Sam Carrington - I Dare You

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'I Dare You is a compulsive read with a heart-stopping twist' Fabulous MagazineAN INNOCENT GAME. A SHOCKING CRIME. A COMMUNITY FULL OF SECRETS.Mapledon, 1989 Two little girls were out playing a game of dares. Only one returned home. The ten-year-old told police what she saw: village loner Bill ‘Creepy’ Cawley dragged her friend into his truck and disappeared. No body was found, but her testimony sent Cawley to prison for murder. An open and shut case, the right man behind bars. The village could sleep safe once again.Now… Anna thought she had left Mapledon and her nightmares behind but a distraught phone call brings her back to face her past. 30 years ago, someone lied. 30 years ago, the man convicted wasn’t the only guilty party. Now he’s out of prison and looking for revenge. The question is, who will he start with?Readers love I Dare You!‘An emotional story with lots of unexpected events and multiple twists. I would give more than 5 stars if I could!’ *****‘There's nothing better than when a book totally throws you at the end, and that's what this one did!’ *****‘A wild ride through a small town as the reader is brought into an everlasting amount of suspense!’ *****Praise for Sam Carrington from your favourite authors!‘A kick-ass page turner … I was knocked senseless by the awesome twist.’ John Marrs, author of The One and When You Disappeared‘Engrossing psychological suspense … it had me hooked!’ Emma Curtis, author of The Night You Left‘Expertly written … with plentiful twists and unforgettable characters.’ Caroline Mitchell, author of Silent Victim and The Secret Child‘A pacy read, packed with surprises. Will keep you on your toes.’ Jane Corry, author of I Looked Away and My Husband’s Wife‘A gripping read which moved at a head-spinning pace … I simply couldn't put this book down.’ Claire Allan, author of Her Name was Rose

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Grabbing her bag, she shouted goodbye to the remaining teachers, swept out of the building and climbed into her car. Her blue Escort spluttered into life and she drove out of the school gate. With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she turned right, joining the traffic that would take her to the M5.

Her mother’s words continued to repeat themselves inside her mind as she drove:

There was such a racket at the front of the house, it scared me half to death. When I mustered the courage to go out there, I found it.

Found what, Mum?

The doll’s head. Hammered to my front door.

Chapter Two

2019

Lizzie

The envelope, its corner peeping out from within the clump of mail she’d shoved behind the purple key pot – the one neither of them actually used for their keys, preferring instead to spend stressful minutes searching for the last place they’d flung them – glared at her like an accusation. Lizzie snatched it up, then slammed it down on the counter, taking a step back as though it were a dangerous object about to inflict harm.

Something told her it would do her harm. Its content, anyway. Mentally, not physically. She knew physical pain, had endured years of it growing up in various care homes. She could cope with that; was hardened to it. Her mental well-being had never caught up, though. That was still fragile, like butterfly wings – delicate, prone to breaking. She had to guard herself from outside factors.

Guard herself from the words the envelope held within.

She’d ignored it for as long as possible. Hidden it from Dom. Tried to forget about it. She should’ve ripped it up and binned it. Why hadn’t she? Sleep had been impossible, her thoughts, her imagination, keeping her awake hour after hour. She knew this had to be done.

Taking the envelope once again, she stared at the postmark. At the logo. It was definitely from the solicitor.

It’d happened thirty years ago. Lizzie had only been eight years old, but some memories never faded. Some intensified with age. There was much she didn’t remember – but those gaps had often been filled in for her by the people in the children’s home. Carers, teachers, the other kids – they’d all had something to say about it.

A sour taste filled Lizzie’s mouth as saliva flooded it.

She had to face this.

Tearing open the envelope before she could change her mind again, she pulled the crisp, white, headed paper from it.

Dear Mrs Brenfield,

As per your request, I write to inform you that Mr William Cawley is to be released from HMP Baymead, Devon, on the 9th July 2019.

Lizzie’s vision blurred, her grip loosened. Before she could read on, the paper fell to the ground.

