Chapter 2 #2
‘I know. I had a message from Xander Gould on my phone when I woke up. What exactly happened?’
I tell him the details, then insist I wasn’t imagining it.
Silence folds around us, and I know convincing Leo it happened won’t be easy, not when there’s no evidence on the camera.
I even checked ours, but there’s nothing.
‘I can’t explain it. But somehow that man must have got rid of her body.
Quickly.’ Even though I can’t know for sure, I’m definitely thinking of her attacker as a man.
Leo moves closer to me and places his arm on mine.
This gesture, and the warm feel of his skin, is something I’d usually find comforting, yet this morning it only irritates me.
‘I really need you to believe me,’ I say.
‘There’s no way I imagined it. And please don’t tell me it’s resurfacing anxiety about my attack.
This was too real. They were out there.’
Leo takes a deep breath, as if he’s about to deliver bad news to a patient. ‘Ria, I do believe you, I just . . . I have to go with the evidence. I just can’t understand how it’s possible someone did that and the cameras didn’t pick it up.’
Leo is right, and I can’t explain any of it. ‘I’ve never imagined anything like that before. Why would I now? It’s been a year. Why would I start . . . what? Hallucinating?’ The troubled look on Leo’s face adds to my anguish.
‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘Xander said you both checked outside and there was no evidence of anything. How would they have got out? Did you see the gates open?’
I bristle at his words, even though Leo delivers them with kindness. ‘He could have hidden in one of the gardens and waited for us to go back in. Or . . . or it could have been someone who lives—’
‘Ria, even if it was someone in Silverleaf, I really don’t think they could have dragged a body into their house or garden without being noticed.
Besides, I think the neighbours are good people – Giles Barton had such a strict selection process.
The whole point of this community is that it’s safe for everyone. ’
Leo has told me before what it took to be able to buy our property, but it had made me uncomfortable and I had been focusing on healing, so I’d packed it away, to process another time. Told myself that at least the neighbours should be decent people if they’d been personally selected.
‘I know! I can’t explain it. I don’t know how it happened, but—’
Leo kisses my cheek. ‘Okay, I’ll go and have a look out there now. It’s light so I might see more than you did last night.’
I sigh. ‘I don’t need you to humour me – I need you to believe me.’
He searches my face, and I imagine how hard it is for him to find the right words. If it was Leo saying he’d seen a woman being strangled on our green, what would I think?
‘I’m not humouring you, Ria. I believe you think that’s what you saw,’ he says. ‘And that it was real to you. I’ll do whatever I can to find out what’s going on.’
‘You can’t always fix everything, Leo. I can work it out myself. Just please don’t tell me I imagined it.’
Slowly, he nods. ‘Okay. But you need to do something for me, too. Will you please make an appointment to see Ethan? I’m worried.’
Ethan Vance. Leo’s close friend from medical school and the neurologist who took care of me after my accident. As much as I like him, I know there’s nothing wrong with me and I’d be wasting his time.
‘Leo, I know you’re just looking out for me, but I really don’t need to bother Ethan with this. I’m fine.’ I flash him a smile, as if that will prove it and show him my strength.
Leo tilts his head and gives me a defeated look I’ve never seen on his face before. I can’t bear it – moving here was his dream, and now I’m turning things upside down. ‘Maybe you’re right and my mind was messing with me,’ I say.
His shoulders relax and he lets out a deep breath. ‘We should at least consider that.’
‘But it wouldn’t do any harm to find out if anyone’s gone missing around here, would it?’
‘Ria.’ Leo sighs.
‘I’m sure it will come to nothing,’ I say. ‘But I need to do this.’
‘Nothing I can say will stop you, will it?’
‘Nope.’
‘Just see Ethan. Please?’
I put my arm around him and kiss his neck. ‘If it makes you happy, then I will, but you don’t need to worry about me, Leo. There’s nothing wrong with me.’ I pull him towards me. ‘Shall I prove it to you?’
He grins and kisses me, and I try to lose myself in him and force the image of the blonde-haired woman in the white skirt to the back of my mind. But I already know how brief this respite Leo provides will be.
The day looms ahead of me, full of empty hours longing to be filled. Leo has gone back to work, and the time spreads before me. True to his word, he checked outside before he left, scanning the green for evidence of a crime, but of course he found nothing.
Ignoring the urge to glance out of the window, I sit at my desk, determined to lose myself in art, to prove my creative flow still exists.
