BooksBarbecue
Back Before You Were Gone
Chapters (58)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. One
  4. Two
  5. Three
  6. Four
  7. Five
  8. Six
  9. Seven
  10. Eight
  11. Nine
  12. Ten
  13. Eleven
  14. Twelve
  15. Thirteen
  16. Fourteen
  17. Fifteen
  18. Sixteen
  19. Seventeen
  20. Eighteen
  21. Nineteen
  22. Twenty
  23. Twenty-one
  24. Twenty-two
  25. Twenty-three
  26. Twenty-four
  27. Twenty-five
  28. Twenty-six
  29. Twenty-seven
  30. Twenty-eight
  31. Twenty-nine
  32. Thirty
  33. Thirty-one
  34. Thirty-two
  35. Thirty-three
  36. Thirty-four
  37. Thirty-five
  38. Thirty-six
  39. Thirty-seven
  40. Thirty-eight
  41. Thirty-nine
  42. Forty
  43. Forty-one
  44. Forty-two
  45. Forty-three
  46. Forty-four
  47. Forty-five
  48. Forty-six
  49. Forty-seven
  50. Forty-eight
  51. Forty-nine
  52. Fifty
  53. Fifty-one
  54. Acknowledgements
  55. An Eastbourne Murder Mystery
  56. Canelo Crime
  57. About the Author
  58. Also by Sheila Bugler

Dee couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in on her. She couldn’t see them, but she could feel the space around her getting smaller as the walls edged towards her. It was impossibly dark. A blanket of pitch black that crept down her throat, blocking her airways until she knew she would die. No. She couldn’t die. She wouldn’t die. She had to focus. Stay calm. Breathe. She tried to suck air in, but nothing happened. Flares of panic shot through her. She was cold. Too cold. Her teeth were chattering, her body shaking. The darkness was inside her now. Crawling into her lungs and pushing its way inside her brain, blocking out all her thoughts and memories, consuming her. She would die in this place and it would take days, months, years before anyone found her body.

Then, just as suddenly, it was over. She was still here, trapped in the freezing darkness, but she was breathing again. Cool air was rushing into her lungs, the roaring inside her head was subsiding, and the burning sensation at the back of her throat was easing.

She wrapped her arms around her body, doing all she could to warm herself, but it wasn’t enough. Space was the problem. Or, more specifically, lack of space. She couldn’t stand because the roof was too low. She’d tried moving about in a semi-crouch, until the pain in her back and neck became unbearable. Since then, she’d sat here, in the darkness, trying to think of a way to get out of here.

He’d fooled her. Classic politician. Full of empty charm and bullshit. He wasn’t here for Emer. He was here to finish off whatever he’d started in Ireland twenty-three years ago. He was here for Kitty.

Foolishly, she’d left her phone in the car. She doubted she’d get a signal in here, but at least she’d be able to use the torch to check there were no rats or other creatures hiding in the corners waiting to pounce. Instead, she had to sit here in the dark, ignoring the scratching sounds she heard every now and then. Trying not to imagine what could be making them.

Breathe. She had to remember to breathe. In and out. Slowly. She’d started practising mindfulness a few months ago. Hadn’t kept it up, but she tried now to remember the basics. Counting her breaths, feeling the rise and fall inside her body.

Her face. He’d cut her face. She’d been bleeding. She touched her cheek now and felt the scab. It was huge. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it felt. Scarface. Stupid, macho film full of noise and hysterical acting. She’d hated it. One of her ex-husband’s favourites. Billy Morrison. Her first love. Until he stopped being someone she loved and became a man she barely recognised. Bloated and angry and sad.