'Do you know where he is now?'

  The change of tack threw me momentarily. I picked at my fingers while I gathered my thoughts.

  'Mara, what happened to James Finch?' Tanya asked again.

  I thought about the last days we'd spent together. How we'd laughed and how we'd cried, how he'd sobbed when he told me he was so sorry for what he'd done but that he didn't regret it for a second. And I remembered how he'd taken my hands in his and told me I was his soul mate and we'd never be apart. My tears came hot and heavy, blurring my vision.

  'The police haven't been able to find him,' Tanya said, leaning forwards. 'But you know where he is, don't you?'

  I bit my bottom lip so hard I tasted blood. I nodded.

  'Tell me, Mara.'

  I took a deep breath. I didn't care anymore. It was finally time for the whole truth.

  'He's in the garden,' I said, 'buried under the vegetable patch.'

  54

  Even when the headaches had left him screaming in agony, and debilitating sickness meant he was barely able to drag himself out of the bathroom, James had refused to see a doctor. We both knew something was seriously wrong, but there was nothing he could do about it because he resolutely refused to leave me, despite my feeble appeals. I tried to talk him around, but he wouldn't listen. James always knew best. I was never allowed an opinion. To seek help would have meant leaving me to starve to death, or releasing me and the world finding out what he'd done. So he chose to do neither, letting his health deteriorate to the point where it had been a blessing to put him out of his misery.

  We'd planned it over several weeks as James finally lost his sight and his speech became almost indecipherable. I hated to see him wither and wane, the person I once loved and hated with equal passion rotting before me like a piece of overripe fruit left in the sun. His skin turned grey as the disease ate away muscle and fat, leaving only a shell of the man who'd controlled me, terrorised me and cherished me for all of my adult life.

  When the day came, I propped him up on the bed with as many pillows and cushions as I could find. I kissed him goodbye and with tears coursing down my face fed him a handful of white pills between sips from a glass of water. Only when he drifted towards sleep did I slip the bag over his head and twist it tightly around his neck. With laboured breaths, he gulped down a small pocket of air, sucking the plastic into his mouth as it moulded around his face like a mask. The sound had stayed with me ever since, preying on my dreams. When his body began to convulse as the panic of suffocation set in, I couldn't watch anymore. I wanted to stay with him to the end, but it was too much to bear.

  With my heart tearing in two, I'm ashamed to say that I slunk away, down the stairs and willingly into my concrete prison, where I curled up into a tight ball on my mattress and let the tears flow.

  It was dark when I finally found the courage to return to his room, by which time I was cold and numb. James' wizened body was laid out across the bed, his head, still wrapped in plastic, fallen to one side, his arms outstretched.

  Carefully, I removed the bag and took one last look into his sunken, staring eyes. His skin was cold to the touch, and his ghostly pallor gave him an inhuman appearance. I sat on the edge of the bed, shivering, wondering why I felt nothing. It was almost as if my sadness at his death had been cancelled out by my joy at being free at last. Two polar emotions suppressing each other so that all I felt was an emptiness. I'd longed for freedom for so long, but now I had it, I wasn't sure what to do with it. Where was I going to go? What was I going to do?

  I pushed the thoughts from my mind. Plenty of time to work that out later. For now, I still had a commitment to James to fulfil. It took all my energy to drag him from his bed and down the stairs. His muscles were stiff and unyielding, and I was weak and undernourished. Even now, I wonder how I managed it. I sweated and toiled for what felt like hours until I finally bundled his body into the kitchen where I collapsed in an exhausted heap.

  There was no nobility in his final journey to the grave, but I'd made a promise to him I was determined to keep. I sat on the floor with my back against a cupboard door, every muscle in my body aching, and studied the cadaver of the only man I'd ever known in my adult life. Once his mere presence had terrified me, even when he'd taken me to his bed. But now his limbs were scrawny and wasted away, his chest concave and even his hair had receded and become tinged with grey. An ugly, purple bruise had appeared around his neck where I guess I'd twisted the bag too tightly. A scarlet ribbon of blood ran from his nose.

