacey’s frenzied conversation became audible as Javier’s bubbly introduction music began to play again behind me.

“—fucking unprofessional! I’ll make sure everyone hears about this!” Stacey shouted at the showrunner.

“Let’s get out of here,” I instructed Stacey as I stomped past her.

“Liv, honestly, I didn’t have a clue,” she tenderly said to me with a hand on my shoulder as we raced out of the building together.

“I just need to get out of here,” I derisively said.

“I’m so sorry; I can’t believe they’d make up lies like that. We should sue,” she remarked.

“It’s true, Stace,” I remarked over my shoulder.

“What? Alex and Nathaniel? Really?”

“Uh-huh. I don’t want to talk about it, which is exactly why I didn’t want to do this in the first place, and if we weren’t suddenly penniless, I wouldn’t have touched that interview with a ten-foot pole.”

“Shit. What’s Nath going to say?”

“Well, he’ll have hit the roof by now if he was watching the fucking interview. I promised him that I’d keep the secret, and now it’s all over fucking television.”

“I had no idea.”

“I know you didn’t,” I uttered.

I couldn’t believe it. I was seething with rage.

When I first started drafting the book, Nathaniel made me guarantee that I would keep that part out of it, and of course, I agreed. Even though their night of supposed passion happened two decades before, his well-to-do parents didn’t know anything about that side of his life, and neither did our daughter. Just by blindly chasing my childhood dreams, I had left us totally exposed to pieces of work like Javier Costello and his sickly sweet brand of ‘gotcha’ journalism. What was even worse than airing our dirty linen for all and sundry to see was the fact that this misstep of mine could somehow compromise the trial or even bolster Alex’s defence. That shark of a lawyer he had in his employ would be looking for any excuse to publicly defame me if it meant his job was a little easier, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they cooked up the leak between them.

I wanted the ground to swallow me up.

“Wait,” I heard Javier shout behind me.

I contemptuously turned around, seeing my newly found nemesis toilingly running down the corridor after me, and I immediately folded my arms as he came to a stop a few metres in front of me.

“You’ve really fucked up now, you fucking bitch,” he said in between laboured breaths.

“Sorry, are you talking to me?” I condescendingly asked.

“You really think that’s all I have on you? You’re a fraud, Olivia. It’s only a matter of time before everyone knows it.”

“Why exactly are you doing this to me? You don’t even know me!” I argued.

“I’ll admit that at first, it was just for the ratings, but you crossed a line back there. It’s personal now.”

“Walk away, Liv,” Stacey uttered behind me.

“Why? What’s the big man going to do? You and whose army?” I said challengingly.

“I’m going to make it my personal mission to very publicly expose you and the bovine faeces you’ve been peddling as a book.”

I remained silent, trying my absolute best not to be shaking in my boots at his threat, and just continued staring him out with utter hatred.

“No one fucks with my show!” he shouted, kicking a nearby fire extinguisher clean off the wall.

“Fuck you,” I said matter-of-factly, “and your teeth!” I added before ripping off the microphone clipped to the back of my jeans and throwing it at his feet.

I turned on my heels, stormed out of the studio, slammed the door behind me, and began raging down the metal steps leading to the car park. In my wake, I left Stacey stunned at the top of the stairs, and she struggled to keep up as I thundered towards my rental car.

I couldn’t imagine the deep shame my husband would feel after discovering what I had said, so I tried calling to warn him of the incoming storm while Stacey was still meekly attempting to apologise in my other ear. He hadn’t answered the phone by the time I made it back to the car, so I sat inside with the door open as Stacey continued to explain herself.

“I told them. I said, nothing off the approved list of questions, but that dickhead decided to go rogue, and—”

“Stace,” I interrupted.

“What?”

“It isn’t your fault, mate. What’s done is done. He’s clearly a knobhead who is inexplicably baying for my blood.”

“Thank Christ. I’m so relieved you said that.”

“What do we do next? Is there any chance we can put a lid on it?”

“I doubt it. It’s probably been picked up already by every channel in the State.”

“Fuck,” I exclaimed as I hit the steering wheel hard with my open palm.

“Do you want to get a coffee or something? So, you can at least decompress before you see Nath?”

“No, I’d better head back. I’m not staying with him at his parents because we had a bit of a bust-up.”

“Oh no, why?”

I sighed and turned in my seat to put my feet on the tarmac with my head in my hands.

“Ernest got a collect call from California State Prison,” I mumbled.

“What? No! Was it Alex?”

“He didn’t answer because Aurora was still in the car with him, but my gut feeling is telling me that it might have been Alex. I tried pulling him up on it, and he delightfully told Nathaniel to stick a leash on me.”

“Christ, I’m surprised you didn’t glass him.”

“Me too.”

Stacey took out a packet of cigarettes, offering me one with her hand, but I declined. She lit hers, leaning against the car beside mine and blowing a plume of tobacco smoke into the air as I watched her, slightly regretting my decision.

“Where are you staying, then?”

“Some shithole motel in Palo Alto. I’ll make a detour to see Nath, though. He might not have seen the broadcast yet, and I can try to get ahead of it.”

“How the fuck did we get here?” Stacey mused.

“Lately, I’ve been asking myself that a lot as well. I’ve also been wondering if it would have been simpler to just stay in that hole I escaped from.”

“Don’t say that, mate.”

“It’s true!” I began with an incredulous laugh as I tapped the side of my car with my heel. “At least everyone else wouldn’t have been dragged into my mess.”

“Liv, you saved them. They were in just as much danger as you were.”

“I suppose,” I mumbled.

“Fuck Javier; He’s a shit journalist anyway. Fuck Alex and anyone else who dared cross you. You are strong, Liv and everything will work itself out in the end.”

“I know it will,” I said with an uneasy smile.

“Anyway, you’d better get grovelling. Good luck with Nath. You know I’m always here if you need to talk.”

“I do. Thanks, mate.”

“Leave that piece of shit reporter to me. You just concentrate on your family. I’ll do some damage control from my end.” Stacey announced, already unlocking her phone to make a call, “I’ll see you at the book signing tomorrow.”

“Shit, I forgot about that,” I said as I climbed into the car and slammed the door.

I watched Stacey jog over to her car before putting my head on the steering wheel and closing my eyes in frustration. I never asked for any of this. I only wanted to use my writing as an outlet, a creative way of getting rid of those agonising memories that were still causing me so much suffering. I can’t be blamed for that, right? I hadn’t anticipated the problems it would bring on, nor had I ever imagined that telling my story would meet such a vigorous challenge. I wanted to believe that Javier was alone in his opinion, but his studio audience was a worrying microcosm for society as a whole, and I could already feel the tides of public opinion turning. Surely, I should be free to follow my lifelong passion without all the immediate and crushing repercussions from every angle, but apparently not.

Javier was right about one thing. I did handpick the facts to make me look better than I was, and it was only a matter of time before the whole truth would become public. My family had already been through so much, and I couldn’t bear the thought that I was somehow contributing to their pain. I felt like a complete charlatan, masquerading as this strong Amazonian woman, unashamedly selling my story as this inspirational journey that I had been on when, in reality, I was just as overwhelmed and broken as the day I escaped.

“You looked utterly ridiculous in there,” a distorted whisper came from behind me. I didn’t even have to turn around. I knew nobody was there.

“Not now,” I mumbled to myself as I calmly reached for the tablets I had stashed in the glove compartment.

“You think those little white tablets will stop me from visiting you? You need me, Liv; it’s me who keeps you grounded.”

“Yeah, right,” I laughed to myself.

“You have to admit that I’m the only one who will tell you the truth. You’ve surrounded yourself with sycophants and flatterers. No one believes your story, not behind your back, anyway.”

“The judge will,” I began with a smile, “when he puts Alex behind bars for the rest of his life.”

He remained silent, and I swear I could feel the heat of his breath on the back of my neck.

“Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated, since you also are in the body,” he recited in a whisper.

Just as my paranoia piqued, and I was about to turn around just to check Benjamin wasn’t sitting in the back seat, someone bashing on the car window nearly scared me half to death. I peered through the misted-up window, seeing the man standing there in his red, plaid shirt and cowboy hat, politely waiting for me to greet him. It took a few seconds for the penny to drop before I realised who it was, but when I did, I jumped straight out of the car to throw my arms around him. I hadn’t seen him since that fateful night he found me half dead on the road after I had escaped the bunker.

“Hank? Oh my God, how are you?” I enthused.

“Miss Lakewell, it’s so good to finally see you again, ma’am,” Hank warmly said.

“Actually, its Mrs Anderson, now,” I announced as I brandished my wedding ring.

“Congratulations, I’m so happy you finally tied the knot!”

“Thank you! What are you doing here? Do you work at the studio or something?”

“No, forgive me, but I saw you were doing an interview here, and I drove straight down here. I really need to discuss something with you.”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“Actually, yes, it’s about—"

My phone started ringing loudly in my pocket, and I distractedly glanced at it to see Nathaniel’s name flashing on the screen. I lifted it to gesture to Hank that I was getting a call, but he had an apprehensive expression on his face, which made me send it straight away to voicemail.

“Sorry; forget all about this. You’re clearly a very busy lady, and I apologise for bothering you,” he added.

“Don’t be silly, tell me what’s happened.”

Hank immediately started to tear up, and I realised that whatever was playing on his mind was more serious than I had initially thought. In a way, I owed that man my life, so I quickly corrected my earlier blunder and gave him my undivided attention, putting my hand on his arm when he started to sniffle.

“Hank? What is it?” I softly asked.

“It’s about my son Jonah,” he sullenly began, “he’s missing.”

10

THE NEW FRIEND

AURORA – 2025

Thud, bounce, catch. Thud, bounce, catch. I was bored to tears, perched on the edge of a paint-ridden stool, throwing an old tennis ball against the wall while still utterly flummoxed by my dad’s sudden departure from the studio. I checked the time again and wondered whether I should wait for him or just try and make my own way home without wasting time. There was something about his manner that made me feel really uneasy, but with no way of knowing where he went, I decided to just stay put.

I don’t recall seeing that look in my dad’s eyes for a while. In fact, it was probably the day Mom went missing all those years ago. It was like a maddened, glazed-over expression as if something nefarious had taken control of him, and he was unable to think about anything else until he had completed whatever it was on his mind. I almost called Mom but thought better of it, knowing that she would probably be dealing with the fallout of the car crash of an interview she had just given.

Thud, bounce, miss.

With a disappointed sigh, I helplessly watched as the tennis ball rolled underneath one of the workbenches, and I got off my chair to inspect where it had ended up. Below the table was a mess of thick dust and cobwebs, so I thought better of retrieving it. Letting out a low grunt, I checked the time again, swearing that only a single minute had passed.

“Screw this,” I uttered.

The ball had spoken, so against my better judgment, I left the studio, locking the door behind me as Dad instructed, and made the long trek down the stairs to street level. I aimlessly roamed the streets, searching for something to occupy myself with, and even though I had only been away from my hometown for a few months, so much had changed in my absence. Hammerdale used to be one of those towns where everyone had their noses in each other’s business, yet suddenly, I only saw strangers walking past me, and I politely smiled at them as they frowned back at me in vague recognition. The boredom was excruciating, so I decided to call Mel back to kill a bit of time whilst instinctually making my way back to the place that I called home for so many years.

“Hello? Are you okay?” she answered with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. We just caught the last bit of Mom’s interview.”

“I’ve just watched it online. Man, he really did her dirty bringing all that shit up. Is she pissed?”

“I haven’t managed to speak to her yet, but I think she’ll be really upset.”

“Is there truth to any of it?”

“I think so,” I sighed. “Dad went really weird after he watched it and took off as soon as it finished.”

“To go where?”

“He didn’t say. I’m currently wandering around Hammerdale like a weirdo, looking for something to occupy myself with until one of my parents remembers they have a daughter.”

“Hey! I’m only down the road, so I could come and pick you up if you’d like that? We can get a coffee or something if you want to talk!” she excitedly explained.

“What? Really?”

“Yeah! I was just visiting an old family member, but I’m done for the day now, so I’m all yours!”

“I might not be particularly good company. Everything that’s going on is really stressing me out.”

“I want to be there for you. That’s what friends are for, right?” she softly said.

“Okay, only if you’re sure.”

“Of course, and I can drop you back off at the motel after. Eek! I’m so excited!”

“Amazing! Meet me at the coffee shop on Main Street. I’m buying.” I enthused wearily.

“I’ll be there in a hot minute! Get me a flat white,” she announced before hanging up the phone.

Knowing that Mel was already on her way to meet me made the lingering anxiety and dread quickly fizzle away, and I began feeling quite excited myself. I stopped dead in my tracks, searchingly looking up the hill towards North Ridge, where our old house used to be. To be honest, I didn’t want to see it anyway; there were too many bad memories associated with it. Despite my protests, my parents were right, and in the end, I was glad that we had decided to up sticks and move to England when we did. Hammerdale could be levelled for all I cared, largely because I didn’t feel a single iota of attachment or nostalgia for it. If I felt anything at all, it was only intense resentment about the way it had chewed up my family and then spat it out.

Both of my parents were rightfully consumed after what happened to them, but I was more interested in looking towards the future. I had finally made a friend, possibly more, and I was eager to find out where it would lead. I spun around, abandoning my subconscious plans to visit my old home, and began moseying over to the coffee shop to meet Mel instead.

After a few minutes, I arrived at ‘Brew Bros,’ and thankfully, it was uncharacteristically quiet for that time of day. It was a typical hipster haunt, usually chock-full of hipsters with man buns, self-important layabouts typing away at their laptops, and the odd shower-scared hippy. The barista was tapping away at his phone until the door clunked shut behind me, and he quickly put it away to take my order as I glanced up at the brightly lit menu overhead.

“What can I get you?” he titteringly said.

“A peppermint mocha, please. Oh, and a flat white.”

“Coming right up,” he said before turning his back to me to make my order.

“No fucking way,” I heard someone shout behind me.

I turned around, and I swear I saw his ridiculous haircut in my peripheral vision before I spotted his face. My old friend Spike and his merry band of degenerates were huddled in the corner of the café, messily surrounded by spilt drinks and scrunched-up coffee cups. Their fearless leader was brazenly rolling a joint for all to see before finishing it and placing it behind his ear as he pointed over to me.

“Aurora Anderson, back from the dead,” he announced in a classic, horror-style voice with his arms raised like a zombie, and the group around him erupted in laughter.

“Quick! Someone get Spike some more hair gel, stat! He’s beginning to look a little floppy,” I quipped.

“Hey, have your teeth all rotted out since you moved to England?” he eagerly jested, without any reaction to his posse around him. “Because they all have bad teeth,” he quietly added.

“Yeah, good one, Spike,” I sarcastically said with a wink.

“Okay, how about this one? Teabag just sent me the video of your crazy Mom on the news. Fucking hell, she’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic, isn’t she?”

“She’s been through a lot,” I mustered.

“The way she told Javier to fuck off absolutely floored me. What a crazy bitch!”

“Drop it, Spike,” I threateningly remarked as I stepped forward.

“Calm down, it’s just a joke!” he laughed. “Hey, before I forget, what’s it like having a gay dad? Do you paint each other’s nails now?” he chastised.

“I said leave it,” I firmly warned.

“No wonder your Mom is so nuts if he’s been up to that kind of thing behind her back. I think it’s fucking disgusting,” he disdainfully commented.

Just as I clenched my fist, ready to throw a punch directly in Spike’s miserable face, I heard the door clunk shut again behind me, and then a soft, warm hand suddenly wrapped around my wrist. As I turned around, I saw Mel standing there with a huge smile from ear to ear, instantly putting her other hand behind my neck and surprisingly pulling me in for a passionate kiss. Our lips touched, forcing Spike and his cronies into a deathly silence, and for a few moments, I completely forgot where I was. The initial shock almost made me fight off the kiss at first, but as she continued, I relaxed my fist to slide my hand through her hair as she cutely pulled away with a playful grin across her face.

“Hi,” she beamed.

“Hey yourself,” I confusedly responded.

“Sorry, did I interrupt something? Are these some friends of yours?” Mel asked.

I turned to look at Spike, who was violently twitching as if he had just had some kind of stroke, and I giggled as Mel chummily put one arm around my shoulders.

“Err,” he stuttered.

“Miss? Your order is ready,” the barista shouted behind me.

“Wonderful!” Mel began, “shall we take them to go? There’s a really peculiar smell in here,” she added as she sneeringly looked at Spike over the top of her thick-rimmed glasses, leading him to sniff his own armpit in response.

“It was nice catching up,” I facetiously beamed to Spike as I picked up the filled coffee cups from the counter, left some cash and followed Mel back onto the street.

Mel rushed ahead of me a little bit once we got outside, carefreely twirling in the midday sun, leaving me a few feet behind, diligently trying not to scald myself with the piping-hot beverages. She stopped for a moment, turning around as she swapped her glasses for shades, her grin only widening as she plucked the peppermint mocha from my grasp.

“That one was mine,” I commented.

“Not sorry,” she remarked with a smile as she continued prancing in the street.

“What the hell was that back there?” I bemusedly asked as I trailed her.

“What was what?” she innocently asked over her shoulder with a cheeky sneer.

“The kiss.”

“I was just being friendly,” she smirked.

“That was more than friendly,” I said as I stopped again.

“Did you not enjoy it?” she asked as she turned around.

“Well, yeah,” I admitted.

“Then what’s the issue?” she flippantly asked as she gave me a cute peck on the cheek before setting off again.

“I suppose I just didn’t think you were that way inclined,” I began as I followed her again, “I’ve only just met you and—”

“Rora?” she interrupted.

“Yeah?”

“Your problem is that you overthink everything. Just go with it. I promise you’ll be much happier.”

“Okay,” I smiled, “what do you want to do today, then?”

“Why don’t you show me around Hammerdale? I want to know everything about you.”

“There isn’t much to show, to be honest. You’ve just seen the best bits.”

“Oh, God, really? Hey, where did you use to live? Before you moved to England?”

“Up by North Ridge, it’s in the opposite direction. I don’t really want to go back there.”

“Okay then, no drama. Where did you use to hang out?”

“Err, the skatepark, mostly.”

“I didn’t peg you for a skater!” she laughed.

“I’m not, and I have the scars to prove it. We only really ever went there to get stoned.”

“Rora! You’re such a dark horse. I didn’t know that side of you!” she jovially scolded.

“I gave it up when I stopped hanging around with those losers from the coffee shop. I think that explains why they were so pissed with me.”

“That’s a shame,” she mused before pulling out a small bag of herbs from her pocket, “what am I going to do with all this, then?”

“I’ll show you the way,” I laughed.

We started walking towards the skatepark, laughing and joking as we strolled. I was slowly getting to know my new online friend, who was now very real and walking beside me. There was something about her energy that I instantly admired the moment I clapped my eyes on her. I couldn’t tell whether I was immediately falling head over heels for her or I just wanted to be more like her. Outside of her obvious beauty, she had this no-fucks-given approach to life and simply floated through it, indulging every mad whim that popped into her mind, which is what I really loved about her. I had a grin cemented on my face from ear to ear the entire time I was with her, and her whole attitude made me forget about everything that was going on, even just for a while.

We turned a corner, and the giggling stopped when I suddenly realised what street we were on. Even from a few blocks away, I could see the tatty yellow police tape still hanging from the picket fence, flapping violently in the slight breeze. Mel noticed the slight reluctance in my gait, looking between the house I was staring at and back at me until the penny dropped.

“That’s the house, isn’t it?” she asked.

I nodded.

“The home of Alex Miller, the Hammerdale kidnapper,” she dramatically announced as if she were on a TV show.

“Uh-huh,” I mumbled, “there’s another way we can walk.”

“Why? It’s just a house.”

“Yeah, no. It gives me the creeps.”

“It just goes to show you have no idea what happens behind closed doors. That’s where he built the bunker in the foundations, right?”

“Yeah. He tried to kill Mom in there. If Dad hadn’t jumped in front of the bullet, they might not have escaped.”

“Are you okay? You’re shaking like a leaf.”

I looked down at my hands and noticed the quaking as I clasped them together to stop it. I turned my head towards Mel, who was looking increasingly concerned by my visible nervousness, and she took both of my hands in hers.

“What are you so afraid of?” she softly asked.

“I don’t know,” I pensively replied.

“Come on,” Mel started as she grabbed my hand and began dragging me closer to the house, “I have an idea.”

11

THE GROUP

OLIVIA – 2025

Isaw Hank’s indicator flashing right as I followed him in convoy down the street, almost bumper to bumper with him until he pulled into the parking lot at a community centre. I bemusedly continued to tail him as agreed, and we both came to a stop in adjoining spaces. He turned the engine off, groaning as he got out of his car, and I did the same with my hands in the air, wondering why he had led me there in the first place.

“I thought you wanted to get a coffee?” I asked him over my car roof.

“I do, and I promise you won’t find a better cup anywhere else in the State,” he proudly announced.

“Why are we here?” I asked.

“It will make sense to you when we get inside,” he explained as he locked his car and walked over to the main doors to unlock them.

Hank escorted me through the musty, winding corridors and to a door, which he held open to let me through. After walking into the room, I was immediately greeted by the circle of old wooden chairs in the middle of the dingy little room. A little perplexed, I turned to Hank, who was walking over to a side table that had a collection of stale doughnuts on top of it and a misty pot of coffee warming on a hotplate. He picked up the glass pot and swirled it around for a while before pouring the tar-like substance into two cups and then handing me one.

“There you go,” he warmly smiled.

“What is this place?” I asked as I cradled the mug.

“A little group that I run for survivors; considering what happened to you, I’m surprised you’ve never heard of it.”

“Survivors of what, exactly?”

“All sorts, really. We have all kinds of people coming through those doors, but loss is the one thing they all have in common.”

Suddenly, a few people started to amble through the door, one of them cautiously selecting a doughnut as Hank poured him a coffee. He had taken me there under the pretence of explaining what happened to his son, and I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t feel a tad uncomfortable and trapped. Support groups like this were one of the first things that people suggested I visit after finding out what happened to me, but in all honesty, they gave me the creeps. I couldn’t think of anything worse than sitting in an enforced circle and discussing your deepest, darkest secrets with perfect strangers. If I didn’t owe Hank so much, I would have walked straight out. After a few minutes, the seats quickly filled up, and he nodded at me to take one of the remaining chairs before he sat down himself. I hesitantly selected one of the last chairs and sat down quietly.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming,” he announced, “we have a new face today. This is Olivia.”

I awkwardly waved to the group, only to be totally ignored by most of them.

“You all know the drill. Does anyone want to kick off this meeting by introducing themselves?” he asked.

An older woman sitting directly across from me hesitantly raised her hand, and Hank brightly smiled and gestured with his open hands for her to begin.

“My name is Nancy,” she said loudly.

“Hi, Nancy,” the whole group sporadically groaned.

“I lost my husband, who died of a heart attack almost two years ago now. I still think about him every single day,” Nancy tearfully explained.

“How are you doing?” Hank asked.

“Up and down, you know?”

“I hear you, ma’am.”

“You know, it’s funny because lately, I have been waking up in the middle of the night, and I swear that sometimes I can feel my David lying right beside me.”

“Loss is a very cruel thing, Nancy. But we are here for you. Thanks for sharing.”

“Can I go?” a man on my left meekly said.

“Please go ahead, sir. Anyone is welcome to speak.”

“Hi everyone, I’m Geoff,” he nervously said with a little wave to the group.

“Hi, Geoff,” the group said in chorus.

“It’s been six years now since I last saw my daughter, Amber, and I still blame myself for what happened,” he shakily muttered.

“What happened?” I inadvertently mumbled.

“She begged me to drive her to her friend’s house. I’d been shitfaced all week, so we had barely left the house. Eventually, after a few more beers, I only took her to stop whining. I should never have got behind the wheel. The doctors said that because I was so drunk, I didn’t tense up in the crash, so I was barely hurt in the accident. Amber wasn’t so lucky,” he bitterly explained.

“Geoff, we try not to blame ourselves for what happened to us; that only ends in disaster,” Hank warned.

“I know. Anyway, things are looking up. I just got my five-year sobriety chip, and I’m still going strong. I wish I could go back and change things, but the only thing left is to try and move on.”

I couldn’t help thinking that it was his fault. Only a complete scumbag like him would get behind the wheel after having a skinful with his daughter in the back seat for good measure. There was absolutely no way that I would ever endanger Aurora like that, and just the thought of it made me feel sick. It took every ounce of self-control not to berate him there and then in front of everybody, and I only managed to hold my tongue because Hank, seemingly reading my mind, shot me a withering look.

“Thank you for sharing,” Hank began, “Olivia? Do you wish to speak?”

Alarmed by hearing my own name, I frantically stared back at each of the faces, expectantly waiting for me to spill my innermost beans before clearing my throat and taking a quick sip of the sludge Hank had professed to be coffee.

“Hi, I’m Olivia and—” I started.

“Hi, Olivia,” the group interrupted.

“—I didn’t really plan on speaking here today.”

“I know who you are,” Nancy began, “you’re that British lady who got kidnapped for ten years, aren’t you?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I knew I recognised you! You were on the news earlier!” Geoff enthusiastically announced.

“I was, and if you saw that interview, you might understand why I don’t feel like talking right now.”

“Is it true about your husband?” he gawkily asked.

“What? No, it’s—"

“We don’t force people to open up,” Hank sternly interrupted, clearly noticing my discomfort. “Does anyone else want to speak?” he added.

He looked around the room, and the wave of headshaking and awkward shrugs ended at me. Hank clasped his hands together as he leaned forward in his seat, taking a deep breath before he spoke again.

“Okay then, well, I’ll go. All of you know me. My name is Hank, and a few months ago, my son was kidnapped,” he explained as his voice began to break with mounting emotion.

The group dispensed of the usual harmonic greeting, most of them just solemnly staring at Hank as they remained silent. He was looking at me dead in the eyes as he spoke, and I replicated his posture and leaned in, eager to find out more about what had happened to him. His once warm and friendly demeanour was instantly shattered as he started to sniffle and wipe the emerging tears from his eyes.

“Someone quietly entered my home while we were asleep, crept upstairs, and whacked me over the head to knock me out before taking my only son, Jonah.”

Everyone in the circle bit their tongues as Hank struggled to get out his words, and I watched him clench his fists tightly before immediately relaxing them. My heart was breaking for him as I saw a whole tapestry of intense emotion explode across his face.

“We had hope at first. The sheriff’s office was useless, but as soon as the FBI got involved, we were convinced they would find him. We looked everywhere and combed every square foot of the surrounding woodland, but there was never a trace. After forty-eight hours, the agent told me that his odds of survival were slim to none, and they just… gave up.”

“I’m so sorry,” I softly whispered.

“I’m just living each day as it comes now. I’ll never forget him or his smile. He was my pride and joy, the happiest and sweetest child that I ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

The group broke out in solemn applause, murmuring sentiments at him as Hank seemed to completely ignore them and just continued staring directly at me. His story hit too close to home, and I started to cry myself, discretely wiping the tears away from my eyes with my sleeve. There truly was no justice in the world if a good-natured man like Hank could lose so much and law enforcement would barely lift a finger to help. I imagined Nathaniel sitting in that very same circle, distraughtly telling everyone the story of how I went missing over a decade ago, and I had an overwhelming urge to do anything I could to help.

The rest of the meeting continued as it had started. I had never been in a room filled with so much tragedy and calamity. The tears were flowing freely as the attendees slowly plucked up the courage to tell their own stories, being gently guided by Hank. By the end of their rueful admissions, the entire room’s spirits had been lifted slightly, and they were all huddled around Hank’s rock-hard doughnuts, all too ashamed to take one of the last few. I remained at a distance, observing the group from afar, too scared to allow my emotions to see the light of day with the fear that I wouldn’t be able to stop the resulting public breakdown. Hank, noticing me standing alone from the corner of his eye, quickly finished his conversation and tentatively made his way over to me.

“So, now you know,” he sullenly announced.

“Hank, you should have come to me the instant Jonah went missing. I would have helped you,” I said.

“I thought he was going to come home. Besides, your name was plastered all over the news, so I knew how busy you were.”

“I owe you my life. I would have dropped everything if only you had asked.”

“You don’t owe me a thing, Olivia. I just did what any good American would do. I would like to ask a favour, though.”

“Anything,” I said as I gently placed a hand on his arm.

“Everyone has forgotten about my son. He had about five minutes on the news and had his picture printed on a few milk cartons. You have a platform now. Is there anything you can do?”

“Like what?”

“People around here respect you. If you shout loud about Jonah’s case, they’ll listen to you.”

“I’ll do what I can. I’ll speak to the FBI agent who is dealing with my case. He’s really good, and he’ll help you.”

Hank stepped back a little bit and pulled his hand down his face, gripping his beard lightly as he teased it to a point.

“Ma’am, you don’t understand what this means to me.”

“Don’t mention it, honestly,” I warmly said.

“Before you go, please take this,” Hank said, reaching into his pocket and then handing me a business card.

“Hank’s Planks?”

“I’m a carpenter. It was my sorry attempt at humour.”

I immediately rang the number on the front so he could have my number, too.

“I’ll be in touch the instant I find out anything,” I said as I offered a hug.

“I appreciate it, ma’am,” he uttered as he embraced me.

I slowly made my way through the crowd of people at the door and navigated my way through the corridors to get back to my car. I tried calling Nathaniel on my way out, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Emotionally drained from the few hours I had been lending a sympathetic ear to so much personal loss, I jumped with a sigh into the car and frustratedly tossed my phone onto the passenger seat before I watched it annoyingly bounce into the footwell.

I pictured that sweet little boy lying on Hank’s back seat the night he ran across me and listening to his cute little snores as he dozed off. The thought that a monster could pluck a child like that out of the arms of his loving father made me sick to my stomach. Hank was a decent guy. He spent his evenings helping others deal with their loss, for Christ’s sake. How something so vile could happen to someone so good was beyond me, and the world was definitely a darker place for it.

My daydreaming was interrupted when my phone started ringing, and I quickly fumbled around to find it, expecting Nathaniel to be calling, but instead, it was a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” I answered.

“This is a collect call from California State Prison. If you would like to accept, please press one now,” the message played.

With a shaking finger, I tentatively pressed the one key.

“All calls are logged and recorded and may be listened to by a corrections officer at California State Prison. You may talk now,” the message ended with a beep.

I pressed the phone as close to my ear as I could, hearing only the distant sound of breathing, interspersed with what sounded like chewing.

“Who is this?” I sternly asked.

“Hi, Olivia,” Alex shakily replied, “don’t hang up.”

12

THE PLACE

AURORA – 2025

With obvious reluctance on my part, Mel and I crossed the street in tense silence, with her still holding my hand tenderly but leading me determinedly to the curb outside Alex’s dreaded old house. Every single window of his once quaint family home had been smashed, and those on the lower floor had been completely boarded up to deter vandals and squatters. The entire perimeter of the house was encircled by a temporary wire fence, padlocked at the gate to stop entry, and plastered with signs that warned against trespassing. Despite the defences deployed around it, they had proven to be quite ineffective, as the entire façade of the house had been sullied with graffiti. Predator. Sicko. Pervert. Paedophile. Mel and I, our mouths agape, gradually moved our heads from left to right while trying to read all the gross obscenity haphazardly scribbled on the walls, taking it all in before she drew in a deep breath and sheepishly turned to me.

“Did he ever… you know?” she gingerly asked.

“Did he what?” I bemusedly asked before the penny dropped. “God, no. He never touched me,” I added.

“Why is it sprayed all over his house, then?”

“I have no idea.”

“Maybe your Mom and Dad glossed over some details. There’s no smoke without fire, after all.”

“I don’t think anyone truly understands what happened in that house, least of all me.”

A huge cloud had ominously obscured the sun for a fleeting moment, and the whole residence was suddenly cast into shadow as we looked up at the darkening sky above us. Goosebumps ran up and down my arms as the hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and almost immediately, I felt the pressing need to run away from that place.

The last time I saw that house was when Stacey dragged Dad into Stephanie’s car after Alex had shot him, and I helplessly watched on as Mom inexplicably returned to the house before the FBI arrived to arrest him. I could almost hear the sirens blaring in my head again, and I was struggling to focus on whatever Mel was quietly saying to me through the noise of it all.

Mom never told me what she said to Alex in those decisive moments before he was arrested, and I never asked. The most vivid memory I had of that night was the look of sinister satisfaction on her face when she emerged through the hordes of FBI agents, and that image, which gave me chills, has stuck with me ever since. One thing was for certain: pure evil had resided in that place, the kind of twisted, vile iniquity that leaves a stain on anything it touched. I suddenly felt so cold that I was fiercely shivering, and I tapped Mel’s arm lightly as I turned my shoulders to leave. She remained totally stationary, with a look of sheer determination that had become manifest on her face, and I guessed what she was about to say next.

“Let’s go inside,” Mel matter-of-factly suggested.

“What? No way! I don’t think that’s a very clever idea,” I mumbled in protest.

Mel, unperturbed by my obvious unwillingness to go inside, began noisily scaling the fence, adeptly making it to the other side and peering at me through the wire, clearly expecting me to jump over.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked.

“Quick, before somebody sees us,” she whispered.

I glanced at the height of the fence between us, wondering if I even had the physical strength required to pull myself over as elegantly as she had done. I made eye contact with her again, noticing that the bright smile I was used to seeing had bizarrely faded from her face. Instead, her expression was entirely blank, but with one raised eyebrow and a single hand perched on her hip as she impatiently waited for me to follow suit.

“Are you coming, or what?” she asked with growing impatience.

I really didn’t want to.

“Mel, did you not just hear me? I said I almost lost both of my parents in there,” I shakily said.

“You didn’t lose your parents, though, did you? It’s just some boring building.”

“No, but still, I don’t think I can go in there,” I mumbled.

“Rora, why are you even allowing this place to have any power over you? It’s just a house. Sure, some horrible things happened to your family within those four walls, but don’t you want to see the place that defined the rest of your parents’ lives?”

“I really don’t know, it’s just—”

“You’ll be safe with me,” she interrupted. “I promise.”

Perhaps Mel was right: accepting the fact that a place isn’t inherently scary does remove the hold it may have over you. The morbid curiosity was beginning to get the better of me, too, and as she said, part of me did want to visit the spot where all our lives changed forever. I knew Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I had even been within spitting distance of that boarded-up house of horrors, and it didn’t bear thinking about what they would do to me if they found out I had actually been inside.

Even though I had just met her, there was something utterly unique about Mel that I couldn’t put my finger on. It gave me the deep-seated desire to please her, and the thought of somehow disappointing her in one way or another was even difficult for me to stomach. Regardless of what our relationship was or what it might become, my feelings were already strong enough for me to recklessly abandon logic for a moment, so I took a deep breath and wrapped my fingers through the fence.

“Okay,” I nodded as I started clambering over it.

Mel grabbed me as I landed clumsily on the other side, catching the attention of a pedestrian on the other side of the street who was staring directly at us. Mel giggled as she openly stuck her middle finger up at him, and he moved on while disdainfully shaking his head at us.

“We aren’t going to get into trouble doing this, are we?” I whispered.

“Rora! I thought you were a badass!”

“I just can’t have Mom or Dad finding out I’ve been here. They already have enough on their plates as it is.”

“We better get off the street, then,” she replied, “let’s see if one of these panels is loose.”