I won’t let what happened steal that from me.
But it’s hard not to feel as though I’ve taken a backwards step.
After months in hospital, I’d hoped to get back to some semblance of my normal life.
But the aftermath of the attack made that impossible – searing headaches, memory loss, panic attacks .
. . all supposedly ‘normal’ after a serious head injury.
Still, they made going back to work – to the school I loved – impossible.
Not to mention the trauma of knowing my attacker might have been an ex-colleague.
I’ve spent the last year trying to recover, keeping myself busy with reading and drawing.
But there’s only so long we can survive on Leo’s salary.
Besides, I miss work – I miss teaching. I just want to get back to the person I was.
It’s part of the reason we moved – a fresh start, a chance to heal.
But my recovery feels further away than ever.
Pushing the thought away, I reach for a charcoal pencil and begin sketching: long strokes of hair, blending them with my fingers to create texture. An oval-shaped face, prominent cheekbones, large, frightened eyes. Her long skirt and vest top. A depiction of the woman I saw last night.
When I’ve finished, I sit back and scrutinise my drawing – it’s rough, far from perfect, and I can’t be sure I’ve got all her features correct, as I’d only seen her from a distance.
But at the very least, it’s a sense of her.
Clutching it to my chest, I head outside and prepare to become persona non grata in Silverleaf Heights.
We’re having an early heatwave – prematurely soaring temperatures that are far too hot for May – and the sun scorches my skin within seconds of stepping outside.
Across the green, the door of Georgia’s house opens and Declan Murphy steps out, hoisting a backpack on to his shoulders.
I haven’t met Georgia’s son before, but I hurry over to him, clutching my drawing to my chest.
‘Hi,’ I say, before he reaches the end of his driveway. With dark hair and tanned skin, he doesn’t look much like Georgia, until I get closer and see they have the same large eyes and small, upturned nose.
He looks up from under his long fringe and gives a broad smile. ‘Hi.’
‘I’m Ria, from number three.’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Declan. From number one.’ He laughs. ‘Um, you all right?’ His pleasant Irish accent is identical to Georgia’s.
‘Yes, thanks. I’m good.’ I look up at the Murphys’ house. His bedroom could be the one overlooking the green, in the same position as the room I use as my studio. ‘Did you hear anything strange last night? Out here on the green.’ I gesture around.
As Declan frowns, his nose scrunches. ‘Like what?’
‘I thought I heard arguing out here. A man and a woman. I don’t sleep well so I was up at 3 a.m. Like always.’
His eyes widen, then he shrugs. ‘I didn’t hear anything. But I did fall asleep at my laptop.’ He yawns. ‘Had this long assignment to finish.’
I nod. ‘I hope you got it done.’
‘Yep.’ He points towards the metal gates. ‘If anyone was out here, it would be picked up on that beast.’
I turn to look at the large cameras on the gate post.
‘Personally, I don’t like those things,’ Declan continues, thrusting his hands in his pockets. ‘Think it violates our human rights.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘But who am I to question Giles Barton’s great wisdom?’
‘Isn’t he just trying to make this a safe community?’ I say, echoing Xander’s words from last night, each one lodging in my throat as I think of what happened right here on this green.
Declan glances back at his house. ‘Yeah, but isn’t it weird how he only put the security gate camera up after his wife died? Not when the homes were being built. Not when people were scrambling to buy them. I’m sure my dad would never have . . .’
‘Never have what?’
He glances back at his house. ‘Doesn’t matter.
My parents don’t like me saying negative stuff about this place.
They think it’s blasphemy or something to criticise Silverleaf Heights.
Look, I just don’t agree with surveillance.
I’m studying human rights law at uni so I know what I’m talking about.
There’s just no privacy any more for anyone. Where does it all end?’
I nod. Part of me agrees with Declan – are we going too far with our incessant need for everything to be caught on camera?
‘Anyway,’ Declan says, ‘I have to go or I’ll be late for my lecture.’ He walks past me. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Wait, can I show you something?’ I hold out my sketch. ‘Do you know this woman?’
He turns and walks back to me, taking the sketch and studying it. His eyes widen. ‘Wow, this is awesome. Did you do it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re talented.’
‘Thanks. But do you know who she is? Does she look at all familiar to you?’
His forehead creases. ‘Kind of. It’s hard to tell. I don’t think so. I mean, she’s got that look about her. Like she could be anyone. Is she an actor?’