Mandy shook her head and laughed. ‘You’re wrong. I am not part of this family and I’ll be damned if my baby will be either. You’ve lied to me from the word go, so how can I ever trust you? I need to go home and start putting my life back together, without you two in it.’ Mandy grabbed her suitcases and pulled them towards her and started making her way down the stairs.
‘Like hell you are,’ yelled Pat and ran up the last few stairs until she was face to face with her. ‘You aren’t taking my grandchild away from me.’ As she said this she yanked at her arm, which made Mandy lose her balance.
Mandy fell forwards. She managed to grip the handrail just before her legs gave way, but with the force of her giant body falling, she didn’t catch herself in time to stop her forehead from cracking into the spindles. She felt the warm trickle of blood run down her face. She held herself steady with one hand and with the other Mandy reached to touch her wound. When she realised it was a deep cut, she immediately felt faint.
‘I’ll call for an ambulance,’ yelled Chloe, and ran into the lounge for her phone.
‘Don’t move, you stupid girl,’ said Pat. She pulled a tissue from her sleeve and placed it on Mandy’s injured head. ‘How could you put my grandchild at risk like this?’
‘You and your lies did this,’ Mandy wept.
‘We could have been happy, just the four of us. You were honestly like another daughter to me, but you shouldn’t have gone sticking your nose into business that didn’t concern you. Whether you like it or not, I am going to be a part of this baby’s life. Nobody – not you or any court in this land – is going to keep me from my grandson.’
Scared and disorientated, Mandy wanted to get as far away from Pat as possible. She pushed away Pat’s arm, which was supporting her, and once again reached for her suitcase. But as she tried to descend the staircase her legs buckled and she tumbled, cracking her already injured head against the bannisters and spindles, before falling down the remaining steps and landing in a crumpled, unconscious heap, face down on the floor.
Chapter 82
CHRISTOPHER
The odorous molecules of Number Twenty-Nine’s auburn hair charged up Christopher’s nostrils and dissolved in his mucus, creating a signal to his brain.
But there was something about the fruit-infused ingredients in her generic brand of shampoo that repelled him and, to the best of his recollection, it was the first time a smell had ever had a negative effect on him.
Christopher wanted to get through this as briskly and efficiently as possible, but the skin around her neck was thin and he’d wrapped the wire around it too tightly, causing it to penetrate. He loosened the slack a little, concerned that it might pierce her jugular and release a jet of blood across the room. Cleaning up each microscopic droplet would be far too time consuming and Christopher wasn’t in the mood.
His partly released grip meant he had to wait an agonising eight minutes – he had counted – for her to finally lose full consciousness and slip to the floor. She’d put up a brave fight, he conceded, with her futile attempts to kick, scratch and bite him. But he’d learned from the thumb incident of Number Nine not to be that careless again. And in the end, experience and the element of surprise were on his side, and the duel was weighted in his favour.
Christopher followed the unconscious girl to the ground and wrapped the wire around her neck again, using just enough pressure to completely starve her brain of oxygen. For a moment, in the reflection of the bi-fold doors, he watched the hunter take down his prey in an ill-fated tango, before turning away. He no longer resembled or recognised his old self.
The squelch emitting from Number Twenty-Nine’s throat as she slowly died was just as unpleasant as the odour from her hair, and he chose to ignore the mucus dripping from her nose and the frothy white bubbles pooling in the corners of her mouth.
With her life finally expunged, Christopher released his grip and lay by her side, shattered, staring at the ceiling as images of another woman on his list flooded his head. Number Twenty-Seven had haunted him for days and had been a turning point for him; between her and Amy, the psychopath was developing empathy and a conscience.
Twenty-Seven had been dead for the best part of three days when he’d returned to her kitchen to leave a Polaroid snapshot of Number Twenty-Eight. And it became the one and only time in Christopher’s life that he’d been truly shocked and mesmerised by what he saw.
Lying between her swollen, discoloured legs was a small, perfectly formed, lifeless foetus, no bigger than an apple. To begin with, all Christopher could do was stare at it transfixed, wondering if the pressure he’d placed upon himself to reach his goal was causing him to hallucinate. But each time he held his eyes shut and released them again, the foetus remained.
