TOYL

placed knee. ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ she said as he lay motionless and defeated on the floor. ‘I couldn’t let you do it to yourself.’

70

    ‘Don’t do it,’ Will said, as Emma reached for the kitchen door. ‘Don’t look.’
    ‘I have to,’ Emma replied, her hand shaking and tears falling. ‘I have to see him.’
    ‘It could haunt you for the rest of your life,’ Will responded. ‘Let me…’
    But Emma had already opened the door.
    The first thing she saw was Dan’s bare feet, blackened with dirt. Then, as she opened the door wider, the horrific scene became clear.
    ‘Oh, please, no,’ Emma cried, as she saw Dan’s face. Dried tracks of blood snaked down from his hairline and spread out across his cheek.
    As she slid down onto her knees, she heard voices.
    One of them was Gasnier’s.
    But it all seemed so far away. Blinking through the tears she stroked Dan’s hair, something she had done thousands of times before, but never really appreciated until now.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. I love you so much.’
    She placed her head on his chest and closed her eyes.
    Her heart was in overdrive, pounding through her body and into her head, dominating her senses. But then she noticed something else.
    It was Dan’s heartbeat.

    ###

    Enjoyed The One You Love?

    Read the opening chapters of the sequel, The One You Fear, available from December 12 th 2012.

    Emma Holden and her friends are trying to move on from the horrific events surrounding Dan’s kidnap. But a shocking revelation drags them back into the nightmare and forces them to question everything they once believed to be true. More secrets will be revealed, more lies will be told, and more lives are under threat. Packed with twists, turns and clif fhangers, The One You Fear is a 33,000 word novella, which begins four weeks after the events of the first novel.

Prologue

    Margaret Myers held the remote control tightly in her hand and pointed it towards the sleeping television. She pressed the stand-by button and the box sprang to life, illuminating the otherwise dark lounge. She watched, transfixed and scared, as the images played out in front of her. A policewoman, arms and legs pounding, was running down a rain-sodden street, giving chase to a man. She looked just like that girl – the one who had ruined it all with her wicked ways. The programme frightened Margaret. Programmes like that gave you funny ideas.
    Two weeks ago the television had spoken to her.
    It told her that she should end it all.
    Margaret Myers changed channel, her hand shaking like a jackhammer. The lottery draw – this was better. She didn’t like the police programmes; didn’t like them at all.
    She remembered the time when the whole family would sit down in front of the television on a Saturday night and watch the quiz shows, their dinners on their laps – herself, her husband Peter, and her dear Stephen. Back then everything was good.
    But that was then, and this was now.
    A man and woman had visited and told her that Peter had been arrested. He’d done something wrong. She couldn’t remember what. They wanted her to come with them, to spend some time resting in the same place they had taken her to a few weeks ago – the hospital that was full of disturbed people.
    She hadn’t been fooled by their weasel words and plastic smiles. This time she wasn’t going anywhere. They thought she was stupid, or crazy, or both. But she knew what they were up to. They had taken her son and her husband, but they wouldn’t take her.
    The draw was starting. She leaned forward in anticipation as the arms in the machine kicked up the balls, before sucking one up through the plastic tube and spitting it out down the chute.
    And the first ball is… number twelve.
    She caught her breath. Number twelve. Stephen had been born on the twelfth of December.
    Again a ball was sucked up the tube.
    And the second ball is… number twelve.
    She blinked, shaking her head. It was a mistake. Someone had placed a duplicate ball in the machine. Why hadn’t people noticed?
    And the third ball is… number twelve.
    ‘No, no, no, it’s not right, it can’t be.’
    She jabbed at the controller, blackening the screen and sending the room back into darkness. For a few seconds she just sat there in the pitch black, breathing heavily, her hands curling into tight fists.
    And then a noise – was it someone at the door?
    At first she didn’t move, but just sat there in the