I forgot to mention that the Suzi Lake Centre wasn’t at the address he took me to. That isn’t the only thing I notice – the Good Knight isn’t in his usual place near my bed on the cabinet. I think back; yes, he was in my bag last night. I search my bag. I can’t find him. Frantic, I look all over the house. No Good Knight. He’s the only thing I’ve had since I was a child. One of the only connections to my mother. He’s been my best friend in good times and bad. I calm down. He’s bound to be here somewhere. I’ll look later.
I have a bad feeling as I pick the lock of my sister’s flat. One of the bigger girls at the children’s home taught me how to pick a lock when I was six and a half, with the sage words, ‘Folks say that once you’ve learned to ride a bike you never forget. It’s the same with locks.’ And she was right. I tackle the lock with a credit card. When I arrived, I pressed and pressed the buzzer for the top-floor flat. No answer. The curtain was open, which is a good sign, isn’t it? I’m still getting to know who Miriam is, but I suspect that when she’s pushed she retreats and shuts the door on the world.
The lock clicks back. I pull in a breath and close my hand on the round handle. It’s cold and hard against my flesh. I hesitate. The kick of my heart hurts my chest. I’m going crazy wondering what I might find inside. I turn the handle. Push. Step inside. The narrow corridor looks just the same as the last, and only other, time I was here. Plain, white walls. No pictures. No photos. No personal expression of who might live here.
‘Miriam,’ I call out stridently. I need to stay calm.
No answer.
I call again, louder this time.
Nothing.
Gathering my courage, I stride through the flat and stop at the first door I come to. This is a room I don’t know. The only way I’m going to be able to do this is to swallow back my emotion. I must make my search a clean and clinical affair. It’s the bathroom and nothing appears out of the ordinary. I close the door and move into the lounge. That’s when my world is rocked.
The place has been trashed. The curtains have been wrenched off their rods, the sofa is on its side. Shards of glass from a shattered mirror litter the floor. Whoever did this has gone over my sister’s place like they wanted to smash her very existence into oblivion. Helplessly, horrified, I spin around and around. Abruptly I stop when something on the floor catches my eye. My palm slams over my mouth.
Spots and splatters of blood.
I’m outside, bent double, trying to breathe. Is that me making that shocking, desperate wheezing sound? Stop it! Stop! Having a premier-league meltdown won’t help find Miriam. Think! That’s what you’ve got to do; rational thoughts that will help you find your sister.
Trembling, shorter spurts of air easing in my windpipe, I deaccelerate the havoc-wreaking inside my body. Of course, I do what I should have done straight away – call the police. Around thirty minutes later two uniforms arrive, and it doesn’t take long for me to find out that the arrival of the law at Miriam’s home was once a very common occurrence. Neighbours calling about the noise. Late-night parties. Crashing and banging and shouting spiced with very salty language. The police take one look around, noting the small amount of blood, and archly conclude that it was ‘probably another party’。 I am so incensed by their casual comments I usher them out. And pace and think. Finally, I know where I can appeal to get some help.
I’m back outside and see the shadow. It was there one second, gone the next. This confirms what I’ve felt for some time now; someone is following me. Literally shadowing me. I don’t doubt it like the other times. There are eyes watching me from somewhere. I feel their alertness, their heat.
What if this shadow person is the one who smashed up Miriam’s home?
God help them when I get my hands on them.
There’s only one way to find out; to start playing this creep at their own game. Casually, I drop my head, pretending to check out something on the ground. I peer to the side to capture any sudden movement. If this doesn’t work, then I’ll be forced to begin walking, hoping they will follow me and then somehow – I haven’t figured out my next moves exactly – I’ll spring a trap to net them. Patience, that’s what another one of the bigger girls in the children’s home had taught me, isn’t a virtue, it’s a lifestyle choice. So I wait. There it is: a distorted, blurry motion. They’re moving.
Up goes my head. I see them. Hood up, this person power walks away from me. They slip like soft mist around the first corner they reach. I keep walking, nothing too fast to give the game away. Closer and closer I get to the corner. I reach it and walk past. For two steps. Then I flatten my back against the brickwork of a building. I wait. And wait. The person reappears. I’m on them in less than a second. I grab the front of their hoodie top and barrel them with force against the wall.