The One Who Got Away

‘Better to be murdered than courting some factory boy, huh?’ I ask defiantly, awaiting the tumultuous explosion that is certain to come.

‘Don’t be dim. You barely even know this bloke. With a girl dead in town – murdered –you can’t be too careful.’

‘Mum, are you really suggesting that Charles had something to do with Elizabeth?’ I shake my head, incredulous. This is ridiculous, even by Nora Walker standards.

‘I’m just saying you barely know him.’ She tosses her hands up as if she’s truly innocent.

I roll my eyes. ‘So because you deem him too poor for our standards, you toss murder accusations around? You’re off your trolley.’

‘And you’re making some bloody awful choices,’ she stabs back, her words harsh and angry.

‘I don’t care what you say. I’m going. Charles will be with me. We’re just going for a quick stroll, after all. We won’t be gone long. Besides, with all the roaming patrols around, the killer would be a fool to strike again. And I’m no Elizabeth, anyway. The girl always was a bit of a muggins, if you ask me.’

‘Adeline, how dare you speak of the dead that way. Where are your manners?’ Mum uncrosses her arms, leaning on the chair nearby. I avert my eyes to the ground. I always go too far. I always take it way too far.

‘Sorry, Mum. You’re right,’ I admit, sighing, fiddling with my hands. ‘It’s awful what happened. She didn’t deserve that, no matter what.’ My words are sombre, my guilt real.

Not that I’d ever admit it to my mother, but I do feel a bit anxious about the whole thing. It’s not every day you hear about someone from your town being murdered and chopped up, her body dumped in some skip like a discarded sandwich. I shiver at the thought, imagining Elizabeth’s sweet face, her long brown hair, as she was hacked into pieces and shoved in a trunk. What did she feel in those last moments? When did she know it was all over? Did she suffer? I take a deep breath, disturbed by the thought of it all. In my opinion, she was too goody two-shoes for her own good. But she didn’t deserve to die. Not like that.

I think about what Mum said. She’s probably right. The psycho is probably still out there, lurking in a corner, waiting for someone else to add to his tally. Elizabeth had no enemies. None. Everyone thought of her as sweeter than sweet, and there was no one who would want revenge. Plus, only a true psychopath would do that to a body. Bite marks? That’s bloody terrifying.

For a moment, I think that maybe I should stay home. Maybe I should tell Charles I can’t make it out. Then again, I miss him. I want to spend time with him away from mother’s scowl and her scrutinising gaze. You can’t live your life in fear, I suppose. Besides, with Charles Evans, I know I’m safe. He’ll protect me.

‘Does this mean you’re staying home?’ Mother asks, the I-win look painting itself on her face. Her ruby red lips widen as she prepares for my confession of defeat.

I raise my gaze to meet hers. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I snap.

She groans. ‘Adeline Walker, honestly,’ she bellows, but I march to the front door to grab a light pullover from the hook.

‘Goodnight, Mum. Be sure to lock the door. Wouldn’t want you to go missing, would we?’ I tuck myself into the pullover, yank open the door, and offer her a little wave as she gapes at me.

And before Mum can chase after me, I dash out the door to wait for Charles. He is the escape from my house I desperately need.

***

‘Surprised your mother let you leave the house,’ Charles says a few minutes later when he finds me outside of a house just down the street, near the church. He slides to a stop on his bicycle, propping it against the wall after he dismounts.

I sit on the wall near the hedges, staring up at the sky, my feet kicking against the stones as I wait for him to come over to me. He helps me off the wall, wrapping his arms around me as he kisses me boldly on the lips. I giggle when he pulls away, happy to see him.

‘She’s probably got the whole town out looking for me by now,’ I say as I turn to look at him, his hand in mine as we walk on. His dark hair is slicked back and his steel-blue eyes shimmer in the sunlight.

‘Well, Addy, you can’t blame her, can you? It’s all the town’s been talking about since Elizabeth went missing. All the investigations, all the questions. Just has everyone on edge. And now with the body found and the bloody bastard on the loose, well, I understand why she’s worried, you know? You need to be careful.’

Charles wraps his arms around me, pulling me in for another kiss as we pause in the middle of the walkway. I like how his rough, manly hands wrap around my waist, how his lips feel on mine. I’m consumed by him, by us. He is nothing like Oliver Parsons, the mistake I dated before Charles. No, Charles is different, a working man, a strong man. A kind man. With him, I feel safe, even with a potential homicidal lunatic on the loose.

