Bleep. Bleep.
Emilia’s eyes fly open to the sound of machines.
Where is she? What’s happening?
Her arms flail outwards and she winces at a sharp pain in the crook of her elbow.
Is she back there? Did they change their minds?
Is she back in the Confession Room?
The ceiling spins and she squints upwards into the low light. She presses her fingers into what’s beneath her, supporting her, and they disappear into fabric. Not concrete. Both soft and stiff, as if it’s been bleached over and over again. Sheets.
Yes … she remembers now. She’s in hospital. The bleeping is the machine they’re using to monitor her heart because it wouldn’t stop racing. The sting in her arm is the drip they inserted to force fluids into her system.
I’m safe.
For now.
Soon enough they will call on her.
They.
No names, but their masked faces are now etched into her memory, like a scar that will never fade. She will never forget the look in their eyes, their self-righteous scorn, their absolute certainty that they were in the right. That what they were doing was somehow a force for good. That it would bring her some kind of strange satisfaction. Closure … Justice.
Ryan’s face appears suddenly, his eyes open like saucers brimming over with fear. Her stomach turns, guilt rushing up to sting the back of her throat. Guilt that she took his life. Guilt that in some small way, it does feel like justice.
‘Emilia?’
A gentle voice comes from the door, which has been left ajar. She turns her head towards the voice and blinks slowly at the nurse peering in at her, a pitying smile on her lips.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m … I’m okay.’
‘Someone came to see you while you were sleeping. Ciaran Jones – he didn’t want to wake you …’
‘Ciaran was here?’
‘Yes, sweetheart. He was so worried. I told him that you were okay, you just needed rest.’
Emilia nods slowly, blinking away tears. ‘Thank you.’
‘On another note – the police are here to speak to you … Shall I send them away? I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you, especially after seeing your parents –’
‘No, I … I’ll speak to them now.’
‘You sure?’
She nods.
The nurse turns swiftly away, disappearing behind the curtain. The door clicks shut.
Emilia bites down on her lip as panic fills her lungs.
She had hoped that this moment would come after more of a respite, but they are already here. They will have their questions. And she will have to lie. It had been bad enough lying to her parents – avoiding their careful questions and diverting the conversation to ask about Mimi and if she was okay. But this will be worse.
The door opens again, the air rushing outwards, and Detective Inspector Wild appears with another officer. What is Wild doing here? An Inspector conducting a first interview is unheard of. She must be desperate, acutely aware of all of the eyes on her, watching the murders go unsolved.
‘Hello, Emilia,’ Wild says, nodding her head. ‘This is my colleague DS Brennan.’ Brennan smiles politely, lifting his hand in an awkward half-wave. ‘I know that it’s very soon after you were found, but as you know, it’s best if we speak to you as soon as possible. As long as you’re comfortable to, of course.’
‘Sure,’ she mutters. Pushing herself up the hospital bed, the lumpy pillows crumple over each other uncomfortably behind her back.
‘Okay … Can you tell us about when you were taken? We have the recording of the phone call between you and Ciaran Jones, but we’d love to hear your side.’
She clears her throat, taking a deep breath, then tells the full story, every detail of the abduction, preparing herself for the inevitable deception which is already beginning to tighten in her chest, her ribs squeezing her insides.
The image of the figure standing in her garden, staring straight at her, sends her pulse racing, her hands clammy as they grip the sheets. Was it the man or the woman? It must have been her – the person who grabbed her in the kitchen was too large, too strong.
‘The next thing I knew, I was waking up in that room.’
‘What happened when you woke up?’
‘Ryan was there –’
‘Did you recognize him?’
‘No … I didn’t know him.’
‘Did he know you?’
Her stomach turns. ‘No. He didn’t know me … He told me he’d been there about an hour. We talked for a bit, trying to figure out if there was any connection between us. And then … I don’t remember.’
Wild frowns, her brow falling low over her eyes. ‘You don’t remember?’
‘It all happened so quickly. We confessed. They chose Ryan.’ She closes her eyes again, unable to look at them. ‘And they killed him.’
‘Did you see their faces?’
Their features, exposed through the slits in the material, instantly appear in her mind. His blue eyes. Her cruel, downturned mouth.
‘No. They were wearing masks.’
‘We’ve all seen Ryan’s confession in the video. He said that he was sorry for hurting his ex-girlfriend. Do you remember that?’
‘Yes,’ she whispers.
‘We’ve been trying to ascertain whether the people who are taken to the Room are all people who have confessed something on the forum. Did you?’
She picks at the loose skin around her thumb. Isabella didn’t give the police this piece of information … so why did she tell her at the vigil?
‘This isn’t an inquisition, Emilia,’ Brennan says softly. ‘You don’t have to tell us what it was if you did. Just say yes or no so we can confirm.’
She meets his gaze. Nods.
They look across at each other, eyebrows raised, a small, inconspicuous nod – a piece of the puzzle slotting into place. Victims are being plucked from the forum itself. It isn’t just a place for confession. It is a place for selection.
‘After they shot Ryan, what did they do with you?’ Wild asks.
‘They placed a hood over my head and put me in the back of the van.’
‘Can you remember anything about that journey?’
‘No,’ she lies.
‘Any detail you can muster could really help us pinpoint where this room is –’
‘I’m so sorry … I wish I could, but I don’t remember.’
‘Nothing? How long did it take? Did you –’
‘With all due respect, Inspector Wild, have you pressured all the victims like this?’ she snaps, her voice trembling. ‘Or just me?’
Brennan goes to speak, but Wild holds her hand out, quieting him. ‘Emilia, we really don’t mean to pressure you. And I sincerely apologize if it’s coming across that way, but I had just hoped that you might remember more details of the journey than the other survivors because you’re a detective.’
‘When you’ve been this close to death –’ Emilia raises her fingers a centimetre apart, her face flushing, ‘– and have seen a man murdered just feet away from you, trust me when I say that your detective skills don’t really kick in. The only instinct that kicks in is the one we all have – do anything you can to survive.’
‘I understand,’ Wild says. ‘Please accept our apologies.’
Emilia pulls her knees up, hugging them close to her chest. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m really tired. I need to rest.’
‘Of course, we’ll leave you to the hospital staff,’ Wild says.
They both stand, the air thick with tension. ‘Thank you, Ms Haines,’ Brennan says in a low voice.
She nods and they turn away, striding quickly towards the door. But Wild pauses.
‘If you remember anything about that journey – anything at all – it would be incredibly helpful.’
‘I understand … thank you.’
The door closes behind them and she stares up at the ceiling, unable to breathe. Unable to move on from the past few minutes, from their demanding gazes and their questions. And all the answers she wasn’t able to give.