The Returned (35 page)

‘I told you.’

The dress was light and comfortable. She even thought it might look good on her. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘You can turn around again.’ As he did so he breathed in, suddenly. She
couldn’t help but smile. ‘It suits me, doesn’t it?’

‘Maybe you . . .’ said Serge, still staring at her. ‘Maybe you should be getting home.’

‘When you found me, did you find my phone? It’s not with my stuff.’ Serge shook his head. ‘My parents don’t know I’m here, do they?’

‘No,’ he said, then quickly added: ‘I asked you when I brought you here, but you told me not to tell them.’

Léna nodded. She couldn’t remember much about being found, but it sounded like the kind of thing she would say. ‘Good.’ Her parents. Frédéric. Camille. Let
them sort things out without involving her. ‘Would you mind if I stayed? Until tomorrow, at least?’ Serge didn’t look keen; he was almost panicky. She couldn’t help but
smile again. ‘What, girls make you nervous?’

He turned and walked away. ‘I’ll get us something to eat.’

She sat at the kitchen table while he cooked up some eggs on the old wood-burning stove. The place was so rustic she was almost surprised the floor wasn’t covered in
straw, but there was a certain charm to it.

She tried to start a conversation. ‘How come I’ve never seen you around?’

‘I’ve been away.’

‘Well, you’re in good shape,’ she said with a coy smile. ‘You look after yourself?’

‘Manual labour,’ he said, serving up onto the plate in front of her.

She reached over and squeezed his bicep. He almost jumped out of his skin at her touch. ‘OK, OK,’ she said. ‘Relax.’

Serge looked deeply serious. ‘Toni doesn’t know you’re here. If he comes and sees you . . . he’ll call your parents.’

‘Wouldn’t want that,’ she said. ‘I’ll keep an eye out.’

‘You don’t like them?’

‘Mum and Dad? Let’s just say I could do without them for a while. They want me to be someone I’m not.’

Serge gave a solemn nod.
He understands how that feels
, she thought. He set about eating the food in front of him, taking a huge hunk of bread from the loaf on the table. They ate in
silence, Serge with his uncomfortable expression, almost
furious
, avoiding looking at her. He only said one more thing during the meal, suddenly looking up, earnest. ‘Can people
change, Léna?’ he said. ‘Make a promise to change, and see it through?’

‘I guess,’ she said. ‘As long as they want to change enough.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ said Serge. He kept eating.

After the meal, Serge went out hunting. He would kill some rabbits, he said. Make a stew for dinner. Léna smiled at him, and Serge actually smiled back in his shy way.
He was completely different from any other man she’d met. Most would have tried it on long before now, but Serge seemed almost intimidated by her. She rather enjoyed the fact that he was so
unbalanced and unsure around her – it was sweet.

He locked the front door.
In case Toni turns up
, he said, and it was only after he’d gone that Léna realized he’d taken the keys with him. It would’ve made more
sense for her to keep the keys inside, she thought.

She dozed on the bed for a while, then sat up, wanting to make herself something hot to drink. She sensed movement outside and hid, just in case it was Toni, but she couldn’t shake the
feeling that she’d been seen. A few seconds later a knock came at the door.

‘Let me in. Open up. It’s Toni.’

Léna stayed still. If Toni saw her he’d make her go back, and she wasn’t sure she was quite ready for that yet. A little more peace and quiet away from the undead sister and
bickering parents couldn’t hurt, could it?

‘Open the door,’ said Toni. ‘Mum, please. You have to forgive me. I had to stop Serge, he was out of control. It’s taken me all these years to realize I was wrong. I
should have found another way. I’m sorry, Mum. I shouldn’t have killed him. I shouldn’t have killed Serge.’

The words rang round inside her head, the meaning slowly becoming clearer. Suddenly, Léna felt colder than she’d felt in her life.

‘Mum,’ yelled Toni again. He could feel the tears coming. He had to talk to Serge, had to warn him that the police had linked him to the attacks, that he had to
stay hidden at all costs.

‘What are you doing?’ It was Serge’s voice, behind him. Toni turned round. ‘She doesn’t want to see you,’ sneered Serge. ‘Leave us alone.’ He had
a brace of rabbits over one shoulder, and Toni’s rifle slung over the other.

