BooksBarbecue
Back The Game
Chapters (68)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. NOW
  4. One
  5. BEFORE
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. NOW
  26. Twenty-One
  27. BEFORE
  28. Twenty-Two
  29. Twenty-Three
  30. Twenty-Four
  31. Twenty-Five
  32. Twenty-Six
  33. Twenty-Seven
  34. Twenty-Eight
  35. Twenty-Nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-One
  38. Thirty-Two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. Thirty-Four
  41. Thirty-Five
  42. Thirty-Six
  43. Thirty-Seven
  44. Thirty-Eight
  45. NOW
  46. Thirty-Nine
  47. BEFORE
  48. Forty
  49. Forty-One
  50. Forty-Two
  51. Forty-three
  52. Forty-Four
  53. Forty-Five
  54. Forty-Six
  55. Forty-Seven
  56. Forty-Eight
  57. Forty-Nine
  58. Fifty
  59. Fifty-One
  60. NOW
  61. Fifty-Two
  62. Fifty-Three
  63. Fifty-Four
  64. Fifty-Five
  65. AFTER
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Acknowledgements
  68. About the Author

He had wanted to do this earlier, but felt it wouldn’t have been right. To ask to go up into an attic – it would have been odd. But every house search he’d been involved in, he’d always ended up there eventually. Not once had he ever found anything, but it had become something he had to do now. He’d wanted to search it the first day he’d arrived, but had managed to ignore the gnawing voice in his head.

Mark wasn’t exactly afraid of the dark, but he didn’t welcome it. The torch in his hand was helping a little, but he could picture himself crashing down into a bedroom. Standing between the wooden beams under his feet would do it. Only soft insulation and the thickness of a ceiling keeping him from falling.

He probably should have let them know what he was doing, but he imagined they’d hear him soon enough. He was the second-largest member of the team who’d been assembled, after DS Cavanagh, which meant it was arguably a mistake that he’d chosen this job for himself. He was almost bent over double, the roof above him much lower than he’d anticipated. He was up there now though, so he may as well keep going, he thought.

Mark pointed the torch downwards so he could see the beams properly in the darkness, carefully placing one foot down on the wood to make sure it supported his weight. He got himself into a rhythm. Pointing the torch at his feet, moving a couple of steps, then moving the light around him.

The air was cooler up there. Bitter, biting into his face, as he moved further forward. A draught blew from an unseen source. The smell of damp and abandonment. Mark didn’t think they used the space for anything. In other houses, he’d found all kinds of discarded things. Old boxes, Christmas trees… Once he’d found a bag full of broken marionette dolls and nearly screamed when he saw their eyes glinting in the darkness.

The attic space opened up a little more, so he could see how empty it was up there. Yellowed insulation was between each of the wooden beams he was standing on, some of it carefully laid in place, some rising over the beams. He stopped for a second, moving the torchlight around, to see if he could spot anything of interest.

Mark moved again, steadying himself as he almost lost his balance. He looked to his left where he’d placed his hand, lifted the light and shone it at the brick which stood there. It was in good condition for the most part, not crumbling around him as he’d imagined.