In a shocking discovery by South Yorkshire police in the early hours of yesterday morning after being called out to a routine inspection about animal cruelty, Judd was found alive, living in the basement of an isolated farmhouse belonging to Mary and Hank Dawson.
According to locals, the Dawsons were a very private couple, and segregated themselves from the neighbouring community. Many residents in the quiet rural town of Deenslow said that they were a ‘strange couple’, but had no clue as to what was actually going on in the privacy of that small and rundown farmhouse.
The police have yet to issue a statement, but it is believed that Judd has suffered serious abuse, both mentally and physically.
An inside source told us that two bodies were removed from the Dawson’s property, along with numerous neglected animal cadavers.
But even more heart-breaking is that Judd’s parents, Janice and Terry Asher were both killed in a hotel fire in 1992, a year after Judd’s disappearance. At this time, it is unknown whether Judd has anymore living relatives.’
Samantha Williamson, reporting for The Star.
Praying I was wrong, I once again clicked on the search bar.
Terry Asher.
An old article from the hotel fire he and Anderson’s mother had been killed in sat at the top of the results.
“Please,” I choked out to the empty room, and my sanity, as hesitantly I clicked the link.
Attached to the article were the photographs of the seven fatalities that had been victim to the arson attack on The Grande Hotel in London in March 1992.
My world fell apart. Every single day of my life from the age of seven was now wrong. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. My head shook as vigorously as the rest of me when my eyes landed on Terry Asher’s photo…
And Brian Smith stared back at me.
Brian Smith had been dead for eight months when he had married and moved in with my mother.
He had been dead for thirty months when I had stabbed him in the stomach and ran.
And the worst thing – Anderson knew he was still alive. He also knew he was my step-father, hence why he needed me to ‘finish it’.
Every single emotion flooded me.
All this had been for revenge; for Anderson to drag me into his vengeance. To use me in his selfish retribution. He had lied to me from the very beginning, or at least since he’d come back into my life four weeks ago. He’d used sex to get close to me. Fair enough, that hadn’t been his original plan, obviously that was kidnapping me. Seems it ran in the family then.
Anger I hadn’t expected poured into my veins, filling every element of me with rage and disgust. What I thought had been a connection between Anderson and me had suddenly become so much more. His father was my step-father. The man who had sold my step-brother, then carried it off as an abduction, had locked me up, killed my mother and then proceeded to haunt my dreams for over twenty years.
Since I had moved to London I hadn’t made many friends, mainly due to the fact I was a closed off person and after being stabbed in the back by James and another work colleague – most probably Paula, I found it difficult to trust anyone. I had met Trudy at work; she was a nurse at the hospital’s mental health unit and we had hit it off straight away. Of course, I had met Richard through Dave. Dave had always been accident prone and Richard and I had quickly established a friendship after Dave’s many visits to the vet.
And although I hated relying on anyone, right then I needed a friend. I wouldn’t allow myself to wallow in the hurt or the fury, and Richard didn’t have to know I’d slept with Anderson, even if it didn’t have anything to do with him, but I didn’t want to hurt him either.
I should have phoned him first. I knew he would have been going out of his head with my disappearance, but because I needed a shoulder to cry on I was already in my car and on my way to his before I’d even thought about it.
I was also debating whether to adopt a new dog. I knew no dog in the world would replace Dave, but he’d left a gap in my heart and a silence in the house that I didn’t think I could cope with. Richard was the obvious choice to go through; his contacts with breeders would prove invaluable.
Richard didn’t live far from me and I pulled onto his street within a few minutes. Whereas I lived in a pretty decent housing development, Richard lived in the more upper-class area of London. I’d always been envious of his property. The few detached houses were well secluded by row after row of trees and the neighbours were a damn sight quieter than mine.
Richard’s driveway was cordoned off; a gas company had dug up the pavement in front of it and a square of red tape prohibited access for cars but provided a small space for pedestrians. Noticing Richard’s car parked on the roadside behind a large 4X4, I pulled up behind him. Because the houses were pretty spaced out along the street, I figured the 4X4 was a guest of Richard’s with it being so close to his house, and for a moment I wondered if I should just go home.
However, when Richard’s guest strolled out of his driveway and climbed into the 4X4, I couldn’t move as my lungs gave way. Shock, horror, rage all stormed me, taking my ability to process anything. I swore my ribs collapsed, crushing my heart for the second time that day.
I sat, frozen, with my hands still on the steering wheel as Brian – or fucking Terry Asher – pulled away. I couldn’t look away until his car vanished around the corner at the end of the street.
“What the fuck?” I breathed.
I was struggling to breathe, the air in the car seeming to turn to fire and burning my lungs.
Just when fear caught me, that perhaps Terry had hurt Richard to get to me, Richard appeared at the end of his driveway with three mugs of tea. Handing them to the workmen, he laughed at something one of them said before he turned around and disappeared back towards the house.
Numbly, I sat in the same place for hours until dusk set in and my tears had subsided. If Richard had come back out he would have spotted me, yet fate that day decided I was worthy of a lucky break – for a change.
What was Richard’s connection with Terry? And was that why he had worked his way into my life, because of Anderson? Or that after finding out about my connection with Anderson, was Terry scared I would make the link between us and alert Anderson and the police to the fact he was still alive?
Yet Anderson already knew.
Terry Asher was like a cat with nine lives.
Well this time it wouldn’t be curiosity that killed the cat.
“Hello, Ben.”
My ex-husband shot his eyes upwards, his jaw falling open to accommodate the substantial pull of air into his lungs. Then his eyes closed for a moment, his shoulders sagged and he smiled, almost to himself. “Thank fuck,” he breathed.
He scrambled up from his chair and rushed around his desk, and within moments I was in his embrace, his strong arms once again wrapping around me as he pulled me close to him. Old feelings rushed back with his familiar scent and the special way only he could hold me. It had been four years since I’d seen him, and I was happy he looked good, healthy and happy.
“Jesus, Kloe. I was scared shitless.”
Holding me at arm’s length, he scrutinised every part of me, his brow furrowing when he saw how thin I had become since we’d last seen each other. “The police visited. What the hell is going on?”