When everyone thinks your sister committed suicide, it’s hard to prove she was murdered.
Kim is unable to accept Charley’s sudden death. Crippled by an unnatural amnesia, her questions are met with wall after wall. As she doubts her sanity, she realises her investigation is putting those around her in danger.
The only person who seems to know anything is Matthew, an elusive stranger who would rather vanish than talk. Despite his friendly smile, Kim isn’t sure she can trust him. But if she wants to protect her family from further danger, Kim must work with Matthew to discover how Charley died – before it’s too late.
The warm light seeps through the closed
sitting room curtains when I step into the drive. The muffled thump of dance
music grows louder as I approach the familiar front door. I push the key into
the lock, but the door swings open on its own. My breath catches in my throat,
but I force it into a growl. Not only has my sister, Charley, not bothered to
lock the door, she hasn’t latched it. Whatever she rushed home for must have
been important.
I step over the threshold and a blast
of warm air hits me, enveloping me like one of Mum’s overprotective hugs. My
wind-chilled face tingles, as I close and lock the door.
"Charley, I hope you’ve set the
table.” My voice competes with the din of the deep bass of my sister’s music.
I toss my keys into the wicker basket
on the hall table. As I peel my coat off, I see Charley’s in a crumpled heap on
the floor. Rolling my eyes, I scoop it up and hang it, then place her discarded
boots in the shoe rack beside my own. Why am I the conscientious sister? I’m
only sixteen. Charley will be heading off to university next year.
Stomach rumbling, I snatch up the
Chinese takeout I’d picked up on the walk home and wander into the kitchen.
Frowning, I flick the switch to light up the pristine room. Mum is a clean
freak now that Dad doesn’t live here. The table isn't set, even though Charley
promised she would do it before she rushed off ahead.
"Charley,” I call out and then
dump the bag on the kitchen table and stomp across the hall to the sitting
room, shoving the door open.
The music hits me first, making me jerk
my head back, then the smell. An odd odour, metallic and rich, overpowers the
air freshener on the mantel.
"Charley?" She must be trying
to scare me. "Charley, stop messing around.” I grit my teeth, expecting
her to jump out at any second.
My body shudders and my flesh tingles
as if an army of ants is marching beneath my skin. I back out of the empty
sitting room and bolt upstairs. The smell is stronger, snaking down my throat,
making me want to gag.
“Charley?”
I shove her door open, hard.
Charley’s lying on the bed, her blond
hair fanned out over the pillow. Her arms are spread wide, palms up. Crimson
blood drips from deep slashes on her wrists. Her blue eyes are open, staring at
the ceiling. But they don't see. They're dull, empty.
Dead.
The room spins. My stomach lurches and
bile rises up my throat. I swallow and clap my hand to my mouth. Sagging
against the doorframe, I can’t tear my gaze from the single lock of hair resting
over Charley’s porcelain cheek. What should I do?
Charley would know what to do.
As I stumble down the stairs, my mind
clicks into gear. A scream rips out of my throat, eclipsing the pounding music.
My foot slips on the beige carpet, sending me tumbling down the remaining
stairs. My shoulder and back slam against the wall. I scramble to my feet,
screaming, sobbing, then stagger into the hallway, colliding into a young man
with the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen.
My own force knocks me backwards. His
strong grip clenches my arm, preventing me from falling. I try to scream again,
but the sound is trapped within my constricting chest. My sister is dead. A
stranger is in my house.
I writhe against his grip, lashing out
with my foot. My toes crumple and sting when they hit his shin. I’m thrown off
balance, but he holds me fast.
He raises his thumb to my forehead and
applies gentle pressure, as he sweeps his thumb towards my brow and then hooks
it back up.
"Sleep." His quiet voice acts
like a sedative.
My head flops forward until my chin
touches my chest. A new scent replaces the sickly metallic tang of Charley’s
blood: freshly cut grass. Inhaling it makes my head fuzzy and my heartbeat
slow.
I want to see his face, memorise every
detail. The contours of his cheeks and jaw, the shape of his nose, the colour
of his hair. The police want to know those things, don’t they? The only feature
I can see for sure is the impossible darkness of his eyes.
My own eyelids droop, my limbs turn
liquid. A strong arm loops round my back and lowers me to the floor. I fight
against sleep. Each time I force my eyelids open, they flutter shut again.
"Forget,” he says. The word is
nothing more than a whisper at the edge of my hearing. "Sleep."
Clare Davidson is an independent writer, based in Lancaster. Clare is a high school teacher, mother and character-driven fantasy writer. Clare was born in Northampton and lived in Malaysia for four and a half years as a child, before returning to the UK to settle in Leeds with her family. Whilst attending Lancaster University, Clare met her future husband and never left. They now share their lives with their young daughter, a cranky grey cat and an insane white kitten.
She published her first novel, Trinity in July 2012. Trinity is a young adult, fantasy novel, which currently has seventeen five star reviews on Amazon UK.
Her second novel, Reaper’s Rhythm, is due to be released on the 26
July 2013. Also aimed at a young adult audience, Reaper’s Rhythm is an urban fantasy with a dash of mystery.
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