‘Usual route?’ he asks as we walk down the path, past the rows of houses and the few construction sites around. I shudder when we pass a skip, thinking about Elizabeth.

‘Absolutely,’ I reply, smiling as we walk under the blue sky towards our destination.

We stroll on, gallivanting towards the town centre, neighbours waving as they scatter about. Charles and I are a common sight these days, him calling on me whenever his relief from work at the factory allows it, to my mother’s true agitation.

Charles tells me about his workday as I listen, interested in the other side of his life I can’t begin to understand. Mum thinks it’s improper for a girl like me to work. After all, she reminds me, Dad’s job is good enough that neither of us need even dream of working. She thinks that’s fortunate. A part of me thinks that’s a shame. It would be interesting to get out of the house and to have somewhere to be.

When we reach the town centre, I glance around at the neighbours wandering around, caught up in their own activities. The shops are bustling with activity today. In our travels, though, we see several constables patrolling, reminding us that a lot has changed. I shove aside thoughts of Elizabeth once more as we take a seat on a bench outside of the post office, stopping to people watch and to catch up.

‘Addy, hello,’ a voice says, and I turn to see my best friend, Phyllis Barnes, skipping over. She waves, her mum by her side. Her mum offers a smile, but I notice she studies Charles with interest. Phyllis’ mother and mine are close friends, so I’m sure she’s heard quite a bit about how inappropriate of a match Charles is for me. I brush the thought aside.

‘What are you two doing?’ Phyllis asks, sliding over beside me as I budge up to make room. Charles nods at her politely.

‘Just escaping from the clutches of Mum,’ I reply honestly. Phyllis groans, knowing what my mum is really like. Phyllis knows a lot of things about me, things no one else does. I lean on her shoulder, happy to see her.

‘Lucky you. Wish I could find a bloke of my own. Charles, have any mates in the factory?’ she asks.

‘Got a few looking for someone to be sweet on. I’ll check with them. One commutes to work with me.’

‘You do know there are some jobs opening up in Manor Royal, don’t you?’ she asks. ‘Would be good if you’re thinking of settling down, you know?’ Phyllis winks at me, and I shake my head. She’s been obsessed with asking if Charles is going to propose. I assure her over and over we’re not at that stage yet, but secretly, I can’t help hoping, wondering where it will all go, if we’ll settle in Crawley. Although being close to my mother would be an annoyance at times, it would be enjoyable to perhaps see her discomfort at her precious daughter marrying a ‘commoner’ – although even with Dad’s advertising job, we’re far from the royalty she so believes. You’d think we’re descendants of the Queen herself.

‘So,’ I reply, trying to change the subject.

‘Terrible thing, that story about Elizabeth, huh? Such a sweet girl. Honestly. Who would do something so awful to her? I overheard my dad talking to Mum about it. Said the bite marks were deep and bloody and all over the girl. Even on her unmentionables. Disgraceful, isn’t it? Can you imagine? And to chop her up and put her in the skip like rubbish. I don’t even understand. It all just makes me ill,’ Phyllis says.

My stomach churns at the thought. Phyllis’ dad is one of the constables, so she gets all sorts of inside information. Today’s, though, sends a shiver through me. I find my eyes darting around, as if at any moment, the killer could jump out and strangle me. Suddenly, the town that once felt dull feels lethal.

‘They have any leads? Any motives?’ I prod, squeezing Charles’ hand for comfort. He squeezes it back, a gesture I’ve come to love in our few months together.

Phyllis shakes her head. ‘That’s the truly scary part. They’ve got nothing. Nothing at all. Whoever did it has covered his tracks well. I don’t know if anyone has any idea. But golly, isn’t it just terrifying? The killer out on the loose? Do you think he’ll strike again?’

I touch Phyllis’ hand, mostly to comfort myself. ‘I’m sure it will be okay. There’s no reason to believe it will happen again. Who knows, maybe Elizabeth was mixing in the wrong crowd, you know?’

Phyllis raises an eyebrow. ‘You know you don’t believe that.’

I sigh, admitting she’s right. There’s no one in the world let alone West Green who could believe that saintly girl – too saintly for my liking, sometimes – would have any enemies.

