Chapter 1
The Night Watcher
Caroline Mitchell
Nine-year-old Belinda Hollis crept from her bed.
She had begged mum and dad to let her have her kitten in her room instead of keeping her basket in a cage downstairs.
It was her birthday, after all, the one day of the year when she pretty much got everything she wanted.
But her parents had drawn the line at her having a kitten in bed.
She tiptoed out of her room. It was past midnight and mum would not be happy if she caught her.
Mum was funny about things like that. Most of her friends got to stay up late, but not her.
Belinda’s family got up early and they went to bed early.
That was the rule. But Belinda needed to see Tinkerbell one more time.
To touch her fluffy grey fur and kiss her tiny pink nose. And those little marshmallow toe beans…
The smile fell from her face as a figure emerged on the landing, closing the door of her parent’s room.
Dressed in black. Holding a knife. Belinda’s heart flip-flopped at the sight of him, her open mouth unable to release the scream lodged in her throat.
Terror had stolen Belinda’s breath. He moved like a shadow in the blackness…
except for the blood sliding off the blade.
The intruder’s face was wrapped up in a balaclava, and as he smiled, all Belinda could see was the chilling flash of eyes and teeth.
Seconds passed. His breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling as he stood at the far end of the landing.
Belinda was next to the stairs. She wanted to call out for her daddy.
But the blood…. As if a starting pistol had fired, Belinda ran.
Her little legs pistoned down the narrow stairs.
She would run next door, to Mrs Healy. Her husband was in the RAF.
He would know what to do. The warm kitchen air enveloped her, still smelling of pizza and extinguished birthday candles.
A limp “Happy Birthday” balloon floated in mid-air.
Cake crumbs littered the kitchen counter.
Her kitten moved in the corner of the room.
But Belinda could only hear the slow, heavy footsteps hitting each stair.
No rush. Just one after the other, thump…
thump…thump. Her heart beat like a trapped bird in her chest. That strip of white teeth.
Those cold, narrow eyes. Why were they out of breath?
What had they been doing? And where were Mummy and Daddy?
She had to get out. Belinda pulled on the locked kitchen door, hands shaking, breathing in quick short spurts.
But the door wouldn’t open. The key that usually sat in the lock was gone.
She screamed for her father who had given her piggy back rides and her favourite ice-cream that day.
Her scream became a squeak as her mouth was cupped by a cold leather glove.
The heavy footsteps had turned to silence.
The man had sped through the kitchen like a ghost and now he was all over her.
Nostrils flaring, she struggled for breath.
It felt like she was kicking a wall. In the corner of the kitchen, her kitten mewed.
The clock on the wall ticked. But there was nothing of Belinda’s parents in any of this.
Just the stink of the man’s sweat, garlic breath and the ugly tang of blood.
She fought against the body pressed tightly against her own, his leather glove grazing her face as she tried to bite down.
A voice came, his breath cold against her ear.
“Shut up if you want to see your mum and dad again.”
They’re alive? Tears brimmed in Belinda’s eyes.
“Do you want to see them again?” The glove loosened.
Belinda nodded fervently.
‘Then hush. I’ll take you for a drive. Then I’ll let you out, alright?
I just need time to get away. It’ll take you half an hour to walk back.
But you don’t want to know what happens if you scream.
Understand?’ His voice was strong and commanding as she nodded.
His knife was gone, but he wore a black backpack.
It terrified her to think what could be in there, and what he had been doing in her parents room.
She was ushered into the night. Past her dad’s wellington boots and the bicycle parked up against the side of the house.
Past the silly garden gnomes that her mum had bought at the market for a laugh.
The sudden biting cold shocked her skin as the air crept under her nightdress.
Her eyes widened as he opened the boot of the car and a blanket was pulled across.
“Lie down. Cover up. Don’t move. Not a sound.
” He lifted her into the boot of the car, her body convulsing with fearful sobs.
The lid was shut with a frightening sense of finality. She huddled her knees beneath the scratchy blanket, her cheek pressed to the stale carpet of the boot. The darkness closed in around her, burying her in the smell of dog and air freshener.
A tune filtered from the car. The whispery vocals of “I’m Not in Love” masked Belinda’s whimpers.
She jolted as the car bumped the kerb. Warm tears trickled down her face as the journey continued.
But they weren’t moving for long, as the car came to a juddering halt.
Perhaps the man was going to let her out now.
Or maybe he was going to do something bad.
A jumble of voices rose outside. She pushed the blanket to see a chink of light through the back seats.
She remembered her daddy letting the seats of their car down once when mummy bought that big plant from B&Q.
If the man was talking to people, it meant he wasn’t letting her out.
She needed to see more. She pressed against the seats, her heart fluttering as they moved just enough to give her hope.
Shuffling in the small space, she positioned herself with both feet against the seats, held her breath and kicked hard.
Then she was out, tumbling into the back seat of the car, pulling at the door.
Her heart plummeted as it failed to open, but as she glanced out the window, she realised that she wasn’t alone.
“Help!” She screamed, hammering both fists on the glass.
The man driving the car wasn’t wearing his balaclava now. He glared out the window at the faces of two police officers in uniform staring in at her. Then she was jerked forwards, leaving the officers running after back for their car.
Belinda gripped the seats as she waited for the threats and recrimination. They never came. His shoulders hunched, her kidnapper was staring ahead as they sped down the dark and winding road. “They’ll try to box me in ahead,” he muttered, eyes fixed on his mirrors. “Standard tactic. It won’t work.”
“You stupid! You stupid little bitch!” The man in the driving seat shouted, and Belinda took in his short brown hair, his thin, worried face glancing over his shoulder as blue lights started flashing from behind. “Get down!” he shouted as she blocked his rear view.
She pulled at a door that wouldn’t open, tumbling over onto her side as the car bumped hard over a grass verge. He was driving faster into the night. Too fast. Fast enough to kill.
“Strap yourself in, love.” Belinda heard her father’s voice above the sirens that were getting closer by the second.
Soft, kind, so unlike the man driving. Four words.
That’s all it was. The last time she would hear the sound of the man she loved most in the world.
She reached for the seatbelt, swallowed back her tears and pushed it firmly into place.
It gave a final “click” and they seemed to move in slow motion as the car came off the road.
Spinning, tumbling, in a never ending sequence of weightlessness as air bags activated, pressing against her fragile body as they span, round and round in the night.
Chapter 2
Saturday, January 2027
Happiness is a place between too little and too much.
Elea mused on the Finnish saying as she cradled her cup.
She leaned back in her seat next to the coffee shop window, steam curling up from the surface of her coffee.
As usual, she sat alone, her leather handbag on the surface of the blond wood table.
Once, her thoughts had been so busy that she’d left without her bag.
Now it sat in plain sight as she stared beyond it through the large windows which offered a welcome view.
Inside the bag was a snow globe. A purchase for Bekka, her granddaughter in England.
She’d given her so many presents at Christmas, but couldn’t resist one more.
Bekka – huge blue eyes, blonde hair and an insatiable curiosity towards the world.
The corners of Elea’s mouth turned upwards at the thought of the little girl.