She couldn’t look Skeebs in the eye. Amanda’s head was spinning.
Tongue thick in her mouth, she fumbled out the words. ‘I can explain.’
And voice fighting not to crack, eyes itching, that’s what she did. She told the boy how she had lost her family and how she had captured the demon who had killed them.
‘I said it’s over!’
Amanda clutched at the dash as the car swerved and accelerated, street lights a strobe, the wail of a taxi horn already left behind.
Caleb’s face was a grimace, his attention consumed by the road. A single sooty streak ran across his cheek.
The car stank of ash, smoke and vomit. Bridget was gasping and coughing in the back seat, drool snaking past her lips to the splash of sick that ran into the foot well.
‘What happened?’ Jamison’s voice faded as the signal shifted, the phone moving around Amanda’s ear with every swerve and bump.
‘The club’s gone. Reeves torched it. Everyone was inside. We’re all that’s left. I’m getting Simon and the kids. We’re done.’
‘Police,’ Caleb prompted.
‘The police are already investigating. We’ve got a few hours before they put it all together, maybe a few more before they realise we’re not among the bodies. We’re done, Jamison. Once we’ve got Simon and the kids, we’re gone.’ Amanda wiped at the sweat on her brow, could feel the grain of soot against her skin. ‘I suggest you do the same. We can’t fight him, we’re going to try running. If we manage to stay a step ahead of him—’
‘Slow down,’ said Jamison. ‘Just tell me what happened.’
‘It doesn’t matter. We thought we had him. Turns out he had us.’
The car lurched as Caleb braked hard, a van swerving in front of them. Bridget let out a moan from the back seat.
‘I can buy us some time,’ said Jamison. ‘Pull a few strings and gum up the investigation.’
‘Do it on the move. If Reeves gets us, you’re next. We’re going to be spending the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders.’
‘Just get to your family. I’ll be in touch.’
‘What about AK?’
The line hissed with static.
‘It’s over, Jamison. Everything we built. He brought it crashing down in months. You don’t owe him anything. You hear me?’
‘Yes.’
The admission took Amanda by surprise.
‘I should have listened.’
‘Just get it done. Maybe we’ll see each other again. We’ll deal with him later.’
‘I hope so—’
Amanda cut the line. Her chair rocked as Bridget pulled herself up and forward, bringing further stink of the burned club with her.
‘Did you talk to AK? Did he say anything about my—’
‘Jamison’s taking care of it.’ Amanda brushed her away. ‘Come on!’ She hit the dashboard, cursing at the traffic.
‘Don’t want the police on our case,’ said Caleb.
Pushing herself back in her seat, Amanda began dialling her family again, hoping for a better result than the last. Michaela was out tonight, some nightclub somewhere.
Five times she’d already tried calling them. Five times and nothing, and her blood was running cold.
Was this it? Had Reeves grown tired of the game and decided to finish it with one bloody sweep of the board? Best to get gone. Simon, the kids on the driveway waiting for her, bags packed. They’d track Michaela down and be out of the city before dawn.
Car horns blared and tires screeched as the car jumped through red lights.
Four rings and then the dead hiss as the line opened onto the voicemail.
‘Come on!’ Amanda’s voice was a clenched, raw growl as she killed the line, fingers fumbling to find Darren’s number.
Her whole body felt like it was in freefall and that was only partly to do with the acceleration of the car as Caleb gunned the engine. He was pushing sixty, street lights and shop windows passing in a light-hazed blur; red lights ignored, precaution thrown to the devil despite what the big man had said.
The phone rang mid-dial. She answered immediately, heart leaping in her chest. ‘Yes?’
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ It was AK, already in full swing.
‘We’re leaving. The club’s done. The hunt’s done.’
‘You even think of leaving and I’ll kill your daughter.’ She grimaced at the empty threat was about to retort but AK got there first.
‘She was out tonight. Ruby Blue, right? I got men bringing her to me, right now.’
His words were the feeling of iced water across her face.
‘You’re lying.’
‘I’ll send you a picture. You’re going to see this through.’
He cut the call.
A motorcycle leaned on its horn as Caleb swerved around it, the sound quickly swallowed as they pulled away.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Caleb.
‘We need to track down AK and finish him. Once the others are safe.’
Her whole body felt like one long scream down the familiar roads to her house. Her heart was lodged in her throat on the approach. What had Michaela been doing, going out. She knew better.
She was out the door before the car had even come to a stop.
Her keys shook in her hand.
But the door wasn’t locked.
‘Simon!’
The hall was as she’d left it, stretching back to the kitchen. Empty. ‘Simon!’
She checked the front room, then the back. The garden was dark.
They’re all out. On the tube. At the cinema. Please.
