Chapter Twenty-Two Void Space #2
By the time he reached the landing, his hackles had properly risen. That vague, nagging unease from earlier tightened. Made it harder to ignore. So he pulled himself up into the loft again, less careful with the ladder, less concerned about the dust spreading its way to Eileen’s beautiful home.
He didn’t bother checking the rest of the space.
He went straight to the party wall. The dividing line between the two houses.
Then he crouched low, one hand braced around the beam, the other flattening against the brick.
He closed his eyes, listening. Nothing. Only the faint creak of the house settling around him.
The quiet click of timber cooling as the day’s heat drained out of it. Normal.
He went to pull back when a sound came through.
Faint enough, he thought he’d imagined it.
But he stilled, every muscle locking as he leaned closer, bringing his ear nearer to the wall.
There it was again. A dull scrape. Uneven.
As if something were being moved. He slowed his breathing, instinct kicking in before his thoughts could catch up.
He stayed where he was, barely daring to transfer his weight.
Then another sound followed. Softer. A muted thud, as if whatever it was had been dropped.
Or fallen. He drifted his gaze across the wall, tracing the line, imagining the space beyond.
The mirror of this loft, hidden on the other side of a few inches of brick and timber.
Then he pushed back from the wall, heart kicking harder, adrenaline creeping in as he dropped down the ladder.
Eileen looked up as he came back into the kitchen. “What’s he building? Can you ask him not to do it so late at night?”
Jake glanced out of the window. There was a space where the van had been.
“When did he leave?” he asked.
“Just now. Told you. He comes and goes more times than the number fifty-two to High Street.” She pointed. “You popping off now? Only, I got another cuppa for you.”
“He live with anyone? Wife? Girlfriend?”
“No. He’s never had one of those. Oh!” She pushed his chest. “You think he’s one of yours? You interested?”
Not likely. Jake hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “Actually, I’m gonna check summat. Keep an eye out, aye? Call me if he comes back.”
He turned fast and took the stairs two at a time, momentum carrying him straight to the ladder.
It rattled under his weight as he climbed, quicker than before, needing to be back up there.
Then he hauled himself into the loft again.
The heat hit him harder this time, thick and close, the stale air catching in his throat.
He didn’t stop to adjust. He went straight to the wall.
The divide. The few inches of brick and timber separating what he knew from what he didn’t.
There, he dropped into a crouch, pressing his palm flat against the divide and held it there. Forcing his breathing to quieten, to ease, even as his pulse kept pushing.
This was mad.
He knew it.
This was him again. Hearing something that wasn’t there, turning it into something, needing it to be something.
His head refusing to switch off. Always searching.
Always circling back. Thirteen years and he still couldn’t let it go.
Wouldn’t. Because he hadn’t seen her. Hadn’t found her.
Didn’t know what had been done to her, or who had taken her from him. From his mum. Teddy.
He clenched his jaw.
He’d find nothing.
Same as Andy’s. Same as every other dead end he’d chased until it hollowed him out.
Nothing.
But the thought of walking away, of not checking, not pushing, not making sure, that sat worse. So he pressed his hand harder against the wall, eyes fixed on it. He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t look.
Then he heard something. A sound that didn’t belong to wood or tile or anything dead and fixed. Or anything he would expect to hear through a loft wall into a nothing space next door. Jake’s stomach dropped.
“…alright.” He blew out a breath. “Alright.”
He pulled back, scanning the edge of the partition.
It wasn’t solid brick all the way through.
Older work, patched over in places. Boarding fixed against it where someone had tried to close it up properly.
Not built to be broken. But not built to be strong either.
He took the hammer out of his work belt, tightening his fingers around the handle.
For a second, he hesitated.
He could be wrong. As he had been about Andy.
And there’d be no second chances if he was.
He’d be hauled back inside before his second cup of tea had even cooled.
And that thought hit sharper this time. The fear of it.
How could he leave Teddy again? The kid was older now.
Watching everything. Taking it all in. Needing him in a way that cut deeper than when he’d been small and none of this had made sense.
