Darcy strides across the room towards the window. She reaches up to the deep sill and lifts down a clear plastic A4 wallet. Inside it are a few sheets of paper and a biro. Callum snips the zip tie that binds my wrists behind my back. Their sudden release prompts spasms of pain up both arms and shoulders, but it does feel better to be able to move them again. I bring my hands around to my lap and rub at the red weals on my wrists.
There’s no way I’m writing that note, even if she uses her knife to coerce me. As soon as I write it I’m dead anyway, so if I have to suffer some pain . . . Yet the thought of her slicing through my skin is terrifying. Despite my fear, I take a breath and narrow my eyes. ‘I won’t do it,’ I say. ‘You write it. You’re quite the expert at forging notes – school notes at least.’
‘Ooh, Louisa’s got a bit of backbone at last,’ Darcy trills. She walks over to me, bends down and puts her face up close to mine. I marvel at her beauty. At her narrow heart-shaped face of perfect proportions. It’s almost too perfect, her skin too smooth, her features too regular. ‘You will write this note, Louisa,’ she says. ‘Don’t give me that look. I have your son. I can always arrange for Joe to disappear along with you. Jared would curse your memory forever if I was forced to take that route.’
I draw in a breath. I don’t doubt she would use my son to make me do what she wants.
‘Why are you still talking in an American accent?’ I ask, trying to delay. ‘You just told me you were British, born in Bristol. Do you have a west-country accent like your brother?’
‘I’ve become attached to my US accent,’ she replies, ‘like I’m attached to Darcy. I think I’ll keep her. Anyway, my son knows me as Darcy Lane. To him I’m American. He’s half-American, half-British. Once I kill you, that information about my old life will be buried.’
‘What about all the surveillance equipment?’ I ask, stalling again. ‘Why did Max – sorry, Callum – tell me to buy all that stuff?’
‘Oh,’ Darcy says airily, ‘that was just for fun. I wanted to see if you’d do it. If you’d put your trust in a complete stranger and go into debt just to try to catch me out. Turns out you would. Plus, it’s icing on the cake for me. The police will discover you bought a bucket load of surveillance equipment, completing the picture that you’d planned to spy on me because of your jealousy and paranoia.’ She’s enjoying this. Savouring my confusion and fear. I’m no longer surprised by her responses. I realise she must have some emotional defect. I remember watching a TV programme on psychopaths – or was it sociopaths? – I can’t remember the difference. But I’m sure Darcy is one or the other. She has no empathy. She doesn’t care about what she’s done, or what she’s about to do. She wants what she wants and that’s it.
‘Enough questions,’ she says, placing the plastic wallet on my lap.
I shake my head even though I know I have no choice.
‘That’s right,’ she says as I reach into the wallet with trembling hands. ‘Take out the pen and one of the sheets of paper and I’ll dictate your farewell note.’
I do as she instructs, conscious of my clammy fingers on the pristine page, marking it with my prints, branding myself a killer.
‘Lean on this,’ she says, passing me a hardback book on Californian wines from the dining table.
I rest the paper on the book and grasp the biro in my hand.
‘Jared,’ she says. ‘Go on, write that. Jared.’
I do as she asks, writing my husband’s name on the paper. A tear drips onto the centre of the page, soaking into the paper.
‘Perfect!’ She claps her hands together. ‘Tears add that extra touch of authenticity don’t you think? So, back to the letter. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through these past few weeks. The truth is, I haven’t been myself.
She waits for me to finish writing, the scratch of pen on paper, my tears still dripping, wrinkling the page and smudging the ink.
‘Okay, good. Now keep going: ‘I blamed Darcy for everything that was going wrong in my life, but I know now that it was all in my head. She was only trying to help. I was jealous. I was mad at you both. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I tried to set Darcy up for Mike’s murder when it was me all along. I can’t believe I did it, I’m so sorry. If I could change things I would, but it’s too late now. I love you, and Joe is the light of my life―’
‘I can’t write any more of this!’ I cry, dropping the pen on the floor.