‘The police are on to you,’ said Toni. ‘They have a description from Lucy. The picture they’ve put together looks
exactly
like you. You have to stay indoors
while I think of something. It’s only a matter of time before someone gives them your name and they come here.’

Serge opened his mouth, but said nothing.
That shut him up
, Toni thought.
He finally realizes there might be repercussions to his actions.
He was almost awed by the simple
faith his brother seemed to possess in his immunity from consequence. ‘Stay here,’ Toni said. ‘You and Mum, stay inside. Don’t answer the door for anyone and you’ll
both be safe.’ He stepped forward and took the rifle off Serge’s shoulder. ‘I’ll protect you. I’ll think of something. I’m your brother.’

Toni watched Serge go inside. He took a position in the trees overlooking the road.
I’ll protect you
, he thought.
This time I’ll make sure you’re safe
. And
then, maybe . . . Maybe he’d earn something in return.

From the moment she’d heard Toni’s revelations, Léna knew she had to get out of there.

I shouldn’t have killed him. I shouldn’t have killed Serge.

Something had been different about Serge, she’d known that. Really, she had. Something dangerous, something that had repelled and appealed at the same time.

But not that. Not
that
. Christ, she thought she’d left that kind of thing behind her in town.

Locked in the house, she took a knife from the hunting room and went to the attic. And waited. She could hear the muffled voices of Toni and his dead brother discussing things. Then at last she
heard the key in the front door.

‘Léna?’

She held her breath but the floorboards in the attic betrayed even the slightest shift in weight. She heard them creak and so did Serge. It wasn’t long before he climbed up there to find
her.

‘Stay where you are,’ she said, brandishing the blade in shaking hands.

‘What are you doing?’ said Serge. He looked disappointed;
hurt
.

‘Who are you?’ she said.

‘Put the knife down.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I told you the truth. My name is Serge. I’m Toni’s brother. And I won’t hurt you.’

‘What happened to you?’ said Léna. ‘Are you
dead
?’

‘Calm down,’ said Serge. He stepped towards her. She wanted to run at him, knife ready, but something was stopping her. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said. ‘I
promised. You can trust me. You can
trust
me, Léna.’ He stepped closer. He took the knife from her hands, dropped it behind him. He looked as though he was ready to cry. There
was something so lost about him. It was an emotion she could relate to: she’d been lost ever since Camille died, and possibly more so since her return.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said, but he was looking at her so strangely, as if she was entirely alien to him, as if he found the very idea of her mystifying. He put his hand on the
side of her head, brushing her hair away from her ear, looking scared. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

He kissed her quickly – pulling back as if it was the worst thing in the world, looking almost horrified at himself. Then he kissed her again, the hunger in him demanding a response.

Léna didn’t know what she was feeling. A rush of thoughts hit her. Frédéric. Camille. Her parents. But most of all,
guilt
. Guilt at what had happened, four
years before, feeling Frédéric deep inside her as Camille . . .

Wanting the thoughts gone, Léna kissed back, held him, grasped for him. She was lost in it; both of them were, she knew. Two lost souls, desperate and scared.

The police came two hours later. She was in a light sleep when she heard them call out. For a moment she thought she was dreaming.

‘Is anyone home? Hello?’

She felt Serge move from the floor beside her. They rose slowly, and went to the attic window. Two policemen, outside.

‘Hello?’ one called.

Toni slunk into view outside, rifle pointed at them. ‘What do you want?’ he said. Léna watched the rifle, praying it didn’t fire. The officers made a show of not
reaching for their guns.

‘Stay calm, Toni. We want to ask you about your brother. It’s about the attack on Lucy Clarsen.’

‘My brother left here years ago,’ said Toni, stark aggression in his voice. ‘So be on your way.’

The two officers were watching him keenly, taken aback by the confrontation. One officer held his hands out, trying to calm things down. ‘Don’t do this, Toni.’

The other officer reached for his weapon. Toni swung the rifle towards him and shot him in the leg; he fell to the ground, clutching at the wound, screaming. Léna jumped at the sound of
the shot, but Serge was beside her, a calming hand on her shoulder.