Number Twenty-Seven’s name was Dominika Bosko and he wouldn’t forget it, because she and her baby were the only two Christopher considered victims. He felt compelled to wrap the foetus in a tea towel and gently move it into the crook of its mother’s arm.
Christopher imagined how he might feel if he were looking at Amy and their child lying before him, cold and lifeless, and with all their potential quashed because of the actions of another. And for the very first time in his adult life, he could feel tears forming in the corner of his eyes. It was too late to stop the first few from splashing mother and child.
It was only when he arrived home and researched it on the Internet that he discovered that her unborn child had been a victim of a rare occurrence named coffin birth. The pressure of abdominal gases inside Dominika had built up as she began to decompose and forced the child from her body.
Christopher spent the rest of the day working his way through every piece of information he had on her, trawling her emails, text messages and social media interactions. Then in four separate emails to friends back home in Syria she revealed she was pregnant. He crosschecked the dates – they’d been sent the weekend he was away in Aldeburgh with Amy.
His relationship with Amy had made him complacent. He’d invested more time in her than keeping up to date with other aspects of the women’s lives; if he’d known of Dominika’s pregnancy, he’d have removed her from his shortlist.
There was only one more left before Christopher’s work was complete, but whether he could stomach it was up for debate.
Chapter 83
JADE
Jade had never felt more heartless as when she stood partially clothed before her mother-in-law, still flushed from having made love to her son, and not the one she married.
The light from Susan’s bedroom illuminated the distress on her face, the shadows accentuating her formidable presence. She glared at both of them in turn, disgusted by what she saw, then turned and walked towards the lounge.
Mark scrambled to find the underwear Jade had stripped from him and thrown across the room. Pulling them on, he grabbed a T-shirt and pushed past her to follow his mother.
‘Mum,’ Jade heard him say, as she reached for the towelling dressing gown that hung from the back of Mark’s door. With her legs wobbling, she went to join him. They’d face this together.
‘How could you both?’ Susan exclaimed, tears already streaming down her face. ‘Kevin is your brother, Mark, and your husband, Jade. How could you do this to him?! We’ve only just buried him; he’s not even cold in the ground.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Mark said desperately. ‘I didn’t mean for you to find us.’
‘Like hell you are,’ yelled Pat and ran up the last few stairs until she was face to face with her. ‘You aren’t taking my grandchild away from me.’ As she said this she yanked at her arm, which made Mandy lose her balance.
Mandy fell forwards. She managed to grip the handrail just before her legs gave way, but with the force of her giant body falling, she didn’t catch herself in time to stop her forehead from cracking into the spindles. She felt the warm trickle of blood run down her face. She held herself steady with one hand and with the other Mandy reached to touch her wound. When she realised it was a deep cut, she immediately felt faint.
‘I’ll call for an ambulance,’ yelled Chloe, and ran into the lounge for her phone.
‘Don’t move, you stupid girl,’ said Pat. She pulled a tissue from her sleeve and placed it on Mandy’s injured head. ‘How could you put my grandchild at risk like this?’
‘You and your lies did this,’ Mandy wept.
‘We could have been happy, just the four of us. You were honestly like another daughter to me, but you shouldn’t have gone sticking your nose into business that didn’t concern you. Whether you like it or not, I am going to be a part of this baby’s life. Nobody – not you or any court in this land – is going to keep me from my grandson.’
Scared and disorientated, Mandy wanted to get as far away from Pat as possible. She pushed away Pat’s arm, which was supporting her, and once again reached for her suitcase. But as she tried to descend the staircase her legs buckled and she tumbled, cracking her already injured head against the bannisters and spindles, before falling down the remaining steps and landing in a crumpled, unconscious heap, face down on the floor.
Chapter 82
CHRISTOPHER
The odorous molecules of Number Twenty-Nine’s auburn hair charged up Christopher’s nostrils and dissolved in his mucus, creating a signal to his brain.
But there was something about the fruit-infused ingredients in her generic brand of shampoo that repelled him and, to the best of his recollection, it was the first time a smell had ever had a negative effect on him.