With her bare fingers, Mel started trying to pry the wood from each of the windows, diligently checking each one for a weakness that would gain us entry while I aimlessly tried the locked front door that had several warnings stuck to it. Since our attempts were proving fruitless, Mel began nosily creeping around the side of the house and pushed through the creaky side gate, with me closely following behind her into the back garden.

The once perfectly preened lawn was now ill-maintained, baked brown by the relentless Californian sun and lack of rainfall. The stiffened blades tickled my exposed ankles as we shuffled through it, and Mel was thoroughly checking each window for a flaw to exploit as we passed. We made it past the side of the house, and I instinctively walked into the middle of the lawn to take it all in as Mel continued to meddle with the fortifications.

“It’s so weird; I used to play here as a kid when Dad and I came to visit. There was a rope swing hanging off that tree over there,” I pointed out, “it used to be beautiful.”

“How long ago? How old were you?” she abruptly asked.

“It wasn’t that long ago, to be honest. I always liked it here. It was ever so calm.”

“And to think you had no idea what was beneath your feet whilst you were out here running around free.”

“Yeah, it’s a scary thought, isn’t it?”

“Hey, give me a hand with this,” Mel asked as I quickly turned around to help her.

She had found a scrap piece of metal that she had managed to stick between one of the boards and a window. We put our combined weight onto it, and the timber started to crack and splinter before finally coming loose. Mel carefully placed it on the ground, and we peered through the smashed kitchen window we had just exposed. She managed to safely scrape almost all the broken glass off the windowsill with the sleeve of her hoodie without getting injured, and then carefully dragged a plant pot over to the window, stepping on it and lifting her leg to climb through the opening. She skilfully made it through, and with Mel’s help, I managed to get through too, without slicing my leg open, which was a bonus.

“Do you moonlight as a cat burglar or something?” I asked as I patted away all the dust I had accumulated on my black skirt.

“I’m just used to getting into places I’m not welcome,” she pensively remarked as she looked around Alex’s old kitchen.

Everything had been ransacked, cupboards had been ripped from the wall, and the entire floor was littered with broken glass and discarded food rotting in the corners. The local graffiti artists had managed to break inside before us and had painted a huge skull mural on the back wall with blood protruding from the eye sockets. Mesmerised by it, I slowly began making my way over to inspect it, but my shoe bumped into something soft, and I looked down to see a brown, fluffy blur scurrying off underneath one of the cabinets.

“What the fuck was that?” I shrieked.

“Calm down, Dorothy, it was just a rat,” Mel dismissed.

“I can’t believe it. Uncle Alex used to make me pancakes here on Saturdays when Dad was working.”

“Sorry, Uncle?” she asked with a look of disgust.

“Mom always tells me off for that. Force of habit.”

“I’m sure the rodents would appreciate it if you cooked up a batch.”

“Gross,” I blurted out.

I spotted a photo frame lying face down on the floor, so I bent down to pick it up. It was a photograph of Dad and me, with Alex wrapping his arms around us from behind. Just the sight of it made my creeping anxiety almost unbearable, and I skimmed it into the rest of the debris before turning to Mel.

“I really don’t like this. This place is giving me the heebie-jeebies,” I admitted as I nervously teetered on the spot.

“You’ll feel better afterwards,” Mel said.

“No, Mel. I need to leave now.”

Mel let out a huge sigh and turned to me, grabbing my hands again and stroking both of them with her thumbs. She tugged on them slightly to get my attention, and I looked into her eyes as she prepared to speak.

“I know what you’re going through, but you need to trust me. We need to do this,” she firmly explained.

“Why are you so intent on making me do this? What’s in it for you?”

“What’s in it for me? Nothing, Rora. You need to face your fears head-on. It’s the only way you’re going to grow.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“Hey, you’ve already made it this far. What are a few more steps?” Mel urged. “Let’s go into the office. I guarantee that you won’t be scared anymore.”

Mel let go of one of my trembling hands and slowly led me through the minefield of shards and debris, escorting me out of the kitchen and through the door into the office. It was in a similar state to the rest of the house and perilously dark. All of the bookshelves were haphazardly emptied onto the floor, and the solvent smell from spray paint was still lingering in the air. The only light in the room was emanating from the slight gaps surrounding the barricaded windows, and I groped around in the darkness towards the light switch to flick it, but the bulb only glowed slightly.

Like a girl possessed, Mel began pushing the mountains of soiled books to one side to expose a wooden hatch embedded in the floor and threw it open without a moment’s hesitation. I walked over to the opening, my toes just dangling over the top step, and fearfully looked down the steps leading below into the darkness. Mel was almost out of breath beside me, and I tentatively glanced at her as a weird smile crept over her face.

“Are you going to follow me down the rabbit hole, Dorothy?” she jovially asked as she took a few steps ahead of me.

“Fine, but you really need to stop calling me that,” I snapped.

“There’s no place like home,” she quipped before pulling the cord beside her head, illuminating the cobweb-ridden stairwell at her feet.

“It’s filthy,” I remarked.

“You can do this,” she assured.

“Yeah, I know. If I can’t, I’ll just click my heels together three times, right?” I woefully joked.

Mel’s abrupt chuckle echoed off the concrete walls as we both carefully made our way down, one dusty step at a time, batting away the inhabited cobwebs as we did. She reached the bottom of the stairs first, slamming her palms against the thick, secured steel door that was stopping us from going further with a defeated sigh, and I delicately put my hand on her shoulder before she quickly shrugged it off. I crumpled my face up, trying to work out why this was so important to her; I get that she was trying to make me feel better about everything, but she was clearly desperate to get inside.

“It looks like it’s locked,” I softly remarked.

“Not for long,” she quietly said as she stepped to the side and tapped a few numbers into the lit-up keypad next to the door. After a few seconds, there was a beep, and the steel door unlocked with a metallic thump.

“How did you—”

I was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open after Mel had pushed it, and for the first time, I saw the grim place where my parents almost lost their lives. I mindlessly walked inside on my own, spinning my head around to take it all in. Owing to its extensive security, it was the only room in the entire house that had been left untouched by the vandals. I knew what Alex’s plan for my parents was, or at least what they told me. Yet, seeing it with my own two eyes was an entirely different story. By the look of it, he had carefully thought of every last detail; the pantry was stocked to the gills with cans of food and drinking water, it had basic cooking facilities, and he even had clothing stacked up on the racking for my dad to wear for the years Alex would hold him in captivity.

My attention was drawn to the dark stain that was soaked into the concrete floor, blackened by the months it had been resting there but still horrifyingly visible, nonetheless. It was Dad’s blood, and I followed the sporadic splatters with my eyes that had created an eerie trail from the centre of the bunker and up to the stairs. I turned my eyes to Mel, who was still standing at the door, and I nervously smiled at her as she gazed back at me.

“How does it make you feel?” she softly asked.

“It’s horrifying,” I mumbled, “it looks just like the one they kept me in for a few hours. Then again, you’re right. It’s just a room.”

“That man deserves to rot in prison for what he did to you and your family,” she bitterly uttered from the doorway.

“Are you coming inside?”

“No, I’m good right here, thanks,” she said with a faraway look in her eyes.

“He had everything planned out, the sick fuck. Clothes, food, and even sets of bed linen. What makes someone wake up one morning and, out of the blue, decide to build a place like this?”

“The kind of person that—"

Before Mel had a chance to finish, we both heard the sound of crunching glass coming from upstairs, and she went as white as a sheet. She frantically beckoned me over with her hand and all but dragged me up the stairs as we heard footsteps coming closer towards the office door. Alex’s desk had been flipped on its side, and we only just managed to dip behind it before the office door slowly screeched open. I opened my mouth to gasp, but Mel immediately clasped her hand over it as we heard the sound of heavy footsteps ominously trudging past us and then down the steps into the bunker below.

“We need to get out of here. Now,” Mel sternly whispered.

“Who the fuck is that?” I asked.

“Listen, it isn’t safe. On three, we make a run for it.”

“Wait, let’s think about this—”

“One… two… three!” she counted under her breath.

We both stood up, and I ran as fast as my legs could carry me out of the office and into the hallway. The front door was now wide open, and we flew through it like in a race against time, both slamming into the wire fence in unison at the end of the driveway. We scrambled over it, immediately sprinting down the street to the next intersection, where we both hid behind some shrubbery and watched the house from afar. A man appeared at the door from inside, shrouded in its shadow, turning his head left and right as he scanned the front garden for any signs of life.

“That was close,” Mel quaked beside me.

“Who is that? The fucking FBI?” I fearfully asked.

Mel paused for a moment.

“Yeah,” she nodded frantically, “it must be.”

13

THE CALL

OLIVIA – 2025

My breathing had almost ceased since my phone rang. Sitting in my car, with every single muscle in my body frozen to the bone just by the unwelcome sound of Alex’s voice, my mouth was agape with a mixture of incredulity and astonishment while my brain was numbly trying to do its best to process what my ears were being subjected to, albeit with little success. The first emotion to come flooding back after the sudden shock was unfathomable rage, with such an intensity that I could feel the glass of my phone screen bowing due to the tight grip I was unconsciously inflicting on it. As I began hyperventilating, I unclipped my seatbelt to give myself a bit of extra breathing room while trying to work out what to say.

“Hello?” Alex searchingly said.

“What the fuck are you calling me for?” I slowly asked, enunciating each word.

“Well, I need to speak to you,” he meekly uttered.

“Why?” I shouted angrily.

“I need to do right by God and apologise to you. It’s part of my penance.”

I burst out into cynical laughter, pulling the phone away from my ear as I struggled to keep upright. I will admit that there was something different in his voice, a certain softness that I had never heard before, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered if it was him at all. Perhaps my image of him being terrified in prison was truer to life than I thought, and to be honest, I was curious to hear much more.

“You’re just calling to say sorry? Okay, now I’ve heard it all.” I said matter-of-factly.

Alex remained silent for a moment, and I pressed the phone to my ear as tightly as I could, trying to catch what was happening in the background. He sounded as though he were sniffling.

“Are you fucking crying?” I asked with incredulity.

“Yes,” he sobbed. “I’m just so ashamed of what I’ve done to you and your family,” he ditheringly added as his voice started to falter.

I began slapping my hand against my knee in mocking applause. The concentrated anger I felt was instantly diluted into obscurity by sheer bewilderment, and I began howling with manic laughter. I had no idea what his angle was, but as twisted as it was, I actually started to find it incredibly entertaining. I knew for certain that his half-baked ruse was total bullshit, which is why I couldn’t resist the opportunity to unrestrainedly ridicule his supposed apology without relenting.

“Bravo! Somebody hand this man an Oscar,” I sneered.

“I’m being serious, Olivia. I’m not asking for your forgiveness, let alone expecting it. I just needed to say this to you for my own sanity,” he tearfully explained.

“Your sanity? What about mine? Or Nath’s? Or Aurora’s, for fuck’s sake?”

“You’re right. I’ll need to make amends with them too. I’ve destroyed so many lives, and I can’t begin to imagine how you must have felt when you realised it was me calling, but I’m begging you please to give me the opportunity to apologise, even if I know I don’t deserve it.”

I tried to digest his soppy words for a few moments as I leaned back in the car seat with a sigh. As much as I vehemently despised that monster with every fibre of my being, there was something in his voice that had caught me off guard.

“Come on then,” I sighed, “let loose your big apology. I haven’t got all night, so fire away.”

Alex cleared his throat in preparation and took a long, audible breath.

“Olivia, I’m so sorry,” he announced.

“Wait, is that it?” I disdainfully snapped.

“No,” he awkwardly mumbled.

“Well, make it count, bucko. As soon as I hang up, I’m getting on the phone with the FBI, and I’ll make sure that this is the last call you’ll ever make.”

“Just hear me out. You wouldn’t believe me, but I’ve been meaning to tell you why I did what I did. Hopefully, it will go some way towards explaining my actions.”

“I can’t wait for this one. Go ahead, tell us your sob story, then.”

“I didn’t have the best childhood. My father was a drunk and used to—”

“Oh, fucking hell,” I interrupted.

“What?” he bemusedly asked.

“Are you insane? I don’t care about your shitty upbringing; plenty of people have had awful childhoods and would never go on to do what you did! Take some fucking responsibility for what you did, and stop blaming it on the actions of others.”

“Fair enough,” he mumbled, “you’re right, Olivia, as always.”

I started to grow weary of whatever game he might be playing, and I quickly checked the time on the dashboard. Maybe Alex had lost his edge, and now that he was stuck behind bars, his manipulation skills had fallen by the wayside. My heart stopped thumping, my laboured breathing calmed down, and I actually began feeling rather bored.

“Are you practising for the judge or something? Is this what this is?”

“I have made my peace with God, and I’ll be pleading guilty, Olivia. I won’t put you through any more discomfort if I can help it.”

“Good,” I jumped in as soon as he finished speaking.

“Not to the murders, though.”

Hang on, what the fuck?

“Excuse me?” I dubiously asked.

“Well, I didn’t commit any! I’m not going to take the fall for Stephanie’s detestable actions. I never wanted to hurt anybody!” he dramatically explained.

“You must be kidding, right? You mean the same Stephanie who you slashed open and left bleeding to death?”

“It’s truly heartbreaking, but she killed herself, Olivia. I can only hope that God has forgiven her transgressions now that she’s with him. I only told you I took her life to scare you. I’m sorry for lying.”

“Those two hunters?”

“Stephanie put a bullet in those two hunters, and my only crime is that I shamelessly stood by and didn’t try to stop it. I have to live with sin for the rest of my life. She manipulated me, just like she used to twist everyone else round her little finger.”

“Nicole?” I mumbled softly, “I watched her die.”

“Oh, my darling wife, Nicole. Taken from us before her time was due in such an unfortunate accident.”

“No, it was you. I witnessed it happen.”

“God knows the truth: it was simply a trick of the lens to scare you. If it comforts you, there isn’t a scrap of evidence that there was any foul play on my end. I’ve already spoken to the FBI about that to expedite the proceedings.”

In the most bizarre way possible, I would actually have felt comforted to some extent if the real Alex made an appearance through his bare-faced deception. All this talk about God and sin was making me feel queasy, but at least I knew where I stood with him when he was threatening my life.

“If you think you can scare me into not testifying, you are out of your damned mind,” I loomed.

“Hey, I’m not trying to scare anyone. As God is my witness, my only intention is to make amends for what I have done.”

“I don’t buy it. There’s no jury in the land that would fail to convict you after only hearing half of the evidence. Get cosy in there because you are exactly where you rightfully belong.”

“Prison has changed me, Olivia. I entered his divine light, and now I only want to do what’s right.”

“So, what was that little present you sent me on my wedding day? Just an innocent gift?”

“You got married? Praise be! Congratulations!”

“Fuck off, Alex! Don’t play dumb with me. You know it doesn’t suit you.”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re hinting at.”

“I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”

“I must admit that the little stunt put together with Javier was very nuanced, too. You truly are a master manipulator.”

“Javier? Who?” he confusedly asked.

“The reporter. Sending him your diary to embarrass my husband like that? It was low, even for you.”

“Again, I’m none the wiser.”

“Okay then, buddy. I thought you wanted a real conversation, but apparently not.”

“Wait!” he shouted.

“No, I’m hanging up now.”

“Does Nath know?”

“Does he know what?” I asked defeatedly.

“About us making love.”

And there it is: right back to unfathomable anger. I should have hung up on him immediately, flung my phone into the nearest ravine and forgotten all about Alex’s cock-and-bull story. However, like a red rag to a bull, he had managed to find the right collection of words to send me right back into profound, palpable wrath, and there was no chance of me ending the call without giving him a piece of my mind.

“Of course he knows,” I lied through gritted teeth with certainty in my voice. “I wouldn’t call it ‘making love,’ however. Sexual assault is more accurate.”

“How did he take the news?”

“I’m not going to give you the satisfaction.”

“Fair enough. I’m glad you told him, though. I don’t know how he’d react if he found out through some other means.”

“Thank you for the concern. Is that all?” I said plainly.

Alex paused for a moment, and I could almost hear the tendons in his cheeks creaking as they broke a sickening smile.

“I’m so sorry for manipulating you into sleeping with me. It was wrong to take your dignity like that,” he uttered.

“Alex, you took that a long time ago.”

“You’re right, and I can never give you that back.”

My phone started beeping in my ear, and I saw that Nathaniel was trying to reach me again.

“Okay, time’s up. To be clear, I don’t forgive you, and I hope you rot in there, you vile piece of shit. Do not call me again.” I scorned.

“One last thing,” he abruptly said.

“What?”

“I wanted to tell you about what happened that night. The night I immorally slept with your husband.”

“I already know what happened. Goodbye, Alex,” I dismissively announced.

“Are you sure? Has he told you everything?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said unconvincingly.

“I’ll make you a deal. As God is my witness, I’m ready to admit something terrible and illegal on a recorded call, which will land me in even more trouble. But I want something in return.”

“What?” I sighed.

“Nathaniel has to visit me. Alone.”

“Absolutely not. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell.”

“You know what? I’m going to tell you anyway. Only because I know that as soon as I’ve finished this story, Nathaniel will come running, deal or not.”

I wasn’t sure whether Alex had lost his mind outright or it was yet another deception, but either way, the possibility of adding another string to the defence’s bow was an appealing one. One thing had to be said: Alex knew how to push my buttons, and he also knew that I wouldn’t be able to stand the thought of not knowing what he was about to say. On the balance of things, I decided that listening to him harp on for another five minutes was worth the potential payoff.

“Go on, enlighten me,” I said with a sigh.

“God, forgive me,” he sinisterly whispered.

14

THE FIZZ

ALEX – 2004

I adored London. The culture, the nightlife, hey, I even liked the weather. It was an eclectic and welcoming place, a buzzing hive of activity and joy, and walking on its forever-rainy streets was one of my favourite parts of studying psychology at the illustrious King’s College. There was something inherently comforting to me about wrapping up warm for a stroll and watching people from all walks of life milling around in the street while going about their business. My chosen course complimented my admittedly voyeuristic pastime perfectly because the human mind had always fascinated me, and I felt truly blessed to have the opportunity to follow my passion. I used to play this fun little game in my head; as I walked past people in the street, I would work out what neuroses they harboured just by looking at them.

A man was confidently strutting towards me, his shoulders back and his head held high, his muscular arms uncomfortably lifted away from his sides like he had an invisible carpet rolled up underneath each armpit. He was clearly a gym rat, and judging by his killer tan, he frequented a sunbed often too. He had a sparkly earring in his left ear that glistened in the moonlight and clearly looked after himself in general because there was barely a hair out of place on his head. He dressed well, a little too well for a rainy walk in London town, and he oozed high levels of self-certainty with his every stride.

As he got closer, the cracks became apparent. A small, dime-sized bald patch on the top of his skull was bouncing the streetlights back into my eyes. I quietly smiled when I realised that he had attempted to gel his hair in such a way to conceal it, but the breeze had blown away his carefully constructed camouflage, which was now plain as day. He had a slight limp originating from his left leg, probably from overdoing it at the gym, probably because most of his self-worth came from his body fat percentage rather than his vacuous personality. We made eye contact for a fleeting second, but he uncomfortably averted his eyes, letting me know that he wasn’t as confident as his mannerisms were claiming. My diagnosis: crippling social anxiety, borderline body-dysmorphia, and a warped sense of self-esteem.

“Good evening,” I beamed to him as we met.

“Oh, g-g-good evening,” he gawkily struggled.

God damn it, I had nailed everything bar his stutter.

I looked back at him over my shoulder with a sneering smirk as the distance between us grew again, quite satisfied that my verdict was bang on the money. Back in California, you could barely walk down the street without random passers-by stopping you for a quick chat. However, the procedure in London seemed to be the total opposite, and it made everyone incredibly uncomfortable whenever I did it. What can I say? I’m a people person, and that’s what made it so fun.

I arrived at the delightful little boozer I was journeying to, ‘The Slippery Pig,’ and I shielded my eyes from the streetlights as I peered through the steamed-up windows to see if I could spot him in there. It goes without saying that initially, I only came to England for one person, and that was my oldest friend, Nathaniel. I just couldn’t bear the thought of us being split up by going to different colleges, and he was intent on studying art in England, so as the faithful companion I was, and against the wishes of my family, I followed him there. We may have been cut from different cloths, but we got on like a house on fire, and once we were out in the big, wide world together, I was confidently expecting our relationship to blossom.

What he didn’t know was that I had a secret up my sleeve.

I didn’t fully understand it myself, but somewhere along the road, I developed some very confusing feelings for him. I was mostly a loner in high school, so I was eternally grateful to him for not only allowing me anywhere near him but also for choosing me as one of his friends. Nath was the only person who made me feel good about myself and that I was a normal person. Even as a kid, I sensed that something inside me was missing, a piece of the puzzle that made up who I was, which is why I had devoted my adult life to trying to discover what that really was.

I knew that Nathaniel held the key to unravelling the mystery that my psyche was shrouded in, which kept me not only patiently waiting for him to finally notice me beyond our firm friendship but also clinging to the hope that one day he would realise how he truly felt about me. To be clear, I didn’t label myself as gay, but let’s be honest, I clearly wasn’t straight either. Gender didn’t motivate me in the slightest, and I slowly fell in love with his personality over a number of years. It was only when I got to know everything about him on that deep level that I appreciated his physical attributes, too.

“Death or glory,” I whispered to myself.

In my head, I decided that night would be the night. I was going to finally lay my cards on the table and tell him outright how I truly felt. If he rejected me afterwards, so be it, but I was no longer willing to put up with the torture of being in an unsatisfying platonic relationship for a second longer.

It took me a minute or two to notice him through the rabble until I spotted the six-foot-swaying mess propping himself up against the bar. I always loved his hair, a rich, chestnut colour that he liked to tie up in a messy bun, which was a point of ridicule around campus, but he didn’t actually give a toss about what other people thought of him, which I found really attractive, too. I noticed him handing over a few banknotes across the bar to the barmaid, who started filling up shot glasses right away for a gaggle of inebriated young women who were clinging like pesky flies around him. All of them grabbed one shot each before gulping them in unison. In a fit of jealousy, I burst into the pub, quickly pushing my way through the weekend crowd to get to him, and to my delight, his face lit up the instant he spotted me.

“Mr Miller! How are you tonight, fine sir?” he said in a terrible, mock British accent.

“I’m good. You’re looking a little worse for wear there, buddy,” I judgementally said.

“Not so. I am merely treating these Brazilian ladies to a shot of something wickedly strong. Would you like to partake?”

I glanced around the circle of scantily clad girls beside him, who were all nauseatingly giggling behind his back while talking to each other in their native tongue, which I had a smattering of. They had clearly spotted an easy mark and were just using him to wangle a few free drinks before they discarded him and moved on to the next drunken soft touch. My big moment was falling apart before it had even begun.

“Sure. Maybe I should take yours, though. You look like you’ve had one too many for the time being,” I suggested.

“Poppycock! To good health!” he announced as he threw the shot of sambuca down the hatch, half of it dribbling down his stubbled chin.

“You ladies wouldn’t mind if I borrowed my friend here, would you?” I asked the group.

“Não. Take him, todo seu,” one of them uttered.

“Come on, mate, let’s go and find ourselves a seat,” I said to Nath as I gently guided him away from the vultures circling him.

“I just need to parlay with meu amigo here. I’ll catch you fine ladies later!” he slurred between hiccups as he grabbed his pint of lager from the bar, and we found a seat so I could sit him down.

“I wish you’d stop embarrassing yourself with slappers who only use you for free drinks.”

“Don’t be a stick in the mud. I’m a shoo-in and not greedy. I’d have gladly shared them with you.”

“I’m not interested in that. I’m just looking out for you,” I warmly explained as I extended my hand across the table to place it on his.

Nathaniel, slightly perplexed by what I had just done, slowly moved his hand away and disdainfully gripped his pint again. I leaned back in my chair with some visible frustration and crossed my arms tightly across my chest.

“What’s bugging you?” he asked.

“I was hoping to have a chat with you tonight about something, but considering the number of beverages you’ve clearly downed, I don’t think it’s a good idea after all.”

“What about?” he said as he set his pint down again, the foam still clinging to his lip.

“Us,” I muttered.

“What do you mean?” he said with visible confusion.

“Well,” I began with a gulp, “I don’t think it’s a surprise that I came to this country to be with you, and I enjoy our friendship, I really do, but—”

“Mate, what are you doing?” he sternly interrupted.

“Just listen. This is difficult for me.”

“Okay,” he pensively began, wiping the foam from his lips. “Spit it out, then,” he added.

I placed my hands palm down on the table and stared into Nathaniel’s ocean-blue eyes, silently willing them to come closer to me so I wouldn’t have to embarrass myself further. My mouth opened to speak, but no words came out, and I immediately closed it again in exasperation.

It was maddening. You could sit me in front of any stranger, and within a few minutes of talking to them, I could pick apart their brain with ease. However, Nathaniel’s mind was like an impregnable fortress, and I had this irritating blind spot where his persona was concerned. I had a similar issue with my own head, and in all honesty, I had never found it easy to put into words how I was feeling at the best of times, let alone deal with the complicated emotions I was always wrestling with.

I looked down at the table for a second whilst casting around desperately for some combination of words that could accurately convey how I was feeling deep inside. I had rehearsed this conversation in my head more times than I could count, but as soon as I gazed into those big, pretty eyes, I felt as if my IQ had been cut in half. I couldn’t think of anything to say, and instead, I just fixed my eyes on his lips as I bit my own. I started to lean forward, slowly moving closer to him as he remained stationary, his eyes widening when my puckered lips got incredibly close to his. At the very last instant, the sheer panic seized control of his face, and he flinched away to dodge my shoddy attempt at a romantic advance.

“Hang on! You’re winding me up, aren’t you?” he laughed heartily.

“Yeah,” I defeatedly snorted.

“Fucking hell, you really had me going for a second there. Get yourself a drink, you weirdo, I really need to take a piss,” he announced.

“Sure,” I sullenly replied.

Nathaniel left his seat, stumbling towards the men’s restroom, and I sunk back into mine, wrestling with the abundant shame and self-loathing whilst gazing into the half-drunk pint he had left alone on the table. At my lowest moment, I spotted one of the Brazilian girls sultrily walking over to me, and I couldn’t help sizing her up in disgust when she leaned in over me, shamelessly squeezing her bust together with her arms in a lurid attempt to tantalise me.

“Oi, bonitão, cadê o seu amigo?”

“I’m not in the mood to speak your lingo,” I angrily retorted.

“Where’s your friend? We’re getting thirsty again,” she explained in too good enough English for my liking.

“Come closer,” I said with a smirk.

She leaned in slightly, and I moved my face so close to her ear that I could taste the cheap coconut-scented perfume she had doused her neck in.

“If you all don’t walk out of this pub right now, I’m going to take the knife out of my pocket and bleed all of you right there on the bar like the fucking pigs I’m sure you all are. Você entendeu, menina?” I menacingly whispered.

She gasped in terror, quickly returning to her group of friends and all but dragging them out of the bar as she frantically relayed my threat to them. I grinned at them as they departed with a look of pure fear spanning their faces, even taking a sip of Nathaniel’s pint for dramatic effect. As soon as the pub door slammed behind them, I fumbled around in my coat pocket to produce the small zip lock bag I had purchased on a sadistic whim weeks before, and I spun my head left and right, checking that I wasn’t being watched from any angle as I handled the plastic bag underneath the table.

Why couldn’t he just love me?

Why did he force me to go to such extremes?

I was foolish to think a perfect person like Nathaniel would ever look twice at the likes of me. He was the epitome of cool; everyone who met him absolutely worshipped him, and I was just his socially inept hanger-on, doomed to the friend zone, watching him try it on with every hot chick that he met. I did everything I could to be there for him or get him to notice me, but all my attempts had ended in failure. I knew that I could make him happy if we just got over that initial barrier, yet it was just high enough to stop him from taking that blind leap of faith.

I manipulated one of the two white tablets in the bag with my finger and thumb to free it before tightly clasping it in my fist. Once released, I cautiously looked down at it, clasped tightly in my fist, and then back at Nathaniel’s unattended drink right in front of me.

I had never wanted it to come to this, but what other choice did I have? I told myself that it was just a means to an end, a way of stepping out of the prison of friendship and moving our relationship forward to becoming more than friends like I had always wanted us to be. We just needed one night together. I knew that it would snowball into more evenings of stolen passion, and his eyes would be finally opened to the one person who had been standing in front of him the entire time.

When I saw him burst through the restroom doors again, getting distracted as he searched for the Brazilian meninas who were standing there only minutes before, I took my golden opportunity. Without fully weighing up the consequences, I dropped the loose tablet into his pint, watching it fizz and effervesce as it dissolved into the amber liquid.

“Lord, forgive me,” I whispered to the heavens.

Unable to find the girls, he boisterously sauntered over, gripped his pint glass and offered a shaky hand to help me up. Not fully understanding what I had just given him, I looked into his eyes with concern and hoped that the drug wouldn’t start to take effect far too quickly.

“It seems you were right about those Brazilian girls,” he said.

“Drink up,” I warmly began, “I’ll take you home.”

15

THE PEP TALK

AURORA – 2025

Mel and I made it back to Brew Bros in an awkward silence just before the lingering sun gave out, and I was still dabbing the small cut on my finger with a branded serviette while she got the next round of coffees in. I distrustfully watched her waiting for the beverages to be made, wondering what kind of mess she had just knowingly dragged me into. The barista carefully placed the drinks on the counter, and Mel sheepishly carried them over to place them onto the booth’s table and sit down directly across from me. The tension in the air was thicker than the whipped cream topping my freshly made coffee.

“There you go, a piping-hot peppermint mocha,” she announced before noticing the blood-stained tissue in my hand. “Shit, have you cut yourself?” she added with concern.

“Who was that?” I firmly requested.

“I have no idea. Like you said, it must have been an FBI agent or something. The guy who spotted us climb the fence must have called it in.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said with an accusatory glance as I pushed my coffee to one side.

“Well, then, I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

“The truth, preferably.”

“I am telling the truth.”

“Okay then, indulge me. Why did you want to go inside there in the first place?”

“I thought it would make you feel better,” she mustered.

“Bullshit. Do you want to try again?”

“I could see how much it was affecting you. I genuinely thought it would help if we went inside. I’m sorry for what happened.”

“No. You were desperate to get into that house for another reason. I saw it in your eyes.”

Mel cautiously snaked her hand over mine and gripped it gently. My eyes were locked on it, and she shook my fingers lightly to prompt me to look at her.

“Aurora, I’d never put you in danger. I was stupid and reckless, and we should have never broken into that place. Please just forgive me,” she softly pleaded.

I wanted to trust what she was saying. However, the only thing I was truly certain of is that Mel wasn’t the open book she professed herself to be. Beneath the thinly veiled layer of enthusiasm and energy was a deep well of sadness; I caught a glimpse of it when we ran out of Alex’s house together. I didn’t know whether danger lurked in there or an ulterior motive was submerged under the surface. Part of me wanted to turn on my heel and hightail it out of that bar, whereas the other wanted to take a deep breath, dive in headlong, and explore Mel’s depths. My phone started ringing, and we both glanced down to see Mom calling me. Mel frustratedly let go of my hand with a sigh and picked her coffee up instead.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” I announced before standing from the booth and walking outside to answer.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hey, where are you?” she frantically asked.

“I’m back in Hammerdale at Brew Bros. I was just meeting a friend. Is something the matter?”

“Stay right there and promise me you won’t move a muscle. I’m coming to get you,” she firmly ordered.

“Okay, fine. Is this about the interview?”

“No, it’s something else. Just don’t go wandering off, okay?”

“I said I won’t. Hey, have you heard from Dad? He left me in a huff and took off somewhere.”

Mom sighed loudly down the phone.

“No, I still haven’t managed to get hold of him. Was he watching?” she sullenly asked.

“Yeah, and he wasn’t too happy about it.”

“I’m so sorry you had to find out that way, but it’s not a big deal, right?”

“No, I’m just worried about how you guys feel about it.”

“Listen, we’ll explain everything when we’re all back together, but for the moment, I just need to know you’re safe.”

“Mom, what aren’t you telling me?”

“I got a phone call. It was from Alex.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to apologise, believe it or not,” she laughed.

“Anything else?”

She paused for a moment.

“No, it’s just freaked me out a little bit, that’s all.”

“I can’t believe the jail would let him call you.”

“Me neither, there’s no rules against it, apparently.”

Mel meekly came through the coffee shop doors behind me and handed me my coffee, which I took from her and continued my call.

“How long are you going to be, Mom?” I asked.

“A few minutes, just sit tight.”

“Okay, see you then,” I said before hanging up.

“Is she okay?” she asked.

“What do you care?” I flippantly responded.

“Because I care about you,” she tenderly said, putting her hand on my arm, which I immediately shrugged off.

“I want to believe you, but you need to give me something. I saw that eerie look in your eyes,” I explained.

“Okay, fine. I’ll admit that I was curious to see it after hearing so much about what happened inside it, but that’s it, I swear.”

“So, you’re just like the rest of them? Only getting to know me so you can find out the gory details of what happened to my family?”

“It isn’t like that at all, I promise,” she argued.

“Well, that’s what it looks like to me. It’s fine, I’m used to it.”

“Rora, please believe that I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I spotted Mom’s rental car coming towards me from down the street, and she began flashing her lights as she approached. Mel turned round and saw her too, and desperately grabbed both of my hands.

“When will I see you again?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled.

“Please just give me a chance to explain,” she pleaded.

“I’ll text you later,” I dismissively said as I shook her grasp before Mom pulled up beside us on the road, curiously staring at Mel through the open passenger window.

“Bye,” I uttered as I climbed inside.

“Who’s that?” Mom asked.

“Just drive,” I quietly ordered.

Mom turned around in the road, and we began driving out of Hammerdale as I watched Mel sullenly walk back to her car in the wing mirror.

“Is everything okay?” Mom asked.

“Oh, just peachy,” I mumbled.

“We need to find your Dad because I really need to speak to him about the interview and Alex. We’ve been playing voicemail tennis all day.”

“He was really upset, you know. I haven’t seen him like that for a while.”

“Not as upset as I was.”

“Can’t we just go back home and forget about all this shit?”

“Soon, sweetie, soon.”

We barely said a word to each other on the way back to our hovel of a motel, both clearly ruminating on the stressful day we had both endured. Mel was weighing heavily on my mind, and I was already regretting what I had said to her. More than anything, I was disappointed after thinking that she was unique and that we could have the beginnings of something special between us. Finding out she was just another nosey looky-loo who was compelled to insert herself into my life was mortifying. I checked my phone just before we pulled into the motel car park, but there were no messages from her awaiting my attention. I leaned back in the seat with a loud groan as Mom turned the engine off.

“Before we go inside, you haven’t heard about a kid called Jonah going missing, have you? He’s about seven years old,” Mom asked.

“No, who is he?”

“Do you remember Hank? The man who offered me a ride in his car after I escaped the bunker? I bumped into him this morning and he told me his son is missing.”

“That’s awful.”

“Apparently, there’s been a spate of kidnappings around Hammerdale lately. Who knew, eh?”

“The whole town needs burning to the ground,” I glibly remarked.

Mom scrunched up her face in confusion at me and softly put her hand on my knee.

“Who was that girl back there? An old friend or a new one?” she softly asked.

“A new one. She’s called Melissa.”

“Are you two… an item?” she gawkily asked.

