air. Rain. She was only buried a couple of inches under the earth at most. The tiny drop turned into a downpour. Frosty water started to drip like percolating coffee through the hole. Then the drip, drip, drip, turned into a stream. She was going to drown.
Panicking, she hit and punched the weak spot and felt one last creak of resistance. The box gave up as her fist emerged through the wood and soil. As she pulled her fist back down and punched again, the splinters dug in. A tear trickled down Gina’s cheek as the sting turned into raw hot pain.
She imagined herself stuck in the shed, listening to Hannah’s cries coming from the house, then she roared as she snatched her arm back into the coffin and punched again. Dead people don’t come back to life. Terry was gone and no one in her life was as scary as Terry had been to her. She was ready for whatever was waiting for her outside her coffin and she wasn’t going to die tonight, not without a fight.
She pounded again and again, each time more wood breaking away. Muck, water, soil and grass began to spill in, but she felt something magical – air. She gasped and smiled as she finished breaking the wood by her head. Jerking up, she emerged through the thin layer of earth and laughed as a sheet of torrential rain slashed against her face, washing the dirt away. A clap of thunder boomed through her ear. A fork of lightning flashed in the direction of her house. It was as if Terry himself was here and was trying to scare her back into the box. Not this time.
With bloodied arms she reached out and lifted her stiff upper body out, where she fell open-mouthed into a puddle, the stench of manure making her gag. Her phone lit up again, just ahead on a clump of grass. She dragged her stiffened body through the sludge and snatched the phone.
‘Chris.’
‘Gina, where have you been? I’ve been calling for ages. I know we had words but… maybe we need to speak. Can I come over?’
Gina rolled onto her back and smiled at the dark sky above. She was alive and no one else was there. ‘I need help, now. Send an emergency crew and forensics to Bramble Lane, on the way to mine.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘I’ll tell you when you get here. I can’t speak.’ She gasped for breath and drank the raindrops that kept landing.
‘Gina.’
‘I haven’t got the energy to talk. They’ll see my car. Just get here now.’ She dropped the phone and lay there shivering with her hands in her pocket. Something rustled. She pulled out the biscotti and a handful of receipts and smiled as she let them go in her pocket. She wasn’t hungry, not right now.
Why her? Why this? Her own manic laughter filled the night.
The first letter from their killer. The words now meant more than ever before.
We are the same. I just need you to see that.
She knew exactly why this had happened to their killer and it was nothing to do with Terry. Terry’s torturing ways was merely their common denominator. You have my attention alright!
Chapter Fifty-Five
In the distance, Gina could see blue lights flashing. She struggled to her feet and slid along the ground to her car, trying not to slip. The rain turned into a slight drizzle before almost stopping. Her car door was still open, just as she’d left it, but the light was no longer on. The battery had obviously gone flat. Hands shivering, she stepped into the driver’s side and closed the door, hoping to warm up a little. As she pulled the last of the splinters from her hand, she glanced out of the window. The other car had gone. She’d been so close to catching the killer and she’d let whoever it was go without even seeing a face or taking a registration plate number.
She’d fallen straight into their trap. Placing her hand back into her warm pocket, she felt a piece of paper with her fingertip and pulled it out. It was larger than the usual receipts that normally filled her pockets and bag.
The blue lights were getting closer.
She turned her phone light on and squinted to read the tiny writing on the faded sheet of paper from a notebook. Gina dropped it on the passenger seat and leaned over, not touching the page again. It appeared to be a diary entry.