The Well (22 page)

Jim held her tight – silent but absolutely, totally there for her. He brushed her wet hair away from her eyes and stroked her head.

He held her until she cried herself dry. And, for each long tormented minute, Sarah was grateful to be in his arms.

11

In her dream, Becca was drowning. Alone in a vast dark place, she was trying desperately to tread water – and failing. Her head kept slipping under water while her arms and feet flailed around hopelessly. Somewhere, in a place she knew for certain would be light, warm and dry, a woman was laughing at her. “I thought you could swim,” said the voice, its gently accented burr mocking her. It was one of those rare dreams where everything is so realistic you can touch and taste it – and yet still be certain you were dreaming. Becca spluttered and coughed, taking water into her lungs. There was a thunder-crack and Becca jolted upright, suddenly awake, spitting water.

Something was wrong, very wrong. For a moment, Becca couldn’t place it, disorientated as she dragged herself reluctantly into the waking world.

She was in the well, with its familiar dark, cold and wet. The rain was deafening, the sky lead-grey. Lightning flashed. Then she realised what was wrong: the water was higher, far higher than it had been. She coughed hard, retching water and phlegm.

Becca hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but her fever and exhaustion were now rooted in every cell in her body. While she’d slept – she had no idea for how long – the falling rain had swelled the water in the well and it was now up to her neck. Asleep, her head limp, she’d started to inhale the rising water.

Shit
, she thought, dismayed. She’d initially welcomed the rain but hadn’t realised the consequences of such a severe downpour.
This
, she thought,
is going to be a real problem.

She wouldn’t be able to sit down for much longer without being under water. Standing would buy her time – but how much? And for how long could she stand upright?
I’ll sit as long as I can
, she thought, but she knew that wouldn’t be for very long. She coughed again, her throat raw. Her fever was getting worse, she instinctively knew. Everything around her seemed fuzzy and distant.

Becca felt massively weary. The last three days had been one terrible trial after another – and, although she’d not triumphed at any point, she’d managed to retain at least some determination. Now, for the first time, she felt like giving in.
Let it rain
, she thought, almost relieved to be resigned to her fate.
It’s only a matter of time anyway
. She looked over at Matt, just a shape in the dark.
It would be something for them to find us both together, hand in hand
, she thought – but she couldn’t bear the notion of holding hands with Matt’s rotting corpse.

And then, just as in her dream, she heard a sound that cut easily through the pounding rain: a woman, laughing hard.

12

“Jim, I know this is difficult, but I could do with talking to both you and Sarah,” said Jenny.

Sarah was sleeping. When she’d finally stopped crying, Jim had persuaded her to try to sleep for a while. After some protestation, she’d reluctantly agreed, but didn’t think that she’d sleep – yet, both physically and emotionally exhausted, she’d fallen asleep within minutes. Jim had stayed with her until he was sure she was sound asleep, then made his way downstairs.

“Sarah’s sleeping,” said Jim. “But you can talk to me.” Jim desperately wanted to sleep himself. He felt as if he was jet-lagged, but thought that he could grab a few hours’ rest once Sarah had slept.
One of us needs to be awake
, he had thought.

He sat down opposite Jenny. “Fire away,” he said.

It was hard not to like Jenny. She was young – in her late twenties, Jim thought – and very pretty. She kept her red, curly hair tied tightly back – presumably regulation. But it was her demeanour that won people over. She radiated calm. Jim imagined that the wrong person in a situation such as this could make it worse – someone too serious, or too emotional, could initially seem supportive but would actually heighten the mood of others. While Jenny didn’t spend her time cracking jokes to alleviate the tension, her approach to every conversation turned things towards the positive; she was naturally good at herding the moods of others.

“We need to talk to the media,” said Jenny, knowing that while being direct can feel initially like an unwelcome broadside, frankness can be the most effective way to acclimatise someone to a painful idea. As she’d expected, Jim looked uncomfortable.

“The media?”

