The Disappearance of Katie Wren (23 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

The Seventh Call

“I'm absolutely, positively, totally and utterly fine!” Katie says with a laugh, just as the video call's screen crackles briefly. “Mum, it's almost exactly twenty-four hours since I got on the bus. How much trouble do you really think I can be in after just a day?”

“Well -”

“Actually, don't answer that!”

She grabs a bottle of water and takes a swig.

Trying to calm my nerves, I sip some wine from my glass. It's so good to see Katie's face again, and to hear her voice, and to know that she's fine, but...

At the same time, I can't help thinking about the hundreds and hundreds of miles between us. Every single second, I have to fight the urge to beg her to come home, and I know I shall feel like this for quite some time. Still, the room behind her looks nice enough, and she seems genuinely relaxed. If I'm completely rational about this situation, I must admit that so far there seem to be no warning signs of further trouble.

I suppose I shall just have to trust her.

“It's weird, huh?” she asks after a moment.

“What is, darling?”

“Us, talking like this again.” She pauses, staring into the camera, and now her laugh has faded. “Sorry, it just reminds me of last time. I guess I should have realized the whole thing might feel weird.”

“If you want to come home, you -”

“Don't even think about finishing that sentence!” she says firmly. “Believe me, Mum, I'm already on a hair-trigger. But tomorrow I'm going to the school, and I'll see about signing up for classes again. I'm gonna really throw myself back into life and hope that I can swim instead of sinking. I mean, what are the odds of me accidentally running into
another
evil old man who kidnaps me and holds me in his basement?”

“He wasn't evil,” I reply instinctively.

“He was a fucking monster!” she snaps.

“He was just -”

“Don't defend him, Mum!”

“I know, but -”

“And I'm glad he's dead!” she adds, before pausing for a moment. “Sorry, I didn't mean to say that, but it's true. It's been long enough now, I guess I can be honest. The day I heard that Timothy Ashford-Clarke had been killed in jail, I actually felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I know it's awful to feel that way, but I can't pretend. Monsters like him should be wiped from the face of the goddamn planet.”

She takes another sip from her bottle.

“And now,” she continues, “we should probably talk about something else.”

I watch as she opens a chocolate bar, and I can't help thinking that there's a new hint of steel and determination in my daughter. Perhaps she's tougher than I ever realized. After a moment, however, I'm distracted by the sight of a crane outside her bedroom window.

“Are you living on a construction site?” I ask, forcing a smile as I try to change the subject.

“Huh?”

She glances over her shoulder for a moment.

“Oh. No, that's just some work being done to the house opposite. Remodeling or something. There's only -”

Suddenly there's the sound of someone knocking on the door to Katie's room.

“I think I have to go,” she tells me, “I just -”

She turns and looks past the camera as the door creaks open. I can't see whoever enters the room, but I can hear a soft, muffled voice.

“I'm just talking to my mother,” Katie explains. “Can I come down in a couple of minutes?”

The muffled voice replies. I turn the volume up, hoping to catch what's being said, but all I really hear is a very muffled, very calm male voice.

“Sure,” Katie continues finally, with a faint smile. “I'll just wrap this up and -”

The voice interrupts her, talking for a good fifteen or twenty seconds, and then the door can be heard bumping shut again.

“Sorry,” Katie says, turning to look at me, “that was just one of my friends. I guess I can't spend my first night just sitting in my room. I'm gonna have to go and be social. Who'd be popular, huh?”

“What are you friends like?” I ask.

“They're cool. They're fun. I just have a lot to learn.”

“About what?”

“Nothing. You know what I mean.” She sounds a little unsettled now, and I can't help noticing that she seems poised to end the call. “Mum, I'll call back when I can, okay?”

“Tomorrow night?”

“That might be tricky. Don't fret if you don't hear from me for a few days, okay? Maybe Wednesday or Thursday, or the weekend...”

“I'd really rather speak to you sooner than that,” I tell her, bristling at the idea of her falling silent for so long. “Katie, can you call me tomorrow evening, even if it's just for a very brief chat? I'd very much like to see your face.”

“I can't promise,” she replies. “Sorry, Mum, it's just that there's so much to do here and I kinda feel rude if I come up to my room and hide from everyone. I promise I'll try to call you tomorrow, and I promise that at the very least I'll send you a text if I can't. We can figure something out, okay?”

“But if -”

“I hope you're not too lonely, rattling about in that old house all by yourself.”

I take a deep breath, struggling very much to stay calm. “I'm sure your friends won't mind being without you for a few minutes tomorrow night,” I tell her finally. “Please, Katie. A very brief call would mean the world to me. Try to understand, darling.”

“You have to understand too. It's not that easy. I'm always -”

Before she can finish, there's another knock at the door.

“Coming!” she calls out. “Mum, I have to go. I'm fine, I'll be in touch somehow tomorrow, and we'll speak very soon. Trust me, I'm having a ball here in London and I couldn't be happier. I made the right choice to come back.”

She leans forward and gives the camera a quick kiss.

“I love you, Mum.”

