Three blind mice.

Killed. Their eyes brutally gouged out – and there’s another part of me, a bigger, louder part, that is screaming, Archie hasn’t been taken for money. He’s been taken for revenge.

Simon spent all those extra years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. What if he had found out I was behind it and…

My heart actually hurts. Not a dull ache but as though someone has pierced it with a knife, is dragging the sharp blade through it, slicing it in two.

My darling, darling boy.

I’ll do anything to get him back.

Anything.

My car tyres screech as I accelerate off the driveway, onto the road. Thankfully the reporters George had chased away haven’t returned.

What will I find when I get there? I am second-guessing Simon just as he will be second-guessing me.

See how they run.

Well, I’m not running now.

The traffic thins. I’m on a country road, punching out a text on my mobile as I drive. A horn blares. I have drifted over the white lines. I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and concentrate until I am almost there and then I slow. Pick up my phone once more.

Archie taken to Norwood. I’m going to get him back.

Call police.

I send it to George, Tash and Carly. One of them will see it straight away, if not all. I complete the last few hundred yards of my journey, wondering who will be waiting for me inside. Marie? Simon? Both of them together?

Norwood looms out of the shadows. I feel myself shrink.

I’m back.

Memories crush down upon my chest. The feel of rope around my wrists. My ankles. Eyes blindfolded, mouth taped shut.

I’m back.

Sometimes when you revisit a place as an adult that you’ve only ever seen through a child’s eyes it seems smaller, you feel bigger. This isn’t the case now. Norwood is still huge and horribly, horribly frightening.

I’m back.

Now I’m here, it seems inevitable. The camp has been waiting for me to return. Any smidgeon of doubt I had that Archie might not be here vanishes.

Daylight is beginning to fade. Grey clouds sucking away the light.

I abandon the car on the grass verge we had crawled along to make our escape that harsh, stormy night. A new security fence was erected after we’d been found in a bid to stop the ghouls and the true-crime addicts gathering at the site as though it was a tourist spot.

It didn’t.

As I jog towards it I can see place where the wire has been snipped, rolled back to create a space big enough for an adult to crawl through.

WARNING – GUARD DOGS signs are cable-tied to the fence, along with a 24-HOUR SECURITY notice, but I know it’s a lie. There hasn’t been anything here for years to protect. Until now.

Archie.

He must be terrified. I don’t hesitate before dropping to my knees and crawling across the ground. I don’t care about germs or contamination or anything except the small boy who will be scared and confused and longing for his mum. Sharp edges of wire drag at my hair. Scrape my cheek, which dampens with blood.