“No,” I laughed, “we’ve only just met.”

“Would you like to be, though?”

“Maybe,” I awkwardly mumbled.

“Aurora, just to be clear, Dad and I don’t give a shit who you date. We just want you to be happy. You can talk to me about these things, you know?”

“Obviously, you’ve been a little preoccupied since you got back, so I didn’t really want to bother you with my petty teenage worries. You two have enough to deal with.”

“Hey, I’ve always got time for you. You’re my daughter.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” I apologetically began, “I don’t know if there’s something going on between Mel and me, to be honest. I’m thinking about ghosting her, actually.”

“Why? What happened back there? You could have cut the tension with a knife.”

“A difference of opinion,” I mustered.

“Listen, if I ghosted Dad the minute we had a difference of opinion, we wouldn’t have made it past the first date.”

“What are you saying?”

“All I’m saying is you should give her a chance. You might be surprised.”

“Okay, I will. Thanks for the pep talk, Mom.”

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s settle up at this cockroach-ridden hellhole and find a nice hotel. Javier’s cheque cleared, and I’m feeling the need to be pampered,” she announced as she got out of the car.

I followed suit, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind me. I glanced into the reception area, noticing that Dad was inside speaking to the manager, and I patted Mom on the arm to point him out. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted us with a shocked look on his face before quickly finishing his conversation and walking outside with a sigh of relief.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you both,” he said.

“Sorry, I’ve had a hectic day,” Mom started softly, “didn’t the creepy manager know where I was?”

“Eh? What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Long story,” Mom dismissed.

“How are you?” he asked with an apprehensive look in his eyes.

“I’ve been better. Did you see the broadcast?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nath, I can’t apologise enough, he just backed me into a corner and—”

“Liv, it’s fine,” he interrupted. “It was bound to come out at some point anyway. I was pissed, but now I’m over it, really. I’m sorry for not sticking up for you when Dad blurted out what he said. You know how he gets.”

“Call it even?” Mom asked with her arms raised to offer a hug.

“Even,” Dad said as he obliged Mom’s request, taking her into his and embracing her tightly. I remained on the sidelines, silently grinning at them before they released each other and shared a peck on the lips.

“Get a room, guys,” I jested.

“In this shithole? No, thanks,” Dad quipped.

“Speaking of which, Aurora and I were just about to find a hotel on Costello’s dime. Do you fancy joining us?” Mom warily asked.

“Hell yeah! If I spend another night with my parents, I think I might go insane, anyway.”

“Good, because I need to speak to you later. It’s about Alex,” Mom announced, souring the mood slightly.

“What about him?” Dad awkwardly responded.

“It was really weird. He called me this afternoon to apologise and told me a story from back in the day. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

“What story?” Dad nervously asked.

“Well, there’s no easy way of saying this, but—"

Mom seemed to stop herself, looking deeply into Dad’s eyes for a few seconds in silence as he confusedly looked back. She quickly glanced at me, wrinkling her forehead before turning back to Dad. I saw her hands beginning to tremble again, and she lifted them up to his face, stroking him gently before wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“It can wait,” she gently announced, “we shouldn’t be thinking about him tonight, so let’s just enjoy ourselves for a change.”

“Good idea,” Dad smirked.

“Can we get two hotel rooms? I can’t put up with you two like this all night,” I quipped.

16

THE WARNING

OLIVIA – 2025

No amount of luxurious Egyptian-cotton sheets, deep-filled jacuzzi baths or delightfully plump mattresses could prepare me for the horrendous night’s sleep I experienced that night. Nath seemed to be sleeping like a baby, Aurora too, both of them catching up on some much-needed shut-eye after the physical and emotional exhaustion of the last few days. However, I spent the night wide awake and staring at the ceiling, obsessing over the tiny crack in the paintwork beside the powered-down light, trying to make sense of everything I had learned since my dramatic return to the States.

The morning had dawned bright and clear, and the early Californian sunshine was beginning to pour through the thin, netted curtain covering the window. I turned to Nathaniel, who was still lightly snoring in a deep sleep, blissfully unaware that his former best friend had raped him all those years ago, and that his loving wife beside him was keeping the secret from him.

I desperately wanted to tell him, but how could I?

I couldn’t even imagine stringing the words together.

He was living a lie, bitterly regretting his so-called flippant dalliance all those years ago, blaming himself for every abhorrent act that he has had to put up with ever since. If I turned all that on its head and told him the truth, I knew it would fundamentally break him. He thought he had made the worst decision of his life that night, but now I knew that he never had a choice in the matter because Alex had chemically subdued him just to have his wicked way. At first, I thought that telling Nathaniel the truth would somehow absolve him of the burden of guilt he carried with him, which would enable him to heal, but with him and Aurora staring at me, I thought better of it at the very last second.

I despised being a victim. I hated the way that my family gazed at me every time my hands began to tremble uncontrollably or whenever seemingly random tears formed in my eyes. I loathed the pitying looks strangers gave me, the empty sentiments, and the hollow regrets. I abhorred the constant treading on eggshells in my presence and having to portray a subdued version of myself just to keep others comfortable. I wasn’t Olivia, or Mom, or even Nath’s doting wife anymore. I was simply the leading lady from ‘The Bride from the Bunker,’ permanently scarred, still licking her old wounds, and chasing the misguided dream of finally returning to some semblance of normality. Knowing he would have to go through all that, how could I possibly condemn my husband to the same fate?

Disregarding the obvious morality of the issue, running straight to Nathaniel the minute that I found out was exactly what Alex wanted. By telling me what happened that night, he planned to remotely plant a wretched seed in our marriage in the hope that I would help it germinate and grow by confessing his sexual assault to my husband on his behalf. He would then patiently watch from afar as the resulting crop bore its rotten fruit that poisoned everything around it, infecting our marriage in the process. Like a thorn in my side, Alex had burrowed himself deep into my life and refused to let go, his barbed stems wrapping around everything I held dear, constantly tightening and squeezing the life out of it. Although I wasn’t sure how much more I could take before tapping out, I wasn’t so far gone that I couldn’t see his obvious attempts at manipulation.

Nice try, Alex. You almost had me, but no dice.

I knew that Nath and Stacey were right in what they said: the best form of revenge was to live my life and somehow forget the past and put it behind me once and for all. They were quick to remind me that I had beaten him and that I was the one who had emerged victorious. However, is it really winning when the scumbag who did those horrific things to you still occupies your every waking thought?

Nathaniel started to stir in front of me, groaning and clenching his eyelids as the sun gradually shifted position in the sky and began to shine on our bed, so I delicately stroked his stubbled face when I saw him rouse from his deep slumber. His eyes opened briefly, but he quickly shut them again, opening one just slightly and smiling back at me in a squint as I continued to caress his cheek.

“Good morning,” he wearily mumbled as he smacked his parched lips together.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” I said warmly.

“What time is it?”

“A little after seven. I’ve got to get up in a minute and get ready; Stacey will be here soon.”

“Stacey? Why?”

“The book signing she organised,” I announced, rolling my eyes.

“Can’t you just cancel it and stay in bed for a while?”

“I’d love to,” I smirked, “but duty calls.”

“But we never consummated the marriage…” he cheekily mused as he ran his fingertips through my messy hair.

“Sorry, I don’t think I’ve got the time,” I awkwardly mustered.

As soon as we both heard the sound of the shower running from the shared bathroom, Nathaniel, as if gifted with the green light, lunged towards me, slowly building up the intensity of his smooches and amorously tugging my hair.

“Nath, I haven’t even brushed my teeth,” I mumbled between gasps for air.

“I don’t care about that,” he breathlessly said.

“I do,” I clumsily giggled.

“Come on! Get your kit off!” he lovingly goaded.

I reluctantly started removing my silken nightgown, Nath abruptly taking over when he clearly got frustrated that I was taking my time. Once I was down to my underwear, he tore the bedsheets back, slowly working his way down my body, covering every inch with a kiss, lick or caress. As he worked his magic, I leaned my head back in ecstasy and quietly moaned as I gripped the loose sheet with my fists. His hands reached my hips, and he lifted me off the bed slightly, firmly gripping my backside as his tongue made its way down my goosebump-laden stomach. I was really getting into it, succumbing to the pleasure as I closed my eyes, but when I looked down again, it wasn’t my husband’s face I saw.

I couldn’t help but imagine Alex’s clammy palms gracelessly dragging over my body, sweating and slobbering over me as he glided his forked tongue across my exposed skin. His grubby mitts awkwardly fumbling between my legs underneath the sheets, clumsily tugging at my underwear like a lust-drunk beast while I willingly let him do whatever he needed to do. I looked up at the ceiling, hoping against hope that I could just make it through the next ten minutes or so without having a massive freak-out until I swear that I heard the garbled voice of my old captor coming from between my knees.

“Good. Now spread your legs,” he demonically leched.

I let out such a blood-curdling scream that it sent shock waves echoing through the room. In the ensuing panic, I accidentally kneed Nathaniel in the face when I tried to scramble off the bed, grabbing my nightgown off the floor and scarpering into a corner where I cowered out of pure terror against the wall. Poor Nath, completely dumbfounded, could barely make sense of my literally knee-jerk reaction and bemusedly emerged from the mess of sheets with a small cut on his lip, which he kept touching with his thumb to inspect the oozing blood.

“What the fuck was that?” he incredulously asked.

“I said no, Nath,” I aggressively responded as I threw on the nightgown and grabbed one of the hotel robes.

“And did you really have to clock me one? Jesus Christ, Liv!”

“I didn’t mean to do that; I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood; I have a lot going on.”

Nathaniel slowly dragged the sheet over his bottom half and leaned back against the headboard with a look of intense concern on his face. He was numbly staring into space, still messing with his bust lip, clearly rethinking his words several times before he finally spoke.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked.

“Like what?” I worriedly asked.

“I don’t know. It’s just been months, Liv. I get that it’s a difficult time, but I’m starting to think the worst.”

“Nath, no. It’s not you, it’s me,” I pleaded.

“That’s a cliché if I’ve ever heard one,” he pondered.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

He took a deep breath, sitting up in bed and slamming his hands down on the mattress. He looked down for a few seconds in quiet contemplation, building up the courage to speak, but an unexpected knock at the door derailed his train of thought entirely.

“I’m sorry, Nath, it’s probably Stacey. Can we discuss this later?”

“Sure. Whatever,” he mumbled as he groaned to get up.

I jogged over to the door, peering through the spyhole to see a smartly dressed hotel employee patiently waiting on the other side with a covered trolley next to him.

“Yes? Who is it?” I asked through the door with a disgruntled sigh.

“Room service!” he chirpily announced.

I unlocked the door, bemusedly allowing the man inside, and he quickly set up three place settings on the small table in the living area before he served breakfast on them. Nathaniel sullenly entered the room in his own robe, reaching into his jacket pocket that was hung up by the door to tip the man a few dollars. Just as he was leaving, Stacey walked through the open door before he even had a chance to close it behind him, and she immediately grabbed a pastry from the plate before anyone else got a look-in.

“Oh, how the other half lives! It’s alright for some!” Stacey pondered out loud.

“Did you order this, Nath?” I asked.

He reluctantly shook his head.

“Weird, Aurora must have ordered it, then. How thoughtful of her,” I said as I inspected what had been delivered.

“Hey Nath, I think you’ve cut yourself shaving. You have a bit of blood there,” she mentioned as she gestured to his lip.

Nathaniel silently picked up a napkin from the table and dabbed at his bleeding lip with it, leaving Stacey looking awkwardly between us with a furrowed expression on her face.

“I’m sensing a definite bad vibe here. Is something the matter?” she asked.

“No, we just had a bad night’s sleep,” I dismissed, still looking at my husband.

“Well, you need to get ready. Otherwise, we’re going to be late,” Stacey prompted.

“Chill. I just need to throw my face on and get dressed; I already had a shower last night.”

“Well, hurry up, then! I need you to look irresistible in all the photos your adoring fans will be taking of you today.”

“Why? It’s an admittedly grim book about kidnapping and torture, not the autobiography of a glamour model. Baggy pants and a hoodie are what I had in mind.”

“No, I’m not having you looking like you’ve just been dug up on all the publicity shots. Come on! Get it moving!” she said as she energetically clapped her hands together.

With a heavy sigh, I returned to the bedroom, threw on my least crinkled clothes straight out of my suitcase, and then sat down to haphazardly apply a bit of eyeliner and run a comb through my hair. Once I was finished, I started rifling through my washbag, looking for my lipstick, but let out a sigh of defeat when I couldn’t find it.

“Where the fuck is it…” I pondered to myself.

“By your feet. Left side,” Benjamin’s distorted voice instructed from thin air.

“Thanks,” I quietly began as I bent down to pick it up, “now, do me a favour and drop dead, will you? I’m in a bit of a rush.”

“You first,” he quipped.

“Honestly, I’m not in the mood,” I mumbled while searching the washbag for my tablets.

“You’re such a prick-tease, Liv. The man has been through a lot. The least you can do is put out once in a while. It wasn’t a problem with Alex.”

“No. Not until I have had a chance to speak with him.”

He tutted loudly behind me.

“I wonder, where exactly was he yesterday?”

“He spent the day with Aurora. They watched the interview together,” I said, twisting the lipstick.

“In the morning, sure, but what about the rest of the day?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t say,” I uttered as I painted my lips.

“Your husband gets forcibly outed as a closet homosexual on State television, and you didn’t think to ask where he was all day?”

“No. That’s his business,” I mused, painstakingly trying to remove a speck of red from my front teeth with my fingernail.

“Fine, well, you’re more trusting than I am.”

As I spun around to check the room for any physical sign of Benjamin, I heard the low hum of Stacey and Nathaniel mumbling to each other in the other room, with Javier’s name being mentioned prominently amid the noise. I quickly finished up and poked my head around the slightly open door, trying to eavesdrop on the rest of their conversation.

“What are you two nattering on about?” I asked.

“None of your business! Just get ready,” Stacey instructed.

“I am ready. This is the best you’re getting,” I announced, jadedly twirling in the centre of the room for her approval.

“I suppose you’re right. Looking tired and downtrodden is synonymous with your brand, after all.”

“Complimentary as always, mate,” I sarcastically said.

“Good luck,” Nathaniel wearily smiled.

“Hey, we’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay,” he nodded.

I walked over to the bathroom door and bashed on it heavily, waiting for a sign of life from within.

“Yeah?” she yelled.

“Thanks for ordering breakfast!” I shouted through it.

“What?” she howled over the sound of the shower.

“Never mind, I’ll see you later,” I hollered.

“Bye, Mom,” she responded.

I grabbed a piece of toast and ripped a chunk out of it with my teeth before Stacey linked my arm to forcibly drag me out of the room. Left without an opportunity to protest, she quickly pushed me into the lift and hit the B button. We both watched the numbers descend in silence until I abruptly stopped the lift partway through our descent and anxiously looked at Stacey.

“Listen, I need to run something by you. I spoke to Alex yesterday,” I said matter-of-factly.

“What? How?” she asked in shock.

“He called me from prison, claiming that Nath wasn’t drunk when they had sex all those years ago. He spiked his drink with something to fucking rape him.”

“Oh my God! I thought there was something wrong with Nath! What did he say? I bet he was mortified.”

“I haven’t told him,” I admitted.

“Olivia, you have to tell him,” she apprehensively said.

“Nope. I can’t do it to him, at least not yet. Maybe after the arraignment if it goes well.”

“Hey! Those calls are recorded! You can go to the police!”

“I’ve already checked, the statute of limitations is ten years in California, so there’s fuck all anyone can do about it. Alex must have known that too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have risked telling me. I just needed to tell someone before I completely lost my damned mind.”

“Do not speak to him again, Liv. Don’t let that psycho get in your head again.”

“I don’t think he ever left. There was something odd in the way he was talking, though. I think he’s having a really tough time in prison.”

“Good. The fucker deserves everything he gets.”

“I agree, but he was crying on the phone and begging for my forgiveness. It’s knocked me off-kilter a little bit, that’s all.”

“His plea hearing is in a few days; he’s just working an angle for his own benefit. Don’t trust a word out of his mouth.”

“Yeah, you’re right, and I hear you, but there was just something in his voice… I don’t know.”

I hit the B button again with a mystifying sigh, and the lift started moving down again.

“There’s something else. I ran into Hank yesterday,” I announced.

“The bloke who picked you up when you escaped? What’s he got to do with any of this?”

“Nothing. His son is missing. It just brought up a lot of old feelings. He wants me to help get the word out. Is there anything we can do to help?”

“I can push an article through all of your socials. If you agreed to do some more interviews, you could mention it on those too, I suppose. Is he from Hammerdale?”

“I think so. Apparently, there’s a big problem with people going missing around there. Kids especially.”

“I can believe it.”

“Anyway, do what you can. I owe him a lot, and I really want to help him out.”

“Will do.”

When the lift eventually pinged, we walked down a short corridor leading to the underground car park. Stacey got to the door first, holding it open for me as she ushered me through. I spotted her rental car parked amongst the motley collection of vehicles, and we both started making our way over to it. I noticed an envelope tucked underneath her windscreen wiper, and I perplexedly pointed to it as she quickened her pace to reach it first.

“It better not be another parking ticket. I’m up to my eyeballs in them already, and I’ve only been here a few days.”

She turned the envelope over in her hands, and all the colour drained from her face as she slowly held the letter out to me.

“It’s addressed to you,” she said, her voice wavering with slight apprehension.

I looked at the front of the envelope, on which someone had scribbled my name in jet-black ink. After tearing it open, a scrap piece of paper fell out and effortlessly glided down to the floor in the persistent breeze before landing face down. Letting out a groan of annoyance through gritted teeth, I bent over to pick it up.

“Stay away from the signing,” I confusedly read out loud.

17

THE SIGNING

OLIVIA – 2025

Ivexedly crumpled up the piece of paper into a ball in my trembling hands before I tossed it over my shoulder, showing complete disregard for the words scribbled on it. Without uttering a word, I moved around the car and started trying the passenger side handle, staring at Stacey with an expectant look as she refused to open it for me.

“You are kidding, right?” she said.

“I thought you said we were running late,” I said.

“We can’t go! You have to call the FBI. Someone is watching us. That is a threat, Liv.”

“Stacey, can you just open the door, please?”

“What if something happens?”

I distractedly watched the balled-up scrap of paper haphazardly rolling around on the parking ground like tumbleweed until it floated towards the underside of a nearby car. In many ways, it was a metaphor for my whole coping mechanism: out of sight, out of mind.

“I’m not going to let him dictate my life anymore, so just open the fucking door, pretty please,” I said matter-of-factly.

The car chirpily beeped, so I jumped inside feeling a bit miffed, and Stacey reluctantly followed suit before we began making our way to the book signing. Stacey was clearly shaken by the note, petrified that someone was tailing us a few cars back and observing our every move. For me, I actually hoped someone was watching. I was going to show them there and then that I couldn’t be manipulated anymore and that I was far stronger than they or I ever thought.

‘Time In Our Hands’ was a quirky little bookshop in the beating heart of Sacramento. I had been there many times before as a customer, indulging in my love of literature and sharing it with Aurora when she was a child. Some of my fondest memories of my daughter were within those four walls, exploring the shelves for new stories to share with her. Under normal circumstances, I would be absolutely thrilled to be invited there as an author, yet in truth, the lingering sense of doom was almost sullying the experience for me.

We turned a corner, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the queue of fans already waiting outside to meet me. They were all chatting amongst themselves, some of them already holding copies of my book and patiently waiting to get them signed. The sprawling crowd was so voluminous that it was almost spilling into the road, and Stacey had no option but to deviate her course around them so we could pull into the side street beside the store and park the car there.

“I don’t believe it. Are all those people here for me?” I asked with an excited giggle.

“You bet. See, I’m not too bad at this agent malarkey,” Stacey proudly retorted.

“Thanks a lot, mate. You’ve done a fantastic job! Here’s me thinking I wouldn’t see a soul all day.”

“You’re a fantastic writer, Olivia. You did this, not me.”

“Shall we go and meet them all now?” I enthusiastically asked while Stacey parked the car.

“No, we’ll go in the back door. Let’s keep them hanging for a while first.”

We both got out of the car, and Stacey bashed on the shuttered door in the alley and then stepped back from it. A few seconds later, the shutters were pulled up from inside, and a smiling woman emerged, warmly gesturing for us to come inside.

“This is Helen. She’s the owner,” Stacey explained.

“Olivia, it’s an honour to meet you,” Helen beamed.

“We’ve actually met before,” I smiled.

“Really? When?”

“I was quite the avid patron of your store until what happened. It’s going to be a lot of fun being on the other side of things.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve already seen the queue of people outside. I think it’s going to be a fantastic day. Are you ready to get stuck in?”

“Yeah! Let’s do this!” I enthused.

Helen pulled the shutter down behind me and quietly led us through the storeroom and into the bookish paradise beyond it. I hadn’t set foot in there in years, but it was just as I remembered it. The inviting, rustic brick walls were propping up long lines of wooden shelving, filled to the brim with books, old and new. The vintage parquet floor was drenched in the sunlight beaming through the huge windows at the front of the building, illuminating the microscopic specs of dust floating in the undisturbed air. The unmistakeable, earthy smell of the dusty, glorious tomes surrounding us wafted into my nostrils, being complimented by the delicate scent of rosewater as we followed Helen closely towards the very heart of the room. Tears almost welled up in my eyes when I saw the banner with my face on it, the small desk beside it, and the neat stacks of my book with a fountain pen perched on top of them.

“Here’s your office for the day,” Helen gleamed.

“Wow, it’s perfect!”

“I’ll go and let those lovely folks in,” Helen said as she walked towards the door.

“I’m going to grab some breakfast. I’ll call back in an hour or two,” Stacey announced.

“Yeah, fine,” I distractedly replied as I diligently organised the books on the desk in front of me.

“Hey, you deserve this,” she whispered in my ear as she hugged me from the side.

“Breakfast, yeah, no problem,” I absently responded.

Stacey walked over to the front door, bade goodbye to Helen, and awkwardly pushed her way through the massing crowd that was already pouring into the bookshop. I sat down with a massive grin as the star-struck fans began to line up in front of me before I invited the first lucky soul to come over.

“Make it out to Shona,” she abruptly mumbled while handing me a copy of my book.

“No problem!” I smiled, “how are you spelling that?”

“S-H-O-N-A,” she recited.

“Thank you for reading it, what was your favourite—"

“Can I get a photo?” she gawkily interrupted.

“Erm—sure,” I awkwardly agreed as she handed Helen her camera phone and leaned onto the desk. The flash went off, and before my eyes readjusted, my first doting fan was already halfway out of the bookshop. Another one quickly took her place, and I looked up at her with a welcoming smile.

“Hi. I’m Charlotte. Can you sign this for me, please?” she asked politely.

“I’d love to!” I said as I looked down at the book that she handed me. “Hang on, I didn’t write this,” I added.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Olivia Anderson. I wrote this book,” I said as I gestured to the stack beside me.

“Oh,” she disappointedly began, “I must have misread the flyer.”

“Well, I’m very sorry,” I mustered.

Charlotte confusedly picked up her copy of some romance novel that I had never seen before and pushed past Helen as she knowingly smiled back at me with a wry shrug.

The rest of the day continued as it had started: a long line of uncomfortable exchanges and slightly embarrassing photo opportunities. My initial enthusiasm was beaten out of me, one autograph at a time, until lunchtime, when I barely had enough energy left to manage a smile anymore. Just when I was about to try and get Helen’s attention to ask for a break, a young girl enthusiastically ran over to me, brandishing a copy of my book beneath her folded arms, and bounced on the spot as I despairingly looked up at her with trepidation.

“Sorry, darling, I was just about to go and get a cup of tea,” I explained.

“I’m so sorry, Olivia! I’m a big fan, and I was just wondering if you would kindly sign my copy!” she enthused.

“Are you really a big fan?” I grinned.

“Absolutely.”

I defeatedly smiled and held my hand out, and she placed the book in it before I opened it to the title page to touch pen to paper.

“Who shall I make it out to?” I asked.

“Mel,” she responded.

I scrunched up my face and looked back at her, leaving pen to paper and allowing the ink to pool on the surface. I thought I recognised her when she bounded over; it was the same girl that was with Aurora when I picked her up from Brew Bros the night before.

“You’re Aurora’s friend, aren’t you?” I asked.

“I am! Sorry, I would have mentioned it. I just didn’t want to freak you out,” Mel explained.

“Why would that freak me out?”

“I don’t know!” she exclaimed as she threw her hands in the air with a nervous giggle.

“You could have just asked Aurora instead of queuing up here for hours.”

“I know, but we had a bit of a weird night last night, and I wanted to make sure that she’s okay.”

“Maybe you should ask her that,” I suggested before looking down at the book. “It’s to Mel, yeah?”

“Yes, please!”

“Okay then,” I uttered as I quickly signed the book, shut it and handed it back.

“Thank you,” she enthused.

“No, thank you for reading,” I recited for the hundredth time that day.

“I was just wondering if I could have a word with you about something else. It’s important,” she nervously asked.

“What is it?” I asked with concern.

Just when she was about to tell me, we were interrupted by a loud thudding noise coming from the front of the store, and everyone inside quickly spun their heads round to see what had happened. When I stood up from my seat, I saw what looked like a cheeseburger sliding down the window, and I looked at Helen, who hastily started making her way to the front door to inspect what was going on. I followed her, hearing the low hum of rhythmic chanting the closer I got, and once we arrived outside, the crowd exploded into rage and chaos.

“Liar! Liar! Liar!” they chanted as I turned around, trying to figure out what was going on.

The mob surrounded the entire storefront, slowly closing the circle around me as they stepped forward. Some of the protestors had made placards, and I swivelled my head from left to right in utter bewilderment, trying to read them all. Fraud. Phoney. Cheat. My eyes worriedly met Helen’s, and she rushed over to try and usher me back inside. The crowd suddenly parted like the Red Sea, and my all-time favourite journalist, Javier Costello, confidently walked backwards through the gap with a cameraman in tow.

“Hi, Olivia,” he anxiously smiled.

“Is this all your doing? A bit much, don’t you think?” I asked.

“Of course not. I’m glad I ran into you, actually. I’ve been meaning to apologise.”

“Oh?” I asked.

“I was in a terrible mood when I interviewed you last. It was unprofessional, and I clearly didn’t have all my facts right. So, I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”

I bemusedly looked into the lens of the camera before turning back to Javier with a distrusting expression on my face.

“Apology accepted, now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy dealing with this right now.”

“Well, let me help. It’s my fault these fine people are whipped up into a frenzy, so let me set the record straight.”

“No, I’m not fit to be on television,” I anxiously replied as I tugged at my clothes.

“Are you kidding me? You look like a million dollars! Five minutes, please. We can have another interview right here to put this nastiness between us to bed.”

Even though I detested the man standing in front of me, I didn’t see any other option. For all I knew, the camera was already rolling, and it would look just as bad if I refused to do the interview than if I bungled it. It was also the opportunity I was looking for to help Hank and hopefully build some awareness of his missing son in the press.

“One condition. I’ll answer your questions if you help me get the word out about a missing boy from Hammerdale. His father is a dear friend of mine, and I really want to help him,” I stated.

“Fine,” he dismissively shrugged. “Are we rolling?” he asked the cameraman.

“We are now,” he nodded as he pressed a button on the camera.

Javier enthusiastically shouldered Helen out of the way to stand beside me and flung a microphone in my face, with the cameraman diligently covering my every move. I stared into the lens like the proverbial rabbit in the headlights, only breaking eye contact to glance over my shoulder at some of the protestors who were blocking my escape to the rear, leaving me enclosed in the core of the throng.

“I’m here again with Olivia Anderson, the writer of ‘Bride from the Bunker,’ what’s happening here today?” Javier asked with a nauseatingly chirpy grin.

“Well, I’m in downtown Sacramento just meeting a handful of fans and signing a few books.”

“Now, we got off on the wrong foot when you were last on my show, and I have to apologise. I wasn’t in receipt of all the facts,” he explained solemnly.

“That’s very big of you to admit on air, Javier. Thank you for your honesty,” I beamed professionally.

“I’d love to get your take on this,” he enthused.

The piece of shit pulled his phone out of his suit jacket pocket and started playing a video he already had loaded on the screen. I recognised the room instantly; it was Alex’s office, and we were sitting on his couch, sharing a bottle of whiskey. I already knew where the footage was leading, so I quickly put my hand over his phone and looked at him in desperation whilst the crowd tried to peer at it over our shoulders.

“No, please,” I said softly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll overlay the full video so that everyone at home can see. Do you mind explaining what the hell was going on there?” he asked.

“It was a mistake,” I blurted out.

“A mistake? Now, we can’t show the full video on air because it gets very R-rated, but you essentially go on to sleep with your alleged kidnapper on the evening of his arrest right there in his office, don’t you?”

I could feel the colour draining from my face.

“Why would you do that? After everything he supposedly put you through?” he dramatically asked in bewilderment.

“I was emotional. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Again, it’s becoming a reoccurring theme within your book where you conceal your wrongdoing and paint Mr Miller in the worst possible light. Do you think that’s fair to him? And on the American people?”

“I d-don’t know,” I stuttered.

“Why are you so intent on lying to them?” he boomed as the mob around us began pushing forward.

“He tricked me!” I shouted.

“You look like a perfectly willing participant to me,” he mused as he scanned through the video in his palm. “In fact, I’d say you are thoroughly enjoying yourself.”

I took my opportunity, snatched the phone from his grasp, threw it beyond the crowd, and heard it clatter onto the road. The pack of picketers determined it to be an act of war, and all of a sudden, I was besieged by a glut of airborne missiles, ranging from used coffee cups to pieces of food and rocks. Javier and the cameraman quickly scarpered back onto the street, and I tried to escape the opposite way, pushing through the crowd to get back into the safety of the store behind me. A man holding a huge, handmade sign on which he had written ‘#me-neither’ was blocking me and clearing his nose to spit the contents directly into my face. I managed to lunge past him to get back inside, and Helen immediately locked the door behind me as soon as I was clear.

“You have to leave,” she firmly instructed as the various makeshift armaments slammed against the window behind her.

“Helen, I’m so sorry,” I tearfully said as I wiped the man’s saliva from my cheek with my sleeve.

“Just get out of here through the back door. I’m going to ring the police.”

In complete, crushing embarrassment, I rushed through the maze of bookshelves and back into the storeroom, opening the back door and whipping the shutter back up so I could flee like a pariah. I cautiously peeked my head through the opening, checking if the coast was clear, just as I heard sirens coming closer from the distance. I looked down to step outside before I took another step, and it was then that I noticed a scrap piece of paper being weighed down by a rock. I leaned down to retrieve and unfold it.

“I told you so,” I read to myself with disdain.

18

THE STORM

AURORA – 2025

Iwas precariously perching on the edge of the bath in our plush hotel suite, wastefully running the shower behind me just to have a few minutes’ peace to myself and blankly scrolling through the mountain of texts that Mel had sent me overnight. The tone of the messages ranged from quite cool and collected to downright desperate, so I had no idea what to make of them.

After the atrocious things that happened to my family, it’s no surprise that I developed a thick skin when it came to being vulnerable with my emotions. I had to. I had no other option. It was the only conceivable way that a six-year-old could even begin to make sense of the deep unhappiness and insecurities that the crushing loss of their mother can bring over time. Eleven years on, I was painfully aware that my childhood defence mechanisms were annoyingly embedded into my very personality, which can justify the way I had always struggled with relationships so much. My former psychiatrist labelled me as a classic juvenile trauma case, too petrified to open up in the worry that I would be abandoned once again. To a certain extent, I agreed with her diagnosis, but I thought that after Mom’s return, the capacity to trust other people would come back too.

Apparently not.

I couldn’t make sense of Mel, and just trying to work her out gave me a headache. At face value, she was this vibrant, loving and bubbly girl, the perfect counterpart to my inherent gloominess, and most importantly of all, she actually made me happy like no one else had ever done. However, behind all that intense, in-your-face positivity, there was a darkness, an ominous, unspoken quality that filled me with a feeling of unease. Logic was beginning to scream at me to just block her number and forget the whole thing, but was it really the right decision? Was I just looking for a justifiable reason to cut her off to protect my own feelings? And how was I ever going to have a relationship with someone if I fled at the first sign of trouble?

In many ways, Mel was the first real friend I had ever made and certainly my first romantic crush, so it seemed like a total waste to ditch all that potential over something she could easily explain away. I knew that deep down, I couldn’t blame her for being curious about what had happened to my family; I would probably feel the exact same way. Despite her potential noisiness, my half-baked theory that her evident and macabre interest in my family’s peril was the only thing that may have attracted her to me was proving to be a bitter pill to swallow. The only thing I was truly certain of was that there was something she wasn’t telling me. There had to be another reason that could explain why she wanted me to trespass on that house. I started to feel not only trapped and unable to tell my parents what I had done through fear of the repercussions but also as if I were somehow putting them and myself in impeding danger.

“Fuck it,” I whispered to myself.

I had made my decision.

Just as I was about to send her a message, coldly calling the whole thing off, the frightful sound of abrupt bashing against the door nearly made me accidentally slide into the tub, so I quickly locked my phone before setting it on the side in case someone burst in.

“Yeah?” I howled.

“Thanks for ordering breakfast!” Mom bellowed through the door.

“What?” I bemusedly asked.

“Never mind, I’ll see you later,” she said.

“Bye, Mom,” I yelled.

I got my phone back out to send Mel the text I had in mind, but after a few seconds of further contemplation, I thought better of it. I hoped that a long shower would provide some much-needed clarity, so I got undressed and jumped in.

After I had almost entirely transformed into a prune due to the length of time I had spent immersed in hot water, I turned the shower off and got out of it, wrapping myself in a towel and grabbing my phone from the counter. There hadn’t been any further attempts at contact from Mel whilst I was in the shower, so I opened her messages to tap out a half-assed reply.

I’ll give you a call later. x

I looked down at my own meek reply with disdain, blowing the stray pieces of wet hair from my face as I flicked my head back. Already starting the day in a foul mood, I grumpily emerged from the bathroom, noticing the barely touched breakfast spread in the living area. Not feeling particularly hungry, I selected a banana from the fruit bowl and began peeling it whilst wandering around the room in search of any signs of life. The door to my parents’ room opened and shut abruptly, seemingly of its own volition, so I slowly moved my head around the opening to see Dad standing in his robe on the balcony with his back to me.

“Dad?” I asked probingly.

He turned around, holding a piece of burning paper that he had just set ablaze. We both awkwardly looked at each other through the billowing curtains until the flames reached his hand.

“Shit!” he exclaimed as he wafted his hand in the air, releasing the paper, which got caught by the breeze and floated off the balcony in a flurry of embers.

“What the hell are you burning, Dad?” I asked with a confused scowl.

“Nothing. I was just being stupid,” he explained as he walked back through the balcony door and slid it shut behind him.

“Weirdo,” I remarked.

“Have you had any breakfast yet?” he asked as he sucked the burn on his finger.

I waved the banana at him and vexingly returned to the living room, slumping onto the couch with a disgruntled sigh. He came into the room and stood above me with a look of concern on his face, and I knew I was about to get an unprovoked dose of Dad's wisdom.

“What’s eating you, then?” he jarringly asked.

I remained silent, setting my zipped-up breakfast on the arm of the sofa and staring into space as he awaited my reply.

