Page 66 of One Left Alive
She got into the car, slamming the door shut before he could answer her. She knew she’d gone too far, but couldn’t help it. All she wanted was to discover the truth and get justice for Bronte, her family and the O’Briens.
Forty-Two
Morgan took the police car back and swapped it for her own. She didn’t bother going upstairs. She had nothing to say to Ben. She’d emailed Wendy in the car and told her to speak to Ben about taking a sample of Bronte’s hair. Inside her flat, she kicked her shoes off. She was hot, tired and could still taste the overpowering scent of blood from this morning every time she closed her eyes. After a quick shower she curled up into a ball on her chair, her damp hair still wrapped in a towel, she closed her eyes. Just for ten minutes, she wanted to go back to last week where she was still on speaking terms with Dan. Still had him to rely upon when they went to jobs for advice; for all his being an idiot he was a very good copper.
A loud crack on the window made her jump off the chair, the towel falling from her head as her wet hair hung down over her eyes. Brushing it back, her heart racing, she stepped towards the glass, pressing her face against it. She couldn’t see anyone or anything out in the dark. What the hell was that? Was someone trying to scare her? She turned off the lamp then looked outside once more. For a fleeting second she thought a dark figure slipped behind the huge oak tree in the garden and a cold shiver made her body shudder. Maybe it was Stan? But she knew that running away wasn’t his style; he hadn’t the last time. Drawing the curtains closed, she rushed to the front door to make sure it was locked, then she went into the bathroom and bedroom double-checking the windows were secured and closing the blinds. Her hands were shaking; it was different when she was at work. Until this week she wore a uniform, had equipment to protect herself with and backup. When you were home alone, in your pyjamas, half asleep, it was a whole different situation.
Realising she couldn’t do anything, she dressed in her black leggings and roll-neck jumper, and tugged on her Nikes. She had to check out the garden and communal entrance to the flats. Anyone could be out there, and she wouldn’t settle for hiding inside. She looked around for a suitable weapon if the need to defend herself should arise. The only thing of any use was the wooden rolling pin in the drawer. Tucking her phone into her bra, she gripped the makeshift baton in her right hand. Pressing her ear against her front door, she listened to see if she could hear anyone out in the hallway. The only sound was her pounding heart which seemed to fill her mind. She peered through the spyhole; it looked okay. There wasn’t really anywhere to hide out there except for the cleaning cupboard, which was usually kept locked. She hoped it still was.
Opening the door, she slipped into the hallway. Tiptoeing across to the cupboard, she gripped the handle and pushed it down. It didn’t budge. The stairs that led up to the first and second floors were all in darkness. That was good; they had motion-sensor lights which fired up the minute someone put a foot on the first step, so no one could be up there. She locked her door behind her and tucked the key into her left shoe. With trembling legs she waited for the sensor light to turn off in the hall then pulled open the front door just enough to squeeze through.
Outside, she pressed her back against the wall, blending in to the shadows so she could sneak up on whoever might be hiding. The whole time she was scanning the gardens where she thought she saw the figure disappear. If they were still there, they were doing well keeping so still. Her fear was now turning to anger. What had she done to deserve this? Nothing! Whoever was trying to scare her would regret it. Gripping the rolling pin harder, she walked along the wall, thinking she’d go around the outside and sneak up from the front drive. The oak tree was a few metres away from her. She crept closer.
‘What are you doing?’
Morgan let out a screech so loud Ben jumped back and covered his ears. She raised the rolling pin and he lifted up his hands.
‘Bloody hell, it’s me, Ben. What’s up?’
Clutching her heart, she lowered her arm, but kept tight hold of the rolling pin.
‘Jesus you scared me. What are you doing here? Sneaking around in the dark; do you think you’re funny, is this some kind of joke to you? What is it, revenge for breaking your window?’
Her tone was accusatory, and Ben looked puzzled.
‘Hang on, what are you talking about? I’ve only just got here. Amy dropped me off; my car wouldn’t start. I wanted to see if you were okay. What’s going on?’
She stared at his face, trying to decide if he was telling the truth or bullshitting her.
‘Morgan, why are you dressed in black and sneaking around your garden holding a rolling pin?’
Her shoulders dropped. ‘I heard someone outside, saw someone run behind this tree. Then you turn up, it’s a bit of a coincidence.’
‘Can we go inside? You’re shivering.’
Morgan was torn; what if it had been him hiding? She realised that she’d been watching the tree the entire time since she’d come outside, and he hadn’t come from that direction. She nodded and turned, walking back to her flat. Ben followed, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets.
‘Look Morgan, I don’t know what’s going on here. But you’re shaking and your face is white. Sit down, I’ll get you a drink and you can tell me what happened.’
She sat down, the rolling pin still in her hand. He began to open her cupboards and found two glasses. ‘Do you have any alcohol?’
‘Vodka in the freezer.’
He opened the fridge and smiled. ‘I see you’re as interested in cooking as I am.’
She shrugged. ‘I actually like cooking, I haven’t had time to shop.’
Pulling the vodka out of the freezer compartment, he said, ‘You’re a girl after my own heart. I always keep my vodka in the freezer.’
Pouring out two measures, he carried one over and passed it to her. She threw her head back and downed it.
‘Nice.’
He did the same; it went down the wrong way and he ended up coughing into his sleeve. For the first time since he’d arrived, she smiled at him.
‘Better?’
‘A little.’
