Emilia stares out of the window of her childhood bedroom, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Even though the Confession Room has been abandoned, the forum completely silent, she hasn’t been able to stop herself from keeping sentry. What if they still choose to retaliate? What if it isn’t over?
She takes a steadying breath, cracking her knuckles as she backs away to lie on the single bed. She props her laptop on her chest and opens the internet, navigating to the news. She shouldn’t look – she knows that taking in what is being said is like taking in poison – but she can’t help it. She has to know.
There, on the main page, are their faces. Isabella, Joseph, Rosie. And her. A bold headline written beneath the photographs: The Confession Room Killers?
Pressing her lips together, she takes a slow, calming breath and clicks on the headline.
There is an article setting out all the details. She scans it, chewing on the inside of her cheek, but then scrolls back up to the top, ready to click away. Enough for now. But there at the top of the page is a video: a news presenter standing on the streets of London – maybe outside Westminster – holding out a microphone, speaking to passers-by.
‘What do you think about what’s been revealed about the murders that happened inside the Confession Room?’ the presenter asks.
An older man and woman crowd around the microphone, him lowering his head towards it. ‘I think it’s appalling,’ he says. ‘All this time those people acted like they had been innocent in the whole thing. And they’re making the excuse that they were being threatened. They could have said something, though! They told the police nothing and didn’t help, knowing what would continue happening –’
‘And, and,’ the woman interrupts, pulling the microphone towards her, ‘those poor people, the ones who were killed, their families deserve justice for what was done. Justice.’
They disappear suddenly, replaced by another woman, young, her long auburn hair pulled back in two French braids. ‘I feel sorry for them. They didn’t ask to be put in that position. They didn’t ask to be taken. They didn’t have a choice. Just leave them alone and let them get on with their lives.’
‘You don’t think that the victims deserve justice?’
‘Justice for who? Don’t the survivors deserve justice for what they were put through? Why does nobody care about justice for them?’
Her face disappears, replaced once more by a woman holding a sign. Emilia gasps, her mouth hanging open. Ryan’s mother. Pippa Kirkland. The sign has a photograph of Ryan, their slogan, Justice for the Victims of the Confession Room, scrawled across it.
‘Mrs Kirkland,’ the presenter says. ‘May I first express my condolences to you for the loss of your son.’
‘Thank you,’ she says, her lip trembling.
‘Since the videos were released you’ve been campaigning for the people who survived the Confession Room to be prosecuted.’
‘Yes. And they should be. I can’t understand anybody who argues that they shouldn’t. Emilia Haines believed that my son killed her sister. And I’m sorry for anyone who goes through that kind of loss, but my son was not a murderer. And now, instead of being left in peace, we have the police investigating him for something he would never do. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. And she took him from me!’ Her voice breaks and she stares down at the ground, her face contorting with emotion.
The corner of Emilia’s mouth curls upwards with a strange sort of satisfaction. She hadn’t expected the police to look into the Confession Room killers’ insistence that Ryan killed Sophie. But the investigation has been reopened, after all this time, after all the months of no leads. Maybe Sophie will get justice after all.
‘What about the people who created the Confession Room? The people who put your son there in the first place? Would you agree that it’s them who deserve to face justice?’
‘Yes, but not just them,’ she cries. ‘It was Emilia Haines who pulled the trigger. It was Emilia Haines who murdered my boy. It’s Emilia Haines who should be punished. Lock her up and throw away the –’
Emilia turns off her phone, the screen turning black – Pippa Kirkland’s voice coming to a sudden halt. Pressing it to her chest, she stares up at the ceiling, her mind racing. Their words bounce around her head, the opposing opinions colliding against each other, each side trying to consume the other.
‘Did that boy really kill our Sophie?’ her dad had asked when she first came home, in a horrified whisper.
‘I … I think so, Dad,’ she had muttered. ‘He had a photo of her. Taken in secret. And he had talked about hurting a woman called Fiona online.’
‘Fiona?’ her mum interrupted, heavy with emotion.
‘That’s what he called her. Sophie, Fi … Fiona. Until she died and she was in the news, he thought that was her name. But he wouldn’t tell the truth. I don’t know what actually happened –’
‘We’ll never know now.’
Emilia’s response died on her lips, the guilt hurtling through her all over again. ‘You know that I didn’t shoot him because of what they said he did to Sophie, right? Whether it was him or not … I did it because otherwise they would have killed me –’
‘We know that, love,’ her dad said. ‘We know …’
‘I didn’t want to lie to you. But I had to!’
They both nodded silently, their eyes spilling over.