“I love you too, sweetheart, but you really must -”

Suddenly the call ends, and I'm left sitting alone on the sofa, staring at the screen. I reach out to call her back, just so that I can reiterate how important it is for her to speak to me again tomorrow, but finally I set my laptop aside and slump back against the sofa. I take a long sip of wine as I think of Katie having fun in the new house, and I try to focus on the positives. She looked happy and healthy just now, and she sounded optimistic for the future. I suppose I'm just some panicky, wary woman with little experience of the world, and I mustn't let my fears temper Katie's natural enthusiasm.

“She'll be fine,” I say out loud, for perhaps the tenth or even fifteenth time today. “She'll be -”

Suddenly there's a loud crashing sound from the kitchen. Glass is breaking, and I leap up from the sofa, spilling my wine in the process. I freeze, listening to a frantic thumping sound, and after a moment I start edging closer to the door. The thumps are abating a little now, becoming less urgent, although I can still hear something scratching against the glass.

I let out a gasp of shock as I reach the door and see that a crow has crashed into the window. The glass is broken, and the poor bird has impaled itself upon one of the larger shards, which runs straight into its neck and out through its back. Thick red blood is streaming down from the wound, and the crow's wings are flapping furiously as it tries to get free. At the same time, its claws are scratching the glass, but it's quite clear that it will never be able to slide itself off the shard.

Its beak is open and its beady eyes are staring straight at me. I know I should go and put the poor thing out of its misery, but I simply stand and watch for a couple of minutes until the crow falls still. Blood is still running down the glass, but at least the bird is dead now.

I wait a moment longer, before realizing that I shall have to clean up this awful mess. I grab the broom and make my way over to the window, and then I turn the handle around and start trying to slide the dead bird up from the glass so that I can push it outside.

Suddenly the crow bursts back to life, pecking frantically at my hands. I fall back, startled, and watch as the bird slides off the glass and takes to the sky, flying up into the darkness. My heart is pounding, and it takes a few seconds before I feel a rush of pain. Looking down, I see that the crow's beak left a nasty cut on my left hand.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Final Call

“Hang on,” Katie's voice mutters, and she sounds a little distracted. “This camera's not...”

I hear her sighing as she taps at her laptop, but still the screen remains blank.

“Are you sure it's on?” I ask.

“Just give me a moment, Mum!”

“There might be a button! Try to -”

“Just let me fix it!” she hisses, sounding rather annoyed. “Stop fussing and let me do this. I'm sure it can't be that hard.”

Leaning back on the sofa, I take a sip of wine. It has been four days since I last saw Katie's face on one of these video calls, although in the interim we've exchanged plenty of text messages. Apparently she's been far too busy to speak to her poor old mother, but I suppose I should be glad that she's keeping herself occupied. I just need to make sure that she's fine. Still, as the screen stays blank and Katie's muttered curses get louder, I can't help feeling that she sounds stressed.

“I don't know what's wrong with it,” she says finally, sighing. “Maybe we're just gonna have to talk with voices only, like they did in the old days.”

“Can't you try to fix it?” I ask.

“I've tried, Mum! It won't work!”

“But it's a new laptop,” I point out. “You must take it back to the shop tomorrow and -”

“I'm not doing that.”

“Nonsense. You still have the receipt, don't you?”

“I'm busy tomorrow. I'm going to school, and the laptop still works fine. I just don't have a functioning camera.”

“Maybe we should try talking over the phone,” I tell her. “Maybe the camera on your phone is -”

“We're on
here
now,” she says with a sigh, as if she's finding it rather bothersome to speak to me at all. “I'm sorry it's not perfect, but I guess this is just how it's gonna have to be. I can try to get someone to fix it for next time, but no promises. Come on, Mum, people used to talk without video for decades in the past.”

I take another sip of wine.

“There's really nothing to report,” she continues. “It's just business as usual here.”

“You sound tired.”

“I
am
tired.”

“Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Not really. I'm studying 'til late, so I can be ready for when the course starts next week. And there's that construction site opposite the house, and those assholes start with their drills at seven every morning, so it's not like I can sleep in.” She sighs again. “But apart from that, everything's really good.”

“And you're eating properly?”

“Yes, Mum. I'm eating properly.”

“Because food is one of the most -”

“Can we skip the health-check?” she asks. “What about you? Are you still necking four or five glasses of wine each night?”

“I hardly see how -”

Suddenly there's a loud scratching sound, bursting from the microphone for a few seconds before finally subsiding again.

“- and you should probably slow down,” Katie continues, having evidently started talking again during the interruption. “It's not good for you. I wouldn't like to see the state of your liver.”

“What was that noise?” I ask.

“What noise?”

“It sounded like someone was breathing straight into the microphone.”

“Huh? I didn't hear anything.”

I take another sip.

I wait.

Silence.

“Katie?” I ask finally. “Are you still there?”

“What? Yeah, sure, of course I'm still here. Where else would I be?”

Again I wait, and again I hear nothing but the very faintest hiss from my laptop's speakers.

“Are you trying to fix the camera?” I ask.

