Chapter 58
TOM
Rain batters the windscreen so hard it sounds like applause from hell. As I start the car, I can barely see ahead of me, just streaks of white lines smudged by the wipers. My phone rings on the passenger seat — the screen lighting up blue.
Pete.
I snatch it up. “Pete? What’s going on?”
His voice is jagged, frantic. “Tom—Tom, I don’t know what to do.”
“What’s happening? Are you okay?”
“He’s completely lost it. I’ve never seen him this bad.”
“Where are you?”
“In the bathroom,” he pants. “I’ve locked the door. He’s downstairs. I can hear him — he’s smashing things.”
My heart spikes. “Pete, listen to me, stay in there. I’m on my way.”
“No!” His voice cracks. “If he sees you, he’ll kill you.”
“Emma called,” I say quickly. “She told me. I was already heading over. Just — just hold on.”
“I think he’s broken a rib,” Pete whispers. His breath comes in short, painful bursts. “I can’t breathe properly.”
The words hit like ice water. “Oh my God, Pete. You need to get out of there.”
“I can’t. I can’t get past him. And I can’t jump the window — it’s too high. Tom, he’s gone mental.”
“Okay, okay, listen,” I say, forcing myself to stay calm. “I need to call the police. If your rib is broken, you need medical attention. I know what James is capable of. He could kill you too.”
There’s a pause. “What do you mean?”
“I saw it,” I tell him. “On the CCTV. I know he killed Chris.”
Silence. For a few seconds, all I hear is the rain and the engine.
Then Pete says, barely audible, “You what?”
“I saw the video, Pete. He stabbed him — in your kitchen.”
A broken sound escapes him — part sob, part disbelief. “Jesus Christ… You shouldn’t have seen that. I thought you told me you hadn’t watched them.”
“I know, I’m sorry I lied. I copied them onto my laptop. I had to! I was trying to help you! But listen — we can go to the police. We can end this. Together.”
“No,” Pete says quickly. “No, we can’t.”
“Of course we can. He murdered someone, Pete. There’s clear proof of it.”
“I helped him,” he blurts out.
My stomach twists. “What?”
“I helped him bury Chris.” His voice fractures, shaking apart. “After it happened. I didn’t have a choice, Tom. He made me do it. He said if I told anyone, he’d kill me.”
For a moment, I can’t breathe. “Pete…”
“He said we’d both go down for it. He had messages — photos — stuff that makes it look like I planned it.”
“Look if he coerced you into it, the police will understand when they see the videos of how he’s been treating you—"
“No! I’ll go down for it too. I can’t go to prison!” He’s sobbing now. The sound of him crying while trying to keep his voice low makes something inside me tear open.
“Pete, listen to me,” I say, eyes fixed on the wet blur of the road. “You were scared. You didn’t have a choice. The police will understand that.”
“You don’t get it,” he says. “He’s clever. He said if I leave, he’ll make sure I take the fall.”
Although I don’t agree with him, now’s not the time to debate this. The priority is to get Pete out of the house. Dealing with the police can be our next issue.
The phone rustles like he’s moving. I hear something slam against the door from the other side.
“Pete?!”
“He’s outside,” Pete whispers. “He’s shouting. He knows I’m in here.”
My heart lurches. “Stay quiet. Don’t say anything.”
The sound that comes through next freezes me: James’s voice, faint but furious, shouting Pete’s name over and over, words too muffled to make out.
Then a heavy bang. The thud of a door taking a hit. Another.
“I’m going to fucking kill you!” I hear through the phone.
“Tom,” Pete says, barely breathing. “He’s going to break it.”
“I’m nearly there,” I lie. “Just hang on.”
There’s a crash — something splintering, maybe the bathroom cabinet, maybe the doorframe.
“Pete, talk to me. Are you okay?”
“Tom, please don’t come in. He’ll kill you too.”
A loud crash cuts me off. The sound of shattering glass, a scream — then silence.
“Pete?!”
Nothing.
I shout his name, but the line’s gone dead.
I should call the police.
No. I’ll get there first. Then I’ll call.
The rain comes down harder, hammering the roof, blurring everything. I jam the car into gear and speed off.
For a split second, my dad’s face flashes in my mind — the hospital room, the machines, the moment I stepped out for a coffee and came back too late.
Not again.
I won’t lose someone else because I hesitated.