The house was dark, even in the day, the woodwork all stained ebony, accompanied with dark blue embossed wallpaper. He flicked the switch and the hall light came on, barely illuminating the space. He remembered when he’d come to live here after his parents had died; it had reminded him of a haunted house ride that his father had taken him on at a theme park in America. Those days of freedom were a hazy memory – moving here was like being put in prison. The bad feeling ran through to the foundations; each floorboard that creaked sounded like a distant voice crying out for him to run away as fast as he could. He could never have anticipated how much evil was in this place, how much evil he would have to endure. Nature or nurture, Parker was a product of both. He would make sure at least that his child had a better chance in life. All he could do was hope the child would turn out like Abbey.

Every time he came to this house, he was a different person to the time before. Last time he’d come looking for revenge; this time he was looking for answers. The stairs groaned under his feet in the same way they always had done, the song composed of his childhood. Upstairs he switched the lights on to see an even darker, longer corridor with a large black rectangle at the end – his bedroom door. A child’s refuge, place of solace, somewhere to seek comfort and rest. Or so it should have been.

As he drew closer, he saw the familiar metal bar across the door, the large steel padlock that his grandfather had installed. Locked in every night, bars on the window, never quite sure if the door would be opened again, sometimes even praying it wouldn’t be. Comforted by the fact that he might be left to die, alone, without malice or fear. Abuse and neglect to the extreme. Those thoughts and feelings flooded Parker’s mind inside these walls. He couldn’t bring himself to go inside the bedroom, not this time, not today. Some people moved on from pain, some people couldn’t. Parker carried his pain with him, he couldn’t imagine being without it. It was almost reassuring to him.

Parker opened the office door and turned the computer on. It had been a while since he had been in here, but everything was still working. After a few moments of inconsequential updates, the start screen finally appeared. He logged onto the virtual private network and secured his browser before he started to look up the people whose names he knew, researching both Exeter and Bristol university staff to see if there were any cross connections. He had spent a lot of money fortifying this system; these computers were protected by layers of security and encryption. No one knew about this house, not even Abbey, so he could conduct his investigation without disturbance. He found Helen Lassiter’s home address. He had exhausted his search in Bristol – everywhere led to a dead end or a dead student. His search always ended in one place though: Exeter University. He had found out that Robert Coley used to work in Exeter, and that he still had family in the area and ties to the community. He didn’t matter any more though – he was dead.