Discarded by M. Hunter (fantasy books to read .txt) 📗

else, other than both their headshots have been sent to me via my agent’s office. And what’s with this particular date? The first image has Faye McKenna’s date of birth on it, but this date isn’t Chesney’s date of birth.’

I clamp my eyes shut as the early embers of a headache smoulder in my temple.

‘Can you see that?’ he whispers after a moment.

I prise my eyes apart and look over to him, where he’s pointing at something on the screen. Stepping closer, I follow his finger to the screen but I can’t focus. ‘What is it?’

He pulls out his phone and types something in. ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken, it looks like the imprint of a postcode. Can you see? Like someone wrote the postcode on a different piece of paper, but it pressed through to the photograph. It’s very faint, but I’m sure that’s a P, and an O, and possibly the number 11.’

He’s typing the digits into his phone, but I can barely register them on the screen.

‘Maybe whoever sent the picture to you lives at this address,’ Rick suggests. ‘Or maybe whoever lives there might be able to shed some light on who sent the picture of Cormack to you. There’s only really one way to find out,’ he adds, checking his watch.

‘Are you suggesting I go to Portsmouth?’ I clarify.

‘No, I’m suggesting we go to Portsmouth – well, Hayling Island actually, as that’s where the postcode is located.’

Chapter Twenty-Eight Then

Hayling Island, Hampshire

The smell of fresh toast woke Joanna, and as the craving grew and her stomach grumbled its discontent, she prised her eyes open and grimaced as soon as she saw the pale green curtains hanging in front of the bolted plastic window. Grey’s arrival at Reverend Peter’s cottage flashed through her mind and the sheer panic that he was going to kill her.

But why hadn’t he killed her? He’d been so open about what he would do to her if she stepped out of line, and she’d gone beyond the brink in making a break for it, so why was she back in the caravan and still alive? Was all his talk of killing before just bravado in front of his friends, or did he have a more severe punishment in mind for her?

Focusing on the smell of the toasting bread, she pushed back the thin blanket and allowed her nose to guide her along the narrow corridor to the main cabin where she found two plates on the table, along with a tub of butter and a small knife. The door to the small bathroom opened and a girl stepped out. Her thick, dark hair was spiked up and over her head, her eyes were as black as coal, and the silver dress she was squeezed into was practically ripping at the seams, despite her thin frame.

‘I’m Precious,’ she said, moving through to the kitchen and lifting the two slices from the toaster. ‘You must be Kylie, right? You want some toast?’

Precious dropped a slice onto each plate, immediately reaching for the knife and spreading a generous portion of butter over each.

Joanna tucked into the toast but could feel Precious watching her. With the first slice gone, she wiped greasy crumbs from her lips.

‘Someone was hungry,’ Precious commented, standing and moving back into the kitchen, dropping two more slices of bread into the toaster. ‘Cat got your tongue?’

Joanna slowly raised her eyes and simply shrugged. The girl before her had to be at least four or five years older, but wasn’t nearly as tall as Chez, making it difficult to place her exact age. She carried herself with confidence, and didn’t seem fazed by Joanna’s appearance in the caravan. Her accent was from up north somewhere, but Joanna couldn’t begin to guess exactly where.

Precious rolled her eyes. ‘Figures. We should get you cleaned up after breakfast; wash some of that mud from your arms and face.’

Joanna immediately looked down at her forearms, suddenly aware of the brown streaks and blotches of red where Grey had dragged her through the woods. She was still wearing the dress Chez had given her on the first night, and as she trained her nose to ignore the smell of the toasting bread, she became acutely aware of the pong emanating from the lower half of the dress.

Precious carried over the new slices, again depositing one on each plate, before moving to the fridge-freezer and withdrawing a bag of what looked like frozen peas, which she applied to a swelling beneath her right eye.

‘Ar-ar-are you okay?’ Joanna stammered.

Precious narrowed her eyes as if determining whether it was a trick question. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, turning away, but keeping the peas pressed to her face. ‘Walked into a door,’ she said eventually, with more than a hint of sarcasm. ‘You know how it is.’

‘How long have you been here?’ Joanna asked, mesmerised.

Precious took a bite of her toast. ‘Best not to think about time while you’re here, or it’ll really drag. Trust me!’

‘Do you miss your home though? Your mum and dad?’

Precious dropped the toast on the plates, growling. ‘I don’t want to talk about any of that. Right? I’m here now, and so are you, and the sooner you put all of that out of yer mind, the better, yeah? I promise it’s easier just to forget yer previous life. Focus on the here and now.’

Joanna ignored the burn of the tears behind her eyes. ‘Where’s Chez? I want to see him.’

Precious narrowed her eyes. ‘He’s gone; that’s all you need to know.’

‘But why? He said he would be like my big brother here. I want to see him.’

‘Well you can’t!’ Precious snapped back. ‘That’s the price to pay for running off like ya did. Chez got in trouble for your antics, and now they’ve dumped you on me instead. Don’t go giving me no trouble, ya hear me? The first sign of trouble and I’ll stick you myself.’

Joanna couldn’t tell whether Precious had meant