  With one final effort, I hauled his body into the garden and rolled him into the shallow grave I'd dug in advance, next to the shrivelled tomato plants and beans. I'd laid him on his back and arranged his arms across his chest as the tightness in his limbs softened. Then I stood at his graveside and wondered if I should say a prayer. But as I'd long since given up on God, I thought better of it. So with a final whispered goodbye, I grabbed the spade and shovelled freshly-dug earth over his body.

  When I was done, I returned to the house, took a long, hot shower and slunk back to the sanctuary of my cell, comforted by the familiarity of its terrible smell.

  'You killed him?' said Damian, who'd been listening open-mouthed.

  'He was already dying,' I said. 'I helped him out of his pain.'

  'You poor thing,' Tanya said. I saw the pity in her eyes I didn't want nor deserve.

  'I'd dreamt for so long about what it would be like to kill him, but in the end... ' I shook my head, unable to find the words to finish my sentence. 'I just didn't expect it to be like that.'

  Tanya's brow furrowed. 'Why did you tell the police you'd escaped when Finch had turned his back?' she asked, looking puzzled.

  'Does it matter?'

  'I suppose not.'

  Damian moved closer, waving the knife around. 'What happened after you buried him?' he asked.

  'I already told you.' I couldn't take my eyes off the knife, the light glinting off its deadly blade.

  'No, I still don't understand. James Finch was dead, and you were finally free, but you didn't leave straight away, did you? You stayed here when you could have run for help. Why?'

  I hung my head with shame. He was right, although I had no idea how he knew. 'I don't know,' I said, almost to myself.

  The truth is James had ruled my life for so long, dictated when I ate, when I slept, when I worked, when I watched TV, even when I could have light in my cell, that I'd forgotten how to make decisions for myself. I didn't know what to do. Although I was finally free, it was easier to stay. The house was what I knew. Everything beyond it scared me. There were some tins of food in the kitchen that lasted me for a few weeks, and in the end, it was only when those supplies ran out that I plucked up the courage to leave.

  'I didn't know where to go,' I explained.

  Tanya nodded, silently, but Damian continued to stare at me as though he was weighing up whether to believe me.

  'And you're sure James Finch is dead? Because if you were in love with him and you helped him get away, that would be a convenient story,' he said.

  I shrugged, the melancholy I'd suffered in the days after James' death consuming me again. 'I don't really care if you believe me or not. It's the truth.'

  'We'll see.'

  I don't know what he meant by that, but I was beyond caring what he thought.

  'What now?' Tanya asked. 'What are you going to do with her?'

  'You two deserve each other,' Damian sneered. 'Maybe I'll leave you here together.'

  Tanya jumped out of her chair and knocked it to the floor. 'This has gone far enough, Damian. Put the knife down before you do someone an injury. You've had your fun.' Her voice wavered.

  'Sit down!' Damian snarled.

  Tanya hesitated, then reluctantly picked up her chair and sat back down, chastened.

  'Why did you help him die, after everything he'd done?' Damian asked. 'If it had been me, I'd have watched the bastard suffer.'

  I shook my head. 'I couldn't stand to see him in pain. It was horrible.'

  'But he'd made you suffer.'

  'I'm not the same as him.'

  'But you happily suffocated him with a plastic bag.'

  'It was his idea. It's what he wanted.'

  Damian sighed and fell quiet before the hint of a smile appeared across his face. 'I saw some plastic bags in one of the cupboards. Thank you, you've given me an idea,' he said, turning on his heel and disappearing into the kitchen.

  A moment later, I heard cupboard doors banging open and slamming shut.

  'What the fuck is he doing?' Tanya hissed at me, panic written across her face.

  'Looking for a bag, I guess,' I said. 'I think he intends to kill us both.' My voice was calm, even though I felt anything but calm inside.

  Tanya's eyes opened wide. 'We have to stop him.' She pulled me up and scoured the room frantically. 'Grab a chair,' she hissed. 'Use it as a weapon.' She directed me to stand on one side of the door while she took up a position on the other.

  I shot her a despairing look. What was I supposed to do with a chair?