‘Fine, fine,’ she says. ‘It looks better if it’s half finished, anyway. Shows how upset you are.’ Darcy displays no sympathy towards me at all. No sign that she’s even remotely sorry about what I’m going through. She’s cold. Dead inside. I thrust the note out towards her.
‘Put it back in the sleeve,’ she says. ‘And pick up that pen. We’ll need it for evidence, too –it’s covered in all your lovely fingerprints. That’s it. Great. Job done.’ She takes the wallet from me and places it back on the high window sill.
Despair floods me. My legs and hands shake uncontrollably. I’m terrified about dying, but I’m more torn up by the fact that Jared will really believe I lost my mind. My heart twists, knowing that my beautiful son will grow up thinking his mother was a deranged murderer.
Light suddenly spills through the edges of the blinds. The sound of tyres on gravel outside. A car!
‘Joe!’ I cry. ‘Are they back? Can I at least see him?’
‘Shit,’ Darcy says. ‘It can’t be them already. It’s only―’she glances at her watch ‘―six fifty-five.’
‘Want me to go and see to them?’ Callum says.
‘No. You keep Louisa quiet. I’ll go.’
‘Let me see my son. Please!’
‘Quiet!’ she snaps. The car headlights blink off. Darcy lays her knife down on the table, fluffs her hair and smooths her t-shirt. She crosses the room and turns out the light before she leaves, closing the door behind her. Light from the utility room above drifts down the stairs, so at least we’re not in total darkness. Callum guides my arms around the back of the chair again and starts to re-tie my wrists.
‘Can you at least tie them in front?’ I ask. ‘It’s so painful when they’re pulled back like that.’
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I have to do it this way.’ Once he’s done, he comes back around the front and crouches down in front of me, taking a length of material from his pocket.
I shake my head as I realise what it is. ‘You don’t need that,’ I whisper. ‘I’ll be quiet, I promise.’ The thought of being gagged makes me light headed. What if I can’t breathe properly?
‘Sorry,’ he repeats, pushing the cold, dusty material between my teeth. He straightens up and walks behind me, tying the material tight at the back of my head.
The doorbell sounds, distracting me from my panic. Surely Marianna would have a door key. Is Darcy going to answer it? I hold my breath and strain my ears. From above, out there on the driveway come faint voices, Darcy’s laughter. Who is it? Who is it? Oh my God, I know that voice.
‘Mmmmmhph!’ I try to call out, but this bloody gag has done its job of almost silencing me.
‘Shh,’ Callum whispers. ‘No one can hear you.’
I ignore him, writhing in my seat and straining against my gag for all I’m worth. Callum grips my shoulders hard until I squeal in pain.
‘I asked you to be quiet,’ he says.
The tone of his voice chills me so I quiet down, but I can’t stop the tears of frustration running down my face. It’s Jared’s voice I hear up there. He’s so close, he could come in here and save me. He could race down the stairs right now and see what his precious Darcy has done to me.
‘If she gets in touch, I’ll let you know,’ Darcy says, her voice louder now.
Lying bitch. I’m sure she wants me to hear. Jared has obviously come here looking for me. He must have got my message. If only he’d arrived a few minutes earlier he would have seen my car. Now it’s too late.
As the front door closes and his footsteps crunch away ov
er the gravel, hope drains from my body. He believed her. He’s going to drive out of here and go home. And I’ll probably never see him again. He’s leaving. And I’m left here with a modern-day version of the Kray twins.
The light comes on, making me squint for a moment. When my vision clears, I see Darcy coming back down the stairs. If only I could rip this gag off my mouth so I could quiz her about what Jared was doing here, about what lies she told him.
‘In case you didn’t hear, that was your darling husband,’ she says, walking across the room and turning to face me, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Apparently, you left him a garbled message. Something about me picking Joe up from school. It’s okay, I told him he wasn’t to worry.’ She smiles and tosses her hair back. ‘I reassured him. Told him I saw you collect Joe. That the children were late coming out of class but that everything’s fine now.’
My blood heats up and my heart pounds. If only I could rip the bonds from my body and scratch her evil face off. But the more I struggle, the more the ties dig in, and the more impotent I feel. My muffled cries grow stronger, the gag cutting into the edges of my mouth as I try to yell.