“Girl trouble?” he uttered.

“Yes,” I defeatedly nodded with my eyes rolled into the back of my head.

“Hey, that’s my speciality!” he jovially announced while he sat down next to me. “Do you want to talk about it?” he chirpily asked.

“Not really.”

“Fair enough, well, if you—”

“I just don’t get some people,” I interrupted.

“Is this Mel, the girl who you were texting after we landed?”

“Yeah. When you shot off and left me on my own at the studio, I ended up going for a coffee with her. We had a really nice day, but something happened at the end, which ruined it.”

“What happened?”

“We had an argument over something. She’s just like everyone else: only getting to know to prise the gory details of Mom’s kidnapping out of me.”

“Wait, does that happen a lot?” he gasped.

“Uh-huh,” I solemnly nodded while gazing down at the floor.

“Oh, sweetie,” he began as he put his arm around me, “you can’t possibly live your life thinking that of everyone. Maybe you should give this girl another chance if she really makes you happy.”

“She did spend all night sending grovelling text messages,” I mused with a half-smile.

“Talk to her. If she brings up what happened again, you’ll have your answer, and then you can bin her off guilt-free.”

There was a sombre, melodic knock at the door, and Dad resignedly swung his legs off the couch, tightening his robe as he walked over to the door to peer through the spyhole. I had just picked my banana up again, but before I had the chance to take my first bite, Dad came over and gently put his hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, do you mind just going in your room for a second?” he nervously asked.

“Sure,” I bemusedly responded, “who is it?”

“It’s your grandpa. I just need to have a word with him in private, that’s all.”

“Okay then, I need to get dressed anyway.”

With visible reluctance, I trudged into my room and quietly shut the door behind me, immediately placing my ear to the closed door to try to listen in on what they were saying. Both of their hushed voices were muted by the thick timber door, so I quickly searched my room for something to amplify the sound. From my bedside table, I grabbed the tepid glass of water, emptied it into the bin, placed it against the door, and put my ear to it. I was just able to make out the words being spoken.

“You burnt it? Do you have any idea what I had to do to get a hold of that measly piece of paper?” Gramps menacingly scorned.

“Dad, you left me no choice. I couldn’t let Aurora see it, and if it were to get leaked to the press somehow, Olivia would be crucified,” Dad explained.

“That was the whole point, you stupid boy!” Gramps roared.

“Was it the only copy?”

“Yes. That was your one and only ticket out of this mess, and now it’s ashes. Congratulations. You’re stuck with her.”

I scrunched up my eyes and moved slightly, and the glass dragged against the grain of the timber, producing a jarringly loud scrapping sound.

“Keep your fucking voice down. Aurora is within earshot,” Dad sternly whispered.

Their voices faded into a murmur as they walked to the other side of the room. I pressed my head so hard into the glass that I was sure it would break, but I still couldn’t hear a thing. I was desperate to get wind of the rest of their conversation, so I took a deep breath and casually burst through the door.

“Oh, hey, Gramps! What are you doing here?” I asked brightly.

“Just checking how you are all holding up,” he awkwardly responded.

“Do you want some breakfast? There’s plenty left,” I beamed, giving my dad a filthy look in the process.

“No thanks,” he said as he patted his stomach, “I’ve just eaten.”

We entered a bizarre, awkward standoff, both of them sizing each other up, wondering how much of their conversation I had overheard or understood. I looked at them both disdainfully, too craven to immediately announce that I had been eavesdropping from the other room. The hotel phone started ringing, shattering the uncomfortable silence, and Dad nodded at it, prompting me to pick it up. Without taking my eyes off either of them, I casually moved back a few paces to lift the handset off the receiver.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Is that Mrs Anderson?” a woman asked.

“No, she’s not here. I’m her daughter. Can I take a message?”

“Okay, well, unfortunately, we’re going to have to cut your stay short, so if you could get her to call reception urgently, I would appreciate it.”

“Hang on, I’ll put my dad on,” I said as I handed him the phone with a shrug.

He listened to the woman speak for about fifteen seconds before frantically running over to the window, almost ripping the phone out of the socket in the process, to peer through it onto the street below. I followed suit as he continued to listen, spotting the plethora of news vans down below.

“Okay. Thank you for letting us know. We’ll be down shortly,” he said as he hung up.

“It’s overrun with journalists and television news crews downstairs. They are looking for Olivia,” he explained.

Without warning, my phone started beeping furiously, along with my dad’s, and even Gramps' phone started to ring, too, so we all pulled our phones out in unison to begin sorting through the flood of notifications swamping them. In sheer bewilderment, I flippantly tapped a link to an article that a friend had sent me and waited for it to load. Dad must have managed to skim the article first because, in a fit of rage, he threw his phone into the corner of the room and dashed into his room, slamming the door behind him to start packing. The article finally loaded on my phone, and I began reading it from the top line.

“A KAVG exclusive, ‘The Bride from the Bunker’ has been found to have had a sexual relationship with her captor, Alex Miller, on the night of his arrest,” I disbelievingly muttered under my breath.

19

THE DIVE

OLIVIA – 2025

It was barely even lunchtime, and I was hunkered down on a stool in a dingy dive bar on the other side of the tracks, swirling my cheap and nasty bourbon with my hood pulled over my head, trying to lie low like a common criminal. The rest of the bar was almost empty, apart from a few creepy-looking patrons huddled together in raucous conversation at a table by the far corner of the bar where they were getting absolutely soused in the cold light of day. I hadn’t set foot in a place like that in years, probably a few years after Aurora was born. It was all sticky floors, crooked pool tables and neon signs, the whole aesthetic offending all of my senses with the peculiar smells and dirty surfaces. I cynically laughed to myself because, after the day I had suffered through, that kind of grimy hellhole was probably where I belonged, to be precise.

I raised my head up to the corner of the room, glancing at the television that was mounted there, embarrassingly watching my latest slipshod interview playing silently on repeat. I had run out of people to blame for what was happening to me. My nefarious band of captors were either dead and buried or locked away, and it was beginning to hit home that my current mess was entirely of my own making. Every single time that I thought I had hit rock bottom in my life, someone unbidden moved the goalposts, and I continued to plummet further into depravity with every futile attempt to hoist myself out of it. It was like being trapped in quicksand. I could either remain stationary, slowly but surely sinking into it until it swallowed me whole or fight like hell by desperately trying to drag myself from it, only to descend even faster.

I was done. Alex was victorious.

With an incredulous smile, I ceremoniously raised my glass to him before gulping the last few mouthfuls of the fiery liquid down my neck, wincing and slamming the glass back down on the countertop. The barman noticed I had run dry and rushed back over, armed with the bottle and poised to pour me another.

“Same again?” he asked.

“Hell yeah. Keep them coming,” I said as I tapped the bar.

He poured me another shot, glancing up at the TV himself before silently comparing the image to me, and I gracelessly smirked back at him with my eyes crossed before he returned to his shabby clientele seated at the other end of the bar. I clumsily took out my phone, squinting through the drunkenness at the screen to try and find a single reply from Nath, Aurora, or Stacey. Nada de nada. Absolutely nothing. Frustrated by their lack of concern, I wearily leaned my head on my free hand while locking my phone and putting it back in my hoodie pouch.

I took another sip of the painfully inexpensive whiskey, involuntarily tilting my head slightly with a cringe as its contents burnt the back of my throat, and it glugged down. I felt a familiar presence beside me, so I stared into the greasy mirror behind the bar to see the mental manifestation of Benjamin perched on a stool beside me. I whipped my head to the left, but there was no one physically there, and I sighed in despair as I lowered my forehead to the bar, aloofly pulling my hood further over my head.

“Better is a poor person who walks in their integrity than one who is crooked in speech and is a fool,” he distortedly recited.

“Enough of your religious claptrap! Just bog off and let me drink myself to death in peace,” I disdainfully whispered.

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” he sombrely asked.

“I should’ve just told him straight away that night. Or at least when he got out of the hospital. I’m so fucking stupid,” I slurred.

“Interesting,” he mused.

“What?” I asked, lifting my head off the counter slightly.

“You regret your reluctance to admit it, not the act itself.”

“Wait, are you my fucking psychiatrist now?”

“I’m nowhere near qualified enough to make sense of that cesspit you call a brain. It’s hard enough living in there.”

“Hey, I’ll drink to that,” I incoherently mumbled as I took another gulp and stared at the apparition in the mirror.

“This is going to trash the prosecution’s case, you know? He could walk free after this. He’s going to be out there, lurking in the shadows like you are always scared of. Who knows when he will strike.”

“He said he’s going to plead guilty.”

“And you believe it?” he laughed.

“What should I do, then?” I asked in desperation.

“Liv, seriously? You’re asking your imaginary friend for actual advice now?”

My phone started ringing, and I quickly fumbled around in my hoodie pouch to retrieve it. Upon answering, I put it to my ear before I had even had a chance to look at who was calling.

“This is a collect call from California State Prison. If you would like to accept, please press one now,” the message played.

“Accept it,” Benjamin instructed in my ear.

I pressed one.

“All calls are logged and recorded and may be listened to by a corrections officer at California State Prison. You may talk now,” the message ended with a beep.

“We really shouldn’t be talking, Alex. I assume you’ve seen the news,” I sternly explained.

“It wasn’t me!” Alex immediately hollered.

“Uh-huh,” I articulated.

“I would never embarrass you like that, let alone Nathaniel,” he anxiously uttered.

“Oh yeah? Who was it, then? We were the only two people who knew what happened in that office that night.”

“That uppity FBI agent must have released it. You don’t know what they’re like, Liv.”

“So, the FBI are derailing their own cases now? Stop playing these childish games, Alex. Just leave me alone.”

“I was intending to leave you in peace, but I was also expecting the warden to punish me for calling you last time, but he never did. Did you not call the jail and tell them?”

“No,” I mumbled.

“Why?” he asked softly.

“Because, contrary to what you think, my life doesn’t revolve around you anymore, and I’ve been busy,” I mustered.

“Fair enough,” he muttered.

I looked around the bar, and the crusty-looking men on the far side of it were all staring at me, clearly trying to eavesdrop on my heated call. I turned my back to them slightly for privacy and held the phone closer to my ear.

“Why are you really calling, Alex?” I quietly asked.

“Well, the hearing is tomorrow, and I just wanted to put your mind at rest, knowing that I had no part in what happened to you today.”

“It’s having the opposite effect.”

“I may have strayed from the path, Olivia, but I’ve found the Lord’s light once again. I promise you that I’ve changed, and at the hearing, you will surely see that.”

“You’re a cold-blooded killer, Alex, and let’s not forget a rapist. Tell me, what does your god think about that?”

“It’s true that I took something from your husband that I can’t ever give back, but like I said in my earlier call, I never killed anyone.”

“Ha. Good luck convincing a judge of that, then.”

“I’ve made many shameful mistakes, but is it so hard to believe that I’m truly remorseful for what I’ve done?”

“Yes, because I’ve seen beneath your mask.”

I could detect Alex getting frustrated over the line; his breathing was becoming laboured, and I could hear his feet hitting the floor as he paced around on the spot.

“I tried helping you, you know. In the bunker,” he breathlessly admitted.

“Help me? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Stephanie was losing her mind. She was hell-bent on destroying you. You’d have been dead like the rest if I hadn’t stepped in.”

“So, I owe you my life now? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Of course not, but I need you to understand that I was never calling the shots, Olivia. She had me in her thrall, just like everybody else. It’s like I told Nathaniel when he came to visit me—”

“Wait, Nathaniel came to visit you?” I firmly interrupted.

“Yes? I thought you’d given him the green light after our chat. Did he not mention that to you?”

“No,” I bitterly scorned, “what did you both talk about?”

“He mainly just vented about what happened to you, and I lent a sympathetic ear. He had some questions as to what exactly happened after you were taken, and I answered them as truthfully as I could.”

“You aren’t capable of the truth.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I left your husband satisfied.”

“Funny,” I dryly remarked.

“Not like that,” he corrected.

“Come on then,” I started as I distractedly swirled my bourbon, “give it your best shot.”

20

THE CUT

ALEX – 2014

Ihad to hand it to her. Every step of Stephanie’s master plan was flawlessly executed. Olivia never made it through the church doors, and I was standing there beside the altar with my oldest friend, successfully convincing everyone around me that I was just as distraught as they were. The moment that the police left us alone after hours of relentless questioning was a bittersweet one because I despised the lasting damage it was doing to both Nathaniel and Aurora, but with Olivia finally out of the picture, I supposed it would be worth the price. As soon as the police had finished talking to him, Nathaniel dropped to his knees and tried to comfort his six-year-old daughter, holding her in a tight embrace as I cautiously walked over and gently placed my hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me slightly with his bloodshot eyes from the inconsolable crying, and I stroked the back of his head as he leaned into his daughter once again to give her much-needed comfort. When I caught Stacey’s eye, Olivia’s hideously vulgar friend from the UK, she quietly beckoned me over with her hand, so I walked over to meet her between the pews.

“What do you think happened?” Stacey quietly asked as she glanced over my shoulder at Nath.

“Maybe she had second thoughts and took off,” I pensively mused with a sigh.

“Not a chance. She was absolutely fine when we left her. She was so excited about finally tying the knot.”

“Well, we don’t truly know what is going through someone’s mind, do we? To most people, getting married is one of the most stressful things they can do.”

“She would never do that, especially to her daughter; I know for certain Olivia wouldn’t leave her daughter in the lurch like that, so there’s something about all this that stinks to high heaven.”

“Wait, are you suggesting something sinister happened?” I asked with false shock.

“I don’t know, but what I’m certain of is that to stop her getting married today, someone must have dragged her away kicking and screaming.”

“Right,” I said as I tried my best to stifle a smile.

“What if someone actually did take her?” she asked with concern.

“Do you mean in the few minutes we left her alone outside the church? Oh, come off it, Stacey! She’s more likely to have wandered off somewhere if you ask me. You know what Olivia is like. She’s a bit of a free spirit.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said tearfully before clutching a tissue and blowing her nose with it while looking off into the distance.

“Just you see,” I warmly began with a comforting hand on her arm, “everything will work out.”

“Alex?” Nathaniel shakily shouted behind me.

“What can I do to help?” I asked as I went back over.

“I’m going to take Aurora home. The police told us to stay put in case Olivia turns up there. It’s a big ask, but would you go out and look for her, mate?”

“Of course, of course. We’ll find her, I’m sure of it,” I said with feigned sincerity.

“I appreciate it, pal,” Nathaniel said as he stood up, leaving Aurora still standing with her chin pinned to her chest.

I slowly bent down, gently lifting her head with a single finger and looking into her eyes with a tender smile. She had been crying so much that her eyelids looked puffy and painful, her bottom lip was still quivering, and in her eyes, she had the heart-wrenching look of being utterly lost. I gingerly put my hands on her cheeks and wiped some of the tears away with my thumbs.

“You’ll have your mom back before you know it,” I quietly said to her.

Aurora became hysterical again, wailing and howling as Nathaniel lifted her up, trying to console her by cradling her before he began sombrely trudging out of the church.

“Come on, we have work to do. We need to find Olivia,” Stacey animatedly suggested.

“We should split up. Why don’t you drive around Hammerdale to see if you can spot her, and I’ll do the same up by North Ridge.”

“Okay,” Stacey nodded as she turned around and quickly chased after Nathaniel to catch him up.

Once I was alone, I took a few seconds of much-needed quiet reflection, mindlessly sauntering over to the altar to disrespectfully lean against it, taking in all of the majesty of the chapel I was standing in. My phone began to vibrate in my pocket, and I quickly looked around before taking it out to answer it.

“Is it done?” I asked.

“We’re here. She’s a lot heavier than she looks, you know, and I’ve broken a nail,” Stephanie remarked.

“Please refrain from doing anything weird to her, do you hear?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I know how much you hate her. Remember, we aren’t supposed to harm her. We just need her tucked away for a while until we both get what we want.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun along the way, does it?”

“Yes, it does. Just keep her sedated. I’ve got something I need to do before I join you there.”

“Take a chill pill. I’ve already got the gas hooked up. How did Nathaniel take it?”

“In bits. Aurora too. It’s tragic, really.”

“Good,” she sniggered.

“Good? They’re both innocent in this. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Oh, fuck off, you self-reverential prick. This was as much your idea as it was mine.”

“Yes, but you don’t have to take joy in it.”

“Stop flapping your gums and get here. I’ve got places to be.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I said as I hung up the phone. “Loathsome witch,” I muttered under my breath.

I sighed, lifting myself off the altar with a weary groan, and turned my head over my shoulder to see the huge, gilded crucifix mounted on the wall behind me and the rather unconvincing Jesus nailed to it. He judgmentally looked down on me with contempt, and I coyly sniggered as I mirrored his expression.

“What the fuck are you staring at?” I asked him before I began walking down the aisle to leave the church.

I got outside, and the police were already taping the area off and combing the scene for evidence. I nervously peered over to them, wondering if Stephanie had left any trace that would lead them to her. To be honest, they all looked utterly flummoxed, so I confidently ducked underneath the tape to make my way over to my car in the far corner of the car park, nodding at the scattered officers as I walked past them.

I sat in my car, catching a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, and quickly rotated it to one side as I turned on the engine. I threw the car into reverse and began driving down the long gravel path towards the main road, catching up with Stacey, who was waiting at the junction. We both drove towards Hammerdale in convoy for a while, only splitting up in different directions once we had reached Main Street. I reached the turning to Nathaniel’s home and pulled up the pothole-ridden path up the hill towards it, parking my car in the shadows.

From a distance, I could see Nath’s parked car, so I fumbled around in the back seat, grabbing the bag that I had left there that morning and emptying the contents onto the passenger seat. Still seated, I gracelessly removed my suit jacket, replacing it with a black, woollen jumper I had packed, placed the baseball cap on my head, and covered the bottom half of my face with a thin, black scarf. I picked up the last item, an old video camera, and started it rolling as I slowly walked up the path.

Transfixed on the screen, I slowly edged my way up the path, capturing Nathaniel’s beaten runabout on my approach to his house, trying to sidle towards it in the gathering darkness to avoid detection. I trudged through the front garden, successfully making my way to the front window undetected, and poked the camera around the frame to capture what was going on inside. I looked at the screen from beside the glass, distraughtly watching the love of my life pace around the room or tearfully on the phone with his daughter hysterically at his feet. Deciding that I had enough footage, I took the tape out and put it in my pocket before snapping the screen back into the camera housing and covertly trotted back down to the car. No sooner had I jumped in than I removed my face covering and released the handbrake to silently roll down the hill. I only turned the engine back on at the bottom, pulling back onto the road I had just travelled.

After roughly a ten-minute drive, I arrived at the path leading up to the bunker. While parking up, I saw our newly acquired van surreptitiously tucked away behind the treeline. Once I left my car, I broke out into a light jog and unearthed the hatch to Olivia’s new home when I arrived at it before carefully making my way down the steps still in my dress shoes. I batted the dust off of my jumper as I got to the bottom and began slowly making my way down the concrete stairs, my heels clacking on every step as I descended. I spotted Stephanie, dressed all in black too, hunching over Olivia’s unconscious body, carefully cutting off her wedding dress with a pair of rusty scissors.

“What the hell are you doing?” I bewilderedly asked.

“Shush, you’ll wake the baby,” Stephanie commented as she continued to shear away at the fabric.

“Why do you need to cut her dress off, exactly?”

“She doesn’t deserve to wear it,” she venomously uttered.

“How long does it take for that shit you’ve given her to wear off?” I asked as I kicked the cylinder of gas Olivia was hooked up to.

“About twenty minutes once I stop the flow. Plenty of time for you to get to the control room to welcome her when she wakes up.”

“What? Me?”

“Yes, you. I have to get rid of the van, remember?”

Stephanie reached the small of Olivia’s back with the scissors, and I turned my head as she began to rip the rest of the fabric straight from her heavily sedated body with her bare hands. She noticed I had averted my eyes and scoffed to herself.

“Don’t get all prudish on me now,” she sinisterly chuckled, “you agreed to all this.”

“I just didn’t think it would be so… graphic.”

“There is another way,” she ominously said as she picked up the scissors and opened them around Olivia’s neck.

“No,” I said.

“It would be so easy…” she pensively mused as she caressed Olivia’s jugular with the corroded edge of the blade.

“Stop it,” I instructed as I bent down and took the scissors from Stephanie’s hand before quickly tucking them into my waistband.

“Okay, well, quit your incessant bellyaching and help me get this jumpsuit on her,” she said disdainfully.

With heavy reluctance, I turned around again and helped lift Olivia off the ground so that Stephanie could guide her motionless legs into the jumpsuit, and gently flipped our prisoner on her back so we could insert her arms and zip it up. I looked at Olivia’s pale face with the anaesthetist’s mask clamped to it and delicately moved the stray hairs from her eyes with my fingertips. Stephanie took umbrage at my trivial act of kindness and, in a huff, rolled our prisoner back on her front with the heel of her boot, kneeling down to begin binding her hands together with a piece of old rope. I stood back up, wondering if we had made the right decision after all, when Stephanie carefully turned off the gas, removed Olivia’s mask, and threw an old linen bag over her head instead. She stood up, checking her watch as she did, and tapped me on the arm.

“Twenty minutes. Don’t be late, you hear me?” Stephanie said as I followed her out of the bunker, locking the doors behind us and climbing the steps to get outside. We arrived back at our vehicles without exchanging a single word, and I watched as Stephanie pulled out onto the empty road towards Hammerdale before I started driving in the other direction, towards our control room.

I drove a few miles down the road, abandoning my car at the roadside to rush down the short path to get there in time. I reached the entrance, kicking away the undergrowth with my feet and unlocking the hatch. Once inside, I turned all the monitors on to find Olivia already up and pacing up and down the room we had just locked her in. I couldn’t hear what was going on in there, so I frantically searched for the button to unmute the sound.

“Help! Let me the fuck out of here!” she beseechingly screeched.

I looked at the microphone that was mounted to the left side of me, cleared my throat, pressed the button, and leaned in to speak.

“Language, Olivia,” I shouted down it.

Olivia fell silent, stopping her screaming as she noticed the camera I was looking through mounted on the wall. She took a few paces forward to the centre of the room and glanced up as I zoomed in on her face. I spotted Stephanie’s battered Bible sitting beside the keyboard and decided to indulge my flair for the dramatic.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,” I theatrically boomed.

“Who are you?” she tearfully asked.

I quickly looked around the room, spotting an old takeaway wrapper from the previous night when we were setting everything up.

“Benjamin’s fried chicken…” I whispered to myself before pressing the microphone button again. “Call me… Benjamin,” I responded down it.

“Do you have my daughter?” Olivia asked softly.

“No, but she is safe, as is Nathaniel, for now. If you want that to continue, it really depends on you and how you behave here.”

“Why did you do this to me?”

I tightly closed my eyes, not knowing what to tell her.

“That’s none of your concern,” I mustered.

Olivia began searching around her cell, presumably looking for some escape route. Even though I knew that the bunker was impregnable, I did have some anxiety that she would spot something we may have missed. I quickly took the tape out of my pocket, threw it into the player, and quickly rewrote it so I could broadcast it into the bunker. Once it was ready, I hit play, and I saw the screen light up. It immediately grabbed Olivia’s undivided attention, and she inquisitively walked over to it. She intently watched as it played out, and I stopped the broadcast as soon as it ended.

“That was an hour ago.” I matter-of-factly said.

“You’re fucking sick,” she fearfully muttered.

“Play nice. Do as I say. If you do, no harm will come to them. If you don’t, I won’t be held responsible.”

“You stay away from my fucking family!” she shouted.

“Olivia, you really aren’t in any position to make demands.”

“How long are you going to keep me in here?”

“That isn’t up to me,” I said meekly, breaking character slightly.

“Is this about money? Because if it is, you’re barking up the wrong tree, mate. We don’t have two cents to rub together,” she proclaimed with mad laughter.

“It isn’t about money.”

“Then why the fuck have you locked me in here?”

I paused again for a moment, noticing that Nathaniel’s incoming call was buzzing in my right pants pocket.

“Get comfortable. You’ll be waiting here a while,” I chillingly said.

21

THE SHOT

OLIVIA – 2025

Every single muscle in my body was vibrating in a blind rage after hearing Alex’s perspective of what had happened to me. It wasn’t news to me that I was treated with utter disrespect, callously thrown from pillar to post just to allow Stephanie and Alex to live out their perverse fantasy, but hearing it from the horse’s mouth was something else entirely. He painted himself out to be Stephanie’s sidekick, not the ringleader like I knew he was. He was simply spinning me a yarn, prepping me for the looming trial, banking on this last-ditch attempt to get into my head before I was inevitably dragged onto the witness stand.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I screamed down the phone.

“Olivia, I know it’s not easy to hear but believe me, it’s the truth,” he meekly explained.

“Your version of it. I don’t believe a word you say,” I bellowed.

“Ma’am, can you please keep it down? You’re disturbing the rest of the customers,” the barman gently asked.

“Get out of my face,” I hissed as I threw my hand in the air.

I watched on as the barman walked over to the phone at the end of the bar and exaggeratingly dialled a three-digit number on the receiver to scare me into action.

“I don’t suspect we will ever speak again, so I just want to emphasise that I’m sorry, and if I could take it all back, I absolutely would. You needn’t come to the hearing tomorrow; it won’t affect my plea.”

“How fucking dare you try to continue controlling me after everything! You better believe that I’ll be there tomorrow, and I’m going to make sure they throw away the key, you sick fuck.”

“You better take off, lady. The police are on their way,” the barman interrupted, to which I nodded facetiously.

“That is entirely your prerogative, Olivia. I was merely trying to spare you the anguish, but I totally understand if that’s what you need to do. I have to go now and prepare for tomorrow, I have a long—” Alex calmly began to explain before I cut him off.

I dropped the phone back in my hoodie pocket and gripped the bar with both of my trembling hands, almost feeling the timber creak away with the pressure I was inflicting on it. I finished my whiskey and shrieked in frustration while I threw the glass at the mirror behind the bar, shattering them both into a thousand pieces. The men from the end of the bar immediately stormed over, grabbing me with their grubby mitts, and began dragging me out of the bar.

“Get your filthy fucking hands off me,” I drunkenly shouted as I kicked and fought.

One of them opened the door in front of us as the rest hauled me through it, carelessly tossing me onto the sun-baked tarmac of the car park before slamming the door behind me. The palms of my hands burnt as I forcefully pressed them into the gravel, and I let out a single, earth-shattering scream as I pushed myself off it and remained on my knees. For the first time since I had emerged from my captivity, I felt truly alone once again and infinitely exposed while I got attacked from all angles.

I was losing my fucking mind.

My husband was slipping away.

Aurora was ashamed of me.

The press would never leave me alone.

And worst of all, Alex was going to walk free.

I broke down in tears, the alcohol still coursing through my veins as I began to sob hysterically, my knees stinging as the sharp edge of the stones below them started working their way through my joggers. I heard a single blast from a police siren, and I wiped away the tears when I saw a saloon-style car slowly cruising into the car park. I tried to stand up, swaying as I did, and a familiar face, Agent Frank Aldrich, stepped out of it with a disappointed look on his face.

“Olivia, you really need to go home,” he said as he grabbed hold of me.

“Frank? How the hell did you know I was here?” I deliriously asked as I shakily got back on my feet.

“The barkeep called it in. He must have recognised you on TV, and the local police forwarded it to me. We were already in the area after the stunt at the bookstore.”

“Uh-huh. Didn’t you know? I’ve become somewhat of a local celebrity.”

“I heard the news. You should really think about staying off television for a while. I don’t think it’s doing you or the case any favours.”

“Excellent advice,” I cynically laughed with a hiccup.

“Is what they are saying actually true? That you slept with Mr Miller on the night of his arrest?”

“Yep. They’ve got it all on film and everything.”

“If they decide to go to trial, that kind of evidence will gut our case. You should have disclosed that in your interviews.”

“Oh, fuck off!” I boorishly shouted. “The psychopath tricked me into it, didn’t he? When he lured me into bed, I didn’t know he was responsible for everything that happened.”

“Regardless, you have to think what it will look like to a jury. They are going to take a very dim view of that kind of behaviour.”

“Why don’t you just let him out now, then?” I yelled.

“Listen, you’re clearly under the influence of alcohol, but even so, it shouldn’t shock you that you aren’t safe here anymore. We’ve received multiple credible death threats, and there is a mounting online campaign of hate against you.”

“What’s new? That’s just a normal Wednesday for me.”

“I’m serious, Mrs Anderson. You need to suspend all marketing activity on your book and think about returning to England. I’ve spoken to the federal prosecutor, who agrees with my opinion that your presence in the States is only damaging the case.”

“No,” I started firmly, “why should I run back to London with my tail between my legs?”

“I hear you, I do, but your presence here is only detracting from the facts. Go home, Olivia. The FBI doesn’t have the kind of resources it requires to guarantee your safety.”

“You need to make sure he is put away,” I said as I tapped his chest, “if he walks free—"

“He isn’t walking free, ma’am. We’re going to nail this bastard to the wall, please believe me.”

“Okay,” I defeatedly uttered. “Do you know where my family is?”

“No, but I can drive you to them now. You can call your husband on the way, and we’ll get some flights sorted out.”

“Fine,” I mumbled.

Just as we were about to get into Aldrich’s car, I saw someone rustling in the bushes at the other end of the car park, watching our exchange intently. Before I managed to get the agent’s attention, an overweight man in a string vest forced his way through the shrubbery, scraping his hair back with one hand while producing a pistol with the other one, which he had tucked into his waistband.

“Frank!” I warningly shouted as I pointed behind him.

Before he could react, the overweight man fired a shot, hitting Aldrich somewhere in the back, and he plummeted to the ground beside me with a nauseating thud. I inelegantly turned my heels to run for cover but fell flat on my face instead, and the portly man fired another shot in the air, leaving me face down on the tarmac with my hands firmly thrown in the air.

“Liar!” he shouted.

“You’re making a mistake,” I softly reasoned as I slowly turned around and sat on the ground with my arms still raised.

“Women like you are the reason why we have a problem in this country. Spreading your vile lies all over television just to destroy an innocent man’s life!” he tearfully shouted.

“Okay, just calm down, I’m just going—”

“On your fucking knees!” he shouted, his arm violently dithering with adrenaline.

I struggled to get on my knees and furrowed my brow slightly, the vague feeling of recognition slowly coming into focus when I looked into the obese man’s eyes.

“Oh my God, it’s you! The manager from the motel!” I shouted.

“I’m surprised you recognised me from all the way up there in your ivory tower,” he venomously mused.

“What have I ever done to you?”

“Do you think I enjoy working in that disgusting motel? It was the only shitty job I could get after I finally got parole. If that bitch hadn’t lied about what happened that night, my record would still be clean.”

“What bitch?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re all the same, crying rape as soon as you feel even a twinge of regret. She destroyed my fucking life, all because she was ashamed of sleeping with me.”

“What’s your name?” I calmly asked.

“Marty,” he breathlessly replied.

“Okay, Marty, I’m very sorry about what happened to you, but shooting me won’t make it any better.”

“No, I can stop it from happening to another innocent man,” he uttered as he adjusted his grip on the pistol.

“Alex Miller is the opposite of innocent.”

“I read your fucking book. That Javier is right; you were leaving out all the facts.”

“Alex kidnapped me and murdered four people, including his own fiancée. This isn’t about a drunken one-night stand. You’re defending the wrong person.”

“Shut up, you bitch!” he said as he frantically wiped the sweat from his face with his spare hand.

“If you’ve actually read my book cover to cover, you’ll know that I have a beautiful daughter and a loving husband. Please don’t do this to them,” I calmly pleaded.

The man shook his head manically as I slowly lowered my hands to my sides, maintaining absolute eye contact.

“Her name is Aurora. My husband is called Nathaniel. They both love me very much,” I gently explained.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he said as his hand stopped shaking.

“And what am I trying to do?”

“You’re trying to humanise yourself, just so I don’t pull this trigger,” he began as he took a deep breath and steadied his aim, “but it isn’t going to work.”

As much as it hurt me to admit it, part of me wanted him to pull that trigger. I longed for the serenity of the void, to feel safe in the boundless nothingness, to finally find peace in the endless black. I closed my eyes momentarily, took a deep breath through my nose, and dropped back on my backside as I casually crossed my legs.

“You know what?” I started, “I’ve had a fucking terrible day, and if you don’t fire that gun soon enough, you’re going to bore me to death anyway.”

“What?” he confusedly asked.

“Before you shoot me, can I just go on the record to say that if I slept with a hideous, morbidly obese oaf like you, I would one hundred per cent lie about it the day after.”

“Stop talking,” he shouted.

“I mean, look at you. Have you thought about losing weight? Then again, you have a face that only a mother could love, so a diet wouldn’t do you much good anyway.”

“You really need to—”

“And, holy shit, deodorant? Ever heard of it? You smell like a dead body if it had just been forced to run a marathon.”

To my surprise, the man actually squeezed the trigger, but the gun clicked, and I quickly checked my midriff for a wound. When I couldn’t find one, I looked back at the man who was furiously mashing the trigger, but nothing was happening. All of a sudden, there was an ear-splitting gunshot from the side of me, and the shooter immediately fell backwards, almost quaking the ground when he landed.

I quickly turned my head to the left to see Frank, straining his eyes through the blood pouring down his face, still aiming his smouldering pistol at the man’s lifeless body. I immediately got up, noticing the huge gash on his forehead where he hit the floor, and he pulled open his shirt slightly to expose a standard-issue Kevlar vest.

“Hey, are they okay?” the barman shouted from the open doorway.

“Don’t just stand there! Ring 911!” I screamed.

22

THE EMBERS

AURORA – 2025

Icouldn’t believe it: it was happening all over again. After we had been essentially booted out of the room because the hotel management wasn’t willing to deal with the hordes of protestors and press swamping the lobby, we managed to make it back to the car in one piece. With nowhere else immediately apparent to escape to, Dad had begrudgingly agreed with my grandparents to go back to their mansion, where we would wait for it to all blow over. Gramps, who had been enlisted to help us escape the besieged hotel, was driving a few cars ahead of us, and I could see him in the rearview mirror checking on us constantly as we made it out of midtown and began scaling the hill towards Casa De La Gramps. I wondered if Mom had also managed to give the journalists the slip, and I was hoping against hope that she would be safely waiting for us when we arrived.

The sheer frenzy of our escape from the hotel was bad enough, but when combined with our family name being plastered all over the news bulletin of every station, it was no surprise that we were left feeling numb to everything that was unfolding around us. We hadn’t even had an opportunity to take a breather, let alone digest the world-shattering news that was being reported.

Just thinking about it made me feel rather queasy. I didn’t know what was going through Mom’s mind when she took it upon herself to sleep with Uncle Alex. How in the world could she have done that? How the hell was she going to explain that away? I knew that no matter how bewildered or wronged I felt, Dad must have been feeling a million times worse, so I started to cast around for something to say to him in a bid to break the awkward silence between us.

“Are you okay, Dad?” I softly asked.

He didn’t respond, not verbally, at least. He simply shrugged his shoulders and glibly puffed out his cheeks while unwaveringly keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Our lives had inexplicably turned into an endless spate of nightmares, one after the other, each one more horrifying than the last. With all the immense pressure being placed on my parents’ fledgling marriage, it was plain to see that it was beginning to crumble from within. The thought filled me with dread, and all of a sudden, I was back to being six years old, feeling like I had lost my family all over again.

