I try Olivia’s number next, not really expecting her to pick up. She doesn’t and I’m about to hang up when I realise the ringing I can hear through my phone’s speaker isn’t the only sound. There’s a gentle distant-sounding chirp of a tinny rock song. I muffle my own phone, leaving it to ring as I walk closer to the fence, trying to figure out where the music is coming from.
I’m almost sure it’s emanating from the mill itself – but then it stops. The call has dropped, so I hang up and try again. Perhaps it’s because the wind changes or it might be because I’m listening for it properly, but I can hear the tune clearly now. There’s the grinding of guitar strings and then a thump-thump-thump of drums. I vaguely recognise the song but couldn’t place it.
It’s definitely coming from inside the mill.
‘Olivia?’
Her name bounces around the woods once more without reply. I follow the line of the fence from riverbank to riverbank as it loops around the outside of the mill. It’s too steep for me to climb – and the metal looks sharp and dangerous in any case. I could wade out into the river and walk around the fence to the other side – but the current is surging, the water smashing into the rocks, and that’s probably the least appealing option. It might be fine but there’s every chance I could be half a mile downstream before I know what’s happened.
‘Tyler?’
His name reverberates with no response, moments before the wind fizzes louder, stealing the word and sending it far away.
If Olivia’s phone is inside the mill, then she must have got through, over or around the fence somehow. I can’t believe she went around the outside, but she might have got a boost from Tyler to get over. That doesn’t explain how he’d have got in. If he’d tried climbing, his hands would have been scratched bare.
I follow the route once more, this time pushing on the fence every metre or so, hoping for give. I’ve not gone far when I spot a patch where the wire has been snipped neatly. From anywhere other than directly next to it, the fence looks intact, but with the merest of pushes, one section separates from the other and opens like a cat flap.
It seems simple but the sharp edges of the fence rake my forearms as soon I push inside. There’s blood instantly, thick and dark red, dripping onto the grass and my shoe. The pain stabs as if I’m still being gouged and it doesn’t help when I take a moment to prod and poke the skin. It’s opened me up like a burnt pasty and is a good millimetre or two deep. When I clench my fist, the blood oozes, trickling along my hand and again running onto the ground.
I swear under my breath, digging into a pocket for a tissue and clamping it onto my arm.
‘Liv?’
No answer.
I take a couple of steps towards the mill and then freeze as an overwhelming sense of trepidation hits. It’s almost as if I’ve walked into a wall. It’s there but it’s not. For a moment, it feels as if something has touched my shoulder but, when I spin, there’s nobody there. Only the wind. Only the woods. Only the rampaging rush of water.
I’m being watched.
I can’t know that for sure – the windows of the mill are boarded up and there’s no one visible around the treeline – but there’s a prickling at the base of my neck that’s almost overpowering.
‘Liv?’
I take a step forward and then another, moving slowly towards what used to be the front door. It’s boarded up – but then it always was. When we first came here, it was nailed into place but Jason and Wayne brought a pair of hammers to take care of that. We’d leave the board in place and then move it to one side when we needed. It would have been fixed in the decades since but this is always the type of place where no entry and keep out signs feel optional.
The board is thick wood but it’s only leaning against the door frame, with nothing holding it in place. Like the old days. I nudge it aside, sliding into the mill for the first time in more than twenty years. I can’t remember the last time I was here for sure but suspect it was before Wayne died.
The inside of the mill is almost entirely dark. The electrics never worked when we used to visit and certainly wouldn’t have been fixed since. Thin tendrils of light creep through gaps between boards and there’s one large spotlight in the middle of the floor beaming down through what must be a broken window high above.
‘Liv? Tyler?’
My voice echoes again but nobody moves, nobody answers. I take out my phone once more and the window of white almost blinds me against the shadows. I call Olivia one more time, waiting the second or two it takes to connect until something on the far side of the mill flashes to life. The almost familiar tune blares as Olivia’s phone screen blinks on and off.
I set off towards it, the worn soles of my shoes slaloming on the sawdust and dirt. Olivia’s phone has been abandoned on the floor. The screen is cracked like a spider’s web from numerous drops and accidents. She’s asked Dan and me to buy her a new one in the past but we always say that if she can’t look after this one, then how can we expect her to look after a brand-new one.
It seems so silly now.
As I crouch and reach for Olivia’s phone, there’s a scuffing scramble of feet from behind. I turn but it’s already too late. Something, someone, is upon me – and then it all goes black.
Chapter Forty-Five
There’s blood on my windscreen.
It’s in the corner, a few speckled spots and then a thicker pool towards the bottom.
This is definitely a dream. There can’t be any question about that. There’s a hazy grey around the edges of my vision; that blinking, fuzzy sense that everything in front of me is a bewildering construct of my imagination.
Only this time, it is a dream.
My mouth is parched and I cluck my tongue trying to catch my breath. When I open my eyes, there is blood but it’s not on a windscreen; it’s on my arm. The scratch from the fence has started to dry, leaving a gloopy mound that is neither solid nor liquid. Like paint drying on the can’s lid.
It takes me a few seconds to realise I’m still in the mill. I’m leaning against a wall with the dampness of the flaking plaster soaking through my top. There’s a thin shaft beaming down from above, giving me barely enough light to see the slice along my arm. The back of my head hurts close to my ear and, when I touch it, there’s more sticky blood there.
I pull myself to my feet, calling Olivia’s name. There’s no reply and I reach for my phone – except it’s no longer in my pocket.
Aside from the bump on my head and slight dizziness, I don’t feel too bad. It’s then that I notice the gentle undercurrent of moaning and realise it isn’t coming from me; there’s someone else here.
Another limp shaft of light is illuminating the corner of the mill and there’s a lump there, which, from a distance, looks like a discarded bin bag. It’s only as I take a few steps closer that I see the shape bobbing up and down with each intake of breath. Every exhalation brings a husky groan.
I take a few steps towards the shape, wary that someone has very recently bashed me in the back of the head.
‘Liv?’
I hiss the name, hoping she’ll roll over – but it’s not her. The shape does twist, blinking into the light. His face is so much narrower than the last time I saw it, hair straggly and unkempt. One of his eyes has swollen and closed, like a boxer who’s been on the end of a hiding.
‘Tyler…?’
He moans an acknowledgement, rolling around until I can see that his hands are bound in front of him. I hurry towards him and kneel. He reels his head back, like a puppy frightened of being kicked. It surprises even me but there’s definitely relief at seeing him alive.
‘It’s Rose,’ I say. ‘Liv’s mum. It’s me.’
I can barely see him but his one good eye squints through the shadow with an ominous gleam. His hands are bound with some sort of plastic cord; perhaps a washing line. The knots are tight and small and I have no chance of getting a fingernail inside.
His voice is husky and dry: ‘Water.’
‘I don’t have any on me,’ I reply. ‘We’ll get you outside to my car.’
He starts to croak something but is interrupted by a third voice from behind me, ‘You won’t.’
It’s a woman’s voice but hard to place. Vaguely familiar but like she’s trying an accent. I spin but there’s nobody there, only the shadows.