“There are two sides to this,” said Jenny. “The first, and most important, is that we could really use their help. Our top priority is to find Rebecca and Matthew – by any means. Today’s search is not going well, to be honest, mainly because of the weather. We may well have to cover all of the same ground tomorrow, or when the weather clears. That’s a lot of lost time.”

Jim nodded. “OK,” he said.

“Television and radio appeals can help us
a lot
,” said Jenny. “Of course, the newspapers can too, although they’re not anywhere near as instant. But it all counts. But – to make this work – we need to do this as soon as possible, which I know is going to be hard for you.”

Jim reflected on the many television appeals he’d seen: parents pleading desperately for news of their children. He never thought that he’d be in the same position.

“No, it’s OK. Well, it’s not OK, but it needs to be done. We can do it.”

Jenny smiled. “Good. We’ll help you, give you a little coaching.”

There was a pause.

“And the second thing?” asked Jim.

“This is a little more difficult,” said Jenny. “Initially, the press will be on your side. But we need to work with them and keep them with us. In a situation like this, it’s usually not long before there are some comments made about the parents.”

“What?” said Jim. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Of course not,” said Jenny. “But when reporters are not in full possession of the facts, they could write things as
they
see them – which may not be how
you
see them. They may ask you some difficult and upsetting questions. Questions that are not easy to answer.”

“Such as?” Jim was working hard to control his anger.

Jenny looked at him directly in the eye until he’d calmed a little.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” said Jenny, gently. “I can tell that you’re not a man to lose it easily. But in a situation such as this, it can be difficult to keep control –
but you need to
. We have to keep the press on-side, so they’re one hundred per cent focused on finding Rebecca and Matt.”

“But this is not our fault,” said Jim.

“No. I know that. You know that. But what about outsiders? If the press handle it in the wrong way, Rebecca and Matthew become latchkey kids with uncaring parents.”

Jenny paused, so that Jim could let the thought sink in. He breathed in through gritted teeth.

“Jim. Believe me when I say we have only one agenda. We have to find your children, end of story. I’m telling you these things to prepare you. If I don’t say them, someone from the press will. And when they do, which they will, you need to – well, not react like that. You need to be more controlled.”

Jim knew she was right. He nodded. “OK.”

“It will help us and you,” said Jenny, “if Sarah does most of the talking. An appeal has more impact from the mother. But Sarah’s quite – well, wound up.”

“She’s not normally like that,” said Jim.

“I know,” said Jenny, “but this is not a normal situation.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Sarah’s not handling it well – but that’s not unexpected. I think it is harder for a mother – no offence.”

Jim raised his hand. “None taken. You’re probably right.”

“But we need to run through some of these more difficult questions, just in case, so she’s not caught off guard. Do you think she will be OK with that?”

“I’m sure she will. With some help from you. She’s not finding it too easy to lean on me right now.”

“She’s looking for someone to blame. She knows it’s not your fault.”

Jim shrugged. “Maybe.”

“She
does
. You just have to stick with her. She needs you.”

Jim rubbed his face, his eyes tired. “OK. When do we get in touch with the press?”

“They’ve already been in touch with us – we have reporters working within the police all of the time. And a story like this – well, you can’t keep a lid on it for long. I’m afraid it will get pretty scary. But if we work with them, we can agree that they only have contact with you at arranged press conferences, so you shouldn’t be bothered too much – although it’s not going to be long before they’re camping out in the street. Don’t worry, they won’t hound you so hard that it’s unreasonable or upsetting. And we will be assigning more police to the house; that will help keep them at bay.”

“We just want the kids back,” said Jim. “I don’t care what it takes, and I’m sure that Sarah won’t either. What do we need to do?”

Jenny folded her hands into a steeple on which she rested her chin.

“We want to be on national television tonight,” she said, “on the evening news.”

13

Helen had decided to drive home via the lane up to the quarry. Although it took her in the opposite direction to Abby’s shop in the centre of town, she wanted to see whether the police had begun looking nearby.

