Remember Me: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller with a brilliant twist

Ava studied Ellen’s dad, Peter, carefully. He was bald now, which gave his dark eyes and beaky nose the look of a ferocious bird of prey. As always, she had been handed a cup of tea and some bara brith and settled down on the sofa. She could tell, just by looking around, that there would be no lodger, and the lights in Ellen’s room were still for her.

After a bit of chat Ava carefully sidled around the subject. ‘Do you think you’ll stay here? I mean, my mum and dad keep on about you moving out to live on the Keys with them… I wasn’t sure if that was just my dad being bossy as usual.’

Jackie and her husband exchanged glances, and she was the one who spoke. ‘Actually, we are moving. Not to Florida, but to England. I must tell you, cariad, we decided this when we heard you were coming back. The thing that keeps us – it sounds so stupid when I say it aloud – but we never believed that Ellen ran away. To have kept silent all these years. She just wouldn’t. Your parents agree that she would at least have contacted you, Ava. The two of you were like sisters. But the police never bothered to look too hard, did they, and we hoped for so many years she would just come back. Then, Jesse – you know he was killed in a motorbike accident?’

Ava nodded, heart pounding, and a trickle of sweat edging down her backbone and along her hairline.

‘Jesse was a nice boy, and he always liked Ellen, didn’t he?’ Peter looked at Ava with Ellen’s eyes. The almond shape, with long lashes, were almost too pretty for a man, but luckily the rest of his face was masculine enough. The eagle image persisted.

‘Yes… What… what did Jesse say?’

‘We were having a drink one night, and he brought the subject up himself. Actually, I tell you how it happened. He had been doing some course online, graphic design I think it was – wasn’t it, Peter?’

Her husband nodded, and carried on carefully sipping his tea, quietly observing both Ava and his wife.

‘Anyway, he had been offered a job in Glasgow, and we talked about leaving Aberdyth. I think I mentioned that we couldn’t leave until we found out what had happened to Ellen, and he took it very badly. Said he had the same trouble, but he was going to put it right, and then we could all leave.’

Peter turned to his wife. ‘And those were his exact words, weren’t they, Jackie? We didn’t know quite what to say to him after that, but of course we tried to question him when he had calmed down a little.’

She nodded, lips trembling a little. ‘He said that… he said that he had proof of where Ellen was, but he needed to check something…’

‘Wasn’t it he needed to check with someone? I’m sure that’s what he said,’ Peter put in suddenly, his voice sharp.

His wife waved his comment away. ‘Do you think so? Doesn’t matter, anyway, because it never happened. Of course, after he said it we questioned him a bit more, but he left straight away, practically ran right out into the darkness. Peter went after him, but he headed down to East Wood, and disappeared. Perhaps he had been drinking before he came to see us, because he seemed very unsteady on his feet. All I can remember clearly is him rushing out, shouting that he needed to do something, or check with someone, but he would tell us tomorrow.’

‘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?’

Chapter 7 (#ulink_8fbe62cd-2f7b-528c-ae5d-c745cfff824a)

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.

Now Ava occupies one of the rooms and the private investigator hired by the poor, deluded Smiths will soon be snug in the same building. It’s time to start playing. I should feel a little sadness that this is the last time, but instead I am overwhelmed with excitement. I need to keep up appearances, so I give my face a quick wash to get rid of that sheen of sweat, drying it with a soft towel. See what this does to me?

There are voices outside, so before anyone else can disturb me, I lean down to the cupboard, and take out the board. Drawing a long breath, I shake the two dice in my right fist, pause to kiss my bunched fingers, and release the dotted cubes.

They fall with a clatter, soothing my thundering heart, as they have so many times before. A double six. Of course, it would be. I pick up Ava’s piece, caressing the wooden curves as though it was her flesh, and move her out onto the board.

‘Wyt ti’n barod, Ava Cole?’

‘Are you ready, Ava Cole?’

Chapter 8 (#ulink_22e5645f-c1b8-5eec-97b4-ab4d8df83498)

When Ava walked into the pub later that evening, she stopped conversations and drew stares. The chatter resumed almost immediately, but she could feel many eyes upon her. It was like being the new kid at school, but far worse. Ellen was everywhere – laughing at the bar, downing shots at that corner table, sneaking out to the toilets with a bag of pills… Everything and nothing had changed. She was an hour late, missing out on Penny’s invitation to chat before the others arrived.

‘What are you drinking, love?’ Rhodri was beaming from a large table set for eight. He was sitting next to her ex-husband, who stared down into his pint, ignoring her. His square face was set and sullen, a good-looking playground bully who had never grown up. Penny, her blonde hair a shimmer of silk tonight, was on his right, and Leo was draped casually over the bench seat on the other side of the table, glass in hand.

‘Hi, Ava. You’re really late. Is everything okay?’ Penny seemed genuinely concerned, but Leo had that annoying smirk that said he was up to mischief.

‘I said to Pen just now, that you’d probably be late. Some things never change, do they?’

Rhodri laughed, and even Paul cracked a smile. They watched her like a pack of wolves, bound by their secrets, scenting that she might cause trouble. She was back to being the outsider from America, a face that didn’t fit.

‘I’m fine, thanks. Just had to answer a few emails from home. I share an apartment with some friends, and they wanted to catch up.’ She spoke without thinking, but noticed something change in their faces. Was it relief? Hell, what were they expecting her to do?