“Finally,” Dad mumbled as he followed Gramps down his driveway.

“Dad, it’s going to be okay, you know?” I unconvincingly muttered.

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled.

“Why can’t we just talk about it out in the open? Half of the problems we’ve faced could have been easily solved by just telling the truth to each other.”

“There’s nothing to say about it, really.”

“You’re wrong, there's plenty to say!” I exclaimed.

“Okay then. You first,” he grumbled.

“Mom cheated on you with Uncle Alex,” I announced matter-of-factly.

Dad’s eyes widened as he parked the car, clearly not expecting me to go for the jugular without warning.

“She didn’t cheat on me. We weren’t together.”

“Okay, fine, but you still feel betrayed, don’t you? And for good reason, right? Just so you know, I’m on your side here.”

“A little.”

“A little?” I mocked. “You should be pissed off, smashing shit up, or calling her to scream down the phone at her!” I exclaimed.

“Honestly, I’m just tired, Aurora,” he griped.

“What was written on that piece of paper you burned?”

“I told you: nothing.”

“Bullshit. Gramps seemed pretty angry that you set fire to it.”

“It was just some paperwork from the studio. Drop it,” he gawkily mustered.

I dramatically furrowed my brow in disbelief.

“Why on earth would he be furious about that? Surely you can just print off another copy?”

“Aurora, please,” he abruptly said as he massaged both his temples lightly. “Honestly, my head is battered. I’m literally begging you to just forget about it.”

“Fine,” I said in a sulk. “Has anyone even checked on Mom yet?” I cautiously asked.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” he distractedly said as he started gathering his possessions from the car.

“Wait, you’ve spoken to her already? What did she say?”

“Aurora, she can look after herself. I just need a minute to myself to process what’s happened.”

“So, you haven’t actually spoken to her, then?”

Dad frustratedly slammed his hands on the steering wheel and gripped it so tightly that it bleached his knuckles white.

“Enough with the God-damned inquisition!” he roared.

“We need to get hold of her!” I argued back.

“I’m not your keeper. If you wish to check on her, give her a call,” he interrupted plainly.

“I did. No answer.”

“Then she’s probably busy,” he shrugged.

“Does that not concern you, though? We just watched her being pelted online by an angry mob. She could be hurt or even—”

“Stop!” he sharply interrupted as he slammed the steering wheel with his palm. “If we’ve learned anything today, it’s that Mom does what Mom wants to do. You’re not a kid anymore. You know what has been going on. Besides, you are more than capable of making your own decisions now, so if you want to go and find her, please be my guest.”

With an exasperated exhale, I hastily removed my seatbelt and jumped out of the car as quickly as I could, getting halfway to the front door before Dad even managed to emerge from the vehicle.

“Aurora, I’m sorry,” he meekly called after me.

“Save it,” I scornfully said over my shoulder.

I stormed inside, straight past my bemused grandmother, who was loitering in the lobby, ran upstairs to my room and slammed the door behind me. I immediately took out my phone, which had been left on silent to prevent me from losing my mind with the sheer barrage of notifications. I quickly scanned through them and noticed all the missed calls from Mom. I hit call.

“You’ve reached Olivia Anderson. I’m not around to take—” the voicemail greeting played before I quickly cut off the call.

Amongst the sporadic missed calls from Mom were even more from Mel, and I opened our text message thread to see a long list of frantic messages awaiting my attention. I called her back, the line only ringing for a few seconds before she breathlessly answered.

“Rora, are you okay? I saw the news,” she panted.

“We’re back at Grandpa’s house. Everything has gone to absolute shit. Mom is missing. Dad is acting like nothing has happened and is currently mooching around like a zombie. Oh, and to cap it all off, we’re being hounded by the press,” I began with a sigh, “how are you?” I added sarcastically.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not even remotely.”

“Good. Well, I wanted to show you something that will cheer you up, but I’ll need you to meet me.”

“Show me what?”

“It’s a surprise!” she beamed. “I promise you’ll like it.”

I stood up, walked over to the bedroom door and opened it slightly to see Dad quietly explaining something to my grandparents in the lobby, presumably whining about the two women in his family. I had such an overwhelming urge to leave Gramps’ house that I didn’t need much convincing anyway.

“Where are you?” I asked curiously.

“Don’t freak out, but believe it or not, I’m back at Alex’s old house.”

“Mel? We’ve spoken about this before.”

“Rora, I’m so sorry about what happened. Looking back, I can’t believe I put you through all that. I really like you and—”

“Mel?” I interrupted.

“I like you too. But I don’t want to go back there.”

“Please, just trust me one last time. Can you get here?”

I sighed loudly down the phone, taking it away from my ear for a second in hesitation, looking up at the ceiling with the hope that the decision would be miraculously made for me.

“Not really. I suppose I could get a taxi or the bus, but there’s no way Dad is going to let me out of the house with all this going on.”

“You could always borrow his car…”

“Weren’t you listening? Besides, I don’t have my Californian learner’s permit anymore.”

“You basically know how to drive, though, right?”

“If you count a few quick lessons with Dad over a year ago, yeah.”

“Then borrow it without asking. You’d better get a wiggle on, as I don’t want you to miss it,” she said before abruptly hanging up on me.

I opened the door slightly again, and I could see that Gramps, judging by his stance, was clearly reading Dad the riot act, most likely about Mom, so I closed it again with a theatrical eye roll. Just when I turned around to put my weight against the door, something suddenly clicked in my head. It was the same overwhelming feeling of dread that used to snap into place whenever I thought about Mom before her return. It was the juvenile urge to run from my anxieties, the same impulse to disappear and get stoned somewhere rather than deal with my problems head-on.

“Fuck this,” I whispered to myself.

I ran over to the window and shoved the pane up, peering over the edge at the ominous-looking ground below. I had made the climb many times before when I was a little younger, so I adeptly straddled the windowsill, found my footing on the thick, ivy-ridden trellis mounted on the wall, and began to descend as carefully as I could. The last thing I needed was to lose my grip and end up being treated for multiple broken ribs in the hospital, just to add another calamity to the long list of them already. Once my feet were safely touching the grass, I jogged around the outside of the house only to find that Dad, to my pleasant surprise, had fortuitously left the car keys in the ignition. I breathlessly jumped inside by the driver’s side while frantically looking over my shoulder, praying that someone wouldn’t casually walk out of the front door and catch me red-handed. I made a few hectic adjustments to the seat and mirrors before starting the car and then judderingly made my way down the driveway to the gate, which automatically opened as I approached it. I checked my mirrors to see if my family or the help had been alerted by my hasty departure, but luckily, they hadn’t, so I pulled out onto the road clumsily and began driving towards Hammerdale.

My mind was racing for the first half of the journey, and I was far too preoccupied with trying to drive in a straight line to avoid the repercussions of the driving offence I was committing. After the halfway point, my confidence grew with each mile, and half of my brain started to realise that I was probably making a serious mistake, while the other half didn’t give a toss. I decided that giving Mel one last chance was the right thing to do, and I was curious, even excited, to find out what she had planned for me. Whatever it was, I knew it was big, and I didn’t envisage that she would make the same mistakes as the last time we saw each other.

I turned a corner and began slowly cruising towards Alex’s old street, where I could already see the column of smoke emanating from the ground below. Several police cars thundered past me on the wrong side of the road as I trundled along before I stopped outside a house just over a block away to get an eyeful of what was going on at a distance. The street was littered with fire engines and law enforcement, setting up a cordon around Alex’s house to stop onlookers and nosy neighbours from getting any closer. My mouth was agape as I watched the roof start to cave in and the cogs started turning, thinking that Mel might have had something to do with the ongoing fire.

No sooner had I thought about her than Mel came running around the corner and madly bashed on the window for me to let her in. I quickly unlocked the doors, and she breathlessly threw herself onto the back seat, impatiently slapping the empty seat beside her.

“Drive!” she instructed with a panicky giggle.

Without a word, I checked my mirrors and put my foot down, the tyres of the car squealing as I screeched around the corner. My hands were sweaty and dithering as I expectantly looked at the mirror with grave concern, dreading that one of the many police cars that were outside the house would already be giving chase to us.

“What the fuck happened?” I frenziedly asked.

“I torched the place. For you,” she proudly beamed.

“You did what? Why?”

“You’ll never have to worry about that place anymore! No one will. By tonight, it will be nothing but ash and embers.”

“You’ve lost your fucking mind,” I said to the rearview mirror as I inadvertently swerved, almost hitting the curb.

“Just keep driving. We need to put as much distance between us and that darned place as possible.”

“Where the hell shall I even drive to?” I anxiously asked.

“I did have an idea. We could go back to the bunker they kept you in and torch that, too.”

I immediately slammed on the brakes and haphazardly mounted the curb to park up beside some random houses. I took off my seatbelt and furiously turned around in my seat.

“Get out,” I firmly instructed.

“Rora! I did this for you!” she exclaimed.

“I don’t give a fuck. You asked me to trust you, and like a total idiot, I did. You’re clearly deranged, and I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Your Mom wasn’t the first person who was kept in that place,” she abruptly admitted.

I scrunched up my face and shook my head.

“What?” I aggressively blurted out.

“You have absolutely no idea, do you?” she tearfully asked.

I already realised I wasn’t going to get the answers I wanted, so I turned back around in my seat, put my seatbelt back on, and scraped my hair back, trying to avoid Mel’s piercing eye contact through the rearview mirror.

“Mel. Just get out of the car. Please,” I solemnly instructed.

“Do you not care about me?” she hysterically asked.

“I did, but you’ve blown it all because of the glaringly obvious weird obsession you have with what happened to my family.”

“I thought we had something special…”

“No.”

“What about the kiss? All the texts?”

“We were kidding ourselves,” I said before starting the engine.

“If I walk out of this door, that’s it. It’s over. Are you sure that’s what you want?” she threatened as she opened the door.

I looked in the rearview mirror and sullenly nodded, inviting Mel to jump out of the car immediately. I turned my head to the wing mirror, expecting the door to slam and to see Mel standing in the middle of the road as I drove away. Instead, my seatbelt tightened across my chest as she yanked it from behind, helplessly pinning me to the seat, before she reached around and clamped some foul-smelling fabric around my open mouth. After involuntarily inhaling whatever liquid it was doused in, I started to feel sluggish right away, futilely trying to bat her hand away as she went in for another attempt.

“Just stay still, will you?” she frustratedly ordered.

“Help!” I ineffectively shouted through the cloth.

“Why couldn’t you have just come willingly?” she sinisterly whispered in my ear before rendering me unconscious.

23

THE TEST

OLIVIA – 2025

My head was pounding, throbbing in perfect time with the persistent beeping from the machine monitoring all my vitals. Between the unwelcomed excitement of the morning, the copious amounts of economy whiskey I had joylessly consumed, and the fact that my life was in tatters, it was remarkable I had only been left suffering a splitting headache. Even though I was introspectively moaning, I knew that the outcome could have been a lot worse, and there was a very real chance I might have wound up in a body bag instead.

According to the doctors, Frank’s vest had taken the bullet in the area just underneath his ribcage, which absorbed a good proportion of the force, although the impact didn’t spare him from an unsurmountable jolt of agony. The shock and pain were so strong that it instinctually forced him to double over, which is how he ended up knocking himself out. He was still a little delirious when the ambulance arrived but, thankfully, hadn’t sustained any life-threatening injuries. However, the shooter was in a critical condition, hooked up to a ventilator somewhere in the very same hospital, surrounded by FBI agents who were chomping at the bit to drag him into an interview room once they got the all-clear. Frank was rightfully hailed as a hero because even in his debilitated state, he had managed to shoot Marty through his right lung, thereby neutralising the threat instantly.

Now, the only threat to my life was boredom, and I was sitting watching the heart rate monitor beside me, playing a benign game of trying to guess when the next bleep would come before it did. I began to wonder why Marty had felt compelled to try and end my life, whether he was acting alone or someone was pulling his strings from the shadows. Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured the pure, unadulterated rage on his face before his pistol jammed, and it made me almost feel guilty for goading him the way I did. I felt a strange sensation prickling at the back of my neck, and I instantly knew that I was about to get my imaginary visitor, so without delay, I pressed the help button to summon the nurse.

“Heal me, oh Lord, and I shall be healed; save me, and I shall be saved, for you are my praise,” he recited hoarsely.

“These quotes are getting trite and uninspiring,” I said as I pulled the pillow over my ears, and the monitor started to beep faster.

“You do realise that I’m in your head, right? That nutjob could’ve blown off both of your ears, and you’d still be able to hear me.”

“Right,” I uttered as I defeatedly let the pillow fall.

“You really have to hand it to Alex! He almost got rid of you, all from inside his jail cell. He’s brilliant, really,” Benjamin sarcastically swooned.

“Marty was grappling with mental health issues; I don’t think he was working with Alex.”

“Duh, not actually working with him, but Alex is clearly leaking all this stuff to the media. There’s an army of men like that out there, all waiting patiently in line to deal you some justice.”

“The trial is tomorrow, and then, it will all be over.”

“You hope,” he sniggered.

“Listen here, you fucking—”

I was interrupted by the curtain suddenly being whipped back and a bewildered nurse walking through the opening, checking the corners for anyone else sitting with me. I realised she had overheard me deliriously talking to myself, so to hide my embarrassment, I rubbed my eyes, trying to feign an exhausted expression on my impassive face.

“Who were you talking to?” she asked.

“No one,” I murmured.

“Did you press the call button?” she asked as she turned the alarm off above my head.

“Yeah, I was just wondering if I could go home?”

“Well, your vitals all look fine, apart from an elevated pulse. We should be able to discharge you shortly. I’m just waiting for a doctor to come down to the ward. We’re really swamped today,” she explained, her eyes still fixed on the monitors.

“Good, because I have a flight to catch.”

“Are you going back to Australia?”

“Australia? I’m British,” I mockingly laughed.

“Sorry, I can never place the accent,” she distractedly uttered.

A frightfully young-looking doctor wearing a stereotypical white coat and a face mask popped his head around the curtain, looking up at the whiteboard above my head with my name on it before checking the clipboard he was holding.

“Mrs Anderson?” he brightly asked.

“That’s me,” I wearily announced.

“I have your discharge paperwork here, but before I let you go, I’d like to have a quick word with you about your test results, if I may.”

“Is something wrong?” I asked with concern.

“Well, maybe you can tell me. Your blood alcohol levels were quite elevated. Had you been drinking?”

“Yeah, I had just spent a few hours in a bar before the incident. It wasn’t that high, was it?” I asked with an uncomfortable smile.

“Well, it’s not for me to judge,” he mumbled.

“Listen, it’s out of character for me to be drinking during the day like that, but I’d had a bit of a shocker and needed to drown my sorrows.”

“Fair enough. If you get a minute, though, you should give this a read,” he started as he handed me a brightly coloured pamphlet, “it can really help.”

In sheer bewilderment, I looked down at the leaflet, not understanding how it pertained to my situation in the slightest. After I scanned the cover, I lifted it back up to him with an incredulous smile cracking my face and a one-armed shrug.

“Alcohol and pregnancy? I’m not pregnant,” I stated.

The doctor, looking quite flustered by my admission, quickly looked back down at his notes before raising his eyebrows and clutching the clipboard back to his chest.

“According to this blood test, your HCG levels are that of someone who is at least twelve weeks pregnant. We would have to do an ultrasound to confirm exact dates.”

“It looks like congratulations are in order…” the nurse whispered beside me.

“No, there must be some kind of mistake. There’s no fucking way that I’m pregnant!” I exclaimed.

“Well, have you been menstruating normally?” the doctor asked.

“Well, no, but I put that down to being malnourished a few months ago or the tablets that I’m on.”

“Any breast tenderness?”

“Not that I’ve noticed,” I frowned.

He looked back at me awkwardly with a wry shrug, handing me the test results so I could see them with my own eyes. I stared down at the numbers, barely making sense of what I was reading, and looked back up at him with a sheer look of terror spanning my face.

“In any case, I would abstain from alcohol for now until you can get it confirmed by ultrasound. Good luck with everything,” he awkwardly said before he left, pulling the curtain closed behind him.

I started doing the maths in my head as the nurse began to unhook me from the machines, wondering when exactly I had last slept with Nathaniel and if it correlated with the dire news I had just been given. A dark thought entered my mind, and I quickly looked down at my stomach, half expecting a set of talons to be protruding from it. What if it wasn’t Nathaniel’s baby after all, and it was—no. It just didn’t bear thinking about.

“Is Olivia Anderson here?” I heard my husband frantically shout from behind the curtain.

“In here,” the nurse announced, prompting a dirty look from me as I stuffed the test results underneath my back.

Nathaniel pulled the curtain back and clumsily hugged me while I was still lying down before immediately realising that I could be hurt, and he leapt back off me. He stood stationary for a few seconds, clearly remembering how annoyed he was with me, awkwardly trying to conjure some words out of thin air as the nurse continued her checks next to me.

“Can we have a minute?” I asked her.

“Of course,” she smiled before leaving us alone and closing the curtain to give us some privacy.

I stared up at Nathaniel; he looked like a wounded animal, barely making eye contact with me, so I got up and sat on the edge of the bed with a groan.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Some madman was waiting in the bushes with a gun. He ended up shooting Agent Aldrich and then tried to kill me. Luckily, he only winged Frank, who thankfully managed to return fire.”

“Fucking hell, Liv. You should have called me!” he exclaimed.

“I did. Multiple times. You were screening my calls,” I bitterly explained.

“I know, I’m sorry. I was angry,” he huffed.

“So, you saw the news?” I nervously asked.

He nodded.

“I wasn’t in my right mind, Nath. You had just read Stephanie’s letter, and I thought it was well and truly over between us. It doesn’t justify it, but he caught me at my weakest, and I—"

“I already knew about it, Olivia,” he dryly interrupted.

“What?”

“Alex told me.”

It suddenly dawned on me when such a conversation had taken place, so I looked down at the floor with a petulant smile and a sigh, aimlessly kicking my legs back and forth as I tried to appear as diplomatic as possible.

“You mean when you went to visit him in jail yesterday?” I asked.

He looked shocked that I was aware of it before clearly realising that he wasn’t the only one being played like a fiddle by Alex, and he sullenly nodded his head.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I questioned.

“You had enough to deal with. I didn’t want to add to it.”

“What happened to us? We used to tell each other everything. Now, we barely talk.”

“Alex happened to us,” he mumbled.

I sighed and morosely dragged one hand down my face, creasing up the bedsheet with my other hand as I angrily gripped it in my fist.

“Nath, I regret it more than I have ever regretted anything in my life. I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you.”

“Well, he tricked each of us separately into bed with him.”

“For fuck’s sake…” I whispered under my breath.

“What?”

“Alex never tricked you. He drugged you.”

“Wait, what?” he bemusedly asked.

“The night he had it off with you wasn’t through a drunken mistake of yours. He admitted to me that he dropped something in your fucking drink.”

Nathaniel sharply exhaled with a sardonic laugh before sitting next to me on the bed and staring into space. I glanced at him over my shoulder, expecting him to explode into a ball of fury, kick over a machine, or scream at me—anything apart from pensively staring at the curtain with a bizarre smile on his face.

“If he spiked my drink, it wasn’t all my fault, was it?” he uttered.

“No. It was never your fault.”

“All this time, I thought that I’d fucked up, and now you’re telling me I never had a choice? I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“Angry. Furious. Revengeful,” I suggested.

“Aurora had pretty much the exact same grievance with me. Why is it such a bad thing that I can control my emotions?”

“And I can’t?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Aurora said that because it looks like you don’t give a shit about anything that happens to us.” I declared.

“I’ve been in survival mode for over ten years. I had to stay strong for Aurora, so I couldn’t just wallow in a pit of rage or despair.”

“I get that, but it’s over now,” I stated.

“Over? Have you lost your mind? It’s only getting worse. A few hours ago, a man tried to shoot you. A few hours before that, you were being pelted with trash out in the street. What part of you thinks this is over in any way, shape, or form?”

“Just tell me what you want, Nath,” I ordered.

“Honesty. Total honesty.”

“I can do that.”

“I want to get back to how we were. We just can’t keep these secrets from each other anymore, or it will tear us apart,” he frantically explained.

I looked away for a moment, slightly nodding in quiet agreement, and began kicking my legs back and forth again.

“I agree,” I mumbled. “No more secrets.”

“With that in mind, is there anything else you want to tell me?” he sternly asked with a hand on my thigh.

“No. You know everything.”

“Are you sure?” he persisted.

“Yes, are you referring to something specific?”

“No. I’m just giving you the chance to come clean if something is eating away at you.”

“Nathaniel, there’s nothing else,” I said as I put my hand on top of his.

“Okay,” he sombrely said.

“By the way, where’s Aurora? With your parents?”

“I was just getting to that...” he explained.

“Oh, God. What?”

“With the stress of everything, Aurora and I had a bit of a spat, and she took off in my car once we got back to my dad’s.”

“You let her drive your car? She could be in a fucking ditch somewhere!”

“She’s fine,” he began as he held his hands up, “when we got back, I left my keys in the ignition, and she stole the car. She sent me a text saying she’s staying at her friend’s house for a few nights.”

“Well, we need to go and get her!”

“Liv, no. She’s clearly had enough of our shit for the time being and needs to decompress. I don’t blame her, to be honest,” he pensively justified.

I leaned back on my hands and stared at the ceiling, silently wishing for the day to be over.

“Which friend? That girl, Mel, is it?” I asked.

“I think so.”

“I saw her this morning when she came to the signing. She seemed nice, if not a little kooky. She wanted to tell me something, but when she was about to, the chaos erupting outside froze her in her tracks.”

“We should give Aurora some space for a few days. This trip has been really tough on her. We can all fly back home straight after the hearing.”

“Frank told me that we should go back now. He says it isn’t safe,” I said with a dramatic eye roll.

“What’s new?” he dryly said.

“That’s what I said,” I smiled cynically.

“Fuck that. Alex has gone to extreme lengths to put us off going to that hearing. I want to look him in the eye when the judge sentences him.”

“Me too,” I broodingly uttered.

Nathaniel got up off the bed to hold his hand out to help me up, and he confusedly glanced behind me as soon as I was on my feet. I looked back too, noticing the blood test results and leaflet the doctor had given me earlier, so I quickly picked both things up before immediately stuffing them both into the bin beside the bed.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing important,” I mumbled.

24

THE OLD HAUNT

AURORA – 2025

Isuddenly woke up in abject panic. In a desperate attempt to clear my throat so I could breathe through the black cloth bag that was pulled over my head, I fitfully started coughing and spluttering. Upon realising that my hands were bound behind my back and the skin-tight cable ties were already cutting into my wrists, I violently wriggled them as much as I could to try to break free before a gentle hand on my shoulder stopped me dead. I was wordlessly paralysed on the spot, only hearing my own laboured gasps for air, waiting for whomever it was to make themselves known until I felt the bag slightly being removed before it was quickly whipped from my head. The fluorescent lamps beaming down on me were blinding, so I winced while my eyes tried their best to readjust to the bright light overhead. I vaguely recognised where I was until my eyesight confirmed, to my horror, that I was being held in the very same bunker where Mom spent a decade of her life.

“What the fuck,” I anxiously whispered.

Although I had only spent a few hours there when Stephanie briefly took me to it after Uncle Alex shot the town Sheriff the year before, the bunker looked entirely different from back then. It had been abandoned in total disarray, every space on the walls had been graffitied just like Alex’s house, and there must have been some kind of leak at some point because the entire floor under the chair I was strapped to was covered in stagnant water a few inches deep. I noticed that the door in front of me had been tauntingly left wide open, which allowed me to see the faltering sun bouncing off the concrete walls and shimmering off the pool of water flooding the stone floor.

I heard a quiet splash behind me, and ripples in the pond underfoot began to spread out as someone wading through the water approached me from behind. My heart began to pound violently in my chest, my breathing became fast and shallow, and I clenched my fists behind my back as I waited for the unbidden presence to reveal itself. The confusion lifted from my brain as my scattered recollections came flooding back. I remembered stealing Dad’s car, the fire at Uncle Alex’s old house, picking up Mel, asking her to get out of the car, and then nothing. In a split second, I evaluated every flippantly exchanged word or the five-minute phone call I’d had with her, desperately trying to work out what I had said wrong, which motivated her to do what she did. Suddenly, the wet footsteps grew louder behind me, and I closed my eyes, waiting for God knows what to happen, before opening them slightly to see a bottle of water being held to my lips.

“Drink,” someone hoarsely instructed.

I was so parched that I accepted it gladly, like a cactus in an arid desert, leaning my head forward as much as I could, trying to catch every precious drop falling in my mouth before sitting back to look up at the person holding it over my shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Rora,” Mel empathetically said.

I started furiously wriggling in the steel chair, which noisily rocked left and right until she stood in front of me and stepped on the bottom of it with her boot, leaving me unable to move it any longer. I spun my head in every direction, looking for someone else standing in the room, a clue as to why I was there, or even a possible means of escape. The rust-covered chair screeched as Mel pushed it back a few inches with her weight to get my full attention, and I fearfully gazed up at her angrily contorted face when she was about to speak.

“You just need to stay calm, sit tight, and you’ll be out of here before you know it,” she calmly explained.

“Mel, if this is some kind of prank or another one of your insane ways to help me get over what happened, you’ve gone too far this time,” I breathlessly remarked.

“It isn’t a prank,” she sullenly declared.

“Well, whatever it is. You need to untie me and let me go home. My parents will be looking for me.”

“I can’t do that,” she robotically said.

“Let me the fuck out of here!” I hollered at her.

“Aurora, please just keep your voice down!” she sternly ordered.

“Help! Help!” I defiantly roared.

Without a second thought, Mel carelessly emptied the remainder of the bottle of water over my face, and I started to choke on the droplets that I had accidentally inhaled. As I struggled to regain my breath, she casually walked out of view for a second before returning with a piece of grubby tissue to wipe the excess water from my face. I felt powerless and broke down in tears, unable to cover my face and hysterically sobbing in full view of Mel, whose expression on her face rapidly flitted from seemingly genuine empathy to determined disdain.

“Are you going to lock me in here and then burn it to the ground with me inside? Is that what you have in mind?” I asked with a cold aplomb.

“What gave you that idea?” she gasped.

“Like you just did to Alex’s house.”

“No. I’m just doing as I’m told.”

“Who the fuck are you?” I spitefully asked.

“I never lied to you about who I was.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?”

She sighed before she began pacing around the bunker, almost jauntily wading her feet through the water, mindlessly opening the small kitchenette cupboards to browse inside as I swivelled my head as far as it would go, trying my best to follow her through the room with my limited range of motion.

“He’ll be here soon,” she ominously mused.

“Who?” I uttered.

“In fact, he’s probably watching us right now, so I just need you to be on your best behaviour, and I promise that you won’t be harmed,” she coldly explained.

“Mel, this isn’t funny. Come on, just untie me. Please,” I pleaded.

She looked down at me as if a small part of her was ready to comply with my teary request, but she immediately changed her mind and knelt down in front of me instead, placing a single, chilling hand on my trembling thigh.

“I’m sorry, Rora. I want to, but I just can’t do it,” she whispered. “It’s the only way,” she added before standing up again.

“No, you can! I won’t tell anyone what happened, I swear,” I urged as convincingly as I could.

“A piece of advice: please don’t put on this whole damsel in distress thing when he gets here. It will only make him angrier.”

“Who are you talking about?” I fearfully asked.

“I don’t even know his real name,” she uttered while staring into space before turning to me. “I only know what happens when you don’t do exactly what he says.”

“If he has something over you, we can both just take off right now,” I mustered.

“No. He always gets his way, one way or another.”

“My Mom can help. She has a direct line to the FBI. Whoever this man is, he won’t be able to hurt you anymore,” I argued.

Mel angrily lunged forward, stamping in the pool of water with her heavy boots, splashing my legs with the fetid water while I flinched and wriggled without success to stop it from reaching my face. When I turned back, she threateningly thrust a single, trembling finger in my face before closing her fist in a clear attempt to calm herself down.

“Stop,” she calmly commanded, tossing the empty bottle of water over her head and into the airlock behind her, and I started viciously shaking, sobbing into my shoulder as I tried my best to avoid meeting her gaze.

“Do you honestly believe that your mom was the first person to be held in a place like this?” she said under her breath.

Still looking away, the tone of her voice made me come to the grim realisation she was slowly leading me to, and I turned my head towards her sullenly.

“You’ve been kept in here before,” I quietly remarked.

“Not here, but places like it. Hey, this is a fucking palace compared to some of the shitholes where I was held.”

“I don’t understand,” I sobbed.

“Olivia Lakewell: The Bride from the Bunker,” she began mockingly, “world-famous overnight just because she could string a sentence together. No one stopped to think how many others saw the inside of these walls or how many innocent lives were decimated within them.”

“If he did the same to you, why are you helping him?”

“He has someone very important to me,” she bitterly muttered.

“Who?”

“No one,” she quickly dismissed.

“Who?” I shouted.

“My little brother, okay?” she abruptly announced.

“What about your parents? Aren’t they looking for you both?” I questioned.

“Oh, that ship has already sailed. Mom’s long dead. Dad doesn’t give a shit about me, only his precious son.”

“We could go to the police! I’ll make them listen!” I exclaimed.

“Just zip your trap! You clearly don’t have a fucking clue as to how any of this works,” she disdainfully remarked as she turned her back on me.

“Explain it to me, then,” I matter-of-factly challenged.

Mel stood motionless for a second, barely even breathing as her fists clenched into a ball. She tilted her head slightly and turned back around with a manic look in her eyes before she sharply dove at me, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back with it. I screamed in agony as she put her lips close to my ear.

“You think someone like you could even begin to comprehend what happened to me or my family?” she whispered.

“You’re hurting me,” I sobbed.

“You of all people, the pampered daughter of an overnight author and a mediocre artist who rose to stardom on the back of his wife-to-be’s kidnapping, living the life of Riley, not knowing or even caring what was happening on your own doorstep,” she yelled.

“Let me go, please!” I squealed.

“I spent years in a place like this! In perpetual fear, painfully aware that every single day I would feel the putrid warmth of his breath on the nape of my neck or the metallic taste of his fingers stuffed into my mouth,” she explained whilst tightening her grip on my hair.

“Please,” I bawled.

“Do you know what it’s like to have a man’s stinking, sweaty body pinning you down to the floor against your will? Holding you so tightly that you can barely fill your lungs with air?” she tearfully questioned.

“No! I’m sorry!” I painfully let out.

“He took everything from me,” she bitterly whispered as she released my hair, “and he’s the only person who can give it back.”

Barely had Mel’s words started to sink in when she made her way over to the bunker door and stood in the frame, and I couldn’t help but notice that she was looking back at me with tears streaming down her cheeks. It was only then that I fully realised what she was about to do: shut me in there. I panicked and started fighting my bonds as forcefully as I could before she had the opportunity to go through with her blood-curling plan.

“Forgive me, but I tried it your way,” she began before gripping the door, “I just hope you don’t suffer as much as I did.”

“Mel, please, just—”

She stepped out of the bunker, slamming the door behind her, and I heard it lock from the outside.

“Mel? Mel!” I shrieked.

Dead silence soon pervaded the bunker.

It was the only response I got.

25

THE HEARING

OLIVIA – 2025

The ill-fated day had finally arrived. Stacey had offered to drive us both to the courthouse, and we were all having a sullen breather, still sitting in her car across the road from it with the engine running.

For me, it was the long-awaited conclusion of my eleven years of misery and suffering that had mercilessly been inflicted upon me, the welcomed end of the long and bumpy road, and a day that had cost me so much more than countless sleepless nights. Alex stole ten precious years not only of my life but also a decade of memories with my family, all while he kept murdering without hesitance, torturing without mercy, and weaving lie after lie around him, knowing each of them would benefit his dreadful aim. There was no question on my mind that he deserved to rot on bread and water in a prison cell for the rest of his sorry existence, and after today, I would discover if there was any justice left in the world after all the torment and agony I was put through. That was the morning I would have my fabled revenge, finally able to live the rest of my life without having to look over my shoulder, having the certainty that the pure evil that had done this to us would never see the light of day again.

For Nathaniel, it was absolution. If only the word ‘guilty’ left Alex’s lips, it would strip my husband of his rankling shame and rejuvenate his bruised masculinity so he could begin to live his life once again free of those feelings. Alex had taken so much from him. Not only his life but also his pride, dignity, and self-respect. He needed to know that this nightmarish story was over as much as I did.

For Aurora, it was going to be the day she would hopefully get her parents back, knowing that the man who tore us apart finally got his just desserts. Inadvertently, she had been forced to become the glue that held our family together before even reaching adulthood, and the hearing would relinquish her of that duty. Finally, she would be able to live the rest of her adolescent life without the crippling fear of recurrence gripping her at every turn. I only wished that she could have come along with us to witness the dawn of her new life with her own eyes.

It didn’t take long for the clambering press to surround the vehicle like vultures once they realised that we were waiting inside. As the flash bombs started to go off, Nathaniel grabbed my hand from beside me, and I tearfully looked at him before he sullenly nodded in solidarity.

“I could just mow them all down if you’d like?” Stacey asked in jest from the driver’s seat.

“It’s a lovely idea, it really is, but I’m trying to stay off of the front-page news today,” I cynically uttered.

“Fat chance of that happening,” Nathaniel mused.

I sighed deeply, squeezing my husband’s hand tightly.

“Are you ready?” I asked him.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he mumbled.

With fierce determination, we both got out of the car in unison, buffeted by the throng of reporters and journalists swarming around us, pushing and shoving from every angle. My husband forcefully made his way around the car and immediately tried to clear the path towards the courthouse steps as Stacey pulled away to park her motor in the vicinity of the courtroom. The frantic mob began shouting over one another, with far too many voices jabbering away in the chorale for me to be able to make out anything specific until the rest of the hoard standing on the steps got wind, and their chanting became frightfully audible even over the noise.

“Liar! Liar! Liar!” they rhythmically yelled at the top of their voices.

“Just ignore them and keep moving,” Nath shouted in my ear while grabbing hold of my tremulous arm.

I looked up towards the top of the steps, and the security officers started clearing the way for us, moving a temporary steel fence as we reached the top to let us inside. Nath and I were split up once we entered, both ushered through separate metal detectors in the foyer, reuniting on the other side of them and determinedly walking down the marble-floored hall. I spotted Agent Aldrich talking on the phone with an unsightly bandage wrapped around his head, and he ended his call as I rushed ahead of Nathaniel to greet him.

“Frank! You shouldn’t be here!” I exclaimed.

“Neither should you,” he jovially uttered.

“I’m serious. You should be resting.”

“I’ve been through worse than this. How are you holding up?”

“Alive and kicking, thanks to you.”

“I was just doing my job, ma’am,” he warmly said.

“Thank you, Frank,” Nath said with sincerity as he put his arm around me.

“You’re welcome. Tell me, do you want the good or the bad news first?”

“Give us the good,” I said with a sigh.

“There’s been a last-minute change, and Judge Abrams is now presiding over the case. He has an excellent working relationship with the federal prosecutor on your case.”

“What happened to the old judge?” I asked.

“Apparently, he had a family emergency, but this is a positive thing, I promise you.”

“And the bad?” Nath asked.

