Now here is another one. Taking a deep breath, I rip open the paper. A chill slithers right through me. The parcel has been wrapped in pages torn from a book, which I immediately recognize as the first few pages of The Spirits of Holly Maze House. I scrabble, panicking, through the pages and find his signature. It’s the signed edition I’d left at the stones. How did he find it?

Inside is another box, plain, white, again sealed tightly with tape. I think of the message, the photo of Geoffrey’s dead body, and I know that I should take this parcel and throw it in the nearest wheelie bin. Yet something compels me to open it.

With trembling hands, I tear off the sellotape from each corner.

What I see makes me want to throw up.

There, covered in dead leaves and soil, is the glass blackbird. I lift it out and hold it in my hands; its blue eyes, dulled with grit and dirt, stare back at me, accusingly. Then, looking down, I see there is something else in the box. A note. I take it out carefully and read, almost dropping the bird as I do.

I know now for certain. Connor is stalking me. And he’s not going to give up until I’m behind bars.

For there in red-inked capital letters are five words that chill my blood.

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID

18. Then

I wake drenched in sweat. Beside me, Connor snores gently. I have a vague memory of leaving the burlesque club, the taxi, then falling asleep with my head on Connor’s shoulder, but everything else is a blur.

I take my phone from the bedside table and check the time. It’s 6.30. Still early, but I’m wide awake now. I gently pull the covers back and make my way to the bathroom.

The sight that greets me in the mirror makes me gasp. My hair is knotted and sticking to one side of my face. My eyes are red and yesterday’s make-up is smudged across my face like a painting that’s been left out in the rain. I stand there feeling hollow, hoping that I didn’t spend the entire evening walking around the club looking like this. And then I feel it, a sticky fluid running down my legs. I look and with a sick feeling of dread run my hand along my inner thigh, praying that it’s just sweat. But as I hold it to my nose and recognize the sharp, salty scent, the scent of Connor, I feel my legs buckle.