The Disappearance of Katie Wren (20 page)

“I don't know.”

Spotting a knife on her bedside table, I hurry over and see that there's blood on the blade. I pick the knife up and see that it has a serrated edge, and then I realize that Katie has turned to watch me.

“You need help,” I tell her. “I don't know what's going on with you right now, but first thing in the morning I'm going to call the number we were given by the hospital, and you
are
going to try seeing a therapist. You might think it's unnecessary, but... I mean, look at you! You're clearly not well!”

“I don't know,” she says calmly.

“Just stay in here until then,” I continue, keeping hold of the knife as I head to the door. “I'll get a bin bag and start cleaning up those awful birds, and in the morning you're going to get the help you need. This is going to stop. Do you understand?”

I pause for a moment and turn back to look at her. She's still sitting up in bed, still staring at me.

“Katie,” I say cautiously, trying but failing to hide the fear in my voice, “just tell me one thing. Please, promise me you weren't up at Highbeam Farm tonight. Something happened up there, something very bad, and I need to know that you weren't part of it.”

“I don't know,” she replies.

“Were you with those two girls? The two girls I saw you with on the street earlier?”

“I don't know.”

“You must know what you were doing tonight!” I continue, before realizing that I'm starting to sound exasperated. “What were their names?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know their names?”

“I don't know.”

“Katie, talk to me!” I shout, finally losing control. “You can't keep acting like this! You have to tell me what's happening!”

“I don't -”

“Stop!”

Shaking with rage and fear, I take a step back, but she seems just as calm as ever. I open my mouth to beg her again, to plead with her to talk to me, but deep down I know there's no point.

“Just wait here,” I stammer finally. “I'll be back up in a few minutes' time. Just stay right here and don't leave the room. Okay?”

I wait, and this time she says nothing at all. Turning, I hurry out onto the landing and then down the stairs. My mind is racing and I don't know what I can do to help Katie right now, but it's obvious that she needs proper help in the morning. I'm sure I can get her an emergency appointment if I call as soon as the office opens, and until then I simply have to clean her room as best I can and then apply some antiseptics to her wounds so that she doesn't end up with an infection. And I have to bag up all those awful dead birds.

My hands are trembling as I grab some bin bags from the kitchen. I turn and head back through to the front room, but I stop when I spot my laptop on the sofa.

There's no sound from upstairs, so I'm quite sure Katie is still in her room. I need to go up and check that she's okay, but I can't help going over to the sofa and opening the laptop. My heart is pounding and I know this is wrong, but at the same time I only care about looking after my daughter. I double-click on the program that Dylan installed, and a window comes up showing some kind of video file.

After staring at the screen for a few seconds, I realize I've been inadvertently holding my breath.

I double-click on the file, and a moment later I see a recording of a video call. The main part of the image shows a mass of flickering static, buzzing black-and-white with such ferocity that I can barely stand to look. In the bottom-left corner of the screen, there's a small rectangle showing Katie's face, and she appears to be staring straight at the static. This is the call she made earlier in the night, before I fell asleep and before she left the house, but it takes a moment before I realize that I have my laptop muted.

As soon as I turn the volume up, I hear a rush of noise.

“I don't know,” Katie is saying on the video, staring blankly at the screen. “I don't know.”

There's a brief roar in the noise, almost like a voice is starting to break through, but I can't make out any of the words. Evidently the connection is extremely bad. The roar continues, and Katie remains completely silent until it passes.

“I don't know,” she says again.

The roar returns, but this time I can hear a voice twisting and surging in the background. Rather than turning the volume up and risking being overheard, I lean closer to the laptop's speaker.

“Are you ready?” a male voice whispers through the noise.

“I don't know,” Katie replies.

“When
will
you be ready?”

“I don't know.”

“Will you be ready in time?”

“I don't know.”

“The High Priest -”

The noise flares again, cutting off the voice.

“I don't know,” Katie says after a moment, as if she was able to understand.

This goes on for the next few minutes. I feel a sense of shock spreading through my chest as I continue to watch the video, and it's becoming increasingly clear that Katie is in contact with someone on the other end of this call. The voice returns regularly, but I can't make out any of the words. Still, Katie always responds to its questions with the same three words, and she seems to be almost in a trance.

Finally the video comes to an abrupt end, leaving me sitting alone on the sofa. My mind is racing, filled with the most awful possibilities, and I can no longer console myself by relying on Katie's innate character. The girl upstairs is still my daughter, but I don't think I have any idea what's going through her head.

Suddenly realizing that I've left Katie alone for several minutes, I close the laptop and get to my feet. The house is completely silent now, and for a moment I can't quite bring myself to go to the stairs. The thought of seeing Katie again is almost too much to bear, since I feel as if it's not really my daughter sitting in that room.