“Abrams is very evidence-orientated, which is what we had a mountain of until last night.”

“Why? What happened last night?” I asked.

“I thought you’d have heard by now. The defendant’s house was burned down. Most of the evidence was safely in lockup, but anything that had been left lying around went up in smoke.”

“Jesus,” I said under my breath.

“However, the prosecutor is confident we still have enough, and hopefully it won’t come back to bite us in the ass.”             

“Does he still think Alex is going to plead guilty?”

“Mr Miller would be a fool not to. If this ends up going to trial, the State will throw everything they have at him.”

“Okay, good,” I breathlessly said.

“Just relax, Olivia. It will all be over before you know it,” he assured while checking his watch. “We better get seated. It will be starting in a second,” Frank added as he opened the door to let us in.

I tentatively walked inside a few paces behind Nathaniel, who had selected a few spare seats in the back corner of the room. I turned my head left and right to take it all in and felt slightly underwhelmed by the location of my so-called dramatic finale. Given different circumstances, it was almost as if we were getting ready to watch a pantomime, and I was patiently expecting someone to shout, “he’s behind you!” It was a modest room with unconvincing faux wood panelling glued to every wall, and my eyes followed it to the judge’s bench, noticing the Stars and Stripes prominently draped behind it. The lingering aromas of the morning cleaning routine were still lingering in the air as if the previous crime that was heard here had been sanitised from the room’s memory.

I perched on the edge of the seat, watching all the unknown faces fill up the courtroom and take their places, from which some of them turned their heads to stare at us after noticing our presence in the room. As more and more people crammed into it, my leg started shaking uncontrollably because I got to thinking that the network of lackeys that Alex had been using to do his bidding was probably hiding in plain sight and that I could be sharing the same air as them. I suspiciously stared at every stranger who entered, hoping to spot some sign of guilt on their face as they inched their way to the few empty seats in the courtroom.

Javier was the next man to walk through the doors, and our eyes locked together for a split second, which caused me to rise out of my seat slightly to confront him, but Nathaniel acted swiftly and decisively to put his hand on my leg to sit me back down again. Amused by my act of naked aggression discouraged by my husband, Javier turned round and smirked back at us before taking a seat right near the front.

“Just ignore him. He won’t be a problem when we are back home,” Nath said reassuringly in my ear.

“I wish I could wipe that shit-eating grin off his face,” I menacingly said.

“And I wish I could see that, but he isn’t going to matter shortly. Alex is going to plead guilty, and we can finally put this to bed.”

The courtroom suddenly fell silent, and the spectators’ attention was drawn to the big door on the left being opened by one of the clerks. The tense atmosphere was so palpable and the dead silence so unnerving that you could even have heard a pin drop until the ominous, muffled sound of chains jangling towards us, like a roving ghost in the night, became more and more audible. The clinking stopped, and the clerk produced a set of keys to unlock the chains out of our view. I waited with bated breath for the defendant to finally emerge.

For a brief moment, the thought of being in the wrong courtroom crossed my mind because the incarcerated man who had waddled in bore no resemblance whatsoever to the Alex I remembered. He was donning a bright orange jumpsuit that was baggy, tattered and stained. His head was haphazardly shaved, plagued with patches of dry skin, and clumps of hair still sprang from his scalp like weeds. He was painfully thin, and his complexion was almost translucent and so pale that the bright fluorescent lights in the courtroom easily penetrated it, allowing the audience to see the outline of his misshapen skull. His shoulders were hunched over, and his chin glued to his chest while he meekly dragged his feet, barely looking up for even a second to see where he was being led to by the bailiff.

When he anxiously reached his seat, he tilted his entire body to look around the room as if his neck was immobilised. I caught a glimpse of his face as he lifted his head, and I couldn’t help but notice that his left eye was horrifically swollen, surrounded by a deep, purple bruise, with traces of crusted blood that had emanated from his nose, still evident on his upper lip. His deadened eyes casually began scanning the seated crowd until they reached the corner we were in, and at that very moment, they lit up slightly, followed by a brief, reflective smile that crossed Alex’s raddled face.

I wanted to look away immediately, but I didn’t.

Instead, I stayed strong, mirroring his own expression back at him, almost trying to spontaneously set him alight from a distance with my piercing eyes. A fleeting expression of confusion spanned his face, and he broke the stare first. The lawyer standing beside him noticed the standoff and gently ushered him to sit down. I fearfully glanced at Nath, and he hadn’t been as strong as I was, judging by the single tear that I saw rolling down his cheek and soaking into the collar of his crisp, white shirt.

“All rise,” the clerk announced before the entire room rose from their seats, “Court is now in session with the honourable Judge Abrams,” he loudly added.

The entire courtroom obediently stood up in unison, and the judge emerged from the back of the courtroom and momentarily remained on his feet while scanning the room over his half-moon glasses. He slowly sat down, carefully removing and placing his glasses down on the bench before nodding at the clerk.

“Good morning, you may be seated,” he matter-of-factly said, ordering everyone to sit down.

“I’d like to call the case of the people versus Alex Miller. The case number 7L-592-39. Can counsel introduce themselves, please?” he instructed.

I saw the smartly dressed prosecutor stand up and confidently saunter over to the centre of the courtroom, where he diligently adjusted the microphone on top of a high desk to suit his stature. He tapped it lightly to ensure it was working, cleared his throat three times, and then confidently leaned in to speak.

“My name is Marcus Peterson, and I’m representing the State in these proceedings.”

“Thank you,” the judge said before nodding to Alex’s lawyer, who stood up and provokingly smirked at his opposition before taking his place behind the microphone. He was dressed bizarrely, like a flamboyant Texan oilman, right down to the bolo tie, frilly sleeves and white cowboy hat.

“Y’all know me as Smokin’ Billy Johnson, but I practise the law under William Johnson,” he melodically introduced, prompting a strange look from the judge, who jotted something down on a piece of paper beside him.

“Take your hat off, Mr Johnson,” the judge spitefully ordered.

“Sorry, Your Honour,” he replied, removing his gaudy hat and returning to his seat.

“Okay, everyone, we are here today for Mr Miller’s arraignment. My clerks have warned me of the circus unfolding outside, so I think it would be prudent for us all to start proceedings as quickly as possible.” he addressed the court. “Bailiff, can you arraign Mr Miller when you are ready?” he instructed.

“Mr Miller, if you could please stand,” the bailiff said.

Alex wearily stood up, stretching his back by leaning from side to side before timidly making his way over to the stand. He shot me a sombre look just before he reached it, almost as if to pre-emptively apologise for what was about to take place, then slowly turned and clumsily readjusted the mic to his height.

“Are you ready, Mr Miller?” the judge asked.

I could tell by the movement on his lips that he said something, but no one in the audience heard a thing.

“Louder, Mr Miller,” the judge instructed.

“Sorry, Your Honour,” he shouted with a jarring pop. “I’m good and ready,” he quietly added.

“Arraign him,” the judge instructed the bailiff.

“Mr Miller, you are charged that, sometime between 2014 and 2024, you murdered Jack Davis and Waylon Baker, contrary to California Penal Code 187. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” he uttered almost unblinkingly.

The entire room broke out in whispers, surprised by his plea, but not me. I didn’t join them. I remained fixed on the back of his head, stalwartly throwing daggers at him as the bailiff waited for the audience's reaction to die down.

“You are also charged that, sometime between 2014 and 2024, you murdered your fiancée Nicole Lewis, contrary to California Penal Code 187. How do you plead?”

“Oh, not guilty,” he firmly announced.

“The nerve,” I whispered to myself through gritted teeth.

“You are also charged that, in 2024, you murdered your alleged accomplice, Stephanie Ward, contrary to California Penal Code 187. How do you plead?”

“Definitely not guilty,” he unequivocally proclaimed.

“Mr Miller, please refrain from embellishing your plea. Just the words ‘not guilty’ will suffice,” the judge cautioned him.

“I apologise, Your Honour,” he smiled.

“Finally, you are also charged that, between 2014 and 2024, you kidnapped Olivia Anderson, contrary to California Penal Code 207a. How do you plead?”

Alex turned around to me again, shooting a nauseating wink from over the onlookers, and my jaw slowly fell as I realised exactly what he was about to spew from his mouth.

“Not guilty,” he enunciated the two words clearly.

“You fucking liar!” I screamed, standing from my seat and pointing at him over the crowd.

The entire courtroom erupted into loud pandemonium, disparagingly staring at me from their seats, the volume quickly reaching fever pitch as the judge picked up his gavel before smashing it on the desk. Alex turned around to face me again, his lawyer frantically rushing over to whisper something in his ear as a sinister grin cracked his face.

“Order!” the judge shouted as he continued to pound the block of wood on his desk.

It took several attempts before the audience began to quieten down, and I remained firmly standing as the judge stared me down with fury.

“Mrs Anderson, sit down. If you have any other outbursts, I will have you ejected from the courtroom,” he matter-of-factly announced.

I reluctantly sat down, and not for a single moment did I take my eyes off Alex, who hesitantly turned back round to face the judge after some physical prompting from his counsel beside him.

“Mr Miller, you have pleaded not guilty on all charges, so we will reconvene to set a date for trial. It is your right to speak should you deem it appropriate, so do you have anything else to add before we bring proceedings to a close?”

Smokin’ Billy shunted Alex out of the way of the microphone before he could utter a word and quickly angled it towards himself.

“Mr Miller will not be making a statement at this time, Your Honour,” he announced.

“Okay then. I’d like to see counsel—”

“Actually, Your Honour,” Alex loudly interrupted off-mic.

“Yes, Mr Miller?”

“My lawyer spoke out of turn. I would actually like to say something, if I may.”

“It is your legal right, although I suggest that you heed the word of your attorney.”

“I appreciate the advice, Your Honour, but I’d still like to say a few words if it’s all the same to you.”

“Go ahead,” the judge disgruntledly said as he pointedly checked his watch.

“Not only am I innocent of all the charges that have been brought against me, but I was also the one who saved Mrs Anderson, and I can prove it.”

The audience broke out into shouting once again, inciting the judge to take a few more swings with his gavel to silence them.

“Order!” he shouted.

“May I continue?” Alex said over the deafening noise.

“Proceed,” the judge reluctantly said.

26

THE JAILBREAK

ALEX – 2024

Icarelessly kicked the crate of bottled water down the shaft, and it thudded on the bottom, bouncing off the first rung of the ladder and rolling a few steps down into the bunker while spewing a thick black cloud of soot. As I waited for the dust to settle, I knelt down beside the hatch door and began gently prying the lock open with the screwdriver that I was carrying in my back pocket. The timber was already rotted after having been exposed to the elements for so many years that I was able to splinter it with relative ease, so I left it with just enough strength around it to have some resistance. Happy with my act of sabotage, I threw the duffle bag of supplies over my shoulder before descending the steps and picking up the water when I was back on solid ground. I clumsily made my way down the steps like a pack horse, unlocking the door control cupboard with my free hand and then locking the internal door by pressing the button once. Like hundreds of times before, I unlocked the exterior door, opened it, and dumped the supplies there for Olivia to retrieve after I had left.

However, that evening was different.

I arched my spine backwards until it cracked and pressed my ear against the steel door to see if I could hear what was going on inside. I wondered whether she had finally developed the courage to retrieve the makeshift blade that she thought she had secretly stashed under her bed and whether she was waiting on the other side, poised to slash my throat open if I afforded her the opportunity. There was a small part of me that wanted to open that second door, look her dead in the eyes, and calmly explain why Stephanie had insisted that she spent the last ten years locked in there, but I had other plans for her. My intentions, as crazy as they were, all hinged on my anonymity remaining intact and Olivia escaping her bondage alive.

I must admit that I was beginning to like Olivia.

Deep down, I knew it was wrong, but I thoroughly enjoyed our time together. I was in my element, entirely free to conduct my little psychological experiments on her as I pleased, learning so much about Olivia’s fragile mind as I diligently watched her through the cameras. Behind her sarcastic, jovial exterior was simply a lost little girl who seemingly loved her family, yet over the years, Stephanie had chipped away at her defences, and by the end, Olivia was unrecognisable as the woman that was once dragged there. Our prisoner had survived every trial and tribulation my partner in crime had put her through, dangerously toeing the line between being too much trouble to keep alive and too much of an inconvenience to kill.

After a decade in captivity under our watchful eye, it was clear to us that a toxic combination of Stephanie’s personality and mine had been imprinted on her. You could see it in her defiant eyes. She always had an edge, sure, but we had honed and sharpened it, transforming her from the blunt instrument that Stephanie kidnapped back then into the sharp knife that I was going to plunge into her kidnapper’s back. I was just about to start the next step of my plan when my burner phone vibrated in my pocket, stopping me dead in my tracks.

“Speak of the devil,” I mumbled under my breath as I glanced at the text Stephanie had just sent me.

Have you done the drop?

What do you care?

Just answer me.

In a huff and without replying, I turned off my phone and put it back into my pocket. I couldn’t believe the barefaced cheek of that spiteful little bitch, bossing me around as if I was her subservient servant while she was probably cosied up on the sofa with Nathaniel back at home. Unbeknownst to her, she was keeping my place warm because after that night, all of her carefully crafted plans and schemes were going to come crashing down around her.

She genuinely thought I was entirely ignorant of her steamy sex sessions with the town sheriff and that she was slowly using her silicone-ridden body to wrap him around her little finger just to keep me in line. I wasn’t the only one who had got wind of her vibrant sex life either; half of Hammerdale probably knew of her infidelity, shamelessly cuckolding Nathaniel and making a laughingstock of him behind his back all over town. Stephanie never loved him. She never even wanted him. She simply craved attention from wherever she could get it, simply because she knew she had grown up as an ugly duckling who was desperate to transcend her youth and turn into the proverbial swan.

She made a grave error when she reneged on our deal.

My criminal collaborator barely even visited the bunker anymore and seemed pretty content in just letting our prisoner starve to death rather than deal with her with any finality. After my associate had grown bored of incessantly torturing our victim, I was reduced to a simple custodian, diligently making the food drops whenever I could but ensuring that she remained under lock and key, unable to expose the gross inhumanity we had done to her.

When Stephanie came to me all those years ago with her master plan, I should have rejected it outright and told her to get lost there and then. But no, I let her crawl into my head, just like she self-servingly did to all the other men that she approached with a devious scheme up her sleeve. Needless to say, by the time I realised she had outfoxed me, it was already too late. This was never about simple revenge for some unintended slight on her that Nathaniel may have committed; she desired him for herself too, and my biggest regret was that I got her involved in the first place.

She was to mete out her punishment on the happy couple by kidnapping Olivia, and in turn, I would get to be the shoulder to cry on for Nathaniel. I was meant to be the one to help him pick up the pieces. It was me he was meant to fall in love with. I had been a party to so many vile sins to make Stephanie’s plan a reality that I refused to allow her to be in control of the situation any further.

Over the years, she had murdered with impunity, persecuted Olivia without decency, and woven a web of deceit that even an oddball like me felt uncomfortable with. She was an expert at playing the part of the doting fiancée, so much so that Nathaniel didn’t have the faintest idea what kind of monster he was sharing his bed with. I owed it to him, myself, Aurora, and hell, even Olivia, to put an end to her little charade.

Stephanie was reckless, and she had to be stopped.

She was going to find out, in the most brutal way I could fashion, that I was far more intelligent than she was. Armed only with an old screwdriver, a tiny tube of superglue, and a careless mistake, I was going to destroy her perfect world from the inside out. As quiet as a mouse, I squeezed a drop of the glue into the door's locking mechanism, which quickly dried, leaving it seized open. I gently closed it behind me before reaching into the control panel for the last time to unlock both doors. I then quietly ran up the steps, scaled the ladders, and cautiously locked the hatch behind me, being careful not to damage the lock beyond the breaking point. I ran into the foliage about forty feet away, waiting to observe what Olivia was going to do next through some binoculars.

It was exhilarating.

Like the master of a rat in a maze, I had revealed the exit to her, and all that was left was to watch her wander through it to regain the freedom Stephanie had robbed her of. I had set everything up; the dominoes were ready to tumble, and all I needed was for her to push the first one over, leaving the rest to topple into place. I wondered whether we had pushed her too far and if the fire for her freedom had long since been extinguished, especially after everything we had collectively put her through.

“Take the bait,” I whispered to myself.

To my delight, a few seconds later, I saw the hatch slowly moving up and down, and I became worried for a brief moment that I hadn’t damaged the lock enough to allow her to escape. Suddenly, it flung fully open, slamming against the earth behind it, and like a timid rabbit, she emerged shortly after, stumbling at the top of the ladder and landing on her hands and knees in the dirt.

“For crying out loud, pick yourself up, you ditsy bitch,” I mumbled.

She remained rooted to the spot, looking over each shoulder as if she was dreading she would get smashed on the back of the head with something heavy the instant she stood back up. Looking somewhat content that she was safe for the time being, she slowly got back on her feet, swivelling her head around, clearly expecting someone to be waiting for her in the dense undergrowth. I ducked slightly to avoid her eyeline, and after a few more seconds, she began to sprint down the beaten track leading to the main road. I cautiously followed her at a short distance, walking at a brisk pace to easily keep up with her deteriorated running speed and staying out of sight while she continually looked around for pursuers hot on her tail.

We arrived at the roadside, and she began aimlessly wobbling down the middle of it as if she had taken leave of her senses. I remained tracking her from the undergrowth, still shrouded in darkness as she started to slog her way down to her old home. She was clearly out of breath and in a lot of pain after her short jog, developing a limp as she dragged her brutalised feet across the tarmac.

I suddenly had the urge to intervene, concocting plausible excuses in my mind that could explain my unexpected presence there, but before I thought of a fairly credible explanation, some headlights in the distance made me instinctually duck down again. A car was approaching, and Olivia was standing there like a glazed zombie as the roar of the engine became louder and louder. For a second, I thought that she might get mowed down, but in the nick of time, the driver slammed on the brakes and came to an abrupt screeching stop to the point that I could even smell the brakes from where I was hiding.

“Shit,” I whispered to myself as I lay down further into the thicket.

The clapped-out banger miraculously stopped a few feet in front of Olivia, and I waited with bated breath to see the random do-gooder emerge. Oh my gosh! I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw who had exited the vehicle.

“My God. Olivia Lakewell?” he asked.

“No, no, no!” I cursed repeatedly under my breath.

27

THE CHARGE

OLIVIA – 2025

The world continued to spin on its axis without me. I was perfectly in the centre, totally unperturbed by the momentum, numbly observing strangers go about their lives while I aimlessly trudged out of the courtroom, not knowing that I had left Nathaniel dumbfoundedly trailing behind me. People bashed into me as they rushed through the courthouse, but I barely felt their constant jostling or heard their voices. I could only hear the high-pitched ringing sound that started when Alex began his story about my escape.

He used me. Like a live hand grenade, he pulled the pin and launched me in Stephanie’s direction, knowing that I would blame her for everything and destroy her life in the process. He spent ten years preparing me for that, undermining my sanity and testing the limits of what I was willing to do for the sake of my family and freedom. His manipulation went far deeper than I ever thought possible, and it made me feel ridiculous.

Our names had already been dragged through the mud, and they would be put through the mangle once again after the highly anticipated trial started. Benjamin’s whispers turned out to be bang on: Alex’s attorney was going to eviscerate me on the stand. Nathaniel’s anxieties about our entire lives being in the public domain were bang on, too, and they would be picked apart by the press and counsel alike. I just couldn’t wrap my head around how Alex was still getting away with it all. Whenever the news covered the story, my name was always being put in a very bad light, whereas the wicked man behind the curtain barely got a mention.

My mind was cast back to that night I chose for him to get arrested rather than the alternative, and I wondered what I would have done differently back then. I imagined snatching the gun he was holding from him and emptying the clip into his perverted head, questioning if I would have even felt a modicum of guilt after doing it. In many ways, I was already serving a life sentence, so what did it matter whether it was out here or in a cell?

He was going to walk free. I knew it in my bones.

My knees started to feel weak, and I stumbled towards the bench I was trudging past, putting my hand out to steady myself on the arm as Nathaniel quickly caught up with me to catch me before I took a tumble.

“Just sit down for a minute,” he suggested.

“I don’t believe it. He’s going to get away with it,” I frantically said.

“Olivia, don’t believe a word that comes out of his mouth. He will say anything just to save his own hide.”

“The jury will believe him,” I uttered.

“Frank and the prosecutor will disprove everything he has just said in the trial. Just breathe.”

“I can’t do it, Nath! It took every ounce of strength just to look him in the eye from the back of the room. How am I possibly going to recount everything that happened with his dead eyes staring back at me?” I wildly bawled.

“You are the strongest woman I have ever met. You can do this.”

“You’re going to be on the stand too, you know? That appalling lawyer of his is going to dredge everything up. You’re going to have to talk about things you never wanted another soul to hear.”

“If I have to, so be it. We’re the victims here, not him.”

I put my head in my hands to begin hysterically sobbing before Nathaniel sat on the seat beside me, throwing his arm around my shoulder and pulling me in tight. I just wanted to open my eyes and know that the entire nightmare was over. I didn’t need Alex simply locked away in prison. It was becoming crucial to me that he should disappear from the very face of the earth.

“We’ll beat him, I promise,” he whispered in my ear.

I burrowed my head into his shoulder, and he kissed me on the forehead before pulling away slightly.

“You stay put for a minute. I’m going to get us both a coffee and make sure Stacey is outside waiting for us.”

“Okay, thank you,” I mumbled.

As I pulled out a tissue from my handbag to dab my eyes with, I tearfully watched Nathaniel walk away and vanish into the crowd. A door opening beside me startled me, and I glanced at it quickly while continuing to dry my eyes. I felt a presence sit down next to me, and I swilled my head around only to realise it was Hank sitting there, sullenly looking back at me.

“Hank?” I mumbled.

“How are you, ma’am?” he softly asked.

“Horrendous. Alex’s arraignment ended about five minutes ago,” I announced.

“I heard. How did it go?”

“Badly. He pleaded not guilty to all charges,” I sighed.

“I’m so sorry,” he began with a sigh, “I’m sure it’ll all work out in the end.”

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“I was just petitioning a judge to reopen Jonah’s case.”

“Did you have any luck?”

“About as much as you, it seems.”

“Shit. I’m sorry,” I sullenly said.

“Thank you. I think it’s high time that I started practising what I preach and tried to move on.”

“No!” I exclaimed as I placed my hand on his knee. “You can’t give up now,” I added.

“It’s been months…” he tearfully mused.

“So? I was missing for ten years. There’s always a chance, but only if you fight for it.”

“I just don’t know where else to turn,” he admitted.

“With everything that’s been going on, I haven’t had a chance to help, it’s just been one thing after another and—”

“Don’t apologise, Olivia. I understand.”

I saw Agent Aldrich out of the corner of my eye emerge from the courtroom, so I waved my hand to beckon him over. He noticed me and began walking over with an empathetic expression plastered all over his face.

“This is Agent Aldrich. He will help you,” I said to Hank.

“I’m sorry, Olivia. That isn’t how we were expecting things to happen,” Aldrich announced when he arrived.

“What happens now?”

“The prosecutor is sitting with the defence in the judge’s chamber now. We’ll know more shortly.”

“Okay, thank you. By the way, this is Hank. His son has been missing for months, and he has just been petitioning a judge to reopen the case.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” Aldrich said as he looked at Hank beside me. “What’s his name?”

“Thank you,” Hank replied with his hand outstretched. “Jonah Gray,” he gloomily added.

“Jonah… I haven’t heard about your case,” Frank mused.

“That’s the problem, Frank. No one seems interested in looking for him,” I interjected.

“I’ll have a word with our field office and find out who is dealing with it. We take missing children very seriously.”

“I truly appreciate it,” Hank said with a weary smile.

“Listen, Olivia, I need to have a private word with you. Do you have five minutes?” Aldrich asked.

“Sure, I’m just waiting for Nathaniel,” I said as I stood up.

“Don’t worry, it won’t take us long,” Aldrich assured before turning to Hank, “I hope you find your son.”

“Me too,” he replied.

“I’ll be in touch. Just stay strong,” I said to Hank, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder before following Aldrich back to the courtroom.

He poked his head inside, looking to see if the room was empty, and then invited me in before him. He sat down sideways on an aisle seat, and I sat across from him. He awkwardly clasped his hands together while staring at the floor, clearly trying to conjure some words of mediocre encouragement out of thin air.

“So, today didn’t go well,” he announced.

“That’s putting it lightly,” I mumbled.

“I’m not going to sugarcoat this because you deserve to hear this straight from the shoulder. I’ve already spoken to the prosecutor; he’s dropping the murder charges.”

“He’s doing what?” I asked with utter disbelief.

“We just don’t have the evidence—”

“But I’m the evidence!” I loudly interrupted.

“I know, but we need to say he was the perpetrator beyond a reasonable doubt. The waters are already muddied by Stephanie’s involvement, and after taking her death into account, it’s going to be almost impossible to convince a jury that he acted alone on them.”

“So that’s it? He just gets away with it?” I flippantly shouted.

“No. We’re still going for the felony kidnapping. If we get a guilty verdict, he’ll be sentenced to life without parole anyway. I know it’s not the result you wanted, but if we tried for all the charges and failed, he could potentially walk free.”

“Jack, Waylon and Nicole deserve justice as much as I do. They died because of me.”

“I couldn’t agree more, but this is purely a strategic decision. The burden of proof is lighter for the kidnapping, and you’re the only victim who is still breathing.”

“What about their families? How are you going to look them in the eye and tell them?” I aggressively asked.

“It goes with the territory, I’m afraid.”

A weary sigh escaped me, and I looked up at the judge’s bench with the Stars and Stripes draped behind it. Is this the fabled American justice system? Bartering with charges just to give the prosecution an easy ride? I wondered how many men would have stood before that flag, knowing what they’d done, and lied about it anyway just to shave off a few years of their sentence.

“There’s something else,” Aldrich started.

“You need me on the stand after all,” I cynically laughed.

“Yes. Aurora and Nathaniel, too.”

I buried my head in my hands, desperate to just let out a blood-curdling scream to release some of the pressure building within me.

“Okay,” I uttered.

“Mr Miller is still going to spend the rest of his miserable existence behind bars. Today doesn’t change any of that.”

“I get it,” I mumbled.

“For the time being, you need to go back to London.”

“We just—”

“It isn’t a request anymore,” he interrupted.

“Fine,” I sighed.

“You’re booked on a flight leaving tonight, and you will all be on it. We will fly you back out when a trial date has been set.”

“Okay,” I numbly nodded.

“Come on,” Aldrich said with his hand outstretched to help me out of the seat, “let’s get you home.”

Frank led me out of the room, and that’s when I saw Nathaniel bemusedly standing in the lobby and searching for me with a coffee cup in each hand. Aldrich gently patted me on the back before returning to the courtroom, and I walked over to Nathaniel to relieve him of a much-needed cup of coffee that would perk us back up.

“They’re dropping the murder charges,” I announced.

“I thought as much,” he said with a heavy sigh.

“Aldrich has booked us a flight for tonight, but first, we need to get Aurora and then grab our luggage.”

“I’ve just tried calling her. She didn’t answer again.”

“What are we going to do?” I frantically asked.

“I’ve come prepared,” Nathaniel announced as he showed me his phone, which was displaying a map with a small picture of Aurora’s face.

“You’ve been tracking her?” I exclaimed.

“Uh-huh,” he said as he sipped his coffee.

“But that’s an invasion of her privacy.”

“Once bitten, twice shy. After everything that’s happened, she should be grateful we haven’t fitted a lock on her door. Besides, she agreed to it.”

“Good thinking, Batman.”

“Come on, we’ll pick her up on the way,” he announced as we both started walking towards the exit.

28

THE BUNKMATE

AURORA – 2025

Just as my eyelids grew heavy and began to shut, I almost nodded off, making me lose my balance, and in the process, I very nearly fell headfirst into the puddle of water right in front of me, the tumble taking the chair and what was left of my dignity with it. Remarkably, my sheer exhaustion had allowed me to doze off intermittently a few times, largely because I was starving and so dead tired that I could have passed out at a moment’s notice. I yearned for my bed, fantasised about the alluring smell of one of Mom’s famous fry-ups wafting up the stairs, and, above all else, I needed to know that this bad dream was finally over. The near fall had jolted me back into reality, and I kicked my heels against the chair with disdain while uncomfortably wrestling my bonds in a futile attempt to satiate the niggling itch on my nose that was slowly driving me up the wall.

I whipped my hair left and right, frustratedly blowing back the stray hairs that had fallen in front of my face, before tilting my head to the ceiling and closing my tired eyes to let out a little whimper of defeat. The small glimmer of light reflecting down the steel air vent above my head had disappeared and reappeared once, telling me that I had gallingly spent the entire night strapped with cable ties to that flimsy steel chair. I felt really woozy with my brain in a trance-like state, so much so that I was no longer able to differentiate the nightmare I was facing from reality, which is why I kept swaying the chair back and forth as much as it would allow only to remind my incapacitated body that it was still alive.

Through the night, my wandering thoughts were plagued with the atrocities that happened to Mel inside those walls or in other similar dungeons, making me finally understand the spark of darkness I had clearly seen in her eyes. She had experienced true horror in her life, and if my parents hadn’t risked everything to save me from my brief stint there, I could have been condemned to the same fate. The sheer realisation made me feel strange. Despite what she had done to me, I still struggled to hate her, especially after listening to a small fragment of her story in which she was forced to do what she did to save her little brother. I just wished she had listened to reason, or I had been more persuasive, and that she didn’t feel like she had to trade my life for his.

I looked at the delicate swells in the water, tracing it with my eyes up to the tiny hole in the ceiling where the water was pooling and defying gravity for a fleeting second before it dripped again. I wondered whether my parents even knew I was locked in there and whether they had already realised that everything that was happening to the three of us was somehow interconnected. I tried my hardest to imagine what Mom would instinctively do in the situation I was in. Would she just sit tight there, patiently awaiting her fate like a defenceless victim? Or instead, would she fight tooth and nail for her freedom? Knowing her as little as I did after her return, I already knew the answer. Mel had put the fear of God into me after mentioning the unknown man would be visiting me soon, but little did she know that I had no intention whatsoever of being there by the time he finally showed up.

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath through my nose, lowering my chin down to my chest as I tried to centre myself. My bonds had stopped hurting, mainly because they had cut the blood off from my hands in the previous hours, and in preparation, I desperately wiggled my fingers in a vain attempt to inject some life into them. I started to slowly rock left and right, causing the ripples on the surface of the water to build in intensity while I desperately tried to gain enough momentum to knock myself over on my side.

In all honesty, I didn’t know what exactly I was trying to accomplish. All I was certain of was that I needed my hands free if I wanted to stand a fighting chance of getting any further. I was hoping that being on my side would allow me to contort myself enough to wriggle free of my binds, and if I were to succeed in such a last-ditch attempt, I could at least have a look around for a possible means of escape. As the force built, I became out of sync with the chair I was tied to, and the plastic cable ties started to cut into my wrists again, which made me grimace in a mixture of pain and despair as I persevered with gritted teeth to keep the momentum going so I could finally break free. After about a minute of rocking, half of the chair legs were suspended in midair, and when I finally managed to keel over, my face broke into a smile despite knowing I was helplessly careering to the ground, unable to cushion my fall in the slightest. As I landed, there was a huge splash, which sent a tsunami of stagnant water racing towards the entrance. Needless to say, the pool of water did very little to mitigate the impact as my head cracked against the floor. In that split second, I remember thinking that my half-baked plan hadn’t quite come off because my body quickly started twitching before I fell unconscious, and then everything went pitch dark. 

When I eventually came to, I was still precariously balanced on my side, with my right arm totally dead and my half-open mouth filled with the disgusting fluid the bunker was flooded in. As my senses awakened, I immediately noticed the rotten taste in my mouth, so I began coughing and spluttering to remove it and strained my eyes to ward off the inevitable splitting headache. If anything, I had foolishly made my situation a hundred times worse because the skin of my immersed wrists had taken on water and swollen underneath the surface, stiffening my plastic shackles even further. I tentatively opened my eyes to find my vision still swirling from the force of the impact and blurred by the sodden hair, which I desperately attempted to shake off after it being matted to my forehead whilst I was unconscious.

I thought I was seeing things at first when I saw a little boy, maybe six or seven years old, quietly standing in front of me, watching my every move as I failed to regain my composure. He was covered in cuts and bruises across his face, with crusty eyes as though he had just woken up, and his hair was pointing in all directions. He was shockingly dirty, coated in some powdery, dark substance with clumps of filthy grime lodged underneath his fingernails. The old clothes he was wearing were rotting at the seams, covered in what looked like soot and ash, and barely concealed his skeletal body as he shakily clutched himself to keep warm. I wasn’t sure if the black circles beneath his eyes were a vitamin deficiency, bruising, or simply because of lack of sleep, but he looked gaunt and ill. He violently coughed before nervously moving his hands behind his back, his bare feet gently plopping in the water as he seemed to anxiously march on the spot.

“Hello,” he earnestly mumbled.

“Hi,” I awkwardly replied, “what’s your name?”

“Jonah. What are you doing on the ground, lady?” he asked curiously.

I furrowed my brow slightly, vaguely knowing that I had heard the name before but was unable to place where. I shifted my weight around on my shoulder to try and get my head out of the water to take a good look at him.

“I fell over,” I spluttered. “Do you think you’re strong enough to help me get back up, please?” I asked.

Jonah silently came closer, putting his tiny, cold hands on my arms to try and lift me out of the water. After a few attempts, he gave up and walked a few paces back with a disappointed sigh.

“Are you here on your own?” I softly asked.

“No,” he whispered as he shook his head. “The man told me to keep an eye on you.”

“Which man?” I worriedly asked.

“I’m not sure,” he mumbled.

“Where is he now?”

“He went out to get something from the truck. He told me to holler when you woke up. I better—”

“No, no, please don’t!” I sharply interrupted before feigning a smile on my face. “Do you think that you can find something I can cut these ties with?”

“I don’t know, miss… I don’t want to make him angry.”

“It won’t make him angry!” I tearfully smiled. “Hey, we could give him a little surprise.”

“Like hide and seek?”

“Exactly! Check those drawers over there,” I said as I strugglingly writhed on the floor.

Jonah, looking slightly unconvinced, hesitantly plodded over to the kitchen drawers, and I powerlessly watched him as he stood on his tiptoes to look inside them. I heard metallic rattling in there and hoped that he would produce a knife, but instead, he pulled out a spoon. In frustration, my head dipped back into the water before I immediately removed it again and tried my best to keep a smile on my face.

“Will this do?” he asked.

“No, keep looking,” I gently instructed as I started moving sideways in the chair, hoping that the plastic was beginning to grind away against the concrete floor.

“Why is your room so wet? Mine is smoky,” he mused as he moved on to the cupboards, diligently searching every nook and cranny for something to help me with as he hummed a joyful tune.

“This isn’t my room. I don’t want to be here,” I uttered.

“I don’t like my room either, and it makes me cough. My old one was much better,” he chirpily explained.

“Jonah, does that man who’s outside hurt you?”

“Sometimes, but only when I’m bad.”

“Have you found anything yet?” I asked hysterically.

He went out of my line of sight for a second, and I heard some tinny jangling, then the sound of feet happily plipping through the water toward us.

“Will this do?” he asked, holding out an old, rusted Swiss Army knife to my face.