  But before either of us could do anything, the door crashed open. Damian bowled back into the room and lashed out when he saw Tanya on her feet. He struck her across the side of the head, and she fell to the floor with a scream.

  'You!' he said, turning to me.

  I lunged for one of the dining chairs, but it was heavier than I imagined and totally unwieldy. Before I could lift it, Damian threw me to the floor, his hands around my throat, squeezing.

  I grabbed his wrists, panicking as my lungs felt as though they were about to burst.

  'Is this what you like?' he said, gritting his teeth and glaring at me with hatred in his eyes. 'Is this what James Finch used to do to you?'

  I wanted to yell at him to stop, to tell him I couldn't breathe, that I was suffocating. But I couldn't. I hammered his chest with my fists as darkness closed around my vision. But he wouldn't stop.

  'Does it turn you on?' he continued. 'Do you like it a bit rough?'

  I let my arms fall loose, forcing my brain to overcome the panic. My eyes fluttered closed, and I relaxed every muscle in my body, feigning the unconsciousness that was stalking up on me. It was a trick I'd learnt when James sometimes went too far. Sure enough, Damian released his grip.

  I let my head fall away from him so I could draw in a gentle breath without being seen.

  'Stupid bitch,' he seethed, kicking me in the kidneys for good measure as he stood up. I took the blow without wincing, internalising the pain like I'd learnt from years of practice.

  It bought me some time, but I wasn't out of danger yet. If I could make it out of the house and into the woods, I was confident I could lose Damian in the trees, especially as it was dark. But I had no idea if he'd even locked the back door this time, let alone how I'd reach it without him seeing.

  He moved away, his feet scuffing the carpet, his breathing laboured and shallow. And then I heard a noise that filled me with dread; the distinctive and sickening crackle of a plastic bag.

  55

  If this was the end, I guess I had it coming. No matter what James had done to me, I was wrong to have killed him. It made me nothing better than a murderer, although I'd always thought of it as a mercy killing. In the first few days after his death, wracked with misery and alone in the house, I'd wallowed in self-pity, imagining what it had been like for him in those last few moments as he exhausted the oxygen in the bag I'd pulled over his head. Did he panic as he slowly suffocated? Did he change his mind after I'd left the room but lack the strength to save himself? It was supposed to be an easy death, dignified, but now I couldn't think of a more horrific way to die. It wasn't quick or easy. A solitary tear rolled down my cheek. I never thought I'd end up going the same way. I suppose it was poetic justice.

  There was no point fighting it. I couldn't get away, and Damian was just too strong. So I lay still and tried to calm my emotions, knowing it would be over soon.

  I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable.

  But nothing happened. I heard Tanya's whimper and the sound of her shoes scratching the carpet.

  'What are you doing?' Her voice trembled with fear.

  I lifted my head and turned to see what was going on. Tanya was shuffling into a corner, sliding on her backside across the floor with Damian looming above her, a plastic bag dangling from one hand, his knife in the other.

  'I'm sorry, Tanya, you've left me no choice,' he said, kneeling at her feet. 'Don't struggle and I'll make it painless for you.'

  'Get away from me,' she yelled, her eyes wide and dark, her beautiful face scarred with mascara and her hair tangled and messy. Her cheek was flushed where Damian had hit her. 'Please, I'll do anything you want. I'll spike the story. No one ever needs to know I was here.'

  I recognised the desperation in her voice, bargaining to save herself from pain and suffering. I'd grown up with the same desperation, but my pleas had rarely done me any good. Men like James and Damian were beyond negotiating with. Their souls had hardened and become impervious to anything apart from their own narcissism.

  Damian sighed and shook his head as if her words had disappointed him. 'You expect me to trust you of all people? You're a parasite, Tanya, feeding off everyone else’s misery. I actually feel sorry for you, because you can't help yourself. Why did it have to be my family? Why couldn't you just leave us alone?'

  'I'm sorry,' Tanya cried. 'It was a mistake. I can see that now, but let me go, and I promise you'll never hear from me again.'