Emilia sighs, slamming the laptop shut. She’s only been here a couple of days but the tension is palpable, her parents not knowing what to do or say, unable to navigate this new version of their lives or the new version of their daughter.
Her phone vibrates, long and low. A phone call.
Ciaran.
‘Hi,’ she whispers, already finding comfort in just the thought of his voice. He has spent hours talking to her, reassuring her that he believes her, that it will all turn out right in the end. Justice will be on her side.
‘Emilia,’ he shouts, his voice panicked, ‘you need to lock all the doors and windows now – make sure your parents don’t go out –’
Are they here? Are they all in danger?
‘Ciaran, what’s going on?’
‘Your parents’ address! It’s been posted on the Confession Room! There’s officers on their way –’
She throws herself off her bed, her phone clattering to the floor, and races out on to the landing. Her mum is crossing the hall, heading towards the front door.
‘Mum, no!’
She thunders down the stairs, darting forward to throw her weight against it just as it opens, slamming it shut.
‘Emilia, what are you doing?’ her mum cries.
‘Your address – it’s been posted online! Lock all the windows. Lock the door!’
She spins around, the hall blurring around her as panic rises up, bubbling towards the surface. ‘Where’s Dad?’ she shouts.
‘He … he went to the shop to get a paper –’
‘Call him! Now, Mum!’
Her mum rushes into the kitchen, searching for her phone. ‘David!’ her voice rings out into the hall. ‘Someone put our address on the internet – come home now!’
An engine roars from outside, and Emilia rushes to the living room. Her mouth drops open. There, standing on the pavement outside, is Pippa Kirkland, wearing that same T-shirt, Ryan’s face stretched across it, his smile distorted. She has three others with her, two men and another woman, their eyes narrowed as they turn to face the house.
Emilia drops to the floor, her heart racing. They can’t get inside – can they? Would they try? What on earth are they hoping to achieve?
‘Mum?’ she calls out, desperately attempting to project her whisper. ‘There’s people outside. Ryan Kirkland’s mother.’
Her mum rushes into the hall, her eyes widening as she takes in Emilia crouched down on the floor beneath the windowsill. A loud series of bangs echoes through the house. She’s pounding on the front door.
Emilia stares at her mum, shaking her head slowly.
‘Don’t move,’ she whispers.
Her mum steps backwards slowly into the kitchen, the phone pressed to the side of her face. ‘David,’ she says, her whisper full of terror. ‘There’s people at the house!’
‘Emilia Haines!’ a roaring voice shouts. ‘We know you’re in there!’
Emilia tucks her knees up towards her chest, curling her head downwards to shroud her face. If she ignores them, they’ll just go away. If she ignores them, they’ll leave her alone.
The pounding comes again, loud and relentless. Mimi runs from the kitchen to the front door, barking loudly, hackles raised.
‘Come out here now, you bitch! You need to look me in the face and say the lies you’ve been telling the world!’
Rage swirls in her stomach but she forces it down, her nails digging into her shins.
The pounding stops, the shouting fading away. Are they leaving?
Emilia uncurls herself, turning on to her knees, readying herself to peer over the windowsill.
A brick flies through the window and she crouches down, throwing her arms over her face as glass shatters over her head.
‘Emilia!’ her mum screams from the kitchen, her hands covering her mouth in horror.
And suddenly the undiluted fury inside her cannot be contained. Emilia scrambles to her feet and rushes towards the front door, and Pippa Kirkland spots her, moving away from the living room and darting back up the front path to the porch.
Emilia glares at her through the glass. ‘I didn’t have a choice – there was a gun pressed to my head.’
Pippa’s face flushes with anger. ‘You did have a choice. And you had the choice to not spread lies about what my son did –’
‘Your son murdered my sister.’
‘You’re a liar! You’re the killer, not my boy, not my Ryan!’
‘I’m not, he –’
‘Emilia!’ her mum shouts. ‘Stop –’
‘He was a murderer. And nothing you say will ever change that.’
‘You’re going to go to prison for the rest of your life for this,’ Pippa snarls, spit flying from her lips and landing on the glass between them. ‘And my Ryan – my Ryan died an innocent man!’
Emilia spots the cross hanging from her neck, the chain swinging just in front of Ryan’s eyes. ‘God knows what he has done –’
‘You bitch!’ she cries, pounding against the door once more. ‘You fucking bitch! You’ll pay for this! You’ll pay for this!’
Emilia turns her back, pressing her spine to the front door before dropping to her knees, Pippa’s screams still vibrating through her, only stopping as the sound of a police siren wails down the road, the blue lights flashing in through the glass.