An Impossible Dilemma: A Psychological Thriller Novel (27 page)
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Authors: Netta Newbound
The police were like an army of ants crawling through the place. They paid no attention to Emily and me, giving me time to get my thoughts in order.
They were obviously in no doubt that Alex was responsible. Let’s face it, who would believe a six-year-old girl could be a coldblooded killer? I had only just left the clinic and had a watertight alibi, so I couldn’t be a suspect.
Everybody knew that Alex had left under a cloud after attacking Frank. Sweet Alex, who we thought couldn’t ever hurt a fly, had actually murdered his entire family. And now, in a roundabout way, he had murdered mine.
It struck me that every single person I cared about was gone—except, of course, for Emily, and that was only a matter of time.
I glanced down at the pathetic and terrified little girl in my arms. There were no longer any signs of the monster I’d witnessed earlier. In fact, if it wasn’t for the dead bodies about the place, I’d think I imagined the whole thing.
A commotion outside alerted me that Lyn had arrived. The police wouldn’t allow her to enter the crime scene and advised her to take me to her house. A uniformed policewoman assisted me downstairs with Emily. My legs felt like jelly, and I struggled to stay upright.
At the sight of Lyn, the tears began to flow. She pulled me into her arms and I shook uncontrollably, teeth chattering as though freezing cold.
Once in Lyn’s car, I noticed Emily’s hands and fingernails were still covered in blood and quickly dragged her to me again. I insisted on us both having a bath as soon as we arrived at Lyn’s house and I scrubbed my daughter, almost ripping her skin off.
Dazed, Emily took everything I did without comment or complaint. I wondered how much she actually remembered and how much she’d blocked out.
We stayed with Lyn, Dave and Michael for a few days. I wouldn’t allow Emily out of my sight in case she went on another killing spree. I now knew what she was capable of, but the others didn’t. I couldn’t wait to get her back home.
I functioned through a kind of numbing haze. Focused on Emily. Other than that, I wouldn’t let myself think, knowing as soon as I let myself grieve for Frank and Steph, my guard would be down, raising the risk of getting found out.
The police were more than certain Alex had carried out the murders, especially when they found a notepad under his mattress with all our names listed. Jonathan’s had been scribbled out. They were convinced Alex had caused his accident. They said Emily and I were lucky, as our names had also been on the list.
Michael still intended to take over the running of the farm, and I needed him to, now more than ever. However, I needed to do one more thing before that would be possible. So on Saturday morning, I made my excuses and left Emily with Lyn while I cleaned the pigsty one last time.
The funerals were to take place next week. Lyn and Dave had been fantastic and organised everything for Frank. It was one less thing for me to worry about. He would be buried in the same plot as his wife.
Steph would be buried in Manchester, and her distraught parents had arranged everything. I hated the thought of seeing them, but I owed it to my dear friend to go.
Four months later
I stroked Emily’s forehead and she turned her face towards me, her eyes flickering open.
“Hi, Mummy,” she whispered.
“Hello, my precious girl. How are you feeling?”
“Tired.” Her voice no more than a squeak.
“I know, sweetie. It’s okay. You go back to sleep.”
“Don’t go.”
“I’m staying right here. Don’t worry.” I placed her hand back inside the bedclothes.
She smiled at me and my heart contracted.
It had only been four months.
Four months since Alex, four months since Frank and Steph, four months of nightmares and utterly wretched loneliness.
I had contemplated confessing all, but there would be nobody to care for my sick daughter if I had. I felt immense guilt, but figured I’d paid for my sins in a roundabout way. Once Emily died, who knows?
Emily had begun to feel sick a lot earlier this time. She’d hardly left her bed for the past two weeks, and was living on liquid meal replacements as she had no appetite. Doctor Davies said a feeding tube might be necessary soon, but I wanted to hold off on that as long as possible.
The change in her breathing indicated she slept once again.
I walked to the window and had to squint my eyes from the glare of the stark white snow that had fallen overnight.
A scraping sound, the sound of metal on concrete, had me puzzled and I stretched to see what was making the noise.
Michael shovelled snow away from the path at the front of the house.
I felt grateful for his concern and the way he always seemed to be one step ahead of me, always thinking of ways he could make my life easier without muscling in and making a nuisance of himself. I appreciated his friendship.
I heard the front door open and Sally-Ann appeared out on the path next to Michael, handing him a cup of coffee.
Michael removed his gloves, balanced them on the concrete lion ornament by the front door, and gratefully accepted the steaming mug.
Sally-Ann had been a great help, staying with me since the funerals. I hadn’t a clue what I’d do without these two special people in my life.
“Mummy?”
Her voice was so quiet I thought I must have imagined it, until Emily added, “I need some more special medicine. Please, Mummy.”
My heart missed a beat. I’d resigned myself to the fact that I would lose my daughter very soon, but I hadn’t realised how difficult it would be, knowing I could actually fix her for a while longer.
