The Disappearance of Katie Wren (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Recovery

“I feel so much better! It's like all that darkness has just lifted from my mind and I can start living again! I think I'm finally ready to face the world and stop moping around!”

I turn and watch, open-mouthed with shock, as Katie hurries across the living room. It's two weeks now since I committed her to the psychiatric ward, and just two hours since I picked her up from the hospital. To say that her progress has been remarkable would be an understatement. Even Doctor Squire and the others on the ward admitted that she's unusually perky and happy, but I can't deny that I seem to finally have
my
Katie back. This time, I think the nightmare really
is
over.

“Do they still do those big Sunday roasts at the pub?” she asks, coming back through with a can of soda. “The food at that hospital was kinda yucky and tasteless. Do you know what I need? Roast beef, Yorkshire puddings and a whole lot of gravy! That's what kept me going, you know. I was just dreaming of a big roast!”

She pauses, grinning at me.

“What do you say, Mum?” she continues. “Why don't we resume an old Wren family tradition, huh? We always used to go and have Sunday lunch together in the past, and it's been a long time since we hung out.”

“Of course,” I reply, “but are you sure you're -”

“Don't fuss!” she laughs, before taking a sip of soda. “I get it, you're worried about me, and that's not exactly a surprise. I don't completely remember what I was like when I came home before, but I have these flashes where I...”

Her voice trails off for a moment. Her smile almost fades, before coming back strong.

“The point is,” she continues, “I'm over it now. Or at least, I'm coping with it better. I have the diary that Doctor Squire told me to keep, and I have those exercises that I'm supposed to do once a day, and I also have a few pills to take. I know this might seem sudden, and I'm kinda surprised myself, but I really feel like I'm ready to take on the world again! Full speed ahead!”

“That's wonderful, but -”

“I'll grab my other shoes and then we can go to the pub,” she adds, heading to the stairs. “Plus, we need to talk about when I'm going back to London.”

“I beg your pardon?” I ask, convinced that I must have misheard.

“We need to talk about London!” she shouts, bounding up the stairs two-at-a-time. “About my triumphant return!”

A moment later I hear her hurrying into her room, but I'm left standing alone for a moment, trying to work out exactly what she just meant. It almost sounded as if she's planning to leave home again, although I know that can't possibly be true. Finally I head to the stairs and make my way up, and when I reach the door to her room I see that she's rifling through her closet. I watch her for a moment, before she glances at me and smiles. She seems so happy.

“What's up, Mum?” she asks. “You're hovering again.”

“You can't seriously be thinking of going to London,” I tell her. “Katie, please, the very idea is enough to give me palpitations.”

“It wasn't London that hurt me,” she replies. “It was one man, and he's gone now. I'm not gonna let one man ruin my life.”

“Still, I really think -”

“You need to relax more,” she adds, pulling a pair of silver trainers from the closet and sitting on the edge of the bed so she can slip them onto her feet. “What happened to me was all kinds of messed-up, but I was incredibly unlucky. If I chicken-out and decide to spend the rest of my life tucked away safely in Shropley, I'll be letting Timothy Ashford-Clarke win. There's no way I'm doing that. While he's rotting in his grave, I'm gonna go back to London and live my life.”

She finishes tying her trainers and then she gets to her feet.

“I'm ready!” she exclaims with a grin. “For anything the world wants to throw at me!”

“But -”

“And please don't turn this into a thing,” she adds, grabbing her jacket and coming over to join me. “It's so
not
a thing. It
could
be a thing, if we let it, but we're not gonna. And do you know why? Because we're Wren women, and Wren women don't let assholes like Timothy fuck-face Ashford-Clarke get them down. I refuse to be beaten by this.”

“That's very admirable,” I reply as she hurries to the top of the stairs and then runs down to the front room, “but...”

My voice trails off as I hear her bounding about downstairs. She honestly seems to have more energy, and more enthusiasm for life, than anyone I've ever met. I'm glad that she seems optimistic again, but at the same time I can't help worrying that she's just a little
too
bouncy. Making my way to the stairs, I head down and reach the hallway just in time to see Katie pulling the front door open. It's as if this little house, perhaps even this little town, can no longer contain her.