Christopher wanted to get through this as briskly and efficiently as possible, but the skin around her neck was thin and he’d wrapped the wire around it too tightly, causing it to penetrate. He loosened the slack a little, concerned that it might pierce her jugular and release a jet of blood across the room. Cleaning up each microscopic droplet would be far too time consuming and Christopher wasn’t in the mood.
His partly released grip meant he had to wait an agonising eight minutes – he had counted – for her to finally lose full consciousness and slip to the floor. She’d put up a brave fight, he conceded, with her futile attempts to kick, scratch and bite him. But he’d learned from the thumb incident of Number Nine not to be that careless again. And in the end, experience and the element of surprise were on his side, and the duel was weighted in his favour.
Christopher followed the unconscious girl to the ground and wrapped the wire around her neck again, using just enough pressure to completely starve her brain of oxygen. For a moment, in the reflection of the bi-fold doors, he watched the hunter take down his prey in an ill-fated tango, before turning away. He no longer resembled or recognised his old self.
The squelch emitting from Number Twenty-Nine’s throat as she slowly died was just as unpleasant as the odour from her hair, and he chose to ignore the mucus dripping from her nose and the frothy white bubbles pooling in the corners of her mouth.
With her life finally expunged, Christopher released his grip and lay by her side, shattered, staring at the ceiling as images of another woman on his list flooded his head. Number Twenty-Seven had haunted him for days and had been a turning point for him; between her and Amy, the psychopath was developing empathy and a conscience.
Twenty-Seven had been dead for the best part of three days when he’d returned to her kitchen to leave a Polaroid snapshot of Number Twenty-Eight. And it became the one and only time in Christopher’s life that he’d been truly shocked and mesmerised by what he saw.
Lying between her swollen, discoloured legs was a small, perfectly formed, lifeless foetus, no bigger than an apple. To begin with, all Christopher could do was stare at it transfixed, wondering if the pressure he’d placed upon himself to reach his goal was causing him to hallucinate. But each time he held his eyes shut and released them again, the foetus remained.
Number Twenty-Seven’s name was Dominika Bosko and he wouldn’t forget it, because she and her baby were the only two Christopher considered victims. He felt compelled to wrap the foetus in a tea towel and gently move it into the crook of its mother’s arm.
Christopher imagined how he might feel if he were looking at Amy and their child lying before him, cold and lifeless, and with all their potential quashed because of the actions of another. And for the very first time in his adult life, he could feel tears forming in the corner of his eyes. It was too late to stop the first few from splashing mother and child.
It was only when he arrived home and researched it on the Internet that he discovered that her unborn child had been a victim of a rare occurrence named coffin birth. The pressure of abdominal gases inside Dominika had built up as she began to decompose and forced the child from her body.
Christopher spent the rest of the day working his way through every piece of information he had on her, trawling her emails, text messages and social media interactions. Then in four separate emails to friends back home in Syria she revealed she was pregnant. He crosschecked the dates – they’d been sent the weekend he was away in Aldeburgh with Amy.
His relationship with Amy had made him complacent. He’d invested more time in her than keeping up to date with other aspects of the women’s lives; if he’d known of Dominika’s pregnancy, he’d have removed her from his shortlist.
There was only one more left before Christopher’s work was complete, but whether he could stomach it was up for debate.
Chapter 83
JADE
Jade had never felt more heartless as when she stood partially clothed before her mother-in-law, still flushed from having made love to her son, and not the one she married.
The light from Susan’s bedroom illuminated the distress on her face, the shadows accentuating her formidable presence. She glared at both of them in turn, disgusted by what she saw, then turned and walked towards the lounge.
Mark scrambled to find the underwear Jade had stripped from him and thrown across the room. Pulling them on, he grabbed a T-shirt and pushed past her to follow his mother.
‘Mum,’ Jade heard him say, as she reached for the towelling dressing gown that hung from the back of Mark’s door. With her legs wobbling, she went to join him. They’d face this together.
‘How could you both?’ Susan exclaimed, tears already streaming down her face. ‘Kevin is your brother, Mark, and your husband, Jade. How could you do this to him?! We’ve only just buried him; he’s not even cold in the ground.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Mark said desperately. ‘I didn’t mean for you to find us.’
