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Back Dog Rose Dirt Save as PDF
Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. Acknowledgements
  51. Also by Jen Williams
  52. About the Publisher

‘And she called me a fool.’ Heather thought of the Polaroid, with the beach in the background. The folly, standing empty behind them – the folly that was owned by the same environmental charity that partly owned this land. Something about the charity tickled at the back of her mind, but she dismissed it. There was no time. If she headed out through the woods, she would get to the folly eventually. Right now, she was Nikki’s best hope of getting away alive. And more than that, she had the sense that this was exactly what she had been heading towards all along. Walking into these woods with murder on her mind – it would be a kind of coming home.

Heather went back into the cottage and retrieved her knife. She put on her coat, tucked the blade into an inner pocket, and ran out into the darkness.

43

Heather heard the ocean long before she could see it; a huge, hissing roar, both loud and quiet, the canvas that all the other noises were painted on – the crunch of dry leaves underfoot, her own laboured breathing, the wind in the trees.

The woods had been dark, yet she had not felt afraid. Instead, she’d had the strangest feeling of being watched – not by enemies, or by this monster she was currently chasing, but by a warm silent presence that urged her on. When she emerged from the tree line she stood still, letting her eyes adjust to the moonlight glinting off the vast stretch of sea, to the slate-grey sand that seemed to contain its own luminescence. To the right was the folly, a darker shape pointing up into the night sky. She could see no lights there, no glow from the narrow windows, but there was a smaller shape crouched at the base of it. The small, dilapidated house had been missing from the images she had seen of the beach, and she suspected people had been careful to crop it from their photographs. Squat and covered in cheap pebbledash, it quite ruined the bleak romance of the shoreline and the wind-blasted tower.

There was no one in sight, and no movement to be seen anywhere. Checking once more that the knife was still in her coat, Heather began to climb down the rocky bluff that separated the forest from the beach, until she stood on the plain of shingle that led down to the sand. Something about the angle had changed her view of the house, and she could now see a tiny sliver of light emerging from under the blind of one window.

‘Bastard.’