Behind A Twisted Smile (Dark Minds Book 2) (17 page)

Now? I glanced at the open books on the kitchen table. I was almost done. I just needed to do a final tot-up: ten, fifteen minutes at most. I wanted to be sure I had enough capital to survive the next year in case there was a change of plan.

“I can be there in about, say, half an hour. That okay?”

I needed ten minutes to get there. I really wanted to finish my task while it was still fresh in my head, and besides, she
had
made me suffer for a few months. She could surely wait ten minutes or so.

There was a lengthy pause, and I wondered if she had rung off. “Evie, you still there?”

“Yes, I was thinking. That’s fine, but please don’t be any longer.”

She sounded odd, uptight.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, quite sure.”

“Is Martyn with you? Will he be there?”

“No, he won’t be here. He’s at work. He said he’d be back in about two hours at the end of his shift. I…I want to talk to you. As sister to sister. Without him being around. He knows I’m going to speak to you, though. He was he who suggested we talk.”

“Fine. Okay, I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

Mystified, I put my phone in my pocket. So what had she got to tell me? And why had Martyn suggested we get together for a chat? I couldn’t really see him in the role of peacemaker. An odd thought struck me. Was Evie as happy as a new bride ought to have been?

Chapter 22

Although I had never been inside Evie’s new house, I had been curious enough to drive past in daylight and have a good look at the place once I knew she had definitely bought it with Martyn. It was modern and huge for just two people. I really couldn’t see them having children, despite their earlier talk, and expensive. Evie’s new home was set in a private road of about a dozen dwellings. The houses all had long drives leading off the road, and I was astonished to see that each plot of land covered well over an acre. Apart from being completely secluded from neighbours, the whole development was situated in open countryside. Along the backs of the houses, I knew there were miles of fields and light woodland as well as a river. It was all very peaceful and highly desirable. It would definitely have suited Martyn’s super-huge ego.

Evening was descending fast as I arrived, and after turning into the drive, I parked behind Evie’s car, which was standing in front of the closed double-garage doors. I got out and glanced at an upstairs window where I could see a light. Downstairs appeared to be in complete darkness. I shivered as I walked up to the front door; it was very cold, and I wondered why Evie hadn’t left the welcoming porch light on. She knew I would be there soon. I rang the doorbell and waited. To kill time I glanced round the road. There was no one in sight, and only a few other houses looked like they were occupied judging by the odd light dotted here and there. I supposed people were taking advantage of the weeks before Christmas to buy presents. There was nothing like getting it all done early and beating the late rush.

When Evie didn’t appear, I rang again. I rattled the door handle, but it was locked. Puzzled, I decided to explore round the back, thinking she might have been in the garden. There was a tall wooden gate which led to the rear, and when I tried the handle, it turned in my hand, and the gate swung open. I closed it behind me and walked along the path. The first thing I saw was a wide sweep of lawn. Slightly unkempt flower beds lined either side, and in the distance, along the bottom fence, I spied a row of trees and what looked like a garden shed in the left-hand corner. A rambling plant of some kind covered most of the roof of the shed and as far along the bottom fence to a gate set in the centre. From where I was standing, the gate looked closed. A bicycle was left leaning against the shed door, and I guessed it was one of the two new ones Evie had bought. I wondered how much use she would make of hers—she always loathed exercise. The skeleton branches from the trees reached up against a backdrop of purple-mauve-coloured sky. The air was still, and apart from a few late birds getting ready to roost in the trees, it was as quiet as a graveyard. There was no sign of Evie. The garden was empty.

I turned on my heel and moved towards one of two doors. The kitchen door opened to my touch. Like the front, the rear of the house was in darkness, and as I called Evie, I fumbled around the walls searching for a light switch. I noticed how hot the house felt after coming in from the cold.

“Evie? Are you there?”

Still no answer. I wondered what the devil she was playing at. I wanted to find my sister, sit down and have a good heart to heart with her. I was tired of all this. Up until then, I had been depressed because I thought she would never forgive me. Now she wanted to talk, and I was anxious and impatient to get it all settled. Life was too short for silly quarrels.

I found more switches on the walls and the large square hallway flooded with light once I flipped them on. I moved towards the bottom of the stairs, and it was then I noticed the smell. At first it was faint, indeterminate, and then as I sniffed more deeply, it filled my nostrils, and I likened it to a smithy that was filled with raw iron and earth. It was metallic, coppery, like old wet metal with a hint of citrus.

Blood.

My heart pounded in my chest. My pulse throbbed in my neck. I thought I could hear the sound of running water. I placed my foot on the first step and softly called Evie’s name. Naively, I was hoping she would appear, laughing like she used to, her head wrapped in a towel, saying she had taken a shower or washed her hair because it felt so yucky. But before I could even drag my feet into the bathroom, I knew what I would find.

My sister. My beautiful sister was lying in the bath, the hot water tap running slowly, curdling the blood-filled waters of her coffin. Her green eyes were open, but as I gaped at her glassy, lifeless stare, I knew she was dead. My throat felt constricted as I fought for breath. I know I screamed.

She was naked. A scalpel rested on the rim of the bathtub, blood had run down the side and pooled on the floor. Incongruously, I noticed a pervading scent of bath oil above the rust. I found I was shaking. My essential oil. I gave Evie some for her last birthday, and she chose to repay me by using it in her suicide. But why?

The scalpel I understood. She was a nurse and could have easily laid her hands on one. Numbly, I reached over and turned the tap off. Somewhere deep inside, I remembered reading that if you wanted to commit suicide by slicing open your veins, hot water would keep the veins open, and bath oil would relax you while you bled your life away. Oh Evie…so much blood…on her face, smeared along the top of the bath, the floor. From what I noticed, she looked skeletally thin, from her chest down to her skinny thighs and bruised arms. I felt my stomach heave, and I turned away, fighting to keep my breathing under control.

