Chapters (156)
- A DATE WITH DEATH
- Also by Mark Roberts
- A Date With Death
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- The Past
- 1977
- Day OneWednesday, 1st December 2021CatoptrophobiaFear of mirrors
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- The Past
- 1979
- Day TwoThursday, 2nd December 2021OneirophobiaFear of dreams
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- The Past
- 1980
- Day ThreeFriday, 3rd December 2021MonophobiaFear of being alone
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- The Past
- 1982
- Day FourSaturday, 4th December 2021ThanatophobiaFear of Death
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
…and into the kitchen, which she’d never seen before, but she looked all around in a moment…
The finger was light as it travelled left along her jawline to the base of her ear and, once there, just under her hairline.
…and saw the back door, and a drawer near a huge sink. She hurried to the door, turned the handle this way and that but it was locked…
It travelled smoothly under her hairline to the middle of her neck, where it stopped and rose from her puckered skin.
She ran to the kitchen drawer, opened it and took out a kitchen knife…
Another finger continued towards her right ear and down towards the centre of her chin, where the journey across the flesh of her face had begun.
The Ghoul roared from the hatch, rising into the kitchen and flying at her at full speed. Lifting a fist to punch her in the face, it stepped forward, didn’t see the knife coming as she plunged it into that miserable heart…
She felt her cheeks being squeezed between a thumb and index finger.
‘Look at me!’ She opened her eyes but everything was a blur. ‘You’ve got good skin. You’ve got nice hair. You’re pretty. You’re just what I need.’
The head light was turned off. Its face came towards her. She felt the musty wool of a black balaclava rubbing against her cheek, saw the darkness behind the eye holes, held her breath as The Ghoul pulled back and stood up from the bed.
Francesca watched its distorted form as it walked away, to the table, to the stairs, and she felt a weight land next to her on the bed.
It disappeared through the entrance, closed the cover and was gone.
Francesca fumbled across the mattress and felt the pliable plastic of a water bottle. She trapped it between her knees and with the hand that could reach, she unscrewed the cap.
Wait! She heard her own voice, warning. She raised it to her nose and could smell nothing. She dipped a finger in it and licked the tasteless fluid. Water? It seemed to be exactly the same as the fluid in the small vial that had knocked her out.
She dipped her tongue into the neck of the bottle, coated as much of it as she could with such a small amount.
Dip. Repeat. Wait.
Through the ceiling above her head, she heard voices.
She listened as hard as she had ever listened to anything in her life and made out one word.
Francesca… Francesca… Francesca…
Silence.
57
0.49 am
Clay stood in front of Hendricks, Riley, Cole, Stone and Winters in the incident room, each of them holding a printout of Francesca Christie’s photo, as Poppy Waters sat at Clay’s desk unlocking the missing woman’s laptop.
‘Has anyone had any luck online? Anyone turned up on your profile pages who sounds like The Ghoul?’ asked Clay.