I close my eyes, and memories from the house in Reading reach out from the past. I see Papa sitting in his chair in our sitting room, his eyes closed, his mouth half-open, smell his medication on his breath. I see the brown front door, the narrow hallway, the stairs with the patterned carpet.
Tears well. Papa had provided for me, he’d presumed that Mr. Barriston and I would meet in the first few days after his death. He couldn’t have foreseen that the end would come so swiftly, and while Mr. Barriston was away. My life could have been so different. I would have gone to boarding school, I would have had Mr. Barriston looking out for me. By now, I’d be in college, in the second year of my degree. I would have had friends, partners, I would have lived, loved, backpacked around Europe during the holidays. Instead, I had witnessed two murders, and been kidnapped.
It’s strange how much I long to be in the house in Reading. I need to be away from here, I need to be free. Except I will never really be free. The kidnappers will always be there, somewhere in the background of my mind.
I think of Paul Carr, and what they had said about him.
At some point you will be contacted by Paul Carr, Ned’s attorney. He will have information for you, you can trust him. In case of a problem, he’s the only person you may contact. Do not contact anyone else.
The last line of the instructions echoes through me. Do not contact anyone else. I hadn’t—but now that I’ve done everything they’ve asked of me, surely I can phone Carolyn?
The need to speak to her is urgent, visceral. She is all I have left, she’s the only one left. I find my phone and call her number.
I’m nervous as I wait for her to pick up. How can I explain any of this? I’m not allowed to tell anyone what I know, or what I saw, I’m not allowed to tell anyone about my fake kidnapping. I can tell Carolyn that Ned tricked me into marrying him, but I’ll have to pretend that we really did go to Haven Cliffs for a two-week break, that he really was depressed, so depressed that he took his own life. The thought that I’ll never be able to speak about what I actually went through makes me horribly anxious.
It’s almost a relief when an automated voice answers, telling me that Carolyn’s number is no longer in use. Then I frown; Carolyn wouldn’t have changed her number without telling me. But that was before. My heart sinks. What if she doesn’t want to have anything more to do with me because I didn’t tell her I had married Ned?
I call her office. A man answers and when I ask to speak to her, he tells me that he’s very sorry, but that Carolyn was the victim of a hit-and-run accident a few weeks before, and sadly passed away. The phone drops from my hands, I fall to my knees, and my wails of grief and despair echo around the silent house. I think I will die from the pain of it, I think I will die from the guilt. But most of all, I think that if Ned wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him with my bare hands.