D. E. White - Remember Me

‘Did you speak to him later at all, or try his house?’ Ava asked, annoyed that her voice came out husky. She cleared her throat and reached for her cup of tea, trying to calm her pounding heart. ‘Did he mention what his “proof” was? Did he give any hint of where she was?’

‘We weren’t sure. There have been a lot of people trying to tell us things about Ellen over the years, but Jesse… We wondered if he really had found something, so naturally, yes, we telephoned him that night, and Peter even went over to his house. As soon as it was morning, we phoned again, but there was no answer. He was living with his cousins and his girlfriend, and they said he took his bike out as soon as it was light. I telephoned the police as well, after what Jesse said, but it is such an old case, and I had nothing to tell them other than a drunken boy’s claim to know something. I can’t blame them for not following up on it.’

Ava could hardly breathe, and her fingers were clenched so tightly around the china cup that her knuckles shone white. ‘Then what happened?’

Jackie was shaking her head, eyes bright. ‘Well, they didn’t find him until the afternoon, but by then of course, it was too late. It’s such a lonely road, and apparently there had been a diesel leak from another vehicle that made him skid. He was dead. It was a couple of years ago now. I went up to Glasgow, to speak to the people who offered him the job, and he’d already rented a flat…’

‘You wondered if Ellen was in Glasgow, and that Jesse had found a trace of her?’

‘Yes. But it was a dead end. Just like all the others. The only copper who took a bit of notice was one of the team who dealt with Ellen’s disappearance. Sophie Miles. She’s a Detective Inspector working with the Major Crime Team down at Cadrington now, and she was very interested, but eventually admitted there was nothing to pursue.’

‘When we heard that you were coming home, we knew that it was our last chance. You saw her before she left, and she gave you that letter. It sounded so simple, that she was going to live a little, travel and meet new people, and we needn’t worry, but the police were never convinced, and neither were we. There was no catalyst for it, was there, cariad ?’ Peter smiled benevolently at Ava, but his voice seemed to be echoing down a tunnel as she fought to get a grip on her emotions. This was far worse than she had imagined, far worse even, than the questions at the time. He continued, ‘But I’m sure even you must have wondered if she really went, or if something else happened. Because she’s never been in touch with you either, has she?’

‘No,’ Ava whispered. ‘No, she hasn’t been in touch.’

‘We knew you would have told us if she had. Ellen loved you, so if she was in trouble, even if she couldn’t tell us, it would have been you she turned to. So anyway, we have hired a private investigator. He’s coming down from Cardiff to stay here for a while, and I hope you won’t mind if he interviews you?’

People have always judged me on my appearance. I don’t blame them. I mean, we are all a bit fickle like that, aren’t we? We say, ‘She’s all right, but what’s she doing with that ugly fucker?’ or we assume that if you are one of the beautiful people you can’t have a brain, or maybe that you can’t have beauty and brains. Luckily I am one of the beautiful people. Even at school the other kids would like to be around me, share bags of sweets with me, and tell me their secrets… Stupid, stupid, because with secrets comes the power to fuck people over.

My days are filled with activity, and whilst I go about my meaningless tasks, I consider my players. They are ready to go now, lined up neatly in their start positions. All I need to do is roll the dice.

There’s no keeping secrets in this village, which is pretty funny when you consider what I do. Nobody looks beneath the surface, do they? By midday I’m sure everyone knows what Jackie and Peter have done. I make it my business to find things out. I was a bit shocked when I first heard, and then I wanted to laugh out loud. The presence of this pathetic private investigator merely adds another thrill to the mix. He arrives tomorrow and I really can’t wait to meet him. He’ll be staying at the Birtleys’ with Ava. The irony of this makes me smile to myself.

My phone pings with a message, and without thinking I tap out a genial reply. I also take another phone out of a drawer, and quickly, while I think of it, send a message to someone else.

Cofiwch fi

Remember me

I wish I’d thought of this years ago, but in retrospect maybe now is when it all comes together. This was meant to happen, and I am in total control of the blood rush that will inevitably follow. I chuck the phone back with a dozen more I bought especially for this purpose.

I check my emails, logging quickly into my secret accounts, adding a few pictures to my regular forums. Of course, I always hide my true identity, using the latest software to cloak and mask my addresses, my names. In most cases, depending on the customer, I am neither male nor female – a nameless, faceless entity, but a powerful one. People rely on me to deliver what they crave. I have rich customers, young, old and male and female. They all share that same dangerous taste, and they all know I deliver for their delectation.

I knew it would be a while before I got some new pictures, so I’ve been stringing these out. She has long dark hair, and a full, curvy body. I went into town, hunting, with the venue and guests all arranged. Behind the screen I can do anything, as can my guests. The questions and requests all come at an alarming speed during my parties, and I enjoy the challenge of fulfilling them. This time, as we talked, I felt that throb of excitement. She was the one. My own body fizzed with energy, and suddenly I was back in a world of bright colours and endless possibilities. She would never have considered me a threat, because that would be laughable, so we chatted for long enough for me to know what I would do with her. It’s important to know what they enjoy, and what will bring them to the edge of that hellslide. It is always a risk, but luckily, occasionally, there are others who are willing to take risks for me. They also have to hide their predilections from the world. I am lucky to have cultivated such contacts. I do it for the money and the thrill, they do it because they have to. It is their obsession, their sickening guilty pleasure, and I have them all hooked. When I play a game like that, every sticker-fingered invite is treasured, and every payment is made promptly.

I fed them fit to bursting with the pictures of her dusty bare legs, and pink painted toenails. It was business of course, but still worth it for the fun and the money. She was sprawled across the floor, brown eyes dull and glazed with defeat. The dark, glossy hair, that attracted me earlier that evening, was now greasy with sweat. I watched the blood pool, and dipped a fingertip into the gooey redness. It was pleasant on my tongue, but missing that special sweetness that comes with reality.

My clients believe what they see, because they want to, but for the two of us, in our little hotel room, it is all mirrors and smoke. I paid her well, but for me, she wasn’t special. She asked for my number, and I gave her a fake card.

I would never contact her.

We both knew it.

I drift back to a type of reality, and open a drawer, considering the line of keys inside, neatly labelled. Nearly time to make my next move.

Mrs Birtley has always been too polite to say what she really thinks of me, so she was happy to let me in for a chat. She’s a boring, jumped-up bitch, but as she scurried off to get the cake, it was simple to snag the spare keys off her rack. I copied them, and slipped them back the next day when I delivered that history book she wanted. I always try to plan ahead for the big games.