His rugby chance, like Jake’s chance with Neon Arcade, would be shattered.
How could he do that to him? Send Teddy down the same spiral he’d gone.
Teddy needed him. As did his mum and dad.
They needed him dependable. Financially stable. There.
Then…the other thought came in unbidden.
If he was arrested, anything that might have been brewing between him and the detective would be over.
Done. Whatever this thing was between them…
if it was anything, it wouldn’t survive that.
Not another arrest, another mark against Jake’s name.
It would be done and dusted before he even found out if it could be something.
But what if he were right?
What if, for once, he wasn’t wrong?
What if this were it? The one time his gut wasn’t leading him down a dead end but pulling him the right way.
“Fuck it.” He drove the claw of the hammer into the board.
The wood split with a dull crack, louder than he wanted, echoing through the tight space.
Jake froze, listening hard. Nothing from below.
Nothing from next door. All he could hear was his own breathing.
So he worked quickly, levering the panel back, tearing through the weakened section where the boards met the wall.
Splinters gave way under pressure, nails pulling free with short, sharp sounds making his shoulders tense.
He fucking hoped he’d hear Eileen shouting to him if the bloke came back.
Or even know to. Cause there wasn’t a chance in fuck he’d hear if a van rolled up.
Like he hadn’t when Andy had found him nearing ready to climb into his loft space.
But he kept going anyway until there was enough space to see through.
There was nothing but darkness. And it was thicker than Eileen’s side. Colder, too. No heating immersion. Jake stilled, leaning in, letting his eyes adjust to the slit of darkness beyond the boards. “Hello?”
Nothing.
Silence pressed back at him, heavy and complete.
Doubt surged in, sharp and immediate. He could still fix this.
Push the boards back. Screw them down. Pretend he hadn’t kicked his way into something that, on paper, was another break-in.
Another charge. With his record… that wasn’t a slap on the wrist. That was years.
“Shit.” He rocked back, shame hitting him.
Then he froze.
Listened.
And there. That was a breath. Not his, either. His chest tightened so fast it burned.
“Hey…” He dropped his voice instinctively softer as he hovered closer to the gap. “Hey…anyone there? It’s alright. I’m—”
He faltered. He didn’t know how to finish that. Didn’t know what he was in this moment. A stranger breaking in? A mistake? Someone about to make things worse?
But he was here.
That had to be enough.
He shoved the gap wider, forcing his shoulder through, pushing himself into the neighbouring loft.
The air changed immediately. Colder, heavier in a different way.
Closed off. Untouched. Then his foot came down uneven, catching on poorly laid boards, and he steadied himself, darting his gaze across the space.
“Fuck.” He dropped forward, landing hard on his knees beside a thin mattress on the floor. Blankets piled high over a shape. “Fuck. God—fuck.”
He hovered, then caught movement beneath the fabric. The faint rise and fall of breathing. Then he saw hair. Tangled and blonde and peeking out from the edge of the blanket.
He pulled the covers back fast.
Relief didn’t come. Not how he’d expected. Not what he’d spent years chasing. Because it wasn’t her. Disappointment, grief, guilt, all tangled together. Along with anger, frustration, and resentment. But he shoved it down hard, blinking it away as he forced himself to move.
Because it might not be Robyn.
But it was Emily Fisher.
He pressed his fingers to her neck, searching, finding the pulse. “Alright, love,” he said, voice rough but steadying. “You’re alright.”
He didn’t know if she was. She wasn’t moving or responding.
She had her eyes shut, skin too pale in the dim.
So he fumbled for his phone, fishing it out from his back pocket as he kept his fingers at her pulse point.
He swiped too fast, missed the number, swore under his breath, went back, found the last call and hit dial.
One ring.
Two.
Three before it answered. “Jake, I’m sorry but I can’t—”
“I’ve found her.” Jake cut him off in a panic. “Shit, Harry, I’ve fucking found her.” He kept his fingers at her pulse point, feeling for the beat. “And she’s alive.”