Keep Me Safe: An absolutely unputdownable and totally gripping psychological thriller by Sheryl Browne

Author:Sheryl Browne [Browne, Sheryl]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2024-07-26T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-EIGHT

Telling Laura that the track that leads to the cottage is inaccessible, I get her to drop me in the lane and hurry on by foot. The front door is yanked open as I near the cottage. With the light from the hall spilling out, it looks homely, safe. I chose it because I thought it would be safe, somewhere the reporters and, more crucially, he would never find them. Has he? My chest constricts sharply and I quicken my pace, slush and mud sucking at my shoes as I run. My mother steps out and hurries towards me. I don’t need to ask the question; her expression tells me everything. ‘Patrick has gone out again,’ she murmurs, her eyes glassy with tears. ‘He’s searching the woodland at the back of the barn. I’ve called the police.’ She looks me over, her face pale with worry.

I nod and move past her. I rang her on the way here, told her to call them and tell them Freya was missing. Missing. The word strikes terror straight through my heart. Please, God, let me find my baby, I pray silently. This is all my fault. As careful as I’ve been, I’ve led him here. But why is he doing this? He can’t hope to get away with it. My stomach twists painfully as I race through the front door and straight up the stairs.

As I step into Freya’s room, I feel as if my heart is being ripped from my body. Tulip, the snuggle rabbit she adores and can’t bear to be parted from, lies in the dent on the bed where her small body should be. A moan escapes me as I reach tremblingly to pick it up. Squeezing my eyes closed, I press it to my face, breathing in the special, unique smell that binds mother and child together for ever.

I can’t do this. I can’t. Gulping back a sob, I clutch the toy tightly to my chest. ‘Where is she?’ I choke the words out as my mum threads an arm gently around me.

‘We’ll find her.’ Cupping my face with her other hand, she eases me towards her, but I pull away, whirling around. I don’t blame her. I don’t. Freya is a clever girl, as bright as a button. Wilful sometimes. Determined to do something if she gets a mind to. She wouldn’t go outside in the unfriendly pitch black of night, though. How would she? She would have to have found the key, unlocked the door, pulled the bolts. She couldn’t have done all that on her own.

‘Where is she?’ I blunder back along the landing to Mum’s room, look frantically around as if she might appear from the ether. I’m moving towards the wardrobe, as if my mum wouldn’t have already checked in there, when I stop dead. There’s a water glass on each of the bedside tables. A dressing gown on the bed, not my mother’s. Next to the bed – one flipped over, the other askew as if hurriedly prised off and discarded – a pair of slippers.

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