Caught in the Web by Emmy Ellis (most read books in the world of all time TXT) 📗

It confused him. He frowned, peering across the road. Another man joined William on the path. And Beautiful Lady…ah, there she was, as gorgeous as ever, her blonde hair exactly the same, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she still had the silver locket. Where was the boy, though?

He blinked, shaking his head. Beautiful Lady looked older, yet William didn’t. That didn’t make any sense at all. How could his father not have aged? And why didn’t he have any scars on his face, because she had battered him good and proper, splitting the skin, and that surely had to have left a permanent mark.

Anger burned inside him. He hated being muddled. Things should be clear, not this mess inside his head that resembled knotted ropes that needed unpicking. He took a deep breath then blew it out slowly in an attempt to calm down. Clutched the carrier bag that held the wig and listened to the crackle of the plastic.

William and his friend got inside the Ford. The horn tooted, the vehicle moved away, and Beautiful Lady raised a hand to wave. She watched the car shoot down the road, a frown spoiling her brow—did she think William was going too fast? Her other hand moved up to the locket to clutch it. That hand had slapped her, and he wished he owned it so he could recall the tingle on his palm after impact. So he could stare at it and say, “You did a good job that day, Hand.”

Beautiful Lady sighed and glanced up then down the street. Searching for someone? She appeared afraid, worried. Why would that be? She caught his gaze, and her mouth dropped open. She shook her head, maybe to clear her vision, inched her face forward and squinted at him. A small cry escaped from between her pretty pink lips, then she staggered backwards and slammed the door.

The slam sounded the same as it had in the past.

Once again, she’d shut him out after looking at him.

‘Ugly little fucker.’

Beautiful Lady found him as repulsive as she had done.

All these years he’d held Beautiful Lady in high regard. She’d been the one who could have given him a good life had his father not been killed. Yet William hadn’t been killed—I saw him with my own eyes just now—and myriad thoughts rushed at him, sending him unsteady on his feet. He felt sick, lightheaded, and so…so bloody livid he couldn’t stand it. Fight or flight raged inside him. Should he run away? Or should he go over there and tell Beautiful Lady what she’d done by not taking him into her home after he’d tried so hard to give her that face she had told him to give?

He ran.

If he got out of the street he could get away from the feelings that turned his blood to burning acid. If he made it home, the spider bed could fix everything, even just for a few minutes. Those minutes would give him time to get his act together. His legs burned as much as his acidic blood, and his lungs were tight with the speed of his breathing.

Just get home, just get home…

At the end of the street, he veered into another and caught sight of the Ford returning. He bowed his head—I am the flower stems—and fought the nausea threatening to strangle him with its sickly fingers. The car zipped past at speed—too fast for a residential road—and he tsked at that despite his fear. Had Beautiful Lady rung William and asked him to come back? Would William find him and tell him off like a father would?

Please don’t shout at me. Don’t smack me…

He dipped into someone’s front garden and hid behind another hedge, his heart rate scattering and his knees jolting. The bag holding the wig slapped against his leg, the plastic growing so hot in his fist that his palms sweated. Moisture gathered beneath the hem of his beanie, wetting the wool until it felt so odd and squeaked when he lifted it to let in some air.

William would be here any second, and if he brought the other man with him, they both might tell him off. That was too scary to contemplate further, so he ran again, intent on weaving through as many streets as possible until he came to a place he found familiar.

He reached that place, the sparkly glass building, although it wasn’t sparkly now. It didn’t appear as it had in his childhood, all gleaming and reflective. Today the windows resembled blank eyes that glared at him, silently asking him why he’d come. He didn’t know the answer and spun to look at the red-painted warehouses, except they were no longer there. Time and new construction had erased them, and he stumbled through the newer office buildings, searching for the canal.

There it was, behind a row of squat greenery, a gap in the leafy fencing so people could perhaps take a walk beside the water if they had a mind. He was there now, the sound of the rippling water the same as it had been, and it eased his nerves. He stared at the surface, a splash from the past inside his head, the bloodied plank sinking into the brown depths then floating back up to sail away.

Was the plank rotten now? As rotten as she had been?

A feeling of rightness consumed him. Yes, this was where he needed to bring The Man Point Three tonight. This was where the torment would end and his whole body would be filled with happiness.

He smiled. Everything was going to be all right.

Chapter Nineteen

Burgess sat in the car with Shaw after speaking to his mother again. Whoever that wanker had been, loitering over the road… Was it possible it had been the