I’d thought of very little else lately.
Sally-Ann’s tinkling laughter caught my attention and I glanced out at her once more before answering.
“I’ll try, sweetie. I’ll try.”
Three months later
Michael breezed into the kitchen, arms laden with goodies which he placed on the bench top.
“Two bottles of bubbly for you, fillet steak for me and a huge bar of chocolate for the invalid … where is she, by the way?” he asked, glancing round.
“Upstairs in her room. She should be down shortly,” I said.
“Good, and is she feeling any better?”
“I think so. She said she’s looking forward to everyone coming,” I said. “I, on the other hand, am not. Having a barbecue wasn’t one of your best suggestions, Michael.”
“Why not? You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” His eyebrows furrowed.
“It’s been ages since I entertained and I feel jittery at the thought of everyone here.”
“Nonsense, it’s only Mum and Dad and the Andersons—hardly everyone. We’ll save that for next time.” He smirked.
I flicked the tea towel at him and laughed.
“Okay, Mum said she’s bringing potato salad and a dessert. Is there anything you want me to be getting on with?”
“The music. I don’t have much of a selection.”
Michael smiled, held up one finger and with his other hand, rummaged in his jeans pocket, and produced an iPod.
“Is there anything you haven’t thought of?” I laughed again.
“I don’t think so. I’m determined we’ll have a great time.” He reached for my hand and pulled me towards him, expertly wedging me between him and the kitchen units.
I looked up into his lovely eyes and he bent in towards me, our noses touching.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
“I am now,” I said, before he kissed me deeply.
The sound of someone running down the stairs made us spring apart and I turned rapidly back to the stove top, my face on fire.
We’d been seeing each other for a few weeks but we’d decided to keep it to ourselves for the time being.
“Here she is,” Michael said. “How are you feeling, love?”
“Better, thanks.”
“You still look peaky. Are you sure you’re up to this?” I said.
“Yeah. It’s just a cold,” Sally-Ann replied. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, well don’t feel you need to be here if you’d rather go back to bed,” I said.
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
I turned my back on them and began peeling potatoes.
Sal had just signed up at the University of Glasgow for a five year Veterinary course, which I insisted paying for. It was no skin off my nose—Frank had left me very well off, and let’s face it, I didn’t have anything else to spend the money on.
I worried about her going, but knew it would be the making of her. She would leave in September and be away term time.
Emily had passed away in her sleep on Monday the twelfth of May. It came as a huge relief. I couldn’t bear watching her suffer for one moment longer. Plus, the temptation to fix her one last time had haunted me twenty-four-seven. Several times I had to stop myself eyeing Sally-Ann up. It would have been so easy. But I hadn’t seriously considered it, not really.
I still felt immense guilt for the deaths of my family. Jonathan had been out of my hands, but Frank and Steph would be here now had we not tried to play God.
I could talk myself into believing they all deserved it, Shane, Hector, Alex, and even Frank—but I couldn’t justify Steph. She’d been totally innocent.
Michael cleared his throat, making me jump.
“Before everyone gets here, I want to make a toast,” he said as he popped the cork on the sparkling wine and poured three glasses.
I turned to face him, wiping my hands on a towel.
“Okay, now we all know it’s been a terrible year.”
I glanced away, unsure where he intended to go with this.
“I realise how difficult planning for tonight has been for you, Vicki, and I know I bullied you into it.”
I laughed and nodded, as tears filled my eyes.
“But I want to tell you how proud I am that you’re taking this step.”
“Hear! Hear!” Sally-Ann said.
I smiled and raised my glass towards him. Our eyes locked. Then he turned to face the far wall and the cluster of photo frames that adorned it.
“To loved ones, past and present,” Mike said.
“To loved ones,” Sally-Ann and I both repeated.
As we raised our glasses and drank, my eyes lingered on each image for a few seconds.
Jonathan, Frank, Steph and my beautiful Emily.”
The End
Netta Newbound, originally from Manchester, England, now lives in New Zealand with her husband, Paul and their boxer dog Alfie. She has three grown-up children and two delicious grandchildren.
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Acknowledgements
I want to thank my family and friends for putting up with me during the writing of this novel, in fact for putting up with me full stop!
To my wonderful husband Paul, it’s corny but true – I couldn’t have done any of this without you.
To my eldest son Anthony, who after reading this book in its early draft, rang his dad to warn him never to buy any pigs!
To my middle son Jono, whose imagination is almost as sick as mine.
To my youngest son Adam for spurring me on and believing in me.
To my wonderful critique partners Sandra Toornstra, Linda Dawley, Serena Amadis and Jono Newbound—you’re the best.
My wonderful editor Iola Goulton.
And finally, to Tracey Alvarez and the BOCHOK Babes – my go-to group for anything from critiquing to formatting or just a good old moan. Where would I be without you?