‘Oh for God’s sake, shut up or I’ll shut you up,’ Darcy snaps. ‘You sound like some kind of sick zoo animal.’
I give one last grunt before abandoning my attempts to yell at her, knowing it’s pointless.
Darcy turns away from me, her bright hair swinging, a waft of her perfume invading my nostrils, clinging to the back of my throat. But something distracts me from my misery. My heart gives a small leap as I hear a familiar sound – it’s Mr Brightside coming from upstairs, getting louder.
‘Where the hell is that music coming from?’ Darcy says. ‘Is that . . . Is that your phone?’ Her eyes widen with panic as my eyes glitter with triumph. She turns back and grips my shoulder so hard it feels like she’s going to break it. For all her planning – she hasn’t got everything covered – she forgot about my mobile phone which is sitting in my bag in the hall upstairs.
‘Go and turn that bloody thing off,’ she hisses to Callum.
He heads for the stairs
My heart thumps as I hear Jared’s footsteps approaching the house once more. He’s come back! He must have called my phone and heard it ringing inside the house.
‘Damn, it’s too late,’ Darcy cries. ‘Cal, wait!’
The doorbell rings. Now, there’s banging on the door. ‘Louisa!’ Jared yells. ‘Are you in there? What’s going on? Darcy! Open the door! Let me in!’
‘You’ll have to go and shut him up,’ Darcy hisses to her brother. ‘Go round the back so he doesn’t see you.’
Callum disappears up the stairs, his footsteps receding. Darcy crosses the room and turns out the light. The doorbell is still ringing, the banging continues. Jared is threatening to call the police now.
Good. Do it. I will him to call them.
The basement is dark now, aside from the overspill of light filtering down the stairs. Darcy is on tiptoe at the thin strip of window, peering through a gap at the bottom of the blinds.
‘Shit,’ she mutters. She crosses the room and follows after her brother, leaving me alone.
After a moment, Jared’s voice falls silent and the doorbell stops ringing. That can’t be a good thing. Can it? What the hell is going on up there? I hear more footsteps outside on the gravel. Then, Darcy’s voice – her words like machine-gun fire, angry and sharp. Callum replies, his voice low and pleading, becoming louder as they return to the house.
‘You told me to,’ he says.
‘You could’ve killed him, you idiot,’ she replies. ‘Now what are we going to do? Ugh, I should have come up here myself. I’m sure I could have explained her phone being here. Now it’s all ruined.’
‘Sorry, Nic. I mean, Darcy.’
‘I always have to sort out everything myself. Bring him to the basement, then.’
The overhead light flashes on and I blink and squint as my eyes adjust to the brightness. I hear footsteps, and the thud of something heavy being dragged along the floor and then down the stairs. Darcy’s tan boots appear on the wooden steps, followed by the rest of her. Callum is following behind her. He’s half-dragging my husband. Oh God, Jared looks like he’s . . .
‘Calm down, he’s still alive,’ Darcy drawls, reading my worried expression.
I try to speak, try to ask what they’ve done to him, but this damn gag is doing its job of keeping me quiet.
Darcy sets another wooden chair next to mine and Callum plonks my husband onto it. Jared’s head lolls and he lets out a low moan. Darcy holds him steady while Callum binds his hands and feet. Once he’s secure, Darcy starts pacing up and down the length of the cellar, tapping her fingernails together, her eyes narrowed, her mouth screwed up. She doesn’t know what to do. She’s worried.
So am I.
Chapter Thirty Three
Thank God. I know I shouldn’t want Jared to be caught up in Darcy’s plan, but now he’s here, my stomach isn’t churning quite as much. I’m convinced we’ll have a better chance of getting out of this together. Darcy has feelings for him, I’m sure of it. She won’t let him die, and Jared won’t let her kill me.
Darcy paces the floor, a frown on her face.
I gaze at my husband, his eyes closed, his head drooping over his chest, hair falling over his forehead. Suddenly, his eyes fly open. He snaps his head up. Unfortunately, he’s already been secured to the chair, his hands tied behind his back. ‘What the . . .’ He moves his shoulders and jerks his body, trying to figure out what’s going on. I can’t even warn him about what’s happened as I still have this stupid gag over my mouth.
