We’d never meant to hurt anyone. We’d never realised how Laura was feeling. I’d never thought she wanted to be a part of our group. Or had I? If I were honest with myself, could I realistically say that? Poor Laura. Poor, poor Laura. We were so young and immature and selfish in the way that only teenagers can be. I could see now how we hurt her. It wasn’t intentional, but I couldn’t deny it. We could’ve reached out to her but it was easier not to. She was different, wasn’t she? Odd.

But my heart ached for her and guilt washed over me. Had we been partly to blame for her taking her own life, for being so damaged?

Had Clare really done what Michael was accusing her of? I’d never be able to ask her. She was gone. He could say what he wanted. You can’t libel the dead. I thought of us all as eleven-year-olds, sitting on that floor. And how it had gone so wrong. Laura and Clare were both gone and I was sure I’d be next. Would Julie be luckier?

And this man, who I swore I could feel bearing down on me, her brother? A man I’d grown to love.

A monster.

I reached the stage, kicked at the doors leading to the under-stage storage. Wept and yelled in pain and frustration when they wouldn’t budge, either. My body ached and I wasn’t sure I had much strength left, but I wasn’t ready to give up yet. I had to keep fighting.

I remembered there was a doorway on the stage itself. I was sure, if I could haul myself up, I could get to it. As long as he didn’t know I was here, as long as he wasn’t behind me, I could get to it and be safe. I could no longer hear him call me any more. I hoped he’d run down the wrong corridor, was looking elsewhere.

My arm was bruised, useless. But I pushed through the pain to pull myself up onto the stage. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the wings, where I couldn’t be seen. Towards the stage door. With every step, all I could think was that I didn’t want to die. I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave my girls. I couldn’t let him win.

I reached my arm out to the door, ready to open it, knowing I was close to hiding somewhere where he was unlikely to find me. I was almost there. Almost.

My fingertips just reached the tarnished silver of the door handle, when it moved itself, the latch releasing, the door opening. I recoiled, fell backwards as the door opened fully and the shadow of an imposing figure stood over me, arm raised.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Rachel