She wanted it to be true. There had to be some other explanation why they weren’t here. Some scenario where they were all safe. They’d come through the front door, laughing then bewildered at her panic. They’d all leave together.
Simon would explain where they went. Why they’d left all the lights on. And food going cold on five plates.
‘Simon!’
Her words closed on a choke as she spotted the blood.
The red was vivid, falling from the landing in a quick, steady drip, down onto the stairs, soaking the carpet.
Amanda staggered back against the wall.
The blood spilled down in long, thin streamers.
She’d had nightmares like this. She couldn’t say for certain she wasn’t in one now. Suddenly it all felt so unreal. She knew she should cling to this moment, this weird few seconds as her life changed around her into something far more terrible. Into something she wanted no part of.
She pushed her way forward, up the stairs, through the crimson drizzle.
Emily’s eyes stared out to meet her. She was lying prone, her head tilted to peer sightless through the railings. Those gorgeous brown eyes would never see her again. The girl’s hand reached out for Amanda to hold.
Amanda’s skin burned where her daughter’s blood had touched her. She was making a noise, some hoarse, wet, breathless grunt that she could hear but couldn’t control. She could hear her blood rush in her ears, her every muscle and tendon tightening to pull her into this fist-curled, arched-back snarl of misery as she crested the stairs.
Emily was bent like a question-mark, the overlarge T-shirt she wore to bed sodden, sticking to the carpet.
The image blurred with tears. ‘Noooo.’ The thing was barely a word, just a single, raw chord of grief.
Caleb was beside her, she hadn’t even heard him following. But he was huge and real and Amanda sucked in a breath, pulling in the wider world with it.
Legs numb beneath her, she entered her bedroom, softly illuminated by the bedside lamp.
Simon was slumped against the corner wardrobe facing the door, pyjamas bibbed red from his torn throat.
There was Darren too, only his head visible behind the bed, eyes closed so that you could believe he was sleeping.
Amanda stumbled, catching the edge of her bed as her legs finally failed. Now the tears came, full and terrible.
‘Shit,’ Caleb whispered.
Simon’s head was bent back against the wardrobe. His eyes were rolled upward so he was staring at her in the mirror on the door, blaming her. Amanda couldn’t look away. Caleb moved behind her, looking to Darren and then twisting down to look at something in the corner behind Amanda. ‘Bridget!’ he shouted.
Bridget arrived in the doorway. ‘My God.’ She moved in the mirror to join Caleb.
Amanda covered her face, sobs wracking her body, the sound filling the room. She wiped at her cheeks, her fingertips laced red with her youngest daughter’s blood. She crawled forward until she could see Darren’s whole body, bent-limbed. The shoe box was open by his foot, Amanda’s gun in his hand.
‘He’s dead,’ said Bridget.
Amanda turned, anger flaring.
There was Reeves, sprawled in the final corner, the floor and walls painted red, three bullet holes in his chest.
Bridget finished checking for a pulse and grabbed the thing’s shirt, ripping it open and wiping at the coating of blood underneath.
‘But if he’s…’ Bridget stood, staring at nothing until her gaze caught on Darren. ‘Check him.’
Amanda blinked, eyes hot. ‘What?’
‘Look, he’s still breathing. Check him.’
The words took a moment to sink in. She was right, the movements were faint but Amanda could see her son’s chest rising and falling.
‘Darren?’ she was at the boy’s side, cradling his head, the boy’s face slack in her palms. ‘Darren, wake up, son, come on.’
‘His arms, Coleman,’ said Bridget, her voice cold, ‘look at his arms.’
Amanda did as she asked, the command cutting through everything else, pulling back the sleeve of his long-armed T-shirt.
Tattoos, just like Reeves had. But… but what the fuck did that mean?
Bridget held open Reeves’ shirt. Beneath the filthy film of blood, the thing’s chest was bare, when Amanda had seen it scribbled with shifting tattoos the night of the summoning.
‘Fetch the box,’ she said. ‘We’ve got him.’
Amanda wiped at the tears and blood in her eyes as she tried to catch up. The gun was still by his foot. She picked it up, its weight the only certain thing she had in her life.
Bridget stepped back, hands in the air as Amanda swung it around.
‘Get him out.’
Now it was Bridget’s turn to blink. ‘Coleman,’ she warned.
‘Move him into someone else. Move him into me.’
‘I can’t. Believe me. Wouldn’t I have done that already? Mr Barker—’
‘Get him out of my son.’
‘He’s gone, Coleman. I’m sorry but your son is gone.’
Amanda glared, willing Bridget to suggest something that might just work. But she only stared back.
‘I can get you revenge,’ said Bridget. ‘That’s all I’ve got. But we’ll need to phone your boss.’
Amanda’s phone chimed with a text and she knew exactly what image was waiting for her on the screen. AK had her daughter.