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She struggled on, staggering, tripping and hopping down the hill. Whenever she could, she used branches like monkey bars to try and take the weight off her ankle, using her good leg like a pogo stick to launch herself to the next handhold. She was making more noise than she wanted as branches bowed beneath her weight.

The light beams flickered through the trees, making the leaves appear to dance. Nocturnal animals scurried away, causing ferns to sway as they moved through the undergrowth, adding to the confusion as Chase thought the hunters had gotten in front of her.

Through the thinning trees, she recognised the derelict farmhouse Mat had been hiding in and she headed toward it. Moved by the breeze, the front door squealed and she hobbled inside, heading straight for the back room. The hatch to the cellar was still shut from when she had tripped Mat over and she hopped toward it. Beams of light played across the walls as her pursuers broke from the trees, shining their torches across the building. Hurriedly, Chase opened the hatch and hobbled down the steps, closing the hatch behind her so that she was in total darkness. She prayed that her pursuers wouldn’t know about the cellar, and that they wouldn’t spot the hatch. It was only by chance she had found it. If she hadn’t heard the dull echo of the broken cup as it hit the floor, she would have been none the wiser to the cellar’s existence ... and Mat would still be free. She felt a pang of guilt that she had unwittingly gotten him recaptured. She didn’t know how long he had been hiding down here, but from the smell, it was quite a while.

Footsteps echoed overhead and Chase held her breath. Torchlight played through cracks in the floorboards, illuminating clouds of dust that fell from the ceiling above.

“Anything?” a deep male voice asked.

“No.”

“Well, keep looking. Drake wants the girl taken back to the compound. She can’t have just disappeared. Find her, because if I’m in the shit, then you men are drowning in it. Do you understand?”

“
Yes sir
,” a chorus of voices replied.

Chase fearfully listened to the men traipsing through the house, overturning cupboards and kicking down doors. The search seemed to go on for ages before the men left. By this time, Chase’s eyes had adjusted to the lack of light enough for her to see she was in a room that appeared to run the length of the house. She could only see so far into the room, the far end a black abyss, but from what she could see, the room appeared to have been used to store preserves. Jars lined the shelves. A lot of them had been opened, the contents devoured, but there were still a lot of full ones: strawberry jam from 1970 to 1982, pickled onions from 1969 to 1982, gooseberry jam from 1978 to 1980, honey from 1972 to 1976. As she perused the shelves, Chase realised just how hungry she was and her stomach growled. When had she last eaten? She felt hungry enough to eat anything, as long as it wasn’t in a white-labelled can. Spurred by hunger, she took down a jar of pickled onions and a jar of strawberry jam, opened them both and dipped the onions in the jam before eating them. The combination tasted delicious and she devoured half a jar of each before she was full, contentedly licking the sweet and sour residue from her fingers.

In a corner of the room Chase spotted a makeshift bed and she hobbled toward it. A small photograph stood next to the bed, and Chase picked it up, holding it so that she could see it more clearly. Tears filled her eyes. It was a worn photograph of Mat and herself, taken in a photo booth outside
Birmingham
train station. She remembered having the photo taken. Mat had taken her out shopping for her birthday. Chase looked surprised on the photograph because after discovering she wasn’t wearing a bra, Mat had grabbed her boob as the flash went off. He meanwhile smirked like the cat that had got the cream. She smiled thinking about it. Holding her hand up, she looked at the ring he’d bought her that day, turning it with her thumb like a prayer bead.

She was surprised he still had the picture, even more surprised to find it here. Did that mean he still cared for her? Did he use the photograph like a map, finding a way back to sanity, an anchor connecting him to the real world?

She lay down on the makeshift bed, held the photograph to her chest and cried herself to sleep.

CHAPTER 23

Mandy woke up to find herself lying on the living room floor. She felt sore and there was a large bruise on her arm that made her wince when she touched it. She had no idea how it got there. The last thing she remembered was ... what? She couldn’t remember.

A knock at the door brought her to her feet and she stepped into the hallway and peered out of the glass panels that ran up the side of the door. She recognised Adam White and smiled. She liked the doctor.

“Mandy, I was starting to worry about you,” Adam said as she opened the door. “You were meant to be at the surgery over an hour ago for your appointment.”

“Was I?” She looked down sheepishly.

“Not to worry. I’m here now. Do you mind if I come in?”

Mandy stepped back from the door and Adam entered the house, following her through to the living room, where he dropped his leather bag down on the living room table.

“You see how I spoil you with these home visits,” Adam said, smiling warmly.

Mandy chuckled.

“Now I just need to do a few routine checks. If you can just put this thermometer underneath your tongue.” He opened his bag and took a thermometer out before placing it in her mouth. “And I’ll just take your pulse.” He took hold of her wrist and frowned. “Where did you get this bruise?”

Mandy shrugged.

Nodding his head, Adam continued taking her pulse while consulting his watch. “That’s fine. Now let me take that thermometer out. There we go. Let me see, thirty-seven degrees, perfect.” Next he checked her blood pressure. “And how are you feeling? Any problems lately? Have you had any sickness, diarrhoea, upset stomach?”

Mandy shrugged. “Well ...”