“It's a gorgeous day,” she points out, turning to me. “We've got plans to make, Mum. Trips to London to plan, and so much more! If Dad could see me now, he'd be proud, wouldn't he?”

“Of course, but -”

“So that's what matters,” she adds. “I want to feel like I'm strong, and that means getting on with my life. I also wanna pop into the store on the way to the pub, so I'll go on ahead and then I'll meet you in our usual booth. Okay?”

“Yes, but I just -”

“Seeya!” With that, she hurries away along the pavement, and once again I'm left standing completely alone. I almost feel dizzy, since Katie seems to be such a whirl of energy, but I suppose she's simply enjoying her new-found freedom now that she's out of the hospital. I should be pleased for her, instead of clinging to all my old fears and concerns, so I fetch my jacket from the hook and head out onto the pavement.

“She looks happy,” Milly says, smiling at me as she sweeps her step.

I turn and watch as Katie makes her way into the store.

“Yes,” I mutter under my breath. “She certainly does.”

***

“But it's so sudden,” I point out later, as Katie sits on the lid of her suitcase and starts pulling the zip around. “This is madness! You can't just go to London as soon as you get home!”

“Why not?”

“Because you haven't planned it at all!”

“I told you,” she continues with a smile, “I met some friends when I was there before, and they have a spare room I can use for a while until the next course starts. It'll be good for me, it'll give me time to just hang out in London and get my bearings. And it's not like there were any conditions attached to my release from the hospital. They said I'm totally free to do whatever I want, and it's not like I'm a kid anymore. You can't stop me, Mum.”

“But -”

“You
can't
!”

“I know, but -”

“So don't even try!” For the first time, her tone becomes a little more serious, as if she's annoyed by my constant protests. She glances at me, and for a moment I see a hint of frustration in her eyes. “What happened last time isn't your fault,” she tells me, “so it's not like you have to prove anything. But if you put your foot down and insist that I stick around in Shropley all my life, then that
would
be your fault. Not that I'd actually listen to you, but seriously... Mum, I can handle this. And so can you. We're modern women in the twenty-first century. It takes more than Timothy fucking Ashford-Clarke to hold either of us back.”

“I just think you're rushing this,” I tell her. “It's as if you're trying to prove something.”

“I
am
trying to prove something!”

“To me? Or to the world, or -”

“To myself! I'm trying to prove that I'm strong enough!”

She hauls her suitcase off the bed. It's clearly too heavy for her, but she manages to set it down and then she starts wheeling it to the doorway.

“So are you gonna literally stand in my way?” she asks with a faint smile as she reaches me. “Is that your cunning strategy to keep me here? 'Cause I've gotta tell you, there's a bus that leaves in forty minutes and then there's an overnight train to London that leaves just before midnight, and I plan to be on both of them. You just have to trust that lightning isn't going to strike twice, okay? Nothing bad is going to happen to me.”

I open my mouth to argue with her, to tell her that I can't in good conscience let her go, but suddenly I realize that I'll sound like the most awful fuss-pot. She's more than old enough to make these decisions for herself, and it's not as if I can keep her prisoner here at Shropley for the rest of her life.

“You have to promise me that you'll be careful,” I tell her, with tears in my eyes.

“I promise.”

“And that you'll be careful if you meet anyone new.”

“I promise.”

“And that you won't blindly trust any -”

“I promise.”

She steps closer and kisses me on the forehead.

“I have a bus to catch, Mum,” she reminds me, and now there are tears in her eyes, too. “Do you wanna know a secret?” she continues. “I'm scared. I'm really scared. I'm almost shaking with fear, and there's a very big part of me that wants to just shrink back and stay here forever. But I can't let myself do that, because I can't let myself be a coward. I couldn't live with myself, and I feel like tonight's the night when I decide what kind of person I am. If I stay even one more night, I'll end up never going back to London. This is the night when I have the courage, so this is the night I have to go.”

“But the people you're staying with -”

“I told you about them earlier, remember?”

