Eeny Meeny

99

She was standing in the bedroom, looking at the devastation around her. The tatty posters and secondhand furniture that used to be here were long gone – now there was just the detritus of the vagrants and junkies who had passed through since the building was condemned.

There were so many memories in this room. Good, bad, horrific. Every time she pictured this room in her mind’s eye, Helen remembered her fear, her confusion, her sense of helplessness as she lay stock still, listening to her sister being raped on the bunk bed below. These thoughts swirled around Helen. She had been so powerless, so helpless for so long as a child that it felt profoundly weird to be standing here now as a grown-up woman – a grown-up woman with a gun in her hand. How she could have done with her older self then. Someone who could create order, ease suffering and administer justice. Maybe all this could have been avoided if someone – anyone – had listened to her cries for help.

The bunk bed had been rammed into the far corner. There was nothing there now, just a tattered Britney Spears poster, recently defiled with a felt tip pen. Helen found herself marching across the room, tearing the dog-eared poster down. Running her hand over the rough plaster behind it, she found what she was looking for. ‘J.H.’ Her initials. She’d carved them into the wall with a school compass all those years ago. It was a mark of the awful desperation of her childhood that she’d done so – hoping that they would survive there even if she didn’t.

Dark thoughts crowded in on Helen and she hurried from the bedroom. She dived into the other bedroom, the fetid kitchen and mildewed lounge. But it was already clear that there was nothing here for her. She had been so sure that a visit here would yield results, but she’d come up empty-handed.

This would be the last time she saw this place. She paused for a second to take it all in. Funny how they had never had any problem renting it out, even after what happened that night. When you’re poor you can’t afford to be squeamish or superstitious. There was a new family in within the week. And slowly over the years the fabric of this home had frayed and torn, until it was only fit for animals. A fitting end perhaps.

Helen hurried away from the block of flats, the guard grumpily trudging back to his cold cup of tea. She sat for a moment on her bike, pondering what to do next. Her instincts had always served her well, but they’d let her down here. Nothing for it but to pursue the other possibilites. Chase down every link.

She switched her phone on and was immediately alarmed by the number of missed calls. Alarm turned to horror when she picked up the first of many messages from DC Bridges.

Mark and Charlie had disappeared.