“Pull yourself together,” I mutter under my breath. “This isn't the time for silliness. Just -”

Before I can finish, I hear the door to Katie's room swinging open, and a moment later she comes running down the stairs. Shocked, I see that she's completely naked, with markings carved not only into her chest but also down onto her waist and legs.

“They're dead!” she stammers, her eyes wide with fear. “They're dead, they...”

She hurries to the front door and tries to pull the latch open. I rush over and grab her arm, holding her back, but she's trying furiously to get outside.

“I have to go to them!” she hisses. “You don't understand! Something's gone wrong, they've been killed! I have to help them!”

“Katie, what are you -”

Letting out a cry of rage, she pushes me away and sends me crashing to the floor. As I struggle back to my feet, she pulls the door open and runs naked onto the pavement before stumbling and dropping to her knees. She tries to get up, but she seems too weak, and I rush to make sure that she's okay. There are still plenty of people outside in the cold night air, the same neighbors who earlier were gawking at the police cars and ambulances, but now they're staring at my poor girl as she starts crawling toward the curb.

“Katie, we must go back inside!” I tell her, hurrying over and reaching down to grab her arm. “Katie, please...”

“I have to go to them!” she sobs. “They must be so cold! I have to -”

Suddenly she rolls onto her side and starts sobbing, and now her whole body is shaking. I kneel and put my arms around her, holding her tight as several neighbors stare at us with shocked faces.

“It's going to be okay,” I whisper, leaning down and kissing her ice-cold shoulder. “I promise, Katie. Everything's going to be okay.”

After a moment, I turn to the gathering crowd.

“What are you looking at?” I sob. “For God's sake, somebody fetch us a blanket! And stop staring at her!”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Treatment

“Police have so far not released the names of the two victims,” the reporter continues, standing at the entrance to Highbeam Farm, “and it's believed that their identities are yet to be determined. While we wait for a press conference that's scheduled to begin at around 11am, all we can say for certain is that 65-year-old Joseph O'Brien has been taken into police custody on suspicion of two counts of murder. And the residents of Shropley wake this morning to news of a horrifying incident that has shaken this sleepy town to its core.”

“In other news,” the anchor says as the camera cuts back to him, “campaigners have launched an attempt to stop the construction of a new bypass that aims to...”

I turn away from the screen and look along the corridor. Somewhere else on this floor of the hospital, my poor daughter is being poked, prodded and examined for the umpteenth time this year. As if she hasn't already been through enough since her terrible ordeal in London, last night's breakdown has left her in dire need of psychiatric help, and I'm already resigned to the fact that she's probably going to be committed for at least twenty-four hours. Earlier, Doctor Squire asked me repeatedly whether I'd be willing to sign the necessary papers, and it's quite clear that Katie herself won't stay here voluntarily. I'm going to have to commit my own daughter to a psychiatric hospital.

I've failed her. She's twenty-one years old and she's screaming somewhere in a cell. I can't blame anybody but myself.

***

“Katie seems to be suffering from certain delusions,” Doctor Squire explains a short while later, as we sit in one of the consulting rooms. “These delusions are manifesting themselves in the form of a delirious urge to carve markings into her body, markings that certainly make no sense to any of us here. This is a sensitive question, Mrs. Wren, but when she was growing up did Katie exhibit any signs of self-destructive behavior?”

I wait for him to continue, but suddenly I realize exactly what he means.

“She never cut herself,” I tell him. “Is that what you're suggesting? No, of course not. She was always a good girl.”

“It's not about being good, Mrs. Wren. It's about the different coping mechanisms that people develop when they're dealing with stressful situations. It's not impossible that this behavior has spontaneously developed in Katie as a result of her recent experiences, but I'd say it's still likely that she had some form of self-destructive urge in the past. Her current difficulties have merely stirred that urge and perhaps exaggerated it to the point where she can no longer keep it hidden.”

“Katie has never done anything like this in the past,” I say firmly. “We've always been very close.”

“So from your perspective, this all began after she returned from London?”

I nod, and he makes another note.

“I believe her father died some years ago,” he continues after a moment.

“She was just a child.”

“How old?”

“She was six months when he was killed.”

“Too young to remember him, then.” He makes a couple more notes. “You never remarried, did you?”

“No. Of course not.”

“So it was just the two of you?”

“I fail to see how that's relevant. Katie was raised impeccably. She wanted for nothing, and she always excelled at school. People often commented on her. They said she was such a clever and charming girl. If you're suggesting that being raised by a single parent caused her to act like this...”

My voice trails off as I realize that this is
exactly
what he's suggesting. Katie never had a father figure, and perhaps that lack has finally caught up to her.

“Mrs. Wren,” the doctor continues after a few seconds, “if -”

Before he can finish, there's a sudden cry in the distance. I get to my feet, and I immediately know that it's Katie who's calling out. The cry stops abruptly, almost as if something has been placed over her mouth. Instinctively, I step toward the door. I have to help my girl.