“Yes, but -”

“They're good people. Good friends. They know what happened to me, and they'll help me get used to things slowly.”

She pauses, before checking her watch.

“I have to catch this bus. If I don't, I think I'll chicken-out and never go. For real.”

“Well, then,” I reply, wiping tears from my cheeks, “I suppose we'd better get you out there, hadn't we?”

Less than five minutes later, we're out at the bus-stop. Katie has made it very clear that she doesn't want me to go to the train station with her, and I suppose I must respect her wishes. She seems genuinely nervous, and I can't believe the bravery she's displaying. If I were her, I'd be back in the house right now and I don't know that I'd ever leave. Then again, Katie is a modern young woman and she seems to have this strong inner core that comes from somewhere deep, deep down. I keep telling myself that she'll be fine, but when I spot the lights of the bus in the distance I feel a sudden rush of renewed fear.

“You must be wary of people,” I tell her as the bus pulls up.

“Yes, Mum.”

She hauls her suitcase to the door and steps on-board.

“And you mustn't be afraid to come home.”

“Yes, Mum.”

“And you must visit. Every weekend! Or every other weekend, at least!”

“Yes, Mum.”

She turns to me, just as the doors slide shut.

“And call me!” I shout. “Katie! You must call me!”

She nods, and the bus starts pulling away.

Suddenly there are a thousand more things I have to tell her, but I resist the urge to take my phone from my pocket. I watch as the bus drives away and rounds the corner, and then I'm left all alone at the bus stop, with nothing left to do other than go back into the empty house and find some way to distract myself from all the terrible fears that are rattling around in my head. I'm worried I shall go utterly crazy, so once I'm inside I turn the television on and increase the volume, and then I pour myself a nice big glass of wine.

“She'll be fine,” I whisper to myself, figuring that I just need a little internal pep talk. “She'll be better than fine. She'll be amazing. She's better than you, Winifred. She's braver. She's a fighter.”

With that, I take a good, long sip from my glass.

Chapter Thirty

The Blood of Sheep

“No, it wasn't
that
,” Father Collins continues, as we carry boxes of napkins into the church. “Not specifically, anyway. From what I heard, it was something a little more arcane and other-worldly. They'd been draining the poor things.”

As we walk along the aisle, I can't help but think of my poor Katie. It's 9am, barely twelve hours since she got on the bus, and I'm already frantic with worry. She texted me last night at every step of her journey, and her most recent message came just an hour ago when she finally got to her friends' house. I know the last thing she wants is to have me constantly bothering her and demanding updates, but I keep thinking of all the terrible things that could happen to her while she's in the city.

I'm starting to think that maybe I should have handcuffed her to the front door and refused to let her go.

“Winifred? Are you okay?”

Startled, I turn to Father Collins and see that he's over by the door that leads into his office. I look down at the napkins in the box I'm carrying, and then I realize I've inadvertently brought them all the way to the altar.

“You seem like you're a million miles away,” he continues with a faint smile. “This is about dear Catherine, isn't it? You're worried about her.”

“No,” I lie, before realizing that there's no point hiding the truth. “Do you blame me?”

“Of course not. Then again, thinking of some of the goings-on around here lately with Joe O'Brien and those two girls, I'm not sure whether it's safer to be in London or Shropley.”

“I think I might have made a terrible mistake,” I tell him. “I should never have let her go back to London.”

“You couldn't have stopped her.”

“But I could have made her see sense!”

He smiles. “And how long would you like to have kept her sequestered here in Shropley before letting her go? Another week? A month?”

“I don't know. Long enough to...”

My voice trails off as I realize that he's right. I never would have felt safe letting her go.

“She's old enough to make her own decisions,” he continues. “She's seen the worst the world has to offer, and she's understood that she mustn't let that hold her back. To be honest, I rather admire her optimism. She seems to be a very determined, very open-minded young lady.”

“The girls who were at the farm,” I reply, heading over to join him and then following him into the office. “You said something about them bothering the sheep?”

“Haven't you been reading the local paper?”

“I've barely had time to think.”

