‘What time did she leave?’
‘I’m not sure. I left work a little after six. She was still in her office. I promised Lydia a night out. It’s been a while.’
Dana pushed for answers. ‘Did she say anything about drinks? About our news?’
Jack remembered sitting in the pub, Chloe pouring her heart out to him about Dana getting the awful news of having cancer. She was in such a state, crying, telling Jack how much she loved Dana and that they’d fight it together. ‘No. What news?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Look, please, Jack, if you hear anything, call me straight away. I’m calling the police again.’
The phone went dead.
The conversation with Dana had added to their mounting problems.
Jack opened his laptop, searching for news of a dead body being found in the boot of a car. His hands were trembling; his tongue felt stale through dehydration. He stood, walked to the sink and drank two cups of water. A headache was working its way along the right side of his face and spreading rapidly.
He sat back at the kitchen table and scanned recent posts on Facebook, then went onto a page with up-to-date local news. There was nothing about Chloe. Nothing about a body in the boot of a stolen car. Jack shut the laptop and stared at his phone, tempted to block Dana’s number. It would look suspicious. He had to help, be supportive. He needed to hone his skills at lying, now more than ever.
Lydia stirred in the bedroom. Jack stood, his hands were clammy, and his heart raced, beating through his T-shirt, like fists pounding on his chest. He moved to go upstairs, then paused and sat back down. This would crush Lydia. She was vulnerable at the best of times. More recently, she’d turned to alcohol to suppress the demons that festered in her head. This could send her toppling over the edge.
He heard her at the top of the stairs, slowly making her way down. He listened to her light footsteps, her hand sliding along the rail.
Jack moved to the door, stepping into the hallway. ‘Hey, babe. Did you sleep well?’
Lydia smiled, reaching forward and kissing Jack on the cheek. ‘Not as bad as I’d expected.’ Her face looked swollen, her cheeks puffy, and she had a bed mark along the right side of her face, like stitches, stretching across her skin. She looked out into the garden through the kitchen window, seeing the grass, the mud which had been turned over. ‘Jack, I can’t. This isn’t right.’
‘What else are we supposed to do, Lydia? There’s no other way. It has to be the garden.’
Lydia moved to the window. ‘I want you to dig her back up. Right now.’
Stephen.
Stephen drove with the windows open; the breeze made the stench more bearable.
He was driving through town and paranoid that he’d be pulled over any second, asked to produce his driver’s licence while the police officer called in the number plates. He saw himself waiting, watching the officer’s eyes, then pressing the accelerator and racing away with the car hot in pursuit. He needed to get to the woods, dump the car and get Gareth to pick him up.
A few minutes outside of town, a tractor was holding up a queue of traffic.
The breeze eased up, causing a lack of airflow. Stephen was feeling sick. He would have to park somewhere, move out of the car and get rid of the smell. His stomach was turning around, spinning one way, then the other. He pulled over to the side and got out. The tractor ahead went into a field and the road cleared.
What is making that smell? He opened the back doors, searched under the seats, pulling the carpets forward, checking the floors. Then, he moved to the boot and opened the lid.
Stephen jumped back. No. This isn’t happening. You’re dead. You’re fucking dead.
He fell to his knees and vomited over the road. When he’d finished, he stood. He stared at the dead woman and he screamed, holding the side of his head. He turned around, looking along the empty road. Then, he moved to the boot, reaching forward. Touching the corpse.
The body is real. Someone must have seen me. Someone has dumped the woman in the woods in the boot of the car.
He grabbed his phone and dialled Gareth.
‘Yo. Have you got rid of the car?’
‘Got rid of the car? You didn’t get an odd smell? Like say, the fucking dead body of the woman in the woods.’
‘Mate, you need to simmer down and calm yourself. That shit isn’t real. She’s not haunting you, Stephen.’
‘Then why is she lying in the boot of the car you asked me to get rid of?’ Stephen looked again, making sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks. ‘I need you to see something. She’s dressed differently, but I’m certain it’s her. Turn on FaceTime.’
‘Mate, you need to stop this. She’s not coming for you. The things you’re seeing aren’t real. Stop this shit. Now.’
Gareth hung up.
Stephen called back, hearing the phone go to the answer machine.
I don’t believe this. I need to get petrol. I’ll have to burn the car.
Stephen edged forward, seeing the woman in the boot, and slammed the lid. He got back into the car and drove, unable to comprehend what was happening, questions forming in his mind that he couldn’t answer. Ever since the night of the accident, he’d been plagued by visions, a ghostly apparition of the woman he’d hit. He saw her, appearing in different places, haunting him. This was real. He knew the difference – the smell for one. The stench was still filling the car, poisoning the air he breathed. He touched her while she lay dead in the boot.
He saw a petrol station and pulled up next to one of the pumps. Stephen needed to do this right, carry on in a normal manner. He bought a petrol can, and filled it at the pump. The woman behind the till looked out. She seemed to smile.
Back in the kiosk, he placed a box of matches on the counter, and the container he’d filled.
‘Having a bonfire?’
Stephen looked up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m just joking with you.’
She gave Stephen the price, and he rushed out to the car. As he sped away, she watched him.
He drove, incapable of concentrating on the road ahead. He had so many questions. Why would someone do this? Why place her body in the boot? Did Gareth have anything to do with it? Would he arrive at the woods and find she’d gone from the car? Was his mind, playing with him, tormenting him.
Stephen pulled over and got out. He checked his phone for any crazy messages, remembering when he’d got texts from the woman saying she was sitting in the passenger seat. There was nothing.
He listened for vehicles, then moved to the back of the car and opened the boot. The smell was repugnant. He turned, puking up water, then slammed the boot aggressively. He stood in the middle of the road, then dropped to his knees, crying out for someone to help him.
Once Stephen had composed himself, he got back in the car and continued driving.
He tried Gareth’s number again, cursing him. Why had he wanted me to do this? Why wasn’t he answering? Did he know the woman in the woods was in his boot? He made out he’d stolen the car after the lecturer had given chase. Was he lying about that too?
Stephen jolted suddenly, realising he’d reached the same area where he’d hit the woman.
He pulled the car onto a path which led to the woodland. Stephen sat for a moment. He had to do this. To exorcise the demon. To rid himself of the visions. She’d been put on a plate, and now, he had to deal with her and finish it.