After some small talk about cheerier topics, Phyllis parts ways with us, heading off to catch up to her mother near the front of the market. Charles and I stay put, me leaning on his shoulder, taking in the sights of the town beside him. As always, I search for that disgusting face. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve encountered Oliver’s rage, mercifully, and he’s never been bold enough to harass me in public. For that, at least, I can be thankful. Still, it’s always in the back of my mind that someday, that all might change. It wouldn’t do at all to have him around Charles. It doesn’t do to have him lurking about me, either.

Eventually, we rise from the bench, and I stretch in the rays of the sun. Charles and I pass the hour hand in hand, walking and talking, kissing and revelling in each other. When he drops me off later, tipping his hat to Mum, she simply glares, not even extending a dinner invitation as would be proper. No matter. Charles kisses me on the cheek, promises to call on me again as soon as he can, and heads to the church to retrieve his bicycle and ride home.

Dad returns home well after dark, as usual, and Mum expresses her fears to him about my gallivanting about with a murderer on the loose. As always, Dad manages to calm Mum, winking at me over her head as he hugs her and soothes her. At least one of my parents is somewhat likeable.

Later, when I head to bed, sitting at my desk by the window to peer out onto our street, my mind wanders to what Phyllis told me about the murder. Bite marks in all sorts of places – disturbing. Haunting. Who would do such a thing? To think it happened here, in West Green, this laid-back, lacklustre town.

I lean against the window, staring out into the drizzly night when suddenly, I clutch my chest. Squinting, I lean closer to the murky glass, the hazy rain and darkness making it difficult to see, even with the streetlight. Still, as my heart beats wildly and I peer into the darkness, I’m certain that I’m not mistaken.

Across the street, a shadowy figure stands on the walkway, studying the McConnel house. It’s too dark to make out who it is or what the person is doing, but even from here I’m certain it’s a male figure due to the bulk of his stature. A lump forms in my throat as the figure turns, as if peering up at me. I shudder, trying to make out the face but unable to as suddenly, the person turns and walks casually away.

What was that? Who was it? I wonder, tears forming as panic rises. Is it – no, it can’t be. He must have calmed down by now. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen him. Time has dulled his resolve to get retribution, hasn’t it? But could the figure be someone else with even more sinister intent than Oliver? After all, Oliver’s a monster in his own right. But even he wouldn’t stoop to such horrific levels as the maniac who killed Elizabeth – would he? It’s a terrifying prospect, thinking that anyone in this town would be capable of such an atrocity. I think of Elizabeth’s mangled body tossed in the skip like rubbish, her face contorted. I shudder. I think about waking up my parents, to tell them what I’ve seen. But what have I seen? A person in the street? Nothing criminal, of course. I’m sure it’s just my weary brain panicking due to all the paranoia in town. That’s all. Who wouldn’t be bothered by the thought of Elizabeth in pieces? We’re all on edge. And when one’s on edge, the mind doesn’t hesitate to play warped tricks.

I crawl into bed, talking myself down. I take a deep breath and count, one, two, three, just like Mum always told me to do when I was nervous. As a child, I was often panicky, my heart racing at odd moments. She always taught me to count to three and to let it all go with the exhale of breath.

When I close my eyes, I reassure myself. No sense in getting my parents worked up over nothing. It was just a person in the street. Gosh, it was probably a constable patrolling, after all. Elizabeth was an unfortunate tragedy, but nothing more. It will all be fine. West Green is a safe place to live. But as I drift off to sleep that night thinking about Charles, I know the dreams that come will be more like nightmares as the terror from recent events settles into my chest, my bones, and my heart.

Chapter 3

Smith Creek Manor Nursing Home

2019

It feels so far below. The little pathway, the ground. It’s too far. My breathing is rapid as I study the ground. I thought I could do it, but I can’t. I can’t be up here. I turn now, looking back to Claire and the woman who are standing in the doorway.

‘It’s so far up,’ I say shakily. Claire steps forward.

‘It’s going to be fine, Mum,’ she consoles.

My head shakes, my heart racing as panic rises. I’m so far up here. One, two, three, I count in my head, just like my mum taught me so long ago. Over and over I count to three, the magic number. I need to calm down, but I can’t.

‘It’s too far up. If there’s a fire … you know I can’t be this far up,’ I say, my voice croaking out the words.

Claire reaches for my hands now. ‘Mum, listen. You know it’s okay. It’s very safe here, right Ms Martin?’