  'That's right, Tanya. No one will ever hear from you again.' As he reached to stroke her hair, she flinched.

  'You're serious, aren't you?'

  'Deadly, and sadly for you, no one knows you're here. They'll probably never find your body.'

  Tanya's silence and the pained expression on her face were enough to confirm Damian was right.

  'Hey, don't cry,' he said when Tanya began to sob.

  'You're insane.'

  'No, you've driven me to this.'

  'And when the police find out what you've done? What then?'

  Damian's hollow laugh echoed off the walls. 'Who's going to know I had anything to do with this when it all points to James Finch? The police don't know he's dead. As far as they're concerned he's still on the loose. They'll assume he tracked Mara down and brought her back here.'

  I remembered the wig Damian had been wearing when he took me from the house and finally realised why. If any of the neighbours had seen him dragging me into his van, their descriptions would have led the police to believe it was James.

  'As for you, the police will assume you were so desperate for a story that you couldn't resist responding to Finch's invite to the house after he'd returned here with Mara, offering his exclusive version of events.'

  'Which is why you called me from an unknown number.' Tanya lowered her head in defeat.

  'Actually, Mara's number,' Damian said. He pulled my phone from his pocket and tossed it on the table.

  'And what are you going to do about her?' Tanya asked.

  I noticed an unusual smell. A hint of something unpleasant in the air. At first, I thought I'd imagined it, but when I inhaled more deeply, I caught it again. Stronger.

  'Her?' Damian said, glancing over his shoulder.

  I snapped my eyes shut.

  'I'm going to kill her too.' He said it without any emotion as though he was talking about stamping on a spider or swatting a fly.

  Gas. That was it. Like when the flame on the hob blew out if James left the window in the kitchen ajar. It was filling the house, turning the building into a giant tinderbox, the slightest spark liable to cause a massive explosion. I thought about the dodgy wiring in the light switch and shuddered. Was this Damian's doing as well?

  It didn't matter. All I knew was that I had to get out and fast. I gauged the distance to the kitchen door. If I was quick on my feet, it might take only a second or two to reach the kitchen. Another second to fumble with the key in the back door. I could be out in the garden in no time at all, maybe even before Damian noticed I was gone. If I skirted past the vegetable patch and vaulted the low, stone wall where a bed of roses had grown tall and spindly through the warm summer, I might even make it into the woods.

  Tanya's scream cut through me like a blade through flesh. I tensed my muscles, getting ready to move. I wasn't proud of myself, but all I could think about was getting out of the house and away from danger. I didn't give Tanya a second thought other than that she was providing a distraction for me to get away. With Damian's back turned, I rose onto my haunches, praying the movement wouldn't catch his attention.

  At the kitchen door, I checked over my shoulder. Damian had pulled the bag over Tanya's head, and it had moulded to her face like a grotesque death mask, her mouth open wide as she sucked the plastic into her throat, her fingers clawing at her neck. I remembered the same open-mouthed silent scream when I returned to James' body and discovered the plastic shrink-wrapped around his eyes, nose and cheeks. It was an image that had haunted me in my nightmares and one I knew I would never shake off.

  The acid burn of bile rose from my stomach. I should run. Get out of the house as fast as my legs would carry me. But I couldn't leave Tanya to die. Not like that. Not when I had the power to stop him.

  I turned back, the floorboards creaking beneath my shoes. My foot struck something hard and metallic. The bolt James used to seal the hatch to my cell was lying on the floor, partly hidden under the folds of the rucked-up rug. When I picked it up, it felt reassuringly weighty.

  By now, Tanya was making a terrible gasping sound, her legs thrashing wildly as the panic of suffocation took hold. Damian crouched by her side, holding the bag tightly around her neck.

  I took a step closer and swung the metal bolt behind my head like a golfer as I sized up the patch of bare skin at the base of Damian's neck. With a scream of rage, I brought it crashing down across his shoulders, sending him spilling across the floor. When he groaned and tried to get up, I hit him again with all my strength, catching him across the side of his face and tearing an ugly strip of skin off his cheek. His body went limp.

 

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