“Why would I be doing that?”

“So I can see your face!” I can't help sighing. “Katie, please try to think of this from my perspective. Don't you understand that I'm worried about you?”

“Sure, but would the camera really satisfy you? Even if you could see my smiling face, you'd only find something else to worry about. It's your natural state.”

“That's not entirely fair, I -”

Suddenly I hear someone knocking on Katie's door again, followed by a faint creaking sound.

“I'll be down soon,” she says. “I told you, I just have to talk to my mother first. I'll only be a couple more minutes, I promise.”

There's a faint muffled mumble from whoever's in the room with her.

“I don't know,” Katie replies.

I feel a rush of panic in my chest.

The mumbling voice continues for a moment.

“Sure,” Katie continues, “but I don't know. Sorry, I don't know. I'm just talking to my mother, and I'll be down soon. Okay?”

The voice says something else before falling silent, and a moment later I hear the door swinging shut.

“Who was that?” I ask.

“No-one.”

“Give me a name, Katie.”

“Why?”

“What don't you know?”

“Huh?”

“You told him you don't know something,” I continue, unable to keep from panicking. This situation is starting to feel a little familiar. “Katie, please, just humor me. What was he asking you?”

I wait, but for a moment there's no reply.

“Katie -”

“You're being weird, Mum,” she says with a sigh. “Come on, lighten up.”

“Don't tell me to lighten up,” I reply, taking umbrage at her tone. “After everything that has happened over the past year, Katie, I think you can understand why I might be just a little concerned. If I have to come to London and -”

“Don't you dare!”

“Catherine Elizabeth Wren!” I say firmly. “You will not talk to me like that! I'm only -”

I catch myself just in time. This whole conversation is running out of control and I can hear myself becoming shriller and shriller. I don't want to be this type of person, so I take a moment to compose myself. Still, the laptop's screen continues to show me a relentless, remorseless dark rectangle where I should be seeing my daughter's face. It's almost as if some force is determined to keep me from seeing her.

“I have to go, Mum,” Katie says finally. I could be wrong, but I swear she sounds close to tears. “People are waiting for me. My friends want to hang out. I hoped you'd be pleased for me, but I guess I should've realized that you'd just use this as an opportunity to fuss and make me feel like shit.”

“I just want to be sure that you're okay,” I tell her.

“And I am. Or do you think I'm lying?”

I stare at the blank rectangle on the screen. I can hear Katie breathing, but I'm not sure that's enough to calm my nerves. I want to tell her that I'll be on the next train to London, that I have to see her in the flesh, even though I know she'd probably accuse me of overreacting. It's strange, I thought these video calls would make me feel closer to her; if anything, however, they only seem to be exaggerating the miles between us.

I decide to wait, to see how long Katie will allow this silence to grow until she feels the need to speak. It might have started small, as a lull between her voice and mine, but now the silence has ballooned tick-like to form an impenetrable barrier, and its vast size seems to be pushing us even further apart.

Why doesn't she speak?

The call is still active, we haven't said our goodbyes yet, and I can just about hear her stuttering breaths.

She has to say something soon.

I stare at the screen, listening carefully.

She just -

Suddenly there's a flash, an extremely brief image that shows me Katie's room for a fraction of a second. And in that flash, in that minutest moment of time, I see my daughter sitting at her desk while a dark figure stands behind her. The image is gone again in the blink of an eye, but it's already impressed upon my mind. Even now, with the screen having become black again, in my mind's eye I'm still able to remember the flash I witnessed, and seeing the carnage of the room. Just like her old apartment in Tim's building, her new room seems to have been turned into an absolute tip. And there was some kind of symbol daubed on the wall.

“Katie,” I stammer, “what -”

“I have to go,” she says calmly.

“But -”

“I'll call you soon, Mum. Have a relaxing evening, okay? I have to go and be with my friends now.”

“Katie -”

“I have to go and be with my friends!” she snaps. “Why can't you understand that?”

With that, she cuts the call. I immediately try to reconnect, only to find that she's suddenly offline. I try several more times, jabbing at the track-pad harder and harder on each occasion, and then finally I lean back on the sofa.

I can't do this.

Not again.

I can't just sit here while Katie gets into more trouble. Setting my wine glass aside, I hurry to the stairs. I have to pack a bag and go back to London.

***

Less than two hours later, I'm on the night-train to the city. I stare out the window, watching the dark English countryside rushing past, waiting for the trees and fields to give way to small towns, and for the small towns to give way to industrial parks that will eventually build and build until I'm in London again.

I'm overreacting. I'm sure of it. As Katie would describe it, I'm being a “panicky custard”, but I can't help myself. I have to see her, and to make sure she's okay. I'll go to the house where she's staying, clap eyes on her, and turn right around. I already tried calling the police, but once again they were absolutely useless. I'm still not given to conspiracy theories, but it certainly
feels
as if they've been instructed to ignore me. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, maybe they're just sick of panicking old women calling to report their daughters missing, but I can't just sit back and do nothing.

I have to see Katie with my own two eyes. I have to know that she's okay.