Chapter 36
Euan is armed.
I should have thought of that. I saw Becca’s father’s guns in the cabinet the other day, and remember Becca gleefully telling me about her first kill – her trophy looming over the staircase.
Shooting for sport is a way of life for such people, a gun licence par for the course.
The cabinet was secured with a keypad, but it makes sense that Euan might know the code, or have watched others enter it and memorised the sequence.
‘He didn’t shoot you,’ I say carefully, trying to conceal my fear – from myself more than Jameson. If I start to unravel now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull the pieces back together. I’ll lose it completely, and be no good to anyone. I need to think clearly, I need to stay a step ahead of him.
‘Shooting is messy,’ Jameson says calmly, and I wonder if he’s working as hard as me at hanging on to his calm or if it comes naturally.
He’s been assaulted, marched across a courtyard in a blizzard at gun point, tied up, locked up and left to die.
‘No need to shoot us if he can incapacitate us so that we can’t flee the fire.
Plus, bullet wounds are going to arouse suspicion.
It needs to look like an accident for him to walk away from this. ’
I sit heavily on the side of the bath, twisting the washcloth, stained scarlet in my hands. ‘I wonder how he plans to do it.’ I still haven’t worked out the details.
Jameson looks at me like he knows he’s about to bring my world crashing down. ‘Eilish, you’re his plan. His scapegoat. He’s going to pin this whole thing on you. He has other plans for you, I’m sure – that’s why I don’t want you wandering off across the estate alone.’
‘Of course,’ I say. That’s it – the crux of everything.
Suddenly I’m almost numb – a preternatural calm sweeps over me as I face the worst truth of all.
‘He’ll say I went mad and started the blaze that burned you all alive.
He’ll manage to escape with his life … just. He’ll need me put out of the way – suicide perhaps, driven mad by my own guilt?
’ I’m lost in the imagined story now – I can almost see it playing out.
‘Maybe I’ll shoot myself, or drown myself in the freezing loch … yes, that would be more poetic.’
The loch …
‘Eilish.’ Jameson sounds like he’s in pain, and not just from his head wound. ‘Don’t, please.’
I’m quite convinced now that I’ve worked it out. His master plan. ‘There’s no point sugarcoating it, Jameson. That’s what he’s going to do, and we both know it. He’s the only one coming out of this alive.’
Jameson covers my hand with his. ‘We’ll stop him. I promise.’
I reach for a roll of bandages. I place a piece of gauze over the cut on Jameson’s head – it needs stitches, but that will have to wait – and secure it in place with the bandage, which I wind around his head. Wrap, tuck. Nice and secure.
‘Thanks,’ Jameson says in a shaky voice when I’m done. We don’t move from the side of the bath, resting and gathering our thoughts, and maybe enjoying a last quiet moment together before we both put ourselves in danger.
‘You’ll have to be fast,’ Jameson says. ‘I don’t like it, Eilish. He’s got a gun.’
‘Shooting me in the woods isn’t part of his plan,’ I say, amazed at how matter of fact I sound, and hoping I’m right. ‘He needs to get me somewhere he can stage my suicide, and I don’t plan to give him the chance.’
‘We could arm ourselves,’ Jameson says – his protectiveness is lovely, a warm cloak to wrap around me on a cold day, but I don’t have time to sink into his comfort. ‘There was more than one gun in that cabinet.’
‘I’ve never shot a gun before.’
‘Nor have I … but he doesn’t know that.’
*
We set about preparing. I pull on hiking leggings and two pairs of socks, layer up a couple of Merino tops and a fleece, retrieve my gloves still draped on the heated towel rail.
Then we leave my bedroom and creep down the stairs.
The buckets are gone from the hallway, and the door to the boot room stands open, coats on the floor like it’s recently been searched.
Still no sign of Euan, but the possibility of his presence lurking somewhere, watching me, prickles my flesh all over.
Jameson goes to the kitchen for water and a protein bar in case I get lost or stranded in the snow.