He sets his box down and turns to me. “And the police... I believe they were keen to talk to your daughter at one point?”

“Only as a precaution,” I reply, quickly setting him straight. “There was some talk that a third girl might have been trespassing up at Highbeam Farm that night, and naturally the police sought to check the whereabouts of anyone who matched the description. They were quite satisfied, though, that it couldn't have been Katie.”

“That's good. We wouldn't want her getting mixed up in all that nonsense. Still, those two girls from London are dead, and poor Joe O'Brien is going to face trial for murder.”

“They were from London?” I ask.

“The police finally identified them. Turns out they both worked at some kind of club or bar in the city. I don't remember the details but -”

“Knott's Court?” I stammer, before I have time to hold back.

“Maybe. I don't think I caught the name of the place. But from what I heard, the police still haven't worked out what brought them all the way out here to Shropley, or why they were trying to drain blood from Joe O'Brien's sheep. Still...” His voice trails off for a moment. “It's a horrible business. I know that what those girls were doing was wrong, but none of that gives O'Brien the right to go storming about in the middle of the night with a loaded gun. I suppose he was just sick of having his sheep tampered with. By all accounts, the girls had rather mutilated one of his animals during their previous visit.”

“Mutilated?”

He glances toward the door, almost as if he's worried about us being overheard.

“Do you remember those horrible signs that were painted on the door here?” he asks.

“Of course.”

“Well, it's pretty clear to me that they were linked. The police agreed, although it's not exactly the focus of their investigation. From what I can gather, it would seem that those two girls were rather heavily into some form of... I hesitate to call it worship. It's certainly no form of worship that
I
recognize.”

“You mean satanism?”

He nods.

For a moment, I think back to that day when I saw the two girls chatting and laughing with Katie. I've avoided dwelling too much on that unpleasant period before the hospitalization period, and I've managed to put most of my concerns to the back of my mind. I kept meaning to ask her how she knew those girls, but I suppose I was delaying the moment in case I didn't like the answer. Now that she's back in London, I doubt I shall find the right opportunity.

“You should probably know that people
are
talking,” Father Collins says suddenly.

I turn to him. “About what?”

“About Katie. There are a few suggestions that... Well, a couple of people think that perhaps they saw her out and about on the night when the two girls were shot. And apparently she was seen talking to them just a few hours earlier, out on the street near the store.”

He pauses, as if he's waiting for me to make some kind of admission.

“Then again,” he continues, “if the police are satisfied that she wasn't involved, I suppose that should be good enough for all of us. After all, the police are hardly like to lie about such things, are they?” He forces a nervous smile, and again he seems to be waiting for me to speak. “I have full faith in the police to investigate these things,” he adds finally, “and it certainly seems that they -”

“I must go,” I stammer suddenly, turning and hurrying out of the office.

“Winifred?” he calls after me. “Is anything the matter?”

“I have errands to run!” I reply, trying not to panic as I hurry along the aisle. “I'm sorry, I hate to rush out on you, but I have so much to do today!”

By the time I get out of the church and over to the gate, I feel as if I'm on the verge of passing out. I have terrible palpitations in my chest and I feel rather dizzy, and it takes a moment before I'm able to steady myself. Traffic rushes past on the main road, and I can't shake the feeling that perhaps I'm being observed. I look both ways, but everybody seems to be going about their daily business. I quickly tell myself to buckle up and to stop being so silly. If Katie can manage to go back to London, I can most certainly walk down the street in my own hometown.

Still, as I head to the store, I can't shake the fear that people all around me must be whispering, and that gossip is spreading. Perhaps everybody thinks that Katie was involved in what happened to those two strange girls, and perhaps their gossip will never end. Finally, reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and quickly start typing a message to Katie, just to make absolutely certain that she's still okay.

Deep down, in the pit of my stomach, I feel terribly worried about her. And that's a feeling that refuses to go away, no matter how much I tell myself to stop fretting. A moment later I hear a cawing sound, and I turn just in time to see that yet another crow is watching me, from the roof of the bakery. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that its beady black eyes are signaling some kind of warning.