Chapters (80)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- CONTENTS
- PROLOGUE
- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- CHAPTER 11
- CHAPTER 12
- CHAPTER 13
- CHAPTER 14
- CHAPTER 15
- CHAPTER 16
- CHAPTER 17
- CHAPTER 18
- CHAPTER 19
- CHAPTER 20
- CHAPTER 21
- CHAPTER 22
- CHAPTER 23
- CHAPTER 24
- CHAPTER 25
- CHAPTER 26
- CHAPTER 27
- CHAPTER 28
- CHAPTER 29
- CHAPTER 30
- CHAPTER 31
- CHAPTER 32
- CHAPTER 33
- CHAPTER 34
- CHAPTER 35
- CHAPTER 36
- CHAPTER 37
- CHAPTER 38
- CHAPTER 39
- CHAPTER 40
- CHAPTER 41
- CHAPTER 42
- CHAPTER 43
- CHAPTER 44
- CHAPTER 45
- CHAPTER 46
- CHAPTER 47
- CHAPTER 48
- CHAPTER 49
- CHAPTER 50
- CHAPTER 51
- CHAPTER 52
- CHAPTER 53
- CHAPTER 54
- CHAPTER 55
- CHAPTER 56
- CHAPTER 57
- CHAPTER 58
- CHAPTER 59
- CHAPTER 60
- CHAPTER 61
- CHAPTER 62
- CHAPTER 63
- CHAPTER 64
- CHAPTER 65
- CHAPTER 66
- CHAPTER 67
- CHAPTER 68
- CHAPTER 69
- CHAPTER 70
- A LETTER TO MY READERS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- ALSO BY RACHEL ABBOTT
- OTHER NOVELS BY RACHEL ABBOTT
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- READING GROUP QUESTIONS
I sit up too quickly, and for a moment the room spins as I push myself back as far as I can against the wall to get away from the dark silhouette. The memories begin to solidify and I want to scream that it can’t be true. Have I dreamed the whole thing, or am I really hiding in Thea’s cellar because I killed Ian? I groan out loud and lift my hands to cover my face. I want to cry, to beg someone to believe that I can’t have murdered him. Whatever they think, it wasn’t me.
But I had the hammer, the blood, the anger.
I want to return to who I was before, when I still believed I had a chance at a normal life.
The person on the end of the bed watches me quietly, saying nothing. I can see now that it’s a woman, but I don’t know who she is or why she is here. Does she know what I’ve done?
I hardly remember how I got to this room. I have no more than a vague sense of Thea guiding me and helping me walk down some stairs; the feel of her hand gripping my arm harder than was necessary; a snapshot of a single light bulb casting a dull, yellow glow. It seems like it was hours ago, but I don’t know whether it is day or night because the room has no windows.
‘Drink this,’ the young woman perched on the edge of my bed finally says as she holds out a cup. My vision seems to have recovered a little, but there isn’t much light. All I can make out is a slight figure with tied-back dark hair and the biggest pair of brown eyes I have ever seen.
I look at the cup she is thrusting towards me and shake my head frantically. ‘I don’t want it. I think I’m going to be sick.’ My throat is dry and my voice croaky, as if I’ve been crying.
‘You have to drink it. Thea will blame me if you don’t.’
‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’
She says nothing, and pushes the cup a little closer.
‘Give it to me, then. I’ll tip it down the toilet,’ I say, although I have no idea where the toilet is.
The woman’s eyes grow even larger at what I have said. ‘She’ll know,’ she says, her voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. She glances over her shoulder as if Thea is going to materialise through the gloom.