Heath yelled up at her whirling image, muscles taut, altering the shape of his face. ‘Yes, I do, I absolutely do. Why wouldn’t I? Caging her isn’t something I’m doing on a whim. Why do you always feel the need to undermine me?’

His mother’s face suddenly increased in size, rushing towards him, filling almost the entire one side of the attic. ‘You haven’t exactly got a history of good decision-making, have you, Henry? Your plans seem ill-advised at best. Keeping the brat here is risky. You could be caught. Have you truly thought through the potential consequences? You wouldn’t cope well in prison. The other prisoners wouldn’t like you. Nobody likes you. You’d be eaten alive.’

He clamped his hands over his ears. ‘I don’t want to kill her yet, not yet. Restraint is hard enough without you weakening my resolve. What part of that don’t you understand?’

Her image retreated now, reducing to the approximate size she’d been in life. ‘Why not take her to the cabin in the woods? Your father and I used to love it there. The isolation, the peace and quiet. There’s a lake. You could drown the brat in that.’

Heath shook his head frantically. ‘Stop making ridiculous suggestions. It’s too far from the bitch mother’s house. I want to stay close, keep an eye on her, witness her decline.’

‘You could put the brat in the boot of the car. Wrap her in a blanket. Take her to the cabin. That would be far more sensible. It’s yours now. Why not take advantage of your father’s generosity? You haven’t been there for years.’

‘No! I’ve made my reasoning perfectly clear. And you may recall my memories of the cabin are far less pleasant than yours are.’

‘Why keep the girl in the house? Here in this street of all places? You always were such an impetuous child. I don’t know what to do with you sometimes.’

Heath tore the wig from his head, flinging it aside. ‘Shut up, shut the fuck up! I’ve already explained my reasons. Why do you always feel the need to undermine me?’

‘Someone’s got to keep a close eye on you, Henry. You’re my cross to bear.’

Heath was frothing at the mouth as he yelled his reply. ‘You never change, always with the criticisms. Always the little jibes. I hope you rot in hell. Have you no concern for my self-esteem?’

His mother’s familiar voice became a high-pitched whisper, hissing in his ears as if lost on the wind. ‘I’m your voice of reason, Henry. A purveyor of advisory caution to keep you on track as you stumble your way through life in that ineffectual way of yours. If you’d let the priest live, you could have talked to him. He’d have told you the same thing. You even got that wrong.’

Heath threw his hands out wide. ‘The bastard deserved to die. I should have done it long ago. Am I supposed to know what the fuck you’re talking about?’