The phone is still ringing on repeat, but Emilia can’t move. She is paralysed, her eyes locked on the screen. On her name.
This can’t be real. They can’t actually have chosen her.
She blinks rapidly and focuses on the screen again, silently praying that the words will morph and it’ll become clear that she just imagined her name in the confession. Someone else’s name is there in its place.
But it isn’t. It’s still her, there in black and white, just like all the others.
Emilia Haines.
Her eyes flit to the name sitting next to hers.
Ryan Kirkland. But she doesn’t even know a Ryan. She doesn’t know who this person is. All the other victims have been partners, family – this man is a stranger. Why have they paired them together?
She needs to get to her phone. She needs to call the police. But fear has locked her into place, the distance between her living room and her bedroom expanding.
Searching the furthest corners of the living room for shadows, she backs slowly towards the window. Holding her breath, she glances out on to the street.
Next door’s cars are there – both parked on the road, even though they have space on their drive. We don’t want strangers parking here, they always mutter. And the black-cab that belongs to two houses down is across the way. But … whose is that van?
There’s a white van parked directly opposite the house. But she’s never seen it before. In fact, she’s never seen any vans park down this street. It isn’t really used as a through road; it’s quiet. Secluded.
The phone rings again.
She flies towards her bedroom, feet thundering against the floor, her mind imagining footsteps behind, like when she was little and Sophie would chase her up the stairs, laughing. But there is no humour bubbling away in her stomach, only fear. Fear in its truest, most visceral form. Her hand reaches out and snatches up the phone.
‘Ciaran?’
‘Oh, thank God,’ he says, his voice breathless. ‘Emi, you’ve been named in the latest confession. Police are in the park looking for you; you need to head to the main –’
‘I-I’m not at the vigil –’
‘Where are you?’
‘I came home, I already left … I don’t know what to do! Should I get out?’
‘No, no – stay there!’
Rustling echoes through the speaker and his voice comes through in urgent muffled commands – he’s on the radio. Direct to the command centre. His frantic voice spitting out her address.
‘Police are on their way,’ he says, his voice now clear again. ‘I’m on my way too, I’m in my car right now. Just hide somewhere in your house and don’t move –’
‘Ciaran …’ Her voice breaks. She presses her back to the wall and slides down to the floor, eyes fixed on the open door. ‘I’m scared.’
‘I’ll stay on the phone with you the whole time. They’ll be there soon and you’ll be safe. And we’re trying to locate the other victim … who is he?’
‘I don’t know! I don’t know him! Why have they put us together?’
‘Maybe … maybe they’ve decided it’s easier to pair people randomly –’
‘Or maybe we’re somehow connected,’ she mutters. ‘We just don’t know it.’
‘Emi, where are you in your house? Are you hiding?’
‘I’m in my bedroom … But … should I hide downstairs instead? What if someone gets in the house and I can’t escape?’
‘Yes, go downstairs. Grab something heavy. Something you can protect yourself with. And then hide.’
She stands slowly, her skin prickling as the hairs stand up. ‘Okay,’ she whispers.
She presses the phone to her face, her grip trembling with the pressure, the screen hot against her cheek. She inches out of her room and down the stairs, taking each step one at a time, holding her breath as they creak beneath her.
As she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she runs quickly to the kitchen, her fingers curling around the handle of her largest knife. She holds it tightly, her fingers slick with sweat, slipping against the metal.
Her eyes dart towards the back door … If anyone was to come for her from the front, could she escape out the back? Even if she could somehow make it over her fence, she’d be escaping through a field – wide open. An easy target. She reaches out to test the latch and –
It’s unlocked.
The back door has been unlocked this whole time.
‘Emi … Emi? Talk to me, please!’
Ciaran’s voice is echoing out of the phone, he is saying her name again and again, trying to get her to speak to him. But all she can focus on is the unlocked door. A horrifying chill runs up her spine as another sound leaks into the kitchen.
A long, low creak.
Somebody is inside the house.
A low growl rumbles out of Mimi, her hackles rising.
Emilia lifts the phone slowly to her ear, legs frozen in place, fingers tightening further around the knife.
‘Ciaran,’ she whispers. ‘I think they’re already in the house.’
‘Get out of there, Emi! Get to the road, get to a neighbour –’
She flings open the back door, Mimi close to her heels, and throws herself down the first two steps, stumbling, but then –
She freezes.
There is somebody standing in the middle of the garden. Black coat. Woolly hat. Hood pulled low over their face. Standing in perfect stillness.
‘Someone help me!’ she screams into the night.
Turning quickly, she trips, her hands slamming into the rough stone step. She pushes herself up and staggers forward, scooping Mimi into her arms and running into the house, throwing the door shut behind her. It slams – the sound like a gunshot in the dark.
She turns the lock, fingers trembling, until it clicks loudly. Pulling frantically on the handle, she checks it again and again, as she stares out through the window into the darkness.
They are still standing there.
Watching.
Waiting.
She needs to get to the front door. She needs to get out of here. But how? There’s still somebody in the house!
Another creak –
Hands grab her from behind. She tries to scream but her mouth is covered. It isn’t skin pressing into her lips and nose but something else – material, sodden with foul-smelling chemicals. She tries to hold her breath, kicking out desperately, trying to lash out with her arms, but they are too strong. She tries to hold her breath but as panic takes over, her limbs thrashing uselessly – she gasps for air.
Her vision wavers, blurring the window, and the night, and the person beyond it, watching from just outside the glass.
Her eyes roll into the back of her head.
Please …
Help me …