Jared glares at Darcy who’s standing in front of the wine rack. And then his gaze lands on me, tied up and gagged beside him. His eyes widen further. ‘Lou! What the hell’s going on? Darcy? Why am I―’
Darcy holds up her hand to halt his questions but he ignores her.
‘Will somebody explain what the fuck my wife and I are doing tied up in here. And did someone just hit me on the head?’ He blinks and swings his head from left to right, catching sight of Callum who walks over to Darcy’s side. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Jared asks.
‘It’s unfortunate,’ Darcy replies. ‘You were meant to get back in your car and leave. If you’d done what you were supposed to, you wouldn’t be down here now.’
‘What?’ Jared sounds woozy. ‘Where are we?’
‘Mike’s wine cellar,’ she replies.
‘In your house? In the basement?’ His voice is clearer now. He blinks and glances wildly around.
‘Correct,’ she says.
‘I don’t know what you’re playing at,’ he growls, ‘but you better untie us right now. Are you insane?’
I want to shout yes she fucking is insane and if you’d listened to me in the first place we wouldn’t be down here now.
He turns to look at me, fear and concern clouding his eyes. ‘My God, Louisa, are you hurt? I was calling you. I heard your ringtone.’ He turns back to Darcy. ‘Take that gag off her mouth! Why do you have my wife down here? God, my head hurts like a bastard. What the hell is going on?’
‘If you could be quiet for a minute,’ Darcy says icily, ‘I’ll tell you.’
Jared’s face darkens and twists, his eyes are narrow slits. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry.
‘Your wife here was about to commit suicide,’ Darcy says.
‘What!’
‘But then you got all nosey and angry, so now it looks like she’ll be taking you and Joe with her. She’ll be driving off a cliff into a quarry tonight and you’ll all be going along for the ride.’
‘What the actual fuck are you talking about?’ Jared cries.
‘You were supposed to leave,’ Darcy yells back, her composure ruffled. She takes a breath through gritted teeth and lowers her voice. ‘But you didn’t. So now I’m going to have to kill you. Or, more accurately, Callum here is going to kill you. And, to make it look authentic, I’m
afraid Joe is going to be part of this family trip to the quarry.’
Jared is shaking his head. I’m starting to hyperventilate. Surely she’s not going to include Joe in her psychotic plan. Not my baby boy. I try to yell, try to break free, but it’s hopeless.
‘Oh my God,’ Jared murmurs. ‘Louisa was right about you all along. You’re mad. You’ve been targeting her, playing us all. Why didn’t I see it before?’
‘Because I didn’t want you to see it,’ she replies.
‘Why?’ he asks. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘Oh, I’m not going into all that again,’ she says. ‘I’ve already explained it once this evening. Callum, shut him up. Gag him or something.’
Callum starts to protest. ‘I haven’t got anything to―’
‘Use his frigging scarf or something.’ She puts a hand to her forehead as Callum quickly does as she asks.
Jared turns to look at me, a mixture of emotions in his eyes – anger, fear . . . an apology.
‘What did you mean?’ Callum asks, straightening up and turning to face his sister. ‘You said I have to kill them.’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she says. ‘You’re going to kill them all.’
‘No. Not the little boy,’ he says.
‘It will be better,’ she explains, ‘cleaner. More believable. And it will ruin her reputation even further if it looks like she’s killed her husband and son along with herself. No one forgives that sort of behaviour.’
‘I . . . I can’t, Nic. You’re the one who does the killing. I can’t do it. I always do the other stuff. I’m good at the other stuff.’
‘You have to man up, Callum,’ she says, her accent slipping. ‘Yes, it’s always me who does it. Now it’s your turn. I have too many other things to organise – planting Mike’s murder weapon, leaving the suicide note. Tying up all the loose ends. All you have to do is put on a pair of gloves, knock them out, put the car in first gear and send them off the edge of the cliff. Easy. Jared and Joe will be tied up anyway because she’ll be killing them against their will.’
‘No, I can’t.’