Her car bounced down the muddy, potholed lane – the pounding rain proving too much for her windscreen wipers; despite being switched on full, they were unable to keep the torrent of water off the window.

This is stupid
, thought Helen, struggling to see more than a few feet in front of her. She eased her foot off the accelerator and peered ahead, through the curtains of rain. It was only just after four-thirty, but the sky was almost as dark as night.

As she reached the sharp left-hand turn just before the path to the quarry, Helen slowed as much as she could. She paused where the road took a sharp left. As she pulled away and accelerated, a blurred figure rushed in front of the car. Helen hit the brakes, hard, but too late – she felt the car jolt as it hit something solid. Helen brought the car skidding to a stop, her heart pounding.

Oh God,
she thought,
I’ve hit someone.
She felt momentarily sick and breathed in deep to push the nausea away.

Helen pushed the car door open and ran to the front of the car, the rain soaking her instantly.

In the glare of the headlights, a young woman lay in the mud, motionless, long curly hair obscuring her face. She was barefoot and her untidy full-length dress had ridden up to expose her calves.

Helen knelt beside her.
I wasn’t going that fast,
she thought, but shouted above the rain, “Are you OK? Are you hurt?” She didn’t want to move the woman in case she was hurt, but she shook her shoulder, gently.

The woman’s hand shot out and grabbed Helen’s wrist. Her grip was tight and painful; her skin icy cold. Helen screamed. In one swift movement, the woman pulled Helen to the ground and rolled on top of her, pinning Helen down firmly.

Helen screamed again and then shouted, “Get off me!” She wriggled and struggled hard, but the woman held her tightly.
Shit, she’s strong,
thought Helen. Helen’s torso bucked, but the woman didn’t budge. She squeezed Helen’s arms so tightly it hurt, and then said, “Shhhh. Lie still, negru căţea.”

Helen tried to push the woman off her, but couldn’t. She stopped struggling, spitting the pouring rain out of her face.

The woman leaned forwards, until her face was close to Helen’s – so close she could feel her icy breath.
Oh dear God,
she thought, realising who the woman was.

“Keep still, woman-lover,” she hissed. The woman’s wet hair cascaded down around Helen’s face.

“Let me go,” demanded Helen.

The woman laughed, defiant. “I do not do as you say,” she said. “You do as I say.”

“There’s nothing you can make me do,” shouted Helen.

“You think so? Let’s see.” The woman’s face inched closer. “I want you to be still.” The words came out evenly, as a command. The woman relaxed her grip on Helen’s hands and, to her horror, Helen found that she couldn’t move.

“You see?” The woman reached around behind her and pulled out a long knife. She held it close to Helen’s face.

“No, please,” pleaded Helen, tears forming in her eyes.

The woman laughed again. “So fast, from defiant to begging. So easy.” She teased Helen’s face with the blade, stroking her cheek with it.

“Some things you need to understand, iubitor de femeie.”

Helen was crying openly. “No, no, no,” she sobbed.

The woman put the blade flat to Helen’s lips. “Shhh.”

“First thing to know is that you stay away. You come back, you die. Do you know this?”

Helen nodded, sniffling.

“Second thing is that there are worse things than to die. I show you this, so you know it.” The woman put the knife away and smiled. She stroked Helen’s cheek, gently, then brushed the wet hair from Helen’s face. Her hand was like cold meat against Helen’s skin. “You want me,” she said.

Helen shook her head and sobbed. “No, I don’t!” The woman leaned right over Helen and whispered into her ear. “You want me.” Then she kissed Helen. Her lips were icy, but the cold touch against her own lips felt so good. The woman was right – Helen did want her, with a strength of animal desire that she’d never before felt. Helen kissed her back, hungrily. She was instantly and enormously aroused; her fear had left her totally. She wrapped her arms around the woman and pulled her closer, kissing her deeply. After a moment, the woman pulled back and slapped Helen hard across the face.

Helen’s fear returned and she felt repulsed at what she’d done. Realising that her hands were free, she reached to grab the woman’s throat, but was far too slow. The woman grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the ground again.