‘Oh, yes. State-of-the-art fire alarms and sprinklers. All will be okay, darling. No need to worry. For now, this is our only open room. Maybe in the future we could move you, but for now …’

My breathing picks up as I can feel the flames on my hands, licking up my body, scorching my face. I will burn here. It’s too far up. Why did they put me on this floor? My mind flashes to indistinguishable, panicked faces as the fire consumes them. It shows me a blip of my own face as I scream in agony, the smoke choking me as I claw at the window. I bury the thought, squeezing my eyes shut. So many years, but it never gets any easier, and my fears only seem to get stronger.

‘Mum, listen. You need to calm down. This isn’t good for you. You know you’re safe here. That’s why we picked this place. Safe. Sound.’ She leads me to the tiny bed, and I sit down. I breathe in and out. It’s okay. I’m going to be okay. Claire’s right. I’m fine. This fear isn’t anything new. I’m going to be fine.

I glance over to the bedside table where the staff has propped up some of the photographs Claire had sent over from my house. A photo of Charles and me sits by the lamp, another of Claire as a child right beside it. I smile at the memories, at the happy times. I think about how when I was in Charles’ arms, I could battle these fears from long ago. But he’s not here. And soon, Claire will be gone. I need to tackle my demons on my own. I’m on my own now, even though I’m surrounded by people. I’ve never felt more alone.

‘Here, dear. A glass of water will soothe you until we can get some tea up here,’ our tour guide says, handing me a tepid glass. I look up at her.

My heartbeat seems to calm as I sip the water. It’s bitter, chalky almost. It coats my throat in a peculiar film. I force down the chemical taste before holding up the glass, the water inside tinged and imperfect. I set the glass on the wooden table nearby, abandoning it. A moment of silence goes by. Finally, I look up to Ms— Her name. I don’t remember her name. I shake my head in frustration. I hate when this happens.

‘Well, I think I’m okay now. Thank you,’ I say to her, giving her the hint that she can leave. I’m tired. I need some time alone. I don’t want her hovering. There will be time enough for that.

‘Okay, well, if you need anything, there’s a call button right here,’ she says, showing me the button by the bed. ‘Or you can wander out to the nurse’s station. It’s the whole way down the hall and to the right, though. Kind of a long walk. No need to trouble yourself, dear. Just push the button, okay? The common area is down that way as well, in addition to a reading area, a community room, and some activity rooms. Oh, and the dining room. We can’t forget that. But I’m sure the staff will be happy to show you around when you’re ready.’

‘Thank you,’ I reply, knowing for sure I’m not really up to the common area just yet. Maybe I’ll never be ready for it. Maybe I’ll just pass the days here, staring out the window, or watching some mindless programmes on the tiny telly that’s in the corner of the room. Or maybe in a few days, I’ll be like my roommate, impassively staring at another world, gone from this one in all ways but my breathing. It’s hard to tell, and I’d rather not think too much on it.

Claire stays for a bit, chattering on and on about the activities and painting classes offered here and some dog that comes to visit the residents. I smile and nod, only half listening. I’m tired and numb, but my eyes are also peeled the whole way open, my heart racing as I take in the reality of this place. In truth, I don’t know what I am anymore. Smith Creek Manor has already stripped me of so many things – and it’s only been an hour or so. How much more will it take as the days tick by? I shudder as I consider it all.

‘Well, love, no use staying here all day. I’m sure you have plenty to do,’ I proclaim after a while, Claire holding my hand as she sits beside me on the bed.

‘Oh, nonsense, Mum. I took the day off. Wanted to get you all settled.’ Her smile is warm, her glossy lips turning up in the familiar gesture. Such a pretty, sweet girl, that daughter of mine. My miracle child. I squeeze her hand, thinking about how lucky I am in that department. I didn’t deserve a girl so beautiful after everything that happened.

‘Well, settled I am. Look, love. I have everything I need. Thank you. I’ll be just fine. And maybe I’ll do one of those … those … oh, what’s the word? Activities. That’s it. I’ll do one of those.’

Claire looks at me hesitantly, wondering if she should really go. I know this isn’t completely easy for her, either. None of this has been easy. She lost Charles, too, at the same time she lost that husband of hers. Good for nothing man, in my opinion. I knew it from the beginning. Her life has been in a state of upheaval like mine. And now she’s got my burdens to carry. I need to make things easy for her. I need to make Smith Creek Manor work – or at least make her feel like it is. My life is determined, the best days over, but hers isn’t. She still has some years left to enjoy and adventures to chase. And now more than ever, I understand how important that is.