My heart is in my mouth the whole time he’s away, and it seems to take hours for him to return.
When he does, his face is drawn. ‘I checked the gun cabinet. There’s storage space for two shotguns plus an air rifle, and I definitely saw two the other day when Becca gave us our tour. There are no guns in there now.’
I let that sink in. Euan is doubly armed.
Okay, we can deal with that. He can only shoot one gun at a time anyway. So why take two?
‘Probably for the best,’ I say. ‘I’d only end up shooting myself in the foot or something. I wouldn’t have a clue what I was doing, carrying a gun would only slow me down.’
Jameson reaches for me, cups both sides of my face.
‘Eilish Culpeper, you never cease to amaze me.’ Despite the gravity of the situation, I lean into his touch.
‘I love that you’re still trying to find a bright side.
’ Jameson steps closer, his body pressed the length of mine.
He drops his head, kisses me fiercely. ‘And … I love you. You stay alive, do you hear me?’ I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
I love him too but I don’t want to say it like this, like these are our last moments and this my last chance.
I want to wait, until we’re on the other side of this.
‘Don’t walk in a straight line. Tread on tree roots or rocks whenever you can to make it harder to follow your trail.
If you find any footprints left from the other day, walk in those and cover your tracks.
I’m sure that’s what Euan did when he followed Alex up to the falls – likely he had the shotgun then too, and made Alex walk in front of him with a gun in his back.
Run if you can, avoid open ground as much as possible.
We don’t know how long it will take him to realise you’re missing from the house, but you’ve got a bit of a head start. ’
Just then we hear the soft creak of a floorboard, followed by his voice: a chillingly melodic voice. ‘I will find you, Eilish. You can’t hide from me forever.’
Jameson holds a finger to his lips. Our eyes lock as we wait, barely breathing. Moving slowly so as to make no sound, Jameson slides open a cupboard door and motions me inside. We hunker down, frozen in place, until we hear the footfalls moving past the room we’re hiding inside.
‘I’d still like to get a confession,’ I murmur, as we slip out the external door into the courtyard. The snow is everywhere, blowing in all directions. I put my hand in my pocket and wrap my fingers around the contours of Leo’s phone.
‘Out of the question,’ Jameson says in a no-nonsense tone. ‘I don’t want you getting close enough to him to record him. He’s armed, dangerous and wants you dead.’
I nod reluctantly. He’s right, but I have a psychologist’s desire to unpack and understand this psychopath.
To uncover his motivations, his deepest desires.
Without meaning to, I’m already starting to profile him – only child until the stepsister came along.
Apple of his father’s eye. A loner who didn’t make friends easily.
Jealous of Jennifer’s social ease, her confidence and careless beauty.
Jealous of her and her mother’s place in his father’s heart.
Descending into a kind of madness and taking out the man who – what?
Abused him? Dismissed him? Or simply didn’t give him enough money, perhaps.
A determined man – single-minded, and patient, able to play the long game and see things through.
Ruthless, with strong self-preservation instincts.
Arrogant, righteous – both qualities that can be more of a weakness than strength.
Jameson kisses me again – a quick, snatched gasp of a kiss, his hand warm on the back of my head. Then I turn away from him and start out.
I don’t look back.
We’ve decided that Jameson will shelter in one of the outbuildings, with a clear view of the field behind the house. Ideally, he’ll see Euan leaving to come after me, and know that he is safe, with plenty of time to get Becca, Kimmy and Leo out of the house.
I feel exposed as I hurry through the blizzard. Even with the snow cloaking me, and the trees crowding close, I sense I am being watched, followed, hunted.
I wouldn’t want to be in Jameson’s shoes either – hiding and waiting, watching the guy with the gun follow me into the woods.
My breath comes fast, and I am hot inside my waterproofs.
I grabbed Becca’s grey down jacket before I left, hoping it would camouflage me better against the snow.
I follow Jameson’s advice, and weave through the trees, glancing back occasionally to check how obvious a trail I’m leaving behind me.