Adam waited patiently.

“Well, I still keep forgetting things.”

“Such as?”

“Anything. Everything. I can’t remember.” She started crying.

“That’s all right, take your time. I’ll take a blood sample and then why don’t you tell me about these forgetful episodes you’re experiencing, and perhaps we can work out where you got that bruise.”

Mandy winced as Adam drew her blood.

“Mandy, are you OK?”

Mandy nodded as she watched Candle Wax pad silently across the carpet. “Yes, I’m fine,” she whispered, smiling at the cat.

***

Chase woke feeling disorientated until she remembered that she was in the cellar of the derelict farmhouse. The photograph was still clutched to her chest, a bit more crumpled than it was before. Flattening it as best she could, she slipped it into her bag before tucking into a gooseberry jam and pickled onion breakfast. It was only when she finished eating that she realised her ankle no longer hurt. She was thankful for that, as it would make it easier to flee.

Wan light filtered into the cellar through cracks in the floorboards, helping her see her surroundings slightly better. The far end of the cellar remained in darkness. Apart from the food supplies, the cellar seemed to be fairly barren. Water dripped down one of the walls and judging by the pans stationed at the foot of the wall, it looked as though Mat had collected the water to drink. Cobwebs proliferated in the rafters supporting the floor above, although from the amount of dust trapped in the webs, she doubted there were any spiders in residence. She couldn’t believe Mat had been living in these dismal surrounds; couldn’t believe she had found him here.

Venturing toward the dark recess at the back of the cellar, she found an old wooden bureau covered by a few old mouldy newspapers. A ragged coat and a pair of walking boots hung from a rusty nail on the wall. Ignoring the mouldy looking coat, she took the boots down to inspect them. The laces broke straight away as she tested them, and although the boots were slightly too big for her, they seemed in good condition and better for the terrain than the trainers she was wearing. Removing the laces from her shoes, she re-laced the walking boots, tapped them on the floor to make sure there were no creepy crawlies in them and put them on.

Next she pulled open one of the bureau drawers, only to find a few rusty old nails. She closed the drawer and opened the next one down to find a can of oil and a few hard rags wrapped around a rusty hammer. Shaking her head, she opened another drawer. Inside she found a rotten old map that disintegrated when she picked it up, an old
calor
gas stove, a few tent pegs and a length of fishing line with a few hooks. There was also a tobacco tin. Taking it out, she prised open the lid, the scent of old tobacco still evident. Inside she found a small penknife and a circular compass. She surmised that whoever previously lived in the house must have been a keen camper. She pocketed the compass. Opening the penknife, she ran her finger along the blade. It felt sharp and she put the penknife and the fishing tackle in the tin before putting them in her bag.

She waited a while before venturing out of the cellar, listening for movement in the house above. Finally satisfied the men had gone, she carefully pushed open the trapdoor, peering out at a room more ramshackle than the one she remembered. Bits of broken furniture littered the floor and the doors had been smashed.

After closing the trapdoor, she cautiously stepped through the debris to the front room and approached the front door where she peered outside, her eyes alert for any movement. Confident there was no one around, she started to walk back toward the hill. She could have followed the lane, but she thought it too risky. Despite everything, she needed to find Mat and Jane. She couldn’t leave them.

Chase knew she was risking her life, but without Mat, she knew she didn’t have a life. When he had disappeared, she had been devastated. Her world didn’t just deteriorate, it collapsed. It was only because of Jane that she managed to hold herself together. Jane had been there for her, now she had to be there for Jane, too. It was her fault Jane was in this mess. Too many people had suffered because of her. She knew Moon must have powerful allies. If they could make a village disappear, what was one person? The thought made her shiver.

Even though she’d had a bad ankle coming down the hill, walking back up seemed harder. She stopped halfway up to catch her breath and to rub her thighs, which had started to ache. The boots she had donned handled the precarious ground better than her trainers had, but they were heavier than her previous footwear, which added to the exertion.

Like a portent, dark clouds were gathering in the sky and she shivered.

At the top of the hill, she made her way to the hollow, crawling up the bank to peer out over the village. Everything seemed quiet but she proceeded with caution, scrambling over the top and darting between bushes and tree trunks. The ground was muddy and slippery in places, but the grip on the boots helped keep her upright. She decided to circumnavigate High Top Cottage in case someone was waiting in hiding for her, and she kept to the gardens and fields behind the hedge that lined the lane. She kept herself low, trying to hide as much as possible behind foliage. As she ducked behind a large red rhododendron bush at the bottom of a garden, a spot of rain hit her cheek and she cursed.

“Who’s that?” a voice demanded.

Startled, Chase almost fell over as Belinda appeared from around the side of the rhododendron, a pair of menacing
secateurs
in one hand and deadheaded flowers in the other. She was wearing a floral print dress and
Wellington
boots; her grey hair tied up in a ragged bun that looked like a spider on her head.

“What are you doing in my garden?” Belinda asked, waving the
secateurs
in the air.

Chase heard a wind chime ringing in the distance, but it did little to soothe her with it sonorous tones as she tried to think what to say. She nervously eyed the
secateurs
. “I,
erm
...”