Tormented (Evolution Series Book 2) (14 page)

“You’re lucky then,” I said, then finished off my coffee.

Aiden’s expression turned serious. “Kai came to see us just after you went to bed.”

“Yeah, and?”

“He said that he found out that the guy in the photo, Anthony Grey, died two years ago.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t as if I knew the guy, or his wife, for that matter, but my mother did, and I was guessing that his death would have meant something to her. “Did Kai say what he died from?”

“Cancer.”

I looked down at my empty cup. It was so unfair how many lives were ripped apart by cancer. The statistics were way too high, even if the survival rate was ever increasing. “So Elizabeth Grey is still alive?” I asked.

“She’s fine. Old, but fine.”

“Did he say how old she is?”

“Eighty-two. That picture of your mother’s was taken about thirty years ago.”

“Well, I hope she lasts 'til tomorrow,” I joked nervously, hoping the picture wasn’t about to turn into a dead end.

***

At three o’clock Australian Perth time, Aiden and I transported to the address Kai had given me. The house that stood before us was a quaint little sandstone cottage. It was well presented and had kept its original charm.

“I’ll be waiting over there for you.” Aiden cocked his head towards the bench seat at the bus stop one door over from Mrs. Grey’s house.

“You’re not coming with me?”

He shook his head. “I think it will be a little less intrusive for her if you approach her by yourself.”

“Okay, you’re probably right.”

Aiden squeezed my hand. “You’ll be fine.”

A faint squeak came from the wrought-iron gate when I pushed it open. I followed the old red brick pavers up to the green wooden front door and knocked twice. I didn’t know what to expect, and I wasn’t sure what exactly I was going to say. I figured I would just play it by ear.

A frail old lady opened the door. She looked to be about five-foot-two, with white hair that had a slight tint of purple to it. “Hello, dear, how can I help you?” Her tone was warm and caring.

“Mrs. Grey?” I asked. “Mrs. Elizabeth Grey?”

“Yes, dear, that’s me.” The smile on her face shone through her hazel eyes. She seemed like such a sweet lady, and I became even more intrigued to know why my mother was harboring her picture in secret for so long.

I thought I
may
as well get right to it. “Um, I know this is going to sound strange, but I was wondering if you knew a Nikki
Sommers
at all?”

Her expression was blank, and her thoughts didn’t register the name. “Sorry, dear, I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Oh, um…” I wasn’t sure what else I could ask her. I had stupidly forgotten to bring a photo of my mother with me so I could see if she
recognised
her.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Mrs. Grey said lovingly, bending down to scoop up her Persian cat, who was trying to make an escape.

Just as she was straightening, I noticed something on her hallway table that made my heart stop. It was a photo of my mother looking exactly how I remembered her. Well, not exactly. In the photo, she was wearing a stonewashed denim jacket with a hot pink tank-top underneath. Her hair was something else; it stood almost four inches above her head in a frizzed-up perm. There was no mistaking her, though. The woman in that photo was definitely my mum.

“That can’t be,” I murmured.

“Sorry, dear. What can’t be?” Mrs. Grey’s eyes followed mine to the picture of my mother. “Do you know her?” she asked, her voice catching.

I nodded. “That’s my mother,” I whispered.

“Are you sure?”
Aiden asked silently.

“Yes, I’m sure.”
I knew what my own mother looked like.

She shook her head. “It can’t be, dear. My daughter’s name is Helen Price, and she’s been missing for over thirty years.”

“No, that can’t be,” I said, dismissing her
rationalisation
. “How old was she when that picture was taken?”

“She was thirty-two.” Mrs. Grey looked at me curiously, trying to figure out why I would think her daughter could possibly be my mother, but at the same time trying to not let herself get her hopes up that her daughter was still alive and that she would finally have some answers to why her daughter had been missing for the past thirty years.

Thirty years? That would mean that my mum was sixty-two. What the hell? “I’m sorry. I have to go.” I turned my back to her and hurried down the pathway.

“Wait,” Mrs. Grey called. Her heart was filled with hope of finding her daughter, and she didn’t want me to leave without finding out more. She even hoped I was her granddaughter.

I turned back to her and said, “Sorry, wrong person. You were right. That wasn’t my mother.” I forced a smile,
then
hurried for the gate. I opened it,
then
quickly closed it behind me. I wasn’t about to let that sweet old lady get caught up in my screwed-up life. And if what I had seen was correct, then my mum was like me.