In one corner, I saw a pile of clothing and recognised them as Evie’s. Slightly off to one side, a pair of cartoon-themed slippers lay discarded just inside the doorway, and hardly aware of what I was doing, I picked them up. The slippers, I remembered, were a present to Evie from Darcy. Cheeky rabbit faces peered up at me, but they would never make Evie smile again. I fondled the soft floppy ears, drawing back in horror when I realised they were splattered with blood and then, turning the slippers over, found more blood on the soles. Even these innocent-looking things, given in a gesture of love, hadn’t been spared. Oh Evie, Evie.

I couldn’t understand. She was in love. She wanted to marry Martyn so badly. So why had there been so much pain and suffering in her life to make her want to end it all this way? My brain kicked in. I felt for a pulse and found nothing but cold, lifeless flesh. With trembling fingers, I jabbed at buttons on my phone.

“Help,” I screamed. “Please help. My sister’s cut her wrists. Please, please, what shall I do? Please, come quickly.”

The calm female voice at the other end asked questions to which I garbled the answers. All the time I found I couldn’t take my eyes from Evie. My sister, Evie, alone, naked and vulnerable.

The voice asked me to stay at the house. “The emergency services will be with you as soon as possible.”

“Please hurry,” I whispered as tears slid over my nose.

Despite the horrendous scene before me, I couldn’t leave Evie all by herself. It was bad enough that she was miserable enough to take her own life: worse that she left it completely on her own. My mind started playing tricks; I fought to keep myself under control, pushing aside the jumble which threatened to take over. I had to stay sane for Evie’s sake. I don’t know why I thought that, and I doubt I ever will.

I realised I was shivering and took a moment to compose myself by going over to the window. I opened it and drew in deep lungfuls of fresh air. I wanted to rid the dreadful taste in my throat. In the distance, across the fields and through light woodland, I could see the lights of our town. On a warm, sunny day, the twenty-minute walk would have been very pleasant.

I turned away from the window and approached the appalling scene once more. I knew I ought to call Mum and Angela and let them know of the unspeakable thing I had discovered. But as I knelt down next to the bath, I asked myself, how would I put it to them? Dimly, I supposed Martyn needed to be told, too. In a minute. I would do it all in a minute.

As I swayed on my knees, I suddenly realised I might have prevented this. If only I had left home as soon as Evie rang, instead of acting awkward and wasting precious minutes checking how much money I had in my accounts.

Was this all my fault? Could I have prevented this tragedy?

***

I stayed with Evie as long as I could before the authorities arrived and gently moved me out of the way. I spent the short time observing Evie, wondering how she had the strength to do what she had done. I came to the conclusion she must have had strong reasons for wanting to end her life in such a shocking manner.

She had slit her wrists from about four inches from her elbows. How she had the courage, I would never know, to slash down along the vein towards the wrists, not across the veins as seen in TV dramas or big-screen movies. Horrifically enough, both wrists had been cut equally as well as the other. As I stared, I wondered what concentration of character it had taken to perform such a dreadful act so precisely.

Chapter 23

I gradually became aware I wasn’t alone any more. Strangers arrived, wearing a green uniform with personal protective tabards covering their overalls. There was so much
blood
.

I felt as if I was viewing everything through cracked, imperfect glass. Nothing seemed normal. I thought if I reached out, I wouldn’t be able to touch or feel anything. I was so numb inside.

The paramedics scurried around, making me sit down in the living room, while upstairs I could hear urgent footsteps as they raced from the stairs to the bathroom. After a few minutes there was a lull and it became quiet.

A police car arrived at almost the same time as the ambulance, and I was aware of a policewoman handing me a mug of tea. It was sweet and hot, but the smell of it made me want to vomit as I remembered that other cloying smell…in my nostrils, my hair, under my fingernails.

“Have you phoned anyone?” The policewoman asked in a soft voice. She looked about twenty-three, and I wondered if Evie was the first dead body she had dealt with. How was
she
feeling? Did professionals ever get over the sight of a dead body? I shook my head in answer to her question.

“I must phone my mum…our mum,” I said in a tight little voice.

She nodded. “If you want me to do it for you, please just say.” She withdrew to stand in the hallway, and I heard her muttering into her telephone to someone back at the station.

I drew my phone from my pocket and took a huge breath. I had rehearsed a little speech in my head; it had gone round and round until I had it word perfect. In the end, I managed to speak calmly and clearly. I said that I had some dreadful news and that Evie was dead. I remember there was no response, and I wondered if Mum had heard me. Then I heard a strangled sort of half gasp half sob.

“Dead? I don’t understand.” She muttered something else, and I asked her to come round to the house and get Angela to accompany her. I didn’t think she ought to drive.

My phone lay in my lap. I knew Martyn should have been told, but I just
couldn’t
. The thought of him and her—it was as I said before.  He destroyed everything he came into contact with.

The policewoman returned. She was pretty; her hair was a pale shade of auburn, and she had smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She gave me an encouraging smile.

“Okay? You spoke to your mum?” I nodded and said she was on her way.

She sat down next to me on the settee and got out her notebook. “I have to ask you some questions, take details, as you found her first.”

I nodded. Again I thought what a dreadful job she had. Being called out to suicides or even murders…having to witness such horrors and then interview the relatives and friends.

“Evie has a husband…had. He needs to be contacted, too. I don’t want to be the one—”

“It’s fine. Would you like me to?” She laid down her notepad. I gave her the number and walked over to the window while she tried. “Engaged,” she said finally. “I’ll try again in a minute.”