Chapter 29
The headline reads: JOGGER STABBED WHILE RUNNING IN DULWICH PARK.
As I stare at it, taking in the meaning of each word, it feels as though my perfectly constructed little world—my imperfect world, sure, but my world all the same—folds in on me in earnest. And it occurs to me just how flimsy it’s always been. A house of cards. One little breeze and pooofff.
Title: JOGGER STABBED WHILE RUNNING IN DULWICH PARK
Location: London
Posted by: @Viciousdelicious
A JOGGER has been stabbed to death while running in Dulwich Park in what police have described as a random and unprovoked act of violence.
The 37-year-old victim, Kenneth Brawley, died at the scene.
The alleged attack took place just after 5 am on Tuesday. The victim was found at 8 am by a dog walker.
There have been no arrests.
‘Our first priority is keeping the community safe,’ said Detective Sergeant Jon Cairns, who is leading the investigation.
‘We are doing everything we can to find the perpetrator. However, we need the community’s help.
If you witnessed anything suspicious at all on the morning in question in the Dulwich Park area, please let us know as soon as possible. ’
While this appears to be an isolated incident, nearby residents have been warned to stay vigilant and avoid the park after dark.
The victim’s family was not available for comment, but a work colleague at Selfridges has said: ‘Kenny was such a light, always smiling, such an important part of our team. Our thoughts are with his family and friends, especially this close to Christmas.’
Anyone with information is asked to call police on . . .
My vision blurs.
The room melts around me—the sofa becomes the coffee table becomes the wall—and what the hell is going on?
But it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay . . .
Of course this ended up on this site. Kenny’s death was murder, a stabbing, and those always end up on the VHC.
Stab marks are how we, the vamps, supposedly cover our bite marks.
And it seems Oscar, with his plan to plunge a knife into Kenny so he had a murder weapon to plant, which he could then use to frame me or Daphne, has played right into that belief.
I quickly scroll down to the comments, chewing gently on my cheek as I assess the damage.
@Eric22: Another vamp attack for sure, London is getting out of control. And a guy from Selfridges? I shop there. It could have been me. We need to do something.
@Connecticuthousewife011: Dawn. A stabbing. Seems like a strong maybe.
@HenryD: Dulwich Park has all those bats! Worth a closer look.
@Vampitup: Just spoke to my police contact. He said there were genuine bite wounds on neck as well as stab wounds! Said it was probably a fox or a dog but my gut says this is IT. Will try to find out more. Stay tuned!
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
That last comment glares back at me and then it winks.
Because those bite marks probably were from foxes. Dulwich Park does have a fox problem. But that doesn’t matter . . . the people on this site will grab onto that with both hands. I know they will.
And this is bad. Very, very bad.
My mind races as I think of all the ways this can come back on me.
I complained about Kenny to Sally by name, many, many times.
She knew I hated him—I was very vocal about it—so vocal that she was praying for his demise.
She knows I work at Selfridges because I’ve told her.
And . . . oh my god. I sent her a picture of his running track from his app.
I did that just the other night. The night before he was killed.
What was I thinking?
How did I ever let my guard down this far?
But I know what I was thinking: Sally lives on the other side of a big-arsed ocean, we’ve never met, we were never going to meet and, most importantly, Kenny was not meant to die.
I wasn’t going to kill him. I just half-heartedly wished him dead.
This should never have been a problem. If it was even a teensy problem, I should have been able to delete my profile and disappear, added to which, to everyone on that site I would always have been Margot. Untraceable. Unfindable.
Except . . . Riley knows I lied about my name.
And he was just at Borough Market.
Did he see this post? Kenny? Selfridges? The vamp attack? Think of me and my cold skin and my yellow Selfridges nametag and suspect me? Come looking for me? I wouldn’t be the first vampire he’d stalked down. What if he did somehow find out my forwarding address . . . What if—
Aubrey, that’s crazy talk. Be rational. It’s Christmas Eve, and Borough Market is a famous market. He has every right to be there. It has nothing to do with you. A coincidence. That’s all.
But still, there’s something about Riley skulking around so close to my home that makes me itch. Has alarm bells ringing loud in my ears and I can’t turn them off.
This is bullshit. I shouldn’t even be in this predicament. And every part of this is Oscar’s fault. Killing Kenny. Abandoning me so I had to sign up to this website to find him.
God, when I signed up, it never, in a million years, occurred to me that I’d end up hunting myself.
That’s what’s going to happen here though, if I’m not careful. I can feel it, gnawing at my insides.
I have an impulse to just pack up my life and leave, the way I have so many times before. Move somewhere else. Never get onto the internet ever again. But that would mean giving up on Jonathan, on us, forever. I don’t want that. There has to be another way.
Think, Aubrey, think. You can deal with this.
So I tap back to Sally’s message and stare at it: OMFG have you seen this? Didn’t you know him??? Have you heard anything?
The world spins faster than it ever has as my thumbs sit frozen in place.
I look around the room, horribly aware that somewhere in here are other pieces of evidence implicating me in Kenny’s death.
I don’t know if I’m more frightened of the police, or the people on the VHC finding me right now.
Option one ends in me being hooked up to machines for eternity in some government testing facility, possibly the subject of multiple classified documents.
Option two ends in me potentially being buried in chains with a stone shoved in my jaw by @NancyJayne. Or worse.
Trust no one, Aubrey . . .
I could just deny it. Pretend she misunderstood. That I’d never met a Kenny. But she won’t fall for that.
So what would I say if I wasn’t a vampire? If I wasn’t scared that I’d get blamed? Found out.
I start to type. OMG! Yes, that’s the guy, the one I told you about, Kenny! I can’t believe he’s dead!
Good, good, good.
I’ll def ask around as soon as I’m back at work!
I wait for a reply, my hands shaking.
Beep.
Sally: Well keep me posted on anything you find out, okay? How are you doing otherwise? Are you away for Christmas? In-laws here FML . . .
I stare at it, not sure what to reply but knowing it’ll look really suspicious if I type nothing. So what would I say if I really believed this was all good news?
I decide on: Of course, I’ll let you know the moment I hear anything!
And then, I sign off and put myself back to bed.