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

The owner replaced the photograph and retrieved the novella, flipped through the pages, held it tentatively, like it was charged with something dangerous. The owner had read the novella countless times, but there was always a little detail emerging, a new hidden message in the text. The writing was exquisite. It had taken the owner a long time to figure out that the novella was more than a simple story. It was a portal, a window into a secret past. A key.

The owner read from the passage again:

When she wakes, she finds the sheets are wet with God knows what. She blinks. A little sunlight, enough so she casts a weak shadow.

The girl rubs her eyes. She has no concept of time; it is raining outside. She can smell the mildew on the walls; she doesn’t know what it is but she hates it.

She stumbles to a table nearby. There is a wooden doll. She picks it up. The doll has yellow hair in pigtails and a red dress. She is smiling at the girl, but the smile is worn and almost faded completely. There is a key at the back, so the doll plays music. The girl winds the key and the tune strikes up.

Ting, ting, ting.

The doll is her friend. The feel of the doll in her hand – the slight vibration created by music – comforts her. Sometimes, the girl talks to the doll; tells the doll all her secrets, the things she’s thinking. The things she could do in the outside world.

She tells the doll that she hates the man and the woman and wishes they were dead.

But the thought throws the girl into panic. The basement is all she has known. The man and woman are the only people she has, unless you count the wooden doll. Maybe the girl doesn’t want to see what the real world is like. Maybe it’s worse than this.

There is a toilet in the corner of the room. She hears the pipes creaking at night, like poltergeists laughing at her in the dark. She wonders if she could flush herself away – where she might end up. The sea perhaps? The ocean?

The girl shakes the thought out of her head.

It is futile.

She is already dead.

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Priest rubbed his hand down his face and stared again at the body slumped in the boot of Elinor Fox’s VW.