With his hands high to show he was no threat, the uninjured policeman went to his partner’s aid, helping him stand. The pair hobbled to their vehicle. They cast cautious glances back at
Toni, whose gun was still trained on them.

‘Get lost,’ yelled Toni. ‘And don’t come back.’

The policemen fled. Toni sank to his knees in the grass, crying. He looked up to the attic window.

Serge pulled back out of sight. He looked at Léna. ‘You have to leave,’ he said. ‘Please. The police will be back, and Toni mustn’t see you.
Please
.’

Léna was in shock. She was staring at Serge as she let him guide her downstairs. He showed her out of a back door.

‘Run,’ he said, pointing. ‘That track takes you down to the lake.’

So she ran. The tears came soon enough.

We want to ask you about your brother. It’s about the attack on Lucy Clarsen.

I had to stop Serge, he was out of control.

She ran, losing the track. She tried to continue going downhill but kept hitting thickets that almost defeated her. She ran without a plan, and without a plan she was lost.

Dusk came and the forest darkened and changed, every step a trap.

At last the track was before her again and she followed it, the tears blurring her vision. She hoped she would reach the lake any moment, praying that she would see her parents soon, and even
Frédéric. And even Camille.

The fire ahead drew her eye downhill. Someone to help her. Then she realized the fire was much larger than she’d first thought, lighting up the group that stood around it. She saw there
were others further back, and still others . . . There had to be dozens of people gathered ahead of her.

She slowed, cautious, ready to shout to the people below, ask them for help. But something stopped her, some intuition she couldn’t quite grasp.

She hid behind the trees and watched.

They moved slowly. Confused, strange; their clothes looking old and dishevelled. She caught a smell on the breeze under the smoke from the fire – a reek of burning flesh and hair, and with
it a cold scent of rank water.

In the dusk it was growing darker with every second, but she finally understood what had stopped her from shouting to them for help.

Dozens of them, but even in the twilight she’d seen something in their eyes.

Hunger. Insatiable. All-consuming.

Feral
.

One by one, the heads turned and rose, looking at her.

Léna Séguret ran for her life.

Claire woke at dawn from an uneasy sleep. Her first thoughts, as always, were for her daughters. Camille had slept – or at least, had lain down and closed her eyes
– in the bunk beside her own.

Claire checked the phone she’d been holding in her hand while asleep. The battery was almost dead, but even then, there was no signal showing. Piece by piece, the framework of their lives
was being undone, even as she’d started to hope it would all come back together. There was still nothing from Léna. The fear that something had happened to her other daughter –
that it had been some kind of cruel
exchange
– was almost too much for Claire to contemplate.
One thing at a time
, she thought.

She got up and dressed. Sandrine was already preparing breakfast with Xavier, another of the Helping Hand’s regular volunteers, but they declined any additional help so she went to look
for Pierre.

She opened his office door. He was there at his desk, head cradled on his arms, fast asleep. She smiled and wondered if he’d been there all night.

He stirred, then sat up suddenly, gathering himself.

‘Sorry,’ said Claire. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve slept enough. How are you? Did you get any sleep?’

‘Some,’ she said. ‘But I’m just so worried about Léna.’

He stood beside her and took her in his arms. It was something that, not long ago, would have made her feel secure; Pierre her rock and support when Jérôme had been unable to
provide either. Now, she just felt numb.

‘I’m sure she’s safe, Claire.’

He held her and gave her that smile he often did, one that he used if he appealed to the mercy of God, one she didn’t quite trust. Pierre had more faith in the benevolence of the Lord than
she’d ever had. ‘And I’m worried about Camille, of course,’ she said. ‘I try and think about the future, but all I see are problems.’

He nodded. ‘I want to show you something,’ he said. ‘Something that I hope will set your mind at rest.’ He led her outside and down some concrete steps into the basement
storage rooms. Inside the locked doors were shelves stacked high with supplies. He smiled at her, nodding. ‘See? We’re well prepared.’ They walked down the long corridor, Claire
admiring the sheer breadth and quantity of stores.