“Yes! Well done! Now, try and pull out a knife so you can cut these ties!” I enthused brightly.

Jonah unfurled a small, blunt knife from the multi-function tool while slowly moving behind me, and to help him see my hands properly, I held them out of the water as much as I could. As soon as I felt his little hands clutch onto my wrists, the lights suddenly turned themselves off, and we were plunged into total darkness.

“What’s going on?” he whispered.

“Shush,” I quietly urged.

“He’s here,” he fearfully uttered.

I remained totally still for a moment, hearing the near-silent splashes of footsteps coming towards us. As they drew closer, I stepped up the intensity of my previous movements, desperately trying to free my hands before the unwelcome presence arrived. I felt the delayed undulations from the footsteps lick at my face before they stopped entirely, and I ceased struggling so I could hear what was happening.

Silence.

Without warning, I felt a gloved hand gently touch my shoulder and then another, which dove into the water to worm its way underneath me. I was carelessly hoisted back upright, the chair creaking and rattling, and then a dripping wet bag was instantly thrown over my head. I started to fight again when I heard the ominous clicking of cable ties fastening behind my back, but whoever it was applied them with ease, pulling them even tighter than they were before. The presence standing behind me placed one hand around my neck, menacingly gripping it to quell my sudden outburst of belligerence, and it was enough to put an end to the violence in me entirely. The hand left my throat before I heard the fluorescent lights overhead pop on, and then wet footsteps intimidatingly circled me as I strained to see or even breathe through the hood thrown over my head.

“I was coming here to bring you a bite to eat, but after seeing that sorry display, I think I’ll keep it for myself instead,” he announced.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed.

“And roping young Jonah here in to help you?” he mused before tutting repeatedly. “He will have to be punished, too.”

“No, it was my fault! I tricked him into helping me,” I uttered.

The footsteps stopped, and then I heard a stomach-churning whacking sound, followed by a loud splash, concluding with Jonah’s hysterical whimpers as he frantically crawled through the water. The footsteps were angrily following him as he began to scream fearfully, and I heard another sharp snap before the little boy screamed in blood-curdling agony.

“Stop it!” I shouted.

“Didn’t your friend warn you what would happen if you defied my wishes?” the man boomed.

“She did, but she’s not my friend.”

“Huh,” he cynically laughed. “She’s always spoken very highly of you. She begged me to release you, in fact.”

“What do you want with me?”

“Absolutely nothing. I want you to sit there like a well-behaved little girl, keep quiet, and patiently await further instructions,” he threateningly directed.

“I w-will. I promise. Just don’t hurt us,” I snivelled.

“I won’t,” he softly began, as I felt his rough, bare hands running down my exposed shoulders, “unless you give me another reason to.”

The man then lifted the hood up slightly, pushing a straw into my mouth, and I instantly turned my head to reject it.

“Drink. It’s water,” he commanded.

I reluctantly leant forward and drained the bottle of water he was holding as quickly as I could. He reached into the bag with his free hand and began stroking my cheek as I drank, running his fingers down the front of my neck and towards my chest. When the straw began to make a slurping sound, he pulled it from my lips, pressing his thumb into them before he haphazardly pulled the bag back over my head.

“Where are your manners?” he asked.

“Thank you,” I begrudgingly uttered.

“If your mother plays nice, you should be out of here in a few days.”

“And what if she doesn’t?” I fearfully asked.

I heard two sets of footsteps slowly leaving the room, and I violently whipped my head left and right to try and shake off the bag, just managing it in time to see the bunker door slam shut behind them. The lock clunked shut, and I screamed as loud as I could as I helplessly faced the prospect of spending another night in there. 

29

THE COLD CALLER

OLIVIA – 2025

We emerged through the courthouse doors, and I could see Stacey’s car, with the engine running, waiting for us at the bottom of the steps. Unfortunately, there was a blockade of restless reporters between us and our getaway vehicle, so almost in unison, we both put our elbows up to jostle our way through the rabble we were confronted by.

“Olivia, what do you think about the plea today?” a reporter quickly shouted.

“No comment,” I responded.

“Do you think he will walk free?” another shouted.

“No comment,” I repeated.

“Mrs Anderson! Are you worried that the jury will think you are lying about what happened?” a third questioned.

“No comment,” I shouted back.

We managed to break through the remainder of the crowd, reaching Stacey’s car just before we were swamped. Nathaniel went to open the passenger side door until Javier turned up and put his whole weight against it to prevent our escape.

“I’m here at the courthouse after Mr Miller’s shock plea in ‘The Bride from the Bunker’ case, and Olivia Anderson has just walked down the steps with her husband, Nathaniel,” he announced to the camera.

Nath aggressively tried the door again, but Javier stayed put as Stacey did nothing but beep the horn inside.

“How do you feel now that the house of cards is tumbling around you, Olivia?” he asked with an infuriating smirk.

“Honey, do you mind if I take this one?” Nathaniel asked.

“Be my guest,” I bemusedly said.

Without warning, Nathaniel dramatically pulled his arm back and threw a punch directly underneath Javier’s chin, sending him flying into the literal gutter the car was parked beside. The cameraman panned down, embarrassingly showing Javier holding his jaw as he struggled to get back up. I quickly stepped over him when I saw my husband open the car door for me to climb inside, so I quickly jumped in and scooted over to the next seat to allow my husband to follow.

“Does that answer your question?” Nathaniel cynically laughed as he got inside and slammed the door behind him.

“Okay, where the fuck did that come from?” I asked as soon as Stacey pulled away.

“Did I overstep the mark back there?” Nath jovially asked.

“No, that was absolutely perfect.”

“He’s gotten away with too much recently. I’m not going to lie: that felt really good.”

“Sorry to ruin the moment, but where exactly am I going here?” Stacey asked in the rearview mirror.

“Here,” Nathaniel said as he handed her his phone, “just follow that.”

“I can’t get over it,” I pensively said.

“The plea?”

“No, you knocking out that dickhead reporter. I don’t know why I never thought to do that to him before.”

“Hopefully, we’ll be back in London before the police come knocking.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

“We’ll pick up Aurora, grab our luggage, and get the hell out of here.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Hey, this blip is moving. How the hell am I meant to follow it?” Stacey asked.

“Just keep driving in that direction. We will catch up with her eventually,” I said.

We drove out of Sacramento, onto the freeway and back towards Hammerdale. In all honesty, Nathaniel’s outburst had cheered me right up and left me with a grin from ear to ear. He was finally showing some emotion about what was happening, and I started to feel like I wasn’t so alone in all this anymore. Whatever hardships were to befall us, we would tackle them together, just like we promised we would do on our wedding day. I felt a spark of something, like a glimmer of hope at the end of this dark tunnel we were trapped in, I suppose. I began feeling like the entire world wasn’t just out to get me and that maybe justice did exist after all.

“She’s stopped moving. We’re only a few minutes away,” Stacey announced.

“Where the hell is she?” I asked.

“I’m not entirely sure. It just looks like a scrap of land, according to the map.”

Stacey turned left, then right, carrying on for a few minutes before we started making our way further away from Hammerdale again. Nath and I were perched on the edge of the back seat, diligently gazing at his phone as we passed the pin on the map.

“You’ve gone past it, you dozy cow!” I jokingly said.

“Why don’t you drive then…” she grumbled under her breath.

Stacey did a U-turn in the road, turning down a disused dirt track that was riddled with potholes. All our smiles faded when we began wondering what our daughter was doing there in the middle of nowhere. We went round another bend before we spotted a tumbledown shack at the end of the road; we bumpily headed towards it and couldn’t help noticing that Nathaniel’s car, of all vehicles, had been abandoned there. Stacey stopped hers about fifty feet away, killed the engine, unbuckled her seatbelt and turned around in the seat to face us both.

“I don’t like this at all,” I mumbled.

“Me neither,” Nathaniel quietly said.

After Nathaniel and I got out of the car with some trepidation, the wind was eerily picking up and blowing dust mercilessly in our eyes as we approached the derelict shack. Stacey deemed it her duty to stay in the car just in case we needed to leg it out of there. The screen door began fluttering in the stiff breeze, rattling against the building at the mercy of the sporadic gusts which blew it back and forth. We cautiously climbed the rotten steps of the porch, and the only thing we could hear other than the breeze was the sound of the wind chimes violently dinging as we approached the front door. I pulled open the screen door and put my foot behind it before loudly knocking on the front door with my knuckles while Nathaniel looked through the grimy windows to get a peak of what was inside. He shrugged at me, and I knocked again, tentatively putting my hand on the handle before looking at my husband for approval. He nodded, so I turned the doorknob, and the unlocked door screeched open.

“Aurora?” I shouted through it.

I poked my head through the opening before venturing a step across the threshold, and the floorboard inside ominously creaked when I put all my weight on it. I looked back at Nathaniel, who silently nodded his head, and I took a few more steps so he could also follow me inside. We were standing in a hallway, inch-thick in dust and plagued with cobwebs clinging to every surface. The paint on the walls, or what remained of it, was peeling, and huge chunks of it were lying dormant on the floor amongst all the other debris. I crept over to the first door on my right and carefully opened it to see what was in there.

The layout was that of a typical family room, although it was pretty much devoid of furnishings. A log burner stood in the corner of the room, with a sleeping bag laid out in a clean patch on the floor in front of it. Some food wrappers were discarded beside it, as well as a few empty water bottles. I kicked them out of the way as I walked over to the log burner, and I touched the top of the wrought iron with the back of my hand.

“It’s still warm,” I quietly remarked.

“Does this friend of hers live here?” he whispered.

“I have no idea,” I mused.

“Let’s check the other room,” Nathaniel mouthed as he pointed to a door.

I nodded, and without hesitation, he snuck over to the door. He peered through the crack before opening it fully, and we both stepped inside to find a dilapidated kitchen. Half of the cupboard doors had been torn off the carcasses and lay strewn on the floor, the only window in the room had been smashed, and the only appliance still standing was an old fridge, not plugged into the mains, in the far corner.

“Hang on, I’ve got an idea,” I uttered as I pulled my phone out to ring Aurora.

All of a sudden, an incredibly loud vibrating sound coming from the room we were in startled us dead. Nath set about riffling through the rubble on the floor as I turned my head around and tried to locate the source of the noise. I looked back at the fridge and went over to put my ear to it, and that’s when I heard Aurora’s phone shut inside. Drawing in a deep breath, I opened the freezer compartment and found a neatly wrapped package tied together with blood-red string. My hands were trembling as I took it out, and I carefully placed it on the dining table.

“What’s happening?” Nath gasped.

“I don’t know,” I pensively said as I slowly undid the string.

I unfurled the brown packing paper and flattened it on the table to expose the stack of items that had been left for us. On the top was Aurora’s phone, which I carefully placed on the table. Underneath it was a dog-eared copy of ‘The Bride from the Bunker,’ so I instinctually flicked through to the title page and instantly recognised my own handwriting before I let out a cynical laugh and handed the book to Nathaniel.

“To Mel, all the best, Olivia Anderson,” he confoundedly read out loud.

Below the book were two face-down photographs that had been dated in pencil from the day before. I turned the first one over and recoiled in horror as I realised it was a still from the bunker’s CCTV system showing Hank’s son sobbing in the middle of the floor. I shakily picked up the second picture and slowly turned it over to see my daughter with a bag over her head and cable tied to a steel chair.

“She has them,” I fearfully announced.

Aurora’s phone started vibrating violently on the table, and the unknown number flashed up on the screen. I cautiously picked it up, accepted the call, and tentatively put it to my ear.

“Hello?” I said in an unsteady voice.

“Come out of her, my people, lest you take part in her sins, lest you share in her plagues,” a voice distortedly said.

“Where is our daughter?” I screamed down the phone.

“Look up.”

After a moment of confusion, I tilted my head up and saw the CCTV camera pointed directly at us.

“If you hurt a hair on her—”

“Come to the control room. Alone.”

“Okay. I will,” I hysterically gasped.

“If Nathaniel or that friend of yours so much as moves a muscle, I will slit your daughter’s throat. If I hear a siren blaring in the distance, I will slit your—”

“I get it. No funny business. Just don’t hurt her.”

“You aren’t in any position to be making demands, Olivia,” he threatened.

“I understand.”

“Thirty minutes,” he said before hanging up on me.

30

THE RETURN

OLIVIA – 2025

My trembling hand dropped Aurora’s phone from my ear, and I watched it plummet into the rubble beneath my feet in slow motion as it bounced off the debris. I leaned forward, placing both my palms on the table as my quaking knees began to give way, forcing me to drop into a squat when the tears of unfathomable rage started to roll freely down my cheeks. With an ear-splitting scream, I shoved the table away from me with all my strength, briefly sending it airborne until it crashed and clattered against the kitchen cupboards on the other side of the room. Like a royal guard on duty, Nathaniel was stoically unperturbed by my dramatic outburst and simply remained standing beside me, as white as a sheet, while holding the photograph of Aurora and staring at it with a sombre expression on his face. I heard the overhead CCTV camera whir, attentively following my every move, and with quiet compliance, I numbly took out my phone to start a thirty-minute timer. I watched my screen for a few seconds as the numbers started to count down until they suddenly spurred me into action, so I quickly wiped the tears from my face in an effort to compose myself.

“What are you going to do?” Nathaniel meekly asked.

“What he told me to,” I dazedly mumbled.

“Whoever he is, he’s going to kill you, Liv!” he shouted.

“You heard him! He’s got Aurora!”

“We should go to the police,” Nathaniel suggested.

I dismissively shook my head, completely ignoring his suggestion, and instead, I began rifling through the kitchen drawers, hoping to come across something sharp to arm myself with. I found an old chef’s knife, and I carefully placed it into my pocket with the blade down as the nosey camera relentlessly watched on.

“You’re scaring me,” he announced.

I placed a single finger to my lips to shush him, exaggeratingly nodding to the camera above my head at the same time, and Nathaniel turned the table back upright before he sat at it, letting out a frustrated sigh. We both knew that we had no choice in the matter because whoever had taken our daughter had us in checkmate.

“Olivia?” he defeatedly said as his voice began to break.

“Yeah?” I hurriedly said, bouncing on the spot.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” I said, cupping his head in my hands.

“Come back to us, please.”

“I will,” I nodded before giving him a passionate kiss and quickly rushing out of the room.

I noticed the next camera mounted directly above the front door as soon as I entered the hallway, and I scornfully stared into the lens as I stormed through the hall, still clutching the knife inside my jacket pocket. I got out onto the porch to find Stacey idly leaning on the bonnet of her car, shrugging in the distance after locking eyes with me as I numbly walked over to her with my free hand expectantly held out. I twitchingly looked over my shoulders when I reached the car, spotting a third camera screwed to the porch ceiling before Stacey gently touched my arm to get my attention.

“Well?” she softly asked.

“She isn’t here. I need your keys,” I dryly requested.

“Why? What’s happened?”

“There’s no time. Just go inside, and Nathaniel will explain everything to you.”

“But—”

“Keys, please,” I firmly repeated as I opened and closed my hand quickly in front of her.

“Okay,” she said as she bemusedly placed the keys to the car in the palm of my hand.

Quick as a flash, I jumped inside, only pausing to marginally adjust the mirrors before turning on the engine. I put my foot down, making a wide turn on the scrubland around Stacey to return to the main road, leaving her utterly perplexed, standing there in the cloud of dust her rental car raised in its wake. I reached the junction, indicated left, and began driving towards a place I never thought I would ever return to, the room where I was voyeuristically watched for an entire decade of my life. The distorted sound of the radio came to life when I got a signal, and the tail end of an old country music song started playing before the familiar disc jockey began speaking over it.

“You’re tuned to KAGE-FM, and I’m your host, Benjamin, your resident hunk from the bunk! I’ll be here all night bringing you the sweet sounds of captivity, so please, readjust your shackles, open up a fresh can of cold beans, and relax…” Benjamin’s voice chirpily announced over the speakers.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” I exclaimed, almost in manic laughter, while I messed with the radio controls to silence it.

“I’m in your head, dummy. You can’t just turn me off. Or was I that convincing?”

In utter frustration, I let out an angry roar, rattling the steering wheel in my hands while gritting my teeth and paranoidly checking my mirrors.

“She’s going to be okay, you know,” he sullenly announced.

“Oh, so now you’ve grown a conscience, have you? I mumbled to myself.

“Hey! This is your daughter we’re talking about. Unlike you, she’s innocent, and I would never want any harm to befall her.”

“I’m fucking innocent,” I uttered.

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree on that one.”

“Why are you even speaking to me now?”

“To help, of course. I know how deeply upset you are.”

“Go on then, what’s your big plan?”

“Well, Nathaniel and Stacey are being watched, so they are going to have to stay put for a while. You can’t ring the FBI because they will descend on that place like locusts. And if they do, Aurora will be long dead before you can even say handcuffs.”

“So, I’m fucked. Thanks for the confirmation.”

“You really need some new friends. Is there no one else who can help you?”

“Nope—no one,” I whispered.

“Do I really have to spell this out for you, Liv?”

“It looks that way.”

“A certain plaid-shirt-wearing, red-blooded American who probably has a whole arsenal of weaponry at his disposal. Not to mention that his son is sitting in the exact same predicament as your daughter in a grimy bunker somewhere.”

“Hank…” I pensively mused.

All of a sudden, the radio was silenced, and I awkwardly got out my phone to dial Hank’s number, but it rang out and went straight to his voicemail.

“You’ve reached Hank’s Planks. Kindly leave your name and number after the beep, and I’ll call you right back,” the message said.

“Hank. I need you to call me back as soon as you get this. It’s urgent,” I hysterically said before hanging up.

I glanced at my phone after the call ended and noticed that I only had fifteen minutes left to get there, so I stamped down on the accelerator, pinning it to the floor as the engine roared like a bat out of hell. I wiped the stray tears from my eyes, realising that I was on my own, feeling like a lamb driving herself to the nearest slaughterhouse, not knowing who or what I would be confronted with upon arriving there. I patted down my jacket, still feeling the sharp blade in there, hoping that I would muster up the courage to use it if the opportunity presented itself.

With only minutes to spare, I arrived at the clearing for the control room. There were no other cars parked up on the road, and everything was eerily quiet. I clumsily undid my seatbelt and jumped out of the car, almost forgetting to even turn the engine off before I started running down the path. As I was checking how much time I had left, Hank’s name flashed up on my phone screen, so I quickly answered. I was barely able to hear myself think over the sound of power tools being used in the background on the other end of the line.

“Hank? Where on earth are you?” I breathlessly asked.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m just on a job right now. Is everything okay?” he asked.

“I’ve found him!” I exclaimed.

“Who?” he nervously asked.

“Jonah! Someone has taken him, and they have my daughter, too.”

The power tools were immediately silenced, and I heard him clear his throat before returning to the phone. I thought the call had been cancelled because he had taken quite a bit of time before he spoke again, so I stopped running to listen carefully.

“Hello?” I prompted.

“Where is my son?” he solemnly uttered.

“I’ll send you a map pin. I’m supposed to meet them alone at the old bunker control room, and I really don’t know what to do.”

“Olivia, listen to me, stay put. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Do not go in there alone.”

I quickly removed the phone from my ear to check the timer again on my phone. I only had two minutes left.

“There’s no time!” I exclaimed. “I’ve only got two minutes left, or they—they’re going to kill her,” I tearfully stuttered.

“I’ll ring the Sheriff’s office,” he firmly suggested.

“No! They’ll know!” I shouted.

Hank went silent for a moment, and all I could hear was him getting into his car and turning the engine on.

“In that case, go. Keep them talking for as long as possible. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Okay, just be careful, I don’t want—”

“Just go. I’ll take care of everything,” he interrupted.

I hung up the phone and sent Hank the coordinates without wasting time before I began to run frantically down the path again towards the control room. It didn’t take long to spot the hatch because it was still riddled with tatty, bright yellow police tape. I cautiously peered down the dark shaft, unsteadily put my feet on the top rung of the ladder, and then, with a deep, fearful breath, I started descending.

I tentatively reached the bottom and activated the flashlight on my phone so I could see where I was going. There was a persistent dripping sound as I quietly crept down the steps, and I ran my fingers over the defaced walls that were littered with crude, graffitied skulls. I hesitantly took each step one at a time until I saw the reflected light from the monitors bouncing off the sodden floor, so I stopped for a moment to try and awkwardly peer inside. Still trying to be as quiet as I could, I crept up to the open door, hiding to one side of the opening for a moment to catch my breath, still clutching the knife firmly in my pocket. I closed my eyes for a second, and with a deep nasal inhale, I leaned my head around the doorway to glance inside.

All the monitors were brightly illuminated, silhouetting the male figure hunched over the control board, blissfully unaware that I was only about ten feet behind him. In the left column of screens, I saw little Jonah pacing a dilapidated bunker whilst monotonously kicking something around. I frantically tried to see the other screens until I finally noticed Aurora, still tied to the chair like in the photograph, sitting on a chair that was placed in a huge pool of water inside a separate bunker. I slowly pulled out the blade as I approached the man, firmly gripping it in my closed fist while I wondered whether it would be simpler to just plunge it into his back without so much as giving him the opportunity to explain himself. I was almost within touching distance when, to my horror, my phone alarm started beeping loudly, and the man slightly sniggered before I was instantly paralysed in fear.

“Right on time,” he hoarsely announced without turning around.

“Give me my daughter!” I shouted.

“As you can see, she’s safe. Do you really think I would harm my little butterbean?”

I scrunched up my face in mounting confusion, wondering where I had heard that sickly sweet nickname before, and just when I realised where, my jaw almost hit the floor as the man casually turned around and walked a few paces to the left to put the lights on, clasping his hands together as the room slowly got illuminated.

“No? Ernest?” I gasped in utter disbelief.

31

THE RING

OLIVIA – 2025

I bewilderingly shook my head at Ernest, desperately trying to piece together why he, of all people, was standing in front of me as he patiently waited for the cogs to turn. In an explosive fury, I abruptly lunged at him, brandishing the knife high above my head. Since I was a good few metres away from him, he had just enough time to produce a pistol from inside his suit jacket pocket and pointed it directly at me, which stopped me in my tracks.

“Drop the knife, Olivia,” he calmly ordered.

“Ernest, I don’t know what’s going on here, but—”

“Make no mistake, Olivia; this pistol works. Not like the cheap knock-off I handed to that abhorrent protestor yesterday,” he gravely announced.

“That was you?” I tremblingly asked.

“Yes, it certainly was. Now, drop the knife, or I’ll finish what he started.”

I reluctantly stepped back a few paces, dropped the knife, and, after a slight hesitation, raised both of my hands above my head. I watched it clatter by my feet on the concrete floor before looking back up at Ernest, who quickly gestured the gun at my knife.

“Now, kick it away,” he instructed.

I tapped it with my foot, and it skimmed against the concrete floor, landing just underneath a set of stainless steel racking at the side of the room. I slowly turned back around to Ernest, who still had the gun trained on me.

“Finally, we can enjoy a little civility,” he jovially mused as he lowered his gun slightly. “Put your arms down. You look ludicrous,” he dryly added.

“Why are you doing this?” I quietly mumbled as I bemusedly lowered my arms.

“Well, you know what they say: desperate times call for desperate measures. It’s high time that you exited our lives, and it's for good this time.”

“Why?” I yelled.

“There’s a whole host of reasons, although some are more relevant to you than others.”

“I know you never liked me, but all this is a little too much, don’t you think? Doing all this just to split me and your son up? You aren’t going to get away with it,” I remarked.

“Don’t be absurd. Contrary to your strongly held belief, it isn’t always about you, Olivia, and this is actually much bigger than you will ever realise.”

“Nothing could ever possibly justify what you’ve done.”

Ernest began pacing the room, not breaking his terrifyingly intense eye contact with me, not even to blink. He scratched his temple with the muzzle of the pistol while pensively stomping around, sporadically grumbling to himself as if he was irritably wondering where to start. “Before I begin, I’d like to ask you a question, if I may,” he enunciated.

“You quite literally have a gun to my head. I don’t think there is a necessity to ask for permission, do you?”

Ernest let out a dry chuckle before wheeling the chair over from the desk to sit on it. He carefully balanced the gun on his thigh but continued pointing it in my direction before he leaned back and relaxed in the chair, nonchalantly interlocking his fingers behind his head.

“Even though I despise you, I did always find you amusing. It’s no mystery why Nathaniel liked you so much when he first met you in London.”

“I didn’t hear a question there,” I commented.

“Okay then. What exactly did you do to my son?” he asked.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“No matter what was thrown your way, your perplexing relationship always prevailed. When you were fortuitously taken, Gloria and I hoped that would be the end of you two, but no, he still held a candle for you, so we felt compelled to intervene.”

“Intervene?”

“Come on, I’m sure you’ll agree with me that Stephanie was a far more suitable bride for him. She came from a well-respected family, but more importantly, she understood how the world truly works,” he said as he rubbed two fingers against his thumb on one hand.

“Wait—you paid her?”

“It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. She needed a silent partner to grow her business, whereas my son needed a wife. She always had a soft spot for him. It didn’t take me much to convince her.”

“You were in on it all along?”

“Of course I was! Nothing happens in this decrepit backwater town without my say-so.”

“You’re sick.”

“It was all going swimmingly until you turned up in our lives like a bad penny again. Nathaniel predictably fell for you again, and Stephanie ended up dispatching herself. A shame, really.”

“Why can’t you just let Nathaniel make his own decisions? He’s a grown man.”

“He’s not just a grown man. He’s an Anderson from a long line of Andersons before him. For generations, that name has commanded respect around here. I couldn’t allow him to tarnish it any further by continuing to parade around with a common trollop like you.”

“So, this is it, then? Your big plan? You’re just going to shoot me and have done with it?”

“I tried letting my boy draw the correct conclusion himself, but he flatly refused to see reason. That’s why we had no viable option but to think outside the box and get the press involved.”

“Javier…” I mused.

“I mistakenly thought that recruiting that idiotic reporter would be more than enough for my son to realise you were more trouble than you were worth, but even so he still stuck by you. I provided Javier with Alex’s diary. I even told him about my son’s disgusting dalliance, and yet Nathaniel chose to fight his corner over you like a faithful lap dog.”

“Why would you do that to your own son? It almost destroyed him!”

“I’m his father, for fuck’s sake! I don’t answer to you or expect you to understand any of it. I alone know what’s best for him.”

“Nath merely tolerates you, and only because you are related by blood.”

“I almost had him when I provided him with the falsified documents proving Aurora wasn’t his daughter, but he burnt them like a moron on his hotel balcony just to stop you seeing it.”

“You did what?” I ruefully questioned as I stepped forward.

“Careful, Olivia,” he began as he picked the pistol back up and aimed it straight at my face, “you still haven’t answered my question.”

“I haven’t done anything to him. It’s because we love each other,” I tearfully smiled.

“You’re probably right. My wife assumed as much,” he pensively began. “Love: what a farcical notion! Leave it to my son to allow something as trivial as a short-term hormonal spike to get in the way of his own long-term betterment.”

“Betterment? Who the hell are you to talk about betterment?”

“If you must know, I’m somewhat of an authority on the subject.”

“You’re just a lowlife predator.”

“No, I’m not. I’m—”

“Kidnapping? Murder? You’ve destroyed so many lives just to earn a few bucks!”

“Compose yourself, Olivia,” he yelled as he picked up the pistol.

“Ernest, you’ve taken kids away from their loving parents and their homes. It’s fucking revolting.” I chastised.

He swiftly raised the pistol and shot a single round into the overhead fluorescent bulb, which shattered into a million pieces with an ear-splitting pop, showering me with falling shards of hot glass in the process. When I sheepishly opened my eyes to look at him again, it was clear that I had touched a nerve judging by the way he was shakily aiming his gun at me, almost at point-blank range.

“I never did any of such things!” he firmly announced.

“No, you just pay people to do it for you.”

“I never gave that diffident little queer a single cent for what he did to you!” he boomed. “He acted completely on his own, to my great inconvenience, I might add.”

“Alex, you mean?”

“Yes, Alex,” he spat scornfully. “He genuinely believed he’d be able to turn my only heir for himself after kidnapping you. Just the mere thought of them together makes me sick to my stomach.”

“But you stood by and let him wreck our lives nonetheless.”

“Of course I did. How could I not? You were finally out of the picture, and Nathaniel’s life suddenly didn’t seem so bleak after all. When Alex let you back out, my son was a few weeks away from getting married to Stephanie, but the moron got cold feet and decided to call off the wedding.”

“What about Jonah? Where does he come into this?”

“Who?” he shrugged.

“That innocent little boy on the monitor right behind you,” I defeatedly explained as I pointed over his shoulder.

“Oh, him. By allowing you to walk free, Alex stepped on some very large toes, jeopardising a black-market business that is large enough to be publicly listed on the stock market by suddenly exposing it to FBI probes, and all because that small-minded pervert spat his dummy out.”

“What business?” I mumbled.

“Do you have any idea how many children have successfully been trafficked through Hammerdale without a hitch over the years? I’d wager that every time you ate a bowl of cereal and saw the photo of a missing kid printed on the side of a milk carton, they probably spent time in one of the networks of bunkers here. It was only when you and that freak got involved that it started to go pear-shaped.”

“So, you are the head honcho of a child abuse ring? Ernest, what the fuck?”

Ernest pulled the trigger again, this time at my feet. Trembling with fear, I briefly stared at the smouldering crater it left on the floor before fixing my gaze on him again.

“I would never ever hurt a child like that,” he boomed.

“Yet you still profit from their misery,” I sombrely added.

“I’m a broker. I connect businesses with one another. If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.”

“Their blood is on your hands as much as it is on the hands of the people you work for,” I uttered.

“One more word, and the next bullet goes through one of your kneecaps.”

“Kneecap? So, you aren’t going to kill me?”

“You haven’t made the phone call, yet.”

“What call?”

“You’re going to ring that pet FBI agent of yours to say you’re flying back to London. Once you’ve done that, you’ll be going back to the cabin with Nathaniel until the judge dismisses the case.”

“Why would the judge do that?”

“My associates are very persuasive,” he mumbled.

“And if I don’t make the call?”

“The people I work with will be furious; I will only be able to protect Aurora from harm’s way if you agree to cooperate.”

“So, I get killed, Alex walks free, and you get to carry on being Gramps? Over my dead fucking body.”

“If you insist. Pull out your phone.”

“Why are you helping Alex if you hate him so much?”

“Business. As much as I’d love for that deviant to be jailed for the rest of his wretched life, my partners are demanding his immediate release. Now, take out your phone.”

I slowly reached for my phone, cautiously pulled it out of my pocket and unlocked it.

“Make the call now!”

“I can’t—”

“Make the call!” he boomed as the gun rattled in his grip.

I reluctantly scrolled down my contacts and couldn’t help noticing that Aurora was still crying her eyes out in the bunker when I momentarily glanced up at the screens mounted on the wall behind Ernest. When I got to Agent Aldrich’s name, I hovered my shaking thumb over it, and just before I was about to tap it, Ernest and I heard an unexpected thud behind me, so I swilled my head around to look up the steps. As footsteps drew closer and closer, Ernest rose to his feet and aimed his pistol at the doorway.

The first thing I saw was a man’s pair of shoes, polished to within an inch of their lives, effortlessly reflecting the fluorescent lighting back at me. Then, a pair of freshly pressed smart trousers, mostly black but with a slight, classy pinstripe pattern, which only became apparent as he moved closer. Immediately after that, I spotted a belt with an ornate, ox-shaped buckle, followed by a crisp, white shirt underneath a smart suit jacket. A broad grin of relief spread across my face when I saw Hank holding a small bag in one hand and a huge chrome revolver that he was aiming at Ernest in the other. After my anxiety had melted away, I slowly turned back to Ernest with a triumphant smirk spreading over my lips.

“It’s over, Ernest, put the gun down,” I ordered.

My father-in-law’s usual miserable expression eerily cracked and was gradually replaced by a sinister smile from ear to ear. When I was about to reiterate my threat, I felt the cold steel of a gun barrel being pressed against the back of my skull.

“Ma’am,” Hank ominously whispered in my ear.

32

THE LIES

OLIVIA – 2025

The heels of Hank’s smart shoes clacked past me and then beyond Ernest in the direction of the monitors, and Hank diligently checked each of them without another word as if my presence there had almost escaped his notice. I watched on in horror as he pressed some buttons on the control board, and the screens flicked through countless unknown bunkers, each of them housing a nameless child inside. I looked at Ernest, who was almost quaking in his boots, as he kept a watchful eye on me, and it was there and then that I realised he was right about one thing: this was far bigger than I could ever have imagined.

“Who are all these children?” I meekly uttered.

“Livestock!” Hank chirpily announced. “Livestock that we haven’t been able to move for months because of the heat you have brought on us,” he added sinisterly.

“What—what will you do with them?”

“Well, most of these have buyers who are patiently waiting for delivery. Kids are just like wild horses: they need breaking in before they meet their new owners.”

“Hank, they are just children,” I sobbed.

I glanced at Ernest, who looked like he was desperately trying to stop himself from vomiting all over the bunker floor by holding his closed fist to his mouth. He carefully put the safety on his pistol and placed it back in his suit jacket pocket before patting Hank lightly on the back to get his attention.

“I have a prior engagement. Can I leave this to you?” he sullenly asked.

“If you don’t have the stomach for it, fine. You still need to take care of your end, though, Ernie,” Hank threatened as he thrust a car key into his chest without looking at him.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s parked on the main road. Get the bag to Abrams within the hour. He already has the paperwork ready; he just needs paying, and then he’ll sign on the dotted line.”

“I will, I will,” Ernest tamely said.

“I’ll let you know once I’ve finished doing your dirty work.”

“Just make it quick,” he whispered in his ear.

“Funny, that almost sounded as if you were telling me how to conduct my business.”

“It was a request, nothing more,” Ernest meekly responded as he stared at me directly for a second. I could see the cracks of regret undermining his plain facial expression, and he slowly walked over to me, straightening his suit jacket as he drew closer.

“Do as he says, and Aurora won’t be harmed. He has given me assurances,” he articulated dryly.

“How do you sleep at night?” I tearfully uttered.

“Goodbye, Olivia. For the last time,” he matter-of-factly said as I watched him slowly walk out of the room.

Hank casually undid the bag that he carried inside, whistling as he did, and then unfurled it on the desk to expose a set of stainless steel knives and tools. I started eyeing up the blade that was just sticking out from underneath the racking beside me, and I cautiously started inching towards it until he began loudly tutting as he turned around to face me while leaning against the desk.

“Ma’am, do you really think you are going to be able to pick up that butterknife and run over here before I blow your brains out all over that wall?” he sneeringly asked.

“I trusted you. I felt sorry for you,” I vexedly said.

“You were meant to.”

“Why did you even save me that night?”

“Believe me, ma’am, I’ve been asking myself the same question ever since. But it all worked out in the end.”

“Jonah was never your son, was he?” I sombrely asked.

He broodingly shook his head.

“All those people you were helping at the support group, was that all a lie, too?” I asked.

“Come on, Olivia,” he began with a chuckle, “you care even less about those people than I do. I was watching you the entire time. You were just waiting for your turn to speak.”

“That’s not true.”

“Whether you are on television or in person, your face screams ‘poor me,’ but you are totally oblivious of what other people have been through.”

“You do, though, and I don’t know how you can look those people in the eye, knowing how you make your filthy money.”