‘Go on, now. Get yourself home. I know you’ve got plenty waiting for you there to keep you busy. I’m fine. You can ring me tomorrow, check in about that painting class and hear about all my excitements here. As you said, it’s a lovely place. I feel right at home.’

It’s a lie, and I think Claire knows it. But it works because she wants to believe it. We will believe almost anything when we need to, I realise.

‘All right, Mum. If you’re sure. But I’ll be back soon, okay?’

I smile, knowing her words are genuine. That daughter of mine has a good heart. Charles and I got that part right, at least.

‘I know, darling,’ I reply as she squeezes my frail hand.

‘Promise you’ll ring if you need anything?’

‘Cross my heart,’ I reply, smiling as she leans down to kiss my cheek before leaving. I take a breath once she’s gone, knowing I will do no such thing. Claire has her own life. I know she wants me here so I could be close, to make things easier. I obliged. But I don’t expect her to spend her waking hours here in this depressing place. She has things to tend to. She has a busy marketing career taking her all over the place. I will not tie her here.

I decide to walk back to the window, sitting down in the beige chair that’s near it as I stare out into the day. A bird flies by, landing in a tree. My eyes follow it, watching it flitter about for a while before I focus on another sight – the window across the way, the room on the same floor but on the other side of the U-shape. The figure is still there, a man staring out into the courtyard as well. He hasn’t moved, and suddenly my stomach lurches because it feels like he is staring right at me. I shake my head, steadying my gaze back on the trees, trying not to think about how far up I am.

So much upheaval in one day, so many changes. Still, there’s a familiarity here in this town as I remember where I am. I’d thought I’d never see Crawley again. I thought I’d never wander through West Green or Northgate, especially after I promised Charles all those years ago to leave this place in the past. Yet, now, here I am, and I don’t like it one bit. It’s been so long. So much has changed. But there’s still one thing that hasn’t – the feeling that Crawley won’t quite let me go, even after all this time. What were you thinking, Charles, telling our girl about this place? After the promises we made to leave it in the past – how could you do this?

I squeeze my eyes shut, looking away from the window. It wouldn’t do to get upset now. I open my eyes again and glance at the clock. Lunch isn’t for an hour or so, I think. What time did that woman say? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I’m sure I’m not very hungry anyway. Perhaps it would do me some good to take a walk.

I stand from the chair, my knees cracking with the effort. When did I get so old? I wander out to the corridor, but I stop at the threshold and glance at my roommate. What’s her name? Shoot. My eyes land, however, on the noticeboard near her bed and see the drawing of the rose. Is that it? Rose? I think so. My eyes fall back on the woman. She hasn’t moved, still sitting and staring at the centre of the room. I study her for a moment. Her eyes shift, her head moving almost imperceptibly.

I think for a moment she might talk, her lips flapping slightly, her hands curled in on themselves in her lap. She moves one hand up and down, slowly, carefully. It bangs on her legs, tucked in underneath the white blanket wrapped around her.

She emits a moan from her lips. She’s trying to speak, her eyes desperately locked on mine. She blinks over and over and over, a rapid succession of movement from her that I haven’t yet seen. My heart flutters as I walk across the room.

‘Rose? What is it?’ I ask, reaching for her hand. She jumps as I touch her, the groan intensifying.

I can’t understand her. I stare into her drooping face, but no answers come. The poor thing is lost and confused. Is she even really in there, mentally? Does she understand what’s going on around her? I’m not sure.

‘There, there, Rose. It’s okay. I’m going to go for a walk, okay? You take a rest.’ I pat her hand, her skin cold and clammy like she’s already in the grave. In many ways, I suppose she is.

I smile once more, turning to leave. She emits a screeching whimper, desperation clinging to every piece of the sound. It spreads like a plague in my chest, drowning me in uncertainty. Although sorrow for Rose certainly builds within, another emotion pools beneath it: terror. How am I going to survive this? How can I endure a place where death and devastation are in my face every single moment? I know I should be glad that even with my health problems, I still have mobility and my wits about me. I have a lot in Smith Creek Manor terms. But there’s something about the home that just seems to remind me of all I have to lose. I can already sense a harsh reality few want to uncover; this place divests a person until they’re nothing but a pile of bones under a blanket, mumbling incoherently as saddened onlookers try their best to unsee the realities. I don’t want to face Rose’s fate. I don’t. It feels like there’s a contagion in this place, and the closer you get to someone like Rose, the more likely it is you’ll fall prey to the unseemly loss of all you hold dear.