How long will it take Euan to decide that I’m not in the house and come after me?
– how much time do I have before I hear him slipping through the snow behind me, catch a glimpse of his shadow, feel his breath on my neck … ?
I shiver, despite the fact that I’m sweating, and press on.
I’m scared, anxious about the arduous walk ahead.
It will be no mean feat to make it across the hills to the village in these conditions.
Jameson has given me as clear directions as possible – he spent time studying that map on the wall of the library last night.
If only I’d paid it more heed, instead of reading an old book.
My instructions are clear: reach the village, choose a house and rouse the inhabitants. Make sure they call the police.
Don’t get caught by Euan in the process, and dragged back to Tarnmore …
Or shot in the woods.
*
I’m making good progress, even with the extra distance covered by doubling back, tacking sideways, taking the less obvious routes through the snow-laden underbrush.
When I reach the edge of the forest, I have a decision to make. Here the trees thin out and there is less cover. I lean against the scaly trunk of a Scots pine and catch my breath, thinking. If I cut straight across the moor to the river, I’ll be exposed – easy to spot.
Instead, I could pick my way down to the loch – where the landscape is undulating, and rocky.
There’s a better chance of keeping hidden that way, although it will take longer.
From there, I can follow the river up into the hills.
I tilt my head to the rounded summits above, wreathed in cloud and fog.
The booming thunder-snow kept up all the way through the woods – terrifying – but there’s a brief lull, like the held breath before a scream. I have no doubt there’s more to come.
But for now the landscape is strangely peaceful.
I decide to head down to the water and make my way around the edge to where loch meets river.
From there, I can use the craggy rocks and jutting outcrops to conceal my climb.
I glance behind me, feel a prickle on the back of my neck – it’s stayed with me this whole time, but I don’t know if it’s my imagination or if Euan really is following me.
Stalking me through the trees …
I wonder how Jameson is getting on – if he’s managed to wake Leo, Bex and Kimmy, and persuade them of the danger.
I hope Euan is behind me, and not still back at Tarnmore – I dislike the idea of Jameson wrestling a gun-wielding madman for a second time.
Once he’s got the others safe, Jameson will come after me, try to catch Euan unawares from behind perhaps.
That’s the plan. He won’t leave me out here alone any longer than necessary.
What we’re going to do if Jameson catches up with Euan, we didn’t get as far as working out – hit him over the head with a rock, perhaps, and knock him out?
Disarm him, bind his hands, neutralise the threat … If only we’d been able to locate that second shotgun.
I need to hold Euan off for as a long as possible, stay unseen.
Euan is a big guy; I’m certain he won’t be able to sneak up on me without notice. I’ll see or hear him coming, have time – hopefully – to hide.
Leo’s phone bangs against my thigh in my pocket.
I know Euan wants to kill me, but I can’t suppress the instinct to try to get him talking, ask the questions that will crack him open and bring all his truths seeping out, like pus from a burst boil.
That will be someone else’s job – in this case, mine is to make it to the village alive, and summon help.
I emerge from the cover of the trees, and I’m grateful for the snow that starts to fall once more. It’s thin, hard snow – tiny ice pellets that sting my cheeks. They come thick and fast, obscuring my vision.
With limited visibility I make my way as best I can towards the loch. The ground underfoot is uneven anyway, not accounting for the snow drifted in uneven heaps, and I trip several times.
I’ve just hauled myself to my feet for the fifth time, when I hear a sound: he’s behind me—
I don’t even have time to turn, before he’s on me. Bringing me down like a wolf felling a deer. A thump on my back and I hit the snow, the weight on me smashing my face against powder, squeezing all the breath from my body. Jesus, he moved fast.
The voice in my ear is wrong. ‘We can’t let you leave, Eilish. You know that. You’re not getting out of here alive.’
Not Euan.
The weight shifts and I roll on my back, then scramble to my knees, looking up at my attacker. A pretty face peers out from a halo of fur-lined hood. Eyes black and deep as night. A red-lipped smile with a cruel curve to it.