But then the mouth was pressed against her ear. ‘It’s time to go to sleep, Lauren.’

She barely had time to react to the words, to comprehend what was about to happen, before the pillow covered her face.

37

Lauren is sprawled on her back across the queen-sized bed and rage is heating up inside of me. She actually looks peaceful, like she is simply asleep.

I don’t want her that way. I need her to be afraid, remorseful, to understand just how much pain she has caused.

This whole scenario was supposed to play out different to this. Yes, she is no longer a problem, but I didn’t get to punish her. She has deprived me.

I want to scream in frustration, but instead I sink to the floor and rake frustrated hands through my hair as my tears flow freely. Tears of anger and bitterness for a stolen childhood, for the injustice of everything that has happened, and for being denied the chance to punish someone who really deserved to suffer.

Caught up in my self-pity party, I lose track of time, and when I eventually look up, I am shocked to see it’s already light outside.

Fool. Fool. Fool.

Darkness gives safety. People will now be waking up. Lauren’s house is on the outskirts of a village with no close neighbours, but I still risk being seen as I leave. Unlike Hannah and Rosie, I haven’t been following Lauren and I came here for the first time last night. I have no idea of her routine.

I know she lives alone, but what if she is expecting visitors?

Quickly I gather my things, glance down at the ice queen on her bed, struggling to swallow the ball of irritation stuck in my throat. I know it will remain there until I have a release for my anger.

After carefully wiping down surfaces and door handles, I let myself out, hoisting my bag onto my shoulder. At least I had the foresight to park a distance away, leaving my car down a dirt track about a mile from the house.

I am welcoming the one wise decision I have made when the silence is broken by the sound of an engine drawing closer. The front door is already closed, the lock having clicked into place and I glance around the small front garden frantically looking for somewhere to hide.

It’s too late. The red postal van is already close enough for the driver to see me and I freeze, my mouth dry and adrenaline pumping through my veins as the van stops and the postie climbs out.

I realise I have two choices. I either try to act normal, like I am supposed to be here, or I try to take the man down. If I do that though, I will have another body on my hands and things will spiral out of control.

‘Morning.’