Creepy Cawley had been released from his thirty-year sentence three days ago.

He was a free man.

Chapter Three

1989

Bovey Police Station, outskirts of Mapledon

Friday 21st July – 36 hours after the incident

Shock covered her face with a white mask. She didn’t remember how she’d come to be there, standing alongside her mother, whose long, thin arm formed a tight band around her shoulders. Protective, yet angry at the same time.

‘I’d told her. Told them . Warned them.’ Her mother’s voice was clipped, spoken in such a way as to make her seem out of breath. Maybe she was in shock, too.

‘I’m sure you did what you could,’ police officer Vern said. ‘As a parent myself, I know how difficult it is to keep your eyes on your children all the time. You have to give them some freedom, and as you say, it’s a small village – you don’t expect something like this to happen.’

‘No. No, you don’t,’ she agreed, her head shaking from side to side.

‘I’m sorry to have to keep you, I know you’d like to get your daughter back home, but I do need to speak with her. Try to get a fuller picture – a timeframe of events. It’s crucial we don’t waste any more time … You understand, don’t you?’

Her mother looked down at her as the officer spoke. A tingling feeling spread through her, reaching her fingertips, making them feel as though they were on fire. There was something in the tone of the policeman’s voice – a hidden meaning she couldn’t grasp. But by the look on her mother’s face, she knew it was bad. It was all bad. And now she’d have to tell them what had happened. What she’d caused to happen.

It was all her fault. She’d get the blame for it all.

Chapter Four

2019

Anna

Friday 12th July

The sign, greying with age and rusted at the edges, came into view and Anna’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles blanching.

MAPLEDON.

Even before she turned off the main road she could feel her world shrinking. The village had been all-consuming when she’d lived there – everyone had known everyone else, everyone attended the same events, frequented the same – and only – pub; all her friends’ parents lived in each other’s pockets, socialising together, some even working together. There were no secrets in Mapledon. No chances to mess up without someone knowing. No opportunities to play outside the rules.

She didn’t suppose it’d got any better in her absence.

As she took the right turn at the old tollhouse, the road narrowed. Anna tugged the steering wheel, pulling the car over abruptly. The light was fading more quickly now, the sun dipping behind the dark granite rock of Haytor on nearby Dartmoor. It was still warm, or maybe it was Anna’s anxiety heating her blood. She wound the window down, breathing in slowly and deeply. It even smelled the same. That couldn’t be possible, she knew – but it transported her back to her childhood. Back to the memories Mapledon held; the ghosts she’d left behind. With a deep sigh, Anna shook off the feeling and tried to gain control. She should get to her mother’s house before dark – before the ghosts came.

Shifting the gear into first, she set off again, heeding the twenty-mile-an-hour speed limit through the village. That was something new, at least. Second right, next left … She swallowed hard as she reached the turning to her mother’s road. Slowly, she drove in. Her heart banged. There it was. The 1960s magnolia-coloured, end terraced house she’d grown up in. She hadn’t visited the house since she’d left twenty years ago. She hadn’t even stepped foot in the village since she escaped its clutches. All contact with her mother had been through telephone calls and in person with her mother’s biannual trips to Anna’s house in Bristol.

Her mother had never argued when Anna had politely declined each of her invitations over the years. Never questioned why. She guessed Muriel knew without having to ask. Anna’s strained relationship with her mum had begun the day her father had walked out on them for another woman. Anna had always considered herself a daddy’s girl, so she was devastated when he left. She’d blamed everyone over the years: her mother, him, and even herself. But the full weight of her anger and bitterness had often been aimed at her mother – after all, she was the only one present and Anna believed Muriel had been the one to drive the poor man into someone else’s arms in the first place.

But he’d left Anna, too. For that she’d blamed him. He’d moved to the other end of the UK – Scotland, the farthest he could get – and had broken off all contact: not a phone call, not a letter. He’d abandoned his only daughter because of something her mother had done . That was unforgivable.

Anna pulled the key from the ignition and, with a dragging sensation in her stomach, got out of the car.

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