Tim hadn’t told the others what Amber had told him in the van. Ferringham had found another way into Standedge—an opening in the side of the disused railway tunnel. How was that possible? How did he know? Tim didn’t want to tell the others, because if they had found the opening, it would have saved a lot of grief. Pru wouldn’t have had to make her contraption—they could have disappeared far more easily.

Matthew groaned on the floor—he was waking up.

“I need rope now,” Tim said to the shocked faces in front of him.

They looked down at Matthew. “Tim,” Rachel said, “we need you to talk to us. What is happening?”

Tim looked up at them all, angrily. Amber said that someone had sent a map to Edmund’s father, James Sunderland. He looked at Edmund, saw him look away under Tim’s gaze. Tim kept staring.

“Why are you acting this way?” Rachel continued. “Why are you the only one allowed to go see Amber anymore? We just want you to talk to us.”

Tim tore his eyes from Edmund and looked at his sister. She looked pleading, loving, pathetic. They all were. They were followers. They weren’t strong enough to take the reins. To do what was necessary. “Rope,” Tim said savagely.

Pru cursed under her breath and went into the cupboard under the sink. She pulled out a coil of rope and threw it to Tim.

“Thank you,” Tim said. He picked up Matthew by the scruff of the neck and dragged him across the kitchen floor. Matthew moaned in response. The others parted to let him through. He didn’t look at them, couldn’t bring himself to anymore. They made him sick.

He got to the stairs down to the basement. And made his way down. Making sure Matthew slammed on every step.

“What the hell are you doing, Tim?” Edmund said, behind him.

“I’m doing what I’ve always been doing,” Tim said, going down the stairs and not looking back. “I’m cleaning up your mess.”

Chapter Seventy-One

During...

It was three months since Tim dragged Matthew through the kitchen door. And now Tim was sitting at the kitchen table, in the dark, halfway through his second bottle of vodka for the day.

Matthew was still down there, in the basement. He wanted so badly to kill him. He needed to feel that rush again—the rush he’d felt in the basement of The Hamlet as he choked the soul out of that woman.

They were in the living room. Pru, Robert and Edmund. They were playing cards or some rubbish—something inconsequential and stupid.