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Back Gone Save as PDF
Chapters (77)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. Acknowledgements
  75. Reading Group Questions
  76. Read More
  77. I

At the end of the hall by the front door a small white envelope lay on the carpet. It had been pushed against the wall when she’d answered the knock. Lana went to pick it up and turned it over. It shimmered as it moved. Her name was printed on the front, embossed in silver foil.

Her phone started to ring. She rooted for it in her pocket and checked the screen.

‘Hi, babe,’ she said, aware that her voice was hangover-husky.

‘I wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday,’ said Jane.

‘Go on then,’ said Lana.

There was a momentary pause. ‘Happy Birthday, Mum. What have you got planned for today?’ This was code for Don’t spend all day in the pub.

Lana ignored her daughter’s question. ‘Is this card from you?’

Another pause.

‘The card that’s just arrived,’ Lana continued. ‘Is it from you?’

‘What card?’

‘Not to worry. Are you home normal time? Shall we go out for tea?’

Jane said something with her hand over the mouthpiece, then, ‘Got to go, Mum. See you later. Have a nice day.’

A skinny single-shot latte – that would be Jane. Not too much caffeine, not too much fat; a sensible, boring coffee. Lana picked up the envelope. She lifted the flap and removed a white card. On the front it said Happy 1st Birthday.

Was it a joke? She didn’t get it.

She opened it. Inside, it said:

YOUR GIFT IS THE GAME.

DARE TO PLAY?

Lana smiled. ‘What sort of game are we talking about?’ In the middle of the shiny white card a long strip of tissue paper contained a URL and an access code. Lana reached for her phone, opened the website and followed the instructions. A plain white webpage loaded and then in the same silver writing:

Hello, Lana,

I’ve been watching you.

You’re special.

But you know that already, don’t you?

The question is …

Lana scrolled down.

Are you prepared to prove it?

Underneath was a large red button stamped with the word PLAY. Then another phrase appeared. It scrolled across the screen, from right to left, again and again.

I dare you.

Like every player who had gone before and every player who would follow, Lana pressed the button. She felt no fear. She didn’t stop to consider the consequences or to ponder the mysterious card. She simply wanted to know what came next.

3

Seraphine sat in the small, windowless room at the police station wondering if her answers sounded convincing, if they were normal. She had no idea how a normal person would talk about this sort of thing. She was relying on police dramas, books and her own imagination.