Keep My Secrets by Elena Wilkes (large ebook reader .txt) 📗

you, it was a kind of dream… like a nightmare.’

‘A sort of hallucination?’

‘Maybe… I’d rather not—’

‘What did you see, though?’ he pressed. ‘Was it a man?’

‘Jack, seriously… What is this?’

‘Charlotte told me something.’

Her whole body froze. ‘What kind of something?’

‘She wouldn’t sleep in that room.’ He nodded to the far wall.

‘Her bedroom?’ Frankie glanced over nervously.

‘She said someone kept whispering to her.’

The itch crawled.

‘It was a shape, a black figure. She was seriously, seriously scared out of her mind.’

Frankie watched his face, horrified, but Jack only grinned nervously and shook his head.

‘I told her none of it was real, that it was the crappy drugs she was doing. She never knew what shit she was buying – it was probably cut with all kinds of stuff. You don’t know, do you?’

A creeping dread wormed its way through her gut.

‘She asked Martin about Rohypnol.’ Her head moved from side to side as she tried to shake the information away.

‘Did she?’ A shadow moved across Jack’s face. ‘No one could believe it when Jarvis got a job working with vulnerable kids. He clearly conned someone to get a role like that. It just goes to show that he’s capable of conning anyone. Don’t ever beat yourself up, Frankie. Trust me, loads of people have been taken in by him.’ His eyes flinched at the memory. ‘Charlotte was a mess and he exploited that. I know they used to talk; she wouldn’t say what about.’ He shook his head. ‘I think Martin Jarvis got in her head, y’know?’ Jack tapped his temple. ‘I think he messed with her mind. If she was getting roofies from him, Christ alone knows what that was doing to her.’ His mouth set in a hard line. ‘This man she kept seeing, this thing in her room, whatever…’ He sighed, ‘it kept getting worse. Every hallucination got more intense.’

Her heart thudded painfully.

‘Yeah,’ he shook his head again. ‘She was terrified to go to sleep. She said it was whispering.’

Frankie stared at him, not wanting to hear this, not wanting to comprehend.

‘Whispering?’

‘Yeah, that’s what really freaked her out. The night when it touched her neck.’

Chapter Thirteen

They sat downstairs drinking hot chocolate. The TV was on; Vanessa had recorded some gameshow that contained a lot of screaming. She and Peter kept shouting in unison and laughing, but it came across as sad and forced like they were pretending to be having fun. Frankie hugged the hot mug close to her chest, aware that Jack’s eye kept flitting in her direction.

‘You look a bit knackered,’ he said eventually.

‘Thanks.’ She wavered a smile. ‘You know all the right things to say.’

‘Why don’t you go on up?’ Vanessa turned to look at her. ‘I put your electric blanket on half an hour ago. It’ll be lovely and snuggly.’

Frankie tried to look appreciative but the memory of what had happened in the bath tingled into her hairline. Vanessa’s gaze didn’t drop. Her unease prickled.

‘Okay.’

She slid the mug onto the coffee table and shuffled forward.

‘Goodnight, then.’

‘Night night. Sleep tight.’

She wondered for a second if Jack would get up too, but he didn’t offer to move.

‘See you in the morning, then.’

Their three faces looked up at her. ‘I’ve washed and dried all your clothes,’ Vanessa smiled. ‘I’ll run an iron over them tonight. They’ll be all ready for the morning. Big day tomorrow.’

‘Yes, big day,’ she repeated. ‘Night.’

She made her way softly up the stairs. The boom and chatter of the TV was comforting as she stepped onto the landing. The air around her crackled with a faint static charge.

Charlotte. She felt suddenly very close.

The landing light cast grey triangular shadows down the walls. The air was thick with her presence. There was a tiny movement: a flicker in the darkness over in the corner, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn her head. If she looked… But she didn’t want to.

Her eyes tilted.

Charlotte’s bedroom door that had been tightly closed before, now sat slightly open. A faint breath of perfume eased through the gap. She recognised it immediately.

Her hand came up. It was like a compulsion.

Listening for a moment with tightened breath, she put a finger on the door. The muffled sound of the TV was still rumbling on in the background.

You want to do this, something inside her said. You need to.

Poking the edge of the door gently, she watched the landing light spreading its geometric shape as the room opened up in front of her eyes.

A single bed sat neatly under the window. One wall held a white chest of drawers with an ornate, white-framed mirror sitting above it. At the foot of the bed was a cream sheepskin rug that she’d be terrified to even put a foot on. There was a full-length white bookcase rammed with books on the opposite wall. She had never seen so many books in her life. She glanced back down the stairs, and then took a step forward.

Charlotte’s presence was as real as if she were sitting quietly on the side of the bed. In the light from the landing, she could see her, painting her toenails: one knee crooked, her heel balanced on the edge of the mattress, head bent and concentrating on the sweep of the tiny brush. She blinked. Of course there was no one there.

A light glinted dully and she turned her head. But the mirror only reflected her own image, paused, as though she’d just been asked a question and was about to answer. Somewhere over her shoulder, the shape of Charlotte drifted past. She looked around quickly. She wasn’t there. She really wasn’t.

But the urge to touch her things, was.

She went over to the bed and smoothed her hand across the covers, her fingers grazing the deep pink pillows – She’d been here, and here, and here.

Imagining, imagining…

Charlotte’s face turned sideways in sleep. She could almost hear the quiet draw of breath, her hair splayed out, creamy gold against the rose pillowcase. Next to the bed was a