"I'd never leave you alone like that."
She recognised the words to her left as the woods parted and they jogged up to the church. She turned her head, desperate to see his face. Jimmy's face, with his soft eyes and long hair that she wanted to run her fingers through and cuts that would fade in time. He'd come out with some scars but they'd just show him to be the hero he was for surviving. They'd make it now. The Coast Guard were coming.
"I'd never leave you alone like that."
But as she lowered her eyes from his face to his chest, she could see a hole there. An exit wound from a bullet. Blood pouring out, turning his blue top brown as the red mixed in. And they weren't outside anymore. The woods and outside of the church had faded and she stood now inside the church, watching her love stare back at her, utterly oblivious to his injury. And then looking down and holding his right hand to the blood, bringing it back up covered in redness and meeting her eyes again with sorrow and horror. She couldn't speak as he opened his mouth again.
"I'd never leave you alone like that."
But you did, Jimmy, you did.
~~xx~~
She woke with a sickly sweet taste in her mouth, a raging beat in her head and limbs that felt twice as heavy as they'd been before.Urgh. I'm never drinking again. I wish I were dead.Moving her heavy eyes to take in her surroundings and recalling the events of the past week, she mentally took back the last statement. She'd nearly died and now she had a second chance. There was probably a moral in there about appreciating life but her fogged mind couldn't find it. Folding back duvet and sheets, she twisted around to look at the clock and saw a note taped to the front, over 11.27 in red digits.
"Abby – I hope you slept well. It's nine in the morning and I'm going back to the police station. I'll pick up our suitcases and some food on my way back. I have to stop by at the office but I don't think it'll take that long. I'll be back at one at the latest. Please don't leave the house. There's a lot of media coverage if you turn on the TV or radio. Just make yourself completely at home until I get back. Henry. x"
Media coverage? What's Henry seen? She wrapped herself in Henry's black dressing gown and wandered unsteadily out to where he had spent the night.I can't believe I made him sleep on the couch. That's so like Henry. Not abandoning me whatever happens. I guess what Karen Dunn told him stuck. At least he now understood that none of it was her fault, directly or otherwise. Well, the wound to his arm was a result of their brief mutual distrust but surely the first thing he'd do at the police station would be to insist to those in charge that he'd spoken to her and changed his mind about who John Wakefield's child was. Whatever Wakefield had meant about continuing to kill people – Shane and poor Nikki! – after her father's death, it wasn't that she was his daughter.
Do I really want to know what they're saying about me on TV? She sighed and went to make coffee first. She knew her way around Henry's apartment well enough and she'd feel far more up to facing what would probably be a horribly detailed and insensitive report after a pint of water and a hot cup of coffee. Waiting for the coffee maker and hoping the water she was sipping would quieten the drums in the front of her head, she wondered what she'd be doing now if the wedding had gone to plan.Henry and Trish would have left for their honeymoon. And I'd be on my way back to L.A., back to my apartment and my job and my cat. Poor Henry. Poor, poor Henry. He probably doesn't have a clue what to do now. And what do I do now? I can't leave Seattle until the police finish their clear up. Great, I'm going to have to ask Kate to feed Lucky for another week or so.
But I would have come back for Jimmy. Jimmy. Her dream came back to her and she held the glass tighter as the memories swam around her head. Water pricked at the backs of her eyes and, in spite of all the water she'd just drank, her throat grew dry.
Maybe I'll just go back to bed. A vacuum cleaner started up above her and Abby grimaced, before remembering that it was nearly noon and Henry's upstairs neighbour had every right to clean house. Taking in the mess that he'd left in the kitchen and living room, she wondered if she should do the same.It'll make up for him putting me up. And I'll have a legitimate reason to put off turning on the TV. Leaving her coffee to cool to a drinkable temperate, Abby went through the cupboards and eventually grabbed a bin bag from one. The soggy pizza box went straight in, as did the empty bottles of alcohol –how much of that did I drink? – and cans of mixer. Glancing into the kitchen bin to see if it was worth emptying, she spotted a note on top with Henry's name on it.
"For Henry Dunn, my new cousin. Hopefully marrying into the Wellingtons will improve your taste in drinks. Love, Ben Wellington."
Ben Wellington? Of course, Trish's cousin. What on earth happened to him? She vaguely remembered overhearing Trish talking to her father on the boat about him not turning up but she'd hardly been paying any attention to minor wedding arrangements for the bride's side. The boat ride had been a giddy, sick experience of subconsciously knowing she shouldn't go back. The feeling in the pit of her stomach from the moment her plane had touched down to the moment she'd drunk a little too much on her first night there would have sent her running if not for her loyalty to the groom. Maybe that was a warning from mom too. Right, and then Chloe mentioned Ben later. She was listing those who'd died or disappeared and everyone was blaming her for it. Didn't Henry say Ben was going to get a private boat over? So didn't he turn up? Shouldn't someone be looking for him in Seattle? Was he even in Seattle?