As soon as I reached Aiden, I pulled him behind a bush and transported us back to his bedroom in England. I froze at the sight of a familiar note on the coffee table. Immediately, I knew it was from my mother’s murderer.

“What the fuck,” Aiden muttered. He scanned the room to see if whoever had left the note
was
still there.

Once again, the message
read
“Play me.” However, the sticky note was placed on top of the remote. Whoever left it had saved me the trouble of inserting a disc into the DVD player. I tried to convince myself that it was the same note that I’d found at my house, that I must have dropped it without
realising
. But no matter how much I wished that were true, I knew it wasn’t. I reached for the remote.

“You don’t have to do this.” Aiden placed his hand over mine. “I can watch it for you.” Even though the note hadn’t been addressed to me, we both knew it wasn’t meant for him.

“No,” I said, my voice trembling with fear. “I may not want to see this, but I have to.”

He slid his hand up my arm until he was holding onto my shoulder. “Well, at least let me get Mum and Dad here first.”

I nodded.

Aiden lent down and gave me a kiss on the cheek before disappearing. He reappeared a second later. “They’re not here.”

He retrieved his iPhone from the pocket of his jeans and called his mum. While he waited for her to answer, he stood behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist. The calming endorphins he was sending my way did little to ease my building tension. Just as I thought that, a stronger wave came pulsating through my body, giving me exactly what I needed.

“Hi, honey,” Anna’s chirpy
voice
sounded through the phone.

Aiden didn’t bother with any greetings; he got right to the point. “Can you guys come home? There’s another note.”

The line went dead. A second later, both Anna and Dave were standing next to us.

“Where is it?” Dave asked. Before either of us could answer, he turned his back to us and saw the note stuck on the remote.

Anna placed her hand on my arm. “Have you watched it yet?”

“No, we thought we should wait for you,” Aiden replied.

“Are you ready?” Dave asked, looking at me to give him the go-ahead.

Unable to speak, I nodded, and he pressed play. Aiden pulled me tighter against him, as in some protective embrace.

The screen came alive with an old home movie starring a middle-aged lady that I
recognised
immediately. Although she was about thirty years younger, her eyes gave her away. They still held the same kindness I had seen only minutes ago. It was Mrs. Grey.

It was a warm sunny day, possibly the middle of summer by the blue and white floral sundress she was wearing. Mrs. Grey was at a park, sitting at a green picnic table with a feast laid on top of it. The next second, an arm was wrapped around her neck, and a girl with frizzy hair kissed her cheek before turning around and giving the camera an ear-to-ear smile. The girl was my mother.

The view zoomed in to show only my mum’s face. The image slowly morphed into the woman I had known. The screen went black once again, and then a message came up like the end credits to a movie:

Your mother’s been hiding a secret from you,

and
now you know what it is.

You have now learnt that

nothing
is what it seems…

The image of my mother’s brains getting blown out played next.

What does this mean?

Is she alive, or is she dead?

The screen went black,
then
a new message appeared that sent chills down my spine.

I have a present for you.

It’s in the fridge.

I looked over at the mini-bar beside the TV, but I couldn’t move. I was too afraid of what I might find in there. For all I knew, the sicko could have giftwrapped my mother’s heart in a box.

“I’ll look,” Dave said, getting to his feet. He opened the fridge and peered inside. “What the—” He reached in and brought out a clear plastic bag filled with blood.

The TV screen came to life again and I
realised
that the morbid dreams I had been having about my mum were actually visions. My mother was lying on what looked to be a hospital bed, but the lack of windows in the room made me think it was no ordinary hospital. A cold sterility about the scene reminded me of a morgue, but I didn’t think she was in one of those, either. The room actually reminded me more of the one the psycho back in Australia had tried dissecting me in before Aiden killed him.

“It’s not the same room,” Aiden whispered in my ear.

“I know.” There was no way I could forget that room.

A man dressed in black walked into view, his back facing the camera. He picked up my mother’s left arm and shoved a needle into it. He then proceeded to draw out her blood, stopping when the attached bag was about a third full.

The screen went black,
then
another message came up.

Your mother’s body contains approximately 4.7
litres
of blood.

A 40% drop and her heart and mind will fail.

Each bag holds 473
mls
of blood.

And you have 1 of those bags.