Page 53 of Death Kiss

Crouching back down, I take a closer look.

Stifling a scream, I cover my mouth with the back of my hand, my pulse quickening.

‘No,’ I whimper, turning the light back over the small protrusions. Not mushrooms. Small human fingers.

The mound of earth is a shallow grave, and the fingers have neither been worried by an animal nor decomposed to the point of no longer retaining their finger shape.

‘I’m so sorry, baby,’ I say, laying a gloved hand gently over the mound. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make them hurt for you before sending them to hell. And I’ll make sure you don’t stay here. I’ll make sure someone finds you.’

My voice catches, but I mean every word.

It’s gone past the abuse, which is sickening enough; this group of men have killed. I shine my torch in a wide arc, noting how lumpy the lawn is around the edge and feel sick to my stomach.

I add photographs of the fingers and the mound to my camera roll, before gently covering the exposed fingers with the dirt I dispersed when I fell.

Using a branch, I mess up the dirt where I’ve left clear foot and handprints, covering my tracks.

By the time I reach my car, parked two miles away, give or take, I feel numb. No, not numb. The kind of cold that’s so vicious it feels burning hot. Like that verruca fluid at the doctor’s. I’d believe it if someone told me my veins were filled with that fluid.

The fucking injustice.

The itch to deliver these men to satan himself, screaming and begging and doused in blood, claws at me.

For that poor soul in the garden.

For Liam.

For me.

No one should have to see what I’ve just seen. A wave of nausea hits as I start the car, but I force it down.

There’s no room for it. No room for guilt or mercy. If I go down for this, then so be it, as long as each of those cunts suffers for it.

TWENTY-FOUR

LIAM

‘Strict rest with only light activity for the next few days. If you move too suddenly, or overdo it, you’ll land yourself right back in here, do you understand?’ The nurse discharging me looks well and truly over my shit, and who can blame her. Since Kat left, I’ve practically tried to drag myself out of here every time I could move.

Finally, Kim whispered in my ear that I needed to calm the fuck down if I wanted out, and that I could legally discharge myself against their order, but not if I was acting like a bloody toddler. The pep talk might not have aligned with the NHS guidelines, but it worked. For the past day, I’ve been a model patient, and then convinced them to let me go.

Ellie’s waiting outside by the time I make it out, and opens the car door for me after giving me a quick and gentle squeeze.

‘You scared us,’ she says as we drive.

‘Sorry,’ I murmur, looking at my phone for the fiftieth time today and still expecting a text that doesn’t come. I’ve heard from Kat nightly. A brief check-in so I know she’s alive. That’s it. My calls go unanswered. My texts are unread until the next check-in.

It’s driving me crazy. I need to see my girl. To hold her. To feel her heart beating and know she’s safe.

‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Why is Kat so mad at you? Why do you look like you’ve lost a fight with a bus?’

The questions are already making my head ache. I look over at her and sigh. I wish I could tell her. To stop all the secrets and lies and just let her in.

The more people you let in, the greater the chance of discovery. Especially when they're fucking a guy with an ulterior motive. It’s too dangerous for us all.

‘I was an idiot,’ I say at last. The truth.

‘That’s not an answer, Liam.’