Chapter 40 Found You
Found You
Blue twists around my legs, eager to be fed. The carabiner around his neck is empty.
I stifle a yelp.
I quickly fill his bowl, feed pellets showering the floor and then swallowing hard, with trembling fingers, I open the AirTag tracker app, to check.
It takes a moment to load, and then suddenly there it is again, the blue dot pulsing in one spot over and over.
It worked!
“Oh my god, Blue. You did it.”
He looks up at me, unimpressed by the outburst.
I look back at the pulsing dot. Anna read my message; she has the tracker. I’ve found her. But where?
I squint down at the map. It’s only two streets away.
“I’ve found you,” I tell the little pulsing dot. “I’ve found you!”
I run to the hallway, grab my bag, and pull on some sandals, then I head to the door, my phone clasped in hand. Suddenly I stop.
What if he has it? What if Simon’s waiting there for me to arrive?
Blue tangles around my legs again as I dither by the door. He wants straight out again but that is not a great idea. I scoop him up and carry him upstairs to the spare bedroom to nestle in his bed there. He’ll be safe there until I get back. I pull the door to and head back down to the hall.
The GPS app’s dot pulses in my hand. But another sudden wash of fear flashes through me at the thought of actually finding this house, and Anna and Simon and all of it.
I can’t walk right up to it. I’ll have to walk past, note the door number, and go, making sure no one notices.
I swallow hard, take a breath, and let myself out of the house.
I look down at the dot and start walking calmly. It is only now that I zoom in to read the street name.
I stop abruptly on the sidewalk, my thoughts instantly fluttering in panic.
It is the street I spent last night on. The street with Matt’s renovation. Lockheath Road.
Images of last night flash through my mind. I push away the dark thoughts now churning alive inside me. The blue dot is not coming from Matt’s, I tell myself.
I have been in his basement. It’s a home cinema, not a plywood-lined cell, containing a woman.
But the thoughts will not quiet. I turn onto his road, the dot pulsing ahead, a cold dread rising up inside me.
I keep walking, fear fizzing through me as my fingers clench the phone tighter.
Ahead, along the road, I see the construction boarding of Matt’s renovation looming, the blue dot drawing closer and closer.
Whichever one it is, I’ll just walk past it, I tell myself. I’ll note the number and just keep walking.
Then I’ll calmly go home and call the police. I’ll lie if I have to, to get them there. I’ll tell them I heard screams—whatever it takes. They will listen if I have an address. They will go and check, and they will find her, and it will be over.
It’s not Matt’s, I repeat in my head. It can’t be Matt’s.
I look down at the dot, and a massive wave of body-shaking relief floods through me. I smile—the dot is much farther along the street, and I am already about to pass Matt’s.
I slip past Matt’s and continue. But when I look down again, the blue dot has jumped back. I have passed it. I stutter to a stop.
No. No. No. No. It can’t be.
I keep walking, terrified to stay stationary, to draw attention, in case someone is watching.
I refresh the app and keep walking.
The dot pulses on behind me; I need to go back.
I make a little show of forgetting something and turn back abruptly, careful to keep my eyes fixed on my phone screen and not at the surrounding houses. The dot is approaching to my right once more, and then I am on it. I throw a quick glance to the building as I pass.
It’s Matt’s. A wave of horror crashes through me. The disc is in Matt’s house.
I look down again. No—wait—it’s not. It’s the building next door, with its overgrown pot plants and thorny bushes.
The dot wavers again. Yes, it’s in that basement. The blue dot jumps again. Matt’s.
Shit.
It might not be Matt’s; it could his neighbor’s. And yet, it could just be Matt’s.
A memory of last night flashes through my mind, Matt’s voice, spine-tinglingly close to my ear: “I’ve never shown anyone inside here. Do you promise not to judge me?”
I shudder as I walk on, my pace quickening. Could Matt be Simon? I went in there with him. Thank God I didn’t tell him about the video footage.
When I reach my street, I falter, as it occurs to me that the basement room might have its own cameras.
Suddenly hope springs up inside me, fast and bright.
There was a photo, on Matt’s Instagram grid, of him standing in a plywood room.
If I can match the room in the photo to the one in the video, then I might just have something usable.
I open the app and there it is, Matt sitting at a desk in front of a plywood wall but it could be anywhere. It’s hardly evidence.
The sound of someone’s front door slamming a street away snaps me back to the now. I need to get in somewhere safe and work out my next move.
I walk home fast, then break into a jog, then a sprint, but a wave of lightheadedness begins to sweep over me as I run: my hands tingle, my heart begins to flutter in my chest, the need to sink to the floor suddenly almost irrepressible.
Another panic attack, just like the ones I had during the divorce.
I know I will not reach my house in time and I will not be safe out here on the street.
I race past the front doors of Northcroft Road, careening to Arabella’s door, but there is no answer. I pound again, but my knocks echo back to me.
Next, I fly on to Pam’s door. I ring the bell, pound the door, my heart thundering in my ears. But there is no reply here, either—everyone is out. I turn sharply back toward my side of the street and I see that there is a person standing on the doorstep two down from me, staring straight at me.
I stumble to a halt as we lock eyes.