A few minutes later, a bin bag full of miscellaneous rubbish was by the door and Abby sat facing a blank TV screen and gulping down coffee.What if I turn the screen on and everyone's blaming me because the police have told people that John Wakefield has a child? No, they wouldn't. They wouldn't say something like that until they'd found him. And Henry will have put them straight by now about dad being my real dad. There'll probably just be a bad and dated photo of me labelled "Abby Mills: Survivor" and tactless focus on the fact that the bastard took both my parents. I've got to calm down.
Oh god – does gran know yet?
She swallowed the last mouthful of bitter coffee awkwardly and realised she'd have to be the one to phone her grandmother in California. Elizabeth Mills shouldn't have to hear the news of her son's death from anyone else. But the prospect of having to have that conversation was up there with turning on the television on her list of awful but necessary things to do.What do I say? "Hi gran. I've got some bad news. My best friend's wedding was attacked. Your son was murdered by the same man who killed your daughter-in-law. I nearly died. Otherwise, it was nice to see the island again. I'll be down to see you again soon."
OK, third option. Phone Kate.
"Hello? Kate?"
"Hi!" came a man's voice over some loud background conversation. "Laney, is that you? You were supposed to be here an hour ago. You're going to miss all the food!"
"No, erm, this is Abigail Mills from upstairs. Is Kate there? Can you pass me over?"
"Hi Abby!" After a pause, her neighbour's voice came over the line. "My God, you should be here. Everything's so exciting. I've barely been sleeping, it's been so busy. It's hectic! How's your holiday, by the way? Seen your dad again?"
"Wha- Erm, you haven't seen the news have you?" Abby said, a little stunned. Despite not having looked at the coverage herself, she expected the whole country to be familiar with the massacre by now. Although her neighbour and casual friend was a little single-minded.
"Yes, of course! Derek brought two portable TV sets round so we've got a different news feed going on each one..."
"No, Kate, there were murders. Haven't you heard anything about Harper's Island?"
"Err, no. What do you mean, murders? I thought you were going to a wedding?"
"Kate, have a look at the news. I don't want to go through it all again."
Abby rested her head against the wall as she heard the sound of typing down the phone. Aside from the vacuum cleaner upstairs, Henry's apartment was relatively quiet. There was little she wanted less than to be in the middle of a crowd right then. And the hangover didn't help things.
"Oh. My. God. Christ, they're saying over two dozen dead. John Wakefield? Wasn't he the man who killed your mom? I thought you said he was dead. Are you OK? I mean, are you safe? Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine. I just need you to feed Lucky for a while longer. I have to stay in Seattle until the investigation is over. That's all I rang you for. Has she been OK without me there?"
"Yes, of course. Don't worry about anything. You need to, just, like, rest. Recover. Any idea when you'll be back in L.A.?"
"Maybe a week or two. I don't know. Thank you so much for looking after Lucky."
"Ring me again in a few days so I know you're OK. Speak later!"
That was hard work. Still, her reaction wasn't "Are you really that freak's kid?" so the news can't be that bad.
It genuinely wasn't too bad at first when she pulled up a news channel from Henry's extensive list. They rolled out all the clichés about the wedding, the murders seven years ago, the island's otherwise peaceful history, the islanders being unable to contact the mainland. Then the photographs came out. Seeing the list of "dead or missing" guests or locals finally brought it home to Abby as she sat on the couch and wondered how on earth her photo wasn't there too, and her father's face there, along with a few blunt comments about her mother, made her choke.I come back and a week later everyone's just a photo on a graphics display. The only one I have left is Henry and he can't be doing that well himself.
Well, I've got to get this over with.
"Meredith speaking. How can I help?"
"Hello. My name's Abby Mills. I'm Elizabeth Mills' grand-daughter. I have some bad news for her. Has she heard about the murders on Harper's Island yet?"
"I don't think so. Everyone's just finished lunch. Has someone she knows died?"
"Her son. My father. I thought I'd have to be the one to tell her. Can you put her on the line?"
Abby had never heard her grandmother cry before. The story she gave was highly censored but nothing could change the facts. The man who killed her daughter-in-law and wrecked her son's happy marriage had come back to kill her only remaining child. Elizabeth Mills, at 76 years old, had outlived two sons and two daughters.
"I'm OK though, gran. My friend Henry saved me. He killed John Wakefield defending me. He's a hero. You'll meet him. You remember me telling you about Henry, don't you gran?"
"Will there be a funeral?" Elizabeth Mills asked quietly. Abby desperately wished there was some way she could hug her down Henry's landline.
"Yes, of course, gran. I'll arrange everything. I'll ring tomorrow or Thursday with details. Can you fly up and stay with us? I really need to see you but I can't leave Seattle. I love you."
After a long tearful coda of telling her grandmother how brave her son had been and how much she wished she could be back in California, she needed air. She walked through to Henry's study, flung open the window and booted up the computer.No one mentioned an accomplice on the news. The police said they didn't find anyone in the tunnels. Wakefield's son is probably as innocent as I am. Who's to say he even knows his parentage? Somewhere out is there is my brother and I'm going to find him.
