Fighting back tears, Maggie smoothed her son’s hair. Sarah looked at her apologetically, before resting him back on the pillow where he fell straight into a fitful sleep. Maggie checked beneath the covers. He hadn’t wet the bed. His father’s medal was beneath the pillow as usual. She tucked in his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles duvet and pushed his soft toy under his arm. He was just a child – far too young for such trauma. They stood together in silence, watching over him. His face was pale but peaceful now, no longer ravaged by fear.

Maggie glanced at Sarah’s arms. She had come out of it unscathed. ‘He’ll be alright now,’ Sarah said softly, as they crept from his room.

‘How did you … how did you do that?’ Maggie felt as if the air had been stolen from her lungs.

‘To be honest, I don’t know,’ Sarah said. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude.’

‘You didn’t,’ Maggie said. All she felt was relief. They both wandered into the living room, dazed.

‘I need to make a phone call.’ Sarah pulled her phone from her bag. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep Elliott out of it. But I think I know where Angelica Irving is.’

Maggie didn’t disagree. Her son hadn’t been wrong yet.

19

What’s normal for the spider is chaos for the fly. The words danced across my mind as I walked between strobes of flashlights on the path towards Blackhall Woods. My face was ruddy from the cold, and the moon was high in the sky. I managed to fix my face into the same look of dismay mixed with determination as those around me. I was good at blending into the background. A chameleon of sorts.

Several locals had turned out for the search as well as members of the police force. Word had spread quickly on Angelica’s Facebook page. But unlike everyone else who joined, I knew exactly where she was. The hems of my trousers were damp as I trod through the boggy ground.

Angelica was buried in these woodlands in a shallow grave camouflaged by broken branches. I could have walked the short distance from the grounds of Blackhall Manor to the encompassing woods, but I could not risk being seen. So I had laid her in the boot of the car, knees against her chest, grey mottled lips pressed against plastic sheeting until the time was right. Then I drove her deep into the woods. Beneath the cover of darkness, I unwrapped her from her plastic cocoon. I recalled the slice of my shovel and how easily it had parted the dark, moist soil. Then I set to work, methodically cutting and ripping, my gloves soaked with congealed blood as I completed the next steps of the game. I took no pleasure from it. Bodily fluids revolted me. They were even more unpleasant to deal with when they were cold.