“Please sit down, Mrs. Wren,” Doctor Squire says after a moment. “I'm sorry about that. There's nothing you can do for her right now.”

“I have to be with her,” I tell him, as I feel tears welling in my eyes.

“That's out of the question.”

“But -”

“Katie has become violent,” he continues. “I'm sorry. I wasn't going to tell you that just yet, but I'm afraid it's true. One of my orderlies suffered a broken nose while he was trying to help calm her down.”

I shake my head. “No,” I stammer. “Katie would never do anything like that.”

“It's quite natural that you feel this way. Please, sit down and let me explain what we're going to do with Katie over the next few days. It's the future that matters right now, Mrs. Wren.”

“Are you keeping her in?”

He nods.

“What if I don't agree?” I ask, trying not to panic but feeling a rush of fear in my chest. “What if I want to take her home? I can look after her, I can make her better...”

“I need you to sign the papers,” he replies. “If you refuse, I'll obtain an emergency court order, and given Katie's behavior over the past few hours I'll have no trouble persuading the court to side with me. But I think it would be better all round if you'd accept this and sign the papers yourself.”

He opens his folder and takes out a single sheet of A4 paper.

“Think of it as a deal,” he continues. “You agree to let us keep Katie here for an initial seventy-two-hour period, and in return we'll do everything we can to help her. Once that initial period is over, we'll re-assess her situation and decide whether it's safe for her to come home. And I don't only mean safe for her. Safe for you, too.”

“For me?”

“Katie is very violent at the moment, Mrs. Wren.”

“She'd never hurt me!”

“I don't believe she's in control of her impulses.” He looks down at his notes again. “There are also two police officers who want to talk to her about an incident at a farm last night. They seem to be under the impression that Katie might have been with two girls who were shot by a farmer.” He looks up at me. “I'm afraid those two girls succumbed to their injuries, Mrs. Wren. The farmer has been taken into police custody, but evidently the police believe Katie is involved somehow. There's a reasonable chance that if she walks out of here right now, she'll be arrested for trespassing, theft and various other matters relating to last night's events.”

“Katie was at home,” I stammer.

“The whole night?”

“She...” I pause as I think back to the mud on her feet. “I can't... I don't know, I...”

“This is the best option for Katie right now,” he continues. “She either stays with us, or she spends the next twenty-four hours in a jail cell. I know where
I
think she'll get the best treatment.”

As tears start streaming down my face, I sit on the chair again. For a moment, this whole situation feels as if it's crushing my shoulders, threatening to flatten me completely. I can't hear Katie right now, but I'm quite sure she's screaming somewhere in the hospital. I know that signing the papers to keep her here would be the right thing, but I'm not sure I can actually bring myself to put my name on such an awful document. What if Katie never forgives me?

“I guess it feels a little like a deal with the devil, huh?” Doctor Squire asks with a faint smile. “I'm sorry, perhaps that isn't an appropriate observation. Forgive me.”

I stare at the paper for a moment, before taking the pen and signing my name.

“You've made the right choice, Mrs. Wren.”

“I know you can't
promise
to make her better,” I reply, setting the pen aside and sliding the paper toward him before I change my mind, “but please do your very best. I thought I'd lost her once, then I got her back, but now I'm scared she's still lost. The girl who's been at home with me these past few weeks since London... I hate myself for saying this, but it's almost as if she's not really Katie. She has so much anger and so much hatred, and she seems to have a lot of secrets.”

“We're going to start with some intensive therapy sessions,” he explains. “My understanding is that aside from her interviews at the police station, Katie hasn't talked very much about what happened during her time in captivity. I think this lack of closure might be at the heart of her current problems.”

“Perhaps,” I whisper, thinking back to the sight of my daughter shivering on the steps of the ambulance.

“Has she said very much to you about that time?”

I shake my head.

“So we're still a little in the dark about what happened to her. Maybe we can -”

Before he can finish, his phone buzzes. He checks the screen, and then he immediately gets to his feet.

“I'm sorry,” he says, seemingly a little panicked as he heads to the door, “but I'm needed.”

“Is it Katie?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”

“Everything's fine, Mrs. Wren. I'll get someone to come and show you out. Please, just wait here.”

He heads out through the door, and a moment later I hear him breaking into a run as he hurries along the corridor. I'm quite certain that he was called to help deal with Katie, and that she's still resisting their attempts to help. Perhaps they're having to tie her down and sedate her, and for a moment my mind fills with the most awful image of my poor girl's ordeal. Now that I've signed the papers, the doctors here will be free to administer whatever form of treatment they deem appropriate. I just hope they can find some way to bring her back, to make her more like the Katie of old.

And while they're working with her, I think I have to do something I've been delaying for the longest time. Something necessary and important, but something that nevertheless makes my skin crawl. I have to go and face a monster.