BooksBarbecue
Back Cut to the Bone Save as PDF
Chapters (71)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for Cut to the Bone
  3. About the Author
  4. Also by Roz Watkins
  5. Note to Readers
  6. Dedication
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. Extract
  67. Prologue
  68. Chapter 1
  69. Author’s note
  70. Acknowledgements
  71. About the Publisher

We reached a small clearing, and the blue tape of the cordon came into view. Just outside it, was Mary, the pathologist, talking to a uniformed cop. She looked up and saw us. ‘It’s quite interesting actually,’ she said.

My heart always sank when Mary said a case was interesting. I looked beyond the tape into a clearing.

I blinked a couple of times, not sure if I was seeing correctly.

‘Oh my God,’ Fiona whispered.

A body was propped against a tree, slumped sideways. Where there should have been a face, instead there was a pig’s head.

28

Bex – August 1999

Bex opened her eyes. It was morning and she was in her room at her dad’s house. The world spun catastrophically. She clamped her eyes shut again, but that was worse. She opened them and stared at the antique dressing table by the window. Don’t be sick, don’t be sick. Her breathing was fast. She swallowed. Oh God.

She leaped out of bed and raced for the bathroom. Threw herself at the toilet and retched and retched until her stomach was bruised and her throat raw. Oh God. She collapsed onto the cool floor tiles.

The sickness again. She clawed her way up and bashed her head into the porcelain of the toilet bowl. How could there still be stuff to throw up?

She dragged herself to her feet and rinsed her mouth again and again. Raised her head and looked at herself in the mirror. Oh God.

She stumbled over and locked the bathroom door. Sat on the side of the bath with her head between her knees. This was not good. Maybe if she brushed her teeth?

The side of the bath was hard.

And she was sore.

He heart beat faster. What had happened the night before?

She stood and walked to the toilet. Sat and reached her fingers tentatively to touch herself. She gulped back a sob. She was sore. Very sore.

What the fuck had happened the night before? She couldn’t remember.

She collapsed onto the floor again. Something had happened and she didn’t remember. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She stood, but the room started spinning. She sank onto the toilet. Dropped her head forward and let herself cry.

She spoke to herself. Okay, okay, so this has happened. Don’t panic. Her breath was coming in short bursts. Don’t panic.

She didn’t want to use the word, even to herself. Raped? That was the sort of thing that happened to other people. How could it have happened to her? She was a virgin. She’d been a virgin. She wanted to scream. If she hadn’t felt so sick, she’d have been screaming. How the fuck could this have happened?

She stood again. Leaned against the wall. The last thing she remembered. The flash of fear. Seeing the girl. The Pale Child. That was it.

Then what? Did she pass out?