Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ZAIN

I don't go back to my parents' place straight away. There's something else I need to do first.

The drive to the other side of town takes me around twenty minutes, and the road I turn onto is quiet. Street lamps are placed at intervals, keeping the road illuminated without being too bright. There aren't many houses. Four or five, possibly, all with gated entrances. It's the complete opposite to the street that the house I shared with Jason and Louisa is on. I stop outside the third house, and press a button on my keys. The gates ahead slide open silently, allowing me to continue up the drive.

There's a fountain in front of the house, but it's empty of water. It's clean and there aren't any weeds growing around it, so it's clearly been maintained. The same with the grassed areas. Ceramic pots full of wildflowers are placed along the path.

When I park and climb out, a security light comes on, turning the graveled drive a warm honey color. My footsteps are loud in the silence as I walk over to the front door. It takes a second for me to locate which one is the correct key, and I unlock the door and push it open .

The entrance hall beyond is large with high ceilings. The light from outside shows me that the floor is dark wood. There's a cream two-seater couch, and an end table set along one wall. I locate the light switch, and turn it on, then close the door behind me. A low beeping noise reminds me that there's an alarm system, and I hurry across to the console, and punch in the security code to switch it off.

Walking across the floor, I follow the hallway down to the kitchen. Lights flicker on automatically overhead as I move. When I walk through the archway into the kitchen, the smell of cleaning products is heavy in the air. All the marble worktops shine. The table is set for six with plates, bowls, glasses, and silverware. There are even napkins in little gold bands. The room looks like it's ready for a photoshoot, and it takes me back to the day I signed the papers which made this house officially mine.

Another archway on the opposite side leads to the dining room. A brick pillar housing a two-sided wood burning stove divides the dining room from the living room. I walk through, running my fingers along the back of couches, corner tables, and shelving units, until I return to the entrance hall and head up the stairs.

The first floor has three bedrooms, two with connecting bathrooms, and another separate bathroom at the end of the hall. I don't bother going into the rooms, just walk to the end of the hall and look out of the round window set in the wall. There's a swimming pool, surrounded by sun loungers, and a small pool room outside.

Retracing my steps, I go downstairs, walk into the living room, and sit on the couch .

Unlike my other house, this one holds a single memory. Of me signing the papers confirming my ownership, and then leaving to run some errands, before going back to the house I shared with Jason and Louisa.

Except when I got there, it wasn't to celebrate my purchase. It was to something out of a horror movie.

I never got to live in this house. Never had a chance to make happy memories. Instead, it stood cold and empty.

A perfect reflection of my life.

I close my eyes, thinking back to that day. How Jason and Louisa had stood at the front door of our shared place, cheering and clapping while I got in my car to drive over here. They had an appointment of their own, so they couldn't come with me. Not that they needed to. This was going to be my house, not ours .

I wish that was my final memory of them, instead of the bloodied mess I discovered later that evening.

A notification sound from my phone disrupts my thoughts, and I take out my cell to check the screen.

Peter: Sorry about the lateness, but just thought you'd want to know that the interview has been arranged for 2 p.m. Wednesday afternoon. I couldn't get a later date. They want to put it out live on their afternoon show. They'll come to your parents house.

Me: Thanks .

I drop the cell on the cushion beside me, tip my head back and stare up at the ceiling.

I should go back to my parents' place and try to get some sleep, but I know the second I walk through the door, I'll be hit with questions about my evening. Maybe I should just stay here tonight. I could use the television for background noise, and just crash on the couch.

I discard the idea almost as soon as it forms. The space is too big, too open, too quiet . I'm not ready to take this step, not yet.

Shoving to my feet, I pick up my cell and make my way back to the front door.

I'll go for a drive. See what else has changed in the town I grew up in.

Yet once I'm behind the wheel, I find myself driving back to the house I shared with Jason and Louisa. I park on the road instead of the drive, and cut off the engine.

A few people have put in offers to buy it over the years. They only want it because it's been dubbed the ‘murder house of Whitstone'. They're vultures who want to be close to where a horrific crime was committed.

They have all been met with the same response. The house is not for sale, and never will be. It will be Jason and Louisa's home for as long as I live.

I glance at the time on the dashboard. Almost eleven.

I lean forward, resting my arms across the steering wheel, and lean my chin against them, so I can stare at the house.

It had been around this time that I'd come home that night.

In my head, I can see my car turning onto the drive. I parked it, grabbed the deed for the house out of the glove compartment, then climbed out.

My eyes track the invisible route I took from the car to the house, seeing the front door swing open under my palm. It hadn't been locked, but too wrapped up in my excitement about the house I hadn't really thought about why that was.

I'd walked inside to find the house in darkness, so I called their names. When I got no response, I jogged up the stairs to the room they shared.

And then some sixth sense had kicked in. My heart rate cranked up, and something screamed in my mind not to open the bedroom door. To turn around and leave. To not go inside.

Of course, I'd ignored it and what I found burned itself into my mind.