“Very clever, Olivia, but it won’t wash with me.”

“What?” I bemusedly asked.

“Trying to piss me off. Over the years, I’ve heard it all. I’ve had every tactic used on me by victims: emotional blackmail, self-humanisation, even violence. I’ve even had a few Valley girls trying it on with me before. Do you know what happened to them in the end?”

“No,” I mumbled.

“What I wanted to happen,” he sinisterly jeered.

“You aren’t going to get away with this,” I coldly threatened.

“Hey! That’s funny! What’s that feeling you get when you’re sure something’s happened before?”

“Déjà vu,” I uttered.

“You were always a smart cookie, Olivia. Well, that little strumpet your husband was shacked up with said the exact same thing, almost in the exact same spot.”

“Stephanie? You were here?”

“I don’t know what her fucking name was. Oh boy, I remember her, though. She put up one hell of a fight when it came down to it.”

“You—what?” I stammered.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to slash someone’s wrists and make it look like suicide, especially when they are flailing around on the floor like a gutted fish? To be fair to her, she almost escaped.”

“Are you saying you did that to Stephanie?”

“Keep up, Olivia.”

“Why? Just to save your boss?”

“My… boss?” he dryly smirked.

“Alex.”

Hank laughed so hard that it quickly developed into a cough while he took his suit jacket off to neatly fold it and place it on the cluttered table beside him. He shot me a menacing glare as he put the gun down for a second, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows and removing his black tie.

“You really have no idea, do you?” he asked.

“Well? Why else would you help that psychopath?”

“She found out where Ernie’s investment money really came from and discovered this place later on. She was threatening to blow the lid on the whole operation to that pet sheriff of hers.”

“No, she was involved! She masterminded the whole thing,” I blankly pondered.

“Oh, it was brilliant, wasn’t it? Alex pins the whole thing on her. I make sure she can’t contest it, and he gets to walk away scot-free. All it took was a fake suicide note, a stolen prescription pad, and some fake evidence reports that Ernie found stashed away in that Sheriff’s trunk.”

“No, she kidnapped my daughter from her dental office.”

“I’d picked them both up before you got back to Hammerdale that night. Trust me, that woman didn’t have a damned thing to do with what happened to you.”

“Alex testified in court; he said that Stephanie was—”

“It’s amazing how convincing a man can be, especially when he’s staring down the barrel of life imprisonment, isn’t it?”

I was desperately racking my brain, trying to find a hole in Hank’s story that would prove Stephanie’s guilt, but everything I came up with was only circumstantial, which upheld his version of events even further.

“She was innocent,” I declared.

“Innocent? I wouldn’t go that far. She was a world-class bitch, which is what made it so believable. She got what she deserved.”

“I still can’t believe Alex did all of this just because of Nathaniel,” I quietly mused.

“What?” he angrily shouted.

“He did this because he was in love with my husband. He ruined so many lives just because he wouldn’t take no for an answer!”

Without a response, Hank frantically picked up his revolver to check how many bullets were loaded in there before irately spinning the chamber shut. He then quickly reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small walkie-talkie, pressing the button at the side and licking his lips before he spoke.

“Are you in position? Over,” he asked.

“Yes. Over,” a young female voice responded.

“Good,” he mused to himself as he leant back before he turned round and pressed a button that replaced all the screens with various angles of Aurora’s bunker. Mel crept into the shot on the exterior door camera, brandishing a huge hunting knife directly to the lens. I swivelled my head to the left; my daughter was completely unaware inside, almost perfectly still, apart from her feet, which were fidgetingly kicking against the chair.

“Enough small talk. Do I have your attention, ma’am?” Hank asked.

“Yes,” I tearfully let out.

“Now, take out your phone and call Agent Aldrich at the FBI. You’re going tell him you’re flying back to London without giving him any explanation as to why.”

“Okay, please, just—”

“Was anything I said unclear?” he loudly interrupted.

“No,” I uttered.

“Make the call. If you try and signal for help or say anything that I dislike, you’ll watch your daughter bleed out on that floor, and immediately afterwards, I’ll put a bullet in your skull for good measure. Is that clear enough?”

I shakily pulled my phone out again, unlocked it, and started calling Agent Aldrich. It rang a few times before I heard the line click as it connected.

“Aldrich,” he announced.

“Frank, it’s Olivia,” I unsteadily said.

“Is everything okay? You sound—”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I interrupted. “I’m just calling to let you know that we’re going back to London.”

“I checked the passenger manifest and noticed you weren’t on the flight.”

“I know. We are getting a later one, but we’ll be out of your hair this evening,” I tearfully explained.

“Mrs Anderson, where are you?” he musingly asked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you in any danger right now?” he quietly said.

“No,” I whispered.

“If there’s someone there with you, cough twice.”

Hank slowly sauntered over, pressing the barrel of the revolver into my forehead as I winced under the pressure. He shoved me slightly with it to get my attention, and I opened my eyes again to see him intimidatingly shaking his head.

“Wrap it up,” Hank silently mouthed.

“There’s nobody here. I’m just still a bit upset about the arraignment,” I calmly explained.

Hank pulled the hammer back of the revolver, and I winced as I felt every movement of the mechanism against my skull.

“Well, if that’s everything, Mrs Anderson, the bureau will be in touch in due course.”

“Thanks for everything, Frank,” I abruptly said before I hung up the phone.

Hank immediately took it off me, chucked it on the floor, and then crushed it underneath the heel of his shoe. I remained numbly standing there as he dragged the chair over and gestured with the gun for me to sit down. He returned to his previous position, and I gazed into the monitors behind him, watching Mel, who had sat down with her back to the bunker door and was mindlessly scratching something into the floor with her knife.

“It wasn’t that difficult, was it?”

“Why are you helping him?” I sobbed.

“Oh, come on, Olivia. This isn’t my first rodeo; I’m not going to stand here and explain everything to you while you play for time.”

“Just tell me—”

“Enough!” he deafeningly interrupted.

Hank clicked the button on the side of the two-way radio and leaned into it whilst keeping intense eye contact with me. “Mel. Do it,” he triumphantly commanded before casually discarding it on the table behind him.

“No!” I screamed.

33

THE LEAP

AURORA – 2025

Outside of the bunker, I heard an unusual buzz that almost sounded like the crackle of a radio, which snapped me out of my trance, and I began staring at the door with trepidation. The next thing I heard was a loud clunking sound, and immediately after, the bunker door swung open only to reveal Mel menacingly standing there and gripping a huge bowie knife in her right hand. It was glaringly obvious that she had been crying her eyes out for some time, and wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her free arm as she slowly stepped into the bunker.

“What are you doing?” I tremblingly asked.

“I’m sorry, Rora,” she said, briefly glancing at her own reflection in the blade.

“No, you don’t have to do this,” I shakily sobbed.

“I do. It’s the only way they are going to finally let us go free.”

Mel took a few paces towards me, and I started struggling violently against my bonds, but all to no avail. I aggressively kicked and kicked at the floor, splashing soiled water over Mel, who was still ambling towards me, undeterred by the swashing. I only stopped when I felt the very tip of the knife press lightly against my throat, which made me grimace as I tilted my head as far backwards from the blade as I possibly could. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her crying even more than me, looking like an inconsolable little child, with her chest pounding as she pensively mulled over the consequences of what she was about to do.

“I met your brother. Jonah, right?” I frantically blurted out.

“What?” she asked with an undertone of incredulity.

“He was here, standing where you are right now. He tried his best to help me.”

Mel’s grip on the hilt of the knife loosened, and she lowered it slightly while fearfully glancing at the CCTV camera behind me. I felt the tip of the steel relax, and she took a single step back to look me in the eye with suspicion. A disdainful look of disbelief crossed her face as I stared at her before she lowered the knife to her side.

“How do you know his name?” she whispered.

“He told me.”

“You’re lying,” she said as she raised the dagger.

“Please, believe me, I did meet him.”

“How did he look?” she sullenly asked.

“Terrible. He needs his big sister,” I remarked.

“I’m doing all of this for him. We can finally walk away after—”

“Do you really think that man is going to let you both just toddle off into the sunset together?” I interrupted. “You’re both going to be killed, or worse.”

“No, he promised me this would be the end.”

“How many kids do you think he’s told that to over the years?” I scornfully asked.

“That doesn’t matter. I’m different,” she argued.

“Different? How?”

“He’s taken a shine to me,” she manically smiled. “I helped him kidnap all those kids.”

“You helped him? How?”

“I befriended them first. It made taking them easier. It was the only thing keeping me and my brother safe.”

“How many?” I mumbled.

“Hundreds…” she muttered under her breath.

“You can put a stop to it right now. You just need to cut me free so we can go to the police.”

Something I had said obviously irked her somehow because she immediately lunged back at me and placed the knife back to my neck, pressing harder than before as the blade broke the skin.

“I know where your brother is,” I abruptly announced.

“No. You can’t know that. I’ve been searching for months on end,” she distrustfully replied.

“He’s underneath the rubble at Alex’s house. Or at least he was yesterday.”

“I already checked there,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Not since the fire, though, right? He was covered in soot and ash when he was here. The bunker is still there,” I frantically argued.

“It will be crawling with the feds. He’d have to be stupid to keep him there.”

“Where better than right under their noses?”

Mel carefully checked over my shoulder when we heard the CCTV camera whirring and then looked directly into my eyes again. For a brief moment, which felt like an eternity, I could almost look into her soul, and what I saw wasn’t evil but a lost girl, adrift, doing anything she could to hold together what little family she still had left. In the blackness, there was a spark of hope, which would be extinguished forever if she moved that knife any closer. She didn’t realise it, but in that moment, she had the power to save both of our lives.

“He’s watching us right now. If I don’t do this, he’ll kill my little brother. I’m sorry, but I can’t let anything else happen to him,” she ruefully explained.

“Was any of it real?” I asked.

“Any of what?”

“Us,” I uttered.

“I think so—I don’t know.”

“Was I just another mark?”

“No. It wasn’t like that—”

“Then take a leap of faith with me, please” I interjected.

“No! He will know, and he’ll try to stop us! You don’t know what he’s like,” she shouted.

“If he’s watching us right now, that means he’s left Jonah unattended, right?” I said softly.

Mel looked down for a moment and ruminated on the words I had just said, but she was startled out of her reverie by the crackling sound of the walkie-talkie tucked in her hip. She backed away for a second and lifted it from her waistband, letting out a deep, shaky sigh before placing it close to her ear.

“What’s taking you so long? Do it!” a man shouted through the radio.

“If I do this, you’ll let Jonah and me go, won’t you?” she tearfully asked.

“We had a deal, Melissa. Aurora’s life for yours and your brother’s. Even now, it still sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

“How do I know you are telling the truth?”

“How dare you question my word? After everything I’ve done for you!” he boomed.

Through the radio, I heard Mom screaming in the background and leaned forward to try and make out what she was saying.

“Mom?” I shouted.

“Kill her,” the man ordered.

“Okay,” she mumbled as she put the radio back on her waistband.

“No, please,” I sobbed pleadingly.

“Close your eyes,” she instructed.

“Mel, just stop to think—”

“Close your fucking eyes!” she shrieked.

I shut my eyes as tightly as I could, feeling the steel leave my throat, and couldn’t help picturing her swinging her arm back to plunge it through my neck. Instead, I heard slow footsteps wading through the water and felt the blade go between my wrist and the cable ties, which dropped into the water with a single flick of the knife, giving me back my freedom. Immediately afterwards, I jumped from my seat, backing into the corner as I watched Mel kick the chair over to the CCTV camera, stand on it, and smash the lens with the hilt of the knife.

“Melissa! I don’t know what’s going on in there, but you better—” the radio played before Mel took it off her hip, and I walked over to snatch it from her.

“Mom? If you are listening, I’m safe. Get out of there,” I said before dropping it into the water. The man’s inaudible reply quickly transformed into a garbled, distorted mess as it sank.

“Rora, I’m sorry, I had no choice, he was—”

“Save it. Let’s go and get your brother,” I interrupted.

“What about your mom?” she worriedly asked.

“Mom can look after herself,” I smiled.

34

THE KNIFE

OLIVIA – 2025

Iwatched on in horror as the CCTV feed died, not knowing whether my daughter was dead or alive. Hank was erratically bashing buttons on the control board in a desperate attempt to bring the screens back into operation as he flicked through them, trying to see any sign of the two girls. It changed to an exterior camera, and I saw Mel climb up the ladders first before she reached down into the hatch to help Aurora after her.

“No!” he bellowed.

Hank was distracted. I turned my head towards the knife I had dropped earlier, and seeing as he was still totally absorbed in the commotion on the screens, I took my one and only opportunity. Wasting no time, I leaned sideways off the seat, scooped up the discarded blade underneath the racking, sidled up to him, and plunged it into Hank’s chest without hesitance as he turned back round after noticing my presence behind him. He struggled for a moment and even tried his hardest to raise the gun at me, but I put all my weight behind the knife, twisting and bending it, feeling his flesh give way as it slid even further into his chest. When all but a few inches were stuck into his chest, his arm went limp, the gun fell on the floor beside him, and I kicked it across the floor. I locked eyes with the disgusting, contemptible man before me, gritting my teeth as I kept the pressure on his wound, and he looked back at me, a brief flicker of fear crossing his eyes.

“It’s over,” I breathlessly scorned.

“You goddamned bitch!” he struggled before I twisted the knife slightly, and he screamed in agony.

“This is for everything you’ve put us through and for every kid you’ve ever hurt,” I tensely muttered.

Then, something bizarre happened.

It was as if time itself couldn’t penetrate the thick, concrete bunker walls that we were standing in the midst of, and we were both frozen together in a deadlock, staring into each other’s eyes and wondering what was going to happen next. I could feel my heartbeat in the palm of my hand while unyieldingly gripping the knife, my gaze only wandering when I saw the bright red blood soaking into his crisp, white shirt. I couldn’t believe it was my hand holding it, and it started to dither as I went hot and cold at the same time. The blood spread like a plague, infecting every thread it came into contact with until it was so prevalent that it started to drip down his stomach.

Suddenly aware of the finality of what I had just done, a timid tear formed in my eye. It started to drop down my cheek, bothering me as it did, and I threw my head left and right to shake it off. Hank took another shallow breath as if he were about to say something profound, so I leaned in close, so close that I could feel his hot, laboured breaths hitting my face. I shook him slightly with my free hand, hoping to force the words from his pursed lips, but instead, he just toilingly exhaled. I could almost hear the blood already filling up his lungs.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

And I was sorry.

I was sorry for all the lives that had been destroyed at the hands of that monster, for all of the children that had been taken from their parents in the dead of night, and I bitterly regretted that it took so long for someone to finally see Hank for the man he was, and to stop him.

The spell was broken, and his weakened legs failed him. His body slipped off the edge of the blade, landing in a wet heap at my feet with a nauseating thud. The repulsive bubbling and gurgling sound coming from his chest grew stronger as he fought for every breath before he began to violently splutter, producing a grim, hacking cough as he writhed like a wounded animal on the floor.

I panickily dropped the knife, leaving it to clatter on the floor, and watched him as he futilely dug his broken fingernails into the concrete in a desperate bid to escape death itself. The puddle of blood under him was now vast, flooding everything in its path, and I stepped away to prevent it from touching my shoes. Suddenly, the struggling stopped, and the only sound I could hear was the persistent drip from the bunker ceiling.

“Hey!” I provokingly said under my breath as I kicked his motionless body.

Nothing.

“Fuck,” I mumbled to myself.

I patted myself down, hoping that the prescription that I knew for certain that I had left in my suitcase was somehow magically on my person. I started breathing rapidly, my heart beating out of my chest as I desperately tried to calm myself down to stop the impending panic attack. After noticing my shaking hands were covered in his disgusting blood, I became so desperate to remove it that I grabbed the first thing I laid eyes on: his neatly folded suit jacket. I scraped off as much of it as possible before running over to the disused sink in the corner to finish the job.

“He deserved it,” I repeatedly told myself in a whisper as I scrubbed my fingers clean.

My thoughts were plagued with Hank’s startling admissions, and I wondered if I could believe a word of what he or Alex had ever said. I kept replaying Hank’s reaction when I referred to Alex as his boss and wondered whether there was any truth in it. I had an opportunity to discover why I had been kidnapped and locked away for a decade, but in my fury, I just killed the only person who knew the truth and had nothing else to lose.

The sink began to overflow in front of me, and I quickly turned the tap off. I turned around to Hank, whose body was still regrettably lying on the floor. Even though I knew that my actions were entirely justified, I still felt a twinge of guilt, knowing I had taken a life, no matter how blackened his soul had been. I knelt down, wanting to close Hank’s eyes to stop his incessant staring, and I saw something flash behind them. It was the same look Alex gave me in the courthouse, the same deadened, emotionless pools of emptiness that he called his eyes. I recoiled, almost sliding in the pool of blood beneath my feet, still staring at Hank’s lifeless eyes that were unnervingly looking back at me.

Self-preservation took over, and I grabbed Hank’s ankles, dragging him through the room towards the exit. I didn’t know the plan I had in mind. I just knew that I couldn’t leave him there for the FBI to find. I noticed that his wallet was precariously sticking out of his pocket, and to prevent it from falling into the blood surrounding him, I dropped his legs and leaned over him to grab it. I opened it and immediately saw the faded photograph sitting behind clear plastic, recognising Hank on the left and only vaguely recognising the young boy on the right.

I heard footsteps in the entrance, and I panickily looked left and right, desperately searching for somewhere to hide or another exit I could scarper through. There was no other way out, and whoever was walking down those steps was going to have me bang to rights. I took a deep breath, stood up to look through the doors, and patiently waited for whoever it was to become visible at the bottom of the steps. I threw the wallet by my feet and clenched my fists.

“Well, fuck,” I mumbled to myself, “here we go.”

“Olivia?” I heard Nathaniel shout down the corridor.

“Nath!” I hysterically responded.

Nathaniel ran down into the control room, laughably armed with an old rolling pin, and stared down in shock at Hank’s lifeless body. He immediately went white as a sheet, slowly walking over to me to inspect my stained hands as he waited for an explanation.

“I had to. It was him all along. He did this to us. He was going to kill Aurora and—”

“I thought he was dead,” Nathaniel mumbled.

“No, this is Hank. He’s the man who found me after I escaped from the bunker, but he—”

“That’s Alex’s father,” he declared as he pointed at Hank.

“Wait—what?”

“That’s Gregory Miller. He supposedly died in a car crash when Alex was still in high school. Apparently not.”

I bent down and picked up the wallet, fearfully showing Nathaniel the picture inside. He yanked it off me, pulled it out of the plastic violently as if in a huff, and showed me the back side of it.

“The Miller Boys, 1994,” I read out loud.

“We can tell the FBI when they get here. Frank called me. He said he had a very strange conversation with you, so I ended up telling him everything.”

“So, I didn’t need to—”

“No, you did what you needed to do,” he interrupted as he gripped my shoulders.

“We can’t leave it like this,” I mumbled.

“No, we shouldn’t,” Nath said as he ran over to the corner to pick up a rusted jerrycan lying there, swishing the contents to gauge how much was inside, “we should burn this place to the ground.”

As I nodded, Nath immediately started sloshing the gasoline all over the floor, coating Hank’s body and the desk behind him. I remained behind my husband as he left a trail of flammable liquid all the way to the ladder, and we both climbed it. He dropped the jerrycan down the shaft and pulled a lighter out of his jeans pocket. For a moment, I considered throwing Hank’s family photo down with it, but I thought better of it and put it in my back pocket instead.

“Do you want to do the honours?” he breathlessly asked.

I took the lighter from him, clicking it a few times before it ignited in the breeze, and flung it down the hatch. The petrol caught fire immediately, sending a rapid wave of blue light directly into it, and we heard the flames roaring inside. Nath slammed the hatch shut as the smoke started to leach from the floor surrounding us, and we took a few steps back to quietly watch it burn to ashes. We heard the sirens in the distance, and threw my arms around my husband as we barely even turned our heads and watched the bunker burn instead. I felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and he awkwardly took it out with one arm around me.

“Dad is calling me. He’s probably worried sick about—”

“No, please don’t answer it.”

“Why?”

“Just don’t. I’ll tell you later,” I softly dismissed.

“Okay,” Nath confusedly mumbled.

I squeezed him before I let go, running my fingers down his arms to grab hold of his hands. I turned to him as the smoke billowed around us and looked deeply into his eyes.

“Hey,” I smiled.

“Hey yourself,” he grinned.

“I need to come clean about something. I lied to you yesterday,” I announced.

“You did?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What about?” he asked.

“That piece of paper on the hospital bed.”

“What was it?”

“I found out I’m pregnant,” I mumbled.

“You’re what?”

“I’m pregnant,” I repeated with an uneasy smile.

I looked at him with trepidation as Nath’s jaw was on the floor until a massive grin spanned across his face, and he immediately picked me up, spinning me around over his shoulder with manic laughter. I joyfully patted him on the back until he released me and went straight in for another hug when my feet where back on the ground. I joyfully chuckled over his shoulder, watching the FBI agents descend on our position, and then pulled away slightly to look my husband in the eyes again.

“I love you, Nath,” I firmly said with a tear in my eye.

“I love you, too, Olivia,” he replied, overwhelmed with joy.

3 MONTHS LATER…

EPILOGUE

AURORA – 2025

Oh boy, had I arrived! I was living my best life on the beautiful Gold Coast, relaxing on a picturesque Australian beach in my skimpiest bikini, being slowly enveloped by the plush sunbed I was lying on, basking in the baking sun, sipping cocktails and reading books like I didn’t have a care in the world. I was sharing the cabana I was under with Mom, and even though she was six months pregnant, she was rocking the hell out of her bikini, too. I peeked above my book to see children running up and down the oceanfront, mischievously marauding through a group of teenagers setting up a volleyball net on the sand, then haplessly getting in the way of the couple happily playing with a bat and ball near the shoreline. Although it was distracting me from my book, their youthful laughter provided the perfect soundtrack for relaxation and accompanied the sporadic calls of the seagulls combing the beach for scraps of food. A welcomed breeze blew down the bay, bringing the salty sea aromas with it, and I mindfully closed my eyes as it cooled my face. It was a picture-perfect day for lying on the beach all day long.

Despite focusing solely on the silver lining, there wasn’t much to celebrate, to be honest. Although she was cleared by the FBI of any wrongdoing, Mom had wilfully taken a life, and we barely even spoke about it. After the fire, there was hardly anything left of the bunker, and after some arduous questioning by the feds, Mom was released without charge. The story, however, wasn’t the same for Gramps because after Mom decided to sing like a canary, he was immediately arrested, leaving Nana rattling around in their big house by herself. Agent Frank Aldrich was adamant he was going to dismantle the network Gramps and Hank had run undetected for so many years, but Mom wasn’t convinced we were safe if we stuck around.

Without skipping a beat, we boarded a homeward-bound plane home to London, sorted our visas out, and moved straight to Australia to leave all that shit behind us. I preferred the beautiful Gold Coast to dreary London, but it just didn’t feel like home just yet. That being said, both options beat the hell out of witness protection because if Frank had gotten his way, my parents and I would have been shivering in some cabin up in Alaska, which is why I was ever so grateful that my parents had decided to politely decline.

It was a fresh start for the three of us, a chance to forget, and the opportunity we were in dire need of to finally move on with our lives. I glanced over to Mom on the sunbed beside me, and I put my book down when I realised that she was just mindlessly staring out over Byron Bay with a faraway look in her eyes. Despite everything apparently being over and all the guilty parties either dead or in prison, the undercurrent of tragedy in our family was stronger than ever. I hadn’t told Dad, but I often heard Mom jabbering away to herself in another room, only to look confused or get defensive if I questioned her about it. She often drifted off, even mid-conversation, to someplace dark that I constantly felt the need to pull her from.

“Is everything okay, Mom?” I gently asked as I lowered my sunglasses.

“Are you sure there’s really sharks out there? It looks so peaceful,” she pensively asked.

“Yes,” I chuckled. “Great whites, apparently. They’re the nasty ones, too.”

“Well, shit. Did you warn your dad?” she said.

“I’ll tell him when he gets out,” I jested.

“What if he gets eaten?”

“The odds are slim, and besides, he’s barely a snack!” I laughed.

“For fuck’s sake,” she whispered to herself as she formed a faux megaphone with her hands. “Nath!” she shouted through it.

We both sat up in our sunbeds, and I picked up my ice-cold cocktail as we happily watched Dad fight against the waves to get back out of the sea, scraping his hair back with his fingers once he was back on dry land. He jogged the short distance back over the scorching hot sand to his sunbed and immediately picked up his towel to dry his hair with it before putting his sunglasses on.

“That water is absolutely superb and so refreshing!” he brightly enthused.

“My darling husband, are you aware there’s probably sharks prowling the waters out there?” Mom sarcastically asked.

“So?” he smirked.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“This place is starting to feel like home already,” he jovially mused.

“I need you in one piece, especially when the baby arrives. Who else is going to do the night feeds?”

“Is that all I’m good for?”

Mom turned to me and gave me a knowing smirk as I sniggeringly supped my cocktail to avoid getting involved in the faux domestic.

“Is that all you called me over for?” Dad laughed.

“No,” I began before finishing off my cocktail, “I’m dry.”

“What did your last slave die of? Go and get your own!” he jokingly ordered.

“Fine. Do you want another, Mom?”

“Another strawberry daiquiri for me, please. I’ve got a real craving for frozen things at the moment,” she mused.

“Dad?” I prompted.

“I’ll have another jar of lager,” he said in an awful Australian accent.

“So embarrassing,” I muttered under my breath.

I swiped his wallet off the table, along with my phone, and started jogging over to the shaded beach bar fifty metres down the beach. I looked back over my shoulder to see that Dad had cuddled onto Mom’s sunbed with her, and they were laughing and having a good time as she tried to jokingly fight him off. Everyone had been so hell-bent on justice and revenge for what had happened, and we all debated at some point or another what either of those things looked like. The image of my parents laughing and joking on the beach made my mind up.

This was revenge.

They were living their lives in love again despite all odds and finally unshackled from the tyranny of their past. I knew that we had a long road to recovery ahead of us, especially for Mom, but it was nice to see us moving in the right direction again instead of being constantly pulled back into the shadowy abyss.

With a contented smile, I continued to trudge my way through swimmers of all ages either coming out or going into the waters of the sun-drenched beach, somewhat regretting my decision not to put back on my flip flops as the soles of my feet burnt, but I was relieved when I shook the sand off after reaching the wooden decking. I stepped inside, and the barman peeled himself away from the small television behind the bar to serve me, picking up a rag to quickly wipe down the bar counter.

“G’day! How’re you going?” he smiled.

“Hi, can I just get another beer, one strawberry daiquiri, and one piña colada, please?”

“Sure thing,” he grinned, walking over to the other side of the bar to make my order.

“Oh, shit, make the daiquiri a virgin, please,” I shouted after him.

“No problem at all,” he uttered chirpily.

I perched on a stool, squinting at my phone with my free hand over my eyes to make the screen visible in the sunlight. Although I knew it was wrong to keep up with her, I hadn’t received a single message from Mel in weeks. The last I heard was that she had moved to Florida with Jonah to live with some distant relation of theirs after going to the police. Moving to Australia was meant to be the beginning of a new chapter for me too, but I still admittedly carried a torch for her and wondered if, given other circumstances, things could have been different between us. I hoped against hope that she was getting on with her life, putting her own demons behind her, and we were pretending to do the same.

Like countless times before, I scrolled up and down all the unanswered texts I had sent her and almost typed out another before I immediately had second thoughts. With a disappointed sigh, I locked my phone, turned its screen down, and started mindlessly tapping at the back of it as I waited for the drinks to be ready. My ears were pricked up when I heard an American accent from the portable television behind the bar, but I couldn’t make out what was being said because shortly after, the barman turned the blender on to make Mom’s daiquiri.

“Hey, dude, can you turn that up?” I shouted over the grinding.

Without a word, he cranked up the volume and swivelled the screen towards me before pouring out the icy contents of the blender into a fresh glass.

“Breaking news out of Sacramento. Alex Miller, the man accused of holding a woman in a bunker for over ten years, was exonerated today. Supreme Court Judge Abrams tossed out the case, citing a startling lack of evidence and fundamental confusion within the prosecution team,” the reporter announced.

“No,” I uttered under my breath.

“It seems like Mr Miller is making his way down the courthouse steps now. Let’s see if we can catch him for a comment.”

I rigidly watched the screen with bated breath, leaning forward over the bar counter so I could see it properly in the bright sunlight. As the reporter made her way over to him, I glanced back at my parents, who were happily chasing each other around our sun loungers. I spun my head back round, and the reporter thrusted her microphone into Alex’s face.

“Mr Miller, you were cleared of all charges today. Do you have any comments?” the reporter asked.

“The truth has prevailed. It gives me great comfort to know that our great American justice system can sort criminals from innocents and that today, I leave it as a free man,” Alex triumphantly announced.

“There have been sensational allegations of bribery involving Judge Abrams, who presided over your case. Do you have any response to those?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, so I can’t speak to that, no,” Alex confusedly replied.

“What about the fact that your father’s remains were found in the very same bunker where you allegedly conducted your crimes?”

“Sorry,” Alex bemusedly began with a sorrowful expression, “did you say remains?”

Without warning, the television cut out, and I slammed my palms on the counter to get the barman’s attention. He bemusedly picked it up, whacking it a few times on the side to bring some life back into it before placing it behind the bar again.

“Sorry, darl, outta charge,” he shrugged as he brought over the drinks.

I numbly tapped Dad’s credit card on the bar, clumsily picked up the three drinks, and started dazedly making my way back to the sun loungers. Dad spotted me struggling from a distance and stopped his horseplay with Mom to jog over and give me a helping hand. Before he arrived, I lost my grip on the beverages and helplessly watched as they collided with one another in midair, smashing before they even hit the sand. Dad got there just as the strawberry daiquiri was leaching into the sand, dying it blood-red as the ice quickly melted in the blistering sun.

He looked at me, half disappointed and half concerned, as my bottom lip quivered when I tried to mouth the words that I knew would totally ruin everything that we had worked so hard to build again.

“He—he’s out,” I stammered.

BECOMING BENJAMIN

Imprisoned, broken, and stripped of control, Alex Miller is a man confronting the monster he’s become.

After a lifetime of manipulation and violence, Alex finds himself locked away, forced to face his past under the scrutiny of two unlikely allies. But old habits die hard, and as Alex struggles to reconcile his warped sense of control with the cracks of humanity creeping through, shadows from his upbringing resurface to pull him deeper into darkness.

Haunted by the cruel teachings of his father and the lingering obsession with the woman who escaped his grasp, Alex teeters on the razor’s edge between redemption and revenge. When a sinister conspiracy within the prison walls pushes him to his limits, Alex must decide what kind of man he truly is—and whether freedom is something he deserves.

Becoming Benjamin is a chilling, intimate journey into the fractured mind of a psychopath fighting to rewrite his story. Will Alex’s reckoning lead to salvation, or will his demons drag him under for good?

To thank you for reading this far, I would like to offer you a completely free companion novella to The Bride’s Revenge, which you can download right now from my website!

philipanthonysmith.com/becoming-benjamin/

THE BRIDE’S SALVATION

Every bride has a story, but hers was meant to stay buried.

With a baby on the way, Olivia and her family have something they haven’t had for a long time: hope. The future is looking bright, until an unwelcome blast from the past comes knocking on their door, and they are instantly thrown back into the nightmare that almost consumed them.

In a tale of treachery, unfinished business, and danger looming around every corner, Olivia’s family must fight to see the end of their harrowing ordeal, in the electrifying conclusion to “The Forgotten Bride” series.

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A LETTER FROM PHILIP

Dear thrill seeker,

I want to say a massive thank you for choosing to read “The Bride’s Revenge,” and I truly hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. If you were gripped by the story, and would like to be kept up-to-date with all my future releases, you can join my mailing list by clicking the button below. Your email address will never be shared, and you can unsubscribe at any time. Oh, and did I mention you get a free book for doing so?             

If you want to support a new author even more, you can leave me an honest review or just a rating on Amazon; I would love to hear what you think! If that seems too public, you can get in touch directly by emailing me at twist@philipanthonysmith.com. I reply to every message and love having a chinwag with a fellow thriller enthusiast!

Take care,

Phil

THE WOMAN HE LEFT BEHIND

How well do you know your husband?

Harry and Amelia start their idyllic marriage in the same way all newlyweds aspire to: unapologetically in love and tremendously excited to begin their lives together. Amelia is besotted with Harry. After years of being alone and almost giving up on love and marriage, Harry steps into her life and gives her the one thing she truly needs above all else: hope.

After their perfect wedding, the couple move to Manchester to set down roots, but life has other plans. When they struggle to conceive a child, Amelia is terrified that Harry might leave her, but Harry does the opposite. He becomes even more supportive and tries to help Amelia with her growing anxiety issues.

When tragedy strikes, and Harry astonishingly loses his life in an accident on a trip back to his hometown of Filey, Amelia is left broken and adrift.

On the recommendation of her sister-in-law, Amelia contacts a mysterious psychic, James, who alerts her that her husband’s death isn’t as accidental as everyone thinks. On James’ advice, Amelia follows a trail of malice, deception and violence in search of the answer to one question.

What happened to Harry?

mybook.to/theWOMANHELEFTBEHIND

YOU WILL NEVER FIND THEM

Would you risk everything to save your family, even if you couldn’t remember them?

Michael and his family were living the dream, gleefully speeding down the rough dirt roads of Tenerife in a rented buggy on their annual summer holiday. He and his wife were fifteen years into their marriage, and although it wasn’t always easy, their bond was seemingly unbreakable.

Minutes later when driving solo; Michael lost control of the borrowed vehicle, and violently crashed. His memory was cruelly shattered by the event, and he frantically struggles to piece together the splintered fragments of the tragic accident, and the twisted recollections of his cherished family.

When he finds out that they have been maliciously taken when he was at his most vulnerable by a vile murderer and predator known only as “The Stag,” he frenziedly attempts to follow their trail, hindered by his own fractured mind that releases the past, one agonising flash at a time.

Follow Michael as he risks it all to recover everything that was so spitefully taken from him.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

When I first got the sudden, uncontrollable urge to write a book, I never thought I would finish it, and I never dreamed that anyone would actually read the thing! Then again, here you are, skimming the acknowledgements page of my fourth novel. My first acknowledgement is to you, the reader who made it this far. You are the reason authors do what they do, and I sincerely hope that you enjoyed the ride! If you truly enjoyed this book and you have five minutes to spare, I would love to read a review from you on the platform of your choice. Don’t forget to tag me in your post if it’s on social media!

To Lindsey, my amazing wife, how you put up with my insufferable book musings is beyond me, and I’m incredibly lucky to have someone like you to share my life with.

To my good friend, Domingo Alvarez, once again, your discerning eye and voracious desire for perfection have made this novel immeasurably better. Your devotion and command of the English language are second to none, and I thank you for spending your precious time unstintingly improving my humble book.

Last but certainly not least is the long list of incredible bookstagrammers who, against the clock, managed to read this book before its release and post their review. I really mean this when I say it: if I didn’t have your support, I probably wouldn’t have carried on writing, and I’m eternally grateful for it.

Copyright © Philip Anthony Smith, 2025.

Philip Anthony Smith has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.